By 11 PM, the private karaoke suite had finally begun to empty out. As Xu Zhi prepared to leave, numerous tiny slips of paper were quietly pressed into his palm by blushing female classmates—each note bearing an Instagram handle, a discreet invitation to betray Chen Xi. Such was the "loyalty" among best friends.
Xu Zhi casually tossed the notes into a nearby trash bin, shrugging them off without a second thought. He helped the drunken Chen Xi onto her electric scooter, and they sped off into the cool, refreshing night.
"So, did you have fun tonight? Feel accomplished?" he asked lightly, the breeze blowing gently around them.
Chen Xi leaned against his back, giggling softly. "Having a handsome, gentle boyfriend who's terminally ill is honestly the greatest blessing of my life."
Xu Zhi sighed, rubbing his temple. "Could you please not constantly remind me I'm dying?"
Chen Xi pouted, tears shimmering in her eyes. "But you must remember! If you weren't dying, you wouldn't have quit your job, your ex wouldn't have left you, and you'd never have become my boyfriend. I don't deserve you!"
"You're drunk," Xu Zhi replied calmly.
"I'm stone-cold sober," she insisted, voice quivering slightly. "This has been my dream since childhood—introducing you to everyone as my boyfriend."
She began counting off her insecurities on slender fingers: once-chubby cheeks in middle school, years of dieting for a slimmer face, still overshadowed by her ex-best friend's perfectly oval features, and haunted by her lack of curves.
Xu Zhi paused thoughtfully. Though he could easily manipulate genes to enhance her appearance, he knew genuine beauty was more than superficial. To him, she was beautiful just as she was.
"You're still young. You'll continue to mature," he said earnestly, though privately doubting her physique would change significantly after college.
"Really?" Chen Xi's eyes widened in delight. "I'll become even prettier?"
"Absolutely," Xu Zhi replied with a reassuring smile.
She sighed contentedly—but her expression suddenly darkened. "Too bad you won't be here to see it."
Xu Zhi winced inwardly. Must they always return to his mortality?
They soon reached the county town. Arriving at Aunt Li's house, Chen Xi was scolded affectionately for her drunken antics and quickly put to bed. Aunt Li, who had known Xu Zhi since childhood, apologized profusely for Chen Xi's behavior. He left feeling strangely warmed by the simple kindness of rural life.
The next morning dawned bright and clear. After a homemade breakfast, Xu Zhi sat leisurely in his courtyard, munching on an apple and quietly observing the miniature sandbox creatures scurrying about.
"He's doing his daily surveillance again!"
"Ignore him—we're doomed anyway!"
With amusement, Xu Zhi decided it was finally time to expand the beta test. Carefully, he drafted an update post for the official forum:
Spore Evolution Beta 0.2 Update
Thank you all for your incredible enthusiasm and support! Due to popular demand, we are launching the second beta test.
Update Notes:
We are opening 50 additional beta slots, increasing the total capacity to 150 concurrent players.
To apply, submit a short evolutionary proposal (500–1000 words) explaining your species concept, evolutionary pathway, and practical feasibility. Applications via email only.
Slots remain limited. Each beta cycle will cull the bottom 20 performers to make room for new candidates.
A new achievement system is now live: evolve a unique, high-potential species, and your creation will be permanently recorded in the Evolution Chronicle, earning exclusive rewards.
The sandbox mechanics remain entirely open—create and evolve any fantastical creature you can imagine.
The forum exploded into chaos almost immediately. Gamers were shocked to discover that earning a beta slot now required writing a biology essay.
CrazyAfrican: "Seriously, devs?! You want an academic thesis just to play a game?!"
RechargeAndSlash: "No way this can scale. This VR sandbox is way too hardcore—it'll stay niche forever!"
What these players didn't realize was that slot limitations depended solely on Xu Zhi's whims, not server capacity. The post's purpose was simply to filter out the truly dedicated thinkers.
Xu Zhi observed the growing uproar with detached amusement. His sandbox experiment would now attract real intellectual talent—and hopefully yield the evolutionary breakthroughs he desperately needed to overcome his terminal illness.