If there is one save file, there will be another.
The second time Tang Xiao reloaded the save was when almost all of the 160 days had been exhausted. Unfortunately, this attempt also failed. His research was stuck on the off-target problem. Under Jun Tesi’s protection, the Third Eye barely held on until the fall of the Alliance, and then—
The ending was almost identical to the previous timeline.
Reload.
This time, something changed—not because Tang Xiao had achieved a breakthrough in his research, but because, midway through, a crucial material suddenly ran out. Upon inquiry, he learned that the Third Eye had always sourced this material from Base No. 09, which was nearby. However, Base No. 09 had recently been breached, cutting off their supply.
This hadn’t happened in the previous two timelines.
It was the King of Mushroom.
Tang Xiao and Jun Tesi immediately realized the truth: the King of Mushroom was constantly adjusting its strategy, attacking different bases in an attempt to flush them out.
Although it hadn’t yet pinpointed Tang Xiao’s exact location—perhaps it hadn’t even considered that they would dare to remain in their original base—if things continued like this, it would eventually tighten its encirclement.
Thus, Tang Xiao quickly made a decision.
He would use the save point to confuse it by frequently reloading.
From the King of Mushroom’s perspective, it would likely assume that Tang Xiao was hiding in newly fallen cities, so each time the infected forces successfully breached a stronghold, Tang Xiao would be forced to reload to a time before the siege.
Moreover, reloading would allow him to save even more time—such as by avoiding dead-end research paths.
The only concern was whether reloading caused a fixed reduction in humanity’s remaining time. However, after testing a short-term reload, Tang Xiao found that the main mission countdown did not shorten. In other words, long-term reloads—such as jumping all the way from the apocalypse back to the moment he first received the main mission—did result in an overall time reduction. However, short-term reloads—like jumping from January 29th to January 15th—did not significantly shorten the main mission timer.
Tang Xiao speculated that large-time skips allowed the King of Mushroom to retain a memory of the previous human stronghold it had conquered, enabling it to plan a more effective strategy. However, with short-term reloads, many strategies wouldn’t have time to unfold, and their effects wouldn’t be visible.
Since Tang Xiao had control over the rewinds, he could always reload to the start of an experiment if it failed, switch to a new approach, and save additional research time.
It was just like save-scumming in certain loot-box-style games to guarantee a high-tier item drop—the same principle applied.
And so, Tang Xiao began frequently jumping between dates using his save points.
As time went on, Tang Xiao himself didn’t think much of it, but those around him started noticing subtle changes.
Dr. Matulin had just submitted a new experiment plan to Tang Xiao. It had already been approved, but just half an hour later, Tang Xiao came back and told him to rethink his approach.
“Why? I think this has a good chance of working. At the very least, it should be tested.”
“No, it will fail.”
“What makes you say that? You haven’t even run the experiment yet.”
“Enough talk. If I say it will fail, then it will. Try a different approach.”
“...” Dr. Matulin left the office, simmering with frustration and indignation. Unable to hold it in, he vented to Dr. Trull. “He's acting like a dictator! I had a solid experiment plan, and he just shut it down before we even ran a trial. What gives him the right to decide it’ll fail?”
Dr. Trull gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah, my experiment application got rejected too. He told me to change it. It’s weird—an hour ago, he actually praised my idea.”
“This is ridiculous. Doesn't anyone speak up about this? What if the key to success is in one of these experiments he's shutting down?”
“But Dr. Tang has never been wrong,” Dr. Trull said helplessly. “Last time, when he told me an approach wouldn’t work, I was just as frustrated. So, I had one of my students secretly conduct two parallel experiments. Sure enough, the plan I submitted was a failure. The method didn't work.”
Dr. Matulin was speechless. After a moment, he muttered, “Even if one failure doesn't prove the entire approach is useless… Do you know how many times he’s made me change my approach these past few days? Everything was progressing smoothly, but every few days, he’d make me revise it again. Honestly, if this project wasn’t so critical, I’d have walked away by now.”
“You're not alone,” Dr. Trull sighed. “But what can we do? He’s the lead researcher. We just have to deal with it. Dr. Tang is probably just feeling the pressure.”
“Feeling the pressure is one thing, but switching directions every couple of days—how can anything get done like that?” Dr. Matulin’s voice rose in frustration, drawing the attention of the entire lab. No one spoke up in disagreement, though.
Clearly, Dr. Matulin wasn’t the only one who felt this way. Many researchers had the same complaint: Dr. Tang’s thought process was too erratic, and most of them simply couldn’t keep up with his reasoning.
The only reason the issue hadn’t escalated was that Tang Xiao was the project lead—and because, despite the chaotic methodology, research was still advancing rapidly. No one dared openly object.
