Chapter 33: The Examination of All Humanity

“The latest directive has arrived. We have at most ten seconds. You’re responsible for the first question of the starship command exam. I know it’s difficult for everyone here, but we’re not the only ones facing hardship. There are eighty-three subjects; I don’t know how many people were selected in total, but you ten are the ones I’ve mentored. Since you came here, we’ve studied together for more than ten days, sleeping no more than five hours a day, spending every other moment learning Dao Language and starship command.

Let me tell you: we’re facing the worst outcome. The exam format is similar to our national college entrance exam. Each session lasts one hundred and twenty minutes, but seven subjects are tested simultaneously. That averages fifteen minutes per subject, with two minutes reserved for changing exam rooms. Proportionally, we have at most five minutes for our task. Within those five minutes, Li Daoran must complete the entire exam paper.

All the multiple-choice questions must be answered within ten seconds. Li Daoran’s predicament is even harsher than yours—fifteen minutes to finish an exam, with unknown formats, possibly only essay questions, no multiple-choice or fill-in-the-blank. But we have no other options. Do you understand? Give it your all. Fight with everything you have.

We’re responsible for the first question of the starship command exam—fast, accurate, ruthless. Even if you get it right by luck, you’ll be remembered in human history. But if you’re wrong, our names will be engraved on the pillar of human shame. Now, we’re ready. Remember, our focus is the first question of the starship command exam; don’t worry about the others. Those are for our comrades. Fixate on the first question. Triumph means life, defeat means death. Everyone—do your best!”

This small classroom was merely a microcosm of Azure Blue Star. Eighty-three subjects, over fifty thousand in the reserve team, each group responsible for one question. Every leader stressed the importance of their assigned question; none dared slack off.

Ultimately, all answers would converge with Chen Ming in the Ideal State, where five people managed the overall coordination.

The moment Li Daoran received his exam paper, for those of Azure Blue Star, a war without smoke had begun.

Li Daoran spent nearly ten seconds scanning through the paper.

The answers reached Chen Ming immediately, who began inputting them without pause.

On Chen Ming’s side, switching frequencies and encoding also took time.

The exam consisted of twenty single-choice questions, ten multiple-choice questions, ten fill-in-the-blank, and one summary deduction question.

Already, problems arose in the first exam session. After inputting the multiple-choice answers, several groups overturned their original choices and submitted new ones. David’s forehead was drenched with sweat, mistakes piling up one after another.

Chen Ming inhaled deeply and grabbed David, saying, “Bring him back. This isn’t working.”

David shook off Chen Ming’s hand and issued the command.

Li Daoran opened his eyes and sat up, complaining, “What’s going on? With all this erasing and rewriting, five minutes have already passed. The earlier comments make no sense, and I can’t understand what you’re saying. And the voices keep changing—five of you taking turns—so I’m totally confused. Is this even doable?”

“Don’t say another word!” Chen Ming roared.

“My mistake. Don’t panic; luckily, I can pause time when I return. Let’s take a breather.” David wiped the sweat from his brow; in less than two minutes, his hair was soaked, evidence of the immense pressure.

Charles patted Chen Ming. “Don’t get agitated—it’s no one’s fault. The time window is simply too tight.”

Chen Ming looked at Li Daoran and said, “I’m not angry at you; I’m angry at myself. I know you’re all watching. Now, focus on the exam. Don’t upload two or even three different sets of answers. From now on, each group can only submit one set. There’s no time for revisions.”

Li Daoran then remembered his live stream was still on; his complaints had been heard by others taking the exam, which wasn’t ideal.

“If it doesn’t work, I’ll review the paper and come back. No need to be so tense—take more time and avoid mistakes.”

Li Daoran voiced what many felt. Since he could return at any time, why push the time so hard? Why not come back after each exam, let everyone discuss and confirm the answers, and then go back?

Chen Ming shook his head. “No, you won’t hold up, and according to our analyses, you probably can’t cross back and forth without limit.”

“Twenty-nine subjects on the first day. If you return twenty-nine times, spending an hour each, you’d spend twenty-nine hours on Azure Blue Star, with no breaks and time flowing differently in Dao World. Your concentration would falter, you’d lose urgency, and might not finish the exam. That’s just one issue,” Charles tapped the ground with his cane.

“That’s not insurmountable—ten minutes each time would be a huge help—but it’s impossible. You can control the return, but not the going back. How long it takes you to fall asleep and enter Dao World is unpredictable. Most importantly, your body may not withstand such frequent crossings.”

“I’ve mentioned the problem of temporal fissures before. When your mind is extremely fatigued, your body may refuse entry, and you wouldn’t know it—then you’d fall into a temporal crack. We can’t risk even a one-in-a-thousand chance. We don’t know how many times your body can endure daily crossings. Just like with anesthesia-induced sleep, we won’t experiment. It’s too dangerous, skating the edge, and there’s no need.”

Li Daoran listened, somewhat unconvinced. He felt everything had gone smoothly, but his greatest strength was self-awareness. If Charles said it after so much research, he would just do as told.

“So what now?” Li Daoran asked.

“Sit and rest—you’ve done enough. The issue is already being handled. Sorry for losing my temper earlier,” Chen Ming said, head bowed.

Li Daoran waved it off. “No problem. First time seeing you apologize—I can’t take it, really.”

“Because Dao Language has so much in common with our native tongue, most of the exam participants are from our country. We’re good at learning and exams, but it’s a mess right now. Emotions ran high. They’re under pressure too,” Chen Ming said, clenching his fists.

“I understand, we all do. Twenty minutes to finish an exam—no human could manage that. Even if we fail this time, it’s no big deal. In my opinion, we should just give up some parts,” Li Daoran said, trying to comfort them.

Natasha smiled. “Who told you rabbits to take on everything? You said you’d handle it, and now, when the moment comes, you’re backing out?”

Li Daoran’s expression changed—he realized there were hidden stories he didn’t know.

Thinking it over, it was true. From the beginning, Rabbit Nation had always held the leading role, and there must be a price for that.

He might have spoken out of turn.