A Novelist’s Guide for Side Characters to Survive

Chapter 22: “I Can Still Become a Popular Character?”

Although the media, education, and culture of the Upper District were firmly controlled by capital, nominally, there were still government institutions like the Parliament, the Tribunal, and the Inspection Control Department.

Capital remained completely invisible in the media.

Aside from the entertainment sector, the most attention each year was always on the parliamentary elections, which happened to be taking place these days.

But at exactly 12:00 noon the next day, all news vanished, replaced by the announcement of Chu Zu’s death.

“Communication Calendar 274-311-1.

With heavy hearts, we announce that Mr. Chu Zu passed away yesterday at the age of 29.

Mr. Chu Zu’s passing is a tragedy woven by technology and fate.

As an individual who underwent genetic modification before birth, his health and life trajectory were always dictated by this decision.

While genetic engineering granted him certain innate advantages, it also embedded unpredictable genetic defects.

As he entered adulthood, these defects began to manifest, gradually eroding his bodily functions.

Unfortunately, due to an assault in the Lower District, Mr. Chu Zu sustained severe injuries and had to undergo biotechnological modification surgery in an attempt to save his precarious life.

However, his body exhibited a strong rejection reaction to the technology.

Multiple attempts at adjustment and repair failed, ultimately leading to the deterioration of his condition, and he passed away quietly yesterday.

Mr. Chu Zu’s passing is not only a profound regret for his personal fate but also a stern reflection on today’s genetic engineering and biotechnological advancements.

The progress of technology should be grounded in respect for life and natural laws, not in recklessly challenging the boundaries of human genetics.

Mr. Chu Zu’s story reminds us that while the power of technology is immense, it also carries unpredictable risks and consequences.

Here, we express our deep condolences for Mr. Chu Zu’s unfortunate passing and call on all sectors of society to remain cautious and reflective about the applications of genetic engineering and biotechnology, preserving the dignity and safety every life deserves.

Sincerely.

The video broadcast and live announcements spread rapidly across the Upper and Lower Districts.

Most people in the Upper District reacted with: Who’s Chu Zu?

The Esposito Family thoughtfully prepared Chu Zu’s “achievements” in the Lower District, distributing them through multiple channels.

“I remember a few years ago, didn’t the Lower District have some unrest? Chu Zu was the one who coordinated it. It was reported a few times.”

“I really don’t get those people down there. They’ve been told so many times—if they pass the compliance checks, they can come to the Upper District through official channels. The train was built for that. But they don’t listen, trying to rush up here with their pollution.”

“My family works at the Genetic Engineering Bureau, you know. At first, they didn’t find anything.”

“What do you mean, incomplete checks? I know post-birth genetic testing is expensive, but Chu Zu grew up with the current Esposito president. You think he’d lack those resources?”

“The Tang Family’s genetic modification technology has always been criticized. If even Chu Zu ended up like this, what about other families who bankrupted themselves to get genetic mods for their kids?”

“There was that news about prosthetic limbs malfunctioning and causing someone to fall from a building… and now this Chu Zu thing.”

“Hasn’t the Tang Family given any explanation? Didn’t their person in charge go to the Lower District?”

“Has anyone looked at the exemption agreement from the Neural Prosthetics Studio? The one you have to sign before prosthetic adjustments. Has any expert checked if it’s even legal?”

…

Countless mouths opened and closed, using pre-prepared talking points to express the same views.

Data spread from the Esposito Building’s central computing hub like sludge, enveloping everyone’s ears and eyes, overwhelming everything.

Without Tang Qi, the Tang Family had no defense against the public opinion storm.

What followed was an investigation from the Inspection Control Department.

Specialists from the Neural Prosthetics Studio were taken away in batches, most of their data destroyed and replaced with documents from unknown sources.

Within two hours of Chu Zu’s death announcement, all public discussion platforms in the Upper District were like a beehive under the queen’s control.

Whether the commenters were planted by Esposito or not, their tone was surprisingly uniform.

Some even called for protests on the streets against the Neural Prosthetics Studio and the Genetic Engineering Bureau.

The Upper District’s periodic artificial rainfall stopped them.

Luciano Esposito sat behind his desk, the rain curtain separated by glass behind him, but it still irritated him.

On his desk were two digital photo frames.

The one on the left was broken.

Clearly, Jeeves’ database didn’t include the concept of “repair,” so he had someone deliver a new one to Luciano.

But when Luciano wanted to upload a photo from when they were twenty, Jeeves said: “That photo is not in my database. It has been deleted.”

“Who gave you permission to delete it?”

