IABI – Chapter 79 Layers of Fog

“Changes? What kind of changes?”

The young man who was asked just laughed. “What’s it got to do with me anyway?”

“Chi Xin, what are you planning to do?” Yu Xiang tugged at the corner of Chi Xin’s clothes and whispered, “My character setting is that I come from the ‘normal’ outside world.”

Chi Xin whispered back, “I just want to see whether the warden is deliberately hiding the truth from everyone on the island.”

“What are you two whispering about?” the young man asked, curious. “Tell you what — since you’re so eager to know what’s going on outside, why don’t you tell me what it’s become like out there, and we’ll see if it matches what I remember?”

That was exactly what Chi Xin wanted. She thought for a moment, then decided not to reveal too much and instead tested him. “Out there, there’s something called monsters — their bodies are all rotting, they eat people, absolutely terrifying.”

At that, a few prisoners exchanged glances and burst out laughing even louder.

The young man caught his breath between laughs. “What, do you think I’ve never seen a zombie movie before? That’s such an obvious description — if you’re trying to make a joke, at least make it sound believable!”

Saying that, he yanked up the thin collar of his prison uniform, draping it over his head to mimic a headless ghost. He stuck his arms out, shaking them around as he made eerie “wooo~ wooo~” sounds.

“Like this? Is this what they look like?” He poked his head out with a grin. “Bet I look even more convincing than the ones you’ve seen, huh?”

Chi Xin’s mouth twitched. She really didn’t know how to respond to that.

Just then, the same guard who had warned Chi Xin earlier noticed the commotion again. He immediately drew his gun and fired a shot into the ground near the group of prisoners. “You lot! Want to visit the solitary confinement room?”

At the mention of solitary, the young man’s grin vanished. He shot Chi Xin and the others a glare, lowered his head, and picked up his hoe again.

The guard came over, his face cold and impatient. “Guests, please mind your own business. Don’t disturb them again. If they fail to finish their daily tasks, the punishment will be severe.”

“You little—” Yu Xiang rolled up his sleeves, ready to rush forward.

Chi Xin quickly grabbed him and put on a polite smile. “Sorry, sir. We won’t talk to them again.”

The guard gave her a long look, then glared at Yu Xiang before turning away without another word.

Chi Xin turned her back, her expression growing heavy.

“So the warden really is that bold — he’s hiding the zombie outbreak from everyone on the island?”

She absolutely didn’t believe that the warden had no contact with the outside world. The question was—why? What was his purpose?

Since they weren’t allowed to question the prisoners anymore, the group sat under a tree to rest. Thankfully, the warden hadn’t forced them to work in the fields.

“There’s one thing we can be sure of,” Jing Xiubai said quietly. “The warden knows we’re lying. If that’s the case, then when he went along with our story earlier, it’s very likely he had his own plan.”

Hearing that, Chi Xin felt a chill creep up her spine. “You mean, he knew all along but pretended not to—just to make us think we were in control?”

“I’m inclined to believe that,” Jing Xiubai nodded. “But don’t be so discouraged. At least now we understand where we stand — we can’t expect him to voluntarily find us a boat to leave the island.”

“But if he’s placing us among the prisoners like this, isn’t he afraid we’ll uncover whatever he’s plotting?” Jiang Congyun asked, frowning.

“He probably doesn’t care,” Chi Xin said. “Maybe in his eyes, it doesn’t matter whether we know the truth or not. Because to him, people like us are easy to control — no different from these prisoners. Nothing to worry about.”

“Chi Xin’s right,” Jing Xiubai agreed. “That’s our advantage, but we can’t let our guard down. We don’t know what other cards he’s hiding.”

“Like that sudden drowsiness last night.” Yu Xiang was still bitter about having ‘skipped work.’ “If Chi Xin hadn’t realized we were hypnotized, who knows — maybe one of these nights, we’d just get quietly killed in our sleep.”

Chi Xin sighed helplessly. “Even if we know it’s hypnosis, can we really defend against it?”

“I’ll do my best,” Jiang Congyun said. “Right now, that’s all we can do.”

Even Jing Xiubai couldn’t come up with a better plan. They could only take the risk and try.

“I’m also concerned about that oil field,” Jing Xiubai said in a low voice, glancing at the guards patrolling nearby. “Canghai is said to be the largest offshore petroleum reserve. That rumor definitely didn’t come from nowhere. I have to check it out — if it’s true…”

He didn’t finish, but the others immediately understood.

Chi Xin’s eyes sharpened. “If it’s true, what do you plan to do?”

Jing Xiubai met her gaze silently.

From her eyes, he could tell — this wasn’t just a simple question.

