But at this mont, the Blood Knight was still saying: "Young man, you actually tricked , I was careless. Don’t call the police, okay? What do you want to learn? I’m currently researching how to use the Turtle Shell Binding to bind prisoners..."
"Ha!! I shared a story I just made up, and you really believed it?"
Fu Qingjun typed a line and then imdiately blocked the three masters who had taught him for seventeen years.
???
The three were completely stunned to find they had been blocked.
Fu Qingjun was just surrounded by one thought:
They must not find out about my situation.
If every day is still in a loop, and tomorrow they won’t recognize , then I can talk to them however I like, but now it’s different...
"Now that I managed to get out alive, if they find out, I will definitely be taken away for dissection."
Fu Qingjun directly shut down the internet.
"To be safe, I won’t go out today. I’ll wait for tomorrow’s reset, on the day they forget about , then I’ll go out."
Although I don’t know if it will work, I have to try this.
As for gratitude...
When the three of them don’t know , I’ll figure out a way to compensate them when I get out.
Fu Qingjun believed in his own efforts.
After studying programming for seventeen years, specializing in one field to perfection, if I get out, it will be a high starting point!
But whether I can compete against the rich second generation is another matter...
This is a very real issue. Even if you give soone an additional seventeen years, it’s hard to overco so things.
So people are born at the finish line that others spend their whole lives trying to reach.
Speaking of which, although my parents nad Fu Qingjun, I know very well that I’m not so martial arts master.
My parents are from the generation that read Gu Long and Jin Yong’s novels, and they were so obsessed with martial arts that they gave a heroic and poetic na, hoping I could roam the martial world with a sword.
Nas like Zhang Qiang and Zhang Qian are plain nas given by the previous generation of grandparents, while the new generation of parents are usually more cultured, having read many books and influenced by the internet.
In my class, there are many poetic nas like X Zihan, X Haoran, X Wenbo... In the neighboring class, there’s even soone nad Emperor Ye, a na for cultivating immortality, which is terrifying and absolutely outclassing among classmates!
"It’s been seventeen years. Where will I appear once I leave the ancient ship?"
"Is it truly tomorrow—August 26th—and its function is just to make people ’ti loop’?"
"Or did this ship really pass through a wormhole, a mythical ti machine, to go to the past or the future?"
"Or is it not ti travel, but going to a new world?"
But no matter what, today is the last day of this cycle.
Fu Qingjun sat in the chair, stretched lazily, and couldn’t help but laugh.
The unknown and mysterious is always better than dead silence.
Seventeen years.
Who knows how I endured it?
Being trapped in the sa day is unimaginably boring, akin to the greatest torture.
But his expression grew complex, "When I get out, with my current strange body, can I still survive?"
In the seventeen years of reliving the sa day, it hasn’t been eternally unchanged. Fu Qingjun has been gradually undergoing more and more disturbing, hair-raising changes...
Yes, he was losing his hair.
Though bald, it wasn’t unexpected.
After all, theoretically learning so much, with so much ntal pressure, at the strength of a high school senior’s study routine, over and over for seventeen years... attending self-study university, learning programming, even beginning to study dicine, the outco is naturally inevitable.
You can only sacrifice your hairline to grow stronger.
This was the toxic motivational mantra of his second master, "diterranean Barber". How can you achieve sothing if you don’t have the courage to go all in?
Fu Qingjun found this made a lot of sense too.
In fact, psychologically, he considered himself relatively mature, naturally knowing that instead of letting society brutalize him into becoming a worker, it would be better to first shave his own head.
Anyway, it wouldn’t be truly bald here, right?
Because every day resets.
He transitioned from the terror of his initial despair to the daily boredom of rolling around in bed, and then to starting to study diligently and fight hard amidst the boredom, laying a foundation for his future.
But reality gave him a harsh blow.
He was still balding in the cycle.
His hairline, it seed, was following his soul back to the day before.
Does it make sense?
It doesn’t make sense.
Is this hair also capable of ti travel??
Can you believe it?
I’m just a high school senior, Qingjun!
Balding like this at such a young age!!
Every morning of the recurring day, his once lush, lush hair would unstoppably fall out, and he wanted to write an essay on this in his language composition practice for college entrance exams: Is this what the human hairline is?
Unlike jewelry and money, unlike wrinkles on one’s face, unlike a young crush’s admiration, which undergo changes over ti, even traversing countless tis will chase after you, with delicate emotions, unyielding companionship.
It’s humanity’s best friend.
Raindrops pattered.
The rain was growing heavier, infinitely quiet.
The raindrops slapped against the window outside, making crackling sounds.
"Seventeen years of long rainy days, really annoying, but it is indeed the last day."
Fu Qingjun thought aimlessly a lot, still eventually taking out a notebook from the drawer, holding a black permanent pen, sorting out his thoughts on the desk,
"However, in these seventeen years of the cycle, I’ve vaguely found the reason for the headaches and hair loss."
"In this constant repetition, I might not just be overlaying mories but... overlaying souls!"
Every day after "August 25th" ends, his soul flies back to the day before. Over seventeen years, more than six thousand of his own souls stack up, and the fused soul becos more and more powerful.
A strong soul leads to splitting headaches, and it physically overwhelms him.
The headaches and hair loss are side effects of this.
But if it’s true, with over six thousand versions of his own soul overlaying... what kind of thing would that be?
From a traditional myth perspective: all your selves from countless tilines, selves from the multiverse, adding up turn into a Saint?
But is this really possible?
He just felt that he hadn’t died, which was truly miraculous luck!
