The text on the virtual panel finally came to an end.
Lin Tuo silently willed it away, dismissing the panel, and began to tidy up the aftermath.
He recalled his avatar back into his body… switched off the flashlight, dismantled the support frame fixed to the Sand Table… downed the now-cold tea, cleaned away the takeout boxes, the instant noodle and snack wrappers, then brushed his teeth and washed up in the glow of the morning sun.
Fortunately, he lived alone.
Otherwise, anyone seeing him in his sloppy state would have been shocked.
When he was finally done, Lin Tuo collapsed heavily into his chair, his whole body drained, as though completely overdrawn.
"I actually lectured for five days and four nights straight? Even cram school teachers don't work this hard…"
He grumbled inwardly, then glanced at the Sand Table, now once more running on "accelerated time," feeling a faint sense of satisfaction.
"Five days and four nights" was, of course, an exaggeration—he had rested many times in between—but overall, it had indeed been a massive undertaking. At least the results turned out well.
The final "walking away on thin air" sequence had been planned long ago.
The purpose? Primarily to bolster authority.
"Leaving in that fashion will etch a deep impression in the minds of Tuhar's rulers and citizens. Out of awe for a god or sage, they should be far more willing to implement the developmental path I laid out for them."
Of course, this wouldn't have immediate effects.
As civilization advanced within the Sand Table and society grew more complex, the time acceleration ratio would continue to slow.
Lin Tuo estimated it would take at least a day or two before the Ether level generated in Creation Mode showed a clear increase.
So long as it was faster than the "natural" pace, it was worth it.
As for the Ether generated under Observation Mode… well, even after more than a week, the concentration around Yang City remained "low."
No helping that…
With a soft sigh, Lin Tuo picked up his phone, about to order breakfast before getting some badly-needed sleep.
Just then, his messaging app pinged with a flurry of alerts.
He opened it—it was a non-work group from his old company. The group owner had just posted a message and tagged everyone, sparking an explosion of chatter.
"What happened?"
"What's going on?"
Group owner: "Look at the link I sent! A live broadcast of the Tak Desert military demolition!"
Reading those words, Lin Tuo's sleepiness evaporated instantly.
Military demolition!
Thinking back, he vaguely recalled hearing rumors a couple of days ago: because every form of detection had failed, the research teams outside the Tak Desert had been preparing for armed demolition.
That is, burying a massive quantity of explosives to carry out a targeted detonation against the "Great Wall"—the outer shell of the Sand Table's isolation barrier.
This proposal had been floated early on, but never approved.
Lin Tuo remembered reading online analysis that if research efforts continued to stall, demolition would be inevitable.
He hadn't expected the plan not only to pass, but to be carried out on this very morning.
In truth, he had been so absorbed in lecturing within the Sand Table that he hadn't caught wind of it sooner.
Thank goodness someone shared it in the group, or he would have missed it.
…
He sat up straight, thought for a moment, then opened the link on his laptop instead of his phone.
It successfully redirected to a live-stream room.
The title was blunt and to the point:
"Live: Blasting the Tak Black Box!"
The streamer wasn't an official outlet, which made sense. This wasn't like a rocket launch—there was no way authorities would provide a sanctioned live feed.
Theoretically, the entire area surrounding the blast zone should have been under strict lockdown.
"No idea how this streamer managed to set up a camera…"
Lin Tuo muttered. Sure enough, the video was heavily blurred.
The camera seemed to be mounted at some high point, zoomed in on a distant location using some mechanical stabilization or algorithm.
The result: a hazy, indistinct feed. One could barely make out a long stretch of highway, roadside vehicles, bustling staff…
And further away, that towering Great Wall.
Clearly, the streamer was far from the actual blast site. At best, viewers would see the explosion's fireball.
Why the chosen demolition site wasn't in a more remote location, away from civilians, was unknown—likely due to a mix of practical constraints.
Glancing at the top-left corner of the screen, Lin Tuo saw the viewership had already surpassed 200,000 and was climbing rapidly. Dozens more accounts joined each second.
Almost certainly curious netizens rushing in.
The scrolling comments flew by:
"No way, no way! There's really a livestream?!"
"Bro, this looks like it's filmed through a potato. What are we even watching?"
"Yeah, this is like filming across the Milky Way."
"Heh, take off your glasses—it'll go from censored to uncensored. I support you, streamer."
"Enough, stop complaining. Just be glad we can see anything at all."
Despite the grumbling, the overall mood was good. Everyone knew outsiders weren't supposed to be anywhere near this event.
Without this vantage point, there would be nothing to see at all.
The streamer, who never showed his face, adjusted the lens and apologized:
"Sorry everyone, no helping it. We're way too far—the image quality can't be better than this."