Chi Xin wasn’t forcing him or doubting him. She just looked at him that way — calm, steady — and somehow that gaze made his heart tighten, as if he were being tested.

“What’s going on?” Yu Xiang sensed the sudden tension and looked between them, confused. “What are you two talking about now?”

“It’s not a riddle,” Chi Xin said softly. “It’s just a question. If the oil field is real, and the benefits are real — what will you do?”

“What else?” Yu Xiang still looked puzzled. “Tell the base, of course — let them come and extract it. Wouldn’t that solve the energy shortage problem?”

“If it were that easy, the warden wouldn’t have hidden the existence of the oil field from the world,” Chi Xin said, exasperated but not surprised — Yu Xiang had never been one to think too deeply.

Yu Xiang froze for a moment, his expression turning more serious.

Chi Xin continued, “Let’s take an extreme case. If the warden refuses to sell or share the oil, and the prisoners all side with him — but the human base outside desperately wants that resource — they might resort to… unconventional means.”

She lifted her head, her gaze clear and sharp as it swept over the three of them. “What would you do? Approve of it? Oppose it?”

The three fell silent.

Chi Xin didn’t rush them. She looked up at the sunlight filtering through the gaps in the leaves, patiently waiting for their answers.

She hadn’t asked to test their morals, not really. She just wanted to see how complete this world’s design was — how deep the system went in defining these “characters.”

After the shipwreck, she had begun to feel that this world — which once felt real enough — was somehow… fragile.

If the consciousness of the world truly existed, and if these people were really just characters created for the “film,” then what did that make her?

If she saw them as her companions — was that really the right thing to do?

When they eventually saved the world, what would become of it? Would these people — who only existed for the sake of the plot — continue to live on, thinking, acting, choosing for themselves?

Just imagining that sent a chill down her spine.

“…Forget it,” Chi Xin suddenly smiled faintly. “Pretend I never asked. It’s not like I’ll have the power to decide any of that anyway.”

“The so-called ‘unconventional means’ only have meaning when used at truly desperate times,” Jing Xiubai said quietly.

Chi Xin froze for a moment.

“I know what you’re worried about,” he continued. “When faced with absolute interests, people easily lose themselves. I’ve met too many like that. So I’ll answer you honestly — I can’t guarantee your fears won’t come true. But because of that, I have to be someone who can guarantee it.”

For someone like him, whose mind is constantly running, it’s rare to have a moment when he doesn’t think about anything and can answer purely from his heart.

“If what you’re worried about really happens, then what I’ve helped with, what I’ve insisted on, wouldn’t that also be no different from the so-called market?” Jing Xiubai added. “Of course, selfishly speaking, I don’t think he would do such a thing.”

“Chi Xin is worried… that people outside might do some utterly despicable things for the sake of energy?” Yu Xiang finally realized. He patted his chest and said, “Don’t worry, Chi Xin. I won’t dare anything, but when it comes to conscience, my father still has some.”

Chi Xin was speechless. She looked at Jiang Congyun.

Jiang Congyun still smiled, gently and softly: “Xinxin, if something happens that you don’t like, wouldn’t it be fine if you just dealt with those who did it?”

A moment of silence.

Yu Xiang shivered. “C-Congyun… did that really come out of your mouth?”

Jiang Congyun pursed his lips in a smile, looking refined and gentle.

Chi Xin held her forehead, feeling a mix of wanting to laugh but unable to.

“I understand.” She lowered her eyes, hiding the thoughts in them.

She had something on her mind. The other three could see it, but none of them were the type to abruptly pry into someone else’s thoughts; they exchanged a glance and tacitly remained silent.

Chi Xin had originally planned to sneak out and find the oil well, but perhaps because her previous attempt to chat with the prisoners had been too conspicuous, the guards kept a close watch on her afterward, preventing any further movement.

She had assumed there would at least be time for lunch, but the sun moved to directly overhead and then halfway across, until the sky began turning orange, only then did the guards blow their whistles to signal a stop.

“Even worse than Zhou Bapi himself,” Yu Xiang complained.

That day, Chi Xin couldn’t find a chance to sneak off, so she had to put the idea aside for the time being.

A guard came over to signal them to return with the main group. This time, they weren’t sent directly back to the cells but were led in another direction.

As they approached, Chi Xin smelled a strong scent of mashed potatoes and guessed they were heading toward a dining hall or something similar.

As she suspected, they were arranged to eat with the prisoners.

While lining up, the four of them still drew some attention, but they were already used to it and felt no discomfort.

Bored, Chi Xin overheard two prisoners in front talking: “Are those guys from the East District coming again today?”

