Chapter Forty-Seven: Repose

Darkness lingered, desolate and eternal as if it had existed since the dawn of time.

Guan Qian slipped into the hidden passage inside the coffin, descending step by step along the rough stone stairs. On either side of the narrow staircase, the walls jutted out in irregular, pitch-black shapes, their steep descent lending the tunnel an eerie and frightening atmosphere.

Guan Qian could not be certain whether the walls contained any mechanisms, but judging by the Maya people's craftsmanship in creating this secret path, he was convinced that somewhere along the way, traps had been set.

It was an instinct, a prophet’s intuition.

Indeed—

A faint crack sounded beneath his foot as he stepped on a particular stair, almost inaudible, like something breaking. Suddenly, large clusters of sharp, spike-like weapons shot out from the narrow walls on both sides, stabbing inward like the scythes of Death, poised to harvest any unwary life.

Fortunately, Guan Qian had anticipated danger. At the moment that faint sound erupted, he teleported a hundred meters away, escaping the deadly stretch of stairs.

Had it been anyone else, upon triggering the Maya’s mechanism, they would have become lost souls, their bodies riddled by countless spikes.

Ahead, the terrain grew uneven, and a passage roughly two meters wide stretched out before Guan Qian’s pale, observant eyes. The tunnel was exceedingly rough, as if carved by some enormous burrowing creature—utterly devoid of any sense of beauty. Rather than a passage, it resembled a cave.

It was clear the Maya dug this secret corridor in great haste, leaving no time for refinement. For a people who revered artistry, such a crude creation would have been a blemish on their legacy, the worst of all their works.

Where the passage widened, torches were embedded into the walls every hundred meters or so for illumination. Yet, years of erosion had rendered them useless and rotten.

Guan Qian traveled swiftly and safely for a considerable distance, winding left and right through the broad passage, the endless twists and turns testing his patience. The seemingly endless tunnel aggravated his growing anxiety.

The monotonous journey was occasionally interrupted by the sight of decaying bones, but yielded no discoveries—let alone any sign of Tang Ru Yan. This unsettled Guan Qian, a vague sense of unease creeping into his heart.

He gazed at the winding corridor, the cold, black walls, and felt the chill emanating from the uneven floor beneath his feet. His eyes widened in surprise.

Suddenly, the entire passage seemed to unravel before him. Strands of white thread, like a spider’s web, appeared in the pale light of his eyes, weaving intricate patterns throughout the space—casting down like a giant net, leaving Guan Qian as a fish trapped, awaiting the fisherman.

His heart raced. His pale eyes gleamed, brilliant as pearls, but amidst the swirling white threads, he found no escape. It was reminiscent of the Monkey King in Journey to the West, who, despite his powers, could not flee the Buddha’s palm—a wild monkey toyed with, utterly at the mercy of his captor.

“Damn!” Guan Qian cursed under his breath, realizing he had unwittingly stumbled into the Maya’s trap. Compared to the shoddy mechanism on the stairs, this one was a marvel—miraculous beyond imagination. It testified to the Maya civilization’s former brilliance. Though countless years had worn away their glory, and their civilization had nearly vanished, the vast underground realm revealed merely the tip of the iceberg. No nation on Earth could compare.

This was a civilization so advanced it could alter the very fabric of space. It was as if space had been magnified a thousandfold, or life had shrunk from an elephant to an ant—what was once a simple path had become an endless journey, a road with no end, an eternal pilgrimage.

Darkness endured, and the white threads stretched on without limit, their boundaries impossible to see. Guan Qian drew in a cold breath, despair threatening to overwhelm him.

He saw scattered piles of bones ahead—perhaps exiled sinners or lost survivors. All had long since become skeletons, buried in this space as companions for the dead, a somber reminder of fate.

He had no idea how many more bones lay ahead. The endless road felt like a penitent’s trek, only to discover it was a path of no return, leaving him with a sense of helpless melancholy.

