1:17 AM.

The hotpot was finished. Old Zhao had drunk two bottles of beer and was stuffed into a taxi by Lu Zhixian to be sent home.

The living room lights weren't all on; only the floor lamp next to the sofa was lit.

He opened the system.

The popularity points balance jumped.

It jumped again.

He stared at the string of numbers for a few seconds, his eyebrows lifting slightly.

The champion effect of the Xiao Hua Competition was still fermenting.

"Winning the championship is useful after all," Lu Zhixian muttered to himself. "At least I don't have to be stingy with the lottery anymore."

He took a sip of ice water and scanned the system interface.

At the very bottom of the interface, something new had appeared.

A button that had never appeared before, with a dark purple border that glowed faintly.

[Advanced Entertainment Random Prize Pool]

A line of small text below: The host's popularity points have surpassed the threshold, unlocking the all-category random prize pool. The prize pool covers all fields of entertainment, including music, film and television, literature, and variety shows. Each draw consumes 12 million popularity points.

Lu Zhixian's finger hovered over the screen, pausing for two seconds.

"Film and television? Literature?"

He blinked.

He read the description again.

"Wait."

He set down his water glass and leaned forward slightly.

"Literature counts too?"

The system didn't answer. It never answered nonsense.

Lu Zhixian stared at the dark purple button, his mind racing.

He had always thought this system was specifically for music. After all, from activation until now, everything it gave him was songs, instrument skills, and music guidance talents. Although he saw the words "Entertainment King," he had subconsciously focused on "King" and didn't pay much attention to "Entertainment."

Now, this prize pool was telling him that his vision was too narrow.

Entertainment.

Not just music.

The entire entertainment industry.

Lu Zhixian leaned back against the sofa, his fingers unconsciously tapping his knee.

12 million popularity points per draw was half as much again as the 8 million for a specific category track exchange. But his current balance could handle it.

The problem was, this thing didn't let you specify a category.

It was completely random. It could be a song, a movie script, a novel, or something he didn't even recognize.

"Take a gamble?"

He asked himself.

The answer was obvious.

Since transmigrating until now, when had he ever been a coward?

His finger pressed down.

12 million popularity points were deducted.

A wheel appeared in the center of the screen.

It was different from the previous music wheel. The colors of the slots on this wheel were more varied.

The wheel began to spin.

The pointer passed a golden slot.

Another golden slot.

Lu Zhixian watched the pointer sweep past three consecutive golden slots, thinking it was likely another song. That was fine too, he could stock up on more material—

The pointer slowed down.

It slowly slid past the edge of the fourth golden slot.

The pointer almost stopped, wobbling in front of a grey-black slot.

It stopped.

Grey-black. A book icon.

A system prompt popped up.

[Congratulations to the host for obtaining the literary work reward—"to live" (Complete Content)]

[Contains: Full text, creative notes, character settings. Please choose whether to integrate immediately.]

Lu Zhixian stared at those two words on the screen.

to live.

He was stunned for about three seconds.

Not because of shock, and not because of excitement.

But because he recognized those words.

In his past life, he had read this book.

That book had made him feel miserable for an entire week.

But just like the music theory knowledge he had forgotten after transmigrating, the specific words, plot details, and character dialogues in the book had all become blurred. He only remembered a rough outline and that indescribable feeling after finishing it.

Now, the system was going to give this book back to him in its entirety.

No, not give it back.

It was stuffing it into his brain in a way he had never experienced before.

Lu Zhixian took a deep breath.

"Integrate."

Lu Zhixian sat on the sofa, motionless.

The integration ended. The entire 120,000-word content, the fate of every character, every piece of dialogue, and every scene were all clearly written in his mind, as if engraved there.

He didn't move.

The living room was very quiet. The light from the floor lamp hit his face, making his expression visible.

Lu Zhixian reached out and picked up the glass, taking a sip.

The water was no longer icy.

He sat there for a long time.

When he read this book in his past life, he was twenty-one. An age where he understood nothing and thought the world was simple. Back then, he thought the book was "tragic," felt that fate was "unfair" to Fugui, and felt a tightness in his chest after reading it.

Now he was twenty-eight. He had transmigrated once.

