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This was her first project as the lead writer—adapting a small game into an animated series.
The only reason she accepted this adaptation gig, despite her disdain for game-based projects, was the generous scriptwriting fee that came with the lead writer role. Before this, even though she was a third-rate writer with her name always listed last in the credits, she had been a bona fide film screenwriter.
The source material was an old-school, single-player game with crude graphics and a hastily designed premise. The protagonist had to survive in a water world using a raft as their primary “cheat” item. The gameplay involved drifting across the ocean, scavenging resources, upgrading the raft, and staying alive.
It was a purely infrastructure-focused game with no overarching plot, no ending, and no multiplayer options. If the protagonist died, the game restarted from scratch.
The animation adaptation was the brainchild of a new company, led by a boss who claimed the game had been his childhood dream. Now, with the resources to make it happen, he wanted to create a series with a solid narrative, compelling conflict, and high emotional stakes.
Though the animation company was small, the director and investors were demanding. They vetoed ideas left and right, forbidding her from including certain elements, pushing her to add cheats, enrich the plot, introduce more characters and conflicts, and intensify the disasters. The initial “water-world survival” concept was gradually upgraded into a more extreme, high-stakes survival saga.
She hadn’t even started writing the script, yet the outline had already undergone over two dozen revisions.
Her original vision was stuffed with countless additional plotlines suggested by the company’s boss and director, straying far from her intended narrative. As a creator, she should have walked away with her dignity intact. But as a struggling worker, she had no choice but to bow her head and comply.
In her original world, she was also an orphan, and everything she had achieved was through her own efforts. People like her didn’t have the luxury of saying “no.”
The 26th version of the outline was finally approved, and the company secured funding. Before she began writing the script, the boss took the team to a seaside restaurant for a celebratory dinner.
That evening, while walking on the beach, she picked up a beautiful message bottle—the same one that appeared in her hand after she tapped the bracelet’s bottle icon.
Having lived in this world for years, her memories of her original world had faded, feeling as distant as events from four or five years ago. She remembered them but not vividly.
However, the image of that bottle remained crystal clear. It was after she fell asleep the night she found it that she woke up in this world.
She distinctly recalled that the bottle contained the same azure-blue liquid. Back then, though, it held a simple decorative sailboat—not the “Floating Island Cabin” raft that now appeared.
Yet, her original outline never included a bracelet or a message bottle.
How had these elements come together?
The “Floating Island Cabin” was the protagonist’s opening cheat in the script. The protagonist wasn’t named Shu Fu. The boss had insisted on naming the main character himself, promising something flashy and unforgettable. However, after half a month, he still hadn’t come up with a name.
So, was the “Unsinkable Floating Island Cabin” unactivated because she wasn’t the protagonist? Or because the protagonist’s name was still undecided?
Was the most powerful cheat in this setup destined to remain inaccessible to her?
Ridiculous!
After her initial shock, Shu Fu’s first instinct was to book a flight out of the city.
The city she lived in was Suicheng, located in the southeast of Huagou. It wasn’t near the coast, with a direct distance of about 800 kilometers from the shoreline. While the location seemed reasonably safe, the problem was its average altitude—just 30 meters above sea level.
That figure offered little comfort.
However, when she opened the ticket-booking app, she found that she couldn’t purchase tickets to any destination. Every option was grayed out and unclickable.
At first, she thought it was just because she was booking too last-minute and all flights were full.
But as she checked train tickets, long-distance buses, and even ride-hailing apps, she realized the issue wasn’t with the transportation methods—it was with her.
She didn’t dwell on this eerie problem for too long. Grabbing her identification, she headed out and rented a car. Using navigation, she planned to drive out of the city herself. But every time she entered a destination, the GPS refused to calculate a route.
She tried different highway exits, inputting destinations like Suicheng Airport, train stations, and even nearby towns, but the results were the same: the destinations were either inaccessible or couldn’t be set.
Frustrated, she decided to rely on her memory, driving in what she thought was the direction out of the city. Logically, if she kept driving in one direction, she should eventually leave Suicheng.
