I Owe the System 100 Million

I wrote about a madman who owed money and refused to repay it. His name is Ember, he wears Pleasant Goat underwear, and he owes eight hundred years of professional debt. The system said he owed sky-high bills, fate said he owed the "current" progress, and even the wrong grapevine that he forcibly incorporated felt that he was owed wages. But he just refused to pay it back—not that he couldn't pay it back, but that he didn't recognize the debt. With a peeping tom, a girl, and a dark red vine, he fought his way out of the system mission, blasted out of the Concept Museum, kicked into the Desire Gallery, and his next stop was the cemetery of dreams. He doesn't want to save the world. He just wants to do one thing: go to places where no fire, no light, no sound is allowed, set off the loudest firecrackers, light the biggest bonfire, and then find the person who wrote the script and ask - "What the fuck are you writing?" He is not a hero. He doesn't care about people. His authority is "registering bad debts", his weapon is sour grapes, and his armor is Pleasant Goat underwear. Say to fate, "You are a treacherous son", and to God Noah, "Help me bring a message to Diga - his craftsmanship in carving stone statues is unparalleled in the world, but can he be more careful when choosing a site next time?" This book won't make any money, I'm sure of it. Because the ember is just a fantasy I have had for more than twenty years - a fantasy about something, using its own way, to go to places I have not been to, to do what I have always wanted to do: to become Ultraman, to end those painful and rigid dogmas and even fate itself. Although it will eventually return to its original state. What happened? I've been here, I've seen it, I'll die here. Did you succeed in fighting fate? Did it fail? I have no idea. But I'm doing it.