If Shen Ying could hear Lien's words right now, she'd probably be so delighted she'd come rushing back.
Unfortunately, she didn’t hear them, so she missed out on a rare opportunity.
But the few people left in the simulation world were completely dumbfounded.
After testing the waters with those words, Lien snapped in frustration, "It’s really not her anymore."
Niu Xi still clung to a sliver of hope: "We can’t be so sure yet. Look, even the warden seems fine."
Lien cursed at him: "Are you stupid? If it were really her, do you think she’d be smiling like that if she heard about something this good?"
She would’ve dragged all four of them into the hot springs by now, praising him for being quick on the uptake.
Niu Xi shut up. As for Lu Yu in front of him, his expression wasn’t so much disbelief as burning curiosity.
An itch he couldn’t scratch: "When did she leave?"
The Crown Prince scrutinized "Shen Ying" up and down again before saying grimly, "When else? While you idiots were busy fighting me."
She wasn’t the owner of this simulation world—the only way out was suicide.
And with the four of them around, the only time she could slip away unnoticed was during their chaotic brawl.
Of course, there was also a brief window when she was alone in her room before Lu Yu showed up and got stuffed into the wardrobe. But they all agreed that timing was too absurd, so the most likely moment was during their fight.
Yet the answer only stunned them further.
"She left that early? Then how did she manage to play us all for fools?"
Their motives and hidden agendas had all been exposed, leaving them flustered and humiliated.
And now they were being told that the person here was just an NPC from the simulation.
Lu Yu’s expression darkened. "It’s not impossible. The NPC is a projection based on her actual personality."
"Even carrying fragments of her subconscious, it could handle ordinary interactions just fine. As for exposing us… it just means she saw through everything way earlier than we thought."
"All she had to do was leave memory instructions for her virtual self, and the AI would react accordingly."
But an NPC wasn’t the real person, nor did it have memories. When faced with more… stimulating situations, its reactions had subtle discrepancies—which was how Lu Yu spotted the flaw.
In reality, only moments had passed since they’d realized Shen Ying was gone.
Now that she wasn’t here, the four of them staying in the simulation world was pointless.
The Emperor was the first to leave, storming out of the game with a darkened face.
The other three weren’t in a hurry, though.
Even if they hadn’t gained anything, watching the Emperor’s scheme fall apart wasn’t a total loss.
Lien, now calmer and no longer furious, shot Lu Yu a glare. "Why did you have to say it out loud?"
Part of him even wanted to buy her more time—keeping the Emperor trapped here would’ve been ideal.
But Lu Yu just smirked. "Are you dumb? The moment she left, she could’ve adjusted the time flow between the simulation and reality."
"Even these few minutes could mean the Emperor wakes up to find hours have passed."
They were right. When the Emperor came to, the first thing he saw was the unconscious court coder slumped beside him.
Since his plans were… private, and he’d been too embarrassed to involve more people, the coder was the only outsider present.
His gaze snapped to the neighboring simulation pod—empty.
A crushing wave of disappointment, frustration, and faint panic surged through him.
But the next second, all those emotions vanished.
Because he realized something was off.
Something was very wrong with his body.
He looked down—and instantly flushed scarlet, humiliation burning through him.
That woman… even as she left, she’d made sure to toy with him one last time.
The coder groaned, starting to stir. The Emperor hastily straightened his disheveled robes, covering his exposed chest—still damp with unidentifiable moisture.
The stickiness and disarray were hidden beneath the pristine, regal folds of his imperial robes as he schooled his expression into solemn dignity.
The court coder clutched his throbbing head as he staggered up. The moment he saw the Emperor, he dropped to his knees. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. Warden Shen woke up midway and knocked me out."
"I failed to stop her."
The Emperor shook his head. "It’s not your fault. She wasn’t appointed warden of the Sky Prison just because of her genetic priority in the system."
"She’s also a warrior with formidable mental strength."
In this interstellar era, those with powerful mental energy might specialize in different fields, not all maximizing combat prowess.