But Tang Xiao didn’t need them to understand.
Explaining everything to them would be a waste of time. He couldn’t tell them about the time resets anyway, so all he needed was for them to obey.
At this moment, Tang Xiao was immensely grateful that he had accepted the position of lead researcher. If he weren’t the one controlling every aspect of the project, even with the ability to reload, success would be impossible—because no one would listen to him.
But as the lead researcher, he could dictate the research direction however he saw fit and adjust strategies on the fly.
Even if it meant being seen as a dictator, it didn’t matter.
Tang Xiao knew what he was doing, and that was enough.
The seventeenth reset.
Tang Xiao entered the lab and casually grabbed a researcher who was working. “Bodley, take this paper to Dr. Trull and have him read it as soon as possible.”
“Oh, oh,” Bodley instinctively responded and took the document. But then he suddenly realized—wait, how did Tang Xiao know his name?
Ah, whatever.
Bodley scratched his head and lowered his gaze to read the document. Then, he let out a confused ‘huh?’ and said. “Doctor, didn't we just go over this document a few days ago? We already had a meeting to study it.”
“Really?” Tang Xiao was momentarily stunned. He took the document back. “Sorry, I must have misremembered.”
“It's fine, it's fine.” Bodley quickly waved his hand. “By the way, Dr. Tang, can I ask you a question? I ran into a problem while experimenting, for example, here—”
“Why are you still working on this experiment?” Tang Xiao frowned. “Someone else has already completed it. Don't waste time—move on to the next one.”
“Uh…” Bodley froze.
But this was supposed to be cutting-edge research…
Was Dr. Tang getting too stressed?
If someone could see into Tang Xiao's memory palace at this moment, they would notice that the library inside had been expanding and expanding. To accommodate the massive amount of memories, the library had grown to the scale of a palace. But even so, under the pressure of high-level research and frequent time reversals, his memory was starting to show signs of disorder.
Some people, who in his mind had already become close companions through life-and-death experiences, would become strangers again after a reversal.
Some research, which he was sure had been completed, had to be redone after a reversal. Sometimes, he couldn’t tell if a project was finished or if it had just never been brought up.
At one point, Feng Shuyun had tried to persuade him to take it easy, and Xiao Bai also urged him to rest more. But although Tang Xiao agreed, he never actually changed.
Aside from the first save point, which was set before the main storyline even began, he had fully utilized the other two. Sometimes, he would rewind a month, sometimes a week or two. The concept of time had blurred—his only focus was the research.
How many times had he gone back? After the fiftieth time, he stopped counting. Even with short-term reversals, the main storyline was still slowly advancing, which meant Tang Xiao couldn't stop. He didn’t dare to.
On this seemingly endless path, at least 428 was still by his side.
“Xiaoxiao.” Jun Tesi forcibly pulled Tang Xiao onto the bed and shut his laptop. “Stop looking at documents. Sleep. You're too exhausted.”
Looking at the heavy dark circles under Tang Xiao's eyes, Junthes was deeply worried, yet powerless to do anything.
With the constant reversals, Tang Xiao had to remember an immense amount of research data—because only he could remember it. The burden on his brain was overwhelming. Sometimes, he was so exhausted that he couldn’t even fall asleep, needing medication just to doze off.
Most sleeping pills had side effects, and Jun Tesi didn’t want Tang Xiao to take them. Instead, he tried other methods—massage, food therapy, aromatherapy, and other relaxation techniques.
Oh, and… certain intimate activities.
Which were incredibly effective.
“Just let me read for a little longer,” Tang Xiao struggled to reach for his laptop. But this time, Jun Tesi was unusually firm—he used his mycelium to bind Tang Xiao to the bed and murmured, “If you still have energy, why not feed me instead?”
Jun Tesi didn’t evolve every time Tang Xiao rewound time. According to him, he needed to accumulate enough genetic material first. But lately, all his attempts had failed, making Tang Xiao suspect that this method wasn’t working at all. This guy was probably just tricking him into bed.
With that thought, Tang Xiao quickly shut his eyes, pretending he was already asleep.
Jun Tesi immediately smiled in triumph, climbed into bed as well, and carefully wrapped his arms around Tang Xiao, gently patting his back. “Sleep.”
“I'm not a kid,” Tang Xiao muttered. But as he listened to the familiar rhythm of Jun Tesi’s heartbeat, his consciousness gradually faded.
Save.
At last, freed from his chaotic thoughts, he drifted into darkness.
Ring, ring, ring!
The alarm clock buzzed in his ear. Tang Xiao opened his eyes and saw the familiar ceiling of his rental apartment.
Ah, it seemed that if he didn’t respond to the system prompt after a certain period of unconsciousness, he would return to reality.
Thankfully, he must have saved before falling asleep.
