The scene fell into stunned silence. Then, all the believers suddenly descended into panic, scrambling in fear. The elder hastily tried to calm them down while also expressing his utmost loyalty to Jun Tesi, seated upon the throne. “We are your faithful followers. We serve the mushrooms and the divine day and night. Please forgive us—we will help you control all of humanity.”
A second believer’s hollowed-out skin fell to the ground.
Some, already on the verge of collapse, bolted toward the exit—only to be ensnared by mycelium disguised as part of the floor. In the blink of an eye, they were also reduced to an empty husk.
“You cannot do this! We have made great sacrifices for the mushrooms! We have spent years disrupting human research on them!” The elder was utterly desperate. He could not comprehend how things had come to this. The Huigui Sect had existed for so long—the former King of Mushroom had personally cultivated them.
At that moment, Quintus finally opened his eyes, his voice soft. “Go on, then. Speak.”
The elder’s heart leaped with hope. He recalled that the Third Eye had originally been a research institution, and the new King of Mushroom had seized control of it as soon as he ascended. There had to be a deep connection here.
What kind of connection could humans possibly have with the mushrooms? And given that this was a research facility, the truth was all but laid bare.
Seizing the opportunity, the elder spilled everything—their assassinations, their sabotage of the scientists here. To further please Jun Tesi, he even exaggerated many details.
“We have assassinated many scientists who sought to study the mushrooms. Take Xiao Bai, for example—his project was buried because of us. If we hadn’t acted so quickly, that genetic technology would have been developed two or three years ago.”
“It’s a shame we didn’t kill Xiao Bai in time. He managed to escape to the Third Eye, but we manipulated public opinion to force the Alliance to hold back, creating internal division among humanity.”
“There’s also Feng Shuyun—we launched a suicide attack on her. Unfortunately, she was too damn lucky. Even after detonating multiple implants, she survived.”
“And then there’s the recently rising Dr. Tang Xiao. We’ve targeted him as well. Our people knew he didn’t get along with Leon in the base, so we set up an ambush with Snow Beasts outside. Unfortunately, he didn’t take the bait, but we later tried to attack him during his presentation. Oh, and the death of the Third Eye’s leader—that was our doing too. If not for us, the previous King of Mushroom wouldn’t have been able to start this war so easily.”
The elder desperately flaunted their so-called achievements, believing he had finally gained favor. And indeed, the new King of Mushroom seemed moved by his words. Jun Tesi stepped down from his throne, approaching the elder one slow step at a time. His voice remained unbearably soft. “So… it was all you.”
Only now did the elder sense that something was wrong. But by then, it was far too late.
Jun Tesi did not even need to lift a finger. With just a single thought, he seized control of the mushroom within the elder’s body.
The members of the Huigui Sect had long been infected by the zombie mushroom. Its mycelium had already reached their brains, replacing their neurons, and controlling their thoughts. A mere stimulus sent excruciating pain surging through the elder’s body—pain so unbearable he would have rather died on the spot.
“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH—”
A scream unlike anything human erupted from his throat. It was a wail from the depths of hell. His eyeballs bulged from their sockets, and his bones creaked and groaned under invisible pressure. Though his body bore no visible wounds, it was as if he were being flayed alive, suffering a torture beyond comprehension.
The other believers were terrified beyond words. They wanted to run, but the sight of the skins dangling at the exit kept their feet frozen in place.
Han Wei shrank back, trying to make himself as invisible as possible, screaming internally—What the hell is happening?!
“Does it hurt?” Jun Tesi murmured. “Did he feel this much pain back then too?”
His whisper was nearly lost amid the elders' anguished cries. Yet his eerily calm expression inflicted the most psychological terror on the gathered believers.
Finally, unable to endure the suffocating atmosphere any longer, one believer broke. He did not dare to flee. Instead, he pulled out a dagger from his waist, attempting to end his own life.
The blade slashed through the air—And then stopped, frozen mid-motion.
The zombie mushroom had already taken over their bodies. None of them were in control of themselves anymore.
