"They're checking my mental contamination level."
Xia Wang'an was quite pleased with everyone's reaction: "Look at their shocked expressions. Bet they didn't expect my contamination score to be this high—higher than the highest recorded in history books!"
007 enthusiastically cheered her on: "Host takes first place again! Host is amazing!"
Xia Wang'an visibly brightened even more.
The recorder assigned to accompany her had undergone brief training beforehand, knowing their task was to keep Xia Wang'an comfortable while gathering insights about this savior. Seizing the opportunity, they smiled and asked, "Student Wang'an, what did 007 say just now?"
"007 was praising me," the girl replied, her youthful face showing a mix of pride and restrained delight.
The recorder mentally noted "enjoys being complimented" and played along with an expression that said, "Oh? What for? Let me hear so I can praise you too!"
"What was 007 praising you about?"
Xia Wang'an's lips curled higher, her chin lifting slightly. "My mental contamination score is over 5,000. 007 said I’m the highest in the entire country."
The recorder, who had already prepared a mental catalog of compliments: "..."
In Great Xia, even a five-year-old knew that mental contamination equated to chaos, madness, and slaughter.
Having the highest contamination score in the nation… Was this something to celebrate???
But seeing Xia Wang'an's eager "I’m ready for your praise" expression, the recorder dutifully forced a radiant smile and stammered out:
"That’s incredible! A contamination score over 5,000! I’ve never heard of such a terrifying—no, astonishing—number before!"
Praise secured, Xia Wang'an waved a modest hand.
"Just a bit of talent and a bit of hard work. But I must keep pushing forward, studying more, so no one else can catch up to me."
The recorder: "...How... diligent of you."
Xia Wang'an swapped out her finished test paper for a fresh one. "After all, I’ll be saving the world starting next month. If I don’t work hard now, I won’t have time later."
With that, the girl resumed scribbling furiously.
"This is Xia Wang'an's brainwave state—extremely chaotic and dangerous. In anyone else, this condition would trigger instant madness, driving them to destructive violence. Yet she shows no signs of it."
Great Xia's top mental contamination experts had rushed to the emergency meeting.
"We’ve exhausted every available technology, and all conclusions point to impossibility. That leaves only one answer."
Someone interjected: "Her ability."
"Exactly. From the footage, Xia Wang'an is fully aware of mental contamination, yet she firmly believes she’s immune to its effects."
"She set the narrative that she wouldn’t be affected, and thus, it became reality."
A senior expert sighed in awe. "Like a miracle."
Most attendees had dedicated their lives to studying mental contamination—its origins, treatments, suppression methods. Yet their ultimate conclusion remained: "Mental contamination and rational thought cannot coexist."
Even if temporarily suppressed, it would eventually resurge.
Now, here was living proof: a girl with the nation’s highest contamination score, her mind sharp, reactions swift, even plowing through stacks of test papers without pause.
One expert, watching the footage of her frenzied test-taking, was viscerally reminded of his own traumatic exam-cramming days. Despite being long graduated, he shuddered:
"Could it be that her obsessive test-taking is actually a manifestation of mental contamination?"
"Since when does mental contamination drive someone to do exams?" another countered.
"All her teachers unanimously agree she’s always been a top-scoring academic prodigy who loves studying," a third added.
Glancing back at the screen displaying towers of completed papers, even they paused to reconsider.
Admittedly, everyone present had been top students once, enduring school favoritism and choking down barely-edible black potatoes. But someone who enjoyed exams this much? That was a first.
While they debated, the parallel "Salvation" meeting grew even more heated.
With enough collective belief, Xia Wang'an could indeed alter the world.
The problem? Great Xia couldn’t muster the required faith energy.
Since the Cataclysm, humanity’s numbers had plummeted. Entire nations had fallen. Those who survived the initial disasters succumbed to aberrant creatures, starvation, or freezing cold.
Great Xia fared better than most—establishing shelters, battling aberrations, and rescuing civilians—making it the planet’s most populous surviving nation.
Thus, when the recorder first asked how much faith energy Xia Wang'an needed to rewrite the world’s rules, they’d been cautiously optimistic.
Until she answered: "100 billion!"
She even clarified earnestly: "I remember clearly. The world I visited had a huge population, so faith energy jumped from 5.8 billion straight to 100 billion."
The recorder: "..."
Great Xia’s current population: two billion.
Even adding other nations’ survivors, Earth likely couldn’t scrape together three billion.
The plan of "uniting the nation’s belief to save the world" was scrapped.
So, like in Xia Wang'an’s past life, they’d have to gather faith energy across worlds, with national support.
Reality wasn’t fiction. A high schooler couldn’t declare "I’m reborn—follow me to save the world!" and instantly commandeer national resources.
Had the clairvoyant Qiming not confirmed time had indeed reset, and had Xia Wang'an not demonstrated abilities at age two, the government might’ve only heeded her "aberration invasion" prophecy.
Now, belief was one thing. Committing to "Salvation," and how to execute it? That was another.
Resources were depleted. Despair spread. Aberrations required constant deterrence. Great Xia couldn’t afford missteps.
To put it bluntly: the nation lacked reserves for trial-and-error. Pursuing "Salvation" meant abandoning ongoing or contingency plans.
The current primary plan? "Relocate humanity underground permanently." For over a decade, most resources had been funneled into this "Underground" project.
Even the general public is aware of this plan, waiting with the hope that "once the Underground Plan is completed, we’ll finally be safe."
Stopping now would render all previous efforts futile.
"The Underground Plan is progressing smoothly. I disagree with terminating it at this stage."
"She’s just a child, and one already mentally contaminated. Placing the hopes of an entire nation on a single individual is far too risky."
"The Underground Plan has become the hope of the people. Halting it now would first plunge the populace into despair, likely triggering widespread mental contamination incidents."
