Chapter 4: The Ambush
This novel is translated and hosted on BCatranslation
Qin Ming pulled the rough, beast-hide bag snugly over his shoulder as he trudged back along the narrow, snow-covered track. He couldn’t help feeling rather pleased with himself—today’s catch had been decent, more than enough to keep hunger at bay for a while. He couldn’t wait to reach home and store it safely.
He moved carefully, placing each footstep with purpose. Beneath the thick layer of snow, the ground was full of jagged stones and hidden dips that made every step tricky. Still, Qin Ming didn’t complain. He had food in that bag and that meant security—at least for a little while. If he kept training hard, staying focused on all those tough exercises, he might just grow stronger and more skilled soon. Spring wasn’t too far off, and that thought gave him hope.
Early spring was always a time of renewal—when the heavy blanket of snow began to melt, leaving the hills and trees refreshed and alive. Soon, warm winds would drift through the valley, and hot springs would bubble up again, coaxing tiny green shoots to stretch toward the sunstones. He longed for that bright change, when the world would stir from its winter sleep and everything would feel different.
But just as he reached the edge of the forest, Qin Ming’s senses prickled. He halted at once, letting the bag slip from his shoulder to the ground. Clutching his hunting fork tight in both hands, he whirled around, peering into the darkness between the trees.
Suddenly, he spotted them: two gleaming, crimson eyes glowing in the blackness, rushing straight at him. He could feel their menace even from a distance. A foul, rotting smell swept over him, turning his stomach. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t some ordinary wild animal.
“Aw, great,” Qin Ming muttered, trying to sound braver than he felt. “Just what I needed tonight.” He jammed the fork’s base into the snow, reached for his bow, and drew it with a swift, practiced motion. His strong arms pulled the string until it quivered with tension. Without hesitation, he let an iron-tipped arrow fly. The bowstring’s twang rang out into the silent night, and he held his breath as the arrow whistled forward.
The charging beast faltered, its glowing eyes jerking sideways. Qin Ming took his chance, firing arrow after arrow, each one splitting the icy air, each one aimed true. He couldn’t see the creature clearly—only that it was large, cunning, and dangerous. A low growl rumbled from the dark woods, and the crimson eyes vanished. Qin Ming could hear branches snap as the beast took cover behind the trees.
He stayed on alert, heart pounding, knowing it was wounded but not dead. Hiding in the dark, the creature could try another sudden attack. Qin Ming snatched up his fork and bag and sprinted out of the forest, back into the open snowfield. At least out here, he could see it coming.
A noise from behind made him freeze—a heavy rustling, something plowing through drifts of snow. Qin Ming loosed another arrow, but it thudded uselessly into a thick tree trunk, sending a shower of snow into the air. The beast slipped away again, its movements silent and eerie. It didn’t behave like normal wildlife—no panicked flight, no reckless charge. It seemed almost clever, staying hidden, biding its time.
Qin Ming glared into the gloom, every muscle tense. The pair of crimson eyes flashed between the dark trunks. He gritted his teeth. “You wanna try me again?” he said under his breath, voice low and steady, as if daring the monster to come closer. But it didn’t. His arrows had kept it at bay. After a long, angry growl, the eyes vanished for good. Qin Ming was left alone in the quiet snowfall.
He frowned. Even in the dim light he could tell that the shape had stood upright, almost human-like. What on earth was it? He backed away slowly, never lowering his guard. Although the village wasn’t far now—only about a mile from the Fire Spring—he knew all too well that danger could strike even close to home. The elders had warned him: never relax your vigilance until you are safely behind the village walls.
…
Beyond Twin Trees Village, three young men huddled together, stamping their feet and rubbing their frozen hands. They were waiting for Qin Ming to return, and from the way they cast nervous glances about, it was clear they were up to no good.
“This is ridiculous,” grumbled one, his breath puffing out like a tiny white cloud. “He’s probably ended up dead in those woods. Why are we still here?”
