Chapter 19: The 19th Day of Livestream Selling
Plane Number: C-62442
Codename: Western Fantasy.
Civilization Level: Stellar civilization.
Civilization Type: Declining magical civilization.
Status Overview: An ancient world that, for unknown reasons, has begun slowly degenerating. The Mother Tree of Life is withering day by day, society remains unchanged, class solidification is severe, and the afterglow of magic is already declining like the setting sun. Yet they still only know how to pray for mercy from gods who have long ceased to exist.
Mainframe Evaluation: The merchant’s son is a merchant, the knight’s descendants are knights, and the magician’s children are still magicians.* To put it plainly, they are a group of wastrels sitting on ancestral wealth and eating away their inheritance, still not yet weaned. But their ancestors were indeed once very wealthy.
—
Farlris Continent, Central Human Federation, Seventh Mage Tower of the Church of Light.
The air here was composed of three scents: the musty smell that could not be dispelled from old parchment no matter how carefully it was preserved, the chaotic fragrance of hundreds of magical herbs mixed with large quantities of sunset orange, and an even denser, elven-style displeasure called “don’t bother me.”
Inside the core potion room at the top of the tower, the young dark elf prince Arland—perhaps better known here as the blessed one of the Goddess of Light—was standing beside a black cauldron, carrying out his one-thousandth attempt. He was trying to improve the extremely unstable, liable-to-explode-at-the-slightest-disagreement properties of the magic potion “Water of Eternal Stay.”
The violet liquid in the cauldron bubbled and gurgled, illuminating Lord Arland’s face, which was as perfect as a masterpiece crafted by the gods yet full of impatience.
Inside the vast ancient room, aside from this blessed one whose temper was just as terrible as the Water of Eternal Stay, everything within sight was the sediment of knowledge and the traces of magic. Bookshelves reaching all the way to the dome were like cliffs. The wide ebony long table resembled the capital’s main avenue during evening rush hour, piled everywhere with heavy tomes bound with iron hoops, clasps, and even monster leather. The magical runes embedded in the etched walls were like fireflies, pulsing bright and dim to some silent rhythm.
“My lord.” Human priest Ryan—already the fourth attendant officer replaced by the blessed one—knocked on the silent wooden door and lowered his head to the side, asking cautiously, “Her Holiness the Saintess ordered me to bring lunch. There is berry jelly specially made by His Holiness the Pope’s pastry chef, faux-Sherosta mille-feuille, and bellflower—”
“Eat it yourself, or throw it in the trash.” Tall Lord Arland did not even raise his head, continuing to bury himself in his research. His long fingers precisely sprinkled a pinch of starlight moss powder into the cauldron, and his lack of interest in eating was written all over him. He said, “Tell Nymph that I have no interest whatsoever in humans’ pathetic attempts to simulate the scent of the forest with sugar and flour. My units of time are calculated by ‘flashes of magical inspiration,’ not by chewing.”
The sharp tongue of this generation’s blessed one was also quite a famous scenic view in the Church of Light recently.
As Lord Arland, who had been sent by the dark elf queen for “exchange and study,” but in reality served as the banner of alliance between the two races, had already used his continent-famous pickiness in just two months to make three human attendant officers retreat in the face of difficulty. And he did not mind replacing a few more.
Poor Priest Ryan’s voice became even humbler. “But, my lord, you have already relied only on clear water and potions to maintain your basic vital signs for four days. Her Holiness the Saintess is very worried. She said that if you still refuse to eat solid food tonight, she will personally…”
“Personally what? Force-feed me with that laughable strength of hers that can’t even defeat a young dragon? Then I truly look forward to it.” Arland sneered, his blood-red vertical pupils sharp as blades. “Tell her my vital signs are far more stable than those people outside who only know how to waste all their time on boring prayers and banquets. Now, disappear.”
His words became law. A ripple of magical power directly “invited” the priest in white robes out of the mage tower.
