Chapter Forty-Three: The Mysterious Moss

A piercing whistle cut through the air. The wind, as cold as a blade, swept through the suffocating darkness, as impenetrable as the depths of hell. At this moment, Guan Qian and the wraith no longer knew where they were; their fierce battle echoed with thunderous intensity through the pitch-black, empty passage.

This was a struggle of life and death—a fight where only one could survive. Yet for Guan Qian, it was a disaster. The shadow of Tang Ruyan haunted his mind, making him hesitant at every step, forcing him to defend rather than attack.

Suddenly, with a heavy thud, Guan Qian was struck unexpectedly and sent flying. He smashed into the pitch-dark wall, the impact shaking the very ceiling of the passage, sending loose stones clattering down.

He coughed, blood flecking his lips—a familiar sensation by now, as he had been wounded countless times. Pain radiated through his body, stabbing at his nerves and making his vision flicker.

He had only just unlocked the third stage of the genetic lock, his abilities experiencing a qualitative leap—agility, strength, speed, resilience, and cognitive acuity all surpassing his previous limits. Yet here he was, being beaten again and again, a humiliation that made his frustration boil over.

“Damn it, what kind of monster is this? Its physical attacks are too powerful!” Guan Qian glared at the grotesque figure of “Tang Ruyan” before him, his brows knit tight with worry.

Drip.

Drip, drip.

The sound of water droplets echoed through the dark underground passage, each sharp note shattering the silence for a brief moment, only to deepen the oppressive atmosphere.

In the darkness, sight was meaningless; one could not even see their own hand. A pair of blood-red eyes glimmered eerily, while another pair of white eyes flickered restlessly. The sudden sound of water striking stone made the wraith frown.

Within those cold, wicked eyes, confusion mingled with sorrow, helplessness, and a profound loneliness. The steady drip of water seemed to possess a strange magic, striking at the most vulnerable corners of the soul.

“What is this…?” Guan Qian wondered in astonishment. Following the sound, his white eyes swept across the gloom, peeling back layers of darkness. At the end of the passage, upon a sheer cliff, a thin trickle of water flowed ever so slowly down the rock face. Below, where the cliff dipped, the water dripped from the uneven wall and collected in a shallow, palm-sized depression.

At the end of the passage, where the damp was thickest, this small pool of water had become the center of a lush spread of moss. The cold ground and the dark walls were carpeted in deep green, teeming with life that somehow flourished even in this sunless, subterranean world.

Life—the greatest miracle in existence. Even in the most desperate of places, hope could be reborn.

Guan Qian’s heart trembled. In this lifeless underground realm, for the first time, he felt the astounding vitality of life itself.

When misfortune reaches its limit, fortune is born. After countless ages of death and dust, this buried civilization, once home to the Mayans, had given rise to both wraiths and the force of nature.

Extremes breed their opposites.

Where death reached its apex, life would be reborn.

The wraith—born of ultimate death. The moss—a natural force born in the jaws of extinction.

Two products of stark opposition, bound by fate to both create and destroy each other. Their close proximity could only yield unimaginable consequences—perhaps even mutual annihilation.

Centuries ago, or perhaps even longer, the wraith was born. It wandered these underground labyrinths in loneliness, always searching, never finding an end. This place was its prison, forever confining its existence.

One day, passing through this passage, the wraith was startled by a tiny patch of moss. As it drew near, strange images surfaced in its mind—endless sorrow and confusion, robbing it of self, leaving it to approach the moss beneath the cliff like a soulless puppet. Yet when it tried to touch the green tuft, it suddenly felt its body begin to burn.

The agony was searing, as if its very soul was aflame—fear gripped it utterly, and from then on, this region became its forbidden zone.

It never expected, after so many centuries, to find the forbidden zone expanded—the once tiny patch of moss had spread a hundredfold.

It had intended to kill Guan Qian here, but fate had driven their battle to this very place, throwing the wraith into disarray.

A long, tormented howl rang out. Tang Ruyan clutched her head, her pale face contorted in pain. Her hair flew wildly about her, her blood-red pupils flickering between darkness and blinding white, then erupting into a thousand fiendish crimson sparks.

“Tang Ruyan!” Guan Qian called out sharply. His voice snapped through the chaos, and for a brief instant, Tang Ruyan’s madness faded.

“Guan… Guan Qian?” The deathly pallor receded, the blood-red eyes softened, and Tang Ruyan’s delicate face was filled with confusion and disbelief.

Her memories lingered in that bottomless chasm where they had all fallen, dust and debris raining from the sky, a colossal hand crushing everything beneath it, darkness burying them all.

It was a memory too painful to revisit. She had thought herself doomed, yet she found she was still alive. Those familiar white eyes before her reassured her that she truly existed in this world.

Yet everything around her was unfamiliar—nothing but cold and silence in the darkness. Tang Ruyan’s thoughts wavered, her mind descending into chaos.

Guan Qian was overwhelmed with joy. The sound of her recognition told him that, at this moment, she was truly herself. Before he could say more, however, her eyes once again turned blood-red; the wraith had reclaimed control, suppressing Tang Ruyan’s soul once more.

A piercing wail echoed through the corridor, the metallic undertones chilling Guan Qian to the bone.

The wraith glared at him with bloodshot, monstrous eyes, its fury and violence unmistakable. But when its gaze shifted beyond Guan Qian, toward the moss thriving in the darkness, terror filled its eyes.

That moss-covered area was not merely forbidden—it was a place of certain death.

Torn by indecision, the wraith roared, glaring at Guan Qian as it slowly retreated. This region was perilous beyond measure; one misstep would be its end, with not even a trace of its body left behind. Reluctantly, it chose to withdraw and bide its time, waiting for Guan Qian to leave before making its move.

In this endless, labyrinthine underground ruin, no one could escape the wraith’s pursuit. It had no fear of Guan Qian slipping away.

But Guan Qian, already sensing something strange, grew more convinced that this patch of moss held some secret—something that the wraith feared above all else.

With a brief moment of contemplation, his white eyes flared with sudden clarity, focusing intently on the mysterious green moss.