A Novelist’s Guide for Side Characters to Survive

Chapter 29: “Created a Faith, Serving a God Who Could Fall at Any Moment.”

After handing Chu Zu to the professionals, Sidney and Lazar didn’t linger.

Except for Dai Xi’an, who insisted on witnessing whether the man lived or died, both returned to the Esposito Building.

Tang Qi first tended to his injuries.

A prosthetic eye filled his empty socket, the only cyborg part on him, and he decided to hand over the access and backdoor codes to Sidney.

Then came the gathering of factions.

Whether it was Tang Qi and his exiled followers or those answering to Lazar’s authority, everyone converged in Chu Zu’s office, splitting into two camps, glaring at each other with hostility.

The barbaric side seemed ready to tear into flesh, while the hypocritical side held their chins high, sneering coldly.

Sidney’s eyes had “returned” to red, thanks to the contact lenses Lazar provided.

Even facing those familiar blue pupils, the young man only paused briefly before asking nothing, preparing everything.

Sidney listened to the clichéd arguments, their voices buzzing around, making the night chaotic.

Tang Qi tried to speak several times but was interrupted, the scene descending into disorder.

Sidney suddenly realized another of Chu Zu’s strengths.

Aside from occasional long-winded speeches, the man rarely spoke.

But when he did, it was as if the world could only hear one voice.

“Shut up,” Sidney said.

The boy’s small voice was naturally drowned out.

Sidney pulled out a gun—picked up from the rooftop—and aimed at the nearest mouth, pulling the trigger.

A loud “bang” silenced the room.

The office lights flickered before going out completely.

Emergency lights kicked in seconds later, illuminating the stunned faces.

Tang Qi, quick on his feet, grabbed Sidney’s arm and lifted it, the bullet grazing the ceiling light, leaving a crater in the ceiling.

“I said shut up,” Sidney repeated, his soft words carving into everyone’s hearts.

At that moment, Dai Xi’an finally arrived, late.

Sidney looked at her, their gazes meeting midair.

The woman’s eyes were cold, as were the boy’s.

Dai Xi’an looked away first.

Lazar and Dai Xi’an stood unconditionally behind Sidney, efficiently rallying their people.

Tang Qi, fed up with his followers’ restlessness, also realized that in this office, the right move was Sidney’s—or rather, Chu Zu’s.

In the negotiations that followed, Sidney didn’t participate.

He sat between the factions, watching a giant projection of the Upper and Lower Districts’ structures rise before him, detailed and clear.

When someone waved, the projection zoomed in, showing specific locations he wanted, marked with countless red and green tags.

Was this power?

It didn’t seem brutal or authoritarian.

Those deciding the future were sweating, proposing plans only to be repeatedly rebuffed.

Lower District people knew nothing of the Upper District.

They charged toward Tang Qi’s goals but grew lost at the finish line, unable to contribute.

Upper District people remained indifferent to the Lower District.

Only Dai Xi’an occasionally frowned, cutting off their presumptuous proposals.

Their emotions grew heated, chests heaving, then sighed in relief as decisions were finalized, as if surviving a calamity.

Sidney had always tied power to individuals—Luciano, Dad, or Tang Qi—but it wasn’t that simple.

Listening for a while, Dai Xi’an noticed him zoning out and tapped his shoulder: “Come with me.”

Lazar, seeing her expression, hesitated for a few seconds before following.

Every floor of the Esposito Building had wide, protruding balconies.

The storm had just passed, leaving the balcony a mess, with cleaning robots sparking and malfunctioning on the wet ground.

Dai Xi’an spoke to Lazar first: “Got a light?”

The woman lit a cigarette.

Sidney didn’t know she smoked.

Upper District tobacco cost a fortune, with exorbitant air pollution taxes.

Lower District tobacco was deadly.

Only the hopelessly addicted rolled irradiated, polluted tobacco, unsure if they savored the brief thrill or sought early death for escape.

Dai Xi’an exhaled smoke, the ember flickering: “Do you know how much the policies you agreed to will cost Esposito?”

Lazar frowned, displeased that Sidney was exposed to secondhand smoke, but answered: “Doesn’t matter.”

Dai Xi’an laughed, radiant and beautiful, looking at Lazar like he was mad.

“That’s why I say Chu Zu’s terrifying. Look at you—do you even recognize yourself?” she said.

