A cup of coffee costs 120, and Brian Carter has no idea whether this bitter stuff, as bitter as his current mood, can really prolong life—why does it have to be so expensive?

He lazily pulled out his phone and opened QQ, tapping into a group chat called “Civil Strife Among Roommates.”

It was a small group, with just over three hundred members including Brian Carter. Compared to some so-called two-thousand-member groups that are actually dead silent, this group wasn’t large, but it was lively—everyone’s mouth was like a Gatling gun, and just a trip to the bathroom would mean coming back to 99+ new messages.

For a small group to be this active, Brian Carter deserved a lot of credit.

Someone once summarized the elements needed for an active group, listing twenty in total, and the most important, number one, was: you need a dumbass group owner...

That summary was spot on—Brian Carter was the group owner.

This was his readers’ group; he was the author, pen name and real name both Brian Carter. “Civil Strife Among Roommates” was, of course, a bunch of readers in a group... never mind.

At the moment, the group seemed to have reached a tacit agreement about a certain news screenshot, and everyone was spamming the same message.

“Today’s fear of marriage +1.”

“Today’s fear of marriage +1.”

Brian Carter habitually clicked +1.

Brian Carter: “Today’s fear of marriage +1.”

“……”

The group went quiet for a moment, then someone asked, “Big Brian? Didn’t you say you were going on a blind date? How come you’re back so soon?”

“How long does a blind date take?” Brian Carter tried to sound calm. “It’s GG.”

The group got lively again: “Good that it’s GG, women are nowhere near as fun as writing books. You haven’t updated today!”

Brian Carter’s fingers paused on the keyboard for a few seconds, but he didn’t reply.

Most people don’t care what mood you’re in on the other side of the internet; all they care about is that you haven’t updated today. That’s why Brian Carter rarely took sick days, even when he wasn’t feeling well—because the feedback he’d get wasn’t “get some rest,” but “making excuses again.”

Unless you have old readers who are emotionally invested. Unfortunately, Brian Carter didn’t have that kind of following yet.

In the end, he was still just someone considered an unemployed drifter by his blind date...

He put away his phone and downed the now half-cold coffee in one go. “Check, please.”

The server came over. “One hundred twenty.”

Brian Carter was taken aback. Two cups of coffee? “Is it half price today?”

“The young lady just now already paid for hers.”

Brian Carter instinctively turned to look out the window, only to remember that William Parker had left at least five minutes ago.

Although William Parker’s slip of the tongue had stung Brian Carter a bit, he didn’t hate her for it. After all, that’s how most people see this profession, and he was used to it.

Besides, his own acting had been way too over the top from nerves... what nonsense was he even spouting...

Brian Carter couldn’t figure out why someone with William Parker’s looks and temperament would need to go on blind dates. If he were to guess maliciously...

Forget it, what’s the point? The past of a passing stranger—what’s it got to do with him?

For him right now, the only reality he had to face was that awkward line from the group: today’s update still wasn’t finished, and if he kept dragging his feet, he’d miss another day.

Chapter 2: Endless Autumn

Brian Carter’s rented place was clearly quite far from this fancy downtown café. For a typical homebody web novelist, living in the suburbs or the city center didn’t make much difference—the biggest difference was that rent was much cheaper.

After a quick bowl of fried noodles, he returned to his rental. It was almost dark, and the small living room was a bit dim.

It was a two-bedroom apartment. Neither room had the lights on, but from one of them came the clatter of typing—the melody of fingers dancing on the keyboard drifted from the dim room into the equally dim living room. There was someone there, there was sound, but it only made the place feel even more empty and dead.

That was Brian Carter’s writer friend, sharing the rent with him.

This friend had a very old-fashioned name: David Bolton. When Brian Carter posted a roommate ad on the writers’ forum, he’d specifically wanted to find another writer to motivate each other. David Bolton was also looking for a place, so they hit it off and had been living together for almost half a year.

In the end, they found out that “motivating each other” was total nonsense.

“Have you eaten?” Brian Carter asked casually.

A reply came from the room: “Just whipped something up. Suddenly had a burst of inspiration like a flood... Eh? You’re back at this hour—did your blind date crash and burn?”

“It crashed, just like your inspiration.” Brian Carter pushed open his own door, about to go in.

The keyboard clacking next door finally stopped, and a skinny guy with glasses appeared at the door, eyeing Brian Carter’s blind date outfit and clicking his tongue. “Our Mr. Carter actually has a bit of Daniel Wu’s vibe, huh. How’d the girl rate?”

Brian Carter replied grumpily, “Zero.”

Give full marks to grass, but not to people—basic operation.

David Bolton quickly put on an “I get it” look, sounding regretful. “Didn’t even leave a photo for your bro to admire...”

Brian Carter said nothing, thinking to himself that if he’d really taken a photo, David Bolton would probably say he’d just found a random internet pic to fool him... How could a blind date be that pretty?

David Bolton asked, “So what was it this time? Household registration? Money? House?”

Brian Carter glanced at him, then suddenly laughed. “Because we’re unemployed drifters.”