“After Chu Zu was rescued from Lower District 13, you personally deleted all data related to him.”

Luciano felt a faint pain in his repaired side abdomen again.

He didn’t want to hear that name right now.

“What’s the situation in the Upper District?”

Jeeves accessed the data: “Excluding the entries led by Esposito, the organically generated discussion heat has far surpassed the election. Among topics linked to ‘Chu Zu,’ the highest search and view count is 584,125, with 51,478 engagements, and the heat is still rising.”

Jeeves’ repeated mention of the name made Luciano increasingly impatient.

“I don’t care what those parroting idiots say. I’m asking about the movements of the other two families.”

“No significant actions at present.”

Jeeves’ terminal flashed with two redacted signals.

“The Parliament intends to extend this artificial rainfall to prevent street riots as much as possible, while hoping you can end this ‘farce’ soon. The new MPs don’t want this to affect the election’s visibility.”

Luciano’s side ached sharply.

He didn’t care about the damn Parliament.

Puppets for show were a dime a dozen, and even if they were all replaced with bioengineered humans, no one would notice.

But if the artificial rain continued…

“When’s his funeral?”

Luciano asked.

“14:00. It’s already started,” Jeeves said.

“Are you going?”

Listening to the rain, Luciano naturally recalled the person who used to hold an umbrella for him since childhood.

He didn’t think there was anything wrong with Chu Zu’s death.

Someone from the Lower District who couldn’t find their place deserved to die.

Besides, he’d even allowed Dai Xi’an to keep Sidney, overlooking his own injury.

As long as Sidney returned to Lower District 18 after this was over, Luciano wouldn’t bother him.

“No,” Luciano said.

“What’s the situation in the Lower District?”

“The same content is being looped. Lazar has added a few video files.”

Jeeves projected the video.

The Lower District’s lighting was generally poor, and even high-sensitivity equipment could only capture grainy, low-quality grayscale footage.

The video was shot by an Upper District person, the perspective extending from a train window.

At first, it showed only fleeting darkness, accompanied by the eerie rumble of the train, unsettling enough to make one’s skin crawl.

Suddenly, two dark figures leaped from the train, shattering the glass.

In the black-and-white footage, their movements were hard to discern; they seemed to be embracing as they fell.

But with a gunshot, the murky actions became clear.

A close-range bullet blasted a hole in someone’s chest, blood and flesh exploding midair.

Because they weren’t too far from the camera, the lens was splattered with stains.

The next second, a grappling hook hit the edge of the speeding train’s window.

Just before the train entered the station, a blood-covered man broke through the window again, landing steadily.

The man coldly glanced at the person holding the camera, holstered his gun, and reached for the lens.

The footage cut off, leaving only static snow on the screen.

“Lazar believes spreading Chu Zu’s past cleanup operations in the Lower District will help create a rift between the Lower District and Tang Qi.”

Jeeves said, “After learning of Chu Zu’s death, Tang Qi wanted to come to the Upper District immediately but was stopped by his allies. Despite opposition, he cleared a plot for Chu Zu’s grave in Lower District 18. Tang Qi respects Chu Zu greatly, which has already sparked dissatisfaction among some Lower District people.”

“Idiot,” Luciano commented.

“I suggest you investigate the matters between Chu Zu and Tang Qi thoroughly,” Jeeves said.

“The point of Chu Zu’s betrayal remains unclear, and Tang Qi’s concern for him far exceeds normal bounds.”

“If the Upper District learns of Tang Qi’s attitude, they’ll likely wonder what happened. You need to control the narrative.”

Luciano was already annoyed.

He’d thought about Chu Zu’s betrayal for months and still couldn’t figure it out.

The two had no prior connection, except for that train accident day.

One was severely injured and urgently brought back to the Upper District, the other picked up and taken back by him.

What could’ve happened?

Almost everything was under his watch.

To sum it up, Tang Qi was a hypocritical saint, and Chu Zu…

Luciano used to think he understood Chu Zu, but now he wasn’t sure.

It didn’t matter, though, because Chu Zu was dead.

The downpour continued, and few would attend his funeral.

His death was widely known yet eerily quiet.

People talked about it, but those who truly cared were few.

“Let his matters end here.”

Luciano chose not to be bound by the past.

He urgently needed the lingering pain in his side to vanish, just like that person.

“Notify Lazar and the others. Meeting in half an hour.”

Jeeves: “Half an hour might not be enough. Mr. Lazar knew you wouldn’t attend Chu Zu’s funeral, but he believed Esposito should make a statement, so he took the company’s upper management there.”

Luciano didn’t respond.

