Chapter Six: The Circular Aperture

The stone door was pushed open with ease, and Shen Lie’s eyes lit up instantly. The chamber was spacious, with stone racks lining each wall, neatly displaying a variety of weapons, every one appearing extraordinary. In this apocalypse where firearms would soon lose their power, possessing a formidable weapon might just help him survive a little longer. Especially now, trapped in a desperate situation, having these weapons at least spared him the embarrassment of being empty-handed. He might lack food and water, but finally he had gained something.

“Which one should I choose? They all look impressive,” Shen Lie thought, knowing his strength was severely depleted. He had no desire for greed, only wishing to pick one for self-defense—any more and he wouldn’t be able to carry them. Good as they were, he needed something he could actually use.

Naturally, he wanted to select the best. By his estimate, there were at least a hundred weapons in the room, and choosing the finest among them was no easy task.

“This one looks promising...” Alone in the underground chamber, with no one to compete with, Shen Lie was calm. His eyes scanned the racks, settling on a bluish longsword about a meter in length. He walked over and casually picked it up to test its feel.

But as soon as his hand touched the hilt, he froze, stupefied as the sword crumbled into dust at his touch. If joy turning to sorrow could be described with a single phrase, this was it.

He couldn’t tell if the sword had simply aged too much or if there was another reason, but with just a touch it had become powder. Heart pounding, Shen Lie reached for another sword.

Again, it shattered at the slightest contact, even worse than before—he hadn’t even fully grasped it, and a gust of wind seemed to reduce it to ashes.

A tightness gripped his heart. Muttering curses, he began testing the weapons one by one. Exhausted like a dog, he had to admit his luck was truly abysmal; even if the protagonist’s aura blessed a dog, it would never reach him. One by one, every weapon in the chamber turned to dust—none could be picked up.

The most frustrating thing in life isn’t that fate never favors you, but that you’re given a sweet fruit, only to find it’s turned into a stinging slap when you try to taste it, leaving you dazed and seeing stars.

Staring blankly at the powder covering the floor, Shen Lie found himself at a loss for words. Finally, he said nothing, turning swiftly to leave.

This wasn’t the only room here. Shen Lie hurried to the second stone door, hoping its contents had survived. Surely, not every room could be empty-handed? But when he pushed, his face changed—the door wouldn’t budge!

“No way—must it really be this tragic?” After pushing fruitlessly, he kicked the door in frustration and moved on to the next.

Still wouldn’t open.

Wouldn’t open!

Wouldn’t open!

...

There were about a dozen stone doors along the corridor, but aside from the first room—the armory—every other door seemed painted onto the wall, unmoving no matter how much force he applied. Of course, his strength was so depleted as to be nearly negligible.

The faint hope that had just risen was quickly extinguished; despair surged once more. Shen Lie collapsed at the final stone door with a deep sigh, patience fading. If not for the stubborn survival instinct still struggling within him, he might have just lain down and never gotten up again.

“I can’t sleep. I promised my mother I’d live well!” Shen Lie shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He moved his body, reaching into his clothes to pull out a colored photograph.

The photo showed a woman in white, her features gentle and dignified, eyes bright and full of hope. Beside her stood a man in a black suit—not handsome, but clean and neat, smiling at her with happiness shining in his eyes.

These were Shen Lie’s parents, taken on their wedding day—the last surviving image of them, always kept close.

His father hailed from a lineage of tomb raiders, while his mother was a private company employee. Their union was full of contradictions, yet they naturally came together and shared deep affection. Sadly, his father died in a tomb raid, and his mother succumbed to illness two years ago, leaving Shen Lie battered and silent.

Looking at the photo, he recalled his mother’s dying words, her hand clasping his, urging him to live happily. Her gaze was full of reluctance. His eyes grew resolute—he was his parents’ only legacy in the world, and he could not give up. No matter how the world changed, no matter how dire his circumstances, he would struggle; as long as he lived, there was hope!

He gazed once more at the photo, then carefully tucked it away. Its firm feel seemed to fill him with strength. Shen Lie leapt to his feet, took a deep breath, and began to examine the stone doors and the wall at the end of the corridor.

This corridor was a dead end—illogical.

Perhaps the stone doors were stuck from age, but the corridor ending abruptly was strange. Though he hadn’t inherited his father’s tomb-raiding skills, he’d learned a bit from childhood. In underground structures of this scale, corridors typically led to a main hall; they never ended halfway.

Moreover, judging from the spacing of the stone doors on either side, the corridor shouldn’t have been so short. The distance between the wall at the end and the last stone door didn’t match the others. If his guess was correct, this wall was a hidden stone door.

Even knowing he lacked the strength to open it, Shen Lie was unwilling to give up. He searched all around, hoping to find a button or mechanism like the one in the underground pit. If a teleportation array could exist, a second wouldn’t be surprising.

After a fruitless search, he had to admit his skills were limited—the stone wall before him was as smooth as a woman’s skin. Not only could he not find a mechanism, he couldn’t even spot a single dent.

“Looks like I’ll have to go back and face that insect. The crack it came through seems to be a spatial rift—where could it lead?” With nothing to show for his efforts, Shen Lie decided to return to the outside. Better to take his chances than wait for death. The giant insect was terrifying, but the spatial rift it entered through was also a source of hope—it might be his only way out.

Having decided, Shen Lie didn’t hesitate, turning to walk back. But after a few steps, he couldn’t help but look back one last time at the wall blocking the corridor. That last glance made him pause in surprise—his steps halted!

Because from a distance, he could see the whole wall, and immediately noticed something unusual: a round hole as thick as an arm near the top!

The wall was perfectly smooth, yet had this round hole—a clear anomaly. Shen Lie had to investigate; even the slightest hope was worth his effort. He dreaded returning to the surface, where terror reigned—the monstrous insect outside, the sudden appearing and disappearing head in the main hall—he had no courage to face them.

The hole was very high up, beyond even the reach of a world-class high jumper, and his knees were nearly rusted stiff. The other three walls were just as smooth, offering no foothold; reaching the hole unaided was impossible.

But that didn’t stop him. Shen Lie quickly returned to the only stone door he could open. Though all the weapons had turned to dust, the stone racks remained intact, and were made in sections.

He marveled at the longevity of stone compared to metal, and began dismantling the racks, rolling the pieces beneath the hole. Though they were in sections, they were extremely heavy—and with only a shred of strength left, the process was agonizingly slow. By the time he had stacked the stones high enough, half a day had passed.

His stomach rumbled again, hunger gnawing at him. Shen Lie blinked his fading eyes, rallied himself mentally, then managed to stand, climbing atop the stone pile with his last hope.

“Heh, heh heh, ha, haha, hahaha...” Standing on the pile and peering through the hole, Shen Lie let out a dry, desperate laugh—he had found a chance for survival.