From every perspective, the third world was a top-tier experience for the mission.
Though the system had specifically chosen it to buy time for its behind-the-scenes scheming and keep her occupied, Shen Ying still had to give credit where it was due—her system really put thought into this one.
Playing through their most innocent and tender teenage years, only to return to them as fully matured men, each exuding their own distinct charm—such an experience was rare indeed. But those years hadn’t just honed their abilities and emotional intelligence; their skills in guarding against and keeping tabs on others had also skyrocketed.
Luckily, Shen Ying had high-tier tools at her disposal, so she never had to face any tough choices.
Watching the highest-grade items being used for such frivolous purposes, the system could only close its eyes in silent despair.
This was precisely why the higher-ups had decided not to send her to any worlds with unrecovered skills anymore. Losing those skills was already an unbearable blow, but seeing them—skills even the game itself treated as precious, capable of averting disasters, deciding life and death, or turning the tides—being squandered on juggling multiple lovers, time management, and avoiding getting caught in affairs?
If those skills had consciousness, they’d weep for being stuck with her.
While the system was still grumbling internally, Shen Ying suddenly asked, “So, which round are you planning to pit your backup host against me in?”
“Don’t tell me it’s the next world?”
The system’s thoughts scattered in panic. No matter how much both sides already knew the truth, it still had to deny it: [Host, you’re overthinking it. I would never engage in any violations of rules.]
When and where you encounter other hosts, and under what circumstances, is entirely a random event.
Shen Ying nodded. “That’s what I thought. Given our relationship, even if you wanted to replace me, you’d be too guilt-ridden and reluctant to act right away.”
The system fumed, steam practically rising from its figurative head. It had reached its limit with her by the second world—if it could, it would’ve paid to swap hosts.
But remembering the mission arrangements from the last world, where even comfort and high freedom hadn’t dulled her vigilance one bit, and where she’d seen through its plans the moment they were set…
A wave of pessimism washed over the system. Would its scheme even work?
This time, Shen Ying took a longer break in the game’s private space, organizing her accumulated wealth.
Three worlds’ worth of rewards had left her with considerable assets, especially from this last one.
With Xia Meng—her dear friend—managing her properties, the fortune she’d amassed was enough to make even the system green with envy.
This is NOT how you’re supposed to use a villainess!
As for the points earned from successful romantic conquests and the unlocked skill slots, Shen Ying couldn’t care less.
The system’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You might want to take a look. Some of those skills are actually useful.”
But Shen Ying just lazily brushed it off. “Weak students rely on fancy tools; experts only need one pen. Do I even need skills to complete missions?”
The system nearly choked on its frustration. If she kept stockpiling like this, she’d soon have enough points to buy her freedom.
Even though she claimed she’d leech off the game forever, once she had that option, she wouldn’t just be limited to staying.
Shen Ying was too unpredictable. The higher-ups didn’t want her uncovering more of the game’s secrets, nor did they want her gaining privileges beyond what a host should have.
But even knowing that, the next step was inevitable now.
Once Shen Ying grew bored, she said, “Start the next mission.”
In an instant, she vanished—only to open her eyes inside a massive office.
The décor had a retro touch, as if its owner were an elderly person of high status.
Shen Ying had seen plenty of powerful people’s offices, but this one was unique.
It had no windows—except for one entire wall made of floor-to-ceiling glass.
But beyond it wasn’t a skyline or cityscape. Instead, cold, rigid concrete and iron bars stretched into view.
This was a window looking into the interior of a building.
A prison.
A middle-aged secretary nearby spoke up. “Warden, the office can be renovated to your preferences. Do you have any requests?”
Hearing this, a wave of reluctance and longing surged in Shen Ying’s chest—clearly, the body’s lingering emotions resisted changing the layout.
The reason was obvious. On the desk sat a photograph: a stern-looking old man seated in a chair, flanked by an elegant middle-aged woman and a teenage girl.
A family portrait. The girl was Shen Ying.
The old man was her father—the former warden of this prison.
They really do hereditary appointments here?
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the world’s backstory flooded in.
This world was set in an interstellar era, over a thousand years beyond Shen Ying’s familiar timeline.
Technology had seeped into every facet of life, even prisons.
Of course, most still followed old-era systems, but the universe had its share of criminals whose importance warranted cutting-edge measures to contain them.
A single escape could bring catastrophic consequences.