“Don’t worry. You won’t die.” Jun Tesi turned to the believer who had tried to take his own life, tilting his head slightly—an almost childlike gesture, laced with a cruel innocence. “They were assassinated how many times? That’s how many times you’ll experience it too.”
“It’s still early. You have plenty to pay back.”
With that, the mycelium extended, lifting the believers one by one into the air. Their bodies were encased in cocoons, leaving only their heads exposed. Seeing what had become of the elder, the believers shrieked in terror and scrambled in every direction. But no matter how they fled, they could not escape the omnipresent mycelium. They could not resist the mushroom that had already taken root inside them. One by one, they were hoisted up—One by one, they were wrapped into writhing, screaming cocoons.
Han Wei was among them. As he pondered Jun Tesi’s words, he sensed something odd—this new King of Mushroom seemed to be seeking justice for humanity.
No… more precisely, he was avenging the assassinated scientists. Why?
Han Wei’s mind raced for an answer. Just as he was hoisted into the air and the surrounding noise quieted, he suddenly looked up—Jun Tesi was already standing before him, staring at him with an unreadable expression.
“You don’t seem to fear pain.”
Han Wei’s heart sank. Before he could say anything, Jun Tesi reached out and lightly tapped his shoulder, as if planting something inside him.
[Your HP -1 -1]
[You have been parasitized.]
A system notification popped up. Han Wei stared blankly at the message.
“So you really don’t feel pain,” Jun Tesi murmured. Then, he asked, “What are you looking at?”
“...What is this?”
Han Wei suddenly noticed that Jun Tesi’s gaze had fallen on his game interface. His heart pounded in shock. In his panic, he didn’t even have time to think—he immediately used a game item he had obtained earlier.
A bottle of poison.
The poison took effect instantly. Without needing to take it out or drink it, his HP plummeted to zero, forcing him to log out of the game.
Jun Tesi silently watched Han Wei’s lifeless body. The strange aura surrounding him vanished upon his death.
The only thing the mycelium managed to retrieve was a single word:
Game.
And this person… like Tang Xiao, he lacked a sense of pain.
Even more bizarre, they both showed no fear of death.
As the new King of Mushroom, Jun Tesi had taken control of the mycelium network, inheriting a vast archive of intelligence. The previous King of Mushroom had been collecting this information for a long time, marking certain details as critical. But until now, grief had too consumed Jun Tesi to examine them properly.
At this moment, suspicion took root in his mind. He consciously tapped into the King of Mushroom’s intelligence network.
The volume of information was staggering—if a human attempted to sift through it, they wouldn’t finish in a lifetime. But Jun Tesi’s evolved nature allowed him to process it effortlessly, like a search engine locking onto the data he needed.
People who had died… only to return to life.
Individuals refer to themselves as players.
That world.
Jun Tesi had studied human culture. He understood what ‘players’ and ‘games’ meant.
So… that human who just died was a player.
Then… was Tang Xiao also a player?
Doubt crept into Jun Tesi’s mind. He stood motionless for several seconds before abruptly turning back toward the throne. The mycelium retrieved a set of photographs.
His gaze fixated on one.
It was a photo of Tang Xiao and Fu Yichen, taken in front of a villa, just before Fu Yichen’s departure.
If some humans in this world came from another world…
Then the strange atmosphere between Tang Xiao and Fu Yichen when they first met—perhaps it finally had an explanation.
For the first time, the lifeless darkness in Jun Tesi’s eyes flickered with a faint light. Even his heart seemed to beat with newfound strength.
Meanwhile, Li Mu was scratching his head in frustration at Tang Xiao.
After figuring out the root of Tang Xiao’s problem, Li Mu truly had no solution left—he couldn’t bring the dead back to life.
But he couldn’t just ignore Tang Xiao’s father’s request, nor could he stand by and watch his best friend sink into despair.
Even though he had never been in a relationship himself, he at least knew that people needed something to distract them—something to pass the time and wear down their emotions.
