The trending topic was getting hotter and hotter, but Tang Xiao didn’t look at it anymore. He turned off his phone—since Professor Li and Dr. Xiao said they would handle it, there was no need for him to interfere.
He had more important things to do.
Tang Xiao returned to the game and opened his eyes in bed.
The first thing he saw was a large expanse of chocolate-colored pectoral muscles.
Tang Xiao: …
Jun Tesi sensed that Tang Xiao had woken up but remained in the same position, only slightly loosening his arms. According to their usual routine, Tang Xiao would wake up at this point, get out of bed, and head straight to the lab.
But this time, Tang Xiao didn’t get up immediately. His warm breath lightly brushed against Jun Tesi’s chest, and his chin was tickled by strands of hair. Jun Tesi looked down in surprise, only to find that the young man had buried his head against his chest.
“Xiaoxiao?”
“I'm so tired, Jun Tesi,” Tang Xiao muttered without lifting his head, his voice muffled.
“Really tired.”
Jun Tesi’s movements froze. For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. Tang Xiao seemed to have anticipated his reaction and mumbled, “It’s fine. Just let me hold you for a bit.”
If Jun Tesi weren’t still by his side—if he didn’t have his memories—Tang Xiao might have given up a long time ago.
Jun Tesi was like his anchor, pulling him back whenever he was on the verge of giving up, or about to fall into the abyss.
Jun Tesi slowly relaxed his arms and then embraced Tang Xiao in return, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
“Xiaoxiao, you've worked so hard. You're amazing.”
Over these long three years, through endless loops of time, only they shared each other’s memories, each other’s exhaustion and pain.
Only Jun Tesi knew. Only he could see the changes Tang Xiao had gone through over these three years. Time had washed away the superficial and the restless, polishing him into his true brilliance.
In the past, he had needed glasses to conceal the scholarly air cultivated from years in the lab. But now, he no longer needed them. Even without glasses, people would instantly recognize the unique aura of a researcher in him, disregarding his overly youthful face.
“Xiaoxiao will definitely succeed.”
Another kiss fell, this time between Tang Xiao’s brows.
Tang Xiao kept his eyes closed and couldn’t help but chuckle. “Why are you so sure?”
“Because it’s Xiaoxiao. If it’s something you set out to do, you’ll definitely accomplish it,” Jun Tesi said with absolute certainty.
Because that’s how it had always been.
No matter how many times they started over, no matter how much hardship he endured, Jun Tesi had never seen Tang Xiao give up on something he was determined to do.
Tang Xiao opened his eyes, the negative emotions in them swept away into the mental trash heap. He looked up and smiled. “Mm. I’ll do it.”
In fact, after three years of research, the originally cutting-edge gene-editing technology had already been significantly improved under his hands. In reality, they had successfully treated hereditary liver diseases without any particularly severe side effects. The only remaining issue was related to targeting.
He estimated that, with about ten more loops—around another six months—he would be able to solve it.
Tang Xiao glanced at the game time. Less than five days remained in this cycle. These last few days were the most intense period of attacks on the Alliance's central district, and the project team members would all be too distracted to make much progress.
That’s why Tang Xiao wasn’t in a hurry this time—he already knew that soon, news of the Alliance’s fall would come, and Third Eye would descend into chaos.
It was practically a regularly scheduled event at this point. So, Tang Xiao planned to load his save and return to the beginning of the main storyline.
By using short-term save loops, he figured he could gain another one or two years of time.
Tang Xiao said, “Alright, I’m starting.”
“Wait a moment,” Jun Tesi said. “This time, I want to try evolving.”
Tang Xiao looked at him in surprise. “Here?”
“Mm. I’ve accumulated enough,” Jun Tesi said, but then grew a little awkward. “Xiaoxiao, go to the bathroom first.”
Every time Jun Tesi evolved, he insisted on being separated from Tang Xiao—at the very least, they couldn’t be in the same space. He said he didn’t want Tang Xiao to see his ugly state.
No matter how many times Tang Xiao reassured him that he didn’t mind, Jun Tesi wouldn’t budge. So, Tang Xiao had no choice but to comply and close the bathroom door.
Soon, the noise outside grew louder. Through the frosted glass door, Tang Xiao could vaguely see the chaotic distortion of the mycelium outside.
As expected, another failure.
Tang Xiao sighed inwardly and pulled up the game panel, preparing to load his save.
