Chapter Forty-Six: Escape (Part Two)

Thousands upon thousands of coffins were arranged in the vast chamber, ancient and pitch-black, each one as silent as a block of coal, radiating a chilling aura of death and menace. The atmosphere was thick with gloom.

“Damn it, coffins again!”

Even Guān Qián, usually so steady and composed, was shaken by this overwhelming sight. The stone coffin he had encountered in the illusion had nearly cost him his life, and now, before his eyes, were tens of thousands of coffins. Such a formation truly made his heart quiver.

Were the Maya people famed for their coffins?

Damn it, who was it who told me the Maya were renowned for their prophecies that shocked the world?

What a joke, what a rip-off!

Guān Qián was left speechless, staring at the sea of black coffins, unable to move forward or retreat. He wished he could immediately dash back into the illusion and drag out that damned mysterious corpse skin for a thorough beating. Had the Maya been reduced to having nothing left but coffins?

“Shit!” Guān Qián cursed through gritted teeth.

That stone coffin in the illusion had nearly ended him, and now, with thousands upon thousands of coffins here, who knew what horrors might be hidden inside? If even a fraction of them harbored corpse skins that leapt out, it would be enough to scare a man to death.

“What a godforsaken place—utterly cursed!” Guān Qián wiped cold sweat from his brow, his pale eyes in their activated state allowing him to see the chamber clearly.

He had to admit, the Maya’s craftsmanship in coffin-making was top-notch. No matter how he focused his pale gaze, he couldn’t see what lay within—enough to make him question if he’d gone blind.

Helpless, his pale eyes swept over the vast, dark chamber. He’d hoped for another clue, but there was nothing—nothing but the oppressive rows of coffins and the bare, sheer walls enclosing them.

A wave of desolation trampled through his heart. Guān Qián swallowed hard, staring at the chamber that resembled an underground necropolis, his spirits sinking to a nadir.

No exit ahead, no trace behind. The rows of black coffins blocked his way, lifeless and forbidding, yet there was no sign of Tāng Rǔyán. This forced Guān Qián to hesitate at the chamber’s edge, pacing in uncertainty.

“Could Tāng Rǔyán be locked inside one of these thousands of coffins?”

He looked to the four walls, the black surfaces radiating a chill, and behind him, the only exit—the same entrance he’d come through. Guān Qián speculated wildly about Tāng Rǔyán’s whereabouts.

But this very thought almost made him collapse in despair.

“Damn it, this is too much!” Guān Qián’s face turned green. If Tāng Rǔyán was truly hidden among these thousands of coffins by some vengeful spirit, he’d have to open them one by one to check. Even if there were no threats inside, just the task of opening so many jet-black coffins would be enough to exhaust him to death.

“Damn it, if only I’d brought Fāng Hé along! That guy would be ecstatic to see this many Maya coffins, prying them open one after another in hopes of striking it rich off the dead!” In his misery, Guān Qián couldn’t help but think of Fāng Hé’s lecherous face.

“Achoo!”

Far away, down another passage, a heavy sneeze echoed. Clutching a pile of gold bars in his arms, Fāng Hé grumbled resentfully, “Who the hell is cursing me?!”

Back in the chamber, Guān Qián silently stared at a pair of pale shoes in his hands. Tāng Rǔyán’s safety was now urgent, but after tracking her all this way, he’d ended up in this nightmare of a place. No matter how powerful his Seer’s abilities, here they were useless—an infuriating impotence.

He analyzed the situation carefully. If he were to open each coffin in search of Tāng Rǔyán, not only would time slip away, but if something monstrous emerged, he’d be doomed.

No joke—ten thousand coffins could crush a man to death even if they only fell, let alone if they held unknown dangers.

His pale gaze swept over the mass of coffins, moving from one to another. In the darkness, his eyes flashed, sometimes bright, sometimes dim, as Guān Qián stood silent for a long time, the atmosphere growing heavier and more sinister.

Inside the chamber, the chill deepened, the deathly coffins lying as if forgotten by time, hidden away by the Maya since antiquity.

The longer he lingered, the more rigid Guān Qián’s body became, the dense chill seeping into his pores, making his skin prickle with icy needles.

The ancient, black coffins—who knew what material they were made from—felt rough and pitted, as though worms had gnawed at them, leaving the marks of passing centuries.

All the coffins were arranged in perfect circles, each ring nestled closely to the next, barely half a meter apart, yet laid out with impeccable order.

At the very center of the chamber stood a coffin larger than all the rest. Though its surface matched the others—aged and dark—it was noticeably smoother, its lid bearing a striking, bizarre bas-relief.

The carving was large and circular, occupying nearly a third of the lid’s surface. It depicted something ancient and mysterious, as if recording time in rings.

On the outer rim was an unknown creature, serpent-like, coiled upon itself, its head meeting its tail. Its massive head was covered with bristling scales, terrifying and fierce. Its eyes glared with demonic malice, as if a devil from hell looked down upon the world. Its gaping maw revealed sharp fangs.

Within the serpent, a ring of powerful beings wielding tridents surrounded it. They stood with arms wide, weapons raised, poised to strike the serpent, yet unable to escape their own encirclement.

Closer in, another ring resembled the workings of a fine clock, indicating the eight directions—north, south, east, west, and the rest. Nearby, a string of strange, twisted characters was inscribed, their beauty hard to discern.

