Lin was silently stabbed by Chu Qianli’s remark. Though inwardly furious, he remained outwardly calm and said deliberately, “I understand that everyone still remembers some minor unpleasantness from before, but as we said earlier, everyone should take a step back and prioritize cooperation. The development of the ruins should be put above past grudges.”
“You are all so calculating. If I truly had some secret agenda, wouldn’t you have known by now?” Lin raised an eyebrow.
This statement subtly accused the Chinese side of lacking a big-picture view.
Chu Qianli waved her hand: “Ah, grudges or no grudges, don’t think so much. We simply go by affinity. We’re all fighting for the same goal. Even if you don’t enter the ruins, you can still shine in other positions!”
Anyone can say such pleasantries, but she naturally wouldn’t be outdone.
Q noticed that everyone was not convinced by Lin, so he proposed, “Then let the development and exploration be handled by Abner, I will be responsible for security near the ruins, and Lin continues investigating the kidnapped researchers, while coordinating communication with the embassy. How does that sound?”
Since the Chinese side resisted Lin’s involvement, Q had to step up personally.
Joe was inexplicably kidnapped in country H, and his country’s embassy also made a statement.
Pan Yicheng: “We have no objections. This arrangement is good. It won’t delay progress and can help find the missing people.”
After the meeting, everyone agreed, except Lin, whose face was sullen.
Afterwards, Lin faced Shi Zhuoqu. He spun a pen with displeasure and said coldly, “This is clearly to completely marginalize me.”
Lin had expected the Chinese side’s opposition, but did not expect Q to concede.
Shi Zhuoqu said, “Because Chu Qianli holds the last key, Q can’t just ignore the Chinese side’s opinion.”
The sixth bead hasn’t dropped yet; openly clashing with the Chinese side would be unwise.
“Whatever. I don’t care what Q thinks anymore,” Lin leaned back in his chair and ordered, “You go contact country A. I agreed to their proposal.”
Country A, after snatching the Runestone and Joe, secretly contacted Lin and others seeking an alliance. Though Mondeson’s power is vast, factional struggles exist within, meaning internal divisions are possible.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Shi Zhuoqu was stunned, “But you’re already Mondeson’s next in line…”
“Zhizhuo, don’t tell me you think I got my current position for free?” Lin said calmly. “Don’t you find our names strange? Q? And Lin?”
“Q used to be Quinto. Back then, the family had many children whose names started with Q. But once he became the leader, he got a new name — Q. It represents an era.”
This was Mondeson’s rule: family heads get a single-letter name, which is recorded in history. Later generations, when reading the records, only know “First Q,” “Second Q,” but don’t know about the candidates who were rejected.
Shi Zhuoqu was stunned, unaware of this.
“So I don’t have everything yet,” Lin’s gaze deepened. “But soon, I will be the true L.”
Q has glorified Mondeson, and now it’s his turn.
“When they enter the ruins, they must bring the keys. If we snatch the keys before placement, half the battle is already won.”
As long as Lin holds the keys, he can team up with country A to preemptively force a palace coup, and Q will have no way to stop it.
On the other side, after the meeting, Chu Qianli found Abner and proposed going again to the Gate of Truth. The second time walking through the corridor, she was still dizzy but felt better than the first time when she had a splitting headache.
Tan Muxing had been watching her face carefully and helped rub her temples upon reaching the spacious hall.
Chu Qianli came to the hall to ponder the Seven Stars alignment and to decipher the secret of the seventh bead.
The crystal ball on the pillar now cannot be removed no matter how outsiders try to twist it.
Chu Qianli examined the patterns on the pillar and curiously asked, “Is this pillar related to the Kabbalah?”
Abner nodded, calmly saying, “Yes, the carvings on the pillar resemble the Kabbalistic Tree of Life. The placement points for the pendulum also have many mechanisms from the same source.”
Tan Muxing felt the pillar was strangely familiar and tentatively said, “I recall that the design style of the Mondeson family crest is quite similar to this pillar.”
The Mondeson crest’s main motif is a snake and an apple, but it also includes many similar elements.
Abner explained, “Their family crest is derived from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, which is the opposite of the Tree of Life. Humanity’s downward fall is the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil — the process of Adam and Eve being expelled from Eden. The reverse, upward path to return to immortality is the Tree of Life. One must conquer the inner demons to succeed.”
Tan Muxing seemed to understand vaguely.
Abner smiled: “It is said that Adam and Eve first ate the fruit from the Tree of Life and lived forever in Eden, free and pure. They were only forbidden from eating the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. But the final outcome, as you know, was different.”
