In the early hours of the morning, the night in An Province was deep and heavy, like a sea thoroughly soaked in ink.
A large portion of the capital city's neon lights had dimmed, leaving the streetlights on the main roads to stretch out in a continuous line of cold white light.
In the alleys of the old town, late-night food stalls were crowded with people.
The sound of clacking keyboards filled the internet cafes, and lights flickered in the rented rooms of the urban villages.
In the corridors outside the ICU and inpatient departments of the oncology hospital, the green emergency exit signs glowed softly.
In the mountains hundreds of kilometers away, there seemed to be only the chirping of insects and the soughing of wind through the pines.
The suppressed emotions of the day welled up and spread along with the darkness of the deep night.
In countless short videos, the people on screen were glamorous and radiant. They easily spent millions, dined on nothing but delicacies, and traveled in luxury cars.
Tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands—it all seemed to be just numbers to them.
Gorgeous streamers complained about appearance anxiety to the camera, big eaters stuffed themselves and swallowed food over and over, and travel bloggers happily shared which countries they had visited next...
Beyond the lens lay anxiety, envy, resentment, desire, hatred, and confusion...
These emotions were like silt resting at the bottom of a lake, stirred up and churning.
An invisible net was silently falling along the wireless network.
...
...
In the third-floor ICU corridor of the inpatient department at the An Province First Hospital, the smell of disinfectant seemed impossible to wash away.
Zhou Hui sat on a hard plastic chair, her buttocks having long since gone numb.
It was already the eighth day since her daughter, Xiao Xin, had been admitted to the ICU with acute leukemia.
The payment slip in her hand was crumpled, its edges frayed from her constant rubbing.
The figure “650,000” was like a red-hot needle, pricking her eyes with pain.
To earn money for their daughter's surgery, her husband had broken his leg at a construction site and was now lying in a hospital in their hometown's county seat.
The family's savings had long been drained, and they had already borrowed from relatives three times.
Everything that could be sold had been sold, including their old, cramped apartment in the county seat. Yet, they were still short by 170,000 yuan.
And this didn't even include the follow-up expenses.
Just moments ago, the doctor on duty had come out, his tone sympathetic but helpless: if they couldn't raise the money soon, the hospital would have to stop her daughter's targeted medication tomorrow.
Zhou Hui sniffled and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
Inside the wards and along the corridors, the families of other patients had set up makeshift beds on the floor. Every face was shrouded in a persistent layer of numbness.
Zhou Hui pulled out her old phone from her pocket and scrolled through her contacts over and over again.
The Waterdrop Crowdfunding page was open on her screen. The forty-seven thousand yuan raised was a mere drop in the bucket compared to the surgery fee of over six hundred thousand.
The phone shook slightly, and an advertisement from a livestreaming platform immediately seized the opportunity to pop up.
In the livestream, a glamorously dressed celebrity wearing bright lipstick was enthusiastically promoting a product:
“...My family, this Indonesian golden thread blood bird's nest is something I eat regularly. It's incredibly nourishing. As women age, we lose collagen quickly, so we really need to eat more bird's nest to replenish it...
One box is a single day's portion. It's perfectly fine to eat it as a little dessert... Today's price is also extremely reasonable. For just 1,399, you can take this luxury set home...
I saw someone asking earlier if over a thousand is too expensive. Let me tell you, sisters, no, absolutely not. A thousand yuan isn't expensive at all—
It's not even enough for a meal out. It's just the price of a few pairs of socks, or what you'd spend on a single breakfast...”
Zhou Hui stared blankly at the female celebrity, who was about her own age, as a wave of helplessness washed over her.
To this day, she still couldn't understand how rich people made so much money.
How could one thousand or ten thousand yuan not even count as money to them?
The night outside the window was pitch black, and the streetlights below the inpatient building cast a dim, yellow glow.
Zhou Hui's eyes went blank as she stared at the box of bird's nest, which was being hyped up to the heavens as if its effects could rival the Queen Mother of the West's Peaches of Immortality.
If only... if only she could conjure up hundreds of thousands of yuan out of thin air.
The moment this thought surfaced, the phone in her hand suddenly buzzed with a vibration. In the next second, the livestream page automatically redirected.
A dark, pitch-black livestream room appeared right before Zhou Hui's eyes.
...
...
...
In the office of an abandoned textile factory in the south of the city, nearly thirty cigarette butts were piled up at Lin Jianguo's feet.
The smell of alcohol mixed with mold, making the air in the sealed room unbearably foul.
Six months ago, his childhood friend had asked Lin Jianguo to act as a guarantor, saying he just needed a signature and would repay the loan in three months at most.
Cherishing their lifelong friendship, Lin Jianguo had signed without a second thought.
In the end, the man fled with forty million yuan in payments, leaving a complete mess behind for him.
Loan sharks came knocking, and the court seized the factory.
