[World Main Story: The War for Humanity’s Survival Begins.]
It wasn’t just Tang Xiao. At the same time, every player in this world saw the game panel pop up in front of them.
In a remote area within the Alliance—
Fu Yichen raised an eyebrow and accepted the mission without hesitation. Next to him, a younger player muttered, “Seriously? Just like that? Not even a proper expansion pack?”
“You should be used to it by now; that’s just the style of this game,” another player in glasses laughed.
“No wonder there are so few players,” Che Shufeng grumbled. “But what are we supposed to do without any guidance? What can we even do?”
Fu Yichen replied, “Well, we could try reporting it, or just keep fighting monsters as usual. We’ll probably get a chance to dive in later.”
Che Shufeng sighed. “I guess that’s all we can do. Whatever, I’ve already finished my college entrance exams and have plenty of time. Speaking of which, a lot of new games are out lately. My classmates are all playing them. Should we switch to one of those instead?”
Fu Yichen exchanged a glance with the glasses-wearing player and politely declined with a smile. “No thanks. I’d like to keep exploring this game.”
“Alright, alright. I really don’t get what’s so appealing about this game,” Che Shufeng muttered. Seeing that their convoy was about to reach Base 01, he got out of the vehicle, said goodbye to Fu Yichen and the others, and logged out.
After he left, the glasses-wearing player checked to make sure no one was nearby before speaking in a low voice. “You still haven’t told Xiao Che the truth about this game, have you?”
“How could I tell him in a way that he’d believe?” Fu Yichen smiled bitterly. “And even if I did, what difference would it make? It would only add to his worries. Better to let him think this is just a game.”
Considering Che Shufeng’s age, the glasses-wearing player sighed softly. “Fair enough. He’ll probably quit soon anyway. Just from a gaming perspective, this really isn’t very fun.”
Che Shufeng hadn’t been playing long, so he hadn’t noticed anything yet. But some players who had been in the game longer might have picked up on certain truths.
Unfortunately, players had no way to communicate with each other. Forums discussing the game were completely blocked in reality, and there was no friend system in the game—only a nearby player channel for local communication. If no players were nearby, there was nothing to see.
The only way for players to make friends was to meet in the game and exchange contact information, just like in real life.
Among those who had uncovered the truth, reactions varied. Some contacted national authorities, others treated it as a golden opportunity for profit, and some simply kept playing, each making their own choice.
The glasses-wearing player belonged to the first group. Upon realizing the truth, he reached out to the relevant authorities. Surprisingly, he wasn’t interrogated or detained, just registered. Occasionally, they shared information, but he was also required to keep it confidential from other players.
“Besides,” he said, “I’m planning to quit soon.”
Fu Yichen looked at him in surprise. The glasses-wearing player shrugged. “Things aren’t looking great. The person I’ve been in contact with hinted that it might be safer for me to stop logging in.”
“I see,” Fu Yichen said regretfully. “Then our team will be down to just me.”
The glasses-wearing player hesitated, then said, “Brother Fu, maybe you should quit too. It’s really not safe anymore. You’re not using this game to make money, so why bother?”
Fu Yichen didn’t respond, only smiling faintly.
His situation was a bit more unique. He hadn’t registered with the authorities, nor was he profiting from in-game knowledge or technology. Even so, he had decided to accept the main story task. Simply because—
“Yichen.”
A voice called out from the checkpoint. Fu Yichen and the glasses-wearing player, having just cleared the inspection and entered the town, saw a plainly dressed woman hurrying toward them. She grabbed Fu Yichen’s arm and looked him over anxiously. “How was it this time? You’re not hurt, are you?”
The woman's features resembled Fu Yichen's. Her simple clothing and wind-chapped cheeks gave her a modest appearance.
The glasses-wearing player sighed lightly, patted Fu Yichen on the shoulder, and said, “I’ll leave you two to it. I’ll head off now.”
Fu Yichen nodded. “Alright. Goodbye.”
“I’ll be going ahead,” the glasses-wearing player said, a double entendre in his words as he waved and walked away without looking back.
The woman glanced suspiciously at his retreating figure. Sensing something unusual about this farewell compared to the previous one, she asked nervously, “Did I interrupt something? Were you two talking about something important? Did you fight?”
“No, Mom,” Fu Yichen reassured her gently. “We just had a small difference of opinion.”