"It's fine."
"No problem."
"Don't mind the trolls, streamer."
Supportive comments floated by.
Then the streamer continued his commentary:
"Everyone, this is the planned demolition site. Might be hard to see clearly, so let me explain what I've learned.
Last night, personnel arrived and began burying charges.
Here, along this stretch of the Great Wall… The area's locked down by the military, so of course we can't see them. But they should attempt detonation any moment now…"
The live room's numbers kept climbing.
Seated before his computer, Lin Tuo's expression shifted subtly.
Rationally, he knew the Evolution Sand Table's displayed capabilities would never be threatened by human weaponry.
Emotionally, though, he couldn't help but feel tense.
Yet compared to him, those within the Tak Desert lockdown zone were far more on edge.
…
Inside the sealed zone.
The morning sun had just risen, bathing the endless desert in light. From this angle, the vast expanse of the Great Wall shimmered in hues of black and gold.
Deafening mechanical roars filled the air. The atmosphere within the zone was taut, oppressive.
In the distance, soldiers—pulled from nearby regiments—worked quickly to position charges. Perimeter forces sealed the area.
Further back, firing points bristled, prepared for "unexpected risks."
And farther still, unseen, special forces had already deployed missile launchers, awaiting orders.
…
Outside the danger perimeter, in a temporary camp.
A cluster of scholars had gathered. No lab coats, only plain jackets, their faces lined with exhaustion.
At the center stood several elderly figures, hair sparse and white, gazes fixed solemnly on the jet-black Great Wall.
"How much longer until we start?" one asked into a comm unit.
"All charges have been placed. Final checks underway… estimated ten minutes until personnel evacuation." The reply came in a steady voice.
"Good."
No extra words were exchanged. Around them, researchers had long since readied their observation instruments, prepared to record every possible outcome of the blast.
"Don't be nervous, relax," said one senior scholar with a faint smile—clearly the highest-ranking among them—trying to reassure the younger operators.
"Young" was relative. Almost none of these instrument operators were under thirty. Each one was considered a prized asset at top universities and institutes—yet here, all of them trembled with nerves.
"Academician Zhou, do you really think this will work?" one finally asked hesitantly.
"What do you think?"
"I… I'm not sure. The explosives are powerful, but the Great Wall's material is too strange…"
Silence descended over the camp, saying more than words could.
Few outside realized the crushing pressure these people bore.
The eyes of the world were fixed on them—yet their research had made no headway.
In the end, they had no choice but to accept the demolition plan.
Online, countless people believed that modern weaponry would surely pry open this mysterious black box.
But the researchers weren't so confident.
Thermal weapons?
High-yield explosives?
On the battlefield, such tools were unmatched. But against what might be alien technology—would they even leave a scratch?
In the heavy silence, time ticked away.
Soon, personnel retreated to safety. All awaited in their bunkers at the designated distance.
"Begin ignition countdown!"
The cold voice of the detonation commander crackled over comms.
Instantly, the atmosphere shifted. Every mind cast aside doubt. Some manned their instruments, some stood at viewing stations, all eyes locked on that dark, sky-shrouding wall.
"10… 9… 8…"
The countdown echoed, giving each unit time to prepare. After all, this was no ordinary demolition. No one knew what would follow.
…
In the livestream.
Viewership had surged into the millions. Real watchers across countless platforms now numbered in the tens of millions.
And this was just one obscure stream.
Across the internet, countless others tuned in however they could.
"6… 5… 4…"
At his laptop, Lin Tuo's gaze fixed on the blurry feed.
"2… 1… 0… Detonate!"
The next second, a cataclysmic roar shook the sealed zone. Charges buried at every site erupted in unison, unleashing a colossal fireball.
A titanic shockwave ripped across the desert, hurling up a storm of smoke and sand that surged toward the observation posts.
Yellow sand filled the sky, the earth-shattering boom rolling for miles.
In the livestream, the chat froze.
The streamer blurted a curse, voicing his disbelief.
Through the haze, a brilliant flash burst forth—followed by an irregular mushroom cloud rising into the heavens.
At that moment, Lin Tuo turned toward the Sand Table.
He saw it: at the very edge of the barrier, in a tranquil blue ocean, ripples spread outward.
Within the Sand Table, the distant seas beyond the continent churned suddenly into waves… then gradually stilled.
Outside, Lin Tuo merely glanced at the faint disturbance, his expression calm, unsurprised.
…
Before long, the dust began to settle.
Inside the sealed zone, the gathered academicians and researchers stared in silence at their screens.
Within the haze stood the Great Wall—untouched, utterly unharmed.
Silence fell over the camp.
And when the results were reported, transmitted across nations…
That morning, the whole world fell silent.
(End of Chapter)