What kind of person was he? Or perhaps, what kind of person was I?

This question immediately became the first thing I needed to understand. To the right foot of this colossal portrait was a single door, wrought entirely of pure gold and already ajar, leading into a profound, deep darkness.

I looked up, scrutinizing the face in the massive painting, and realized that its placement here must serve to suppress the doorway; clearly, whatever lay beyond was no minor thing. Glancing back over my shoulder, then checking the compass in my hand, I found I had strayed entirely from the route designed by Zoya.

In that previous, half-conscious state, I had inadvertently deviated, yet stumbled upon this very scene—a convergence that felt like fate. Given this turn, what reason would I have not to enter this door?

However, my flashlight was ruined; even the aluminum casing was shattered, rendering it completely useless. So, I had no choice but to twist the tops of four glow sticks together, fashioning a makeshift source of illumination.

I proceeded cautiously into the hall behind the golden door, and instantly, the dazzling light of the golden chamber dimmed, darkness rushing forward to greet me, accompanied by a faint chill. Once inside, I immediately examined the golden portal.

I noticed that this door hadn't been opened recently; rather, it had been left open since that original time. Although gold scarcely rusts, the door was so immensely heavy and had been ajar for so long that it had clearly settled unevenly.

Armed with this information, I moved further in, and the first thing that caught my eye was a mural painted vividly in red pigment on the wall. The mural was crude, simple, lacking any astonishing, unique craftsmanship—perfectly consistent with the ancient mural techniques of this part of Europe.

Yet, the content within was quite startling. It depicted an ancient version of myself instructing a group of emaciated people on the construction of a three-dimensional triangular structure across a vast, barren wilderness.

"A pyramid?" I murmured, slightly taken aback. I studied the facial features and clothing of those frail figures more closely.

Soon, I spotted a figure kneeling beside the three-dimensional triangular structure, holding a curved staff and wearing a square cloth head covering. Upon closer inspection, I realized that cloth covering was no mere square cloth; it was the Nemes headcloth, unique to the Egyptian Pharaohs, its horizontal stripes symbolizing rays of the sun, which is why Pharaohs were often called 'Sons of the Sun.' Evidently, this Pharaoh held the ancient me in profound reverence, adopting a posture of kneeling worship while observing me supervise the construction of the pyramid.

Beside me in the depiction were strange machines crafted from unknown materials. Some were as large as an adult African elephant, featuring a trunk-like long arm extending from the front, resembling a modern crane.

And those massive stone blocks that comprised the Egyptian pyramids—whose transport scientists to this day cannot explain—were shown floating in the air within this painting. I was too astonished to speak, continuing downward to find the second painting, which illustrated the construction of the famous Lighthouse of Alexandria.

In this scene, the armored me was seated atop a giant fashioned from stone, directing the laborers below in moving massive stones amidst wind, rain, and giant waves. To think that two of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World were overseen by my ancient self was not merely incredible; it was utterly beyond comprehension.

This was not a product of modern computer manipulation or a crude collage; this was an authentic mural. Touching the cool stone beneath my fingers, tracing the simple, archaic lines etched upon it, I knew it was all real.

Adjacent to these murals were depictions of other colossal engineering projects, scenes showing millions of people straining to build structures that defied belief. Though I had never encountered these buildings in any nation's historical records, I knew instinctively that these massive structures must have existed once, only to collapse under the attrition of the ages, perhaps leaving no record behind.

Or perhaps they were built in extremely secluded locations, like underground or beneath the sea, remaining undiscovered until now. One painting, in particular, drew my attention.

Its style differed vastly from the realistic approach of the surrounding murals; it felt almost like a product of the artist's imagination. The scene showed monsters with the bodies of snakes and the heads of humans, hauling immense stones thicker than their own bodies, also in the construction of a pyramid-like edifice.

Behind these human-headed, serpent-bodied creatures stood mountain peaks soaring into the clouds. Curiously, the shape of these peaks was distinct: they were all flat-topped, resembling volcanoes.

While Japan's Mount Fuji is a grand and imposing volcano, it stands alone; yet, in this painting, such volcanoes existed side by side, in great numbers. Most peculiar was the environment, shrouded in swirling mist, where the ancient me was depicted covering his nose and mouth with his hand, apparently guarding against poisoning.

"Strange... where on earth is this place?" I muttered, examining the painting closely.

Then, I quickly noticed a detail I had missed before. Behind the ancient me, resting on the ground, was an object roughly the shape of an olive.

Looking closely, I recognized it: it was one of those Lunbo Boats I had seen beneath the sands of Lop Nur. Next to the Lunbo Boat was a creature resembling a monkey but entirely covered in fur, with shifty, suspicious eyes.

It was holding a small box and busily digging a hole in the ground, preparing to bury it. I watched with intrigue, wondering if this monkey-like being was stealing something?

If the ancient me had arrived in the Lunbo Boat, then that box must contain something critically important to him. Of course, this was a static image; I could not know what happened next.

Perhaps the artist chose to include this detail because they had witnessed it firsthand and deemed it significant. Whether the ancient me ever noticed the anomaly captured in this mural, I couldn't know, but it seemed certain that he had lost something absolutely vital at that location.

Continuing to examine these rough murals, I discovered that the ancient me was more than just a construction foreman; he seemed highly skilled in diplomatic affairs as well. One scene showed him leading a group of people clad in animal skins across a wilderness.

In the drawing, the ancient me was squatting beside some weeds, reaching out to pluck a single stalk of grass. The grass was short, but it bore a cluster of grains, resembling rice paddies.

Damn it... I cursed internally, wondering if this man had discovered rice in the wild and taught the populace cultivation—wasn't that the legendary deed of Shennong?

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