Chapter 43: Reality + Hungry Hell
University Forum – Hot Thread: “Has anyone read the first issue of Tianshu Journal yet…?”
[I’m shocked. If it’s real, the medical world is about to experience a literal earthquake.]
[Of course I read it. My professor made us all read it last night and write an analysis report—he’s even quizzing us today. I rushed through it last night, and all I can say is… if it’s true, that’s a guaranteed Nobel Prize right there.]
[Forget the Nobel Prize—if humans can really achieve limb regeneration, half of all currently “incurable” diseases would no longer be a problem. Even cancer—take liver cancer, for instance. Right now, early-stage cases can be removed surgically, but if it spreads to the whole liver or to other organs, there’s nothing we can do. But if we could regenerate organs like animals do, even late-stage cancer could be treated by cutting it out. Cancer mortality would plummet.]
[Disabilities would disappear from human history entirely. Of course, the black market for organ transplants would also… well, you get the idea.]
[This is practically human evolution—a step into immortality! Are we all about to become Wolverine?]
[Hold up, did you actually read it? The results aren’t that advanced yet—it’s only the beginning. Judging by the mouse trials, they’re barely managing burn recovery and minor tissue regrowth. Finger regeneration is already tough, let alone entire organs.]
[The hardest step in science is going from 0 to 1. The most difficult breakthrough is already behind us—so is a future of human regeneration really that far off? Long live Academician Li!]
[Can I dream that humanity will achieve “immortality” in my lifetime? Go Academician Li!]
[You guys are too optimistic. No lab has replicated it yet… Remember the cardiac stem cell scam? Honestly, I’m skeptical. Western labs haven’t confirmed anything yet—how could we suddenly surpass them in this field? Feels like another political stunt to me.]
[To be honest, the timing’s too perfect—the government just rolled out the academic journal reform, and now we suddenly get this “breakthrough”? It feels like they’re propping up the new journal. Until politics is removed from science, our academic environment won’t truly improve.]
[LOL. You actually believe this kind of publicity stunt?]
[You’re the fool. They held a full academic press conference—an official event with domestic and international scholars attending. You think that’s a fake? I’m convinced this is genuine progress, not some political showpiece.]
[ It can’t be fake—the journal was established under state policy, and all the top scholars are backing it. The entire academic community is standing behind Academician Li. If that turns out to be fake…]
[Then what?]
[Then it’s either the biggest scam in the world—or the biggest miracle.]
[We’ll find out soon enough. My professor’s bringing me to the academic conference—I’ll live-report it to everyone then!]
[Holy crap, what kind of professor do you have?! Take me with you!!]
—
The discussion on university forums was just a microcosm of the chaos.
After self-media uploaded the recorded exchange between Academician Li and the reporter—and since the paper had officially appeared in Tianshu’s inaugural issue—it exploded across the global academic scene like a nuclear bomb. Tianshu’s first issue received subscription requests from countless labs and universities worldwide.
Of course, overseas researchers weren’t interested in China’s policy background—they were interested in Academician Li’s discovery. Had a scientist from the East truly unlocked the secret to human regeneration?
Labs all over the world immediately began trying to replicate the experiment. So far, no successful reproductions had been reported—but that was normal for such a complex study. Still, after the cardiac stem cell scandal, both the scientific community and investors were cautious.
At that time, the Academy of Sciences—where Academician Li worked—announced an international academic conference, where his results would be officially presented. Naturally, global attention turned toward that event.
*
When Tang Mobai stepped out of the car, he saw a crowd packed tightly together. It had been a long time since he’d seen so many people in real life—he felt almost disoriented, like stepping into another world.
“What’s wrong? Feeling unwell?” Gong Wen got out behind him, noticing his dazed expression. “If you’re not up for it, we can go back.”
“No, no,” Tang Mobai quickly shook his head. “It’s just… I haven’t seen this many people in ages. I’m fine. Really.”
On the way there, Gong Wen had already explained the background of the conference. Since the research results had originated from Tang Mobai himself, he wanted to see them recognized with his own eyes.
“Let’s go then.” Gong Wen nodded.
A few plainclothes soldiers stepped out of the car too, pretending to be conference attendees. They surrounded Tang Mobai subtly—not conspicuous, but close enough for protection. Anyone who noticed didn’t think much of it.
The conference hadn’t started yet, so attendees were mingling in the hall—picking up materials, chatting, or sampling the cold buffet the organizers had provided.
It was Tang Mobai’s first time at such an event. He wandered around curiously, nibbling on the appetizers. The pastries were surprisingly good, and he ate several before Gong Wen handed him a journal.
“Want to read Academician Li’s paper?”
“Oh—yes!” Tang Mobai quickly wiped his hands with a wet napkin and took the journal. The pages were filled with familiar Chinese characters.
He didn’t fully understand the content yet, but he noticed that everyone else reading it wore the same expression—smiling, whispering to each other in excitement.