*

“So many people.”

Chu Zu watched the broadcast the System provided, sighing.

The System originally lacked broadcast rights, but through relentless back-and-forth with its superior and occasional pestering of the author, it managed to secure plenty of permissions.

It asked Chu Zu what he wanted to see—Upper District drama or Lower District unrest.

It could play anything, with clarity surpassing existing equipment, even producing high-definition infrared images in pitch-black environments.

Chu Zu said he wanted to see his funeral.

The System initially thought there’d be few people.

The Parliament deliberately increased rainfall, with biochemical agents in the water at absurdly high levels.

No sane person would go out in this.

But now, the cemetery was surrounded by a dense crowd.

Black suits, black umbrellas, like ravens perched on withered branches, a solemn atmosphere enveloping the entire cemetery.

In the cyberpunk future city, death was both a personal endpoint and a redefinition of life and death by technology and society.

In a highly technologized society, the value of life was reassessed.

Death was no longer a simple end but a multidimensional event involving data, memories, and even the persistence of digitized souls.

Many held virtual memorial ceremonies after death, with holographic projections playing the deceased’s key memories and footage.

Virtual impression spaces were built as the deceased’s residence or favorite place for loved ones to express grief.

But Chu Zu’s funeral was unusually simple.

Only Upper District people fond of retro activities chose cemetery burials.

Chu Zu clearly wasn’t a retro enthusiast; the person holding his funeral—Dai Xi’an—needed this form to gather “their people.”

In this era, hardly anyone believed in God.

Priests were only dragged out from obscure corners for ceremonies.

They were cheap, about the same hourly rate as someone handing out digital flyers on the street.

“We gather here to pray to God for comfort and peace, asking the Lord to grant us strength to get through this difficult time.”

“The Lord Jesus said, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live.’”

“‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters.’”

The black coffin, holding an unprocessed body, was slowly lowered into the cemetery pit.

Sidney stepped forward, holding artificial dry soil, and sprinkled it on the coffin.

He wore a double-breasted black suit and black shorts, attire more suited for a wedding or celebration, but no one questioned it.

The priest placed a hand on Sidney’s shoulder, and Sidney obediently lowered his head and eyes.

“May Mr. Chu Zu rest in the Lord’s embrace until the day of eternal resurrection.”

“Terrible acting,” Chu Zu said.

“Why do I feel like these people’s eyes are twinkling? Those in the know are dreaming of a bright future, and those unaware probably think I had some deep grudge with them, coming to my grave to gloat.”

“…” The System couldn’t argue, only saying with difficulty, “They’re already restrained for not popping champagne…”

“Sidney’s not old enough to drink.”

“…”

“He seems to have grown taller. Sigh, I don’t know who his mom is. Maybe with those genes, he’ll shoot up and be taller than me.”

System: “…”

We get it, you’re his silly dad! Enough! Enough!

The rain kept falling, showing no sign of stopping.

The crowd around the cemetery dispersed as the funeral ended.

In the end, only Sidney and Dai Xi’an remained.

“Do we have to wait for Tang Qi to kill him?”

Sidney raised his umbrella slightly, revealing cold red pupils.

“Things have come to this. Even if Lazar and the others know Dad’s intentions, I won’t give them a choice.”

Dai Xi’an frowned slightly: “Don’t act like an Esposito in front of me.”

Sidney lowered his head again, stepping into a puddle, the water splashing onto his socks, the fabric slightly discolored by corrosion.

“I hate rainy days.”

“You hate a lot of things, Sidney. No one cares.”

“I also hate your tone,” Sidney said.

“I know you keep emphasizing that I have nothing but Dad—I don’t need you to remind me. Dad told me to choose for myself.”

Dai Xi’an’s lips curved into a mocking smirk, and she left.

Sidney stood for a long time, the downpour hiding his figure.

The artificial soil in the grave softened under the rain.

Everyone was quietly preparing their next moves.

They’d written a script for Chu Zu.

When he awoke, he’d face Luciano’s death and Tang Qi, who’d kill Luciano and take everything.

Luciano was no longer seen as an obstacle.

The real issue now was how to deal with Tang Qi.

But wasn’t this a funeral?

Why didn’t anyone show even a hint of sadness for Chu Zu, even if it was just an act?

They clearly knew Chu Zu had entered hibernation on the brink of death and that, even if he woke, his physical condition would be far worse.

They swore how great Mr. Chu Zu was, how worthy he was to follow, but why did no one ever feel sad for his life?

Sidney felt a sour liquid flowing in his heart.

In his twelve years in this world, he only felt truly “alive” after being brought to the Upper District.

