Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Skin of the Dead

Beneath the heavy lid, within the ink-black stone coffin, a corner of a corpse's skin was exposed.

Guan Qian’s pale pupils were wide as saucers, his entire body drenched in cold sweat from terror. In that moment, he could see with perfect clarity that the mysterious stone coffin contained not a body, but a preserved skin.

This strange, crimson skin was thin as a cicada’s wing, exuding a bizarre and dreadful aura that emanated from its very surface.

The inexplicable pull he had felt was coming from this very skin.

Shocked—beyond comprehension.

In his white eyes, the reflection of that fresh, glistening skin was painfully clear, as though it had just been flayed from some living creature. Guan Qian’s scalp tingled, and he nearly could not bear to look straight at it.

He drew a deep, trembling breath, steadying his pounding heart, and forced himself to study the enigmatic skin more closely.

It was covered in blood, eerie and horrifying, yet there was not a hint of deathly stillness about it. On the contrary, it seemed less like a dead husk than a living entity, as if merely slumbering, or sealed away, defying all reason.

Nearly two meters in length, the skin resembled a human in shape, but atop its head grew a pair of sharp horns.

Its body was thick and powerful, limbs strong, and its face—flattened and deeply wrinkled—invited wild speculation.

Could this be the skin of the “Jue”?

Guan Qian frowned, his white eyes flickering as he stared at the skin within the coffin.

According to his current deductions, the mysterious and powerful “Jue” had left behind a skin, preserved by the Maya in this illusory stone coffin.

Judging from the desolation of the wasteland and the decrepitude of the underground chamber, the Maya must have vanished centuries ago. In other words, this skin was at least a hundred years old.

Yet time had left not the faintest trace upon it; it was as if it had only just been flayed from the “Jue,” the effect so uncanny as to take one’s breath away.

Why had the “Jue” left behind a skin? According to the ancient script engraved on the coffin, this mysterious and mighty being could very well be the deity worshipped by the Maya.

Could it be that the “Jue” had left its skin behind to bless and protect the Maya?

But the Maya had perished at the hands of demons, never receiving the “Jue’s” protection. What, then, was the true significance of this skin, that it was so reverently preserved?

Was it merely a gesture of devotion to their faith?

A riddle of a skin, a riddle of an existence, weighed upon Guan Qian’s heart like a mountain, suffocating him in its oppressive mystery.

He stared at the skin for a long time, his white eyes gradually prickling with an inexpressible pain, as though scalded by strong spirits, forcing him to look away.

Suddenly—a heavy, resonant heartbeat echoed from within the coffin. Each beat was slow, forceful, piercing Guan Qian’s heart like a blade.

The pain was as if his heart were being sliced apart. With a desperate cry, Guan Qian collapsed to the ground, curling up and convulsing as a breath of death crept ever closer.

With a faint creak, the massive lid began to shift of its own accord, slowly revealing more of that enigmatic skin.

Pale phosphorescence erupted within the darkness, and the bloodstained skin floated up from the coffin, casting a ghastly terror over the chamber.

Guan Qian’s consciousness hovered on the brink of collapse; his blood and flesh seemed to drain away, his body growing shriveled and frail, while the last flickers of black and white in his eyes threatened to gutter out at any moment.

At this instant, a wicked tableau was unfolding: an infinite cycle of life and death seemed to churn in the air. Had Fang He been present, his eyes would have nearly popped from their sockets, his mouth babbling prayers for divine intervention.

In the illusion, Guan Qian’s body withered visibly, his pallor growing ever more rigid and corpse-like. Meanwhile, the floating skin swelled and filled out at a frightening pace; flesh and sinew flourished within it as though under a spell, spreading rapidly throughout its form, while the thunderous beat in its chest grew ever more powerful.

Death closed in. Numbness and cold gnawed at Guan Qian, his life hanging by a thread, teetering on the edge of eternal darkness.

But then—

A ghostly light burst forth from his body, dazzling as midday sun, and hovered in midair—a stone, smooth and flat, no larger than half a palm, one side etched with a lifelike eye that seemed to pierce the soul.

Tang Ruyan had entrusted it to Guan Qian, telling him it was the one relic left by his ancestors, and enjoining him to keep it safe.

Yet Guan Qian had never been able to unravel its mysteries; it seemed to be little more than a work of art, bereft of any supernatural power. But whenever he was in dire peril, it unfailingly revealed unimaginable might.

Now, the stone was enveloped in blinding light, like a miniature sun radiating crimson rays, illuminating every corner of the illusory realm.

That sacred, serene crimson glow bathed Guan Qian, subtly lessening his agony.

Warm currents began to seep through his body—the breath of life itself. The fire of existence gathered within him, growing ever stronger, inextinguishable.

A chilling wail, like the lament of a tormented ghost, echoed in the chamber. The floating skin let out a cry of terror and fury, its face contorted, its body convulsing as it began to regress. The burgeoning flesh within it solidified, the dark veins fading, and its blood seemed to evaporate and vanish.

At that moment, the eye carved into the stone abruptly flared open, its iris a ghostly blue. A beam of blue light shot down, enveloping the skin in a holy, crushing force.

The skin trembled violently, bending its knees in supplication, but the blue eye regarded it with utter indifference, gazing down with the scorn of a god over vermin.

Overwhelmed by this awe-inspiring power, the skin quaked in terror as its stolen vitality drained away, flowing back into Guan Qian. In moments, the skin was as it had been, only now suffused with the pallor of death.

Defeated, it slunk back into the coffin, dragging its dim husk behind it. With a dull thud, the lid sealed tight.

Yet Guan Qian was not out of danger. The trial between life and death had only just begun.