It also incidentally cleared out the bustling crowd in the entire tower. As was this dark elf prince’s usual style, it was domineering and left not the slightest bit of face.
But the Church of Light was even a little moved by this, because he had merely wrapped people in a hurricane and thrown them out. He actually had not injured anyone.
One had to know that when Saintess Nymph had led a team to the border to receive him and informed him that he had been chosen by the Goddess of Light as her blessed one, this Highness’s sharp dark magic arrow had brushed right past the Saintess’s ear. The dark elves’ bloodthirsty, battle-loving nature was fully displayed in him. He refused to communicate. In the world, there was only himself.
Priest Ryan had only “walked” a few steps down the spiral staircase of the mage tower when several concerned gazes greeted him head-on. There were dark elves with wheat-colored skin who had come along with the envoy group, personal attendants of various cardinals, and even the chief steward beside the Pope had been alarmed.
The alliance between the Human Federation and the dark elves was the most pressing task at present. It was a top-priority matter that would continue to influence several generations and even the entire continental structure. As the bridge between them, Lord Arland the blessed one was crucial.
To be honest, as a dark elf, the fact that he could become the blessed one of the Goddess of Light was already an extremely unbelievable miracle in itself.
Everyone firmly believed that this was the will of the gods.
It was just that this current will of the gods… had stopped eating.
“Why? Is it because he has been away from the Rift Forest for too long and has begun missing his homeland?”
“Is he sick because he can’t adapt to the environment?”
“Or is the cook’s food truly too terrible? After all, the Central Holy See’s reputation as a culinary desert is not something that started just yesterday. The joke I heard most often as a child was that the thinnest book in the world is the Church of Light’s cookbook.”
“Mind your words, Lord Nicola. Perhaps Lord Blessed One is simply too absorbed in potion research. You know how these researchers are. Once they go mad, they always lose all sense of proportion with their own bodies. However, perhaps we could ask the Church of Revelry? I mean, pray to the subordinate god of the God of Revelry.”
“Isn’t the subordinate god of the God of Revelry the God of Gourmet Food?”
Everyone chattered noisily, guessing in a thousand different directions. But the dark elf Arland’s reason for not wanting to eat was actually only one: he truly did not want to eat. He had no interest in so-called satisfaction of appetite, whether it belonged to dark elves or humans.
In his view, eating was only for living, and living was for better researching potions.
Now his potion experiment had reached a critical stage. He could not allow anything to delay him, especially the eating process, which in his view was extremely cumbersome.
But very clearly, those nagging fellows from the Church of Light would not give up so easily.
Arland, who had just driven away Attendant Officer Ryan, once again heard a burst of muttering. The voice seemed to come from all directions, and also seemed to be right beside his ear, but there was no magical fluctuation, nor was it divine resonance. It was only sudden and absurdly steady recitation, as if without the slightest emotion.
What was it reciting?
It seemed to be something called the golden rules of fried chicken.
The dark elf with a pair of pointed ears instantly flew into a rage, and the blood-red color inside his pupils quickly covered his entire eyeballs. The potion room was his sacred ground. Every inch of space was engraved with the elegance and precision of ancient elven language. What was this crude, intolerable voice? How could it possibly appear here out of thin air? Was it some new type of surveillance magic? Or some boring trick of that old thing, the Pope?
“Get out!” Dangerous arcane energy began gathering at Arland’s well-defined fingertips, crackling like lightning. This utterly unfriendly dark elf was truly preparing to blow this voice and the spellcaster behind it into magical particles together.
Unfortunately, he did not succeed.
That voice continued steadily, without emotion and without technique, like a merciless recitation machine, even more annoying than those choirs in the headquarters’ Solandes Cathedral every Sunday that always irritated Arland.
Its only advantage was probably that the voice itself sounded rather pleasant.
Unfortunately, it was truly a reckless waste of heaven’s gifts.
This voice belonged to none other than salted-fish-sprawled Lin Zhao. He had been very resolute when clicking the button to connect to the third world, and just as regretful after pressing it.