But their baseline strength was still impossibly high—far beyond what ordinary people could hope to match.
A mere coder stood no chance against her.
The Emperor checked the time. Morning.
Based on his second entry into the simulation pod, she must’ve accelerated the time ratio drastically after escaping.
By now, hours had likely passed since her getaway.
Stepping out of his chambers, he saw attendants already at work and asked coldly:
"When did Warden Shen leave?"
The attendants exchanged glances. Last night, the Emperor had carried Warden Shen Ying back to his private chambers, and many had witnessed it.
Originally, as the first person from a special institution to be summoned, Warden Shen had already been invited by His Majesty for a private audience in his chambers. The palace servants had their suspicions, but no one expected the Emperor to confirm them so quickly.
The female warden who had accompanied him during his wrongful imprisonment—the only woman who stood by him during the lowest point of his life—it wasn’t surprising that something had happened between them.
It was practically inevitable.
So when Warden Shen walked out of the Emperor’s chambers in the dead of night, wearing his personal insignia and requesting a ship, no one stopped her.
In fact, they cooperated without hesitation.
Now, hearing the Emperor’s inquiry, one of the attendants replied, “Your Majesty, rest assured. Warden Shen mentioned she was only returning to the prison to handle an urgent matter.”
“She’ll likely return soon.”
After all, she carried his highest-authority insignia, granting her free access to the imperial palace.
The Emperor’s lips twitched, and for a moment, he considered ordering the insignia’s privileges revoked.
But the words died in his throat.
She would come back. That woman never knew when to stop taking advantage of him, always chasing thrills, even reveling in humiliating someone of his exalted status.
This matter couldn’t just end like this. He wasn’t about to let her off so easily.
But with her cunning, ghost-like nature, once she left the palace, tracking her down would be nearly impossible without invoking imperial authority.
Every time before, he had been the one to seek her out, only to be caught off guard in her territory. This time, it was her turn to experience that.
She would return. And if she needed a reason—well, from his chest down to his abs, a line of words was still etched across his skin:
[Next time, I’ll have you like this on the throne.]
The Emperor suppressed the strange expression threatening to surface, forcing himself to ignore the tingling at the base of his skull and the exhilaration humming through his nerves.
Meanwhile, Shen Ying—the very same woman who had shamelessly scrawled those words on the sacred palace walls—had already returned to the Sky Prison.
Contrary to what many assumed, she hadn’t retreated to the prison to reactivate its jump systems and vanish, ruling over her massive fortress once more.
Though she did enjoy the prison games, the most delectable dishes had already been served. The remaining offerings, while tempting, weren’t enough to keep her in such a confined environment long-term.
This world was too rare, the most fascinating one she’d drawn so far.
The vastness of the cosmos here far surpassed anything she’d seen in previous worlds. Thousands of planets teemed with human life, not to mention those uninhabitable but breathtakingly beautiful worlds, each with its own unique wonders and treasures.
Shen Ying’s body boasted 3S-level psychic energy. Though the original owner hadn’t been much of a fighter, her combat training scores were decent.
Coupled with her aptitude for piloting mechs, Shen Ying could go anywhere she pleased.
So the first thing she did upon returning to the Sky Prison was draft her resignation letter.
After the incident with the Emperor’s imprisonment and the subsequent communications blackout, the relevant departments had surely doubled their efforts to crack the prison’s systems.
With her cooperation, a new warden would be appointed in no time.
The moment Shen Ying sent off her resignation, her office door swung open.
Tu Yi walked in, eyes red, long rabbit ears drooping. “Warden, you’ve been gone for two whole days.”
“What about me and our chi—”
Shen Ying waved a hand. “Enough. We haven’t even slept together, so cut the ‘father leveraging the child’ act.”
Tu Yi, never one to hold back, shot back, “You were the one who kept petting me! I didn’t even resist.”
Couldn’t you see through my reluctant protests?
Shen Ying: “…”
“Let’s get to the point. You just want out, don’t you? Fine, I’ll give you a chance.”