And that was when everything changed.
Just as Tang Xiao's finger touched the screen—according to past experience, the scene should have immediately transitioned to the save point.
But this time, it didn’t. Instead, a spinning circle appeared on the game system, like a network lagging and buffering. The entire environment suddenly turned gray.
Time in the world had frozen.
Tang Xiao’s pupils shrank. Before he could react, the bathroom door was suddenly pushed open, and black mycelium surged toward him—only to be forcefully knocked aside by blood-red mycelium.
What was happening?
Tang Xiao's heart tightened. The space was too small to evade properly, so he took advantage of the moment when the two-colored mycelium were trembling in battle and immediately bent down to escape from the bathroom. But the scene in the room left him completely stunned.
The failed evolution had split Jun Tesi in half—one side black, the other red. The differently colored mycelium were writhing against each other, and even his orange-yellow eyes were now almost half a luminous green.
“Xiaoxiao,” the orange-yellow side of his eyes split open into a mouth. “Revert the timeline, quickly.”
“Don't even think about it,” the black mycelium sneered coldly, forcibly controlling the collapsing body to attack Tang Xiao.
Tang Xiao frantically tapped on the ‘Load Save’ option, not even having time to process why Jun Tesi had turned into this state.
It didn’t matter which save it was—just hurry, hurry!
In the nick of time, the black mycelium had already wrapped around Tang Xiao’s arm, but in the next moment, time began to rewind.
Save successfully loaded.
Tang Xiao’s eyes snapped open, and he gasped for air, panting heavily—so much so that it startled Feng Shuyun, who had just finished a meeting.
“Tang Xiao, are you alright? What happened?” Feng Shuyun looked at him in confusion, dabbing at the cold sweat on his forehead with a handkerchief. “Are you worried about what Leon said about the project? Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. If it’s too much, we can always assign a different lead.”
Tang Xiao stared at Feng Shuyun in a daze. He had originally intended to load a save from one month before the main storyline’s conclusion.
But now, because he had clicked randomly in the panic of the moment… He was back. Back to the very beginning of the main storyline.
What the hell just happened? Was that really the King of Mushroom inside Jun Tesi? Why was the King of Mushroom there? And why did his usually flawless save-load ability suddenly glitch at that moment?
A terrifying thought loomed in his mind. Ignoring Feng Shuyun, he brushed him off hurriedly and strode out of the meeting room.
He needed to ask 428 what had just happened.
But as soon as he neared the experimental area for Project 428, he found all the researchers in a frantic rush, some even activating the primary security alert.
This had never happened before.
Tang Xiao immediately grabbed a nearby researcher and demanded, “What happened?”
“Experimental subject 428 encountered an accident. We're not sure if something attacked it,” the researcher hesitated—this wasn’t something they were supposed to disclose, but upon seeing Tang Xiao's expression, they instinctively spilled everything. Before they could finish, Tang Xiao had already dashed into the experiment area.
Many scientists were gathered around, unable to make sense of the sudden changes happening to Experimental Subject 428.
Tang Xiao pushed past the researchers forcefully. “What’s going on?”
Dr. Flower was also present. He had been in his office when the incident occurred and had rushed over immediately. Wiping the cold sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, he glanced at Tang Xiao. “For some reason, Experimental Subject 428's vital signs are suddenly deteriorating.”
“Let me see the data.”
Various instruments tracking its life signs constantly monitored the lab where 428 was housed in real time. The surveillance had been running 24/7, so no one could comprehend why 428’s body was suddenly failing.
The previously stable readings had skyrocketed to extreme levels in mere moments, then plummeted just as fast—so much so that its body was now beginning to collapse.
Tang Xiao was very familiar with these patterns. These were the exact signs that appeared when 428 underwent evolution. But how? He had already reloaded a save—so why did these events still carry over into this timeline?
It was the King of Mushroom. The King of Mushroom had done something.
Tang Xiao instinctively reached out to load another save, but the memory of the previous glitch made his fingers freeze mid-air.
At that moment, 428, barely able to maintain its humanoid form, turned its gaze toward Tang Xiao and gave a faint shake of its head.
No one else in the room could understand the meaning behind this simple motion.
So it wasn’t just him analyzing the project over these past three years—the King of Mushroom had also been analyzing them. Like a beast lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Last time, when he loaded a save, the system lagged. It failed to respond in time. What would happen if he tried again?
