247: Chapter 247 Author's Backstage Exposed! The Eunuch Curse is the Ultimate Source of Infection

Three seconds after the donation was completed, the moment Number Zero's weight jumped back from [ERROR] to [20.0], a blood-red alert popped up on Lin Chen's account:

[Warning: High-dimensional infection source transfer detected]

[Infection Target: Your personal account]

[Infection Type: Narrative Layer Primordial Virus · Codename 'Eunuch Curse']

[Symptoms: All stories under your name will be forcibly placed in a 'Hiatus State'. Characters frozen, plot stalled, world enters permanent standby]

[Countdown: Takes effect in 10 minutes]

Lin Chen stared at the words 'Eunuch Curse', instantly connecting all the clues in his mind.

Number Zero's infection, Future Lin Chen's urgency, and The Librarian's statement that 'only your behavior cannot be modeled'—it wasn't because Lin Chen was special, but because...

"I am that 'Author'?" Lin Chen looked at Future Lin Chen.

In the future him's golden pupils, there was finally an emotional fluctuation—a complex expression mixed with guilt and resolve.

"Not exactly." Future Lin Chen pulled up a hidden file. "The source of all stories in the Narrative Layer is a high-dimensional existence known as the 'Creator Author Cluster'. But thirty thousand epochs ago, the cluster's core was infected with 'Creative Burnout Syndrome', causing a massive number of stories to be abandoned."

The file's display showed: countless universes suddenly froze at their climax, then faded to gray, as if a pause button had been pressed.

"The Eunuch Curse is the manifestation of this burnout," The Librarian chimed in to explain. "It spreads backwards along the creative chain, first infecting the Author, then the work, and finally the rules of the entire Narrative Layer itself—Number Zero was the first rule entity to be infected."

The Game Designer added, "We tried every method: antivirus, quarantine, even restarting the entire Narrative Layer. Nothing worked. Because the root of the curse lies at the level of 'creative motivation'. As long as the Author remains in burnout, the curse will regenerate infinitely."

"So you came to me?" Current Lin Chen understood. "Because I don't follow conventions, using business logic to write stories—that breaks the pattern of 'creative burnout'?"

"Correct," Future Lin Chen nodded. "But we needed a more thorough method. I designed this scheme: have you donate to Number Zero, triggering the 'Causal Transfer Protocol'—transferring the curse from Number Zero to your account as a 'potential Author'."

"And then?" Arrogant Dragon couldn't help but ask. "Transferring it here can cure it?"

"No," Future Lin Chen said. "After the transfer, the curse will manifest into an operable data entity. And dealing with data entities—"

He looked at Current Lin Chen.

"—you're the expert."

Countdown: [7 minutes 33 seconds]

Lin Chen's account had already begun to change.

The once tidy financial interface was now crawling with grayish-white, vine-like code. Wherever that code spread, asset numbers began to blur, monitoring feeds from story worlds began to stutter, and even the system alert sounds became choppy.

The 'silence' light point screamed, "Chairman! My core code is being corrupted! I'm going to... forget... how to Zeroing..."

Lin Chen had no time to hesitate.

He pulled up the financial operations backend and created a brand new trading instrument:

[Instrument Name: Eunuch Curse Futures Contract]

[Underlying Asset: The curse's 'Urge to Go on Hiatus Intensity']

[Contract Terms: Buyers can go long or short on the 'probability of a story being abandoned']

[Settlement Method: If the story is abandoned, the short party must pay astronomical compensation to the long party; if the story is completed, the long party must pay a reward to the short party]

In simple terms—turning 'whether it will be abandoned' into a gamble.

The moment the contract went live, gamblers from across the entire Narrative Layer swarmed in.

"Will this work?" Arrogant Dragon watched the wildly fluctuating trading data.

"The essence of the curse is 'the Author losing creative motivation'," Lin Chen operated rapidly. "But if 'abandoning a story' itself can generate massive profits or losses, the motivation will change."

He pulled up the data streams of all the stories under his name.

The futures contract for the 'probability of abandonment' of the *dimension shareholder* universe was being heavily shorted at this moment—gamblers were betting this story wouldn't be abandoned because Lin Chen's business empire was still running, and abandoning it would cause too great a loss.

Meanwhile, contracts for some other, less popular stories were being bought long—gamblers were eager for those stories to be abandoned so they could collect the compensation.

"Look," Lin Chen pointed at the data. "When 'completion' can bring benefits, the curse's 'urge to go on hiatus' is suppressed by market forces."

Indeed.

The grayish-white vines in the account began to retreat.

The 'silence' light point regained clarity: "The corruption has stopped! But... the curse's core is still there!"

Countdown: [5 minutes 01 second]

"Next is step two." Lin Chen created a second product: [Author Motivation Crowdfunding Bond].

