Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Search

“Mohan, what was that sound just now?” In the darkness, Fang He clung tightly to the bundle of gold bars in his arms, his eyes darting nervously, afraid that something might come near him.

“It sounded like Guan Qian’s voice!” Mohan’s pupils contracted, his brows furrowed, and a wave of worry rose from deep within.

“Is it possible that Guan Qian…” Fang He swallowed, his throat dry, anxiety creeping over him.

“Don’t talk nonsense!” Mohan abruptly cut Fang He off, glaring at him with a stern warning. This damned Fang He, always spouting bad luck; who knew what ominous words he might utter next, unsettling everyone.

Right now, Guan Qian was the pillar everyone relied upon; his safety determined everyone’s fate. Guan Qian absolutely could not be harmed, or else no one here would be able to escape this cursed place—they might even end up trapped underground, doomed to die.

“Damn it, Mohan! Why are you yelling at me? You scared me half to death!” Fang He was startled by Mohan’s sudden shout, and the remaining half of his sentence was forced back down.

“Hmph. Stay quiet and no one will mistake you for a mute. Just behave yourself and wait for Guan Qian to return,” Mohan said in a deep voice. He held up the glowing bone torch, gazing at the dark and eerie passage ahead, his heart a tumult of mixed emotions.

That clear and unmistakable roar was indeed Guan Qian’s voice. In the deathly silence of the corridor, every sound echoed unnaturally loud. Though the voice came from far away, Mohan was certain that something had happened to Guan Qian. Unease and anxiety churned within him as he looked at the unconscious Tang Ruyan, silently praying for Guan Qian’s safety.

The faint glow of the torch was like a firefly in the darkness. The visible range was less than three meters, and the light flickered oddly in the pitch-black tunnel, adding to the sense of eerie unease.

Fang He’s heartbeat quickened with the oppressive silence. Cold sweat seeped from his palms, an icy chill crept down his back, making his breathing heavy.

Seeing Mohan’s grim expression, Fang He had to swallow his words time and again. For him, the greatest torment was having a belly full of things he wanted to say, yet unable to utter a single word. This tense, silent state made him want to smash his head against the wall.

“I—I say, Mohan…” Fang He’s nose twisted from holding back, the silence numbing and confusing him, until he finally stammered under Mohan’s glare.

“Shut up!” Mohan’s irritation surged at the sound of Fang He’s voice. With a face like iron, he spat out a single word, forcibly cutting him off.

“…” Fang He was caught off guard, Mohan’s fierce manner once again silencing him. He smacked his lips, gazing sorrowfully at Mohan’s stormy expression, almost in tears.

‘Heavens, earth, beauties—am I really going to be suffocated to death by my own words?’ Fang He lamented inwardly, his eyes brimming with emotion as he gazed at Mohan, nearly on the verge of tears.

“Shut up!” Mohan, unnerved by Fang He’s expression, felt his skin crawl. Without a shred of sympathy, he shouted again, then closed his eyes and squatted down, adopting a posture of conserving his strength.

Poor Fang He’s mouth twisted in dismay. Once, he was famed for his eloquence, second to none in the entire department of ancient philology. Now, he was about to be choked to death by his own words, his mouth full of saliva with nowhere to vent it—a miserable fate.

Is heaven determined to destroy Fang He? He turned to face the cold wall, actually beginning to contemplate his mistakes, occasionally muttering gibberish, which prompted Mohan nearby to curse under his breath: “Lunatic!”

Fang He’s face turned green with anger, so he retorted, “Casting pearls before swine!”

“Shut up!” Mohan replied decisively, instantly blocking him again.

Poor Fang He’s mouth twitched, rendered speechless.

One should not be so shameless!

Such a sacred word, yet that damned Mohan used it again and again, desecrating the true meaning of “get lost!”

“$%@… Damn it!” Fang He let out a string of gibberish and curses in frustration.

“Shut up!” Mohan didn’t even bother to lift his eyelids, simply ignoring Fang He now.

“…” Fang He fell silent, thoroughly defeated by Mohan’s words. His lifelong reputation reduced to nothing, now suffering in silence—a cruel injustice!

…

Inside the illusion, darkness still prevailed.

A stone coffin, empty.

Guan Qian felt groggy, sharp pain pricking his fingertips, clearing his mind a little. His flickering white pupils gazed hazily at his pale palm, jolted by the vivid red blood oozing from his fingers.

Blood! He’d been stung and was bleeding.

Guan Qian shook his head a few times, the pain in his fingertips prompting him to step away from the stone coffin, staggering backward to distance himself from its danger.

What was hidden within the mysterious stone coffin that injured him and nearly caused him to lose consciousness? The unknown threat compelled Guan Qian to restore his strength immediately, wary that something within might attack him again.

The darkness was chilling, the silence deathly. Time crawled like a walk through hell, filling him with dread.

Guan Qian squatted in the corner of the illusion, regulating his breath until his condition was restored. The fatigue, numbness, and weakness melted away. The prophet’s regenerative abilities, as Tang Ruyan had once mentioned, proved to be remarkably effective—no matter how badly wounded, he could recover swiftly. He hadn’t expected to verify this so soon.

His white pupils swept over the stone coffin, whose lid had been pushed aside at one corner. Yet the coffin remained ancient and silent, showing no hint of danger. This made Guan Qian even more cautious, circling it to sense any hidden threat inside.

His ghostly white pupils flickered, their glow brightening and dimming. He scrutinized every inch of the stone coffin, but found nothing amiss.

Still, he knew something was in there—it couldn’t be otherwise, since even he couldn’t resist it and had suffered injury.

The ancient stone coffin remained inscrutable, its contents utterly concealed. Helpless, Guan Qian decided to risk approaching again, peering into the gap in the lid to finally uncover what was buried within this mysterious coffin.

The prophet’s instincts compelled him, for something inside was inexplicably drawing him closer.

Guan Qian cautiously approached, his whole body tense and alert, fearful of being confused and harmed again by whatever lay within.

But just as his white pupils once more peered down into the stone coffin, he was struck with terror and horror!

(Apologies! Something very unpleasant happened at home recently, and my mood has been poor these days. I’m slowly adjusting. Every family has its struggles, and I hope you all understand. I will do my best to write better chapters, and the prophet has arrived—please support Guan Qian! Don’t forget to recommend and add to your collection. Let’s keep going!)