But if he didn’t...
“This is so strange,” Dr. Flower murmured. “Everything was fine—why is its body suddenly collapsing?”
“Yeah, 428 had always been perfectly healthy. Could it be that at a certain stage, these King of Mushroom’s spore entities naturally reach some kind of terminal phase?” Aberk speculated. “After all, according to Dr. Tang’s previous research papers, King of Mushroom’s spores are merely an extension of the King of Mushroom—acting as its mobile collectors when it cannot move. Once a King of Mushroom spore has gathered enough genetic information, it naturally dies and decomposes into the underground mycelial network as nutrients.”
“Then, could it be that once they reach a certain level of growth, a mechanism activates that forces them to expire? Or perhaps the King of Mushroom retains a fundamental override authority, allowing it to eliminate them at will to prevent rebellion?”
The surrounding researchers engaged in rapid discussion, coldly observing the experimental subject's painful deterioration through the glass.
“Dr. Tang, what do you think?”
“”
“......”
“Dr. Tang?”
The familiar hum of scientific debate around him suddenly became meaningless noise—a series of incomprehensible murmurs and grating static. For the first time, Tang Xiao’s brilliant mind failed to process their train of thought. Like a rusted machine, stuck in place.
In that moment, Tang Xiao suddenly understood how Jun Tesi had felt.
To be in utter agony, separated by a layer of glass. Unable to cry, unable to laugh. Unable to show any trace of care or sorrow.
“There is that possibility,” he heard his own voice emerge from his throat, calm and indifferent, so unfamiliar that it felt like another being was speaking. “It might be similar to the biological mechanism of naked mole rats. The queen mole rat feeds the others feces containing queen pheromones to brainwash them and prevent rebellion. If the King of Mushroom’s spores theoretically have the potential to evolve into a King of Mushroom, then naturally, the King of Mushroom would have similar defensive measures.”
The researchers began discussing the topic while still attempting to resuscitate the test subject. They tried various methods, but all failed. Aberk frowned as he looked at the data on the monitor. “Right now, feeding him food containing specific genes seems to slow down the rate of his body's collapse slightly, but it only delays the process.”
“How much time does he have left?” Tang Xiao asked.
“At this rate, at most two to three months, assuming we allocate all available resources from the project team for his sustenance.” As he spoke, Aberk glanced at Dr. Flower, who shook his head and looked at Tang Xiao. “No, the Third Eye has just launched an extremely important project, and all resources are being redirected there. Many researchers are even withdrawing from this project, so it's impossible to receive the same level of funding as before.”
“Ah… then what about our research?”
“Then you'd better produce results quickly—before the test subject dies completely.”
Aberk scratched his head in frustration. “What can we possibly accomplish in such a short time, right, Dr. Tang? Huh? Dr. Tang?”
Tang Xiao did not stay any longer. The moment he learned that 428 could not be saved, he turned and left. If he stayed any longer, he wouldn't be able to control his body's reaction.
In reality, he was already failing to control it. His lowered fingers were trembling—not with anger.
But with sorrow.
A deep, soul-crushing sorrow gradually took over his body, as if three years' worth of accumulated exhaustion had suddenly burst forth, breaking his back.
Lodge had been occupied with other projects. When he heard the news, he rushed back and brushed past Tang Xiao, who was just stepping out of the project team’s doors.
He didn’t recognize him.
Tang Xiao had always walked with a straight back. He had received an excellent education and carried himself with confidence, if not grace. Even when Bader made things difficult for him, even when scholars at academic conferences ignored him, he remained neither servile nor overbearing. He would never lower his head.
He was no longer the brilliant young scientist, full of sharpness and ambition.
Tang Xiao walked all the way back to his dormitory, ignoring everyone he encountered along the way. He couldn't even muster the strength for a perfunctory smile. The moment he shut the door, it was as if all the strength in his body had been drained. Slowly, he slid down to the floor.
“Jun Tesi.”
No response.
“Jun Tesi.”
No response.
The young man slowly hugged his knees, staring at the open game save file on his screen, but he couldn’t bring himself to click it.
Only at this moment did a single tear finally fall onto the fabric of his pants.
Only now, in this place where no one was watching, did he have the right to cry.
Three years of unknown memories flashed before his eyes. He had once thought these past three years were the most painful of his life, yet in the blink of an eye, they had become the last three years he would ever have with Jun Tesi.
