I asked you to write a light novel, but you wrote about living?

Douyang's live stream room.

The screen was filled with comments like "I cried," "tears welled up," and "deified," almost completely sealing the fate of this controversy.

Just then, a new comment was pushed to the center of everyone's view by someone with the highest authority.

The account that posted the message, in the verification section, reads: "Shangcheng District - Senior Cultural Scholar".

The moment those words were uttered, the live stream went silent.

In this hierarchical, folded city, the name "Upper District" carries an air of superiority.

The story Teacher Yu just told was very touching.

The comment was written in a polite tone, conveying a sense of superiority yet also a courteous sincerity.

[You said that it was those who loved Fugui and whom he remembered that gave him meaning in life. That's a beautiful answer, and I agree.]

But another question lingers in my mind. What you just answered was "the meaning of Fugui's life." What I want to ask is, going a step further, why is it that Fugui, of all people, has to suffer all of this?

Throughout his life, his father, mother, son, daughter, wife, son-in-law, and even his last grandson, all passed away before him. In the end, only an old man remained, leading an old ox, enduring the hardships of life on the edge of the field.

You said it was love that kept him going. But why did this pain—the pain of being stripped bare of everything, the pain that only love can withstand—fall on Fugui's head?

The scrolling of the comments slowed down again.

But what that account said next truly revealed its sharp edge.

Let me be frank. I was born in the Upper City District, with the cleanest genes in the world—free from disease, disaster, and hunger. The books I've read, the education I've received, and the world I've seen are things that someone like Fugui could never achieve in a lifetime.

Fate determined everything the moment we were born: I'm in the clouds, you're in the mud. It has nothing to do with effort or character. It never intended to be fair from the start.

The live stream room was eerily quiet.

Those audience members from the Lower District who had just been shedding tears for Yu Wen were stirred by these words to a complex mix of emotions: anger, discomfort, and a sense of humiliation, as if their underwear had been exposed in public, leaving them speechless.

Because what this person said is true.

It's a fact that everyone in the Lower City knows but never dares to say aloud in this folded cyber city.

So, what I really want to ask Professor Yu is...

Your story just now answered the question of "meaning," but my question now is about "intentions."

You transformed Fugui's desperate surrender into a deeply moving testament to "tenacity," moving two million people to tears.

In my opinion, that's not resilience at all. A person born at the very bottom, powerless to even resist, isn't "living resiliently"; he's simply resigned to his fate.

[And what is the purpose of your book, *To Live*? It is to coat this resignation with a layer of gold called "resilience," weave it into one tear-jerking story after another, and then tell it to those at the bottom of society, telling them, "Look, your suffering has meaning, your endurance has dignity, and this is how you should live."]

This isn't literature; it's just giving you lowly folks a cheap dose of comfort food, so that while you're being crushed by fate, you can still tearfully tell yourself, "I'm resilient," and then willingly continue to accept your fate.

And you, by selling this cheap sentimentality, earn their tears, their donations, and elevate yourself to the status of a god in their eyes.

The comments section is completely chaotic.

But that account still didn't seem to be enough:

[So I really want to ask, Yu Huashi, when you wrote "To Live," were you truly showing compassion for these people at the bottom of society, or were you simply fooling them?]

[You people from the lower district, as you cry your hearts out, have you ever considered that what you're moved and grateful for might actually be the very person who treats your resignation as a commodity, selling it back to you for show?]

This sentence was like a needle, precisely piercing the hearts of every audience member in the Lower City area.

The live stream chat exploded!

Holy crap... that's so hurtful, it left me speechless for a while.

Wait, I was crying so hard just now... what was I crying about? Was I being taken for a fool?

[Seriously, is "To Live" just trying to trick us into being moved? I'm starting to believe it...]

He's trying to sow discord! This is divisive! But I... I can't refute him for a moment.

[Professor Yu, please say something! What was your purpose in writing "To Live"?]

That question, along with the sudden wavering of self-doubt that swept through two million people, pressed down on the young man sitting in the rusty wheelchair in that beam of cold light.

He could simply say "it's none of my business" and gently brush the question aside.

But behind him are two million people who, like him, were born at the bottom of the valley. They were just shedding tears for Fugui, but now a single sentence forces them to doubt whether their tears were a joke.

And there was Yu Yin, who was also born in the downtown area and was huddled next to him.

If he hides, it's tantamount to admitting that their tears were a lie and that their lives deserved to be trampled on like this.

……

Upper City, Eden Floating Island.

Lu Chenyuan leaned back in the flexible smart sofa, his fingertips holding a glass of glacial water that had long since lost its temperature.

He looked at the screen full of comments that had become flustered and wavering again because of his words, and a very faint smile appeared on his lips.

"Speak."

He gazed at the calm face on the screen:

"Let me see how you answer."

How would you answer that?