The other one smirked: “Judging by the looks of it, they probably got into trouble again. Don’t know if he can even get a meal today.”

“Don’t know what the warden was thinking, letting a bunch of thugs go near the oil well. If he and them go down together, I’m done for,” one said anxiously.

Oil well?

Chi Xin’s ears perked up at the keyword and she paid extra attention to the two in front.

“Wake up, big brother,” the other said. “The warden wouldn’t let something happen like that. There’s a reason behind everything he arranges.”

Chi Xin tugged at Jing Xiubai: “Let’s sit around those two for a while.”

Jing Xiubai confirmed the people and nodded slightly.

The cafeteria food was indeed mashed potatoes, a piece of steamed corn, and a bowl of vegetable soup with barely any leaves visible.

The four sat down, Chi Xin in the middle near the two big-mouth prisoners. The two glanced at her but then turned away, not paying much attention.

“The oil well work is really dangerous. I—I don’t want to go,” he said, eating while talking.

“Better than farming day in, day out,” the other replied. “Although he starts work earlier than me, at least he can see the sea while on duty.”

“Then you should sneak over to take a look,” said the first. “Climb over that middle wall, I’ll keep it secret.”

Chi Xin listened intently. Suddenly, a figure appeared in her sight. She looked up: Pei Jiade was standing in front of her with a tray of food, expressionless.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked.

“Do we prisoners need to ask where a guard wants to sit?” Yu Xiang said sarcastically.

Pei Jiade didn’t care and sat down directly next to Jing Xiubai.

The cafeteria tables seated eight. Originally, the four of them occupied one side, the two loud prisoners the other. Now, with Pei Jiade sitting, there was only one seat between him and the two prisoners.

The two prisoners suddenly looked like they’d swallowed a fly. He didn’t bother finishing his food and got up with his tray, running off.

Pei Jiade didn’t mind. Looking at the untouched food on their plates, he said, “A whole day has passed. Aren’t you hungry?”

Chi Xin had originally intended to eat but, caught off guard, hurriedly pretended to pick up the spoon.

The four of them ate with messy faces.

Pei Jiade had come specifically for Chi Xin, not to supervise eating. After two spoonfuls of mashed potatoes, he spoke: “I know what you went to the prisoners for today.”

The four exchanged glances. Jing Xiubai said calmly: “I didn’t know we couldn’t talk during work.”

Pei Jiade shook his head, eyes locked on him: “I didn’t come here to scold you. I just want to ask.”

Halfway through, he paused, his gaze showing a hint of evaluation, as if assessing whether he was trustworthy.

Jing Xiubai: “All my people are here. Are you afraid I’d try any tricks?”

Perhaps Pei Jiade thought this made sense. He withdrew his gaze, opened his mouth, then nervously glanced around.

Seeing the prisoners focused on their meals, he finally took a deep breath and lowered his voice: “Did you—really—there are zombies outside? Is that true?”

At this, Chi Xin froze her hand in the mashed potatoes.

She carefully scanned the head guard. He had his usual cold expression, though his cheeks were slightly flushed from tension and exertion, eyes fixed on Jing Xiubai with a faint look of hope.

It was unclear whether he hoped it was true or not.

A sharp glint crossed Jing Xiubai’s eyes but was quickly replaced by confusion: “Are you also interested in zombie movies?”

A trace of embarrassment flashed across Pei Jiade’s face. He glanced around again, then leaned closer to Jing Xiubai, lowering his voice even more, carrying a hint of gloom: “I’ll ask again—what you did during the day… was it real? Don’t lie to me.”

Jing Xiubai’s calm gaze swept over his face. “And if it was?”

As if receiving the answer he had suspected, Pei Jiade suddenly deflated. He slumped in his chair, completely drained.

Chi Xin thought this island prison was full of surprises. Every time she felt she had uncovered enough secrets, a new one would always pop up.

“What’s wrong? Don’t think I’m laughing at you,” she said, with a hint of sarcasm.

Pei Jiade was silent for a few seconds. His pale face regained some color, and he sat up straight, hesitantly speaking again: “So… you’ve… seen… that kind…?”

“That kind?”

“Not zombies, not humans,” Pei Jiade finished in one breath.

Chi Xin put down her spoon.

Jing Xiubai’s eyes flickered. “You mean… a mutant?”

“A mutant? Is that what you call him?” Pei Jiade murmured. “Yes, a mutant… so they really do exist, right?”

“I wouldn’t dare to,” Chi Xin said. “If the warden finds out, he’d accuse us of spreading rumors… what if he changes his mind and won’t help us find a boat?”

Pei Jiade’s eye twitched, a strange smirk forming on his face: “Do you really think he’d just let you leave here freely?”