Thus, the government had commissioned the most secure prison ever built—one where breakout or jailbreak was nearly impossible.
A space prison, drifting through the cosmos, equipped with its own unique jump technology. Every 48 hours, its coordinates are randomized.
No one outside could ever pinpoint its location.
Even if someone somehow tracked it down before the next jump, this space fortress couldn’t be breached from the outside in under two days.
Every exit and docking port required the warden’s genetic authentication to open.
In other words, the warden was the prison’s core—the safeguard of its security.
The previous warden had been Shen Ying’s father. He’d designed this prison and spent half his life ensuring these dangerous criminals stayed locked away.
But his sudden death from illness had left no time to transfer his access permissions.
No matter how hard the Empire’s decryption engineers worked, they couldn’t override the authorization yet.
But a prison this critical couldn’t afford delays—every moment wasted was an opportunity for someone to exploit.
So as a stopgap, they’d appointed Shen Ying—the late warden’s only blood relative—as interim warden.
The Empire had assigned her a secretary to assist the inexperienced new warden.
In terms of rank and authority, Shen Ying was in charge. But when it came to experience and real influence? Not so much.
Still, this was by far the best starting point she’d ever had.
Amused, she remarked, “Wow, System. For a tragic romance protagonist, you’re spoiling me with this high-status opening. I’m almost touched.”
“If you’re really this reluctant to let me go, why not call off your little scheme?”
Screw you!
The system nearly snapped. Did she think it was as easily fooled as those pretty boys?
In its eyes, those men who’d fallen for Shen Ying’s tricks had long lost their halo as chosen ones.
But Shen Ying was just teasing. This script hadn’t strayed from the tragic romance framework after all.
A naive and inexperienced warden, a prison full of ruthless criminals, and the impending arrival of the most high-profile inmate in history.
What happened next was predictable—the original warden's indecisiveness and gullibility left room for exploitation.
Two dangerous convicts successfully escaped and later reclaimed everything that belonged to them.
Afterward, they turned their attention to the person who had nominally controlled them during their lowest moments.
Even if only in name, it was a humiliation—one that had to be erased.
Shen Ying suddenly asked, "Isn't there a crackdown right now? How did you manage to get me a script rated for ages 19 and up?"
The system, annoyed by her pestering, replied impatiently, "Why do you care? It’s not like you’ll follow the script anyway. What does the original rating have to do with you?"
Shen Ying said, "Hard to say. What if I decide to go for the thrill and stick to the original script?"
The system panicked at her words. It didn’t respond, and normally, its emotional fluctuations wouldn’t be detectable.
But Shen Ying seemed to see right through it, as if she could perceive every subtle reaction in its consciousness.
She concluded, "Ah, I see. You need me to change the plot so another host can enter."
"Of course. A significant deviation from the original storyline means the book becomes unrecognizable. At a certain point, it might as well be considered a different story altogether."
The system broke out in a cold sweat. Though she hadn’t guessed the exact rules due to limited information, her general direction was spot-on.
It was only a matter of time before she teased out the truth.
Indeed, aside from the original work, there was another possibility—fanfiction.
Fanfiction builds on the original, sharing the same setting and often mirroring key plot points.
Normally, a single book couldn’t host two different protagonists. But if Shen Ying twisted the plot so far off-course that it resembled fanfiction more than the original?
Then another host could enter through the fanfiction channel—even replacing the original female lead.
The only problem was that this carefully laid plan had been exposed the moment they met.
What was even more infuriating was that Shen Ying didn’t seem the least bit impressed by her own foresight, as if she’d seen through a child’s scheme with ease.
From absorbing the story’s background and the original warden’s memories to bickering with the system, only a moment had passed in reality.
She turned to her secretary and shook her head. "No need for renovations. Procuring materials is a hassle, and we should minimize any actions that could expose us."
The secretary didn’t object but gave Shen Ying a glance, sensing something different from their first meeting.
Just two hours ago, this young warden had been anxious and uncertain, more consumed by grief over her father’s death than the weight of running a prison.
Now, that vulnerability seemed tucked away—at least, nothing in her demeanor betrayed weakness.
The secretary tactfully changed the subject. "Two high-profile inmates are arriving today. The warden should go and greet them."
Shen Ying nodded, a hint of anticipation in her voice. "Let’s go. We can’t afford to slight someone of his status."
The secretary smiled. "Indeed. After all, it’s the Crown Prince of the Empire."
