Chapter Thirty-One: The Buried Civilization (Part Two)

A deathly pallor, like the ashen shade of one already gone, crept across Tong Ruyan’s face, filling Guan Qian’s heart with a wrenching, helpless sorrow.

“What should I do? What am I supposed to do?” Guan Qian stared at Tong Ruyan’s features, his pale eyes brimming with tears. A sense of utter powerlessness gradually overtook all his shifting emotions.

A scorching tear rolled from his uncanny white pupil, fell silently onto Tong Ruyan’s cold, colorless cheek. That single tear, containing all his thoughts and feelings, was quickly chilled, sliding down her face with the last remnants of warmth before it dropped onto her collar.

Clenching his whitening fists, Guan Qian’s mind raced.

Suddenly, inspiration struck.

“Perhaps… this is the only way left!” he muttered to himself, his pale gaze fixed desperately on Tong Ruyan’s tense countenance, his white eyes flickering with uncertainty.

She had once used her own lifeblood to divine the future, leaving herself in mortal peril. The False Prophet had told Guan Qian that a Prophet’s blood could save her; in the end, it had taken nearly 500 milliliters of his own blood to pull her back from the brink of death—a feat he could only marvel at, so extraordinary were the Prophet’s powers.

To restore life, to raise flesh from the bone—such was the Prophet’s omnipotence.

But now, Tong Ruyan’s condition was even more dire than before. Though the Prophet’s blood might save, he had no certainty that it could reach her, poised as she was on the very threshold of death.

Yet, even if there was only a one-in-ten-thousand chance, Guan Qian did not hesitate. In his desperation, he bit open his fingertip, quickly pressing it into Tong Ruyan’s mouth.

Time slipped by in darkness. The oppressive air seemed to halt all passage, yet Guan Qian knew he was losing blood, and soon his breath grew heavy.

“Guan Qian, how is Tong Ruyan?” Mo Han’s voice came low and grave from the darkness. Clearly, his own body had mostly recovered.

“It’s difficult… I’m trying to save her. I hope she can survive,” Guan Qian answered, his voice hoarse.

Silence. A silence so deep it seemed to suffocate.

Mo Han heard enough to understand. For Guan Qian to call it “difficult” meant Tong Ruyan was at death’s door. The pain was no less for him than for Guan Qian.

Jiang Qiang, taken by the False Prophet; Fang He, missing and possibly dead; and now Tong Ruyan, caught between life and death—none of them could be abandoned by either man.

Yet the crises of all three weighed heavily on them both.

Time pressed on unending.

Gradually, a trace of warmth returned to Tong Ruyan’s icy pale hands, and the ashen tone faded from her face. Guan Qian was overjoyed and called out to her, but no matter how he tried, there was not the faintest sign of awakening. It was as if nothing in the world could rouse her, and the silence became unsettling.

“Strange… her complexion is much better, so why hasn’t she woken?” Guan Qian muttered, frowning as he gazed at her face. Helpless, he continued to feed her more blood.

He had no idea how much time had passed. Tong Ruyan’s color became ever more rosy, her body as warm as any living person’s, yet still there was no sign of recovery. This forced Guan Qian to pause and consider.

“Guan Qian, it’s too dark in here. Can you make some fire? This place is giving me the creeps,” Mo Han’s voice came quietly from the darkness.

With his thoughts entirely on Tong Ruyan, Guan Qian hadn’t noticed until now, but once Mo Han spoke, he, too, felt an almost imperceptible chill seeping through his pores, raising every hair on his skin.

“All right!” Guan Qian answered simply. He set Tong Ruyan down, his white eyes scanning the surroundings until they landed on a disordered pile of white bones in the corner.

In an instant, he moved over and crouched beside them. Reflected in his pale pupils were two skulls, unmistakably human. The intact skeletons, unmarred and unbroken, suggested these beings had died peacefully—or so it seemed.

Were these bones once guardians of this underground tomb? Or had they simply been trapped and died here?

Guan Qian frowned in silence. The mystery of the two skeletons brought many thoughts to his mind.

With a sharp crack, he picked up two thick bones and struck them together, breaking them with a clear snap. The jagged fractures spread like spiderwebs across the surface.

At once, faint bluish flames seeped from the cracks, casting a phosphorescent glow over a small area. It was not much, but after such darkness, it was a relief to see anything at all.

“Damn, is that ghost fire?” Mo Han stared at the eerie blue flames, gulped, and groped his way toward Guan Qian.

“I’m not sure—maybe it’s just something unique to these bones. Their owners must have been extraordinary in life,” Guan Qian replied, eyes flickering as he watched the ghostly fire dance.

“It’s really kind of creepy,” Mo Han murmured, taking one of the glowing bones and holding it close to his face. He felt no warmth at all, only a chill like ice, which made him shudder.

“It’s all right. Tong Ruyan should be out of danger now, though she hasn’t woken up. Let’s look for a way out—staying here is no solution. We need to leave as soon as possible,” Guan Qian said, unease stirring within him.

“Right. Let’s split up and search,” Mo Han agreed, raising his bone-torch and moving off to look for an exit.

Guan Qian lifted Tong Ruyan from the corner and began searching the darkness in the opposite direction.

But—

“Mo Han, have you found anything?” Guan Qian’s voice echoed in the emptiness. They had searched again and again, but there was no sign of a way out.

“Damn it, what is this place? Walls everywhere—no matter where I go, it’s just walls. It’s a dead end!” Mo Han’s voice was low and strained, tinged with frustration.

They had fallen from the chasm above, but now the way back was sealed, and all around them were impenetrable walls. It was a sealed chamber, utterly without exit.

If they could not find a way out, they would die here—no water, no food, not even light. It was the worst possible fate.

Guan Qian’s eyes drifted again to the pile of bones in the corner, and his earlier suspicion returned: had these two skeletons perished here, trapped as he and his companions now were?

The present circumstances left little room for doubt.

Horrifying—truly horrifying.

Suddenly, Guan Qian realized that they were continuing the fate of those very bones.

He looked down at Tong Ruyan, breathing softly in his arms, and held her even more tightly.