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

Seven o'clock in the morning, in the seventh slum of the Lower City.

Yu Wen was awakened by a slight cramping in his stomach.

He opened his eyes, stared at the peeling ceiling above him, and remained so for a while.

The fatigue in my body has lessened considerably compared to yesterday.

He didn't stay up late last night and slept soundly.

He remembered all too well the feeling of taking drugs and staying up all night for the first two days after he transmigrated.

Each time the medication wore off, my temples felt like they were being hammered with nails, and even breathing made my scalp tingle.

This body was already ruined to begin with; if he doesn't behave himself, he probably won't last much longer.

Yu Wen propped himself up and spun his wheelchair to the computer desk.

As soon as the power button was pressed and the screen lit up, a golden banner popped up from the author's backstage area.

[System notification: User "Raven and Writing Table" has gifted the game "Living" with the highest-level virtual gift—Starfire!]

Yu Wen stared at the message for a few seconds.

It's this guy again.

This is the second time.

It's still a top-tier tip, still no words are said, just the tip is given and the person leaves.

Yu Wen leaned back in his chair and subconsciously rubbed his temples.

On the earnings panel, there were over 600 more Star Coins in my account.

Over the past two days, he has gradually figured out Raven's style of doing things.

I will not urge for updates, comment, stir up trouble, or participate in the frenzy of imagining the God of War's plot.

They just watch silently and tip silently.

This method of tipping is completely different from those big spenders who constantly demand that authors "add more chapters," "write according to my ideas," or "you must give me a satisfying moment."

It's more of an attitude.

I understand, you wrote it well, I'll pay for it.

Yu Wen remained silent for a moment, then silently said thank you in his heart as he looked at the banner that had already been swept away.

It seems that even in this world where AI has overloaded our brains, there are still people who recognize true value.

A rustling sound came from the tattered foam mat in the corner.

Yu Yin sat up groggily, rubbing her eyes.

"Brother...why are you up so early?"

"Just woke up."

Yu Wen smiled.

"You're up so early too?"

"Um... I have to go to school now."

The little girl yawned and ran barefoot to the sink, stepping on the cold cement floor.

She wiped her face with the precious filtered water, then skillfully walked to the rusty induction cooker, squatted down, and reached for the industrial starch blocks in the cabinet.

That thing is the minimum survival supplies that the Federation provides free of charge per person every month.

It's free, but it tastes like chewing on damp cardboard.

"I'll go heat up some porridge and eat it."

"Yinyin."

Yu Wen called out to her.

"Um?"

The lingering sound echoed back.

Yu Wen took the black offline prepaid card out of the drawer and handed it over.

"No need for porridge today."

"Take this and go to that breakfast stall on the corner. Buy something decent to eat."

Yu Yin was stunned for a moment.

She squatted down by the induction cooker, not immediately taking the card, but instead looking at the card in her brother's hand with a slightly hesitant expression.

"Brother...no need, right?"

"Um?"

"I'm used to eating porridge."

Yu Yin stood up and tugged at the cuffs of her oversized coat.

"A proper breakfast at a breakfast stall, even the cheapest synthetic bun, would cost three or four star coins, right?"

"Keep that money to buy you medicine."

The little girl spoke very seriously.

"Uncle Blind's intermediate-level nerve blocker costs over two hundred yuan per vial."

"I'm used to eating porridge, really, anyway, it's free."

"I've been eating this for so many years, and I've gotten through it all."

Yu Wen looked at her.

He knew perfectly well how this girl had lived her life since she was a child when he merged her memories.

What does it mean to be "used to eating porridge"?

They were so poor that they had no choice but to force the word "used to" into their minds.

Yu Wen sighed and handed the card forward again.

"Yinyin, listen to your brother."

"I've been writing a book these past few days and have earned a little money."

"Not much, but more than enough to buy breakfast."

Yu Yin blinked.

"……real?"

"Um."

Yu Wen nodded.

"Have you forgotten what I told you last time? My article got picked up by a small platform."

"I've received some new royalties these past couple of days."

"Not much, but..."

He paused, looked at his sister's pale face, and slightly adjusted the second half of his sentence.

"That'll be enough for the two of us for a while, so we don't have to worry about the porridge every day anymore."

Yu Yin looked at him with a mixture of belief and doubt.

"Well... we can't just spend it recklessly."

"Brother, that potion of yours is so important."