At the very core, a ghastly face—smiling yet weeping, joyful and sorrowful, as if it contained a thousand emotions, all unfathomable. Its mouth was open, its gaze distant, as if on the verge of speaking, every possible feeling flickering across its visage.

What emotion was this? Despair? Resignation? Grief beyond measure? Helplessness? Madness? Melancholy? It seemed all were distilled into one sigh, like that ghostly face—words unspoken, thoughts unclear.

Guān Qián stood for a long time, absorbing everything he could sense from the chamber, yet still unable to piece together the puzzle. As a third-stage Seer, he resolved to activate his “Scene Restoration” skill.

This was a support skill of the third gene lock stage, enabling him to gather the causal particles scattered through space and reconstruct past events, hoping to find clues and solve the chamber’s mystery.

Thump, thump, thump—his heart raced, his pale eyes suddenly blazing with light. Blood surged through his veins, his aura surging with explosive force.

His powerful perception swept through the chamber like a net—nothing could escape, not even a mosquito.

In the cold, shadowy chamber, points of light began to flicker in the air, responding to Guān Qián’s gaze. The chamber’s ceiling came alive, like a starry sky, as the particles ignited, gathering rapidly into a fist-sized sphere of light. Dazzling rays burst forth, like a miniature sun suspended in midair, breathtaking in its beauty.

At the same time, a crackling of electricity sounded in Guān Qián’s palm—strands of red lightning snapped and writhed, threatening to burst free at any moment.

The light sphere in the air, influenced by the crackling red electricity, began to tremble violently. The air in the chamber seemed to freeze; the chill that had been seeping everywhere vanished, and the black coffins began to shake involuntarily. The temperature plummeted, a layer of white frost forming on the coffin lids, giving the scene an unearthly air.

Guān Qián reached out, and the glowing sphere was suddenly drawn to his palm, fusing with the lightning in a hiss.

As soon as they touched, it was as if water met fire—the red lightning was absorbed completely by the sphere, which grew even brighter, its surface crawling with tiny flashes of light. These formed a membrane, wrapping the sphere and calming its previously wild agitation.

Guān Qián saw this and knew he had succeeded. From the Seer’s inherited memories, he understood: the light sphere had absorbed the chamber’s dormant causal particles, activated by his will and gathered together. Because the particles were unstable, the sphere was difficult to maintain, but with his pale-eyed binding ability, he could now stabilize it—something he’d never achieved at the second gene lock stage. The new, tangible manifestation of his power was a sign of the gene lock’s perfect evolution.

“Scene Restoration” was self-explanatory: it played out the traces of past events like a film. That was exactly what Guān Qián was now doing.

The sphere in his palm shimmered with mysterious light. Having gathered the causal particles, it was now time for the next step: he had to drip his own blood into it, fusing the Seer’s blood to unlock the scene—like a key opening an ancient door, the Seer’s blood the key, the sphere the door.

At last, as Guān Qián’s blood fell into the sphere, he tossed it into the air, and it burst apart into countless radiant fragments, flooding the chamber with light.

“Scene Restoration” had begun—an era sealed in dust unfurled before Guān Qián’s eyes, vivid and dreamlike.

It was an ancient time, so long past its date was unknowable. The underground corridors blazed with light, and in the familiar chamber, group after group of heavy coffins was carried in by beings who greatly resembled humans: broad-nosed, large-eyed, tall, powerfully built, clad in archaic garb. Guān Qián was sure—they were the Maya.

They arranged the coffins in precise order, setting one conspicuously atop a concealed passage. Guān Qián’s heart leapt—there was indeed something hidden here.

Matching the real chamber with the vision, he pinpointed the exact coffin.

The vision shifted. The other coffins were used to bury Maya dead. From their reverent behavior, it was clear these were figures of high rank or honor.

But the coffin at the center drew his attention. Before long, two lavishly dressed corpses were placed inside—perhaps a king and queen? Guān Qián frowned, uneasy.

Time passed; more coffins were opened and more bodies interred. There were no rituals, but it was clear that the Maya honored their dead by laying them here.

Time moved on—the underground passage was thrown into chaos, violent tremors shaking the chamber. Wounded Maya dragged themselves in, burying severed limbs and shattered remains in the coffins.

The intensity of it shook Guān Qián to his core. He stared at the central coffin’s relief, thoughts racing.

The vision neared its end: a young Maya, bloodied, led a band of elders, the weak, and children into the chamber. They knelt reverently before the dead, then entered the coffin passage. As the lid closed, silence fell, and the only entrance collapsed, sealing the space.

With that, the “Scene Restoration” faded, and the chamber was once again plunged into darkness.

Gazing at the central coffin and its hidden passage, a thunderous realization struck Guān Qián.

The Maya were fleeing!

These were the last survivors. Where did the secret coffin passage lead?

Their civilization destroyed, where had these people gone?

The coffin passage—Tāng Rǔyán must be below.

With a soft call, Guān Qián pushed open the central coffin and leapt into the mysterious passage beneath.

(Originally, these two chapters were to be posted separately, but merging them for a grand 4,000-word chapter instead. Please bookmark, recommend, and note: the Seer’s story grows ever more complex. The author has revised the outline today—hoping to make the coming chapters even more exciting! Your support is appreciated. If you have suggestions, discuss in the reviews; the author will be watching!)