Chapter 23 – The Great Wall of Phantasm

The terror of that “wall” could burrow directly into one’s mind, but when Gui Ling covered his eyes, everything vanished.

It was just a hand, yet all the peripheral light seeping in from outside disappeared, and the electronic noise from hell fell silent. The man wasn’t merely blocking his vision—he was severing the influence from a deeper level.

In this darkness, Wei An’s eyes remained wide open. Stripped of the light and matter of the real world, he perceived something different.

This sensation came from the incomplete gray organ in his brain—a perception from an entirely different dimension. Here, the world was no longer as the naked eye saw it.

The city was a vast expanse of ominous gloom, devoid of color, stretching outward across the land… where something lurked beneath.

A twisted substance, filthy and grotesque, decaying wildly. If one listened closely, it seemed filled with countless wails and screams.

Directly ahead, extremely close, stood a wall.

Still so vivid, existing across all layers, seeking to invade every brain cell.

He felt something foul crawling out from the cracks in the wall, like swarms of transparent worms, their deepest boundaries indistinct, as if birthed from some enormous, unknown entity on the other side.

It polluted like mold, gnawing away, distorting the entire world.

Then, Wei An sensed Gui Ling’s power.

Not a knife or a fish—he saw him from another dimension, from… above.

It was the entire sky, like an endless sea inverted, silently spreading overhead, domineering yet suffused with a sinister, lifeless energy.

Beneath this dead sky, the filthy force ahead ignited.

There was no struggle, no details of destruction—it was as if an imperative had been issued. Under such a sky, there could only be emptiness.

Quickly, the space was cleansed, leaving nothing behind.

Gui Ling lowered his hand. Wei An saw the scene in front of him.

The fog had thinned slightly. He wasn’t sure exactly where he was—the surroundings were the flat pavement of a plaza.

It was a battlefield’s wreckage: overturned vehicles, scattered firearms. There was no wall ahead; what had just happened seemed to exist only in his mind.

Except for the grotesquely mutilated corpses around him, proving this wasn’t entirely a dream.

Wei An stood dazed for a moment before turning to look at Gui Ling.

Gui Ling stood behind him. He had never seen the man with such an expression before.

Gui Ling was an aloof person, inherently distant, coldly observing everything—even his own fate.

But now, the man glared ahead with a dark expression. Wei An could clearly sense his emotions: Gui Ling was deeply displeased and worried about something.

Then the man stepped past him, walking straight to where the “wall” had been and staring into the void.

Wei An’s mind remained blank for a long moment, unable to function properly.

Gui Ling stood there for a few seconds, lost in thought. Wei An realized he was gripping his gun, his entire body trembling. It took a while before he could finally focus.

He thought… he seemed to have heard of something similar in ancient legends—a “wall.”

It was one of the obscure rumors from the ancient civilization. Some superhumans were said to dream of it—a monotonous, endless wall that appeared repeatedly.

So ordinary, yet absolutely terrifying, incomprehensible, without explanation.

At that moment, Wei An saw Gui Ling raise his hand and tap twice in the air.

The man’s fingers touched something. At first, it wasn’t clear what, but then Wei An noticed faint, dust-like specks of light flickering weakly at his feet, as if struggling to revive with poor reception.

Then it materialized—like motes of dust carried by the wind, illusory as a ghost, faintly glowing in the air.

It was… a screen. The main display was about the size of an open book, flanked by three smaller screens. It might have once had a bluish tint, matching the color scheme of the contract interface, but in this gray world, its hues were dull, as if composed of spectral dust.

Yet no matter how dim, it couldn’t mask the sheer high-tech nature of the thing. After what had just happened, it was hard to believe this belonged to the same world.

It was a holographic display.

Wei An stared in shock. The Federation currently lacked this technology—it could only be demonstrated in small-scale, controlled environments.

Yet here was Gui Ling, summoning a holographic display out of thin air in a ruined city submerged in Deep Space. It suggested that such technology permeated every corner of the ruins, still providing support thousands of years after its destruction.

The screen wasn’t very clear, flickering uneasily like the static on his phone earlier, its edges fragmenting under some unknown influence.

Gui Ling stood with his back to him, his face hidden.

This was clearly a large-scale program. After a while, a sluggish interface finally lit up.

A few smaller screens followed suit, the cluster of displays unfolding like phantoms in the gray mist as a lethargic electronic voice spoke.

“Hello. Welcome to the Great Wall of Phantasm System. Identity verification complete. Welcome back—”

“The wall has developed a rift. Initiate repair protocol,” Gui Ling instructed.

“Rift detected. Repair in progress. Basic membrane installed. Rift diameter below Level One. Thank you for your timely activation.”

“What about the self-diagnostic program?”

“Scheduled self-diagnostic module lost. Preliminary cause: reverse erosion in Sectors Seven to One Hundred Thirty-Seven. Unable to pinpoint source. Self-diagnostic module reconstruction initiated.”

“Logs.”

The program displayed a dense stream of data before adding, “Additionally, Deep Domain System detected nearby. Connection strength at 0.2%. Please repair as soon as possible.”

Gui Ling ignored this, his expression cold as he scanned the logs.

The exchange was swift, with clear purpose. Wei An guessed the 0.2% must be referring to him.

He glanced at the gun in his hand—an ordinary weapon from the human world, nearly useless against ancient civilization technology. But when gripped by sheer terror in front of the “wall,” it had been the only thing he could cling to…

Then Gui Ling had stepped in, shielding his eyes and resolving the problem.

The conversation continued.