Jing Xiubai looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“You think these prisoners stay obediently here for no reason?” Pei Jiade whispered. “And why do these guards refuse to go home, working here faithfully?”

What was this guy implying? Did he intend to betray the warden? Was he even under that strange hypnotic control?

Chi Xin grew somewhat interested. She looked at him with a frightened expression: “What are you saying? If we don’t obey, the warden will just kill us, right?”

“Killing you would just be your best release,” Pei Jiade said. “Let’s make a deal. Tell me what’s going on outside, and I’ll help you find a boat to leave.”

The unexpected development left the four of them silent for a moment.

“There’s nothing we should tell you,” Jing Xiubai continued the act. “Just pretend we’re rambling. Don’t go report us, that’s all.”

Pei Jiade, however, looked anxious: “Trust me. I just want to know… the whereabouts of a mutant. And if you don’t leave quickly, then…”

“Guard Chief, Guard Pei, please come to the Warden’s office.”

The sudden announcement came from the speaker in the ceiling. Pei Jiade’s tense expression gradually faded, returning to his previous blank face.

He gave the four of them a long look, then stood and walked out of the dining hall.

With so many people around, the four didn’t continue talking. After finishing their meal, they were escorted back to Room Eight.

“So, do you think he’s trustworthy?” Yu Xiang asked. “I feel like there’s someone unusual here, including Pei.”

“Whether he’s unusual or not, he’s the only one here who believes in the truth,” Jing Xiubai said, sitting on the bed, hands crossed under his chin, eyes thoughtful. “From what he said, the warden definitely won’t let us leave safely. If we stay here, who knows what might happen.”

“If he’s a psychic, with powers of mind control or hypnosis, then he probably turns people into those prisoners,” Chi Xin whispered. “Completely devoted to him, no self-awareness.”

That outcome would indeed be worse than death.

If the warden truly had that ability, then among these prisoners… how many were truly guilty?

Jiang Congyun showed a look of disgust. “Are we really going to risk working with him? I’d rather die than be a puppet controlled by someone else.”

Chi Xin: “Coincidentally, I feel the same.”

The three looked at Jing Xiubai.

“Don’t rush,” Jing Xiubai said, raising his head slowly. “I have a plan.”

After the four whispered together, the clock had already pointed to around eleven o’clock at night.

“No need to schedule a night watch tonight, right? Even if we did, it wouldn’t help,” Chi Xin suggested.

The others agreed.

“Stay as alert as possible. If you can’t, then take a gamble,” Jing Xiubai said. “Bet that he’s still observing us and won’t strike directly.”

“I’ll grant everyone a layer of protection. Whether it holds… depends on tonight,” Jiang Congyun said.

A milky-white aura emanated from her hands. With eyes gently closed, her face looked holy and beautiful.

Chi Xin felt a warm force envelop her head. Her mind lightened, all previous negative emotions seemed to vanish, and her thoughts became clearer and more agile.

The four returned to their beds. In the darkness, only the sound of their breathing could be heard.

Chi Xin kept her eyes open, carefully listening to the quiet around her.

Sure enough, around one o’clock in the morning, the faint gentle voice returned in her mind.

This time, perhaps due to Jiang Congyun’s protection, she could actually hear what it was saying.

“You’re tired. You should rest, let go of everything. I will help you find your happiness again.”

Chi Xin looked up, wanting to communicate with her companions, and paused.

They had indeed fallen asleep, but their eyes were no longer clear. Unlike Chi Xin, who was barely affected, they showed a look of struggle and pain under the voice’s temptation, against their own will.

“Don’t resist. Just follow me, and you’ll never be tired or sad, and go to a beautiful world.”

“You’re full of crap!” Chi Xin couldn’t help but curse. She jumped out of bed and shook the three of them hard. “Wake up! Don’t listen to him!”

However, her efforts had little effect.

Just as she anxiously considered stabbing him in the thigh, the pained expressions on the three suddenly disappeared.

Their breathing became long and smooth, seemingly breaking free from the previous state, falling into deep sleep.

Chi Xin paused. A guess formed in her mind. She cautiously called out a name: “Lou Chen?”

No response.

Chi Xin looked around. “Lou Chen, I know you’re here. I’m not mad anymore, come out.”

The moment the words left her mouth, the entire space rippled like water, and the three in front of her vanished.

Chi Xin turned, sensing something. Lou Chen was sitting on her bed, looking at her with stubborn and aggrieved eyes.

“I thought you were strong. You even ran all the way here to escape me, making it hard for me to find you,” he said dryly. “And in the end, that little healer girl, what can she do?”