Chapter Fifteen: The Gate to the Domain Opens

The scenery before his eyes sped by in a blur, the muddy, pitted ground appearing even more desolate and battered. Guan Qian’s dwindling consciousness was already showing clear signs of weakness—nothing could be worse for him now.

Behind him, the False Prophet continued his pursuit with unhurried, relentless pressure, pushing Guan Qian into a perilous corner.

“Prophet…” Tang Ruyan’s gaze was fixed on the divination she had just performed, her brows tightly furrowed. She manipulated the complex formation, murmuring under her breath, a profound and uneasy expression flickering in her eyes.

Suddenly—

Tang Ruyan bit her fingertip, and a bead of crimson blood welled forth. The drop, brilliant and alluring, shimmered with an eerie, sanguine luster.

Drip—

She let her blood fall onto the divination, and instantly, the entire formation blazed with red light as though awakened.

With a whoosh, the divination fragments whirled chaotically in the air. Dragon bones and tortoiseshells twisted and interlocked, spinning rapidly in a wild, irregular orbit. Around them, metallic symbols began to manifest, slowly adhering and rotating in the opposite direction.

Tang Ruyan closed her eyes, interlacing her fingers, and recited an incantation in a harsh, archaic tongue. The metallic symbols flickered as if enchanted, responding rhythmically to the cadence of her voice, aligning themselves in a mysterious order.

She was calculating—using her own lifeblood to divine the one narrow path of survival within Guan Qian’s nine deaths and one life. This was staking life against life, seeking survival amidst peril!

A dire omen—calamitous and forbidden!

Anyone marked by such a divination was destined for utter destruction. To break this fate, the diviner must risk their own life, using their blood to overturn the curse—only then might a sliver of hope emerge from the brink of death.

Yet the price of such a blood divination was immense. Should the ritual be interrupted, the one who performed it would perish without question.

Tang Ruyan’s lips moved rapidly, chanting the arcane syllables as her pale face grew increasingly ashen. Beads of sweat gathered at her temples, threatening to merge and fall as her vitality ebbed away. The strain on her mind and spirit was pushing her body to the verge of collapse.

The rain poured down in torrents, as if the Milky Way had been upended, relentless and unceasing.

In the darkness, Guan Qian had been driven to the brink. A sense of helplessness began to take root within him; his consciousness was on the verge of shutting down, and the prolonged exertion left him nearly unable to sustain his supernatural state.

“Well, well, my dear Prophet, tiring out so soon?” The False Prophet abruptly burst forward, matching Guan Qian’s stride. His pale face wore a demonic smile, making his features seem even more sinister.

“What a disappointment, truly!” he continued with a feigned sigh, as if genuinely pitying Guan Qian—though no one could doubt the monstrous nature behind his human mask.

With a dull thud, the False Prophet landed a heavy punch on Guan Qian’s left cheek. Guan Qian’s body lost balance entirely, hurling sideways and crashing into the mud, his T-shirt instantly soaked and caked with filth.

His consciousness snapped shut.

Now, to the False Prophet, Guan Qian was as powerless as an egg dashed against stone—utterly without hope.

Danger—mortal danger—closed in from all directions, suffocating Guan Qian.

“How has my esteemed Prophet become so feeble? Hah!” The False Prophet circled him, footsteps deliberate, his gaze cold as death’s own.

“Humans—pitiful, fragile humans, always so weak!” His words struck Guan Qian’s heart like daggers, a provocation dripping with contempt.

Clenching his teeth, Guan Qian glared back, forcing himself to his feet and lunging at his enemy. But in his weakened state, no stronger than an ordinary man, he could not so much as touch the False Prophet—his attack missed, and he crashed back into the mud.

“Still so stubborn—I see you won’t shed tears until you see your own coffin,” the False Prophet sneered, his expression darkening, eyes venomous as he slowly closed in.

A savage beating ensued—merciless and thorough. Blood mingled with rainwater, staining the mud beneath Guan Qian a vivid red.

Coughing violently, clutching his chest, Guan Qian’s body was mottled with visible bruises, his strength spent.

“What an intoxicating scent…” The False Prophet ran his tongue over his bloodstained knuckles, his voice thick with bloodlust.

“So, my dear Prophet, shall I end you now, or play with you a little longer?” He spoke with mock perplexity, his feigned indecision only heightening the terror.

A bolt of lightning flashed, turning night into day.

Tang Ruyan’s face was now drained of color, her body trembling as she fought to keep the incantation flowing. The arcane words poured into the divination, fusing with the formation.

It grew ever more enigmatic—dragon bones and tortoiseshell gleaming, the golden symbols orbiting like living things, pulsating with cryptic light. A mysterious force was swelling within.

But then—

With a violent splatter, Tang Ruyan coughed up blood, nearly collapsing. The brilliant red spattered across the divination, throwing the formation into chaos.

She steadied her breath, hastily resuming her chant. Her deep, dark eyes reflected the golden glow before her, wary and focused.

She had overextended herself, nearly ensnared by the power of the formation. Only by spitting blood had she narrowly avoided disaster.

Blood divination for survival was fraught with peril. Before even glimpsing hope, Tang Ruyan had almost been consumed by the backlash—such was the challenge before her.

Meanwhile, Guan Qian’s life hung by a thread. Tang Ruyan had to succeed, or if Guan Qian died, she too was doomed, no matter the outcome of her ritual.

Time was running out. The threat of death pressed ever closer.

“My dear Prophet, do you know why I look exactly like you?” the False Prophet suddenly asked, his voice cold and detached as he gazed into the heavens, his expression icy and merciless.

“A pawn can never escape the fate of a pawn. No matter how you struggle, you cannot defy the destiny set for you. I hate it—and I hate you even more!” With a snarl, he seized Guan Qian’s collar, his voice brimming with boundless enmity.

Such venomous hatred left Guan Qian bewildered. His mind raced, searching for any clue to the False Prophet’s identity, but no matter how he strained, the truth eluded him.

A figure shrouded in mystery, his malice unfathomable—Guan Qian fell silent.

“Heh, the game is over, my dear Prophet!” The False Prophet’s expression turned serene, his pale face suddenly calm.

But at that moment—

A distant rumble echoed from the heavens. A flash of white light burst forth, growing rapidly—a white vortex materialized before the False Prophet and Guan Qian.

“A spatial domain gate!” Terror clouded the False Prophet’s face, his composure instantly shattered.

(Happy Dragon Boat Festival! The domain gate has opened, the Prophet is about to traverse between worlds—support the Prophet, support the Moon Palace, the climax awaits!)