“Erosion duration approximately two thousand hours, exacerbating rule distortion in the Sunken Zone. Please exercise caution. Additionally, the Sunken Zone will surface within twenty minutes. Adjust accordingly.”

“Initiate self-diagnostic program.”

“Self-diagnostic program initiated. Estimated completion time: one thousand one hundred twenty-four hours. Countdown commencing—”

As the system began its countdown, Gui Ling raised a hand and shut it off.

Then he turned to Wei An.

The brief glimpse of personal emotion from earlier was gone—he had reverted to his usual self.

He offered Wei An a smile—handsome, belonging to that cold, distant alien creature. Compared to reality, he existed in a realm closer to human madness, a dark, eerie wilderness of myth.

“Are you okay?” he asked Wei An.

“…What was that?” Wei An exclaimed.

“Nothing. Probably just an accident…” Gui Ling replied, glancing again at where the wall had been with a flicker of confusion before resuming his usual demeanor.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s been dealt with.”

Wei An didn’t think anyone could see something like that and not worry, but he nodded anyway.

Gui Ling swept his gaze across the gray, tomb-like world, his eyes calm and indifferent as if surveying an ancient funeral site.

Then he turned to Wei An, “Let’s go back.”

Wei An gave a quiet “Mm.” He hadn’t been down here long, but even this brief stay in such a place made the human world seem like a distant, brightly lit dream.

He glanced around, wondering where he was now. He had wandered far from where he’d first come through the “door.”

Gui Ling seemed to read his thoughts. “No need. You have the Deep Domain System. We can pass through the spatial membrane directly.”

With that, he turned and walked in a certain direction.

Wei An watched him for a few seconds, picked up the phone he’d dropped earlier, pocketed it, and followed.

Gui Ling reached the edge of the plaza.

There were buildings here—likely residential, not very tall, with large windows and platforms. There were no storefronts or advertisements, and though the streets weren’t wide, they must have once been quite orderly when people still lived here.

Gui Ling headed straight for a passageway nestled within the buildings. It was hard to imagine what purpose such a thing served in the ancient civilization—the corridor was pitch-black, completely enclosed.

Gui Ling stood at the entrance, staring for a few seconds as if calculating something.

His eyes seemed capable of piercing space, locking onto a specific location and mapping a path. The sheer scale of the technology behind this made it seem like magic.

After a moment, Gui Ling glanced back at him and extended his hand.

Wei An studied the gesture before taking it.

It felt like a normal human hand—slender fingers, warm and strong.

Wei An hadn’t held anyone’s hand like this since childhood. It felt intimate, but… such notions of comfort or discomfort belonged to children. For an adult, physical contact was a routine part of life.

It was just that it was Gui Ling, which made it a bit nerve-wracking.

And so, hand in hand with Gui Ling, the two stepped into the narrow passageway.

The moment they crossed into the shadows, the density abruptly shifted—as if they’d entered a space of extreme density and intense energy flow.

The surroundings were dark, but not with the walls and floor of a corridor. It was an indescribably vast expanse, with faint, tearing forces at play.

Gui Ling had led him into a completely different region—some kind of… spatial anomaly zone, a power wielded by the enigmatic ancient civilization, incomprehensible to modern humanity.

For a moment, silver sparks erupted around them, like tiny glyphs—details of the energy flow in this boundless space, faintly visible as they passed through, like static electricity illuminating the veins of an immense, subtle force.

Within this space, an unfathomably vast system operated, like a living entity from the depths of the cosmos, resembling ancient incantations long forgotten, colossal and fleeting before vanishing back into eternal darkness.

Wei An knew the thing in his brain had granted him passage—though incompletely and dangerously so.

Gui Ling held his hand, ensuring direction and safe passage.

The next moment, they crossed the spatial traversal zone.

Wei An gasped sharply. The air carried the damp scent of rain, and the clamor of the human world reached his ears.

People were shouting—about “miracles,” about “descending into hell,” while others filmed videos. Not far away, a professionally lit area marked a news broadcast, where a reporter spoke into the camera: “We’re at Tongyun Square in Taoyuan Province, where an astonishing sight has appeared!”

Wei An realized he and Gui Ling were standing in a walkway meant for mall staff near the underground parking lot of the Flâneur Hotel. Few people were around, and no one had noticed their sudden appearance.

The power was still out, with only safety lights casting dim yellow reflections in the pooled rainwater.

The rain had stopped, but gray mist rose from the city, casting the entire square in an unsettling gloom. The towering pillars of the city loomed like lonely bones suspended in the dark.

Chaos reigned. Some screamed hysterically; others crowded at high-rise windows, their camera flashes visible. Someone had jumped—it was unbelievable what people did when confronted with remnants of the ancient civilization.

Scattered flowers littered the ground, some crushed underfoot, their petals now resembling decayed, suspicious fragments in this light.

No security teams were maintaining order. Everyone was fixated on the rising silhouette of the city—a completely incomprehensible, insane spectacle.

The entire world felt alien, nothing like the familiar commercial hub Wei An knew. It was so dark, so mad—as if part of that city submerged in Deep Space.

Just then, one of the massive pillars trembled and began to sink.

Another wave of screams erupted outside—this time totally deranged.

The colossal ancient city sank back down. The nightmare-like scene defied description, entirely divorced from reality—the climax of a horror story unfolding in Tongyun’s bustling business district.

Wei An stood beside Gui Ling as the man observed the renewed chaos outside. He realized—this was Gui Ling’s doing.

He had just sunk that city back into Deep Space.