Chapter 1: Eternal Night
This novel is translated and hosted on BCatranslation
It all began on the day the sun set and never rose again.
No one knew why it happened, but when darkness fell, it did so completely, as if someone had spilled endless ink across the sky. The world turned into a vast, black ocean without waves. Daylight became little more than a story to whisper around flickering fires, something parents shared with their children to give them hope.
Now, the earth lay frozen under a thick, snowy blanket that climbed nearly halfway up a person’s leg. The cold wind was sharp as a knife, slicing into every gap it could find. In Twin Trees Village, where about forty or fifty families huddled together for warmth, the houses seemed lost under heavy drifts of snow, as if time itself had forgotten they ever existed. The roofs creaked and shuddered in the icy gusts, threatening to take flight at any moment.
Inside one of these dim, buried homes, Qin Ming stirred awake. He was a sixteen-year-old boy who had once been strong and sure-footed, but weeks of sickness had left him thin and tired. He lay on his bed, wrapped in a worn blanket, his stomach rumbling loudly. The bed beneath him was heated by hidden embers—one of the few comforts left in this cold, eternal night—but it barely helped. No matter how many layers he pulled around himself, the chill clawed at his bones.
“Ugh, I’m starving,” he muttered softly, voice scratchy. He hated how desperate he felt just thinking about food. Even a chunk of stale bread would taste like honey right now. His breath turned to white mist in the darkness of his room, and his lungs burned at the icy air, each inhale biting like a mouthful of snow.
He closed his eyes, trying to calm his thoughts. He couldn’t afford to dwell on food—he’d only make himself feel worse. But in spite of the hunger and the chill, something was different today. His head felt clearer than it had in a long time. For weeks, he’d battled a strange illness that made his mind feel like it was wrapped in cotton. Now that fog seemed to be lifting. Maybe he was finally getting better?
Outside, the wind died down. The snow drifted lazily, no longer storming. From the next house over, Qin Ming heard a pair of voices: Lu Ze and Liang Wan Qing, a young couple who had often helped him.
“You’re heading out again? Taking food to Qin Ming?” Liang Wan Qing’s anxious voice carried through the thin walls.
“He’s still a kid,” Lu Ze replied, his tone gentle. “He’s been sick forever. What’s he supposed to do on his own?”
“But we barely have anything left for ourselves!” Liang Wan Qing sounded worried and worn out.
“We’ll find a way,” Lu Ze said softly, as if to convince himself as much as her.
Listening, Qin Ming felt a flush of guilt. He didn’t want to keep leaning on their kindness. Everyone here was struggling just to survive. He had to get better and look after himself.
With a small grunt, he swung his legs over the side of the heated bed. He shrugged into a threadbare cotton coat, then found a tattered old fur coat in a cabinet and draped it over his shoulders. In the pitch-black room, he moved carefully, fingers searching the darkness, warming them with his breath. He’d lost a lot of weight these past weeks, and his black hair, which used to shine, hung limp and dull around his pale face. Still, his eyes, though sunken, held a spark of determination.
A month ago, he had fled from the mountains with a small group. Most of them had frozen or starved after making it back. Qin Ming alone had lingered on, caught in the grip of a strange sickness. Everyone had expected him to die, and yet here he was, alive and, he dared to hope, improving.
He remembered the icy wilderness all too well—the snow that came up to his thighs, the biting wind that whipped at his cheeks, the terror of not knowing if he’d survive. Even now, his heart fluttered at the memory.
Outside, the color of the darkness began to shift, ever so slightly. People in the village called this time “shallow night”—the closest thing they had to a daytime. It wasn’t bright, just a shade or two lighter than the usual blackness. At least now you could make out the shapes of rooftops and fences if you squinted.
Creeeak—the courtyard gate swung open. Qin Ming heard Lu Ze’s grunt as he pushed through the piled snow. Qin Ming stepped forward and forced open his door, which was sealed with ice and snow.
“Lu Ze!” he called, trying to sound cheerful but ending up sounding more like a croak.
Lu Ze turned, carrying a leather bag that shimmered faintly with red light. He emptied its contents into a stone basin in the courtyard—a cascade of glowing, ruby-like stones clinked into place, lighting up the yard. These were “sunstones,” the village’s precious source of light. They didn’t warm anyone, but at least they chased away the crushing darkness for a short while.
Lu Ze straightened and looked at Qin Ming with surprise. “You’re up! Dude, you look way better today,” he said. Lu Ze was older, but not by much—maybe in his early twenties. He flashed a crooked grin. “What, did a miracle just waltz in here while we slept?”
Qin Ming managed a weak smile, trying to sound casual, like any other teenage boy would. “Yeah, guess I’m just too stubborn to stay sick forever,” he joked, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t feel all foggy anymore. It’s like my head’s finally working again.”
“You’re one lucky kid,” Lu Ze said, hauling the rest of the stones inside. Their glow filled the small room with a comforting red light. “Not many survive those mountain fevers. Guess you’re tougher than you look.”