“By the way, Mom, I remember someone in our family knows someone in the upper ranks of this base. Could you introduce me?”
“Eh? You’re finally giving up on the exploration team and switching to administration?” the woman asked in surprise.
“No,” Fu Yichen replied with a bitter smile. “It’s just that I found some unusual traces while I was out in the field.”
Having decided to stay and accept the main story task, Fu Yichen resolved to do his best to prevent the impending disaster, even without a direct quest introduction or the identity of a chosen savior.
This world wasn’t just a game. Players had no special chosen background or invincible powers—not even a second chance. What they could do was so small, so insignificant.
Yet even so, Fu Yichen was determined to do what he could.
Meanwhile, at the Third Eye—
The investigative team at the Tart Farm had returned, but the seven-member squad was reduced to four, with two lightly injured and two severely wounded. The only good news was that they had captured a sentient-infected individual who was immediately sent to the lab for a series of experiments.
The Third Eye’s efficiency reached unprecedented levels in the face of the crisis. The ‘Hope Plan’ was fast-tracked like never before, with personnel reassigned, a dedicated experimental area set up, and most armed forces stationed near the lab. Security levels were raised higher than those of previous Level 5 projects, and an entire floor next to the experimental area was cleared to serve as housing for the researchers, ensuring their safety and convenience.
Tang Xiao and the others quickly immersed themselves in the project. Using the captured infected individual, they arrived at some preliminary conclusions.
“The theory about the zombie mushroom affecting brain judgment was correct,” Tang Xiao said as he reviewed the research report. “Based on our findings so far, the zombie mushroom has evolved significantly compared to previous versions. The brains of all infected individuals are now parasitized by mycelium, which manipulates the synthesis of human hormones.”
“For example, when infected individuals see healthy humans, serotonin, testosterone, catecholamines, and cholesterol levels fluctuate, triggering a strong urge to attack. However, when they see mushrooms, dopamine is released, creating feelings of comfort and closeness.”
“In simple terms,” Tang Xiao explained, “the zombie mushroom’s ability to control the human body is now more nuanced and powerful. To use an analogy, it’s like a master hacker implanting a Trojan horse into the human body. Combined with the brainwashing tactics of the Huigui Sect, this explains why rational infected individuals often harm their loved ones.”
The people in the meeting room remained expressionless. Perhaps they had grown numb to bad news; nothing worse could shock them anymore.
“Is there a way to reverse their mindset?” Leon asked, his tone carrying a hint of hope. “Since the infected retain some human memories, maybe there’s a chance to convince them to return to humanity’s side.”
Tang Xiao shook his head. “It’s extremely difficult. First, the mushroom has integrated too deeply, even into their genes. While drugs or surgery might address the symptoms, they can’t solve the root problem. Second, if we resort to similar verbal or hormonal stimuli, their rationality would eventually collapse, reverting them to being controlled by the mushroom.”
“What about 428? Can it control the zombie mushroom?” someone suggested another avenue.
Tang Xiao shook his head again. He thought of that, too. He even asked Jun Tesi right after the meeting, but the answer was: “428 shows no interest in infected individuals placed in the same space, not even responding to pheromone commands.”
Jun Tesi had explained that Tang Xiao’s authority wasn’t sufficient.
It was clear that if the King of Mushroom was behind this, Jun Tesi’s control over the mushrooms would naturally be inferior.
The only solace was that the King of Mushroom also couldn’t locate Jun Tesi through the infected.
There wasn’t a single piece of good news in the report.
Although the senior members of the Academic Committee understood that a disaster of this magnitude wouldn’t reveal any hope at the start, they couldn’t help but sigh. Xiao Bai nodded at Tang Xiao. “You’ve done well.”
“Let’s hope this deters some of the fools betraying humanity,” Tang Xiao muttered. “With their emotions and thoughts controlled by mushrooms, and their bodies turned into those monstrosities, how could anyone willingly become a vessel for the mushrooms?”
To Tang Xiao, such beings could no longer be considered human. He couldn’t understand why anyone would willingly abandon the free will of humanity to become slaves of another species.
“You’ll never understand what goes on in those lunatics’ minds,” Leon sneered. Xiao Bai glanced at him and said, “We’ll share the evidence of mushroom control over humans with other factions. Thank you for your efforts.”
“How’s the project team doing now?”