Another shrugged. “What’s the rush? What if he comes back like Old Li once did, dragging some animal that froze to death? That’d be easy pickings.”
These three were known slackers, too lazy to go hunting themselves but always eager to steal from someone braver. Tonight, they planned to jump Qin Ming and snatch whatever he brought back.
“Just remember,” the third one muttered nervously, “he’s quick and strong. Last thing we want is him beating us silly.”
“Don’t worry,” said the first lad with a smirk. “He was sick recently. He’ll be weak. We’ll toss a sack over his head and take his stuff. Easy.”
They didn’t mean to kill him—just rob him a bit, show him who was boss. But little did they know, Qin Ming was already onto them.
Still shaken from the encounter with the strange beast, Qin Ming noticed their silhouettes long before he drew near. He dropped low into the shoulder-high snow, creeping quietly. Soon he recognized them as troublemakers from the village, the sort who bragged a lot but never risked their own necks. Qin Ming’s lips thinned into a grim line. They wanted to jump him now? After everything he’d been through? They had no idea what he’d faced tonight.
The three young men—Hu Yong, Ma Yang, and Wang You Ping—crouched inside a makeshift snow hole, trying to block the biting wind. They chatted carelessly, sure Qin Ming would return much later.
“Look, no more talking when we see him,” hissed Ma Yang, ears red from cold.
Hu Yong nodded. “Right. We jump him, quick and hard. Grab what he’s got and go.”
“I’m freezing,” whined Wang You Ping. “He’d better show up soon with something decent. I can’t feel my toes.”
Without warning, their snow shelter caved in. Startled, they choked on snow, coughing and sputtering. Hu Yong staggered upright, only to be met by Qin Ming’s boot smashing into his face. He yelped, reeling backwards. Before he could protest, Qin Ming brought the blunt end of his hunting fork down hard on Hu Yong’s shoulder. Hu Yong howled, sinking into the drift.
Ma Yang had barely poked his head out before Qin Ming’s foot struck him right on the nose. He toppled back, wailing and sobbing, tears freezing on his cheeks.
Wang You Ping, hearing their muffled screams, tried to burrow deeper into the snow, terrified to pop up. But a sudden sharp jab in his back—just enough to break the skin—forced him upward. He whimpered, “No—no, please! Don’t kill me!” He realized, in utter shame, that he’d wet himself.
Qin Ming stood over them, chest heaving. He had no intention of killing them, but they needed a good scare. He hooked Wang You Ping by the collar and tossed him aside as if he weighed nothing. The boy soared three meters and landed face-first in another heap of snow.
“Q-Qin Ming!” they stammered, trembling. “We—we’re sorry! We live in the same village—please, don’t hurt us!” Their eyes shone with panic, and their courage melted away like snow in springtime.
They’d brought knives and clubs, but after seeing Qin Ming’s fierce glare, they didn’t dare lift a finger. They were all bark and no bite—bullies who picked on the weak but shrank at real danger.
Qin Ming forced them to their knees and gave them a thorough beating, enough to make sure they’d never try this stunt again. By the time he was done, their cheeks were swollen and their lips bleeding. They whimpered and begged, promising never to bother him or anyone else again.
With a warning glare, Qin Ming sent them staggering off. They weren’t truly evil, just foolish and lazy. A hard lesson should put them straight.
…
Meanwhile, beyond the forest where Qin Ming had confronted the mysterious beast, a small donkey plodded quietly through the snow, heading toward the mountains. On its back perched a spotless white weasel, sitting with legs folded, facing backward as though it were a wise old traveler on a long journey.
Not far away, the strange creature Qin Ming had wounded sniffed the air. It caught sight of the donkey and the white weasel. Snarling, it began to charge—then froze. Upon seeing the white weasel’s calm, unblinking stare, the beast trembled. Without a sound, it turned and bolted into the snowy gloom.
The donkey and its passenger showed no fear. They simply carried on, weaving through drifts and heading deeper into the shadowy mountains.
