Chapter 2: The Fire Spring
Translated and hosted only on Bcatranslation
The Fire Spring sat in a circle of smooth stones, its soft, glowing mist rising into the dim air and giving off a gentle, comforting light. In this dark and endless world, the spring felt almost like a shining lantern in a cave—something rare and precious, a sign that not all hope was lost. Qin Ming knelt beside the warm pool, holding a Sunstone in his hand. The stone, smooth and red as polished coral, gave off a glow that cradled his fingers in gentle warmth. Everyone in the village depended on these Sunstones. When one dimmed, they brought it here to soak up light again. After a little time, it would shine like new, ready to chase away the darkness.
The water itself was a deep, fiery red, rippling with flickers that looked like dancing flames. It wasn’t truly fire or plain water. It felt warm—just about as warm as a human body—and gave off a glow that reminded Qin Ming of something strange and in-between, something neither fully liquid nor solid. In these times, when the sun no longer rose and everyone lived between the “shallow night” and “deep night,” the Fire Spring was simply everything. Without it, crops wouldn’t grow, not even the stubborn Silver Wheat or the knobbly ground potatoes. Without its light, people would weaken. In a world without a sun, the Fire Spring had become as dear as life itself.
Though there were no real sunlit seasons, time still passed, bringing a kind of spring and summer when the Fire Spring bubbled happily, and the villagers could draw enough of its bright water to grow their tiny fields. When winter came, the spring slowed, just as it had now in Twin Trees Village. Its glow remained, but these days it could barely revive their Sunstones. There certainly wasn’t enough to water the fields and coax the crops from the soil.
For a moment, Qin Ming stayed still, squinting into the lighter part of the night—if one could call it “light.” It was not quite as dark as it would be later, and now and then he could see a faint glow at the edge of the world, outlining the old forest. But deep night would fall soon, swallowing everything until even the trees seemed to hush themselves.
Right now, Twin Trees Village was struggling more than usual. The harvest had been wrecked by strange, sharp-beaked birds, the fields left bare and lifeless. Ant swarms had come and gone, and troubles with other people had made things even worse. Now the villagers braced themselves for a winter of hunger and worry.
Qin Ming stood, scooping up a handful of snow. His mind drifted to when he could next head out, maybe find something—anything—to eat. The forest out there was darker than midnight ink, with snow piled higher than his chest. A biting wind crept beneath his clothes, making him shiver, but behind him the Fire Spring still shimmered, its warm glow battling back the cold.
He turned and headed toward the village. The houses were lit by gentle Sunstone lamps, each one a tiny island of light in a sea of blackness. Behind him, the wilderness loomed like a giant, hungry beast waiting for its chance.
Back at his small courtyard, Qin Ming began his daily exercises. He stretched and moved through each familiar step like a quiet dance, letting his body guide itself. By the time he finished, sweat trickled down his forehead, and a gentle warmth spread through him. He breathed deeply, feeling a bit stronger. Only then did he stop.
Indoors, Qin Ming pulled out a little crystal bottle, no longer than his thumb. It was beautifully carved, holding a blue liquid that had partly frozen into icy shards. He held it in the glow of the Fire Spring’s light and read the tiny words etched onto it: “Mineral Essence.” When he tilted it, the blue liquid swirled like a miniature storm.
He fought the urge to open it. It wasn’t the right moment. He still needed to recover fully. He’d found this precious bottle in the distant mountains—he’d nearly lost his life doing so. He had only heard rumors of Mineral Essence before. If taken at the right time, people said it could boost your strength and energy.
“Maybe I’ll give it a shot in a few days,” he muttered, sliding the bottle safely away.
A cold gust blew through the courtyard, sprinkling a few snowflakes onto the ground. Qin Ming lived alone, so it was always quiet here. A bit lonely, yes, but he’d grown used to that. Just as the shallow night was drawing to a close, two visitors arrived: Lu Ze and a small boy, Wen Rui, bundled up in thick layers. The kid’s cheeks were flushed bright red from the chill.
Qin Ming smiled, pointing at the boy’s new height. “Wen Rui! Dude, you’re shooting up like a weed!” he teased, trying to sound casual and cheerful. “Next time I see you, I bet you’ll be taller than me.”
The boy’s eyes shone. “Uncle Qin, are you feeling better?” he asked softly, his voice hopeful and innocent.
Qin Ming gave a lopsided grin. “Yeah, I’m doing all right. Once I’m totally good again, I’ll finally catch that Talking Sparrow you’ve been begging about, okay?”
Wen Rui’s eyes went wide, and he practically bounced. “For real? A sparrow that can talk?! That’s so cool!” He clapped his hands, beaming.
Lu Ze handed Qin Ming a small food box. “Don’t go all heroic, Qin Ming. It’s still pretty rough out there,” he said quietly.
Qin Ming opened the box to find Rock Rice inside—tough and chewy but at least filling. His stomach grumbled, and he noticed a few soft, red dates mixed in. A rare treat indeed. He glanced at Wen Rui and saw the boy gazing at those sweet dates, swallowing nervously.
Qin Ming’s heart twisted a bit. He knelt down and looked Wen Rui in the eye. “Hey, little guy… still hungry, huh?”
Lu Ze spoke up, shaking his head. “Nah, he’s just eyeing the dates,” he said, as if trying to protect Wen Rui’s pride.