Starting from zero in a strange world, being terminated from his contract, being looked down upon, having only six thousand yuan in savings, and sleeping in a rented room staring at the ceiling.

And then walking step by step to where he was now.

He "read" through the words in his mind once again.

Not looking at the plot.

But looking at the sentences themselves.

They were written so cleanly. Not a single redundant word. Not a single sensationalized sentence. All the suffering was told plainly, like Fugui sitting under a tree chatting with someone, his tone calm and indifferent.

The more indifferent it was, the more it hurt.

Lu Zhixian set down the water glass, stood up, and walked to the window.

He stood there for five minutes.

Then he returned to the sofa and opened his laptop.

He opened a blank document.

The cursor blinked in the top left corner.

Lu Zhixian placed his hands on the keyboard and began to type.

He didn't just copy the text from his mind. He first typed a few lines at the top of the document, like a memo to himself:

"This book can't be rushed."

He deleted those lines and typed a new one.

"First, organize the full text. Layout, chapters. Then think clearly about how to release it."

The cursor blinked a few times.

He added another sentence.

"If this is done right, its impact will be greater than any song."

Then he closed the memo, opened another blank document, and began to output the main text from memory.

The speed was very fast. The integrated content from the system was engraved in his mind; he only needed to move the words from his brain to the screen.

Because the original text was already in the best order.

Exactly 6:00 AM.

The sky had brightened.

He leaned against the back of the chair and closed his eyes for a moment.

Then he opened them and picked up his phone.

He opened his personal social media account.

He typed a line in the input box, looked at it twice, and didn't change it.

He posted it.

"I'm planning to write a novel recently, the working title is—'to live'."

No picture. No extra words.

After posting, he threw his phone on the sofa and went to the kitchen to cook a bowl of noodles for himself.

The noodles weren't ready yet when the phone started to vibrate.

It was a call from Old Zhao.

Lu Zhixian glanced at the screen and didn't pick up.

The noodles were ready. He brought them to the living room; the phone had already vibrated eleven times. The notification sound for WeChat messages was also ringing non-stop like it was having a fit.

He set his phone to silent and lowered his head to eat his noodles.

After eating and washing the bowl, he picked up his phone again.

Old Zhao had sent thirty-seven messages.

First: "What did you post???"

Second: "Writing a novel??? Since when did you know how to write a novel???"

Third: "Lu Zhixian, call me back!!!"

The content of the following thirty-four messages was similar, the tone becoming increasingly frantic, with more and more punctuation marks.

He Zhiyuan also sent a message: "Saw your post. Are you serious?"

Lin Shiya's message was simpler, just a voice note.

Lu Zhixian tapped it.

"...Are you addicted to collecting titles?"

He gave a short laugh and didn't reply.

He put his phone down, then picked it up again and opened Weibo.

His post had been up for less than an hour, and the comments had already surpassed fifty thousand.

"??? Writing a novel? Godfather, are you serious?"

"A month ago he was playing piano and winning world championships, and now he's writing a novel. What kind of species is this guy exactly?"

"Stop fooling around. Being good at music doesn't mean your writing is any good. Aren't there enough examples of cross-industry failures?"

"Him? Writing a novel? I'm laughing."

"Wait, this name, 'to live'... what does it mean? Sounds like a tragic story."

Lu Zhixian flipped through a few pages of comments and placed his phone face down on the table.

There were a bit more voices of doubt than he had expected.

But he didn't care.

From "dispelling sorrow" to "The Bell" to the Xiao Hua Competition, every time before he did something new, the internet had this reaction. And then?

And then there was no then.

He leaned back on the sofa and glanced at the document on his laptop screen.

Fugui's entire life.

He suddenly remembered Old Zhao asking him in the car what he was "missing."

What was missing was letting more people see truly good things.

Not just hearing them.

But seeing them.

The phone vibrated again.

Old Zhao sent the thirty-eighth message.

"What genre are you going to write? Wuxia? Xuanhuan? Urban? At least give me a direction!!!"

Lu Zhixian looked at this message, thought for a moment, and replied with a few words.

"Writing a person's life."

Old Zhao's side was quiet for a full two minutes.

Then he sent a reply.

"...You're going to cause another big scene, aren't you."

Lu Zhixian didn't reply again.

He turned off his phone and reopened that document on his computer.