010
Zhi Wei leaned back wearily, slumping onto the sofa.
Summoning her energy, she addressed Andre, who was brimming with enthusiasm: "No need for you to pull strings or haggle—absolutely not."
Spend however much it takes—empty the coffers!
Watching his exuberant demeanor, Zhi Wei couldn’t help but feel utterly resigned.
Andre was like a golden retriever that had been cooped up for too long, bouncing around with boundless energy from who-knows-where.
For someone who looked every bit the pampered young master, unaccustomed to many tasks, he certainly had no shortage of stamina—eager to try everything, undeterred by any hassle.
Zhi Wei quickly tried to placate him: "You’ve already worked hard enough. Don’t force yourself to do such things."
"We’ll pay the full price, whatever it is. Don’t we have six million now?"
Andre corrected her meticulously: "Five hundred ninety thousand… after deducting the deposit."
Then, after checking the campaign website’s backend, he amended, "Ah, no—you’re right. It’s six million. More donations came in while we were talking."
Zhi Wei raised her voice: "...Spend it all!!"
Andre: "Huh?"
"I mean, a starship is a necessity. We’ll need it for campaigning across districts later. So… how much does one cost?"
Over the past couple of days, Zhi Wei had crammed on interstellar knowledge through the star-net and learned that the hovercraft Andre piloted before was nothing like a proper starship.
The difference was akin to comparing a car to a spaceship.
The price gap was astronomical.
Sure enough, Andre hesitated: "A brand-new, large-scale, military-grade starship would cost about a year’s tax revenue for an entire district."
Zhi Wei mentally inverted every word he’d just said and asked, "Then what’s the price range for a used, small, civilian-model starship?"
"That depends on how beat-up it is," Andre hedged. "With six million, you could get one that’s practically falling apart… Or, I could just call in a favor? My family deals in starship sales."
Zhi Wei caught the unspoken reluctance in his tone.
Perfect—it was exorbitantly expensive. She was thrilled.
Great! If they blew all their funds on a starship, by the time the buzz around her campaign manifesto faded online and donations dried up, they wouldn’t have money left for rallies!
In Zhi Wei’s understanding, rallies were a hybrid of fan meetups and grassroots campaigning—events that both solidified existing supporters and attracted new ones.
So skipping them meant no new followers and driving away the old ones!
A flawless two-for-one!
She adamantly refused to let Andre leverage his connections, insisting they pay full price.
Of course, she couldn’t reveal her secret plan to lose the election. Instead, she told him, "I can tell you come from an extraordinary background."
But please stop "helping" in ways that backfire, damn it! Though she phrased it far more diplomatically.
As a former underground idol—still an idol at heart—Zhi Wei was well-versed in performative charm.
Gazing deeply at him, she delivered her lines with practiced sincerity: "But what matters to me is you, just as you are. Everything surrounding you… to me, it’s only a burden."
The same intent, packaged differently.
Unspoken implications lingered in her throat, yet the eye contact between them remained clear and natural.
Andre froze, then slowly lowered his gaze, his head dipping slightly.
In a quiet voice, he admitted, "I support you, but… I can’t ask my family to do the same right now."
Zhi Wei: Oh, I get it.
You’re my fan, but you can’t drag your parents into fandom. Totally normal!
She didn’t mind and urged Andre to cheer up, not to wallow in self-reproach.
With escape off the table for now and the deity election looming, Zhi Wei’s earlier restless thoughts had settled.
Time to pack her things and sort out her emotions.
She rummaged through her canvas tote—the same bag that had crossed dimensions with her on her way to the survival show audition.
Inside were her phone, a 100-yuan bill tucked behind the phone case, her touch-up lipstick and compact, tissues, keys, and other small items.
Notably, she also carried a small stone and a vial of homeland earth and water.
The stone was picked up at a beach; its name, "shi," homophonous with "time," symbolized "fortune’s turn"—a lucky charm for her audition.
The vial was a thumb-sized glass container divided into two halves: one filled with soil, the other with water, representing her hometown’s land and rivers—another auspicious token.
Zhi Wei pinched the vial, holding it up to inspect.
She’d originally brought it as a comfort when leaving home for the big city, a piece of her roots to carry along.
Now? Now she hadn’t just switched cities—she’d jumped straight to the interstellar era.
Further and further away! Help.
She pulled out her phone. Thankfully, she’d powered it off earlier; turning it on now revealed half the battery remained.
Without a charger or compatible outlets here, she shut it down again, resolving to figure something out later.
Hugging her tote, Zhi Wei sighed.
With the deposit paid and her nearest escape route blocked, she had no choice but to steel herself.
Rising from the sofa, she asked, "Are people still crowding the entrance?"
Andre nodded: "Half reporters, half small organizations wanting to recruit you."
He explained, "Your status as an independent candidate is highly appealing to them."
"Some groups spend decades pouring resources into cultivating a viable candidate, with nothing to show for it." Andre looked at her with admiration. "You emerged out of nowhere, unaffiliated, yet ranked seventh with a groundbreaking manifesto."
"Snatching you up would be like picking up free treasure."
As he spoke, distant bell chimes echoed.