He has endured many bottlenecks, feeling as if his brain would explode, thinking he would die, yet he survived.
But if he continues to loop like this, perhaps in a few years, his brain will be completely crushed by the enormous spirit, because he is nearing his limit.
"Luckily, I can get out now, it’s practically saving my life!"
He takes a deep breath, sitting quietly by the window, gazing at the last day’s scenery outside.
The sky is very gloomy, obscuring the shadow of distant skyscrapers, as if there exists so unspeakable evil distortion, the gloomy clouds like bags containing flesh and organs float in the sky, like a twisted shadow curtain with rain pouring down.
Fu Qingjun just sits quietly here, waiting for this last day to pass.
BOOM!!!
Thunder roars, the lights inside suddenly dimming, as if plunged into night.
"August 25th, 3:17:21 PM, another blackout." Fu Qingjun looks up, not panicking because of the power outage, calmly looking at the sky outside the window.
Usually, after 3 PM each day, he cannot contact his ntors anymore, only self-study begins.
Fu Qingjun continues waiting, as the ti moves to evening.
Rumble!
Outside cos another thunderous roar.
The rain outside the night suddenly stops, as if sothing is stirring in the darkness, but nothing can be seen outside, pairs of huge muscular red pupils, like lanterns, vaguely move in the sky.
Woo!
Sitting by the window, Fu Qingjun feels a strong fear transmitted from an ancient ship, sothing terrifying in the dark blur outside makes him urgently want to escape.
Initially, Fu Qingjun was also very panicked, but gradually beca accustod to it.
Every day at this ti, darkness and shadows envelop outside, the ancient ship carries an emotion of "escape," but seventeen years have passed, to flee or not to flee?
Splash!
In the distance, in the Qixi night sky, a gigantic golden mushroom-shaped firework blooms, most of it obscured by the neighboring building’s wall, only a corner visible.
This is the world’s nuclear event.
Fu Qingjun initially didn’t understand much, but as his mind matured, he began to realize that sothing terrifying and horrifying might have occurred this day.
In the short half-day following the blackout, sothing urgent and significant seems to have happened.
After the instant blackout, those black internal organ clouds, the incomprehensible huge shadow, the rain like a giant dark curtain, expanded at an astonishing pace, forcing humanity to use its strongest weapon that night?
This ship also ran away in fright.
The end of the world has co.
So it started, just coincidentally taking him along?
He laughed and chatted with teachers every day, joking with people of this day, without telling them: The distance to the end of the world, the tragedy, is only a few hours away.
But who would believe if he said it?
"Perhaps, it’s all just my conjecture, probably my wishful thinking."
Fu Qingjun shakes his head, if it’s only from a small window with most of it obscured, the outside’s unique shadow might just be so rare weather phenonon, if he sees a golden mushroom firework outside and believes it’s global peace, perhaps he’s overthinking?
This doesn’t align with materialistic dialectics.
"Perhaps it really is just fireworks."
But evidently, the arrival of fireworks also signifies the end of this day.
The loop begins anew.
Crack.
The surroundings whirl as the room distorts.
Fu Qingjun regains his senses, realizing ti has restarted.
BOOM!!!!
Return to August 25th.
It’s just morning, rain gradually intensifying outside, the sky dimming faintly.
The exact sa scene.
The exact sa day begins.
"Finally, I can leave..." Fu Qingjun sits incredibly familiar at the computer, thinking for a mont, before finally typing a title on a certain forum.
A title vastly different from the previous seventeen years:
"Today afternoon, 3:17:21 PM, there will be a blackout."
"Following this, the world will begin to face the apocalypse."
"But I don’t specifically know how it will arrive, perhaps sothing like a monster attack."
"Human society will rapidly collapse within half a day, everyone please prepare, after resisting for half a day, around midnight, a nuclear event will launch a strike, everyone should find shelter early, even prepare food for survival."
The ssage was sent out, soon getting responses.
This August 25th, although it’s Qixi, quite a few single dogs with nothing else to do are online.
"Apocalypse? What apocalypse?"
"Zombie outbreak? 3 o’clock, doesn’t that an there are still several hours left?"
"Ahhhh! Qixi, this is judgnt day for us single dogs!"
"Hahahaha! Stupid humans, burn all you heterosexuals! I, as a thirty-year-old Great Mage, let the world... feel the nuclear event!"
Many people made nonsensical comnts, simultaneously feeling Fu Qingjun’s words are laughable, this fishing attempt is too careless.
Soon, a few moderately famous answerers also left comnts.
She and the sword of the past: "Thanks for the invitation, everyone need not doubt, because regarding this matter, I also have internal information!"
"But why will the apocalypse co? The specific events I won’t elaborate on! Too many interest entanglents, those who understand, understand, interest related..."
...
"Goodbye, seventeen years of ntors, Little Fish is leaving Evil Valley."
Fu Qingjun’s expression is complex, looking at the still lively masters, ultimately putting down the keyboard, strides forward to push open the room.
...
He just walked out of the room when he felt everything around turn blurry, as if falling into a more real reality, the slls, light, temperature, are all intensely authentic.
Click-clack.
He arrives at a single room, very much in the style of the 1930s and 40s.
The tables and chairs are very old-fashioned, various small items densely piled on shelves, with the cluttered feel of a rented space, most striking is an old-fashioned record player sitting in the corner, clearly not belonging to modern-day society.
He suddenly lifts his head in shock.
The calendar on the wall shows August 25th, 2020.
Also Qixi, sa year, sa day.
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