Dad must feel the same.

No matter why he came to the Upper District or why he lived so tortuously, Sidney felt their feelings were the same now.

So lonely.

Whether it was choice or instinct, no matter what he did, who wanted him dead, or who wanted him alive.

Sidney felt nothing but loneliness.

He recalled the night he messed everything up.

That night, he was partly acting out of spite, not just to save Dad but also out of hatred for Luciano.

We’re both Espositos.

Why do you get to control everything?

You were the unwanted one too, even your power was seized by others.

Why did you take my space to survive and try to steal my only dad?

Dai Xi’an had said more than once that Sidney and Luciano were cut from the same cloth.

Sidney had no rebuttal because it was true.

The more he learned about Luciano’s ways from others, the more he felt Dai Xi’an was right.

“…Sidney.”

Someone called him softly, maybe a mistake, as the rain was so loud, pounding on the umbrella, drowning out nearly everything.

“Sidney.”

This time it was clearer.

Sidney turned, seeing Brei standing behind him, holding an umbrella, her hair in a small braid, wearing a black dress and rain boots.

Sidney knew he’d done something awful.

Brei’s parents had been warned by Dai Xi’an, and he thought he’d never see her again.

The girl was cautious, avoiding Sidney’s gaze the moment their eyes met.

“I’m moving…” she said softly.

“I heard about Mr. Chu Zu… Don’t be sad…”

The girl was the most tearful person Sidney had ever met, crying even at cartoons.

Now she looked dejected, holding back tears.

She was so sad but, mindful of Sidney’s feelings, sniffled a few times without letting herself cry.

Sidney didn’t speak.

Brei hesitated, then opened another black umbrella she carried, its edge bearing the Esposito double-headed snake pattern.

It was the umbrella Chu Zu had once shoved into her hands.

Now she opened it and placed it on Chu Zu’s tombstone.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” Brei said, head down, softly.

“Mr. Chu Zu wasn’t a scary person. He gave me an umbrella. You’re not scary either. You and your dad are alike; you just… I don't know how to express it.”

Sidney was silent for a long time.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “Really, thank you, Brei. You’re my best friend.”

The System quietly captured this rainy scene, saving it to an album without a fitting name yet, planning to name it later when its knowledge grew.

Chu Zu was deeply touched, not expecting to see the rewards of past kindness, however small, in this worldview.

“Such a good girl,” he said.

“If Sidney doesn’t want to pursue a career, after this is over, send him to be neighbors with her again!”

System: “…Brei’s parents would be scared to death.”

“Don’t be so rigid. Sidney’s not a bad kid, just a bit radical at times. His nature’s not bad…”

The System wanted to have a serious talk with Chu Zu—don’t let the silly dad vibes get too strong—but an alert started blaring.

It quickly investigated and soon found the issue.

“Host, forget Sidney for now. Look at this!”

The System turned off the red light and projected reader forum posts from minutes ago, declaring abandonment of the novel, into Chu Zu’s mind.

Topic: [I Really Can’t Keep Reading Neon Crown Anymore] HOT.

I’m so done.

When Sidney saved his dad, I thought, no way Ancestor Bro dies now, right?

There’s no reason to set up a plot where a kid realizes his dad’s importance just to lose him.

Then news of Ancestor Bro’s death spread everywhere.

My buddy said maybe Chu Zu faked his death.

He’s supposed to be the final BOSS.

But I couldn’t figure out any benefit to him faking it.

I mean, from Chu Zu’s perspective, I can’t find a single reason he’d agree to fake his death.

But from the creator’s perspective, it’s obvious.

He has to be the final BOSS, so he needs an irreconcilable conflict with Tang Qi.

What conflict?

Luciano’s death.

I can’t accept this.

You already revised the story, making Ancestor Bro a flesh-and-blood person.

I can see him at twelve, looking up at Luciano in a daze.

I can see his emotions in the Lower District, the unreal calm after he took in Sidney, how he wanted to protect the kid before dying, while keeping his promise to Luciano, believing Luciano gave him the best thing (Sidney).

Every choice he made was forced.

And now, for some shitty plot progression, you did this to him?

If Ancestor Bro is really dead, Sidney’s probably the final BOSS.

The setup’s already there.

Sidney represents both Luciano and Chu Zu.

No wonder the revisions added a key character.

Just waiting to use him for the ending, huh?

If it’s a fake death, same question: ‘’Why would he fake it? Forced by Lazar and them? Has Chu Zu ever had any dignity from start to finish?’’

I know it’s silly to talk about a character’s dignity in a novel.

