A higher-dimensional incarnation, starting by leveraging the stars.

Chapter 123 I just want to prove that the world is wrong.

In May 3026, an explosive news story circulated at the School of Biology, Jiangcheng University.

Hu Biao, a freshman in the School of Bioinformatics, completed all his undergraduate course exams and published a paper in the top journal Cell in one year, thus ending his undergraduate studies. He was then accepted as a close disciple by Academician Dongguo and Professor Zhou Huanan of Beijing University, skipping the master's stage and starting his doctoral studies directly.

Due to Hu Biao's own fame, this caused a great sensation within Jiangcheng University. Unfortunately, after completing his thesis defense, Hu Biao left Jiangcheng and went to the capital city immediately, completely ignoring the commotion within the university.

In the office of Academician Zhou Huanan of the School of Life Sciences at Beijing University, sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting warm dappled patterns on the solid wood floor.

Outside the window, several crabapple trees are in full bloom, with petals occasionally drifting down in the wind.

Zhou Huanan, wearing reading glasses, was engrossed in reviewing the paper that Hu Biao had just submitted.

The title of the paper is quite simple: "Preparation and Application Research of a Novel Biotransmitter Based on an Active Substance".

But the content is anything but simple.

Zhou Huanan turned to the third page and stopped.

There is an electron microscope image showing the microstructure of this "biological neurotransmitter" prepared by Hu Biao.

Detailed specifications are provided below the photo: the diameter is adjustable from approximately 0.1 micrometers to 5 micrometers, the length can be extended indefinitely, the conductivity is 17 times that of copper wires, the signal transmission delay is lower than that of optical fibers, and it has the self-repairing ability unique to biological tissues.

He turned to page seven, where the experimental data was located.

When this medium was implanted into the spinal cord injury site of experimental rats, the rats' hind limb motor function recovered by 73% after one week.

The recovery rate in the control group (traditional nerve conduit) was 12%.

Page twelve contains experiments on co-culturing human cells.

This medium was co-cultured with human neurons for 30 days without any rejection reaction, and the neurons actively extended protrusions to the surface of the medium to form functional connections.

Page 23 contains compatibility testing.

Connecting this medium to a standard USB-C interface successfully transmitted 4K video signals. When connected to the electrodes of an EEG machine, signal noise was reduced by 82%. When connected to the servo motors of a small robot, response latency was reduced from 15 milliseconds to 0.3 milliseconds.

Zhou Huanan turned to the last page, took off his reading glasses, and rubbed his temples.

The office was silent for a full minute.

Then, he raised his head and looked at the young man in front of him with a complicated expression.

"Hu Biao—"

"Yes, teacher."

"I have a few questions for you." Zhou Huanan put down the paper, tapping his finger lightly on the table. "First, did you really manage to create this?"

"It's done." Hu Biao nodded, took a palm-sized constant-temperature box from his backpack, and gently placed it on the table. "The sample is here; the teacher can arrange for someone to test it."

Zhou Huanan opened the constant temperature box, inside which lay a small roll of translucent, slightly fluorescent "thread". It looked like some kind of biological tissue, but had a metallic sheen, quietly coiled in the sterile packaging, like a living thing.

Zhou Huanan stared at the coiled "thread" for a few seconds, then closed the lid.

"Second," his voice was a little hoarse, "do you know what that means?"

"I roughly know!"

"You roughly know?" Zhou Huanan looked at Hu Biao quietly and said, "Do you know that as long as this paper is published, this year's Nobel Prize in Dynamite is yours?"

Hu Biao smirked. "The dynamite award is not worthy of it. Besides, an award for someone who makes explosives is not worthy of me either."

Don't they even care about the Nobel Prize?

"Teacher, speaking of the Nobel Prize in Literature, I have to criticize you a bit. You old folks are too obsessed with this kind of award, as if doing research and making achievements is just for winning awards. It's because of people like you that the Nobel Prize in Literature is so highly regarded. This is not good. In the long run, you will no longer be able to enjoy the pleasure of research."

"The joy of research?" Zhou Huanan's face darkened instantly. These young people nowadays are just too damn unlovable.

"You do research just for fun?"

"Yes, the joy of research. Otherwise, what's the point? To win awards? To contribute to humanity? To explore the mysteries of the universe? Do you think I'd have nothing better to do?"

Zhou Huanan felt his mind was a bit of a mess. Were Gen Z young people already this assertive?

He paused for a moment, then picked up the paper again, turned to the key pages, and carefully examined the experimental data, the electron microscope images, and the detailed preparation process.

As a senior scientist who has been deeply involved in the field of biology for more than 50 years, he is all too aware of the significance of this technology.

Neural repair.

This is one of the holy grails of modern medicine.

Spinal cord injury, Parkinson's disease, Alzheimer's disease—countless diseases are related to damage or degeneration of the nervous system. If a material truly existed that could repair damaged neurons and replace damaged neural pathways—

What does that mean?

This means that paralyzed people can stand up again.

This means that blind people can see again.

This means that countless patients suffering from neurological diseases have real hope.

And that's not all.

Its astonishing conductivity, its ultra-low signal delay, its perfect compatibility with human cells—

If this technology is truly applied on a large scale, it will change far more than just medicine.

Brain-computer interface.

Human-computer interaction.

Intelligent prosthetics.

Enhanced exoskeleton.

Even—the direct fusion of the human brain and computers.

Each one is a breakthrough capable of disrupting the existing technological landscape.

Isn't this supposed to be a science fiction world?

Fortunately, he was an experienced researcher with over fifty years of life experience. He forced down the shock in his heart, took a deep breath, raised his head, and looked directly into Hu Biao's eyes.

"I don't believe you did this just for fun, or for any other purpose."

"Of course it's about revolution! Revolutionizing the world's technology tree! Let them know that everyone here is trash!" Hu Biao said with a smile, looking at Zhou Huanan, whose face had turned ashen. "Teacher, I'm not talking about you. You study biology, so you're different from those trashy people outside. I've always believed that modern technology has gone wrong. All that bullshit about chips, computers, and robots is utter nonsense. Humans are carbon-based beings, yet we insist on researching silicon-based things. Isn't that betraying our own birth?"

"So you want to—"

Hu Biao blinked, took out his phone from his pocket, swiped a few times, and then handed it to Zhou Huanan.

"Teacher, please take a look at this first."

Zhou Huanan took the phone and looked down at it.

The screen displays a game interface. The graphics are simple, even somewhat rough. A dark red planet floats alone against a black cosmic background, with a few simple options below: Start Game, Game Settings, About Us.

"Alien Survival?" Zhou Huanan read out the game's name, then looked up, his brow furrowing slightly. "What's that?"

"It's a game I developed." Hu Biao smiled. "It's a little gadget I made last winter break when I had nothing to do."

Zhou Huanan's expression became even more confused.

He clicked "Start Game".

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