Xu Zhi sat quietly in the orchard, munching on melon slices while scrolling through the forum on his phone. His eyes widened at the sight of the uploaded pictures. "This guy actually took screenshots? And he's bragging about it online?"
The forum had exploded. None of the players had any idea that the so-called "other world" was just a miniature sandbox hidden in Xu Zhi's backyard orchard.
Meanwhile, Grantham was basking in the chaos he'd stirred. He knew exactly how impactful his tale would be—and how it was only just beginning.
Taking a deep breath, he waited for the crowd to settle down before diving into the core of his story.
He carefully glossed over certain... unspeakable episodes. Like the time his Slime species was captured and bred as sex toys. That disgrace would go with him to the grave.
"Although a hundred years passed in the game, only a single day passed in reality. Modern tech can't replicate this. But that's beside the point!"
"I'll summarize what happened: I spent over ninety years climbing the tech tree. I devoted myself to research and, after two lifetimes of toil, I succeeded. Using Slime engines, I established the foundations of alchemy."
Everyone was stunned.
"Two lifetimes? Damn! Are you saying I'll only live to forty-five?!"
Grantham's loyalists jumped in to defend him. "So what if it's two lifetimes? You're not even forty-five yet, are you?"
"Sycophants," someone scoffed. "If you keep kissing up to him like that, you'll lose all dignity."
As the arguments erupted, more players weighed in. "Still, ninety years is a long time. That's basically a full life span."
Grantham turned serious and posted new pictures—blueprints of his alchemical airship's internal structure, photos of the control deck, and even a layout showing the ten thousand engines.
The crowd went wild.
"Holy crap, that thing's the size of a modern aircraft carrier!"
"You didn't have metal for cannonballs, so you used circuit diagrams to convert kinetic energy to electricity, then to spiritual energy, and used that to fire spells instead? That's genius!"
Then came the pièce de résistance: Grantham unveiled his ultimate creation—himself.
"With this, I defeated Empress Medusa and unified the Magic World. I brought science to a primitive society and transformed it with modern production methods. That's why I'm hailed as the Great Emperor of Alchemy and the Gate of Truth."
"But... my seven little wives are nearing the end of their lifespan. Can someone help me save them?"
That was his real reason for posting.
He followed up with images of the Seven Little Witches of Elizabeth's Coven—each with her own unique charm: silly and romantic, lively and mischievous. Over the years, they had become his cherished family.
Everyone was floored. Turns out, he hadn't been exaggerating.
Hands Off: "No way! This guy has a full-blown harem in another world. As the Emperor of Alchemy, couldn't he do whatever he wanted with any woman in the realm?"
Cute Girl Who'll Evolve Into A Dragon: "You serious? The bossman's a Slime. He doesn't even have the necessary hardware. (?)"
Akina's Speedster: "LOL! True! And didn't he say witches must follow the Three Iron Laws? Even if they fall in love, it's pure love. The boss and his witches are probably all about emotional connection... even if he wanted to do something else, he couldn't!"
Grantham nearly popped a vein. These damn netizens always found a way to troll.
But he didn't have time to argue. He had just one real-world day—24 hours—to live.
He needed to mobilize the masses: expert doctors, students, scientists—anyone who could help.
I Love Learning: "You guys are being too harsh! They've lived together for over a hundred years—of course they're like family! Boss, I support you. Are there any med students who can help? Can anything be done in ten hours?"
Grantham: "Absolutely. As a builder, I've developed microscopes and studied herbs in my alchemical lab. I even created an Elixir of Longevity—but it came too late.
I realized that the principles of modern medicine—cells, molecular structures, target cells, receptors—apply here too. It's just like Earth.
I've compiled data on the medicinal properties, traits, and molecular structures of herbs in the other world. Can any medical students help process this?"
Silence. Then—
"This guy's insane. In a good way."
"He made a Herbal Compendium in another world?!"
Excitement surged.
Medical Student: "We can do it. This is no different from researching the pharmacological properties of a new plant."
"Finally! A hardcore game giving med students a chance to shine!"
"Let's go! Biology majors have been flexing forever. It's our turn!"
"Pulling an all-nighter. Who's in? Thousands of us. We'll form a research group and prototype a medicine within ten hours. Let's prove ourselves!"
"I'm in too! I get it. When my grandma passed, I cried for days. These witches are his family. We understand."
"This is what it means to be a med student. We feel the urgency."
"Everyone, shout with me! FIGHT ON, MED STUDENTS!"
"FIGHT ON, MED STUDENTS!"
"FIGHT ON, MED STUDENTS!"
The community rallied.
.
"Aren't you guys embarrassed?"
"What's with the med student pride parade? (?)"
"Jealous much? Watch, in the third open beta, we'll be writing medical papers instead of evolution essays. It's our era now!"
Within an hour, med students across the nation stormed libraries. They flipped through ancient pharmacology texts, exchanged notes, and pored over Grantham's data.
News outlets caught wind. On television, confused anchors tried to explain the phenomenon.
Anchor: "Professor Yuan, why are college libraries packed with students borrowing difficult medical texts?"
Professor Yuan (smugly): "People seek intellectual fulfillment as quality of life improves. This is a healthy trend. But it has nothing to do with that casual sandbox game—Spore Evolution. It's about evolution, not medicine."
Moments later, the broadcast showed interviews with determined students.
One student wore a red bandana reading FIGHT and declared: "I wore this during my postgrad exams. After failing classes from gaming too much... I never thought I'd feel this passion again."
Reporter: "Why the sudden change?"
Student: "Spore Evolution made me fall in love with learning again!"
The reporter blinked, speechless.
Another student from a prestigious medical university didn't even look up. "Fight on, medical students? Don't waste my time. I'm deadly serious when it comes to games."
Experts on TV: "???"
Wasn't this just a game about evolution? Why was everyone suddenly cramming for med school?
Had the game... expanded?
"Incredible game."
"What's next? After evolutionary theory and medicine, will players need to master chemistry? Physics?"
Parents everywhere were beaming.
"Look at this, son! You love games but can't even play this one!"
"Deadbeat! If you can't study, you can't even game! What are you good for?!"
"Daughter, stop fussing over makeup! You hate studying and now you can't even play this game? How will you succeed in life?"
Once vilified for promoting games, "Spore Evolution" was now a national treasure. Parents proudly bragged if their child could survive its brutal academic gauntlet.