But Tang Xiao had already said he wouldn’t touch scientific research for now.
Li Mu racked his brains and dragged Tang Xiao through all kinds of activities—basketball, swimming, mountain climbing. He nearly exhausted himself to death, yet Tang Xiao remained completely expressionless the whole time.
At this point, Li Mu had to admit defeat. Why are we both science geeks, but only you have insane physical endurance?!
Of course, Tang Xiao wasn’t going to say it was because he had maxed out all his attributes in the game.
“W-Wait a second.”
“You giving up?” Tang Xiao looked at him.
“Give up, my ass.” Li Mu gritted his teeth, straightened up, and took a deep breath. “I’m pulling out my ultimate move.”
Tang Xiao tilted his head slightly, as if to say, Go ahead.
“Xiaoxiao, do you remember what your dream was at the start?” Li Mu asked, his voice filled with purpose. “Weren’t you going to be a game streamer? What happened to your account?”
Tang Xiao: …
Oh. Oh, right.
Now that he thought about it, what was his original goal when he first entered <Mushroom Era>?
For a brief moment, his expression went completely blank.
A game streamer. That was his goal. Then why the hell did he spend all these years doing scientific research?!
Damn games ruined my youth—now I’m about to get a PhD, what the f*!**
Seeing Tang Xiao’s reaction, Li Mu knew he had hit the right nerve. Hands on his hips, he said, “Since things are like this already, why not just go back to it?”
As long as he gave Tang Xiao something to do, he would definitely forget about his breakup.
“My account…” Tang Xiao murmured. “But I haven’t logged in for three years.”
“No problem,” Li Mu waved his hand dramatically. “Worst case, I’ll buy you some followers.”
Tang Xiao: …
Li Mu laughed. “Just kidding. But seriously, just give it a shot. We’ve already tried so many activities—one more won’t hurt.” Tang Xiao thought about it and agreed. Besides, he really shouldn’t keep bothering Li Mu. He knew Li Mu had been sent here by his parents, but they were about the same age, and Li Mu had also started his PhD. His schedule was tight, and Tang Xiao had already taken up too much of his free time.
“I got it. I’ll do it,” Tang Xiao said. “You can go back now. Thanks for everything these past few days.”
Having someone around to talk to had indeed made him feel a lot better.
“…Are you seriously kicking me out now that I’m useless?” Li Mu looked at him in disbelief.
Tang Xiao: “Don’t you have research projects to work on?”
Li Mu thought about the mountain of unread messages from his advisor, spamming him like a death threat, and didn’t have the courage to say no.
But he still couldn’t let go of his concern for Tang Xiao. After a moment of hesitation, he decided to go back and deal with his backlog first—if Tang Xiao was still moping around afterward, he’d come right back.
Before leaving, he repeatedly reminded Tang Xiao, “You better start streaming. I’ll be watching your channel. If you don’t go live, I’m coming straight back.”
Tang Xiao: “Got it.”
“I’m serious—don’t go back on your word.”
“En.”
Only then did Li Mu leave, glancing back every three steps. After returning home, Tang Xiao didn’t look at his <Mushroom Era> gaming helmet. Instead, he logged into his account, randomly picked a game, and activated the live streaming function.
In an instant, all his followers received a notification.
Your followed streamer is now live!
[Damn, a missing person has returned.]
As soon as Tang Xiao started his stream, he saw a couple of scattered comments pop up in the chat.
[Grandma, look! The streamer you follow is finally live!]
[Three years and another three years… do you have any idea what I’ve been through these past three years?]
[Streamer, streamer! Where did you go? I missed you so much—you were my go-to entertainment while eating!]
[Yo yo yo, did you finally remember your account password?]
[You’re still alive? I thought you were dead.]
Seeing that there were still fans around, Tang Xiao gave an awkward smile and quickly said, “Sorry, everyone. I was busy with research these past three years and really didn’t have time to play games.”
[Whoa, a researcher streamer.]
[Come on, streamer, if you’re gonna lie, at least come up with a better excuse. What kind of project would be so intense you couldn’t even post a single update?]