“They were tempted by the serpent to eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil?”
“Yes. Many who read this story only see God’s unilateral command and think it unfair that Adam and Eve were expelled for knowing good and evil and rebelling against divine authority. But they do not understand the metaphor behind the fruit of knowledge.”
Chu Qianli replied calmly, “The laws of the world originally have no notions of good or evil. The concept of good and evil arises purely from human self-awareness and all stem from desire.”
Abner agreed deeply, “Correct. Adam and Eve already had immortality and lived freely in Eden. But they could not control their desires and broke the covenant with God. That was the original sin.”
This sin continues into the future. Humans can break covenants with God, and also with each other. Hence, deceit, fraud, and hypocrisy endlessly arise.
Just at that moment, someone at the corridor entrance called for Abner, interrupting the trio’s conversation.
“Although I’d love to keep studying with you, Q is about to deploy personnel here, and I have to go assist,” Abner said regretfully. “Let’s talk more about this next time.”
After Abner left, Tan Muxing reflected on the earlier conversation and asked in confusion, “Why is humanity’s descent represented by the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil? Is knowing good and evil a bad thing?”
“Hmm, how to explain this… Let’s just say that humans know good and evil, but they don’t know how to distinguish between them. Once the concept exists but the standards aren’t unified, purity is lost.”
Chu Qianli cheerfully gave an example: “For instance, back then when Xingxing hit me, that was defined as evil. Later, it evolved into Xingxing yelling at me being evil. Then it became Xingxing thinking badly of me as evil. And then, if Xingxing didn’t go along with what I wanted, that too became evil…”
Tan Muxing quietly asked, “…You’re not implying anything with this, right?”
“That’s exactly the problem — inconsistent standards!” Chu Qianli laughed. “Because humans are not omniscient or omnipotent, their judgments are always tinted by subjectivity. Sometimes, they even release greater malice under the banner of good intentions. So we say people know good and evil, but cannot truly distinguish between them.”
“There are even theories that God originally planned to give Adam and Eve the fruit of knowledge, but only after they completed the task of spreading love across the land. But they didn’t wait for their work to finish and ate it early. Eating the fruit of knowledge grants the power of judgment — they were too eager to gain that ability, and ended up falling into sin.”
Chu Qianli said softly, “People who judge others lightly are already guilty. Because they do a few good deeds, they judge themselves as good, and when others make even the slightest mistake, they are judged as evil. Without true love and compassion, every judgment is made in self-interest — and is therefore even more evil.”
Tan Muxing nodded thoughtfully. “I see.”
“But this is all internal debate among theists,” Chu Qianli added, finishing her inspection of the crystal-ball-topped pillar. She walked over to the Gate of Truth and decisively said, “If we look at it from an atheistic perspective, it simply means: judge less, and mind your own business!”
The two squatted in front of the Gate of Truth to study the Seven Stars Alignment. There were currently five beads, and with the tarot card, it made six. But one bead was still missing.
Chu Qianli carefully interpreted the symbols around the Gate of Truth. Before long, she began to feel a headache again. She shook her head to try to shake off the overexertion of her brain.
Tan Muxing asked worriedly, “Still feeling awful?”
She always seemed to suffer especially when divining anything related to the ruins.
The ruins carried a high density of information, overwhelming to those who were sensitive.
“Sigh, it’s just like how modern computers can’t process future programs — the mainframe overheats,” Chu Qianli groaned. “But I’m already the strongest computing power of our time. It has to be me doing the deduction — no one else can handle it…”
Tan Muxing watched her “Versailles moment” unfold: “?”
After saying this, Chu Qianli continued racking her brain in front of the Gate of Truth. She squatted there until her feet went numb before finally standing up to relieve the stiffness.
“I just feel like this ruin isn’t complete,” Chu Qianli said, scanning it up and down in confusion. “The information on the gate is incomplete, and the traces left behind come from different time periods.”
Thinking it over, the six previously placed keys weren’t installed all at once either — clearly, people came across centuries. Yet they were all categorized into the Seven Stars system. There must be some overarching mechanism tying them together.
Everyone had found seven keys and then noticed the seven alignment slots, so they jumped to the conclusion that each key fit into one slot and would open the ruins. But they never questioned the reason behind the ruins’ construction — or even whether the ruin was complete.
The mechanisms at each key site could be reset. Mei Rujing and others had already tested them — the six plum blossom columns were still usable. But the Seven Stars alignment seemed to reset only every seven days.