His wife and child had been driven by the debt collectors to move back to her parents' home, and she was adamant about getting a divorce.
Just yesterday, the debt collectors had splashed red paint on the factory gates: “Debts must be paid; it is the law of heaven and earth.”
Even the address of Lin Jianguo's parents in his hometown had been dug up, and threatening text messages arrived one after another.
From verbal threats to posting his daughter's school address, every single word was pushing Lin Jianguo toward suicide.
By now, how could he not know that this had been a trap set by his “good brother” and his accomplices from the very beginning?
They were clearly after his factory.
Lin Jianguo picked up the fruit knife on the desk, lined it up against his wrist, and then put it down in despair.
“Dying is easy, but those bastards won't let my wife and child off...”
He poured a large gulp of alcohol down his throat, thinking resentfully that if only he could kill that scammer, it would be wonderful.
“Then I could clear the debt... and reopen the factory...”
Lin Jianguo muttered as the alcohol suddenly rushed up his throat, causing him to vomit all over the floor.
If only he could start over.
If only he hadn't been so arrogant back then.
If only he had seen through his “brother's” true colors sooner.
If only his “brother”... would just die right now.
The moment this thought arose, his phone screen flashed with a pop-up notification for a livestream:
【The Wishing Livestream Room】
...
...
In an internet cafe located in a narrow alley of an urban village, the smell of instant noodles mixed with smoke and the stench of sweaty feet hung thick in the air.
Yang Hexuan sat in a creaking computer chair, throwing his headphones down in frustration.
He had received his thirty-seventh rejection letter of the week today.
[We regret to inform you that your experience does not align with our job requirements...]
[We are very sorry to inform you that you do not meet...]
[Apologies, we require recent graduates with over two years of work experience. Of course, if you can bring in investment, that would be a different story...]
Nowadays, many people faced unemployment right upon graduation.
During the college entrance exams, they had been high-spirited and full of hope for the future.
But no one told them that graduation was often just the beginning of unemployment.
Yang Hexuan had graduated three months ago. He had submitted over a hundred and forty resumes and interviewed at twenty-six companies.
Either his resumes sank like stones into the ocean, or there was no follow-up after the interviews.
His rent was due next month, and he had only 187 yuan left in his pocket.
Even when buying instant noodles, he had to calculate carefully to buy the five-pack bundle that offered extra portions at no extra cost.
Yang Hexuan had been hesitating over whether to swallow his pitiful pride and find a decent job first, like delivering food or running express packages.
But it was just like Kong Yiji's long gown that he couldn't take off.
Yang Hexuan was simply unwilling to accept this.
He was unwilling.
This unwillingness burned in his chest, eating away at his soul bit by bit.
So even though his pockets were completely empty now, he still chose to numb himself with video games and short videos.
Funny skits, game commentaries, food videos, handsome men, and beautiful women... Yang Hexuan leaned back and swiped his finger rapidly across the screen.
But despite watching so many videos, they slipped from his memory as soon as he swiped past. He remembered nothing.
“If only I could actually transmigrate... A vast world to make a name for myself would be much better than being trapped here to die.”
Yang Hexuan lamented. A passerby playing a game nearby gave this weirdo—who had come to an internet cafe just to scroll through short videos—a strange look.
In the next second, the screen jumped, suddenly entering a strange, pitch-black livestream room with a blurry background.
“?”
Yang Hexuan sat up straight, a slight ripple finally disturbing his numb emotions:
“The Wishing Livestream Room... What a strange name. What does it do? Does it help people grant wishes? To think a livestream like this exists...”
...
...
In the private ward of the provincial oncology hospital, it was so quiet that one could hear the dripping of the IV tube.
Ouyang Qiu leaned against her pillow, her gaze vacant.
Late-stage pancreatic cancer. The doctor said she had three months to live at most.
Her parents had been devastated by the news, crying all day long. Though they were only in their early fifties, gray hairs were sprouting in patches.
In her college class group chat, many classmates brought up her condition, their tones carrying a condescending pity.
“Oh dear, getting this disease at such a young age, how pitiful.”
“Her parents must be devastated. Raising a daughter to her twenties only for her to die suddenly, oh my god.”
“Sigh, everyone really needs to take good care of their health.”
“Qiuqiu, I heard you fell ill. How are you feeling now? Remember to keep a positive attitude and fight the disease! I'll treat you to dinner once you're better!”
Ouyang Qiu had no desire to respond to those concerns, whether they were genuine or fake.
She wanted to die.
She wanted to die.
Being hacked to death, hit by a car, drowned—anything would do.
In short, she wanted a quick and clean death.
Rather than lying in a hospital bed, waiting for the doctors and nurses to pronounce her death sentence, and then growing weaker day by day, dying without any dignity.
Buzz, buzz—buzz, buzz—
The phone vibrated and automatically jumped into a certain dark, pitch-black livestream room.
Rate on N.U.