Tang Xiao rubbed his temples and sat up in bed.
He glanced at the time—8:30 in the morning.
Although he had completely lost track of time in the game, in the real world, time was still moving forward normally.
In the game, he had gone without any time reversals for the first time in half a year, meaning that in the real world, six months had passed as well.
Even if he rewound time in the game, only the game’s timeline would reset—reality continued moving forward as usual.
Tang Xiao got out of bed, washed up, changed clothes, and checked his messages. He decided to drop by the university. If he stayed absent too long, even if Xiao Bai didn’t say anything, the other people in the lab would definitely have complaints.
In the game, with all the time reversals, three years had passed in the real world.
Tang Xiao had successfully graduated from university and, after accepting Xiao Bai’s invitation, became his graduate student. Back then, he thought he’d be able to resolve the game’s main storyline quickly—but who would’ve thought that three years would fly by in reality?
However, he never went abroad. Mainly because Xiao Bai extended his visiting scientist period, and after some maneuvering by the university, it turned into a joint program. So, for the most part, Tang Xiao still stayed in China.
When Tang Xiao arrived at the university lab, Xiao Bai wasn’t there. As he entered, a younger student spotted him and hesitated for a moment before asking, “Hello, who are you looking for?”
“I'm part of this lab,” Tang Xiao said with a helpless smile.
His roommates had already graduated and gone their separate ways. No one clung to Tang Xiao’s leg anymore, asking for help revising their papers. The previous turmoil had long since settled. Except for a few remaining students and professors, most people no longer heard his name.
Junior: “Oh, oh, hello, senior… Uh, how come I’ve never seen you before?”
“I don’t come to the lab often,” Tang Xiao replied casually, walking straight to the workstation in the far corner. He began clearing away the books and miscellaneous items piled on it.
Only then did the junior realize that the previously unused workstation in the corner actually belonged to Tang Xiao. Feeling awkward, he stepped forward. “Sorry, senior, I thought no one was using it. Let me help you.”
“It’s fine. You guys can keep piling stuff here if you want. I don’t come by much.”
“Ah… okay.” The junior scratched his head, a bit embarrassed. He actually wanted to ask why Tang Xiao rarely came, but they weren’t close, so he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Fortunately, other people soon arrived at the lab, and the junior quickly moved over to a familiar senior.
“Senior, is that guy really part of our lab?”
The senior glanced at Tang Xiao, nodded, and lowered his voice. “Yeah, but he rarely comes.”
“Uh… is he one of those legendary slackers?” The junior found it hard to believe. “Even Xiao Bai’s lab has slackers?”
“Shh, not so loud. He’s Xiao Bai’s student,” the senior whispered, but didn’t deny the junior’s speculation.
The lab was quiet. Even though they tried to keep their voices down, Tang Xiao still caught snippets of their conversation. He glanced over at them but didn’t say anything.
To some extent, they weren’t wrong.
For the past three years, Tang Xiao had devoted most of his energy to his research projects in the game, leaving little time for anything else. As Yun Lifei and the others gradually graduated and new faces took their place in the lab, Xiao Bai, upon realizing that Tang Xiao was too busy, had recruited a new assistant professor. Now, Tang Xiao barely even showed up at the lab—most of his time was spent conducting research in the game.
His former brilliance had gradually faded under the passage of time.
To people in the real world, it simply looked like he had once again become obsessed with gaming—this time, even more severely than before.
Many had tried to persuade him otherwise, including Professor Li, who earnestly encouraged him to return to the right path, telling him that his talent in scientific research shouldn’t be wasted.
Tang Xiao could only respond with a bitter smile.
He had reasons he couldn’t explain to those around him. No one would believe that, in the game, he was working on a research project crucial to the survival of humanity.
Back when he first graduated, he had told Xiao Bai that he was dedicating himself to something of utmost importance to him. He warned that for the next three years of graduate school, he might not produce any significant academic achievements and might frequently be absent from the lab, so he was considering rejecting Xiao Bai’s invitation.
Xiao Bai had only asked one question: “Is this truly important to you?”
Tang Xiao answered, “Yes.”
“Then I won’t stop you. But I still want to invite you to be my student. I don’t lack labor for the lab. Even if that thing you’re working on fails or succeeds ahead of schedule, this experience will still give you the credentials to pursue whatever you want.”
That was why Tang Xiao hadn’t turned down Xiao Bai’s offer back then.
Countless resets corresponded to his stagnant three years in reality.
Sometimes, Tang Xiao wavered. He hesitated. Was this really worth it? If he chose the path of scientific research in reality, he had already started with the perfect hand. If he gave up the game now, he could easily make a name for himself in academia during these three years.
Besides, it had already been three years. Could he really succeed?