Tu Yi, a notorious interstellar con artist, had been locked up in the Sky Prison for two reasons: the astronomical sums he’d swindled, and the fact that his victims were all high-profile figures.
The man had a knack for courting disaster at every opportunity—though, to his credit, he’d never scammed ordinary people.
In fact, after being robbed blind, his wealthy marks had refused to let it go. Their investigations ended up exposing their own illegal profiteering on their private planets.
In a way, Tu Yi was hard to define.
Would you believe he was also the biggest donor to multiple charities?
Shen Ying continued, “You don’t meet the escape criteria, and you’ve got no outside support. Even if I gouged my own eyes out, you wouldn’t make it.”
“But I’m about to resign. Do one thing for me, and I might let slip the handover schedule.”
During the transition, the prison’s systems would be briefly deactivated—one of the rare windows where escape was possible.
If Tu Yi had truly prepared, this might be his only shot.
Tu Yi’s eyes widened. Studying the warden’s expression, he realized she wasn’t joking.
Whatever complicated emotions churned inside him, his response was swift: “Name it, Warden. If it’s within my power.”
Shen Ying grinned. “Get me a retirement fund.”
“A big one.”
The moment those words left her mouth, Tu Yi’s instincts kicked in. The faces of every wealthy inmate and faction leader with outside assets flashed through his mind.
Tu Yi smiled and said, "Good, I’ll make sure the warden never has to worry about money again."
Though Shen Ying had only embezzled—well, "received" a massive donation—she had enough to live comfortably for the rest of her life. But now, she wanted her own fleet.
Purchasing and maintaining mechs, starships, and weapons would far exceed her current savings.
Sure, the fleet would eventually turn a profit, but Shen Ying wasn’t about to rough it in the meantime.
Leaving aside Tu Yi’s money-making schemes, headquarters received Shen Ying’s resignation letter like a gift from the heavens.
They’d been itching to replace her for a while—they just hadn’t dared because she was too much trouble.
Who knew she’d walk away on her own? So, after a few token protests, they happily approved her request.
When the emperor received the report about her position change, his first reaction was irritation.
After all the things she’d done to him by abusing her authority, she just planned to vanish without warning?
Would this affect her showing up at his doorstep?
The emperor wanted to stop her, but he knew better than to think she’d stay just because he refused.
Better to let her go willingly than have her flee as a wanted fugitive.
At least without the Sky Prison, he’d always know where she was.
So, despite his displeasure, he stamped the approval.
Then he heard that during her handover, a prisoner had escaped with billions scammed from fellow inmates.
Both the old and new wardens had been present, making responsibility unclear—until a video interrogation of Warden Shen ended with the matter quietly dropped.
Whatever. Just one con artist.
Meanwhile, freed from her job, Shen Ying was vacationing on a bustling planet.
Thanks to certain minerals, all the flora on this world bloomed in soft shades of pink—pale rose, lavender, baby blue, and dusky gray—creating an achingly romantic landscape.
Shen Ying had booked the presidential suite at the finest resort, soaking in the breathtaking view.
Then a slender, hat-wearing man entered, stopping just behind her.
He removed his hat, revealing long rabbit ears.
Shen Ying didn’t turn. "A transfer would’ve sufficed. No need for a personal visit."
Tu Yi chuckled. "The warden really trusts me. Not afraid I’d run off with the money?"
"Relax. If I don’t get payment in seven days, you’ll find yourself back in the Sky Prison."
She didn’t explain how, but Tu Yi believed her.
"So," he said, "I heard the warden’s hiring. Think I’ve got a shot?"
Shen Ying’s interest sharpened.
Before she could reply, a deafening roar split the air. A ship materialized abruptly across from her balcony, its hatch gaping open.
Three figures stood framed in the doorway—Lien and the others, who hadn’t yet gone their separate ways after the simulation pod.
The moment they spotted Tu Yi, their gazes turned razor-sharp, their expressions screaming one thing:
We didn’t realize what a sneaky little bastard you were back in prison.
Lien spoke first. "So this is the idiot rabbit who faked a pregnancy?"