Because he had not had time to think about what he would sell this time, nor what kind of livestream content he would do.
Most importantly, Lin Zhao had been livestreaming constantly lately. He had even streamed once during the day today. Wasn’t this basically working overtime at night? And unpaid overtime at that.
The thing corporate cattle hated the most.
But the button had already been pressed, and it was too late to regret. Unless Lin Zhao wanted to waste the stingy mainframe’s traffic for nothing. Even though he had already had 1114 close it in time after only a short while, he still had to maintain a livestream of at least half an hour without interruption, because only then could the link with this region be completely stabilized.
Lin Zhao frowned. “Why didn’t the previous two regions need this?”
“Because the region you chose this time is a little special. The link keeps drifting and is unstable. It seems to possess extremely strong rule barriers.” At first, their livestream could even only appear in the form of sound, like an old-fashioned radio broadcast.
In short, only after the connection stabilized could the system mall’s promotional discount be activated.
And if the connection was interrupted, Lin Zhao might lose the coordinates of the third region. At least, that was how 1114 explained it. If he wanted to open a brand-new region again, he would need to spend money on the lottery: ten thousand for one draw, one hundred thousand for the guarantee.
So, in this life, one really could not act impulsively. Being too emotional truly hurt the wallet.
Just like how 1114 had previously gotten passionately carried away and sent gifts to every child on the list. It sent them so happily that, by accident, it also sent an extra gift to the gibberish little kid bro whom Lin Zhao had marked as a minor.
Fortunately, Lin Zhao did not mind. Although little kid bro should not randomly spend his parents’ hard-earned money, his fondness was real. Since it had been given, then it had been given. There was nothing to regret. Lin Zhao comforted the system that had made a work mistake with an unbelievably friendly gaze. It would have been even better if he had not said, “If you can help me livestream, the grudge between us will be written off.”
1114 truly wanted to help, but unfortunately, it could not. It could not stream in his place. This was a basic rule. The only way the system could atone and help the host was:
“Why don’t we livestream reading novels?”
1114 had recently become very addicted to reading web novels. To be precise, from the moment this unlucky system arrived on Earth, it had read quite a few special products of China’s internet: web novels, short dramas, and short videos. To be honest, most of the plots inside could not withstand scrutiny, but they were just that magical. Some things were both cheesy and addictive.
Even a high-end transaction system from an alien star system could not escape the law of “it smells so good.”
Among these many forms of entertainment, 1114 still liked text reading best. Do not ask why. It could not explain either. It only knew how to recommend this method to its host to pad the livestream duration.
This was also a livestream technique the system had recently researched. Quite a few streamers livestreamed themselves watching Bilibili’s hot videos of the week, esports matches, or comedy variety shows.
1114 was very good at learning by analogy and said, “Then why can’t we read novels to the family members?”
“Perhaps because that would count as copyright infringement, friend.” Lin Zhao was very surprised. This time, he actually had more copyright awareness.
“There are also free stories with open audio rights.” 1114 felt that its host did not understand web novels at all. Some people wrote to support their families. Some wrote purely to vent the desire for expression in their hearts. Of course, if one could support oneself with one’s hobby, that would be an even more perfect state. In short, what 1114 meant was that there were thousands upon thousands of authors in this world, and there would always be some pursuing the chance for more people to see their words.
1114 did indeed find quite a few examples for Lin Zhao. Of course, these definitely still had to be discussed with the authors themselves first: whether they minded livestream reading, how gift tips would be split, and so on.
“Is there enough time today?” Lin Zhao asked.
There definitely was not enough time. It could only be said that they could do this in the future. Today, they found only one work with absolutely no copyright dispute—something Lin Zhao had written himself.
It had not even been uploaded to any website. It was just something Lin Zhao had casually written for fun when he was in school.
“How did you know about it?”
“Manman said it. He said that when you were in school, you were practically the most amazing person in the world. You studied well, had strong abilities, were student council president, and even wrote novels.”
