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

With a goal in mind, Yu Wen immediately took action.

In the year 2077 of the astrological calendar, "Douyin," as the short video and live streaming platform with the largest traffic on the entire network, has long since popularized 3D holographic immersive live streaming.

Live streaming in this era is an extremely extravagant visual extravaganza.

When viewers click into the live stream, their consciousness projections will directly "land" in the three-dimensional space constructed by the streamer.

Therefore, anchors can no longer dress up only their upper bodies in front of the camera like ancient humans. Instead, they must be flawless from head to toe, because the audience's holographic perspective may circle around to their back at any time, or even squat on the ground and look up.

They don't need to sit in front of a computer; instead, they load expensive "virtual scene cards" through a brain-computer interface—one second they're dancing in a zero-gravity cyberpunk bar, and the next they can switch to an elven forest and interact with virtual mythical beasts.

In this era, if you're still doing 2D live streaming, it only means three things:

Footage from drones scouting heavily irradiated areas, videos of illegal black markets in the downtown area, or extremely niche retro morbid curiosity.

For cyberpunk viewers accustomed to 360-degree panoramic views, 2D visuals feel like being forcibly crammed into a narrow, flat box, causing severe visual oppression and claustrophobia.

However, Yu Wen simply couldn't afford the expensive 3D holographic capture probe.

He found a war-damaged 2D camera in the junkyard, probably decades old, used to monitor the sewers. He tied it tightly to the water pipe with rusty wire, and pointed the lens vertically at the old computer desk and mechanical keyboard.

Live Stream Title: [Without Relying on Any Brain-Computer AI, Ancient Typing Methods Revealed – Live Update of Today's "To Live" Series]

After doing all this, Yu Wen did not immediately click to start the broadcast, but stopped.

He opened the drawer and took out the last nerve blocker.

Trying to replicate and carry the weighty literature of "To Live" with the human brain alone, without relying on large AI models, is still a near-suicidal mental overdraft for this severely malnourished body.

If he doesn't take medication to forcibly block the pain receptors, he won't even be able to finish typing a thousand words before he goes into shock.

Yu Wen gritted his teeth, tilted his head back, and drank the medicine in one gulp.

The cold liquid slid down the esophagus into the stomach, and a few seconds later, a strong numbing sensation rushed to the cerebral cortex, forcibly freezing the nerve endings that were throbbing with pain.

Yu Wen took a deep breath, a sickly flush appearing on his pale face.

"call--"

He exhaled a breath of stale air and clicked "Start Live Stream".

The screen lights up in the upper right corner. Number of online users: 0.

Ten minutes passed, and the number of participants remained stubbornly at "0".

On Douyin, where algorithms determine everything, a 2D flat image with snow-like noise will be directly judged as "visual waste" by the underlying logic and relegated to the back burner, with no chance of any natural recommendation traffic.

Occasionally, one or two random people might accidentally wander in due to an algorithm glitch.

[Visitor 9527]: Holy crap, what kind of garbage 2D graphics is this? It's so laggy it's giving me holographic retina cramps! I'm going blind!

[Cyber ​​Street Wanderer]: Is the streamer a caveman living in the sewers? He can't even afford a holographic probe, what's he doing streaming? What bad luck!

They couldn't even last five seconds before cursing and leaving, bringing the number of people back to zero.

Yu Wen didn't care at all.

The drug had fully taken effect. He focused his mind and, with his hands like two precise mechanical arms, landed heavily on the shiny keycaps.

"Click".

"Crackling and popping—"

The crisp, harsh, and unfiltered sounds of physical striking echoed densely in the small, dimly lit basement.

An hour later, Yu Wen, extremely focused, finished typing his four thousand words for the day.

He stopped, his fingers trembling slightly from the intense muscle exertion.

Glancing at the still empty live stream room, Yu Wen twitched the corner of his mouth, switched the screen, and opened the author backend of "Weiguang Literature".

Since the platform won't give him streaming access, he'll find his own people to help him.

He clicked publish on the four thousand words he had just typed, and added a very straightforward sentence in the "Author's Note":

[Author's note: Today's update. Also, some people were curious yesterday if I really didn't use any AI at all. Douyin live stream room number: XXXXX. If you want to see how this "living fossil" types with his fingers, come and watch. The graphics are a bit poor, it's 2D.]