Qin Ming fished out the dates and held them toward the boy, but Lu Ze tried to stop him. “Those are meant for you,” Lu Ze insisted. “My wife put them in to help you get your strength back. Don’t just give them away.”
At that moment, Liang Wan Qing showed up, frowning slightly at Wen Rui. “Uncle Qin needs to get better,” she said firmly. “No being greedy, Wen Rui. We have almost no meat, no medicine, nothing left.”
Wen Rui looked down, embarrassed. “Uncle Qin, please eat them. Get better soon. I’m not hungry,” he said, voice small.
Qin Ming’s chest tightened. He smiled gently and patted Wen Rui’s head. Ignoring Lu Ze’s protests, he pressed the dates into the boy’s hand. The kid’s face lit up, though he tried to hide it. Qin Ming nodded at Lu Ze and Liang Wan Qing, grateful for their help even if he didn’t say much out loud. He thanked them and asked about what was happening outside.
Liang Wan Qing stayed a short while, chatting about the village’s troubles before leaving, saying she had a young child waiting at home. After she left, Lu Ze lingered.
“There’s been something big roaming the forest,” Lu Ze said, sounding worried. “Some folks got hurt. You really shouldn’t head out alone.”
Qin Ming nodded seriously. “Yeah, I get it,” he said, his tone calmer now. He remembered how the snowfall might be making the beasts desperate—or maybe something else was stirring. His memory drifted back to a dangerous day a month ago, when he and three others had gone into the pitch-black woods and nearly hadn’t come back.
He recalled how the ground had suddenly crumbled, dropping them into a deep crevice. Everything was perfectly black until a beam of dazzling light suddenly flared. Qin Ming’s heart had hammered in his chest, certain he’d met his end. Then strange silver threads of light appeared like glowing webs. He could hardly tell up from down. The others passed out cold.
When the light vanished, Qin Ming dragged the others out to safety. They took ages to wake up, and during that strange moment, he found the crystal bottle. Nearby, he spotted bodies wearing fine clothes—wealthy travelers, perhaps—now lifeless. He kept the bottle secret, not wanting to cause any rumors.
When they finished their simple meal, Qin Ming and Lu Ze talked quietly. Wen Rui listened with wide eyes. After a while, Qin Ming turned to the boy and grinned. “Hey, Wen Rui, once I’m back in action, I’ll get you all the dates and hazelnuts you could ever ask for.”
The boy’s cheeks flushed pink, and he asked in a hushed voice, “Um… could there be… meat too?”
Qin Ming winked. “Totally,” he said, ruffling the boy’s messy hair. “I’ll get you something that’ll make your mouth water.”
Soon it was time for Lu Ze and Wen Rui to leave. Inside, the Sunstone’s glow was dimming in its copper basin. Qin Ming sat cross-legged on the floor, closing his eyes and picturing himself moving through his training steps again, each movement neat and crisp in his mind. He focused until he felt calm and clear, letting the rest of the world fade into nothing but stillness.
When he opened his eyes, he almost jumped. He thought he’d seen something—a faint silver shimmer sliding across his skin, gone in an instant. “Am I seeing things?” he muttered, puzzled. He’d practiced these moves for years but never witnessed anything like that before.
His clothes were damp with sweat, as if he’d been working out hard. But instead of feeling tired, he felt energized—more alive than he had in weeks. He stepped into the courtyard, feeling as if the energy inside him glowed brighter than the Sunstone lights. He moved again, pushing himself until his breath steamed in the cold night air. The sickness that had clung to him felt like it was finally slipping away. When he stopped, he caught another flicker of that silver glow. Then it vanished once more.
“Whoa, this is definitely weird,” he said under his breath. There was a kind of excitement thrumming through him. Something was changing, something that made him feel warmer and stronger than he’d felt since getting sick.
His stomach growled loudly, reminding him he had hardly eaten enough. He couldn’t just mooch more food off Lu Ze. He had to be smart. He decided it was time to rest.
He lit a tiny fire and heated some water for a quick wash. In the water’s reflection, he noticed his face looked healthier, a bit of color back in his cheeks. “Nice. I’m nearly back on my feet,” he murmured, pleased. “I’ll set out in the morning.”
He carried his dim Sunstone back to the Fire Spring to recharge it, then grabbed a small glowing chunk to light his way home. One by one, the village’s lights winked out, and the darkness slipped deeper into the night. Outside, the wind howled, and the snow drifted, piling silently on roofs and fences.
“I’m starving,” Qin Ming grumbled. It wasn’t even time to sleep yet, but his stomach felt like it was trying to gnaw a hole through him. He laughed at himself—he’d eat a scruffy old gopher if one dared to show itself. But even the wild creatures seemed to have vanished, hiding from the cold and hunger.
He tried to lie down, closing his eyes. The hunger tugged at him, but he forced his thoughts toward brighter things: Wen Rui’s smiling face, that strange silver shimmer, maybe something good waiting out there in the forest. He just had to find it.
His mind drifted to memories of sweet berries and a roast lamb leg turning over a fire, its smell making him drool. “Stop it,” he scolded himself, giving his arm a little pinch. “No daydreaming about feasts.”
He promised himself he would set out when shallow night returned, do something to help everyone, and maybe make Wen Rui’s wish come true. That thought made him smile. He pictured the boy’s excited face, and slowly, Qin Ming dozed off. His dreams were full of warm fires, good food, and just a hint of silver light dancing at the edges of his mind.