Chapter One: The Internet Waits for Me to Fail

It was not really his. Three days earlier, the owner of the junk shop downstairs had traded it for six months of unpaid poster work. There was no brand on the casing, only a fire-scarred signature: ZERO. Lin had planned to sell it tomorrow. Instead, he wiped away the dust, mounted his phone, and titled a livestream: “FORTY-EIGHT HOURS OF LIVE DRAWING. FACE AND SCREEN VISIBLE. RANDOM REQUESTS ACCEPTED. FIND ONE AI-GENERATED STROKE AND I QUIT.” Within ten minutes, one hundred thousand viewers had arrived—not to support him, but to watch him die. “Draw the sea kid again!” “Make him draw hands. Ten fingers!” “He already prepared the sketch.”