……

At this moment, in the Hengwen Apartments in the third residential area.

Zhou Mingxuan (Mingming Ruyue) was frantically refreshing the page while absorbing the synthetic nutrient solution.

"bite--"

When the notification sound for a special update rang, he perked up and immediately clicked on it.

After reading this short but still gripping 4,000-word text, he was about to go to the comments section to continue his prediction of "The God of War Returns" when he glanced at the author's comments below.

"Douyang's Livestream? A Real-Life Record of Ancient Physical Typing Techniques?"

Zhou Mingxuan was stunned.

As a seasoned bookworm with 15000 hours of reading experience, his curiosity, which had been piqued by the plot, was instantly diverted.

"I'd like to see who you really are, daring to be so arrogant!"

Without hesitation, he copied the room number, switched to the Douyin platform, and entered the live stream.

The moment he entered, Zhou Mingxuan, who was used to a 360-degree holographic view, felt a sudden darkness before his eyes, as his field of vision was forcibly compressed into a flat rectangular frame.

The extremely outdated 2D graphics gave him a slight feeling of dizziness that made him want to vomit.

The screen showed 5 people online. These were clearly readers who had just followed the novel's link to the site.

Despite the extreme visual discomfort, Zhou Mingxuan stared intently at the crudely captured image.

In the very center of the image, there is no face, only a pair of hands with distinct knuckles, which even appear somewhat malnourished.

The hands were hovering above a strange, scratched mechanical device—he'd seen it in the archives before; it was called a "keyboard."

As if sensing that a few target viewers had finally entered the live stream, the hands that had been still in the frame started moving again.

"Click".

"Crackling and popping—"

The moment those raw, brutal key sounds, full of the real physical impact of the buttons, crashed into Zhou Mingxuan's ears without any embellishment, through the audio channel.

Watching those ten fingers dance wildly on the plastic keys, each exertion accompanied by the real contraction and trembling of muscles, this self-proclaimed bookworm who had seen through all the illusions of the cybernetic world was so engrossed that he didn't even notice the nutrient solution straw falling out of his mouth.

The chat area in the lower left corner of the live stream was quiet for a while before a few scattered messages started to appear.

It wasn't because they were too shocked to speak, but because these readers who followed the link were genuinely curious about observing this extremely ancient and inefficient method of production.

【ID明明如月】: Really, they don't connect any brain-computer interface at all? Not even the most basic spelling prediction module? That's incredibly inefficient.

【Cat in the ID Tin Box】: But the sound of these purely mechanical switches is a bit addictive... it just makes my wrists sore. If you just type with your fingers, your hourly wage wouldn't even be enough to buy the lowest grade of nutritional supplements, right?

[ID Cyber ​​Worker]: No wonder he only updates 4,000 words a day, it turns out it's all hand-polished. But to be honest, watching these hands type out Fugui's misfortunes word by word is definitely more satisfying than watching AI generate 100,000 words in a second.

Zhou Mingxuan watched the hands rising and falling steadily on the screen, his fingers gently rubbing his chin.

Instead of spamming the chat like he usually does when watching those borderline live streams, he became unusually quiet.

In an era where AI-generated writing is rampant and readers are eager to cram all their emotions into canned fast food, this slow, clumsy, and even physically resistant writing style surprisingly resonates with the rough and oppressive texture of the text in "To Live."

Yu Wen, who was in the video, didn't pay any attention to what the comments were saying.

All his energy was focused on the words in his fingertips and mind.

He stopped moving only when the effects of the intermediate-level nerve blocker began to wear off and the familiar pricking sensation deep in his spine and legs surged up again.

"Click."

Yu Wen typed the last period.

He took a slight breath, his sweaty hands leaving the keyboard. He didn't interact with the chat, nor did he solicit donations or attention like other streamers. He simply and calmly gripped the mouse and clicked the "X" in the upper right corner.

"Live stream has ended."

The black screen appeared abruptly. Without any preamble, it was as clean and efficient as an old machine that had completed its instructions and simply cut off its power.