“The ruin is incomplete?” Tan Muxing was stunned. “I was already surprised when I arrived. You said they were built by people from different eras, but they all feel pretty similar in style. If it were a fashion designer, they’d at least unify the concept first.”
Although each mechanism had its own uniqueness, many elements were nearly identical — such as recorded information about the gate or hidden deadly traps deeper inside.
“Unifying the concept?” Chu Qianli pondered aloud. “But there’s no chief architect… how could the concept be unified?”
As soon as she said that, something suddenly struck her. Inspiration flashed in her mind, and she turned and ran down the narrow corridor, focusing intently on the patterns on the walls.
If the concept needed to be unified, then it must have come from the murals on the walls — the one place every person had to pass through upon entry.
The builders were mystical geniuses from their respective eras. They would certainly be extremely sensitive to murals and might have gained insight from them!
Chu Qianli took Tan Muxing back to the corridor. This time, they didn’t just walk through it but instead carefully observed everything.
Moments later, Chu Qianli’s head began to spin. Countless images burst into her mind — from mankind striking stones to create fire, to trains racing down the tracks. A torrent of information flooded in, spanning thousands of years of history, not to mention potential futures.
Last time, she had deliberately avoided the murals and barely made it through. But to fully immerse herself now — she couldn’t even last a few minutes.
Seeing her face turn pale, Tan Muxing tried to persuade her, “Maybe they digested it bit by bit too. After all, building this place must have taken a long time. You can’t expect to absorb it all in one day.”
Abner said he had a fever the first time he passed through the corridor. But each time he walked it afterward, he improved. Maybe this required patience.
“But the Seven Stars alignment can’t wait that long,” Chu Qianli replied. “If we don’t recover the Ruen Stone, it’s going to shut down soon.”
Chu Qianli forced herself to continue walking through the corridor. Her past fortune-telling work couldn’t compare to this — the mental strain of the corridor exceeded ten thousand readings, a million readings, even a hundred million!
Tan Muxing followed her, deeply worried.
Before long, Chu Qianli finally reached her limit. She crouched down, clutching her head with both hands, curling into a ball to try and alleviate the pain erupting inside her skull.
Tan Muxing’s expression changed slightly. He shielded her vision and said, unusually firm, “No more. You need to rest.”
She used to feel joy studying astrology, but now it seemed like a source of deep suffering.
Huang Jue had collapsed inside the corridor before—there was no guarantee she wouldn’t have a strong reaction too.
Chu Qianli initially intended to grit her teeth and endure the pain, but upon seeing Tan Muxing’s serious expression, she hesitated and gave him a furtive look, like a small animal quietly observing from the shadows.
Tan Muxing was usually easygoing, but now he was serious: “Looking at me with those eyes won’t work either.”
This concerned her health—she couldn’t take reckless risks.
Sensing his stubbornness, Chu Qianli’s eyes shifted, and she immediately changed tactics, putting on a pitiful face and whining, “Xingxing, dizzy… piggyback.”
“…”
Tan Muxing tried to keep a firm attitude, and she instantly changed her strategy again.
Looking into her eager, puppy-dog eyes, Tan Muxing had no way to resist. He stoically carried her on his back and simply walked straight through the corridor, leaving the hall where the Gate of Truth was located.
Chu Qianli rested on his back and sneakily glanced at the murals again. The headache returned. Instinctively, she raised her hand to her head.
Tan Muxing noticed her little movement and hesitantly asked, “Are you looking again?”
“No, no! Of course not!” Chu Qianli rubbed her chin against him and said softly, “I’m really dizzy, truly dizzy.”
Tan Muxing had no solution at this point. Scolding didn’t work—she’d start whining, gauging his mood, trying various ways to act cute or throw tantrums. Otherwise, she’d just cling and pester him endlessly. She was absurdly cunning.
With a good-natured tone, Tan Muxing said, “If you really want to look, do it later. You still need to rest for now.”
Chu Qianli lowered her head and muttered, “…Fine.”
She knew Tan Muxing was right. Staying in that place too long was too overwhelming. But she was also worried there wouldn’t be enough time left.
The two rested outside for a while. Once she had recovered a bit, they went back and forth through the corridor several more times—but still got nowhere.
“Xingxing, let’s go back. We’ll have to place the Tarot card for now.”
Even Chu Qianli had to admit defeat this time—there was no way to grasp everything in a single day.
