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

Besides urging for more updates and discussing the plot, many people in the comments section started spamming and stirring up trouble:

[ID Cyber ​​Scavenger]: [Author, please create a holographic reader group! So many questions can't be answered clearly in the comments section alone. Let's join the group to discuss and explore future developments!]

【ID: Rampage Mechanical Arm】: 【Yeah! Let's start a group! I want to ask you face-to-face, what kind of cheat code is buried under those five acres of barren land! Create a group! We need to create a group!】

Looking at these impassioned appeals, Yu Wen couldn't help but roll his eyes, somewhat speechless.

To create a group chat? What would we be discussing?

The story goes that Fu Gui is about to go into a pile of dead bodies to snatch a broken shoe, and after barely surviving, he returns home to find that his daughter has developed a high fever and become deaf and mute.

He had no doubt that if he created the group now, these crazy readers, who were tormented by the frustrating plot and were now dreaming of the "return of the God of War," would definitely crawl over through the internet and tear him apart.

Moreover, although the book has generated some buzz due to a few negative reviews and the "Shennong" expert's speculations, the actual number of readers who stay to read it is still too small.

Creating a group now is pointless except for being used as a one-sided outlet for frustration.

He decisively ignored the suggestion to create a group and turned his attention back to the author's backend earnings interface.

Looking at the golden icon representing the [Starfire], Yu Wen's pale face finally showed a trace of genuine excitement, and even his breathing became slightly rapid.

That's a whole thousand Star Coins!

Although the Weiguang platform, as the channel provider, is required to take one-third of the transaction fee according to the ironclad rules of the cyber era, the remaining two-thirds still end up in his hands, amounting to nearly 660 star coins!

There's a lot to say!

You should know that the original owner toiled day and night like a cyber laborer for several years in this monopolized online novel circle, writing countless tens of thousands of words of industrial waste in conjunction with the large model. As a result, when faced with an exorbitant breach of contract penalty, he emptied his pockets and couldn't even come up with three hundred star coins!

Now, with just 24,000 words of "Living," not even a fraction of the outline, he has already earned more money than the original owner could save in several years.

Although these six hundred star coins are still a drop in the bucket compared to the mountain of three million in breach of contract penalties.

But this money perfectly solved Yu Wen's most pressing and critical problem.

He's finally rich!

With this money, he no longer needs to drink those low-quality nerve-blocking solutions that drain his life and cause excruciating headaches.

Those medications with side effects aren't cheap either; they're essentially a case of drinking poison to quench thirst.

Now, he could easily go to a reputable cyber pharmacy and buy a few bottles of truly gentle, side-effect-free "energizing and refreshing nutritional supplements" to support his broken body in carrying out high-intensity mental exertion and typing.

Thinking of this, Yu Wen immediately clicked the "Withdraw Earnings" button in the backend.

"drop--"

With a crisp, pleasant electronic tone, a notification of the funds arriving in my personal account immediately popped up on the edge of my retina:

[Microlight Settlement Center: 666.6 Star Coins have been transferred to your personal account ending in 0932. Current balance: 668.1 Star Coins.]

Watching the numbers jump up and down, Yu Wen let out a long breath, his tense nerves finally relaxing.

In this messed-up star calendar year 2077, technological advancements have brought about brutal class solidification and cold, hard suppression of computing power. But there is one advantage that Yu Wen finds extremely useful at this time—the absolute efficiency brought by AI's ultra-high computing power.

Here, tipping income is settled in real time and credited to your account instantly.

There's no need to wait anxiously for next month's settlement date, nor to go through cumbersome financial procedures.

As soon as a reader spends money, the AI ​​brain can instantly complete tax deductions and profit sharing calculations, and the next second that money can become the real purchasing power in your account to buy life-saving drugs.

"The benefits of this technology are truly tangible..."

Yu Wen closed the background app, feeling the long-lost sense of security brought by the more than 600 star coins in his account.

He glanced at Yu Yin, who was fast asleep in the corner, and finally found a moment of real respite between the undercurrent of online revelry and the reality of the basement.

Yu Wen leaned back in his cold wheelchair, his gaze unconsciously sweeping over the comment he had just ignored:

[Let's start a holographic live stream! I want to see how humans used to type!]

When Yu Wen first saw this comment, he thought it was just a rich kid from Shangcheng District having a frivolous idea.

But now, looking at the more than 600 star coins that had just been deposited into his account, a thoughtful glint suddenly flashed in his eyes.

Live streaming "traditional typing methods"... seems like it has potential?

He is now paralyzed in both legs and confined to this dark and damp basement every day. Apart from the dilapidated computer he has assembled in front of him, he has no other way to earn star coins.

The three million yuan penalty for breach of contract was like a high-frequency particle knife hanging over his carotid artery; he had to make use of every resource that could be converted into cash.

Yu Wen had some knowledge of the live streaming industry in his previous life, and after merging with the original owner's memories, he became even more aware of the extremely distorted, yet enormous, market demand in this cyber era.

In the year 2077, technology has reached its pinnacle.

The holographic simulation technology brought about by brain-computer interfaces can perfectly replicate the five senses.

If you have the money, in a virtual pod you can experience surfing on the edge of a supernova explosion, spend your life with a flawless AI companion, and even experience what it's like to become a god and create a universe.

Strangely, when "virtual" has become so perfect and readily available, "real" has become the most expensive luxury.

Human nature is so perverse, and so nostalgic.

No matter how advanced technology becomes, once people get tired of the perfect illusions generated by AI models in a second, a large number of people will fall into emptiness and frantically pursue a rough and flawed sense of "realism".

In this era of holographic networks, the top streamers with the highest traffic are not the masters who play top-notch virtual games, but the desperados who venture into heavily irradiated areas for "real wilderness survival"; or the "real extreme explorers" who climb urban skyscrapers without using aircraft, relying solely on their physical bodies.

These live streams, which showcase the fragility of the human body and confront the harsh realities of life, consistently top the charts in terms of online viewership.

Because the rich love to see blood, sweat, and real, heavy breathing—emotional value that no perfect AI code can replace.

"Since they like reality..."

Yu Wen looked down at his pale, slender fingers, then at the worn-out mechanical keyboard in front of him, its keycaps covered in grease.

In an era where even the poorest people are accustomed to using voice input or cheap brainwave-to-text conversion, using ten fingers on a plastic board called a "keyboard," accompanied by the "click-clack" of mechanical physical collisions, one letter at a time, to type out hundreds of thousands of words...

Is this an extremely rare form of "reality"? Is this a kind of endangered "ancient human performance art"?

"I guess so."

Yu Wen's lips curled into a meaningful smile.

For the audience in the upper city, his current state—sitting in a musty basement, using wasteland-era electronic antiques, creating a traditional literary work that even AI couldn't write by simply tapping physical buttons—is just as intriguing and entertaining as watching primitive people make fire by friction!

This will not only open up a completely new source of Star Coin revenue, but also tell everyone in the most direct and impactful way:

The masterpiece "To Live" was written without any AI algorithms; every word is a crystallization of the collision between the human soul and the physical keyboard.

With that thought in mind, Yu Wen no longer hesitated.

He dragged the mouse and began searching through the old computer for the live streaming software that the original owner had abandoned.