Prophecy Expires, Learning Does Not

On the last night of early summer in 2026, thirty-five-year-old Zhou Yan wrote four lines of regret on a piece of waste paper. When I opened my eyes again, it was September 1, 2009, the morning self-study for the beginning of the third year of high school. There is a countdown on the desk: 279 days until the college entrance examination. What he woke up with was a cold panel. It doesn't give answers, it doesn't issue tasks, it doesn't have a mall - it only does one thing: every real effort he makes is truthfully accounted for and 100% fulfilled. Being in a daze is ineffective, pretending to work hard is ineffective, and taking shortcuts is ineffective. He soon discovered that the "prophet" that the reborn were proud of was expiring: every time he made a move, he changed the timeline, and the answers in his memory were invalidated page by page. Prophecy expires, learning does not. This time, he wants to save his home that was crushed by debt, to finish the journey that he has never finished, and to live through the day when he left the world in his previous life - and walk through it with a smile.