Qin Ming’s stomach let out a loud grumble, and Lu Ze held out a wooden food box with a slight smile. “Here, I brought this for you. It’s not a feast, but better than nothing.”
Qin Ming hesitated, his teenage voice turning uncertain. “I… I heard you and your wife talking. I don’t want to take your food. Seriously, man, I’m feeling way better now. I can—”
Lu Ze waved his hand, cutting Qin Ming off. “Don’t be silly. You helped me once, remember? When I was lost in that pitch-black forest, I heard you yelling for me. You saved my life, kid. Let me return the favor.”
Qin Ming’s mouth watered. He peered inside the box. Bread. Hard and probably stale, but right now it looked better than anything he’d ever seen. “You sure?” he asked softly, feeling a bit awkward.
“Just eat it,” Lu Ze said, pressing the box into his hands. “Get your strength back. Don’t make me regret carrying it all this way.”
“Thanks,” Qin Ming replied, relieved. He ripped off a piece and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing as if it were the best thing he’d ever tasted. The sweetness of simple bread had never seemed so marvelous.
Lu Ze gave him a friendly nod and turned to go, his voice echoing behind him. “Take care, Qin Ming! Call me if you need anything.”
After finishing his meal, Qin Ming felt stronger—like the warmth of life was creeping back into his veins. The aches in his body faded a bit, and his mind felt even clearer.
He decided to step outside for fresh air. Opening the gate, he took cautious steps onto the street. The bitter wind stung his cheeks, and when he breathed, puffs of white mist slipped from his lips. Around him, houses glimmered faintly with the dim light of sunstones.
Someone called out, “Hey, Qin Ming, you’re awake! Feeling better, lad?” Another voice chimed in, “Qin Ming, I can’t believe you’re up and about!” It was Grandma Zhou, the old woman from North Street, hobbling through the snow to get a better look at him.
“I’m alright,” Qin Ming said, trying to sound bright. “Just needed some time, I guess.”
The neighbors eyed him with cautious amazement. He was supposed to be a lost cause, and yet here he stood, slightly hunched but alive.
“Don’t get any wild ideas,” Grandma Zhou warned, lifting a crooked finger toward the darkness beyond the village. “It’s still not safe out there. Who knows what lurks beyond these walls?”
They all knew the trouble ahead: food was scarce. If things didn’t change, the village might starve before another year passed.
Qin Ming couldn’t help but notice how thin Grandma Zhou looked, as if a gentle breeze might send her tumbling into a snowdrift. When the others wandered off, Grandma Zhou tried to press a few withered, dried potatoes into Qin Ming’s hand. He refused, pushing her hand away gently. “No way, Grandma Zhou,” he said, shaking his head. “You need them more than I do.”
As he moved along the street, he heard the crunch of snow under his feet. Most villagers had shoveled their doorsteps, but piles remained here and there. He took careful steps until he reached the village’s edge.
In front of a bigger courtyard stood a small threshing ground. A huge black mountain goat, towering nearly to a person’s shoulder, trudged around and around, turning a heavy stone mill over a pile of silver-tinted wheat. Clearly, not everyone here was starving. Qin Ming watched the goat, noticing how well-fed it looked. It made his empty belly twist with longing. But he pushed the feeling aside. He’d eaten already, and these people had their own secrets and stores.
A burly, bearded man appeared at the courtyard gate and gave him a friendly nod. “Qin Ming! Glad you pulled through, boy! They say when you cheat death, good fortune follows.”
“Thanks, Uncle Yang,” Qin Ming replied, rubbing the back of his head. He glanced at the shiny wheat being ground under the goat’s hooves. “Wow, that’s some fancy wheat you got there,” he said, managing a grin.
“Ah, this is the end of it,” Uncle Yang said, pretending to sigh. “We’ve a lot of mouths to feed.”
“Sure thing,” Qin Ming said politely. He didn’t buy Uncle Yang’s claims of scarcity, but it wasn’t worth an argument.
He kept walking until he reached the Fire Spring. It was a circular stone pool about ten feet wide, ringed by a low wall of rock. Inside, water glowed like embers, lighting the area with a gentle red glow. At its center stood the two famous trees that gave the village its name—one with black leaves, the other with white. Even now, while every other plant had withered or died, these two stood tall, their leaves rustling quietly in the glow.
The Fire Spring’s water was low this season. It didn’t bubble or gush as it once did, but it still offered light and a touch of hope. Qin Ming stepped closer, feeling the faint warmth against the chill of his clothes. In this land of endless darkness, any light seemed precious.
He took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the white and black leaves swaying above the glowing spring. He could feel something stirring inside him—a spark of courage, maybe, or just stubborn resolve. He was alive. He had survived the strange sickness that took so many others. Now it was time to push forward, to see what new path stretched out ahead in this endless night.
So what’s this about?
its too new, i have no idea either. its giving me Elden Ring and LOTR vibes though
Not a fan of it so far, but Deep Sea Embers’s first arc and chapters were kind of a slog to get through yet it ended it up being great and one of my favourite stories. I’ll come back later when there are a few arcs out and see what it’s like then.