Main Storyline Failure Countdown: 60 Days, 5 Hours, 24 Minutes.
This time, he had only two months left. But he was still stuck on the targeted problem—just a little more, every time it was just a little more.
No way to reload the save. No Jun Tesi.
He was alone again.
The overwhelming darkness threatened to swallow him whole, and this time, there was no one left to lead him out of this nightmare.
The last string holding him together—finally snapped.
Tang Xiao wasn’t thinking about anything at all. It was as if his body’s self-protection mechanism had been triggered. Before his mind could process the situation, his body instinctively acted—he clicked ‘Exit Game.’
In reality, the university responded swiftly. Even though Tang Xiao hadn't achieved any particularly outstanding results in the past three years, the school had always prided itself on fiercely protecting its own students. That tradition remained unchanged, whether the student was exceptional or ordinary.
Professors who had taught Tang Xiao, along with Yun Lifei and others who had already graduated, stepped forward to testify on his behalf. The university promptly removed his name from trending searches, while Tang Xiao’s father leveraged his connections to warn the influential online figures who had been fueling the controversy.
Xiao Bai took things even further—he personally brought Madam Xiao to publicly address the recent disputes, stating that Tang Xiao had, in fact, been making significant progress in applying their research to specific diseases over the past three years. This statement finally managed to calm public opinion.
A week later, Xiao Bai suddenly realized that Tang Xiao hadn’t contacted him in a long time. No calls, no messages. Even when he tried to call, no one answered. He couldn't even find him at the university.
After checking with Tang Xiao’s father, he learned that Tang Xiao had locked himself in his room and refused to come out. His parents were beside themselves with worry but had no way to help him.
“It must be because of what happened online,” Tang Xiao’s father sighed as he drove to pick up Xiao Bai. He couldn’t hide the pain in his voice. “He’s never been like this before. When we talked on the phone earlier, he sounded normal, so we didn’t think much of it. Xiaoxiao has always been someone who doesn’t care much about other people’s opinions. But who could have known he’d suddenly become like this?”
“The pressure from cyberbullying is unimaginable to most people,” Xiao Bai replied. “I’ll see if I can get him to come out, but don’t get your hopes up too much.”
“That’s okay. Dr. Xiao, we’re already so grateful that you’re even coming,” Tang Xiao’s father sighed. “We really don’t know what else to do. You’re the one who guided him down this path. Please try to talk to him. Honestly, even if he doesn’t want to do research anymore, that’s fine. We never expected him to become some great scientist. He can be a professional gamer, a streamer—whatever he wants. As long as he can live a healthy and happy life, that’s all that matters.”
Xiao Bai noticed that Tang Xiao’s father’s eyes were red. He must have been worrying himself sick over the past few days.
Led by Tang Xiao’s parents, Xiao Bai entered the villa. Tang Xiao’s room was at the very end of the second floor. Stopping outside the door, he lowered his gaze, noticing the untouched meal on the floor—still warm, but clearly left untouched. He raised his arm and knocked roughly on the door. “Tang Xiao, come out.”
There was no movement inside the room. Xiao Bai took a deep breath. “Whatever the problem is, we’ll face it together. Your parents are very worried about you. Everything has calmed down now—how long are you going to keep yourself locked up like this? Doing this will only hurt the people who love you the most.”
No response.
“Come with me. Attend an academic conference, exchange ideas with your peers. If you want those people on the internet to shut up, then produce more and more results to slap them in the face. I know you can do it. You have the talent to change the world.”
At that moment, a voice finally came from inside the room—hoarse, as if it hadn’t spoken for days.
“I don’t. I’m not some genius. I can’t do anything, let alone change the world.”
If it had been Xiao Bai with these three years, or even Feng Shuyun, they probably would have already achieved results and saved humanity by now.
Locked in his room these past few days, Tang Xiao couldn’t stop thinking about this. He felt like nothing more than a mediocre person who got lucky by obtaining the game. If someone else had this game panel, they would surely do better—be stronger, be more brilliant.
And he couldn’t even save Jun Tesi.
The game only had two months left. There was no time.
Silence returned outside the door. Tang Xiao closed his eyes, assuming Xiao Bai had given up and left. But the next moment, the door lock suddenly clicked from the outside, and Xiao Bai strode into the room, yanking the blanket-wrapped Tang Xiao from the bed.
