At night, the elves who had been tossing around all day fell asleep one after another, but π still sat in front of the computer.

There was silence outside, except for the occasional sound of fireworks and firecrackers, which sounded very distant.

π took off his glasses and rubbed his bloodshot eyes, very sleepy, but couldn't sleep. It hasn't rested well in the past few days, lying down and closing its eyes, the rising number of collections and the words in the ord will appear in front of it, both excited and panicked, the mood is very complicated, tossing and turning, like a clockwork that is getting tighter and tighter, I don't know when it will break.

It wrapped up a chapter it had just finished, moved its fingers a few times, and glanced at the time in the lower-right corner of its computer screen—it couldn't remember how many times it had seen it tonight.

It's almost midnight, and the message sent by the editor is that it will be put on the shelves after midnight for a fee, and it is like waiting for the judge's verdict, anxiously waiting for that time to come.

In addition to looking at the time, one of the things it does most frequently is to refresh the author's background, and the number of collections is approaching the 50,000 mark. But it didn't dare to click the mouse too often, and the crunch might disturb the rest of the elves' sleep.

The paid chapters that are ready to be uploaded after midnight are ready, a total of five chapters, which it rushed out in the past few days, and Zhang Zi'an has checked it several times during the day, and it should be fine, but π is still reviewing the manuscript of these five chapters repeatedly, wondering whether the rhetorical style of a certain sentence is used correctly, and whether it can be changed to a more appropriate expression.

Maybe this is the time to continue writing new chapters, but the closer it gets to zero, the more confused it becomes, and it can't settle down to write.

After reading a chapter a few times, it felt that there was a sense of disconnection between one paragraph and the next paragraph, and it was better to add a sentence to make the plot transition more smoothly, so it put on its nose glasses again, put its finger on the keyboard, and gently typed a line. However, there was something annoying to it in this line, which was the long string of 3.1415926......

It hadn't played the numbers since the last upgrade, but on this crucial night, the inexplicable numbers reappeared like a nightmare.

It moves the cursor to the number, presses the backspace key continuously, deletes the number, and clicks save to prevent loss.

Speaking of which, when it first started to write with ORD typing, it also made the mistake of quitting without saving, and the manuscript of thousands of words came to naught.

In fact, the feeling of re-typing a few thousand words is not as bad as imagined, and it does not take long, because the most time-consuming thing to write is to think about the plot, not to type.

After the digit was removed, it smiled when it looked at the clean and tidy document.

That's fine.

That's right, that's fine.

Zhang Zi'an doesn't like that string of inexplicable numbers, readers don't like it, and it doesn't like it either, so let that string of numbers disappear, it has no meaning to exist in the first place, and it shouldn't exist.

After deleting the number, in the silence and cold of the night, its heart suddenly became empty, as if it had lost something very important.

It stared at its palm.

Why?

Why do you involuntarily type out that inexplicable string of numbers? Like a real human being, can't you just hit what you want to hit?

It vaguely remembered that the first time it appeared in the world was in that large house full of books. At the time, however, it had little interest in books, and was instead drawn to the computer on the desk – or rather, to the keyboard, to be precise.

To what extent does the computer keyboard appeal to it? It will involuntarily reach over and press the soft keys, and the familiar touch will come from the fingertips, as if it has done similar actions countless times.

There were only one or two people around at first, sitting in front of the computer and tapping quickly on the keyboard with great pleasure.

It tried to wave its hand in front of their eyes, but they didn't react, they couldn't see it.

So, it stands behind them and watches how they boot up their computers, how they get into chat rooms, how they communicate with others...... Then it found a spare computer in the corner and did the same.

Most things it learns pretty quickly, but like them, it can't imitate them.

Moreover, the way these humans type is significantly different from it - they mainly press the main keyboard area of the keyboard, while it is the number area of the keyboard.

Compared to the main keyboard area, which has 26 letters and 21 symbol keys, the number area is much simpler, with only 10 number keys and 1 decimal key.

