The shimmering blue text hung in the air, an impossible phantom overlaying the familiar reality of his cramped bedroom. Chen Mu remained frozen for a long moment, his usually rhythmic breathing shallow and uneven. His mind, trained for logical progression and factual analysis, struggled to categorize the phenomenon. Hallucination? Breakdown? Or... something else entirely?
He forced down the surge of bewildered panic, falling back on ingrained habit: analyze the situation. Assume, for the sake of argument, that this 'Infinite Time Loop Simulation System' was real. What were the immediate implications?
His gaze flickered to the [Host Status] panel. Physique 1.1, Mentality 1.4. The numbers felt strangely validating, quantifying years of disciplined exercise and focused study. He mentally probed the interface, trying to interact. Expand Skills.
The list unfurled, detailing proficiencies he inherently knew but had never seen itemized like ingredients on a nutritional label: [Basic Cooking (Survival)], [Mandarin (Native)], [English (Intermediate - Reading Focus)], [Running (Proficient - Endurance Focus)], [Mathematics (Advanced High School - Calculus Ready)], [Physics (Advanced High School - Mechanics Strong)]... It was disturbingly accurate, down to the nuances.
He then focused on the [Time Loop Configuration]. Seven days. April 13th to April 19th. Resetting back to the beginning of his eighteenth birthday. The timer ticked down relentlessly: Time Remaining in Current Cycle: 6 Days, 15 Hours, 48 Minutes...
If this was true, the primary, most urgent task was verification. Believing it without proof was illogical, potentially dangerous if it was a delusion. Acting drastically based on an unverified system was reckless. He needed an experiment. A controlled observation.
How to prove a time loop? Telling someone was out of the question. Who would believe him? He'd risk being labeled delusional, jeopardizing the very future he'd meticulously planned. Making a huge, noticeable change – skipping school for a week, trying something wildly out of character – felt too risky. What if the system had unforeseen rules or consequences? What if there was no reset, and he simply ruined his immediate prospects?
No, the test needed to be subtle, internal, and undeniably verifiable only by him, provided the loop occurred. Knowledge. Foreknowledge.
He needed a piece of information from the near future – something specific, non-public yet, and ideally inconsequential – that he could memorize now and check for after the supposed reset.
His disciplined mind formulated a plan. Today was April 13th. He would spend the day adhering closely to his normal schedule, introducing only the most minor, measurable deviations to test the system's tracking. Tomorrow, April 14th, he would seek out a piece of verifiable, obscure information scheduled to become public knowledge that day. He would commit it to memory. Then, he would live out the rest of the seven-day cycle as normally as possible, avoiding any major disruptions. If, on the morning of what should be April 20th, he instead woke up on April 13th with that specific memory intact, that would be strong evidence.
With a plan solidifying, a measure of his usual calm returned. He dismissed the system interface with a thought, though the awareness of it lingered, a phantom limb in his perception. He checked the clock. 8:15 AM. Fifteen minutes behind his internal schedule due to the... anomaly. Unacceptable, but unavoidable under the circumstances.
He stood, performed a quick series of stretches, focusing on the physical sensations, trying to ground himself. Everything felt normal. Too normal.
His morning run had already been completed. Next was Physics study. He sat back down, pulled the textbook closer, but his focus wasn't entirely on Newton's laws. Part of his mind was now constantly monitoring. Did that brief moment of panic lower my 'Mentality' stat? Does intense focus raise it? He tried to recall the exact number – 1.4. He'd check again later.
Throughout the day, Chen Mu executed his plan with precision. During his scheduled afternoon exercise block – normally bodyweight exercises in his room – he pushed himself slightly harder. An extra set of push-ups, holding a plank for 15 seconds longer than usual, feeling the burn deepen. Afterwards, breathing heavily, he called up the [Host Status] again. Physique: 1.1. No change. Disappointing, but perhaps stat changes required more significant effort, or accumulated over time. Or maybe this was all nonsense.
He attended afternoon classes, answered questions with his usual accuracy, completed his homework assignments diligently. He interacted with classmates and teachers identically to how he assumed he would have otherwise. No one seemed to notice anything amiss. The system interface remained invisible to everyone else.
That evening, during his scheduled online browsing time (strictly limited to educational resources and curated news), he subtly shifted his focus. He searched for local Haizhou city news portals, looking for minor announcements scheduled for release tomorrow, April 14th. After twenty minutes, he found it: A small footnote on the municipal planning bureau website. "Public comment period for proposed zoning adjustment Z-25-048 (Fengwei District Industrial Park Expansion – Phase 1 Infrastructure) begins April 14th." Below it was a link to the detailed proposal document, not yet active.
Perfect. Obscure, specific, verifiable tomorrow, utterly irrelevant to his daily life. He committed the designation "Z-25-048" and its subject to memory, repeating it mentally until it felt secure.
The next few days unfolded with meticulous, almost suffocating normalcy. On the morning of the 14th, Chen Mu confirmed online that the public comment period for Z-25-048 had indeed opened. The small piece of future knowledge had been accurate within the current timeline. Now, the real test remained.
He continued his routine. School, study, exercise, meals, sleep. He monitored his stats occasionally; Physique flickered briefly to 1.11 after a particularly strenuous run on Day 4 but returned to 1.1 by the next morning. Mentality remained stubbornly at 1.4. He noted that the system didn't seem to offer any rewards or feedback for simply existing or following a routine, even a demanding one. It implied action or achievement was necessary.
Internally, however, the days were anything but normal. Every interaction felt slightly hollow, potentially ephemeral. Every sunrise was tinged with the bizarre possibility that he'd see it again in identical circumstances. The discipline that had always been his anchor now felt like the script of a play he might be forced to perform indefinitely. The strain was subtle but constant, a low hum of cognitive dissonance beneath his calm exterior.
Finally, the evening of April 19th arrived. Day 7 of the supposed loop. He completed his final study session, tidied his desk, and prepared for bed exactly on schedule. Sitting on the edge of his mattress, the digital clock on his bedside table read 23:55:00.
Outside, Haizhou was settling into the quiet hum of a coastal city late at night. Inside Chen Mu, a storm of anticipation brewed beneath his placid surface. He mentally recited it one last time: Zoning adjustment Z-25-048, Fengwei District Industrial Park Expansion, comment period open April 14th.
Was this the end of a strange, seven-day hallucination? Would he wake up tomorrow, April 20th, relieved or perhaps concerned about his mental state, the blue interface gone forever?
Or…
Would he wake up to the familiar ceiling of his room, the clock reading 6:00 AM, April 13th, with the memory of Z-25-048 inexplicably intact, proving that his meticulously ordered life had just been thrown into an infinite, repeating spiral?
The clock ticked. 23:58... 23:59...
He held his breath, staring blankly at the wall, waiting for either the mundane continuation of time or the impossible rewind. The seconds stretched into an eternity.