“Looking? Don’t bother, Qiao Wan. The six knives we were issued are on me. The one stray blade is still stuck in Zhang Kou’s corpse like a cold thorn. Think you can find it?”

As his words fell, the air tightened like a drumskin. The three male actors nearest Nana Toki pinned her with their eyes, spears ready; one wrong twitch and they’d surge in and take her down.

She felt the hassle bloom like mold and didn’t believe Chen Ke could catch her with just those three. To keep this from snowballing, Nana Toki chose to give a little.

“Fine. I killed Zhang Kou. I turn myself in.” She lifted both hands over her head, a sigh like wind through dry reeds. “So can you stop staring at me like I’m about to pounce?”

“Qiao Wan! I can’t believe you really killed someone!” Hiding behind Chen Ke, Chi Mu peered out like a nervous sparrow, as if Nana’s blood on her hands splashed onto her life too.

“Can’t be helped. Our line of work crushes like a millstone. I’m a gloomy type; murder’s just how I vent.” Nana Toki bared a wicked grin, a blade with no scabbard. “We’re stuck here six more days. You should watch yourself.”

“...”

A chill crept up Chi Mu’s spine like cold dew; color drained from her face.

“Hmph, Qiao Wan. Mouthy at the gallows. Better figure out how you’ll explain your motive when the cops show.”

Chen Ke stepped in front to block her, keeping Nana from spooking her further. The deserted island forest lay silent, dead water under leaves. Nana held Chen Ke’s gaze for a long beat, then let it drift to the drone not far off and said, slow and soft, “Cops... aren’t coming.”

“What do you mean?” He looked at the layered smile on her face, a fan half-closed, and a bad premonition slid cold through his chest.

“Nothing much. Since you’re this dim, here’s a tip.”

“Last time the staff brought us into the forest, we walked less than an hour. If you’re so sure I’m the killer, you found Zhang Kou and reported it to the drone team, right? It’s been hours. Those staff you alerted—where are they?”

Nana’s mouth hooked into the smallest smile, frost on a blade. It was ordinary, yet it crawled under their skin; Chen Ke’s heart gave a heavy thud.

She was right. If she hadn’t nudged him, he wouldn’t have noticed how long it had been since he filed that report to the drone.

“Don’t forget we’re shooting a movie. Zhang Kou’s death is just what the script wants. We’ve got six days left. I hope we get along.” Nana stepped up, patted his shoulder; her light words hit like a cold bell.

This woman is a lunatic. The thought rippled through everyone at once.

And reality moved like she said. Even after Chen Ke reported the body to the drone, no staff came into the forest. Like the script had swallowed them, they were trapped under the canopy.

“Chen Ke... what do we do now?”

After the drone call failed, Chi Mu’s fear sprouted like weeds. Ever since they split from Nana Toki, they’d tried every way to reach the outside crew; every signal fell into silence.

When humans grasp they’re alone, fear roots and branches. At the end of the day, Chi Mu was just an ordinary woman. Her one plot cheat had fizzled because she joined a film never mentioned in the original text. Chen Ke was her only support now.

“I... don’t know either. If it’s like Qiao Wan said—some ‘real’ shoot the crew cooked up—maybe in six days we walk out.”

His face was a tangle. He couldn’t wrap his head around why the woman called Qiao Wan kept her calm like still water, even after a death on set.

“But Qiao Wan’s a murderer. Staying with her... is that safe?” The memory of that wicked smile lingered like a stain. Saying her name, Chi Mu’s eyes drifted to her room’s window, unbidden.

“It’s fine. I’ll protect you. If you can’t sleep tonight, come crash in my rest room.” His gaze ran over her like a measuring tape.

Chi Mu knew what he meant. Heat rose to her face; she nodded, soft.

“Mm.”

...

Meanwhile, in Nana Toki’s rest room.

“Hey, trash System, don’t you feel something’s off about this urban world shard?”

Fingers dancing over her laptop, Nana tossed words into the mind-link like pebbles into a pond.

“Huh? Off? Is it? ovo” The slacker System that rode her coattails for metrics sounded bland and cozy.

“...” This idiot System.

“You don’t think a women’s urban romance world suddenly popping a murder is weird?”

“But this is a collapsed shard. Stuff that breaks logic is... normal—”

The System’s tone snapped, lazy haze blown away, replaced by a crisp chill. “No. My master told me to check the integrity of every shard. Host, hold on. Let me check the shard’s data.”

Panels slid open in its management UI. It rummaged, voice growing stranger. “Weird... the shard database just sprouted a bunch of new entries.”

“See? I said the shard was glitching and you didn’t buy it.”

Nana’s dead-fish eyes stayed flat as she typed, keystrokes pattering like rain. “Looks like you caught a virus. When we get home, have your master install some antivirus.”

System: “...”

Then what are you doing, Host?

Her laptop bloomed with windows the System couldn’t parse.

Me? Nothing heavy. Trying to see if I can video or voice-call Shuyao Qin. Someone died. When the shoot ends, someone might use it to frame me. I need to prep.

What do we do about those new shard entries?

The System asked, all doe-eyed.

Nana Toki: “?”

Isn’t that your job? Why ask me?

She nearly choked. Had her slacker System slacked itself stupid?

“Uh...” The System scratched its nonexistent head. “I don’t have permission to delete shard data. Across all these shards, I’m still a basic System.”

“...” Then what were you grinding metrics for?

To level up!

So your level?

Forgot to apply to the master...

“...” You’ve got to be kidding me.

Nana started wondering if the System was sent by the male lead just to trip her up.

“But don’t worry, Host. After this shard ends, I’ll apply for an upgrade.” The System scrambled to sound industrious.

“And this shard?” Her question pressed like a fingertip on a bruise.

System: “...” Continuing to slack.

Bottom line: the trash System was useless this run. She’d have to rely on herself.

Nana worked the laptop awhile and finally found it: the island’s comm signals were jammed. If she wanted to message Shuyao Qin through the laptop, she’d have to find and shut down the jammer.

But the forest sprawled like a sea; who knew where the jammer sat? And the island’s wildlife hadn’t shown itself yet—wandering beyond the rest area felt like walking into tall grass in snake season.

She thought, let the thought settle like silt, then decided to stay near the rest rooms for a few more days. The jammer could wait. The urgent task was surviving until the shoot wrapped. She and Chi Mu and Chen Ke were public figures with names that carried weight; if they vanished because of a movie, the crew wouldn’t dodge the blame.

And two other questions kept tapping her mind like a woodpecker.

First: how did the person who stole her small knife get into her rest room last night?

Second: if they meant to frame her, why not take her out while they were in the room? Why only steal a knife?

If this were a standard plot where cannon fodder framed someone, the target would be the male and female leads. So why choose her?

Nana turned her room key in her palm, studying it. After a long stare, a forgotten doubt hit like a spark.

Wait. Maybe there’s another possibility.