At the mention of this, Tang Xiao’s expression turned a bit helpless. “Overall, it’s going well. The assembled scientists have all immersed themselves in the work and started researching gene-editing technology. But maybe my personal reputation isn’t strong enough—some scientists seem to have their own ideas.”
Xiao Bai had anticipated this. In fact, over the past two days, he had received a few emails suggesting changes to the research direction.
These scientists weren’t necessarily trying to undermine Tang Xiao. The issue was simply that gene-editing technology was too novel. Even though everyone recognized its potential, no one could predict the problems that might arise when applied to the human body.
There had yet to be a truly successful example of gene therapy. Even Tang Xiao’s earlier work on hereditary liver diseases had not produced convincing results.
Strictly speaking, this technology had only recently emerged, and now they were facing a crisis that threatened humanity’s survival. It was understandable that some scientists hesitated, believing that reconsidering the treatment approach might be safer than venturing into a new and untested field.
Moreover, as the leading figure in the field, Tang Xiao was still so young, naturally inviting skepticism.
Even Tang Xiao himself sometimes doubted whether choosing this direction was the right call. Thanks to the game system, he knew humanity only had six months. Could they really achieve results in such a short time? Wouldn’t it be better to try another direction?
Just in case, he had saved his progress after agreeing to take on the responsibility.
Xiao Bai could sense Tang Xiao’s inner conflict from his evasive gaze but chose not to point it out. After offering a few routine words of comfort, the others sent Tang Xiao off to rest and moved on to the next topic. Now that the zombie mushroom’s manipulative nature was known, ensuring the smooth progress of the project required addressing internal issues, a task the Academic Committee had been heavily focused on recently.
After the meeting, Xiao Bai stopped Leon.
“What is it?” Leon’s tone was curt. While the current crisis had put an end to his direct hostility toward Xiao Bai, his attitude remained far from friendly.
Ignoring Leon’s sour expression, Xiao Bai spoke calmly. “Dr. Leon, according to the original plan, we were supposed to hold the next chairman election in two months. But given the current situation, that seems unlikely.”
At this, Leon’s expression darkened, and he sneered. “Yes, Chairman Xiao. Stability is the priority now. Is that all you wanted to say?”
“So, I’m stepping down from my role as acting chairman,” Xiao Bai said, ignoring Leon’s reaction. “Would you be willing to take over?”
Leon froze, his mouth slightly agape. “You’re handing it over to me?”
“I’m not particularly skilled at politics or administration,” Xiao Bai explained. “While I could learn, I believe my abilities are better suited elsewhere in the current crisis. In terms of decision-making, management, and coordination, you’re better than I am.”
Xiao Bai had realized this during yesterday’s meeting. He lacked a deep understanding of human nature and interpersonal dynamics. While he could make up for this through learning, it would take time—time they didn’t have.
“You’re willing to give it up?” Leon was surprised. With Xiao Bai’s intelligence, he surely knew how hard it would be to regain the position once he stepped down.
To put it bluntly, if humanity survived this disaster, Leon, as acting chairman, would gain immense political capital, making it impossible for him to relinquish the role. And if humanity didn’t survive, well, nothing else would matter anyway.
“Or are you planning to take over Tang Xiao’s position as project lead?”
“No. I still believe he’s the most suitable leader for the project. But if I join his team, perhaps the other scientists will have fewer objections.”
“You’re surprisingly generous,” Leon said, his expression shifting slightly as he grasped Xiao Bai’s intentions. It only made his actions harder to understand.
After all, there was no personal benefit for Xiao Bai in doing this. If the project succeeded, Tang Xiao would gain the most credit. If it failed, Xiao Bai might share the blame, especially since he had insisted on appointing Tang Xiao as the leader.
“In times of crisis, it’s more important than ever for everyone to fulfill their roles, don’t you think?”
“And you’re not afraid I might sabotage your efforts?”
Xiao Bai’s voice turned cold. “If your hatred for me outweighs your pride as a human and a scientist, then perhaps humanity’s extinction isn’t such an unacceptable outcome.”
Leon stared at him for a long moment before sneering. “You’re hardly worthy of discussing humanity’s future.”
“Does that mean you’ll accept?”
“Why wouldn’t I? It’s not every day someone hands over the chairman’s seat,” Leon replied with a smirk.
“Then it’s settled. I’ll announce it at tomorrow’s meeting,” Xiao Bai said, nodding slightly at Leon before calmly putting on his coat and walking away, unburdened.