“It’s really all in Chinese.”
“Well, duh—it’s a domestic journal.”
“Still, feels weird, doesn’t it? Look at those foreign scholars—they’re flipping through photocopies with translation notes. Finally, it’s their turn to struggle!”
“Honestly, I hope future conferences stop providing translations entirely. Let them learn Chinese!”
“Hah, if future research papers and technical terms start originating in Chinese, they’ll have to. Otherwise, translations will never capture the meaning.”
“Professor, you’re turning this into a language lecture again!”
“When will that happen though?”
Tang Mobai listened quietly and thought to himself: Not long from now.
Soon, it was time for the conference to begin. The lecture hall filled up quickly. Out of habit, Tang Mobai went to sit near the back, but Gong Wen immediately stopped him.
“What are you doing back there? Your seat’s in the front.”
“Huh? But isn’t that for the experts?” Tang Mobai asked, bewildered.
He had barely sat down when several security officers took seats around him. The scholars nearby, noticing this, started whispering to each other.
Who’s this kid?
Why does he have bodyguards? Some official’s relative?
No one recognized him, of course—and Tang Mobai, still new to scientific circles, didn’t recognize any of them either. He sat stiffly, trying to stay calm.
Soon, the room quieted as the host stepped onstage. They knew exactly who everyone had come to see, so they didn’t waste time: Academician Li was the first to speak.
As soon as he appeared, the journalists straightened up in their seats.
“First of all, thank you all for coming,” Academician Li began. “Today, I’ll be sharing the results of our latest research. But before that, I’d like to introduce the key component of our study—the new compound that connects uridine to human cellular regeneration: R2 acylphenol A6 methoxycarbonyl, or simply, the RA compound…”
He lifted the first issue of Tianshu. Although the issue contained only one main paper—his—it was actually a collection of several interconnected reports: the regeneration mechanism and the synthesis of the new compound itself. The latter was crucial, because it enabled the uridine-based regenerative reaction.
This compound, of course, was the same one extracted from the “little red pill.”
The hall fell silent except for the sound of pens scratching on paper. Everyone knew that Academician Li had discovered a completely new compound, but hearing the discovery explained in person—along with details absent from the paper—was something else entirely.
As his slides showed data, graphs, and experimental steps, quiet murmurs spread among the audience. Some had clearly tried reproducing the experiment in their own labs—comparing notes, checking if the data matched. Everything seemed consistent so far.
Tang Mobai sat listening, fascinated but mostly lost. The knowledge felt like it was slipping right through his brain, leaving only vague traces behind.
When Li finished his main explanation, dozens of hands shot up for questions.
“Academician Li,” one scholar stood and said, “we’ve been attempting to replicate your results, but we’ve run into some issues with the compound synthesis. Could you elaborate on that part?”
Academician Li paused for a few seconds, then patiently explained the overlooked steps and technical nuances. The scholars scribbled notes rapidly. As one question after another was answered, their skepticism gave way to growing excitement.
Even without full replication yet, Academician Li’s detailed responses—and the clean data—suggested the research was credible. With national institutions backing it, no one thought this could be another scam.
People began whispering eagerly:
“We should invite Academician Li to consult on our project—think she’ll accept?”
“We need to reconsider our partnerships with C-Nation pharmaceutical firms. Check who owns the patents.”
“Already checked. The patent’s under the Academy of Sciences.”
“C-Nation’s biotech industry is about to take off.”
Tang Mobai didn’t understand much of their technical talk, but he could clearly sense the change in atmosphere—from doubt to admiration. He felt a rush of pride and excitement.
Just as the Q&A was wrapping up, a foreign journalist suddenly stood up and shouted:
“Academician Li, if this discovery is so groundbreaking, why didn’t you submit it to a top international journal? Why publish it in Tianshu, a brand-new domestic journal? Were you worried it wouldn’t pass peer review abroad?”
The entire hall fell silent. Scholars turned to glare at the reporter—some frowning, others curious.
Tang Mobai whispered, “How did that guy even get in here? Didn’t they screen attendees?”
Gong Wen took a deep breath, ready to alert security, but Li spoke calmly:
“I’m a scientist of C-Nation. Why must I publish abroad instead of in my own country?”
The reporter pressed on, looking self-assured, “Well, journals like Science have a long-standing reputation and a rigorous review process. Tianshu is untested, with an editorial board composed mostly of domestic scholars. Don’t you think publishing there undermines credibility?”
“There will always be people who question things—they can doubt whatever they want,” Academician Li said calmly. “Besides, I don’t believe that being old automatically means being right. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be scientists, we’d be archaeologists. And if that were the case, you wouldn’t be here challenging me—because by historical measure, our positions would be reversed.”
The audience broke into timely laughter. Everyone knew which country the reporter was from—it was famous for its short national history.