He had asked himself this question countless times, yet never found an answer. Every time, he felt that he was just one step away—just a little bit more—and unknowingly, another month had passed. Then three months. Then a year. The path he walked was too difficult. Success remained shrouded in fog, its end unclear.
Tang Xiao took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. As noon approached and Xiao Bai still hadn’t arrived, Tang Xiao finally couldn’t resist asking the others in the lab, “Has Dr. Xiao not come in yet?”
“Dr. Xiao went abroad to receive an award—the Breakthrough Prize. You didn’t know?”
The Breakthrough Prize.
Tang Xiao snapped back to his senses. Oh, right. That did sound familiar.
Xiao Bai had even emailed him before, asking if he wanted to come along. His name was on the award list as well. But at the time, Tang Xiao had been stuck on an important research problem, so he had declined.
The Breakthrough Prize was known as the ‘Oscars of Science’ or the deluxe version of the Nobel Prize, with a single award prize reaching $3 million. It was also considered one of the key indicators of a future Nobel laureate.
Naturally, the award was for the FSCGS technology. As one of the dominant emerging directions in gene editing, it had remained a hot topic in the field of biology for years. Thanks to Xiao Bai’s generosity, related research had flourished, producing countless studies.
Beyond the Breakthrough Prize, the research had also won the Alpert Prize, the Wolf Prize, and the Gairdner International Award. In the field of life sciences, they had practically swept all the major academic honors—except for that one ultimate crown, which remained out of reach.
But now that they had received such strong recognition as a predictor, was the Nobel Prize still far away?
Tang Xiao rubbed his forehead, pulled out his phone, and looked up the award ceremony schedule. The ceremony should have already ended by now. He put his phone away and prepared to leave the lab.
Just as he stepped out of the building, his phone rang. It was Xiao Bai calling.
“Hello, Dr. Xiao? What’s up?”
“Tang Xiao, did you see the news?”
"What news?”
“Nothing important. Even if you see it, don't take it to heart. I'll find a way to have it handled.”
After the call ended, Tang Xiao looked utterly confused. What kind of nonsense was that?
Just as Xiao Bai hung up, Professor Li called. “Hey, don’t check today’s trending searches.”
Tang Xiao was even more baffled. “What exactly happened? Dr. Xiao also told me not to look.”
“It's nothing. Just a bunch of bored people spreading rumors. Don’t look. It’s best if you don’t come to school for the next few days. The school will try to suppress the impact as much as possible,” Professor Li said, sounding frustrated yet still concerned for his student. “Don’t let outside opinions affect you, understand?”
Tang Xiao’s curiosity only grew. After hanging up, he took out his phone and opened Big Eye. The trending searches immediately showed a striking headline:
‘Undergraduate Research Recognized by a Nobel Prize Predictor – Explosive!’
Seeing the title, Tang Xiao had a vague idea of what was going on but still clicked in.
As soon as he entered, a video interview popped up—an interview with Xiao Bai.
“Dr. Xiao, congratulations on winning the Breakthrough Prize in Science. This award is often seen as a predictor of the Nobel Prize. Do you think the FSCGS technology has a chance of winning the Nobel?”
“It does,” Xiao Bai answered casually.
“When announcing the winners, we noticed another PhD’s name besides yours. Why isn’t he here?”
“He had other matters to attend to.”
“I see,” the reporter blinked, then suddenly dropped a bombshell. “But I heard that Tang Xiao has yet to receive a PhD. He’s still a graduate student, and FSCGS technology was something he co-researched with you back when he was an undergraduate. Is that true?”
By then, Xiao Bai had sensed that something was off and refused further interviews, but the video had already gone viral. Soon after, people started digging into Tang Xiao’s academic background.
“Whoa, is this for real? He developed something that led to a Nobel-worthy breakthrough as an undergrad? Am I dreaming?”
“Meanwhile, my undergraduate years were spent being utterly clueless.”
“Wait, something doesn’t add up. If he’s this impressive, why is he still just a graduate student? And why hasn’t he produced any major results in the past three years? Hmm… I have a theory.”
“Same here.”
“This is the freaking Nobel Prize we’re talking about. No way someone just leeches off a discovery like that, right?”
“But it is suspicious. He’s doing his graduate studies under Xiao Bai, and he also comes from a wealthy family. It’s just too strange.”
“First, SCI papers were inherited through bloodlines. Now even the Nobel Prize can be bought with money?”
“Guys, it’s just a predictor, not the actual Nobel. The title makes it sound like he already won.”
“Haha, you clearly don’t understand how hot this technology is in academia. Mark my words—I refuse to believe an undergrad could have developed this. At most, he was just an assistant.”
Opinions were flying everywhere, and the controversy was heating up rapidly.
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