It vaguely remembered that it seemed to have its kind, a lot of its kind, countless of its kind, countless of its kind, countless of its kind, each of its kind, each holding a keyboard and typing. But these people like humans, like humans, like to press the main keyboard area, or press randomly on the keyboard, rather than pressing the number area like it does.

It is undoubtedly an outlier of its kind.

Why is it in this world instead of those of its kind?

It doesn't know, maybe it's wrong, after all...... It looked around, and there was a sea of books written entirely in letters or squares, and none of them were written in numbers.

Although the same kind of people are randomly fighting, sometimes they can happen to type some meaningful words, and they are ecstatic about it, as if they have done some great feat.

On this point, it is not qualified to blame them, because it is also messing around, but in the digital zone. But numbers are numbers after all, no matter how you type, you can't type a single meaningful word, and even typing letters is an unrealistic luxury.

So, they should be more qualified to appear in this world than they are.

If it imitates its kind, it may be able to type one or two meaningful words someday in the future, one or two meaningful phrases thousands of years later, and one or two meaningful articles billions of years later......

In that original space, time seemed to stand still, and it and countless other people of the same kind had an almost infinite lifespan, as if it could never stop fighting. They don't know when or why they appeared in that space, but they've been typing ever since.

But does it make any sense?

Everything is just a "coincidence", they don't understand what they're fighting and they don't know what they want to fight.

What's even more sad is that it has been playing numbers, and even the possibility of "coincidence" is zero.

Why did it appear in this bizarre world in place of countless other people of the same kind?

It, along with countless others of its kind, doesn't know when they're in space, but vaguely knows when they'll be able to leave—when they're able to make a meaningful one.

This is undoubtedly a fantasy, even if it is used to build up the base, the probability of "coincidentally" playing a meaningful film is close to zero, and it may not be able to succeed until the day of the end of the universe.

And yet it succeeded, inexplicably and unprepared.

According to the previous habit, it pressed a few times at random in the number area of the computer keyboard, and then typed a long list of numbers, the second digit from the beginning is the decimal point, and the total length of the number is 100 digits, and it actually does not know what the meaning of this string of numbers it plays.

Apparently, the people in the library didn't know at the time, and they thought that someone was playing a prank on them and deliberately causing trouble with them.

It started out cheerful, but soon became restless as it found itself only able to hit 100 digits, with the numbers ...... It seems to have forgotten.

No, when it's in space, it's clear that it can fight infinitely, so why did you forget it after coming to this world?

It's very confusing.

Anxious and confused, he suddenly felt very uncomfortable and weak. It was as if it saw countless of its kind staring at it with envy, as if to say: Why you?

A huge resentment, a collection of countless resentments of the same kind, enveloped it across time and space, and weighed heavily on it.

Just as human beings believe that they can create elves and erase them, resentment from countless people of the same kind is like a black hole with a strong gravitational pull, which may suck it back into its original space at any time.

In the dark, it seemed to hear someone speak—not from a human, but from some supreme being.

"Find that book about life, the universe, and everything, or you'll be back in the same space. "—Someone in the darkness said, the sound is like a morning bell and a dusk drum, as if it can shake the whole universe.

It doesn't want to go back, and if it does, I'm afraid it will be torn to pieces by its resentful kind. It later learned a phrase that explains this mentality – not to suffer from few, but to suffer from inequality. Either everyone should be the denominator, why should you be the numerator?

So, it tried to ask the people around it for help to find the book, but they couldn't see it, they couldn't hear it, they didn't take it seriously, and it couldn't read the square words they typed.

Just when it was almost desperate, Zhang Zi'an appeared.

It will never forget the appearance of Zhang Zi'an holding up the nameless book in front of it, no matter what other people think, it thinks that look is really handsome.

π looked away from his palm and landed on the nameless book placed next to his laptop.

It stretched out its fingers and gently fumbled for the hard cover of the nameless book.

On the scarlet cover, except for a ring of metal edging around it, there are no words or patterns, it is bare and not very beautiful.

For the first time, it had a similar thought – if only there was a word or a pattern on the cover.

At that moment, a hand, a human hand, pressed its hand.

When it looked up, Zhang Zi'an had already stood behind it at some point, looking at it silently.