“Get up. You’re going to the conference.”
Xiao Bai forcibly dragged Tang Xiao out of the covers. Only then did he realize that Tang Xiao seemed to have gone days without eating properly—his face was thinner, his clothes hung loosely on his frame. He was so light that Xiao Bai could lift him with just one hand.
Xiao Bai knew that words wouldn’t work right now. What Tang Xiao needed was to get out, to see people, to let his mind be filled with new thoughts so that he wouldn’t have room for all those frustrating things on the internet.
He pushed Tang Xiao toward the bathroom. “Wash up. We’re leaving now. The conference is about to start.”
Tang Xiao was half-forced into the car. Even his parents had sided with Xiao Bai. By the time he realized what was happening, the car was already on its way to the venue.
“If even you aren’t a genius, then no one in this world is,” Xiao Bai said.
“I’m not. I’m just lucky,” Tang Xiao insisted.
“Then have you ever thought that maybe the heavens gave you this genius brain because you were destined to achieve something great?” Xiao Bai continued trying to persuade him. “Why do you care about the opinions of people who don’t understand anything?”
Tang Xiao fell silent and turned to look out the window.
He couldn’t tell Xiao Bai that what he cared about wasn’t cyberbullying.
It was his own powerlessness. It was the doomed fate of the human alliance. It was his fear of facing Jun Tesi’s inevitable death.
This past week, he hadn’t even dared to log into the game.
Xiao Bai dragged him to the conference. It wasn’t until the event was about to begin that Tang Xiao finally learned what it was about. It seemed to be a special session on FSCGS technology, presenting new research findings and discussions. Scientists from around the world had been invited, and naturally, as the discoverers of FSCGS technology, both Xiao Bai and Tang Xiao were also among the invited guests.
Thanks to Xiao Bai opening up the patents to the academic community, there had been a steady stream of breakthroughs over the past three years—not just in treating hereditary liver diseases, but also in other genetic disorders and even in agriculture.
The seeds he had planted had sprouted, bloomed, and flourished.
That was why Xiao Bai had brought Tang Xiao here.
He wanted to show Tang Xiao how much his success had changed people’s lives—how much hope he had given to others.
If Tang Xiao wasn’t a genius, then who dared to claim the title?
And so, Xiao Bai led Tang Xiao from one presentation to another. To be honest, it was kind of refreshing—he was used to giving presentations himself, but this was his first time attending others'.
But Tang Xiao just couldn’t get into the right mindset. His brain, stuck for a week, refused to function as he stared blankly at the papers.
A new speaker took the stage.
He looked young, a little inexperienced, stammering slightly as he spoke.
“O-Our research topic is the discovery of archaea related to FSCGS technology. Over the past year, new exploration teams have found more related samples, one of which was located underground in Oregon. Here are images of the related fossils. Based on preliminary reconstructions, these archaea were massive around 4.8 billion years ago. Below are the results of our genetic analysis. We’ve found some very interesting data. Testing has shown that this archaea seems to be capable of highly precise gene editing and utilization. Below is the experimental process…”
Tang Xiao happened to look up, and his gaze froze.
The Memory Palace in his mind, which had been dormant for nearly a year, suddenly surged to life.
The microscopic world unfolded before his eyes, forming a flower made of cells and molecules behind the speaker.
It was as if inspiration had physically manifested before him.
Before the speaker could continue, Tang Xiao had already flipped open the research paper, desperate to seize the fleeting idea that had just flashed through his mind.
“Proving that chemical modifications incorporating 2′-O-methyl-3′-phosphonoacetate at the sgRNA binding site significantly reduce off-target editing efficiency without affecting on-target efficiency. This was verified in human peripheral blood CD34+ HSCs, demonstrating that modified sgRNA acts on the HGG gene…”
Tang Xiao unconsciously muttered his thoughts aloud, drawing puzzled glances from those around him. Just as someone was about to ask something, they saw Xiao Bai sitting beside him—and immediately fell silent.
“So that’s it…” Tang Xiao murmured. “It’s solved.”
Sitting next to Tang Xiao, Xiao Bai was stunned to see tears rolling down his student’s face.
That single tear held countless nights of struggle, endless revisits to past failures, and more setbacks than could be remembered.
The seeds he and Xiao Bai had planted three years ago had grown into a treasure trove—one that had now given him the long-awaited answer.
But it had come too late. And it was too bitter.
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