…
Back at the village gates, Qin Ming finally let himself breathe easier. He could see the Fire Spring’s faint glow in the distance, and the black and white twin trees swaying gently. He quickened his pace and crossed through the gate with a quiet sigh of relief.
“He’s back!” someone shouted, pausing mid-swing with their axe. The call echoed along the street, and soon villagers emerged, curious and cautious. They had worried about Qin Ming since he’d gone off alone. Would he return empty-handed, or not at all?
Under the soft red glow of the sunstones—small, glowing rocks that served as their lamps—everyone looked at Qin Ming and saw the squirrel dangling from his fork. They fell silent, surprised and uncertain. It wasn’t the grand trophy they’d imagined.
Lu Ze rushed over, grinning from ear to ear. “We heard you went to hunt a bear, Ming,” he teased, eyebrows raised, “and you brought back… a squirrel?”
Qin Ming rolled his eyes and grinned like a boy pleased with himself. “Yeah, well, maybe not a bear,” he said, sounding like a confident teenager. “But trust me, I got more than just this little critter.” He tapped the bulging beast-hide bag.
Gasps rose from the gathering crowd as they noticed how full the bag was. A few villagers looked green with envy. This was no small feat.
Old Liu, who lived near the entrance, nodded approvingly. “Came back safe and even scored a good haul. Well done.”
Questions tumbled out at once—how dangerous was it out there? Qin Ming answered honestly, not wanting anyone else to walk into the same traps. He described the strange beast with crimson eyes lurking near the forest’s edge. The villagers stiffened, exchanging worried glances. This was grim news, proof that the outside world remained treacherous.
He also mentioned the attempted ambush by Hu Yong and his friends, and outrage flared through the crowd.
“Shameless pests!” someone snarled. “They could’ve gotten you killed!”
Just then, as if conjured by the angry whispers, Hu Yong, Ma Yang, and Wang You Ping hobbled into the village, supporting each other, still reeling from their beating. Before they could slip away, Lu Ze and a few neighbors grabbed them, delivering a stern lecture and a few well-placed pushes. The three troublemakers sobbed and begged for mercy, their runny noses turning to ice as they pleaded.
All the while, children gathered around Qin Ming. He grinned and opened his bag, handing out small handfuls of nuts. The kids squealed with delight, stuffing their mouths and giggling over their treats.
Then Qin Ming noticed Grandma Zhou, leaning heavily against her gate, looking weary. Without a word, he pressed some dried food into her hands, offering a gentle smile. She tried to protest, but he simply shook his head, leaving her no room to refuse.
…
Back in Qin Ming’s small, cozy home, Wen Rui chattered happily, sifting through the pile of dried fruit and nuts Qin Ming had brought home. “Uncle, this is brilliant!” he said, eyes shining. “These walnuts taste amazing, and these pine nuts—they’re so fresh!” He dug in eagerly, stuffing his face like a starving squirrel.
A tiny voice piped up. Little Wen Hui, barely two, was smearing jujube paste all over her rosy cheeks. “Sweet…” she murmured happily, leaning over and planting a sticky kiss on Qin Ming’s cheek. He chuckled and ruffled her hair.
All the while, the red squirrel, still bound and hanging near the door, blinked weakly. Its gaze darted from person to person as they devoured its hoard. It looked almost heartbroken, as if it truly understood what it had lost.
Liang Wan Qing examined the squirrel’s stash with a smile. “A clever creature, no doubt about it,” she said, weighing a few nuts in her hand. “Gathered more than thirty pounds! It must be a mutated type to work so hard.”
The squirrel narrowed its eyes, furious but helpless.
Just then, Lu Ze’s voice turned serious. He met Qin Ming’s gaze and lowered his tone. “Qin Ming, now that you’re feeling stronger… it might be time,” he said. “Time to think about your Awakening.”
At these words, the air in the small home seemed to shift. Qin Ming drew a slow breath. Outside, the snow kept falling, the night still silent and deep. Whatever lay ahead, he knew one thing: to survive in this world, he would need all the strength and courage he could find.