streaming responses appears to be broken for me.
I'm using minimax coding plan. I'm observing the in the raw stream log that streaming is happening. I'm in discord but it isn't streaming there.
2026-02-16 18:31:03 - assistant_text_stream - year," he whispered, "I'll bring pictures. She's been asking about the kids."
The train whistle blew—
-----------------------
2026-02-16 18:31:04 - assistant_text_stream - long and clear across the valley.
—
model: MiniMax-M2.5
-----------------------
2026-02-16 18:31:04 - assistant_text_stream -
-----------------------
2026-02-16 18:31:04 - assistant_message_end - # The Last Train to Orion
Marcus had been riding the 11:47 train for thirty-seven years. Not to get somewhere—he rode it because it was the only place his wife had ever truly smiled.
She'd loved trains. Specifically, she'd loved this one: the old locomotive that ran the overnight route from Cincinnati to nowhere in particular, just looped through the hills and came back. They'd taken it on their honeymoon. She'd died two winters later.
Now, every year on their anniversary, Marcus boarded at 11:47 PM. He ordered two coffees. He sat on the left side, window seat, where she'd always sat. He watched the dark fields roll by and talked to her about the kids, the grandkids, the world changing too fast.
The conductor knew him. Never charged him a fare.
Tonight, as the train crested the hill overlooking the river, Marcus felt something shift. Not sadness. Not quite joy either. Something lighter.
He smiled at the empty seat beside him.
"Next year," he whispered, "I'll bring pictures. She's been asking about the kids."
The train whistle blew—long and clear across the valley.
—
model: MiniMax-M2.5
Thinking:
The user wants me to tell another story. Let me craft something different and engaging, at least 100 words.
-----------------------
2026-02-16 18:31:03 - assistant_text_stream - year," he whispered, "I'll bring pictures. She's been asking about the kids."
The train whistle blew—
-----------------------
2026-02-16 18:31:04 - assistant_text_stream - long and clear across the valley.
—
model: MiniMax-M2.5
-----------------------
2026-02-16 18:31:04 - assistant_text_stream -
-----------------------
2026-02-16 18:31:04 - assistant_message_end - # The Last Train to Orion
Marcus had been riding the 11:47 train for thirty-seven years. Not to get somewhere—he rode it because it was the only place his wife had ever truly smiled.
She'd loved trains. Specifically, she'd loved this one: the old locomotive that ran the overnight route from Cincinnati to nowhere in particular, just looped through the hills and came back. They'd taken it on their honeymoon. She'd died two winters later.
Now, every year on their anniversary, Marcus boarded at 11:47 PM. He ordered two coffees. He sat on the left side, window seat, where she'd always sat. He watched the dark fields roll by and talked to her about the kids, the grandkids, the world changing too fast.
The conductor knew him. Never charged him a fare.
Tonight, as the train crested the hill overlooking the river, Marcus felt something shift. Not sadness. Not quite joy either. Something lighter.
He smiled at the empty seat beside him.
"Next year," he whispered, "I'll bring pictures. She's been asking about the kids."
The train whistle blew—long and clear across the valley.
—
model: MiniMax-M2.5
Thinking:
The user wants me to tell another story. Let me craft something different and engaging, at least 100 words.
-----------------------
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