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

The cup of tea that Chen Jianjia was holding had long since gone cold, but she was completely unaware of it.

As a teacher who has been teaching in the Xiacheng District for many years, she has seen too many children in the Xiacheng District.

She had witnessed how, under the gazes of those who said, "You were born inferior," they gradually lowered their heads, bent their backs, and finally accepted their fate, believing in themselves, "We were born unworthy."

And at this moment, the person hiding under the guise of a "cultural scholar" is doing exactly the same thing.

He wanted to, in front of two million people, press those children, whose backs had just straightened for once because of a book and a man named Fugui, along with the still-warm tears in their eyes, back into the mud.

Chen Jianjia gently put down the cup of herbal tea.

……

To be honest, Yu Wen was a little surprised.

From that exposé post that claimed "you can't write something you haven't experienced," to the philosophical interrogations by several influential figures, and now to this suddenly appearing "cultural scholar" who spouts nonsense about the quagmire of the world, tonight, all sorts of strange and monstrous things are popping up one after another.

It was as if someone was pulling out all the stops to make him look truly humiliated in front of two million people.

What kind of questions are they asking?

Yu Wen felt a bit amused and exasperated.

Each one of them was more eccentric and more prone to rambling, starting with his legs, then his background, and finally whether he was even worthy of discussing fate.

But this time, the sentence "You exploit the suffering of the underprivileged to elicit sympathy and earn tips" made him fall silent for a moment.

Because that statement wasn't entirely wrong.

He remembered clearly how he gritted his teeth and opened the document when he first transmigrated.

There was no compassion or sympathy involved; he just wanted to live.

Using the story in his mind, he earns money, pays off his debts, and tells Yu Yin to stop risking her life at the black market sorting station.

It's not entirely unfair to say that he's making money off other people's stories.

For a moment, Yu Wen felt a little uneasy.

But feeling a bit guilty, Yu Wen couldn't hold out for more than a few seconds before he started to laugh.

Yes, he did it for money.

He transmigrated here, burdened with three million in debt and looking after a minor sister. Instead of trying to make money, was he just waiting to starve to death together?

But why he took this book out, whether the book is good or not, and whether the principles are correct, are two completely different things.

This "Upper District" official, after going through such a long and complicated process, ultimately just wanted to use the phrase "you're doing this for money" to negate the entire book "To Live," along with everyone who cried over it.

This calculation is a bit too precise.

Yu Wen's unease dissipated.

If it were someone else, being publicly confronted with such a question that transcends class distinctions and involves the gaze of two million people, they would probably panic.

Fate, differences, are we even worthy to talk about fate...?

Goodness, after wandering around all night, this "Upper District" finally showed his true skills, opening with a three-part philosophical question.

No wonder they're people standing on clouds.

Regardless of the generation, the perspective of the upper class is always different.

Those people below, criticizing him for plagiarism, criticizing him for lacking experience, keep going back and forth on whether he deserves it or not.

But this person, as soon as he opened his mouth, skipped over him and went straight to the question of fate itself, to the root of this world.

Those who think deeply see far.

Pity.

Yu Wen felt a mixture of admiration and a chill. This intelligent man, with all his skills, had ultimately used them to push two million people back into the mud, making them accept that they "deserved it."

If it were someone else, their mind would probably be blank and they'd start stuttering by now.

But he happened to know the answer to this question.

It's not that he's particularly capable.

There was a person, also confined to a wheelchair, in an ancient garden that had been neglected for many years.

A person has asked themselves countless times about life and death, the meaning of living, and "why me?"

In the end, the answers to these questions were all written down.

Thinking of this, Yu Wen suddenly felt a strange feeling that was both absurd and comforting.

I almost couldn't hold back.

You know what a mess this is.

He was an unlucky guy who had traveled from another world, carrying Yu Hua's "To Live" with him. He originally planned to finish publishing the book, make money, and raise his younger sister in peace.

As a result, he was first accused of plagiarism, then people said he lacked the experience and couldn't write it, and then they suspected that he wrote "To Live" to fool the lower classes and make money by evoking emotions...

Finally, he simply dumped all the injustices of the Upper Town, the Lower Town, and the entire world onto his face.

Each cut was more ruthless than the last.

But the most wonderful thing is that what he wrote was Yu Hua's "To Live".

In the end, when faced with these interrogations about suffering and fate, he racked his brains and could only come up with the words of Mr. Shi Tiesheng.

Yu Hua's story is about Fugui, an ordinary man who survived the repeated crushing blows of fate.

What Mr. Shi Tiesheng wrote was himself. How did a man who was confined to a wheelchair in his twenties come to understand the nature of fate little by little in that garden?

These two gentlemen were also lifelong friends.

He used to read their books and only thought the writing was good and the stories were moving.

Only when he was cornered did he truly understand the weight of this "close friend" for the first time; it turned out that they had been writing about the same thing all along.

No wonder, today he was able to use one person's book to connect with another person's words, and the connection was so seamless, like these two passages that should have been written together.

Thinking about this, it's as if everything has vanished.

Yu Wen slowly raised his lowered eyes.

He stared at the line of questions hanging at the highest point, which he thought had cornered him, and the corners of his lips curled up almost imperceptibly.

That expression didn't look like someone who was being roasted over a fire by a problem.

It's like a test-taker opening an exam paper and discovering that the final, most challenging question is one they've already answered.