Zhi Wei stepped onto the balcony, leaning over the railing to trace the sound—it came from the Divine Temple.
Andre checked the time: "Midnight."
Zhi Wei, curious: "Do the bells ring every night at midnight? I didn’t hear them before."
"Not nightly. Once every ten years." Andre’s gaze lingered on the temple’s outer walls as he murmured, "This marks the deadline for this election cycle’s deposit submissions."
"Once midnight passes, all candidates who cleared the preliminaries and paid their deposits officially form this year’s roster of deity contenders."
He continued, "On the first of each month, the temple holds an assembly to set the elimination cutoff. Real-time rankings will determine who loses eligibility."
Andre’s striking face looked especially solemn under the night sky.
"This continues month after month, until year’s end—until December 1st, until only two candidates remain, until districts consolidate votes, until the temple tallies them… until a new deity is born."
His clear blue eyes, dark and profound in the night, gleamed with a piercing radiance.
Andre whispered, "Everything begins now."
Zhi Wei gazed into the night. The divine temple stood tall in the darkness, its silhouette outlined by streaks of iridescent light, majestic and sacred. The surrounding buildings shimmered with multicolored glows, and hovercrafts were docked between the towering structures. In the pitch-black sky, a few faint stars were visible—though upon closer inspection, they might not have been stars at all. Perhaps they were starships streaking across the horizon, or the flickering data streams of the planetary shield running a self-diagnostic.
Somehow, inexplicably, she had ended up here, standing in this very spot.
"Alright then," Zhi Wei sighed.
She turned and walked to the door of the room, pausing just before it, separated from the crowd waiting outside by nothing more than that thin barrier.
Zhi Wei didn’t look back.
Calmly, she raised her hand, pressed the button beside the door, disengaged the security lock, and pulled it open in one swift motion.
What greeted her was a chaotic barrage of equipment—cameras, recording devices, live-streaming gear—all thrust toward her face as if competing for space.
The voices of the crowd were a noisy, overlapping clamor.
"It’s Zhi Wei! Zhi Wei is here!"
"Let me ask first! I should go first!"
"Stop shoving my equipment! Back off!"
"Candidate Zhi Wei, hello! Many experts have raised objections to your campaign manifesto. Do you have any explanations or rebuttals?"
"Where will your next rally be held? Which district will you prioritize in your campaign efforts?"
"You don’t have an organization yet, right? Would you consider ours? We have three secured districts—votes are practically guaranteed. Please think about it!"
Andre trailed closely behind her, his movements awkward and uncertain.
He wanted to step forward and restore some order but hesitated, afraid of blocking Zhi Wei’s face. He tried to stand behind her for support, but he lacked the presence to pull it off.
He looked far more nervous than she did.
As for Zhi Wei? Not a trace of tension showed on her face—she appeared composed and serene.
But of course, the cameras were rolling. And when it came to cameras, Zhi Wei had a natural instinct. She was inherently attuned to lenses and gazes.
Back in her days as an underground idol, fans had recorded her performances, and she’d trained herself to shine in front of the camera, just in case one of those clips went viral.
Facing the lens, she could deliver a flawless performance, ensuring every shot captured her at her best.
A true idol could find the camera no matter where it emerged from. No matter the angle, no matter how it framed her, her beauty never faltered—not a single unflattering image.
Originally, Zhi Wei had only intended to open the door, greet everyone, get a feel for the process, and mentally prepare herself.
But the moment she stepped out and saw all those cameras, her rationality shut down. Instinct took over, and she slipped effortlessly into idol mode.
With a nod and a practiced smile, she began answering questions.
"Thank you for the invitation, but I currently don’t have an organization I’m interested in joining."
"Experts have commented on me? I’m honored by the attention. Yes, I’ll review their remarks later."
"Due to certain circumstances, I wasn’t able to meet with everyone earlier. I apologize for making you wait. There will be plenty of opportunities for us to interact in the future—no need to rush. It’s getting late, so… goodnight, everyone."
Perfect. Not a single substantial statement made. She hadn’t done anything except sweet-talk her way through the crowd.
These were all stock phrases—no thought required, her mouth moving on autopilot.
And while her mouth did the talking, her expressions were carefully managed, projecting warmth, kindness, empathy, and an aura of flawless perfection.
Zhi Wei handled the media with ease—posing for photos, answering questions, giving interviews, and skillfully dodging every invitation.
All the while, her mind grumbled: This is all Andre’s fault for being too capable! If he hadn’t scraped together those 100,000 credits, I’d be bowing out gracefully right now instead of having to dance around public opinion.
Once everything was wrapped up, Zhi Wei gently ushered the crowd away.
She turned, closed the door, locked the security system, and faced Andre—who stood there, dumbfounded—before dropping a single word: "Sleep!"
Andre’s eyes sparkled as he leaned in. "Wow, Chief, you were amazing! So commanding!"
His praise was clumsy, earnest. "You were born to be a deity! You’ll definitely win the election, become the savior, the one true god!"
Damn it! Zhi Wei cursed inwardly. This fool has no idea what not to say!
Her face twisted in agony. "...Shut up."