“No! I must find a way out. Tang Ru Yan is still waiting for rescue ahead, Jiang Qiang has been abducted by the false prophet, Mo Han and Fang He are waiting for my return in the darkness, and the mysterious gate key remains to be found.” Guan Qian steadied himself, gripping the white shoe in his hand until it was misshapen, regaining his composure.

The Maya would never create a dead end without leaving some hope of escape. Otherwise, the last survivors who entered would have doomed themselves.

Suddenly, Guan Qian’s pale eyes fixed on the mysterious white threads. Twin beams shot forth like lighthouses in the night, dissecting the space, uncovering hidden mysteries.

His pale eyes pierced through essence and controlled causality.

Just as clouds are formed from dense vapor and dust, skyscrapers from bricks and mortar, and life from countless cells, his gaze saw through all things, unraveling their cycles, deducing the roots, until all before him was powerless as bubbles.

Of course, at the third stage of the gene lock, his pale eyes could not yet transcend all things, but revealing their essence was effortless. Otherwise, Guan Qian’s eyes would have become a "master key" in this underground civilization—capable of anything.

The evolution of the prophet’s gene lock always moved toward perfection. The third stage was merely the foundation for true transcendence, the gateway to a higher realm. For Guan Qian, this stage was vital; he must uncover every potential, refine and perfect his understanding to reach new heights.

Practice is the only test of truth.

Repeated use of his pale eyes, even prolonged existence in this world within the gate, had brought Guan Qian’s understanding to unprecedented heights.

It was like a window to the universe, containing all things, waiting for discovery, for perception, for unraveling—until all was at his command.

A flash—

His pale eyes transformed, the light reflected like mirrors throughout the space. Everywhere, white beams crisscrossed, weaving complicated, strange patterns.

“This is…” Guan Qian’s brow furrowed deeply, forming the shape of a river.

The dazzling Maya civilization had stunned the world, rising like a myth, leaving behind legends but ultimately disappearing in mystery.

Now, behind this enigmatic gateway, Maya civilization reemerged, driving men mad. Step by step, Guan Qian’s understanding turned to awe.

The mysterious space before him, through the analysis of his pale eyes, became clear.

The Maya had used mirrors and reflection to expand space beyond imagination. The area seemed enclosed by mirror-like surfaces, and through advanced science, they linked illusory and real spaces—using a medium much like mirrors.

What was once a narrow corridor, through this medium, became infinitely extended. One wandered endlessly between illusion and reality, with a predictable outcome.

A deadlock! Guan Qian could scarcely fathom how the Maya achieved this, knowing their civilization was terrifying, yet ultimately annihilated.

Cold sweat soaked his back. He recalled the dark chamber where he had awakened, the messages left behind by two trapped Maya people, and finally understood the kind of invaders they had faced.

“Demons,” “demons…”

What were the demons the Maya spoke of? The world within the gate was far more frightening than he had imagined. He remembered the ghosts they had encountered, the elusive soul-devouring monsters, the mysterious "giant hand of heaven"—whether a lifeform or a fabricated illusion—all astonishing and beyond belief.

Could those demons still exist in this mysterious world?

Terrifying!

Guan Qian was seized by dread. He did not know if he could lead everyone to safety and fulfill the unimaginable task of obtaining the gate key to save Earth.

What kind of world had the false prophet brought them to? The ruins, desolation, death, and fear all hinted at challenges far more complex than what they had already faced.

A heavy stone seemed to crush his heart, leaving him breathless.

“Perhaps we were all mistaken. The real crisis has only just begun!” Guan Qian said coldly, gripping the white shoe tightly as he followed a strange path, slowly walking farther and farther away, until he vanished into the eternal darkness.

Behind him, a scattering of bones faded forever into silence. Perhaps no one would ever pass through here again, and this place would belong only to the past.

The dead rest in peace; the era of the Maya has ended.

(The author apologizes for problems with last night's upload. Upon receiving the news this morning, I rushed home to re-upload this chapter immediately. There should be no mistakes now. Sincere apologies for my oversight! I humbly ask for your recommendations and favorites—the climax is approaching, and Guan Qian’s pale eyes are coming for the kill. Please recommend and add to your collection~)