"What if I take something good and then you can't afford the medicine later?"

Yu Wen almost burst out laughing.

This girl is even more considerate than her older brother when it comes to caring for people.

"rest assured."

Yu Wen reached out and stuffed the card into her small hand.

"I still have several hundred star coins in my card; I won't need to spend much this morning."

"When you come back tonight, let's go to Uncle Xia's again and buy two more vials of medicine."

"I have enough money in my card."

Yu Yin held the card tightly, still feeling a little uneasy.

She raised her head and looked up at Yu Wen.

"Brother...you're not lying to me, are you?"

Why would I lie to you?

Yu Wen tapped her forehead.

"Today at the breakfast stall, I'll buy a steamed bun and a cup of soy milk."

"obedient."

Upon hearing the words "synthetic buns," Yu Yin swallowed hard.

How long has it been since she ate anything from a breakfast stall?

I think I bought it once when I was seven or eight years old, when my dad was still alive, on Chinese New Year.

The little girl clutched the card, hesitated for several seconds, and finally nodded.

"Then...then I'll buy one."

"Just one!"

She emphasized this point.

"Save the rest of the money to buy medicine tonight!"

"OK."

Yu Wen smiled and agreed.

"I'll listen to you."

Only then did Yu Yin feel relieved enough to stuff the card into the inside pocket of her coat, covering it tightly, and then slung the tattered backpack sewn from scrap waterproof fabric over her shoulder.

As she reached the door, she looked back one last time.

"Brother, I'm going to school now."

"Okay, be careful on the road."

"Focus on your studies during the day and don't overwork yourself."

"knew."

I'll cook for you when I get home tonight!

"good."

The metal door slammed shut with a click.

As Yu Wen listened to his sister's footsteps gradually fade away, he leaned back in his wheelchair and let out a soft sigh.

He pulled out the last legitimate intermediate-level nerve blocker from the drawer, along with a half-finished vial of high-purity synthetic protein solution.

Drink the protein solution first.

The long-lost aroma of fat slid down my throat, easing the cramping in my stomach.

Next comes the blocking agent.

The cool liquid went down my esophagus, and a few seconds later, the nerve deep in my temple that was throbbing was gently pressed down.

The feeling of utter weakness and exhaustion in my body was replaced by a restrained clarity.

Yu Wen moved his wrists, and his knuckles made a few soft cracking sounds.

He opened the local archived document.

I didn't stay up late last night, but before going to bed, I still took advantage of my clear mind to go through the content I needed to update today.

The draft box contains six thousand words that I prepared in advance last night.

The plot has now progressed to the part after Fugui was conscripted into the army.

Fugui met Lao Quan and Chunsheng in the artillery company.

Old Quan was a seasoned veteran; he taught him how to survive in a pile of corpses and how to listen to the direction of bullets.

Chunsheng was a teenage soldier, as thin as a stick. He slept in the same quilt as Fugui and would cry for his mother in the middle of the night.

When the siege began, thousands of wounded soldiers were freezing and starving in the snow, wailing all night long.

By daybreak, the wailing had lessened by half.

By the next morning, half of it was gone again.

Fugui and Chunsheng huddled in the bomb crater and survived by eating dry rations from the dead.

The night Lao Quan died, a bullet pierced his neck.

Before he died, he didn't utter any grand words, he only said one sentence to Fugui:

"Damn it, I don't want to die here."

Then there was silence.

Yu Wen checked the six thousand words and found no typos.

He copied and pasted this paragraph into the update box of Weiguang Literature and clicked publish.

"Click."

Page refreshed.

[The novel "Living" has been updated. Current total word count: 36000 words. This update contains 6000 words.]

After doing all this, Yu Wen stretched his neck.

He straightened the battle-damaged 2D camera that was tied to the water pipe, adjusted the angle, and made sure the lens just framed his hands and the badly worn mechanical keyboard.

Then, he opened the Douyang live streaming app and pressed the "Start Streaming" button.

The live stream title still displays that same line:

[Without relying on any brain-computer interface AI, a live recording of the ancient method of typing—the scene of today's update of "To Live".]

"Click."

"Crackling and popping—"

A crisp, unadulterated sound of physical collision rang out again in the basement.

Yu Wen's hands flew across the keyboard.

New chapters, slowly, line by line, unfold.

Number of viewers in the live stream: 0.

It just started airing.

But he didn't care.

Just keep writing.