[Was it one of those top-secret projects that lock you up for years?]
[Yeah, right. That’s obviously a half-assed excuse. If he’s back to streaming, it’s more likely he just graduated and became a corporate slave.]
[Streamer, streamer! What are you playing today? Can we get a facecam stream?]
Back in the lab, Li Mu sneakily opened Tang Xiao’s stream during a break.
Seeing that Tang Xiao was actually streaming, he nodded in satisfaction.
No one knew Tang Xiao’s work ethic better than he did. Even if he no longer aimed to be a full-time game streamer, once he committed to something, he would take it seriously.
“Nope,” Tang Xiao glanced at the chat but didn’t bother addressing the skeptical comments. He casually replied, “I have principles. Face reveal at 100,000 followers. Uh… let’s check the rankings for trending games. Or you guys can suggest something.”
Back in the day, he had streamed a bit—no facecam, only his hands—and managed to gain 50,000 followers purely through his insane grinding skills. But after three years, most of those followers had drifted away.
Not that it mattered. Tang Xiao was just looking for a way to kill time, something to keep his mind off what had happened in that game.
“Hm, seems like the Blood X series is trending right now. Let’s go with that.”
[Hell yeah! Time to watch the streamer get wrecked!]
[Perfect timing—my food just arrived. Dinner entertainment secured!]
The chat was buzzing with excitement, eagerly waiting to watch the streamer suffer. Meanwhile, Tang Xiao calmly put on his gaming helmet.
The helmet had a built-in streaming function, displaying the chat in a small window.
The audience was fully prepared to enjoy Tang Xiao’s misery. After all, the Blood X series was notoriously difficult—even skilled streamers struggled on their first playthrough. Watching someone get repeatedly destroyed was great entertainment, which was why the series was so popular among gaming streamers.
But then… they watched Tang Xiao effortlessly cut through multiple bosses like slicing melons.
What the hell?
Even Li Mu, watching the stream from his lab, froze mid-smile. No way… his gaming skills haven’t declined at all?!
[Are you even human?]
[Wait, now I remember why I followed this guy—he’s a hardcore grinding god.]
[Holy crap, he’s insane.]
[There’s no way this is his first time playing. He must’ve practiced off-stream for ages just to flex on us.]
[Yeah, makes sense. Sneaky streamer.]
Tang Xiao, however, didn’t find it surprising at all. It really was his first time playing the game.
But his physical abilities were nothing like before. His mind processed information faster now—he could memorize attack combos, startup animations, and weak points after just one glance. Combined with his refined mechanics, there wasn’t much that could challenge him.
Tang Xiao: “Feels kinda easy. Let’s try Hell difficulty.”
[“Feels kinda easy.”]
[Excuse me?! I can’t even beat Normal mode.]
[Same here.]
Tang Xiao: “Hmm, this boss is kinda interesting. The attack patterns are pretty complex.”
Tang Xiao: “Oh no, it’s enraged. So scary.”
Three years had passed, and Tang Xiao had completely forgotten what kind of streamer persona he used to have. But he didn’t care about that anymore. He casually threw out comments while demolishing bosses. This slightly cocky but completely unfazed attitude, paired with his exceptional gameplay, started drawing in more viewers.
The audience count kept climbing, and some people recognized his account.
[Wait… isn’t this the streamer I followed three years ago?]
[Back from the dead.]
[Streamer, where the hell have you been these past three years? Why didn’t you say anything?]
[He said he went into scientific research.]
[Bullshit.]
[For real?]
Tang Xiao, still focused on the boss fight, glanced at the chat and casually replied, “Yeah, I went into research.”
“I was working on a very important project… and, incidentally, saved the world too.”
[Really? I don’t believe you.]
[Hhhh, which game’s storyline is the streamer referencing now?]
"A parallel universe’s Earth-O."
[What kind of project? Tell us about it.]
“Gene editing.”
