Chapter Forty: The Third Gene Lock

Gene Lock!

A transcendent medium, it exists within primate life—a preordained condition for evolution.

Unlocking the evolutionary gene lock grants one limitless power, dominion over all things in the universe.

Humanity, the spirit of all creation, possesses an unrivaled genetic chain, boundless potential, and an endless capacity for evolution.

At this moment, Guan Qian was in a special stage of unlocking the gene lock. The conditions that promoted its evolution were quite extraordinary. It was as if a sharp blade had been thrust into his heart, fiercely stimulating his will to survive, while the excruciating pain roused dormant genes from the depths of his being.

Yet amid this torment of body and soul, darkness threatened to shroud him forever. This was a trial of will, a peculiar rebirth of life. Should his faith waver, should he give in even a little, he would plunge into eternal darkness.

Once, Guan Qian had a happy family, but a car accident took his parents from him forever. The crushing blow was the first time he awakened the latent gene inside him. That slumbering gene lock of the prophet, dormant for millennia like a hidden dragon, finally revealed its newborn power.

Eyes of white pierced through essence, grasping causality.

The theft at the Palace of Saint Virtue and the ancestral crystal skull had triggered a second awakening in Guan Qian. From then on, he truly entered the second stage of the gene lock, setting foot on his path as a prophet.

Now, every muscle in Guan Qian's body felt as if it were being devoured, the pain so searing it nearly burst his bloodshot eyes from their sockets.

Unrelenting convulsions wracked his body. Blood surged through his veins, heartbeat erratic, driving his mind into chaos.

It was a hellish ordeal. Time crawled like an ancient tortoise. Guan Qian bit down on his lip, leaving deep imprints from his teeth, sweat pouring from his brow as if he bore a mountain's weight, so heavy he could barely breathe.

One had to admit, Guan Qian's willpower was exceptionally tenacious, but the prolonged mental and physical torment finally began to overwhelm him.

The gene lock, that transcendent medium, a miraculous substance of evolution.

Every evolution brought life closer to perfection—but each time, the pain grew more intense. Fail this trial of body and soul, and your existence would end forever.

It was like poison—wounding the self, yet granting new life after catastrophe. What did not kill could make one stronger.

A rustling sound—

Suspended in midair upon the mysterious stone, a pair of blue eyes had already opened, now staring directly at him.

A ghostly blue gaze, as deep and unfathomable as a midnight pool. The eyes burned with a sovereign light, as if scrutinizing the very soul.

Upon the vast earth, birds and beasts, sun, moon, and stars seemed to flicker within those eyes. Every flower, every blade of grass was its own world, life in ceaseless cycle, the old giving way to the new—such was the law of all things. Each grain of sand, each stone, each star—time and space spun on, the universe's own decree.

From the mysterious blue eyes, a spectral light fell upon Guan Qian's convulsing body, watching him in utter stillness.

The icy gaze was devoid of emotion, yet within its depths were imprints of ages, the weight of time. The world seemed to return to its origin, as the prehistoric grandeur revealed itself without reserve.

A white light flashed—

A figure coalesced in the mist, its features obscured, a hazy vision between dream and reality.

Beneath the veil of mist stood a hunched, sickly old man, so frail a mere breeze might topple him. Yet from that bent frame radiated a formidable, overwhelming presence.

Two white eyes shone like lanterns, cutting through the mist to fix on the struggling Guan Qian.

He was unmistakably the First Prophet—the one who once led humankind from the brink of death and accomplished countless feats.

Silent as stone, he stood unmoving. The mist shrouded him in mystery and a faint sense of the supernatural.

It was almost unimaginable!

The First Prophet, alive and standing here, was like something out of legend.

Had Guan Qian remained conscious, he would have been utterly stunned by the sight. Could the First Prophet truly be alive? Had his ancestor never died?

Impossible! No one endures forever. However mighty, all must age. No matter how illustrious your deeds, how dazzling your brilliance, time inevitably erodes all, until the end.

The figure under the mist vanished as quickly as it had appeared. After a moment's gaze from those white eyes, it faded away—silent as before, not leaving a single word.

It was an illusion conjured from within the mysterious stone. The imprint of the First Prophet, once dissolved from the crystal skull, had merged into the stone, only to manifest now in this unexpected moment.

