A Novelist’s Guide for Side Characters to Survive

Chapter 6 “That train accident let us share the same miracle.”

I followed Tang Qi into a building.

From the outside, it didn’t look like much, but inside, it was a barely spacious and clean house, with dim but stable lighting.

The room had no windows, yet it was as large as Luciano Esposito’s bedroom.

Except for the two square meters near the entrance, the space was packed with about thirty iron-framed beds, laid out in neat rows.

Ragged cloths served as bedsheets, with no pillows, and on them lay people who looked like dried corpses.

Bottles of medicine hung by the beds, connected by multiple thin tubes, delivering fluids through needles to several people at once.

The air in the sealed space was thick with a foul smell—sweat, urine, the rot of infected wounds, and a faint metallic tang.

This was what Tang Qi wanted me to see.

“Even if I smuggled treatment pods and the necessary drugs to the lower district, the equipment’s voltage and frequency wouldn’t match,” Tang Qi said.

I followed him inside, and only then did I hear the murmurs—faint, muddled words choked by the grime in their throats, barely audible.

Listening closely, I realized they were repeating Tang Qi’s name.

He bent down, his hand gently resting on a withered arm covered in sores, his expression heavy.

“The lower district is the upper district’s garbage dump. Corrosive waste and experimental radiation are tossed down layer by layer. At the bottom, surviving to adulthood in good health is nothing short of a miracle,” he said.

“It’s not a miracle,” I replied coldly.

“During the great purge in the upper district, many were exiled to the lower district. If their ancestors had genetic enhancements, their descendants would naturally have stronger constitutions than those without.”

“Isn’t that strange?” Tang Qi asked.

“Not strange,” I said.

His head dropped lower, his black hair hiding his face, his back tense.

He stayed silent for a long moment, then suddenly turned, grabbed my shirt collar, and slammed me against the wall in two quick steps.

The ceiling lamp swayed, creaking with a grating sound.

The system panicked: “Why—why did he suddenly attack?”

My pain insensitivity and deadpan acting skills were perfect for this moment.

I stayed calm, observing Tang Qi.

His brows were furrowed, his eyes wide, pupils slightly dilated, jaw muscles clenched.

He was angry, holding it in, but there was no hatred.

“You’re someone who climbed up from the lower district. How dare you say it’s not strange?”

His voice was practically squeezed from his throat.

He was almost as tall as Luciano Esposito, just over 1.8 meters, shorter than me.

Even though he had the upper hand, his anger made him fierce, but he still had to tilt his chin to meet my gaze.

His fist gripped my collar tightly, his body leaning forward, muscles taut.

His voice grew louder, sharper—he was preparing for a possible fight, signaling threat and dissatisfaction to intimidate me.

I told the system, “He’s nervous, a bit anxious.”

The system was confused: “?”

“It’s righteous indignation,” I explained.

“It stems from a strong sense of justice and a need for self-defense. Tang Qi feels his and others’ rights have been violated. He needs to do something to uphold fairness and his dignity.”

The system hesitated. “I feel… he just wants to beat you up.”

I was surprised.

“I’m at peak combat strength, and he thinks he can beat me?”

The system fell silent.

“You want to know why he’s snapping at me, right?”

I asked.

The system eagerly agreed, admitting it was puzzling.

Last time we met, our relationship was one of mutual antagonism.

Why was Tang Qi acting like a different person now?

I chuckled lightly. “Because I made him realize I’m from the lower district too.”

Tang Qi had stepped forward because he saw something in my eyes in the dim light.

He’d dealt with me before and knew my usual demeanor—sharp features, crimson eyes devoid of emotion, the picture of cold ruthlessness.

But just now, he saw something different.

My face, hard as a glacier, stayed expressionless, but maybe because of the rain, my eyes seemed softer, almost wet.

That’s when it hit him—why I kept emphasizing pain.

It’s strange, isn’t it?

Investigate me, and you’ll find I’m from the lower district too.

That realization consumed him, making it harder for him to accept.

He let go of my collar, spreading his hand flat against my chest.

Behind him were thirty dying souls, barely clinging to life.

Beneath his palm was my steady heartbeat, my calm breathing—a stark, absurd contrast to my cold words.

His anger flared.

“Where did your health come from? Your genes? Don’t give me that nonsense,” he said.

“I remember who you are, Chu Zu, the painless kid from District 13. They used you as a punching bag, nearly killed you multiple times, but you survived. Not only that, you became the grim reaper of the garbage dump.”

His forehead veins bulged as he shouted, “The lower district gave you a miserable childhood, so you’re taking revenge? Or did Luciano Esposito give you the illusion you could wield power, making you willing to serve him?”

I stayed silent, my presence sharp as a blade.

Honestly, Tang Qi found no emotion in my gaze—not during interrogations, not now.

No disdain, no contempt.

“You don’t feel pain, and I don’t care about it,” he said.

“That train accident let us share the same miracle. You were forced to become Luciano’s blade, while I chose to be a weapon for my homeland. My eyes were searching for you, and you let me go.”

His anger deflated, replaced by a wave of defeat.

“You, of all people, should understand what I’m doing…”

I told the stunned system, “See, that’s why I set my meeting with Little Lu at the train accident.”

The system was shocked.

“I thought you just picked a big event as a plot point!”

“Nope. We’re in this line of work, so learn a bit. Ask me if you don’t understand,” I said.

The system adjusted its attitude, pulling out a notepad like an eager student.

“Got it, I’ll learn!”