Lazar countered politely: “Would you tolerate me ‘finding’ myself?”

No, Dai Xi’an would do everything to destroy anyone reclaiming their “original self.”

They both knew this was mutual restraint.

As long as they cooperated for Chu Zu, they had a path forward.

Even if it was a path Chu Zu carefully chose, where everyone missed what was within reach, they had no choice.

They couldn’t convince each other or their own hearts.

Sidney stood by the railing, catching the breeze, uninterested in their conversation.

If Dad were here, they wouldn’t say a word more than necessary, doing what needed doing without pondering “finding themselves.”

The talk went nowhere.

Lazar fixed Sidney’s hair and returned to the discussions, his lighter swiped as he left.

Dai Xi’an’s cigarette had burned out.

She tossed the butt carelessly, crushing it on the wet ground, tucking windblown hair behind her ear.

“Tell me your thoughts.”

Dai Xi’an said, “Handing over Chu Zu’s things to save his life? Who did you consult before deciding? Do you know who you are? Or do you think Chu Zu will wake up, hug you, and say, ‘Thanks, my good son’?”

Sidney gave her a strange look: “Dai Xi’an.”

He said, “Stop acting like an Esposito. It’s disgusting.”

Dai Xi’an laughed again.

Sidney: “Tang Qi’s not planning to expose Dad. Didn’t you hear? They decided to keep Dad’s position.”

The boy murmured, “Lazar guessed something when he saw my eye color but chose to ignore it. That makes sense. He still wants to protect Dad’s status and won’t spill about me.”

“But why is Tang Qi so stupid? I don’t get why you and Dad value him. All he does is dumb stuff.”

Dai Xi’an stayed silent, listening.

“Dad said Tang Qi’s world is primitive, with girls like Brei in the Lower District… I still don’t know what the world will become, but I know Brei.”

“You’re nice to her, she smiles. You give her a doll, she thinks you’re the best person besides her parents. You say sorry, she says it’s fine, you just don’t know how to express… Dai Xi’an.”

Dai Xi’an turned slightly, seeing Sidney looking at her, a hint of confusion in his red eyes.

“Tang Qi’s making everyone remember only Dad’s good side. Isn’t that stupid enough? I don’t get why he’d do something so threatening to himself.”

Dai Xi’an lit another cigarette.

“When Dad wakes, he’ll see everything’s going as he planned. Tang Qi’s just a dumb, useful guy on his path, like Lazar.”

Sidney said, “No genetic defect, no Upper-Lower District conflict—the world will be as Dad described to me. Everyone will genuinely respect him, thinking he just doesn’t know how to express.”

Dai Xi’an said faintly, “How do you know that’s what Chu Zu wants?”

Sidney shook his head, let go of the railing, and headed back to the office: “I’m giving Dad the best.”

“Sidney,” Dai Xi’an called to his small back.

Sidney ignored her.

He walked quickly, steadily, back straight—hardly the dirty-faced fool from not long ago.

Dai Xi’an sighed, leaning against the railing, tilting her head to the night sky.

She held the cigarette in her mouth, hand covering her face, chuckling uncontrollably.

She recalled what the boy once said to her.

You’re the one who doesn’t understand Dad at all.

The brat didn’t get it, thinking he’d learned to read people from his father and others.

He saw this as Chu Zu’s simple gamble, eagerly wanting to be the heaviest chip.

Stupid kid.

Chu Zu only ever bet himself.

Others never had a choice.

The man yielded only twice: first, asking Dai Xi’an if she wanted to join Tang Qi; second, telling Sidney he could choose.

What made Sidney think he was part of the gamble?

He was just standing at a fork in the road Chu Zu paved for him.

The one who pushed him was Dai Xi’an.

How else would Sidney know about Chu Zu’s genetic re-examination?

Dai Xi’an felt she was pretty stupid too.

After spotting the flaw in Chu Zu’s actions, she should’ve killed Sidney.

As she’d said, if Chu Zu’s choices backfired, she’d eliminate threats beforehand, even if it meant consequences later.

Following an ambitious man who gave up after learning his death date was stupid.

Trying to change his doomed fate was stupider.

There was a better solution.

What was more effective than rallying power under the banner of revenge?

Chu Zu did it with Luciano.

She and Lazar could do better with his death.

But she only sent Sidney to the Lower District to find the doctor.

Why choose this?

Dai Xi’an could only conclude one thing.