Lin Zhao had even solemnly given this novel to Qin Xiaoman before graduation. He had said that sooner or later, one day, he would become a great writer known to everyone.
Of course, everyone knew the final result. He had not become a free writer traveling all over the world, only a skimmed-milk corporate cattle trapped in a cubicle at a big company.
Lin Zhao: “…”
Even if you two praise me like this, I still won’t forgive you for reading my dark history, ahhhhh!
But it was already too late. The letters 1114 projected had begun scrolling before Lin Zhao’s eyes, and he subconsciously followed along and read them out loud. As for exactly what he read, he no longer wanted to recall it.
His entire person was floating in a state of secondhand embarrassment so intense his toes were digging into the floor.
The only joy amid bitterness left was that he could be grateful his teenage chuunibyou work was only a slice-of-life story about opening a restaurant in another world. There was no pure cringe like “three years have passed, the Dragon King returns to his throne,” nor any sea of hatred and love where “you love me but I do not love you.” It was simply a farming-style story about a protagonist opening a small restaurant that connected to all kinds of worlds.
Heavens and earth were moved. Even during his chuunibyou period, he had been such a lawful, gentle faction.
A teenage boy probably really was a rice bucket. At least, what Lin Zhao expressed in his writing was either that this was delicious, or that that should be made in a certain way to become even more delicious, and also… he was really hungry.
Anyone who had experienced growing pains in the middle of the night probably understood that despair—the feeling of clearly having already eaten two big bowls at dinner, only to still wake up in the latter half of the night from gnawing hunger, as if heart and lungs were being scratched and the front of the chest was sticking to the back.
Teenage Lin Zhao had truly been hungry.
People said that only with emotion could there be writing. Lin Zhao did not know whether that was true or false. He only knew that today, more than ten years later, he had magically seen an almost vivid, leaping-off-the-page hunger in his past writing.
Mix salt, black pepper, minced garlic, and a little red chili powder with milk combined with lemon juice to make a thick marinade. Completely submerge the skin-on chicken thigh meat, waiting for the spices to seep into every fiber. Then, following the “wet-dry-wet-dry” double-coating method, pair it with firm pressing and kneading, allowing the flour and locked-in moisture to fully embed together. Finally, heat oil in a pan and fry twice, letting the fried chicken rapidly dehydrate and expand amid the sizzling explosion on the oil’s surface, becoming incomparably light and crispy, presenting a beautiful golden color.
“The violent aesthetics of oil, at this moment, elevate the flavor of fried chicken. Touch it lightly with your fingertips, and the crust will produce an almost perfect rustling sound like snowflakes. With one bite, the outside is crispy, the inside is tender, and the meat juices are rich…”
Even reading it this dryly toward the end, Lin Zhao wanted to ask his past self just how hungry he had been to write such words.
At the same time, in Farlris, the greatest among the dark elves—Lord Arland—was also thinking about the same question.
Just how hungry was this muttering person?
Could he stop reading?
Where was morality?
Where was the bottom line?
Where was the purchase link for the fried chicken?
Author’s Note:
Nonsense Mini Theater:
That day, Lord Arland—the only son of the dark elf queen, the blessed one of the Goddess of Light, the greatest potion master of the present age—finally understood that in an elf’s lifetime, one would always encounter a succubus tailor-made for them.
It might appear in the form of a human.
Or it might be fried chicken.
62442: The number needed to enter the Ministry of Magic in Harry Potter. On a nine-key keypad, it spells “magic.” 23333
“The merchant’s son is a merchant, the knight’s descendants are knights, and the magician’s children are magicians”: This is adapted from a famous line in the Detective Conan movie The Phantom of Baker Street: “A politician’s son grows up to be a politician; a banker’s son grows up to be a banker.”
![After Waking Up I Inherited the Earth [Interstellar]](https://i1.wp.com/panda-translations.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/02/20220822190944_300_420.jpg?resize=151,215 "After Waking Up I Inherited the Earth [Interstellar]")