Yet it was this very manifestation of the First Prophet’s imprint that drew Guan Qian back from the brink of death.

One could only say that Guan Qian now faced an extremely perilous trial. Under the evolution of the white eyes, the gene lock had unlocked its true power. In terms of levels, this was undoubtedly the third stage of the gene lock.

And the third stage was like a wall impossible to cross. Countless prophets over millions of years had perished at this threshold, their lives lost, leaving behind endless regret for those who came after.

This trial had become the shadow of death for generations of prophets. It was both a calamity and a chance for transcendence. If he crossed it, he would be truly transformed, soaring freely between heaven and earth like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. Fail, and he would be lost to darkness, his bones and spirit alike erased, not even a trace remaining.

Now, Guan Qian could no longer feel his own body. Deep within his consciousness, darkness crept in; cold and silence consumed everything before him. He screamed, but only endless darkness answered.

In that shadow, familiar faces appeared. Jiang Qiang struggled in agony beneath the false prophet's hand; tears traced a clear path down Tang Ruyan's pale cheek. Mo Han, covered in wounds, carried the unconscious Fang He across the endless wasteland, Fang He’s hand clutching a tiny piece of gold.

A soft rustling—

All the phantoms were devoured by darkness. Guan Qian reached desperately forward, grasping only emptiness.

Despair, still as stagnant water, slowly engulfed him. Time seemed never to have existed; space had lost all meaning. From below, a pool of black water dragged him under.

Cold and numbness swept over him. In an instant, most of his body was submerged. He struggled, but it was futile—the shadow of death was now so terribly clear.

Just as he thought he would never escape alive, a distant white light split the darkness and came straight toward him.

A hunched figure suddenly appeared before Guan Qian.

A familiar presence, familiar white eyes—Guan Qian nearly lost the power of thought.

This was no illusion!

"Ancestor!"

Astonishment and awe filled him. This figure was etched deeply into his memory.

The same blood, the same aura. How could Guan Qian have imagined that the First Prophet—his own ancestor—would now appear before him, alive in his consciousness?

No words were exchanged. A ring of white light enveloped him, lifting him out of the cold, dead black water.

Immediately, Guan Qian felt a faint sense of control over his body. The cold receded, his senses gradually returned, and the breath of death slowly faded away.

"Come with me."

The First Prophet’s ancient voice echoed in Guan Qian's heart. Before he could voice his questions, he was swept along, following his ancestor into the white light.

Guan Qian kept pace, watching the old, bent figure ahead. His ancestor was nearing the end of his life; the years had stripped him of vitality, and it seemed he might fade away at any moment.

Bittersweet emotions churned in Guan Qian’s heart. So much he wished to say, so many questions sought answers, but he could only follow silently, rescued from peril by this venerable man. It was this elder who had achieved legendary greatness, and yet, Guan Qian also felt a pang of sorrow.

"We’re here. Go in yourself," the First Prophet said, turning to fix Guan Qian with those white eyes, filled with hope and trust.

A single gaze, a single sentence—that was enough for Guan Qian to feel the weight of his ancestor’s expectations and lifelong wish.

Survive, become stronger, fight for life, for justice, for all humanity.

A portal of light opened before him. Guan Qian knew time was short—he had many things left unfinished, tasks demanding his return to reality.

He stepped forward decisively, looked one last time at his ancestor, his eyes resolute, and said, "Ancestor, I’m going!" Then he entered the gate of light. He did not know if he would ever see this mighty ancestor again, but he knew all his ancestor’s hopes now rested on him. He had to bear this duty—this was the Prophet’s calling.

As Guan Qian vanished, the portal faded. The First Prophet’s image grew dim, but in that final moment, one could glimpse a look of serene relief upon his face.

The crisis had passed. Guan Qian had successfully reached the third stage of the gene lock. Power surged through him; he could tangibly sense the mysterious force hidden within his body.

Yet before he could savor his newfound strength, a sudden and overpowering sense of unease seized him.

"Tang Ruyan!"

With a tremulous cry, Guan Qian picked up the mysterious stone—now restored to its original form—and instantly vanished from the illusion.