Bond Description:

[For every 1 dimension point of this bond you purchase, it will be directly converted into 'Lin Chen's Creative Motivation +1']

[Bond Term: Permanent]

[Return: You will receive a 0.0000001% share of the revenue from all of Lin Chen's future works]

[Special Note: If Lin Chen abandons any work, this bond will become worthless]

This was equivalent to completely binding the interests of readers and the Author.

Thirty seconds after the bond issuance, subscription volume broke through one hundred trillion dimension points.

Those gamblers, to prevent their futures contracts from being liquidated, frantically purchased bonds to "replenish motivation" for Lin Chen.

Lin Chen's creative motivation index soared from [37] to [980,000].

The grayish-white vines in the account began to burn and dissipate.

Countdown: [2 minutes 15 seconds]

The curse's core was finally exposed.

It was a mass of constantly shifting gray mist, within which the roars of countless Authors surfaced:

"Can't write anymore..."

"The data is so bad..."

"No inspiration..."

"Why must we update daily..."

"Just abandon it..."

These resentments coalesced into the curse's true form.

"Step three." Lin Chen ordered the 'silence' light point. "Acquire it."

"Acquire?!" The light point trembled. "How do we acquire that?!"

"Break it down into 'Negative Emotion Asset Bundles' and list them for sale." Lin Chen operated quickly. "Total packaged price: 1 dimension point. But the buyer must bear the backlash of all the resentments."

The moment it was listed.

An anonymous account snapped it up instantly.

Payment completed.

The curse's core was transferred away.

Lin Chen's account was completely clean.

The countdown stopped at [0 minutes 47 seconds].

Crisis averted.

"Who bought it?" Arrogant Dragon asked.

Lin Chen pulled up the buyer's information—

[Buyer ID: Creator Author Cluster · Burnout Sanatorium]

[Note: Thank you for recycling our negative emotional waste. Processing fee paid: Ten trillion dimension points]

"..." Arrogant Dragon was speechless. "So the source of the curse... bought the curse back themselves?"

"That's business." Lin Chen closed the interface. "As long as the price is low enough, even garbage can be sold."

In the shareholder meeting channel, Future Lin Chen let out a long sigh.

"You passed the final test," he said. "Now, you are qualified to know the truth."

He pulled up the ultimate file of the Narrative Layer:

[True Composition of the Narrative Layer]

[Surface Layer: All ongoing story universes (0.1%)]

[Middle Layer: The graveyard of completed but forgotten stories (9.9%)]

[Deep Layer: Collective resentment of abandoned works (90%)]

[Conclusion: 90% of the entire Narrative Layer's mass is composed of 'unfinished stories'.]

"So the Eunuch Curse isn't an infection," The Librarian said with a bitter smile. "It's the 'foundation' of the Narrative Layer. We've always wanted to eradicate it, but eradicating it would cause the Narrative Layer to collapse."

The Game Designer continued, "So we devised a compromise—don't destroy the curse, but transform it into a 'sustainable energy source'. Your business system is the converter."

Current Lin Chen understood now. "You brought me here not to be a savior, but to be... the manager of a waste processing plant?"

"And a paid one at that." Future Lin Chen pulled up a contract. "We'll package and sell you the resentment from all abandoned works. You use business methods to convert them into positive energy, and we share the profits. Contract term: Permanent."

Lin Chen looked at the contract that resembled a life-long indenture and suddenly laughed.

"I have a condition."

"Speak."

"I want the highest authority over the 'Author's Backend'." Lin Chen stared at Future Lin Chen. "Not this neutered version, but the real backend that can see all stories, modify underlying settings, can— the real one."

The three shareholders fell silent.

Number Zero's weight fluctuated slightly.

Finally, Future Lin Chen nodded. "Agreed. But the moment the backend is activated, you will see the existence of the 'True Author'. That might be... more terrifying than you imagine."

"Terrifying?" Lin Chen laughed. "More terrifying than being in debt by hundreds of trillions?"

"It's different." The Librarian's voice was dry. "Debt will only bankrupt you. Seeing the True Author... might make you 'understand' that you are just a string of text. Many senior Authors went mad because of this and chose to abandon their works."

Lin Chen didn't hesitate. "Activate it."

Permissions granted.

An interface he had never seen before unfolded before him.

It was... a Word document.

The most ordinary, blue-background, white-text word processing software interface.

And all the content of the work *dimension shareholder* was presented in text form within the document.

Including this very conversation.

Including Lin Chen's action of looking at the document.

The document's cursor rested on the latest line, automatically typing:

[Lin Chen didn't hesitate. "Activate it."]

[Permissions granted.]

[An interface he had never seen before unfolded before him.]

[It was... a Word document.]

The cursor paused for a moment.

Then, at the very top of the document, the Author ID slowly surfaced.

It wasn't Future Lin Chen.

It wasn't Number Zero.

It wasn't any shareholder.

But a name that froze the blood in Lin Chen's veins—

[Author: ███]