Yet after two hours of driving around the outskirts, asking for directions, and repeatedly finding herself lost, she was still within city limits. It was as if she were trapped in a “maze curse,” unable to escape.
Finally, she abandoned the car and tried hailing a ride on the roadside. But to her dismay, the results were the same—no ride was available.
It felt as though some invisible force was preventing her from leaving Suicheng, keeping her confined to its boundaries.
She returned to the rental car, sunlight streaming through the windshield and warming her skin. Everything felt real. She vividly remembered how, years ago, she had sold her house, bought a train ticket, and dragged her luggage to this very city to attend university.
But now, she couldn’t leave this city.
Was it the city trapping her, or was it the world’s version of “Shu Fu” that was trapped?
Or perhaps the memories of her life before coming to this city were nothing more than fabricated “memories”?
She watched cars speeding towards the city limits, and a chill spread through her body. Everyone else seemed normal—only she was unable to leave.
From the morning onward, the world had become an abnormal one!
Once Shu Fu realized and accepted this unsettling truth, she abandoned her attempts to leave the city and instead began a spree of panic-buying supplies.
As Shu Fu sat in a corner of the garage, resting her chin on her hand and zoning out, her phone buzzed. The caller informed her that her order had arrived at her apartment complex.
This was the first batch of supplies she impulsively ordered after coming to terms with her situation. Thinking about her predicament and the various disasters from her script’s setting, she went on a shopping spree, finding a local water sports store online and buying a ton of gear.
She purchased everything from floating ropes, rescue buoys, buoyancy belts, quick-drying swimsuits, cold-resistant diving suits, wetsuits for water rescue, diving boots, and rescue knives.
The rescue buoys didn’t require inflation, were durable, and compact. At 170 yuan each, she bought three.
The buoyancy belts came in both automatic and manual options. They could inflate instantly, forming a lifesaving ring around the waist. Practical and reusable, she bought ten, along with 100 spare air cylinders and water-soluble tablets for recharging.
The wetsuits for water rescue were the most expensive, but paired with diving boots and rescue knives, they were usable in both shallow and deep waters. She bought three sets.
She also purchased five cold-resistant diving suits and five quick-drying swimsuits, one for warmth and the other for heat resistance.
In addition, she ordered two small, double-person inflatable boats. Though manually rowed, they featured automatic inflation, rain and wind shields, and dual inflation modes (manual and water-triggered). Extremely safe and practical, she couldn’t resist getting two.
She rounded out her haul with waterproof bags, snorkeling masks, diving respirators, portable oxygen tanks, underwater flashlights, and other tools—spending a hefty sum to quell her inner turmoil.
However, in retrospect, she realized that if the floodwaters rose enough to submerge Suicheng and survival became impossible, society would be in utter chaos, and supplies would be scarce. She wouldn’t stand a chance in a brutal post-apocalyptic world—weak, unarmed, and unskilled.
Perhaps it would be better to choose a comfortable way to die. Maybe death would even send her back to her original world.
Being a salted fish seemed more fitting for her.
Muttering to herself, Shu Fu opened the garage door and signed for the water sports equipment delivery.
Water sports gear sounded bulky, but most of it was inflatable, compact when deflated. Even the largest item—the inflatable boat—came in a portable package just over half a meter long. Altogether, her order filled eight waterproof travel bags of various sizes, easily fitting in the garage.
After storing the gear in her bracelet’s backpack space, she felt a little more at ease.
About thirty minutes later, a water station employee arrived on an electric tricycle to deliver water.
The tricycles came in two types: one for bottled water and another for boxed water. The bottled water vehicle could carry 25 barrels, while the boxed water one could handle 20 boxes. Two vehicles arrived to deliver everything she ordered.
The garage was now mostly empty except for some supermarket tissue rolls, a few large snack bags, and sacks of rice. Spotting that the second tricycle still had ten boxes of water left, she asked if she could buy those as well.
The employee, initially planning to deliver the remaining boxes elsewhere, contacted their boss for approval. After getting the green light, they unloaded the extra boxes into her garage.
Shu Fu transferred the payment, thanked the employee, and turned to look at her garage, now packed with forty boxes of purified water. Her heart felt a little steadier.