Tang Qi had all the qualities of a protagonist—kindness, resilience, and a rare, cost-free talent.

His background didn’t need to be privileged, but he had an unreplicable path to rise.

Having lived both a wretched and a glamorous life, his choices wouldn’t be dismissed by readers as naive posturing.

From a novel character’s perspective, though, the lower district didn’t fully understand him.

They vaguely grasped his fight for “the right to survive,” but if Luciano Esposito made a small concession after a crackdown, they’d abandon their savior.

The upper district wouldn’t support him either; even as the Tang Family’s sole heir, they only feared the family’s biotech dominance.

Those in between, like Dai Xi’an, had their own survival strategies.

Among those who’d climbed from the bottom to the top, only Tang Qi and I truly knew what to fight for and why.

Our similarities were too many—terrible childhoods, dramatic rises, the risk of fake identities exposed or being discarded by our “masters.”

I was the only one who could fully understand Tang Qi, yet I chose the opposite path.

“That’s why Tang Qi can’t help but feel defeated,” I told the system.

“Whether I’m human or monster, he desperately needed some acknowledgment from me, and he didn’t get it.”

The system scribbled, “Didn’t get it… right, didn’t get it!”

As it logged the data, I stayed silent, letting Tang Qi’s need for acknowledgement go unfulfilled.

The system didn’t rush me this time, trusting me as a reliable rookie.

Then I spoke, breaking the silence.

“It wasn’t forced.”

“What did you say?”

Tang Qi didn’t catch it.

I didn’t repeat myself.

My tense body visibly relaxed, leaning against the wall, head slightly lowered.

Later, Tang Qi would recall this moment, replaying my words, covering his eyes to stifle the sting.

Maybe my words got through, or maybe I wasn’t feeling well—this was the first time I was honest with him, and he didn’t take it seriously.

After this, I never showed another crack, and whatever this conversation meant to him remained unknown.

What was certain was that every decision I made afterward stemmed from this talk.

Tang Qi didn’t know that someone who understood him completely could be more than a “comrade”—they could be a “nemesis.”

He just stood there, submerged with me in the room’s faint wails.

“Today’s conversation stays between us. I won’t tell Lu,” I said abruptly, standing straight.

“Don’t mention the train accident again. Without the Tang Family heir title, you’re nothing in the upper district’s eyes.”

“You…” Tang Qi started.

“Thanks for clearing up my confusion. I have no payment or promises to offer,” I continued.

“If you want to save those behind you, Esposito’s monitoring stations in the lower district are in Districts 13 and 32. Food, supplies, treatment pods, and independent power sources—everything you need is there.”

Tang Qi froze, lips parting in a near-horrified expression.

I nodded.

“Farewell.”

I turned and walked to the door.

I added an extra line, that’s fine, right?” I asked the system.

The original script only had me revealing Esposito’s station locations, but I added, “If you want to save those behind you,” for context.

The system, forgetting my earlier reaction to District 18, replied cheerfully, “No problem! As long as you said the key lines!”

Compared to the disease-ridden room, the lower district’s murky air felt fresh.

Reassured, I strolled toward the train.

The original scene felt forced.

Tang Qi just yelled, and ‘Chu Zu’ immediately spilled Esposito’s stations.

My tweak worked well, very well, the system said, thrilled.

“Tang Qi even shared his identity secret! Sincerity is the ultimate weapon. It makes sense you’re temporarily on his side!”

“I’m not on his side,” I said.

“Huh?” The system paused. “You said…”

“‘Chu Zu’ is ambitious,” I thought.

“Name one ambitious person who willingly works for someone else.”

“But… you leaked Esposito’s info because you were moved, right?”

“It’s enough that it looks that way. Tang Qi probably thinks so too,” I said.

Though Tang Qi didn’t avoid me as expected, and my “betrayal” came early, the plot point was completed.

I didn’t mind the system’s slow processing.

Train procedures to the upper district were a hassle, with iris scans as the basic check.

Most upper-district folks had neural interfaces or RFID chips.

I had neither, just Esposito’s comm device in my ear bone.

I passed the gate faster than others, found a seat on the comfier train, and watched through the window as the middle district bathed in secondhand sunlight, then the real sunlight hit as we breached the iron-gray sky.

The artificial rain had stopped, leaving the purified upper district cleaner, clearer.

Airships with ads circled, and giant holographic figures posed before office buildings.

The system kept babbling.

My backstory was complete, my motive for betraying Luciano Esposito was solid, and the next step was earning the title of the story’s big boss.

Hundreds of chapters remained, but after Luciano’s death, “Chu Zu” vanished without a trace.

“Let’s follow the plot for now. No rush, we’ve got the advantage,” I told the system.

Confident, it roared with mechanical enthusiasm, “Good! No plot? We’ll make one. If we break rules, I’ll cover what I can and warn you if I can’t!”

“Nice, good system,” I said.

At the station, five or six strangers blocked my path.

The leader’s head was half-prosthetic, no skin graft, metal lips parting with a gear’s whir.

Luciano Esposito’s voice came from his mouth: “Get over here, Chu Zu, now.”

The system stammered, “Is—is this part of your rebellion and fall?

Should we keep following the plot?”

I admitted, “No. I was in a bad mood earlier, and Tang Qi came at me with his tirade. Timing, place, and mood aligned, so I got carried away, pushed the plot forward, and forgot I’m still under Little Lu’s watch for this rebellion and fall.”

The system was speechless.