Leon remained in the conference room, waiting until Xiao Bai’s figure completely disappeared from sight. Then, with a complex expression, he turned around and casually glanced at the corridor outside.
The sound of footsteps faded into the distance, indicating Xiao Bai wouldn’t be returning anytime soon.
Now alone in the room, Leon cleared his throat lightly, walked over to the chair Xiao Bai had just occupied, and sat down, shifting slightly in his seat.
It felt reasonably comfortable, and most importantly, it offered a clear view of the entire floor below.
Did Leon want this position? He did. He wanted to prove to that person that, even if he wasn’t as brilliant in academia, he could still lead Third Eye forward and stand above other brilliant scientists.
But now that he was actually sitting in this chair, he didn’t feel as excited as he had imagined.
Instead, he felt a heavyweight settle on his shoulders.
After a moment, he chuckled bitterly, pulled the recently powered-down laptop back toward him, and, with dark circles under his eyes, resumed his work right there.
It was time to begin the internal cleanup.
After the establishment of the Hope Project, even greater changes quickly became hot topics among the organization’s scientists.
Xiao Bai stepped down as acting chairman, Leon took his place, and shortly after his promotion, Leon launched a ruthless internal purge. The organization’s detention facilities were soon filled to capacity. Any suspicious individuals were interrogated, and staff who had directly or indirectly participated in the assassination attempt on Tang Xiao were uprooted entirely.
They questioned anyone whose hometown the zombie mushrooms had overtaken. Those who displayed even a hint of suspicion or wavering loyalty were reassigned to work outside the base or outright expelled from Third Eye. The purge even extended to spies from other factions.
Tang Chen sat helplessly in a solitary room within the detention center. “I’m telling you, I’m not a member of the Huigui Sect!”
“I know that,” Leon replied, sitting casually on the interrogation table with one leg crossed over the other, smirking. “I’ve known for a while that you’re a spy from the Alliance. That’s why I brought you here. Notify your people—tell them to return to the Alliance and watch themselves, or they might get caught in the crossfire. You can stay. We won’t block communication with the Alliance anymore.”
“A messenger?” Tang Chen quickly caught on to Leon’s meaning, murmuring hesitantly about his new role.
“Exactly. At this point, you’re not planning on infighting, are you?”
Tang Chen sighed deeply. “Of course not. Fine, I’ll deliver your message to the Alliance.”
Even the researchers, absorbed in their work, couldn’t help but notice the sudden absence of many familiar faces around the base.
One day, when Tang Xiao arrived at work, he was stunned to see a familiar figure. “Teacher?”
Xiao Bai had long since replaced his suit with the standard researcher’s white lab coat, looking as if he had never been chairman in the first place. He nodded calmly at Tang Xiao. “Dr. Tang.”
“What are you doing here?” Tang Xiao asked in disbelief.
“Because I’m better at research than politics.”
“Huh?” Tang Xiao blinked, still a little dazed. “So, you’re here to take over the project? That’s great!”
“No. You’re still the project leader,” Xiao Bai replied, glancing around at the other people in the room, seemingly unfazed by their surprised expressions. “Assign me a task, Dr. Tang.”
Tang Xiao was stunned by how direct and bold this was.
Following Xiao Bai’s gaze, Tang Xiao looked at the surrounding scientists and suddenly understood his mentor’s intention. For a moment, he was so moved that he couldn’t speak.
Since the research direction was too novel, and Tang Xiao’s reputation wasn’t strong enough, Xiao Bai chose to use his own actions to support him.
Because of Tang Xiao’s youth, he might struggle to command respect from older, more senior scientists. By demonstrating his willingness to follow Tang Xiao’s lead—even as a scientist of Xiao Bai’s stature and Tang Xiao’s former mentor—it set an example. If even Xiao Bai was willing to follow Tang Xiao’s orders without concern for appearances, no one else had any grounds to rely on seniority to resist.
Realizing this, Tang Xiao felt a sudden wave of guilt. Guilt over his inexperience and his earlier hesitation as the project leader, which had forced Xiao Bai to step in and clean up after him.
If the leader of the project couldn’t even stand firm, how could the rest of the team believe they could achieve results in this field?
Taking a deep breath, Tang Xiao said, “Thank you, Teacher. I understand now. I won’t waver again. For now, please review these materials.”
Xiao Bai’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Alright. Let’s do our best together.”
----------
No comments:
Post a Comment