The reporter’s face flushed red, but he had come with a mission. Even if it was embarrassing, he pressed on with his final question, “Then may I ask—by publishing your paper in a newly established journal, are you trying to promote Tianshu? Does this represent some kind of political task? Even a scientist like you must make certain compromises?”
“I’ve never thought of anything I’ve done as a compromise,” Academician Li replied. “Tianshu may lack time and legacy, but I’ve never believed that my paper brings glory to it. Perhaps one day, it will be the other way around.” He smiled. “Because having my work published in Tianshu might one day be the proof that my title of ‘Academician’ is truly deserved.”
“I don’t think that day will take too long to arrive.”
The reporter didn’t get to ask a third question—break time had arrived, and this was, after all, an academic conference, not a press event. Most of the attendees weren’t interested in politics; they were here purely for Academician Li’s research. His pointed questions had already irritated many scholars, forcing him to stop there.
As the session broke, Academician Li had just stepped off the stage when a group of scholars surrounded him, eager to ask questions.
“Congratulations, Academician Li.”
A bearded man, clearly an old acquaintance, waited until the others had finished before speaking. “That was a brilliant presentation. Honestly, I was half-skeptical before, but after listening to you, I have no doubts left. I hope your results can be successfully replicated soon.”
“Thank you, Colin,” Academician Li replied. “But this achievement isn’t mine alone.”
“I know, I know—you people from C-Nation are always so humble.” Colin grinned and winked. “This discovery is Nobel-worthy, you know. Congratulations. I imagine it holds great significance for your country.”
“Oh, that’s not certain.” Li shook her head.
“Come on, no need to be modest now,” Colin said. “Is there any breakthrough in biochemistry more significant than this? As far as I know, neither Western nor North American labs have made progress anywhere close to yours. Your research is this year’s greatest gift to human civilization. The mechanism of human regeneration—another code of the human body, cracked—and by scientists from C-Nation! I doubt anything else could compare.”
“Perhaps my greatest competitor isn’t abroad,” Academician Li said meaningfully, “but at home. I’ve said before that perhaps one day I’ll be proud to have published in Tianshu—not the other way around. That’s the only part where I wasn’t being modest.”
“You realize Tianshu is a general science journal, right? I’ll have to face competitors from other fields too.”
Colin gaped, then shook his head with a laugh. “Alright, I might have to take back what I said about your people being humble. That’s a bold claim—even I wouldn’t dare make one like that.”
Could another field really produce something on par with the human regeneration mechanism? Colin doubted it. Maybe—maybe—it was possible on a global scale, but outside C-Nation, no one would be submitting to Tianshu.
And as for C-Nation itself producing another world-changing discovery so soon after this one? That was even less likely. This achievement was already a miracle. What next—did C-Nation stumble upon an alien spaceship?
He didn’t say it aloud, but Academician Li could read it in his eyes. She just smiled faintly and didn’t answer. Her gaze moved past the crowd—to where Tang Mobai stood on the outer edge, watching her with bright, excited eyes.
“You never know,” she said softly, smiling.
After returning from the conference, Tang Mobai was still in a strange state of exhilaration. It felt similar to when he’d first seen the Hua Rao serum materialize in reality—though that time he’d felt more shocked and reassured. This time… it was different. He couldn’t even explain why, just that he was now eager to enter a new dungeon—especially one whose rules resembled Earth’s.
But when he mentioned this to Gong Wen, she immediately turned him down.
“I appreciate your enthusiasm,” she said calmly, “but right now, the top priority is dealing with the Merchant Alliance’s attack. They’ll definitely target you in the next dungeon, so our main goal is still ensuring your survival.”
“…Oh, right.”
Tang Mobai blinked, belatedly remembering that he still had an absurdly powerful enemy waiting for him in the Hunger Hell.
“Don’t worry,” Gong Wen reassured him. “We still have the Mission World Designation Card. That allows us to choose the most favorable world to enter. The streaming division has been researching suitable options ever since you obtained it. We already have several candidates. We can use the mechanics of those worlds to counter your pursuers—you don’t need to worry.”
“Mhm, I’m not worried!” Tang Mobai nodded vigorously. With the country backing him up, what was there to fear? It felt so reassuring.
“When we return, take a look at the selected worlds and see which one you feel most confident about. Discuss it with your teammates from Hunger Hell too. For the next two days, we won’t add more training—we’ll focus on using points to enhance your squad’s overall combat strength, so you can adapt to whatever that world throws at you.”
“Okay!”
He could even choose the world himself!
Tang Mobai didn’t understand most of the details, but he memorized the expert team’s notes carefully once they got back to base—and then happily returned to Hunger Hell.
The moment he appeared in his room, Yan Wuzhen grabbed him. Before Tang Mobai could even share the good news, the look on Yan Wuzhen’s face made his heart sink.
“What’s wrong?”
“Don’t say a word. Come with me,” Yan Wuzhen said darkly, jaw clenched. “Something big just happened outside.”
