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

After typing a section, Yu Wen stopped and stretched his wrists.

He glanced at the live stream data in the upper right corner: [Number of online viewers: 0].

There were two people watching when the show first started, but they probably got bored and quit one by one.

That's normal; he knows what the live stream looks like during the day.

The laborers in the lower district are currently being exploited by robotic arms in the factory, the white-collar workers in the middle district are being chased by KPIs in their offices, and the people in the upper district are doing all sorts of fancy things.

Who would go to work during the day to watch a pair of hands typing on a keyboard in a crappy 2D live stream?

It's normal that there's no one there.

Yu Wen stretched his shoulders, put his hands back on the keyboard, and continued writing.

……

Study room on the third floor of the School of Narrative Languages ​​at Weiming Academy.

Lin Wan, Lu Zhao, Cheng Shuqiao, and Jiang Ci all clicked on the live stream link at the same time.

A rough 2D image popped up in the retinal projection.

In the very center of the image, a pair of well-defined hands hang above a badly worn mechanical keyboard.

The number of online users below jumped from [0] to [4] in a flash.

None of the four noticed this detail; their attention was entirely on those hands.

"Click".

"Crackling and popping—"

The crisp, unadulterated sound of physical collision, without any electronic embellishment, traveled into the study room along with the audio.

The study room was silent for a few seconds.

"This...this is really typing on a keyboard."

Lin Wan spoke first, her voice tinged with disbelief, "It wasn't recorded, was it?"

"It wasn't recorded."

Cheng Shuqiao's gaze never left the screen. "You see, when he makes a mistake, he presses the backspace key. Recorded videos don't retain these details; this is real-time."

Lu Zhao swallowed hard. "I've lived for twenty-five years, and this is the first time I've ever seen someone actually type on a keyboard with their hands."

Jiang Ci's attention was drawn to something else in the picture: the environment around those hands.

The camera shot from above, showing a corner of the table, a corner of the keyboard, and a section of the wall that is faintly visible beyond the edge of the table.

The gray in the corner is the color of exposed cement.

The edges of the table were worn black, indicating it had been used for at least a decade.

Near the edge of the lens, a rusty metal pipe can be vaguely seen emerging from the wall.

"This is the Lower City area," Jiang Ci said slowly.

Lin Wan was taken aback. "...What?"

"Lower District".

Jiang Ci repeated, "Exposed cement walls, rusty pipes, and old tables worn down like this—this kind of environment wouldn't exist in the central district, let alone the upper district. This is the living environment of the lowest rungs of the lower district."

Lu Zhao was somewhat surprised. "You mean... this author is from the Lower City?"

Jiang Ci watched the hands flying across the keyboard, "And they must be pretty poor, so poor that... they can't even afford a holographic camera."

Lin Wan subconsciously zoomed in on the image and examined it closely.

The camera's angle was fixed, and the image quality was poor; it was clearly some kind of old-fashioned 2D surveillance camera.

"……real."

She said softly, "Any convenience store in the Midtown area has better picture quality than this. This is the real Downtown area."

The people in the study room remained silent for several seconds.

They were just discussing the book's language, style, and descriptive techniques when they suddenly realized that the author lived in a place where they couldn't even afford a decent security camera.

Lu Zhao sighed softly. "I'm a little unsure what to say. We were just sitting in the constant-temperature study room, drinking hot tea, discussing his 'pre-civilizational speculative system,' and he..." He paused, "...was in a place like that..."

Lin Wan suddenly felt that the steaming cup of tea in her hand was a little too hot.

"Don't just watch,"

Jiang Ci snapped out of her daze. "We can ask him."

Lin Wan hesitated for a moment, "...Is this appropriate? Won't our sudden appearance disturb his writing?"

Lu Zhao chuckled. "Junior Sister Lin, look at the number of viewers online. The four of us are his entire audience. If we don't say anything, it's like the live stream isn't even open."

[Number of online users: 4]

Lin Wan suddenly felt a pang of sadness.

Jiang Ci was already typing.

She thought for a moment, and finally typed only one sentence:

[Xin Yi: Hello author, I've just finished reading all the currently updated chapters.]

Lu Zhao also typed.

He originally wanted to ask, "Author, did you have a brain fart when you wrote this book?", but after some consideration, he wrote instead:

[The Unread Salty Fish: The writing style is very interesting, but the plot is really, how should I put it, quite depressing. I felt suffocated after reading it.]

Lin Wan also asked:

[Late Breeze: Will the male lead really return as the God of War? The comments section is full of speculation that he's about to awaken his powers.]

Cheng Shuqiao thought about it carefully, and finally typed out a more specific question:

[Reader: Author, in your preface, the sentence "A true writer always writes only for the heart," is that your own thought or a quote?]

Four comments scrolled across the screen one after another.