Chu Zu made only two deals in his life.

Luciano broke his, ending with nothing.

Learning from that, she stuck to one path.

The payoff was clear.

Even with Chu Zu half-dead, Sidney and Tang Qi’s odd alliance didn’t cost her power—she could still climb.

Chu Zu never broke promises willingly.

Through her fingers, Dai Xi’an saw the night sky, washed clean by rain.

To ensure the funeral’s solemnity, all entertainment neons were dimmed.

The Esposito Building had never had such a quiet night.

“Call it… a bonus. I’m betting on you again.”

She exhaled smoke, whispering in the dark.

“Live, Chu Zu.”

*

Communication Calendar 276-1-1.

A world-changing broadcast.

As people woke, opening windows to let post-storm air fill their lungs, a massive holographic projection formed over the city.

Technicians linked the Lower District’s struggling old equipment, syncing the broadcast to all terminals for maximum reach.

Giant corporations partially dissolved, retaining core identity while splitting into smaller, accountable units.

Encouraging and funding community cooperatives and small businesses to boost Upper District economic growth and autonomy.

Through asset distribution, establishing universal basic income, with tax reforms publicized on open-source blockchain, encouraging public participation in the new social framework.

Data Liberation Day was abolished, with open-source code and shared tech ensuring decentralization, so critical resources and platforms aren’t controlled by a few.

…

Tang Qi delivered the broadcast publicly, his face last seen on a wanted list.

The Upper District erupted.

People didn’t know what happened.

While they slept, the world’s order had shifted.

Tang Qi’s Upper District allies returned to the Lower District.

Chu Zu’s loyalists received towering promotions.

The Council restructured twice in half a year.

Old capital entered the halls, but Tang Qi stripped them of corporate roles, cutting all income beyond basic compensation.

There was an exception: Dai Xi’an.

She joined both Upper and Lower District councils while retaining her role as Esposito’s presidential advisor.

Officially, this was because Esposito’s young president needed a trusted figure.

Rumors suggested Tang Qi did it deliberately.

Chu Zu had two loyal lieutenants: Dai Xi’an and Lazar.

Once equals, answering only to Chu Zu.

Now, Lazar held his personnel director role, but with monopolistic firms broken up, wealth and power less concentrated, his status plummeted.

Was this Tang Qi sowing discord?

The parties involved said nothing.

Some Upper District elites, feeling their interests threatened, began contacting each other.

Their probes to higher levels sank without a trace.

Chu Zu and Tang Qi were blood enemies, irreconcilable.

Even if Chu Zu lost, Esposito shouldn’t have surrendered to Tang Qi so quickly!

Hundreds of refined Upper District elites turned into the rogues they despised, storming the Esposito Building, shouting Chu Zu’s name, seeking a fight.

But their futile cause didn’t answer human cries.

In the Esposito president’s office, Tang Qi, the alleged mastermind, leaned on the desk, tying a bow tie for the boy in the main seat.

The silk looped in Tang Qi’s hands, forming a full knot.

Tang Qi: “Know how to make the statement?”

Sidney: “I know.”

Sidney wore a formal black suit, a scarlet tie matching his eyes, looking like a blood-red flower blooming at his collarbone.

Lazar and Dai Xi’an stood aside, haggard from working overnight, their cold gazes piercing.

The elite protest ended with Tang Qi lowering his gun, wiping a blood splatter from Sidney’s cheek.

A bullet pierced a wealth defender’s greedy skull, shattering their forceful declarations.

One person’s eternal silence infected the group.

Lazar called the Inspection Control Department next door to handle the scene and take away the shell-shocked remainder.

“Know how to make the statement?”

Tang Qi asked again.

Sidney pushed him aside: “I know.”

Upper District reform statements came from Tang Qi, a Lower District native.

Lower District changes were left to Sidney, with Upper District blood.

Not long ago, this boy relied on Chu Zu to stand in the Upper District.

Now, countless eyes watched him, recording devices swarming, as if he were the world’s center.

Sidney delivered his first speech.

Launch large-scale environmental restoration to repair polluted and damaged ecosystems, reduce Lower District pollution, and clear abandoned industrial zones.

Gradually introduce new energy structures, promote renewable and clean energy technologies, and foster sustainable energy development.

Pollution control projects will provide jobs, with rights overseen by the Lower District Council.

…

Sidney ended with:

“I know you don’t understand. I don’t either.”