Tang Xiao answered casually. Since this was reality and the internet, who would take it seriously? Clearly, the audience in the live stream didn’t believe him. They just assumed he was making things up or creating a new streamer persona.
[If you’re really that amazing, why are you playing games? Shouldn’t you be a famous scientist by now?]
[Come on, if he were really that accomplished, he wouldn’t be so unknown after disappearing for three years. The streamer is obviously joking.]
The war seemed to be over.
No one knew exactly what had happened, but the mutant beasts were no longer under some controlling force. They reverted to the usual scale and behavior of past beast tides—charging in recklessly but scattering just as easily. The infected also returned to their previous mindless state.
The Alliance didn’t waste this opportunity. They launched a counteroffensive, reclaiming several critical bases. Weeks passed, the weather warmed, food sources in the wild became abundant again, and the beast tide fully subsided.
With that, the Alliance turned to rebuilding the bases destroyed in the attacks. Refugees who had fled to the Central Zone started returning home to rebuild their settlements.
Fu Yichen and his mother also returned to their original place. Their house had collapsed in the disaster, and now they had to reconstruct it from scratch.
Reconstruction efforts were in full swing all across the base. Of course, the priority was rebuilding the outer walls and capturing infected individuals carrying the zombie mushroom. Reports said that explorers had received government-issued missions to capture wandering infected in batches so they could be gradually treated.
It was an arduous task, but a hopeful one. At the very least, it showed that the Human Alliance was not willing to abandon anyone.
The scientists of Third Eye endured a long journey and finally reunited with the Alliance. Their original base had been taken over by the new King of Mushroom, forcing them to temporarily relocate and work alongside the Alliance for the survival of humanity.
But they also brought bad news.
Dr. Tang Xiao was gone.
Most scientists remained tight-lipped about Tang Xiao’s connection to the new King of Mushroom, maintaining a unified response—Dr. Tang Xiao had perished in the war. When the Alliance’s official news report was released, people across all bases were stunned.
Then, grief spread like wildfire.
Tang Xiao was the most renowned scientist of the war. It was his research that gave humanity hope—proof that the infected were not beyond salvation, that reunion with loved ones was possible, and that infection was not necessarily a death sentence.
For every survivor whose family was saved, there was someone sincerely grateful to Tang Xiao. His name held more influence than even the highest government officials.
Many people refused to believe it. Dr. Tang Xiao had fallen just before dawn. They began traveling to the Central Zone, desperate to confirm it for themselves.
The funeral was held a week later. Since Tang Xiao left no body behind, Xiao Bai and the others had to create a symbolic grave using his old clothes.
The ceremony was grand. The Alliance government initially didn’t want to hold such an extravagant event during post-war reconstruction, but they couldn’t stop the masses. People gathered at the square to bid farewell, forming a line so long it stretched beyond sight. Survivors from various bases rushed over overnight, their faces filled with sorrow as they came to pay their respects. Some even cried until they collapsed.
Tang Xiao himself would have never expected that so many people would grieve for him.
He had yet to truly comprehend what it meant to have maxed out 100 million points of humanity’s favorability.
Journalists and media outlets scrambled to cover the event. Post-war rebuilding should have been the primary focus of future news cycles, but for this one day, an exception was made. Every front-page headline was dedicated to the scientist who had saved millions.
The Alliance Morning Post - The Fall of a Genius
The Alliance Citizen Report - What He Left Behind for Our World
Times Magazine - A Giant Fell Before the Dawn
“Compared to many renowned scientists, his list of achievements may seem short. But his contributions weigh heavier than mountains. He was nearly the same age as our children, yet by the time we learned his name, he had already fallen before the break of dawn.”
“Just like the countless warriors who sacrificed themselves.”
On this day, the Alliance government lowered flags to half-mast in remembrance of the scientist who had given so much to humanity.
Many people couldn’t travel to the funeral. Instead, they sat at home, glued to their televisions. Some in remote areas, where communication towers had yet to be repaired, listened through radios instead.
In plazas and on street corners, people lit candles for Tang Xiao, holding vigils and offering silent prayers.
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