The ancient return was exposed by his sister's live stream.

The Seventh Plenary Session of the Chinese Academy of Sciences.

The huge circular conference hall was packed with people. Not the bureaucrats in suits of the past, but real scientists.

Their hair was messy, they had dark circles under their eyes, and their shirts were buttoned up wrong, but everyone was as tense as a bowstring.

Dean Wei Donglai stood on the central stage, with six project names displayed on a holographic projection behind him:

I. Artificial Wormhole Technology.

II. The digitization of human consciousness.

III. High-Dimensional Space Bubble Jump Engine.

IV. Warp Speed ​​9th Stage Engine.

V. Particle decomposition, recombination, and transport.

VI. High-dimensional phase shift isolation system.

"Gentlemen," Wei Donglai began, his voice hoarse from clearly having stayed up many nights, "these six directions represent all the escape routes we can think of right now. I won't waste any more time; I'll get straight to the conclusion."

He reached out and pointed to the four items at the back.

"Three to six, purely theoretical. We can't even get it certified in the lab. It's not that we don't want to do it, it's that the existing physical framework can't support it."

The room fell silent.

"We can only do the first two," Wei Donglai said, pointing to the first and second items.

"Wormholes and the digitization of consciousness. We've at least seen a glimmer of hope in these two things, even if it's only 0.3 percent."

"Dean," a thin, middle-aged man in the front row raised his hand, "the space distortion rate of the wormhole project is 0.3%, and it will take more than 90% to form a stable passage. At the current pace..."

"Fifty years," Wei Donglai finished for him, "an optimistic estimate."

Someone in the hall gasped.

"What about digitizing consciousness?" another person asked.

"Thirty years," Wei Dong said, slamming the data panel on the table. "Not enough. Far from enough. So..."

He scanned the entire room.

"Starting today, everyone will work sixteen hours a day. If that's not enough, then twenty. Sleep time will be cut in half. Meals will be eaten in the lab. Anyone who still has the energy to think about publishing their paper..."

"Dean," the thin middle-aged man stood up, "we're not here for the thesis."

Wei Dong looked at him, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Alright. Meeting adjourned. All groups, go back to work."

People in the hall stood up one after another and hurriedly walked out. No one said a word.

Four years later.

The first phase of the wormhole project has been completed. The spatial distortion rate has been pushed to seven percent.

The first phase of the consciousness digitization experiment has been completed. The complete consciousness of an experimental white mouse has been successfully uploaded to the quantum crystal matrix.

In four years, the technological level of the People's Federation has surpassed that of at least thirty years under normal circumstances.

Everyone was working like mad. There were no weekends, no holidays, and no entertainment.

Even the evening news program was suspended because all the reporters went to work as lab assistants.

But~

It's still not enough.

Because the Gold-Eating Beast accelerated.

The People's Association Observatory observed changes at the end of the third year. The Kuroshio Current's propagation speed doubled. It doubled again at the beginning of the fourth year. Then it tripled, quadrupled...

The original estimate of twenty years was shortened to fifteen years. Ten. Seven years.

By the beginning of the fifth year, the supercomputer from the Human Federation had provided the latest predictions...

Four years.

There are four years left until the Kuroshio reaches Earth's orbit.

On the day the news was announced, the global internet was down for two hours simultaneously.

It wasn't a technical malfunction. The UN initiated the disconnection. The Security Council needed two hours to discuss whether to release the number to everyone.

Final voting results: 15 votes in favor (to be made public), 12 votes against.

After the news was released, the People's Federation quickly split into two groups.

The first type of person is completely finished.

I'm quitting. I'm quitting research. Wormholes, digitization—to hell with them. I only have four years left to live, why should I still be toiling away in this lab like a slave?

These people made up about 30%. They flooded the streets, smashed shops, looted supplies, and partied all night.

Someone was having an open-air party in an abandoned stadium, with music blasting and people getting completely drunk.

Someone rushed into a high-end restaurant, cooked all the ingredients into a Manchu Han Imperial Feast, ate until their belly was round, and then lay down in the middle of the road to sleep.

Some people even stood on the rooftop, giving the middle finger to the sky and roaring at the unseen black tide.

The second type of person works like a madman.

Inside the wormhole laboratory, the lights are on 24/7. The Consciousness Digitization team has tripled the size of the computing cluster.

Even if there's only a one percent chance, even if in the end only one hundred people can be saved...

"Save as many as you can." Wei Donglai bumped into his assistant, who was collapsed on the floor in the corridor, and pulled him up. "Go and get some sleep for two hours. Come back in two hours."

"Dean, I'm alright..."

"Go. That's an order. Dying from exhaustion in the lab isn't heroic, it's stupid."

The assistant was dismissed. Wei Donglai went into the lab himself, took over the other person's workstation, and continued working.

In Baotian City, Chen Siyao works eighteen hours a day.

The core R&D team for the Wormhole project is located in her laboratory.

Of the original 37 physicists, only 29 remain: five have passed away, two died suddenly, and one was hospitalized due to a mental breakdown.

But none of the remaining 29 people said they wanted to leave.

"President Chen." Chief Researcher Zhou Mingyuan walked in carrying a coffee, his beard unshaven and his hair tangled. "The data from the forty-seventh iteration is out."

"How many?"

"12.3 percent".

Chen Siyao looked up. It was five percentage points higher than last time.

"But..." Zhou Mingyuan sat down and pushed the data panel towards her, "The stability is still not good. The channel collapses in less than 0.3 seconds. We need a larger energy input, but the existing reactor has reached its limit."

When will the new reactor on the moon be operational?

"At least eight months."

Eight months.

Chen Siyao closed her eyes briefly, then opened them.

"Continue. First, run the theoretical model using the existing conditions. Once the new reactor is online, proceed directly to the next stage."

Zhou Mingyuan nodded, stood up, and walked out. He paused at the door.

"Mr. Chen."

"Um?"

"Does the God... really have no other choice?"

Chen Siyao looked at him.

"Professor Zhou, the most meaningful thing you can do now is to go back and continue your research."

Zhou Mingyuan smiled, asked no more questions, and turned to leave.

After the door closed, Chen Siyao leaned back in her chair. She looked up at the ceiling and didn't move for a long time.

Yang Wanqing's voice came from outside the door: "Yaoyao, I cooked noodles."

"Just leave it there."

"You have already..."

I said leave it there.

It was quiet outside the door.

A dozen seconds later, there was the sound of dishes being gently placed on the doorway. Then came the sound of footsteps fading away.

Chen Siyao sat alone in her office, listening to the occasional sound of aircraft engines passing by outside the window. It was much less frequent than before.

Four years.

My brother said six years.

Two more years.

Her fingernails dug into the flesh of her palms.

Inside the Pearl of Return to the Void.