“But Dad wanted me to live in that world, so the new world must be the best.”

His final words were soft, uncertain if the Lower District’s shoddy equipment caught them.

Only Dai Xi’an found it absurdly amusing.

One thing was certain: both districts trembled, and the tremors would last days, weeks, months, decades, even centuries after the statement.

Change would sweep in like lightning, crushing one order, one ideology, one world.

A new world awaiting Chu Zu’s awakening was coming.

*

The System withdrew the visuals from Chu Zu’s mind, struggling to say: “Host…”

“We can settle now.”

Chu Zu said, “I won’t wake. Rounding up, I’m gone. Tang Qi achieved his goal perfectly, as per our mission. Don’t worry.”

The System whispered, “I think so too, but the boss sent a notice. They’ve formed an expert panel to evaluate this mission and plan a review hearing…”

“We’ve never faced this before.”

Chu Zu: “What situation?”

The System raised a digital sign, white with red text proclaiming the charge:

[Your revised marginal character dominated the entire plot.]

“Wrong,” Chu Zu said.

“Marginal character refers to status, not role. My role is the main villain. It’s reasonable for a capable villain to steer the story.”

The System was convinced, swapping signs:

[The protagonist Tang Qi’s positive image was damaged, becoming colder and more brutal.]

“Also wrong,” Chu Zu said.

“It’s not damage—it’s growth. After millions of words, how could Tang Qi stay the same?”

“Look, he used to kill without blinking, crying while killing, like he was sick. Now he’s grown, healed, and knows what strength is.”

System: “He only cried once when killing you… Okay, that makes sense too.”

[Character arc ambiguous. Is he exploiting Sidney? Is he a father planning the ending or an ambitious schemer?]

“That question itself is flawed. Characters aren’t flat—how could they have just one trait?”

Chu Zu said, “When I realized mid-story I wouldn’t live long, I didn’t want to give up, but I also wanted Sidney to live well without me. If one act achieves both, why wouldn’t I do it?”

He sighed, “That’s why I said I didn’t need to know the setting. It’d be best if Tang Qi told me himself—that’s fate. I didn’t have time to tamper, and Sidney wasn’t meant to be in the ending.”

The System said dryly, “I didn’t hide it well…”

Chu Zu immediately defended: “No, it’s Tang Qi’s and my fault. You did nothing wrong.”

The System bristled: “You did nothing wrong! Where’s your fault!”

“Being too smart is a fault.”

System: “…”

Chu Zu: “…We’re getting off track. Let’s handle the review hearing. Where were we?”

The System flipped through its digital signs, pulling another.

[The book’s popularity poll has Chu Zu overwhelmingly first, overshadowing the protagonist and supporting cast.]

This time, the System couldn’t hold back, ranting before Chu Zu could respond.

“The boss is crazy! Your popularity isn’t your fault. Why don’t they ask those homos what they’re thinking!”

Chu Zu: “…”

Chu Zu: “…It’s Homosociality.”

Chu Zu: “Also, don’t ignore female readers. Male-oriented fiction has a female fanbase too. Be respectful, be good.”

“Sorry.”

The System quickly realized its mistake, apologized, and continued fuming, “There’s more random accusations, even dragging in Sidney. These are author-approved changes—they can’t blame you!”

To help its host win the review, the System frantically gathered favorable evidence.

For a completed novel, besides subscription revenue, the second most important metric was final reviews.

Reader feedback influenced the author, critical for marginal character revision scores and a key reference for the hearing.

The System navigated the forums with ease.

Chu Zu, curious about reader reactions, joined it to look.

He expected his popularity to spike again due to an imperfect ending.

Seeing an ambitious figure become a stepping stone for a new world, readers with expectations for the character would feel brief pity, but it wouldn’t last.

After Chu Zu’s death, Tang Qi’s growth was rapid, with dozens of chapters left, plus epilogues, easily pulling reader focus back.

That’s what he thought, but.

Mangoes flooded the page, row after row, interspersed with sporadic admin notices: [No meaningless spam].

Neon Crown’s threads dominated the forum, drowning out other novels’ discussions.

Admins could delete individual spam but couldn’t restrict mass user reactions.

Since the forum’s founding, no discussion has been this massive.

Ignoring the uniform mango icons in thread titles, the text was striking.

[Created a faith, serving a god who could fall at any moment, Chu Zu.]