Those opposed to executing the "Salvation" Plan are not few in number, each with their own valid reasons. But the foremost argument is simple and direct:
"We only have two uncontaminated seeds left." The gray-haired elder spoke these words with unsettling calm.
"If we terminate the Underground Plan now, within six months to a year at most, even these remaining seeds will be contaminated. After that, humanity will truly have nothing left but to await death."
Silence fell over the room as these words sank in.
Compared to ordinary citizens, these individuals are both fortunate and unfortunate—fortunate because they don’t worry about starvation or the constant threat of mutants; unfortunate because while the public clings to hope fostered by media propaganda, they know the bitter truth: humanity has no future left.
—"Everyone."
The Chief, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke.
Her voice was quiet, yet it carried clearly through the stillness: "Our world has already been destroyed once."
The elder scanned the room, ensuring every eye was on her, then continued, "Though we don’t know why time rewound by ten years, one thing is certain: in the original timeline, Xia Wang’an never made it home."
She raised a document—the Underground Plan.
"Without her, we likely did everything we could before the world’s end, yet it still wasn’t enough to change the outcome."
"Deep down, we all know neither the Underground Plan, nor the backup Ocean Plan, nor even the hoped-for-but-resource-depleted Space Plan could ever truly save us."
Setting the file down gently, her tone remained steady, almost serene:
"But now, we have another choice—one that didn’t exist in the original timeline, yet might just save us all."
She fell silent, but the weight of her words lingered in the air.
After a long pause, someone pressed the green button before them: "I support the Salvation Plan."
Another green light lit up. "I agree."
"Agreed."
"Agreed."
One by one, the green buttons activated. Not everyone consented, but those who refused no longer stood in opposition.
Humanity has suffered too long. Faced with even a sliver of hope, who would willingly let it go?
Finally, as the countdown ended, the Chief glanced at the tally and pressed her own green button.
"I hereby declare,"
"the Salvation Plan officially initiated."
In peacetime, the meeting would have adjourned here. But time was scarce, and the Chief immediately moved to the next agenda.
"Inconsistent 'settings' will only confuse Xia Wang’an and worsen her mental contamination. We need a logically sound identity framework—one capable of absorbing massive faith energy and wielding tangible power."
"This framework should ideally extend beyond her, influencing others nationwide, even our entire world."
"For example, Xia Wang’an once visited an ordinary disaster-stricken world. Posing initially as a magician, she gained actual magical abilities as locals believed in her."
"The stronger their belief grew, the more potent her magic became. Eventually, not only did she become the supreme magician, but people also accepted magic as reality, allowing her to rewrite that world’s rules into a 'magic-permissible' system."
"Ordinary citizens, now magic-wielders, could combat mutants and purify tainted food with potions. Thus, the world was saved."
Even describing this unfamiliar world, the Chief couldn’t suppress a faint smile at its survival.
"This succeeded because Xia Wang’an’s cognition already contained preexisting 'magic' tropes."
The elder seated beside her leaned forward intently:
"Preexisting tropes? Where did Xia Wang’an encounter magical concepts? From another magic-based world?"
The Chief gestured calmly, and lines of text projected onto the screen:
Magical Girl vs. The Mutants
Magic Simulation System: Ultimate Mutant Hunter
Fell Into a Meteor Crater and Became a Mage
Reborn with a System: Supreme Sorcerer
The questioning elder: "......"
The rest of the room: "......"
Three seconds of absolute silence passed.
The Chief remained unflappable. "Let’s remember—Xia Wang’an was just a high school student before her displacement. Enjoying fiction is perfectly normal."
Another wave of her hand, and the screen flooded with more titles.
"With her consent, we extracted these completed novels from her reading account. Our task is to identify fully fleshed-out systems like 'magic.'"
"Fortunately, time permits. Review these thoroughly for viable frameworks."
The Officer Who Betrayed Me Got Ripped in Half
Transmigrated to the 21st Century: Starting with a Bowl of Spicy Noodles
Woke Up in Ancient Times and Ate Like a King
Reincarnated as an Ability User’s Daily Life
My Ability is Invincibility
—Alongside their garish covers, these novels now faced the scrutiny of the nation’s top officials, whose ages ranged from 48 to 87. Taking a collective deep breath, they dove into the digital stacks.
No one suggested delegating the reading—this was too critical to outsource. But—
"How does a 16-year-old honor student finish fifty-three full-length novels in a year?!"
A relatively youthful 62-year-old muttered while flipping pages. His 73-year-old neighbor chuckled:
"Time management. Back in my school days, we only got black potatoes for meals, yet I still watched weekly films."
Enlightened, the younger elder resumed reading.
Honestly, I Surrendered the Weapon System to the State was gripping from title to plot.
Unbelievably good!
—Outside the conference room.
A fully armed soldier stood outside the door, his gaze cold and stern.
Several lower-ranking staff members worked while occasionally glancing up at the tightly shut conference room.
"It's been so long—hasn’t it ended yet?"
"Given the gravity of the matter, the atmosphere inside must be tense. Ah, I wonder when I’ll get to participate in meetings like that."
"Yeah, I can’t imagine how overwhelmed the higher-ups must be right now."
The staff exchanged a few wistful remarks, harboring dreams of "If only I could be part of such a meeting," before burying themselves back in their work.
At the Ability Research Institute—
Having completed her daily goal of fifty test papers, Xia Wang’an set down her pen with satisfaction.
Having rewarded herself as the "Savior," she decided to indulge in something else.
She opened her light-screen device, navigated to a fiction website, scrolled through the rankings, and selected a book. After skimming the synopsis, her eyes lit up, and she began reading with relish.
On the screen, as the pages turned, the title of the novel shimmered into view:
—"My Years as a Cultivator."