On a weekday afternoon, in an old, unmonitored apartment complex, with the sky overcast and the garage tucked away in a corner, no one noticed the activity.
She left four or five boxes of water in the garage as a decoy and stored the rest in her bracelet’s backpack space. Grabbing a few packs of tissues and two bags of snacks, she locked the garage and headed back to her apartment.
She climbed the internal stairwell in the middle of the building—six flights in total, counting the garage level.
She had just graduated this summer and had only been living here for a few months. Believing she was about to embark on an independent working life, she signed a two-year lease.
Although the complex was old, with some effort, one could find relatively well-maintained and newer units.
Landlords of such properties were usually particular, avoiding group rentals or families with complicated dynamics.
As a newly graduated female university student living alone, Shu Fu was an ideal tenant, even earning a small discount on the rent.
The apartment wasn’t large—just under 60 square meters—with a bedroom, living room, kitchen, and bathroom. It occupied the easternmost corner of the building. Outside the north-facing front door was a fully open corridor, with a railing instead of walls on the north side.
Upon entering, the space opened into an open-concept kitchen and dining area. The bathroom, to the left, had a window facing east.
A narrow bar-style dining table separated the dining area from the living room. The living room, facing south, had a small balcony enclosed with sliding glass doors. Being on a higher floor, the sunlight was excellent, making it very convenient for drying clothes. The bedroom was in the southeast corner with a south-facing window.
The entire apartment lacked cross-ventilation, as the kitchen window, a long narrow pane, was positioned beside the front door. With an outside corridor blocking natural light, the kitchen remained dim even during the day, requiring lights to be turned on. For safety, the windows were equipped with burglar bars, giving the interior a cage-like appearance.
However, the pros outweighed the cons. Compared to other buildings in the neighborhood, the higher floor provided better light for the small balcony, which was a protruding rectangular shape with a broad, open view of the surrounding area. The apartment was mostly unfurnished, and the landlord allowed her to make improvements as long as the layout remained unchanged.
Now, the walls were freshly wallpapered, and the curtains replaced. While there wasn’t much furniture, all of it had been carefully selected by her from furniture markets—brand new items bought at discounts. The apartment followed a natural, woodsy aesthetic, creating a cozy and comfortable environment.
Shu Fu had originally planned to continue furnishing the space, but now every time she stepped into this rental, it reminded her of her real home in her original world, dampening her enthusiasm instantly.
Her original home was a brand-new loft on the 20th floor, with a temperature-controlled and oxygen-regulated design, fully equipped with smart appliances controlled remotely or via voice commands. She had just paid off the mortgage…
This rental’s height was fine for the short term, but it wasn’t viable for the long term. Suicheng didn’t have many mountains; she needed to find a tall building in the city to ensure her survival.
The tallest building in Suicheng was in the commercial center, with 66 floors. Staying there might provide a longer reprieve, but she’d need to stockpile enough food and water. For now, staying in her current place was more convenient for purchasing supplies online and within the city.
The apartment felt stiflingly hot. She casually tossed the items she had carried inside into her bracelet’s backpack space, turned on the air conditioner in the living room, and took off her sun-protection clothing. Heading to the tea bar, she poured herself a glass of purified water, drank it in one gulp, and collapsed onto the sofa. She let her mind go blank in a rebellious act of relaxation until her phone buzzed with a notification about the arrival of a new batch of supplies. She got up mechanically.
All the items she ordered were delivered to her doorstep. For lighter and smaller packages, she had them dropped directly outside her door. Heavier items or bulk purchases, such as boxes of drinks, milk, coffee, tea, and coconut water, were sent to the garage, where she went to pick them up.
Over the next three to four hours, she ran up and down the stairs eight or nine times. She hadn’t realized how much she had bought until now. Aside from food, drink, and cleaning supplies, she had even purchased ten portable chargers.
By 6 p.m., the overcast sky had turned completely dark.
On her last trip to retrieve items from the garage, a heavy rain began to pour.
The storm had finally arrived. Thankfully, umbrellas were also part of her shopping spree. She retrieved a new one from her bracelet’s backpack space, locked the garage door, and turned toward the stairwell.