Countless characters are doomed to misfortune.

But, but, but.

But I just can’t stand this!!!

[Bobo Taro Milk Tea] | Posted on 2024-03-15 07:22:12

Agreed.

At Ancestor Bro’s funeral, I threw a set of military punches with a blank face.

His death seems like the best arrangement for everyone, but why does he have to die?

[uu Overnight Riches] | Posted on 2024-03-15 07:25:02

Fake death theory doesn’t hold up.

Not to mention anything else, if Chu Zu knew he had to fake his death and wait for Tang Qi to kill Luciano before waking, wouldn’t he kick the coffin lid off and rush to the Lower District to take Tang Qi down with him?

Don’t argue.

He never went all out against Tang Qi before because Tang Qi didn’t show intent to kill Luciano.

Anyone threatening Luciano’s life got off only Sidney, because he’s Luciano’s son, his real son.

And if Lazar and them forced Ancestor Bro to fake his death, he wouldn’t rush to settle scores with Tang Qi upon waking.

I bet he’d slaughter his way through the Upper District first.

[Who’s Hot Who’s Not] | Posted on 2024-03-15 07:25:42

Is this plot non-negotiable?

Baffling.

[Confused Melon Eater] | Posted on 2024-03-15 07:27:32

Sidney’s the final boss, no doubt.

Unless the author makes Luciano the final BOSS and cuts the later plot.

That’d actually be more reasonable.

The story after Luciano’s death is already long, stinky, and dumb.

[Twinkling Starlight] | Posted on 2024-03-15 07:32:02

No need to keep reading.

The later plot probably won’t differ much from before the revisions.

Chu Zu’s character arc is mostly resolved.

Haha, I don’t think Chu Zu’s the one being dumbed down anymore.

It’s clearly the author, forcing the plot when it doesn’t add up.

So what if they kill off a popular character?

The author doesn’t care.

[I’ll Give You Three Punches, Taste Them Yourself] | Posted on 2024-03-15 07:33:07

Wait, I haven’t read Neon Crown.

Wasn’t Chu Zu a side character?

How’s he tied to being a popular character?

[Little Dog Spitting Bubbles] | Posted on 2024-03-15 07:33:58

He’s been a popular character for a while.

Last week’s popularity poll had him tied with Tang Qi for first.

[NONONONO] | Posted on 2024-03-15 07:34:32

It all comes down to one issue: Chu Zu has no ambition of his own.

Without ambition, he lacks agency, like he’s being pushed around.

Readers didn’t care before because they barely remembered he existed.

Now they care about him, but he’s still treated like a side character.

[Golden Osmanthus Oolong] | Posted on 2024-03-15 07:34:59

…

The System trembled, but Chu Zu laughed after reading the posts.

“Will I still become a popular character?”

System: “?”

“Pretty good, with the flair of a final boss,” Chu Zu said.

“I have a feeling the more readers root for me now, the more they’ll feel betrayed and hate me when they learn what I’m really like.”

System: “…Is being hated by readers a good thing?!”

“Of course it’s good,” Chu Zu said.

The more they hate me, thinking I’m a dark, twisted freak, the higher the emotional payoff when Tang Qi defeats me.

You think a novel’s satisfaction comes from what?

Just the protagonist’s tangible gains aren’t enough.

Emotional satisfaction is just as important.

“Seeing the protagonist crush a freak who toyed with everyone—isn’t that satisfying?”

The System had an epiphany: “You’re right.”

But it quickly snapped back: “No, Host, we’re supposed to address the wave of readers abandoning the story! Your task evaluation will drop with the abandonment rate!”

Chu Zu hadn’t planned to deal with the abandonment issue, but the System’s mention of task evaluation made him take it a bit more seriously.

He thought for a moment: “At most, I’ll move my waking time earlier. I was planning to go wild on Tang Qi, but if the readers’ feedback is really strong, going wild on Luciano works too.”

The System hurriedly checked plot points, finding Luciano’s key moments.

“It works! He dies from blood loss after being gravely injured by Tang Qi. You can show up briefly to make his death clear!”

With a temporary plan to handle the abandonment crisis, the System relaxed.

Seeing the host still smiling, looking in a great mood, it couldn’t help asking, “What else are you happy about? Because from a creator’s perspective, you’re about to get positive feedback?”

“No,” Chu Zu said.

“I’m just happy that readers care about a side character’s dignity.”

“Not as a functional creation, not as a barrier opposing the protagonist—they truly see ‘me.’”

He said, “When readers truly see you, that’s when ‘Chu Zu’ truly comes alive.

What could be more joyful than that?”