The day and night cycles in Country H were peculiar. The crystal-clear sky was perennially veiled in misty gray clouds, like a pale watercolor painting, slowly spreading out. The sun gave the light clouds a soft glow, but in the chilly, snowy wind, even the sun couldn’t climb high and soon disappeared again.
The task of placing the sixth key came quickly.
At the Tarot placement site, the area was teeming with people—not just researchers, but also Chinese armed police and H nation’s teams, guarding the area for safety.
Pan Yi Cheng surveyed the landscape around them. “There’s actually a dormant volcano here.”
“That’s also why we’re being cautious in the excavation,” Abner said with a smile. “If someone recklessly disturbed the ruins, it could trigger a catastrophic disaster—and in the end, leave nothing behind.”
Though dormant, a volcano still posed real danger.
Mei Rujing and Xu Zaiyuan were currently searching for the seventh bead. Their knowledge of Western occultism wasn’t deep, so they hadn’t come along today.
The Tarot placement site was a narrow tunnel leading underground. Since Panyi Cheng was older and not very mobile, Liu Jun had him wait at the surface, while a portion of the armed police accompanied them below.
Chu Qianli and Tan Muxing followed the team, with Abner joining them as well.
Chu Qianli asked, “Don’t you need to check in with Q today?”
“He already finished setting up his people in the hall. He doesn’t need me at the moment, so I came here instead,” Abner replied. “Rather than dealing with all that other stuff, I’m genuinely interested in this.”
The tunnel walls were streaked with colors—traces left by natural erosion.
Once the group reached the bottom, they finally saw the mechanism in full. Before them lay an enormous, dark abyss—its depth impossible to gauge. Three massive cylindrical pillars spanned across the chasm like suspended bridges.
At the edge of the chasm stood a stone slab, etched with neatly arranged tiny compartments—exactly seventy-eight of them, matching the number of Tarot cards.
Abner was stunned. “This is different from the pendulum setup—there’s no place to directly insert anything.”
Each slot on the stone slab was only the size of an ice cube—clearly too small to hold Tarot cards.
Chu Qianli studied it carefully. She took out the Infant Stone Tarot deck, quickly picked out twelve cards, and asked the others, “Does anyone have water?”
Tan Muxing pulled out a bottle of mineral water from his bag and handed it to her, already unscrewed.
When Chu Qianli had previously tried fitting the Major and Minor Arcana together to form a starry sky image, she ended up with twelve extra Tarot cards. Now, she poured water into the corresponding twelve small slots to see if it would trigger the mechanism.
All twelve compartments were filled with clean water—yet nothing changed within the ruins.
Everyone looked at each other in confusion.
Chu Qianli scratched her head in surprise. “Is it supposed to be mercury or something? How did ancient occultists even do their experiments?”
The next second, the three giant pillars rumbled loudly—their sides extending several segments that looked like they could interlock. The pillar surfaces were covered with intricate carvings, with circular rings spaced every few steps. With the newly emerged extensions, the structure was unmistakable—
Abner’s eyes lit up with awe. “This is the Kabbalistic Tree of Life!”
The three columns represented the Pillars of Severity, Balance, and Mercy. The twenty-two new paths connecting them perfectly formed the Tree of Life structure.
Numbers 1 through 10 were the ten Sephirot (emanations), and 11 through 32 were the paths connecting them—exactly corresponding to the twenty-two Major Arcana cards.
Chu Qianli closely examined the columns and noticed pressure plates at the top. She thought aloud, “Looks like we need to step on them in a specific order.”
Beneath the columns was pitch-black emptiness—utter silence. No one knew what would happen if someone slipped and fell. It looked extremely dangerous.
Liu Jun was about to volunteer himself, but Abner stopped him.
Abner said, “The patterns here are too subtle. If you’re not familiar with them, you might step on the wrong one.”
Liu Jun could understand Taoist mechanics but wasn’t well-versed in Western occultism.
Chu Qianli suggested, “We can use safety ropes and send three people. Since the pillars are spaced apart, one person per pillar should reduce the risk. I’ll be one, Abner another, and then…”
Chu Qianli scanned the team, looking for others familiar with astrology, but then saw Tan Muxing raise his hand. “I’ll do it.”
Chu Qianli was momentarily stunned.
Tan Muxing examined the patterns along the path. “These correspond to the Tarot cards, right? I think I’ve seen them before.”
Chu Qianli had once given him a Fool card, and he had looked into Tarot knowledge afterward. While he didn’t use it for divination, he had developed an understanding of the cultural background.
“That’s good enough,” Abner said. “Each of us takes one pillar.”
