Chapter 5: Awakening
This novel is translated and hosted on BCatranslation
It was growing late beneath the endless night sky, and Qin Ming nodded thoughtfully, as if agreeing with some unspoken promise he’d made to himself. He was determined to awaken—this was no small matter. Around sixteen years old was the ideal time. Everyone knew that if you managed it then, you’d reap the greatest rewards. Miss that age, and your future might forever be dimmer.
But awakening wasn’t something you could just do on a whim. Even in Twin Tree Village, the most gifted adults often didn’t awaken until they were past twenty. Some only managed it after turning thirty. Out of forty households, maybe ten people at most had awakened. Such rarity weighed heavily on Qin Ming’s mind.
Suddenly, Lu Ze spoke up, breaking the hush that had settled like fine dust. “Hey, Qin, did you hear about Er Bing Zi from the next village? That skinny kid managed it. Seriously, he got his awakening right at the perfect age, too.”
Qin Ming frowned, eyebrows pulling tight. Er Bing Zi was a face he remembered clearly: thin, pale, hair like dried straw, always looking like he might faint if you poked him too hard. If someone that frail had awakened, it was enough to make any strong young man scratch his head.
“When did that happen?” Qin Ming asked, trying to keep the disbelief out of his voice.
“About a month back,” Lu Ze replied, leaning forward as if sharing a secret. “Word is, after his awakening he went straight home and lifted that four-hundred-pound black donkey. The thing looked twice his size, but he hoisted it like it was a sack of leaves.”
“That’s mental,” Qin Ming said, shaking his head. He was sixteen, lean but muscular, and definitely tougher than someone like Er Bing Zi had ever been. “How’d that scrawny guy manage it while I’m still stuck?”
Lu Ze sighed, looking older and more worried than usual. He was already twenty-three—past the golden age—and hadn’t awakened himself. “They say Er Bing Zi had help from a relative who travels a lot. The relative took one look at him and claimed the poor kid’s body had some hidden potential. Before that, nobody guessed Er Bing Zi could hold onto his energy properly. But this traveler said he was like a dried-up seed that just needed watering.”
Qin Ming raised an eyebrow. “So… what’d they give him? Some special trick?”
Lu Ze nodded, lowering his voice like he was about to reveal a prized family recipe. “Yup. Some fancy breathing exercise. They said it was top-notch. Er Bing Zi trained with it, and bang—he awakened. Just like that.”
Qin Ming stared off into the snowy darkness, his mind whirling. It all came down to timing, luck, and having the right technique. One bad break and you were left behind forever.
Lu Ze frowned thoughtfully. “They say after he awakened, the relative claimed Er Bing Zi’s body was even better than expected. He might grow into something truly powerful. Now, who could’ve seen that coming?”
Then Lu Ze fixed Qin Ming with a serious look. “We don’t have any fancy breathing manuals, but let’s be real: the way you’re training is weird, Qin. Whatever you’re doing, it’s not giving you what you need. Maybe it’s time you switched to something more… normal.”
Liang Wan Qing, standing beside them with her gentle presence, chimed in softly, “Qin, your brother Lu’s Night Meditation Technique might be worth trying. It’s simple but solid.”
In this world of eternal darkness, people learned basic exercises just to stay safe and ward off weakness. Though these were no secret tomes, they helped build a decent foundation. Qin Ming understood their concern. He shrugged, trying to sound casual even as he felt the weight of their worries. “Yeah, all right. I’ll give it a shot.”
Lu Ze let out a slow breath, relief and anxiety mixed. “It’s just that you’re already sixteen. Your window’s closing. If you miss this chance, it’s wasted potential, mate. A mid-level manual would speed things up, but…” He trailed off, frustration clear.
All they had at hand were things like the Night Meditation Technique or something called the Floating Life Technique—Guidance Chapter. Ordinary stuff, all roughly the same level. No secret, dazzling manuscripts.
Qin Ming, however, wasn’t as rattled as they thought. Lately, he’d felt a subtle change. Sometimes, after training, his body seemed to shimmer with a strange, silvery glow. It was faint, but it was definitely new. He caught Lu Ze’s eye and then Liang Wan Qing’s. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a feeling I’m close. Just trust me for a bit longer, yeah?”
To awaken was to tap into a hidden life force, almost like being reborn. It could reshape your destiny entirely. Er Bing Zi had gone from weakling to strongman overnight. If a sturdy young guy like Lu Ze awakened, he’d be downright unstoppable. And if Qin Ming managed it at the perfect age… well, the sky was the limit.
“Seriously, I feel amazing lately,” Qin Ming said, flashing a grin. He sounded like a confident teenage boy bragging about scoring a goal. “Stronger than ever.”
Just then, Wen Rui, a chubby-cheeked five-year-old boy, spoke up. “Uncle Qin’s the best! When you awaken, you’ll catch a huge mountain beast and cook it, right? I’m so hungry!” His cheeks were pink, eyes bright with excitement.
Little Wen Hui, barely two years old, wobbled over, clinging to her brother’s leg. She tried her best to speak, “Uncle… strong… meat…”
Qin Ming laughed, ruffling Wen Rui’s hair. “All right, all right, calm down, little mate. We don’t have to wait. Let’s do something about that hunger today.”
He took out the red squirrel he’d caught earlier. The little thing had woken up and blinked nervously, its black beady eyes darting about. Its fur was a brilliant red, and it looked terrified.
“Aww, it’s awake!” Qin Ming smirked. “Perfect. Fresh meat always tastes better than something that’s been frozen.”
Wen Rui’s eyes lit up at the sight of the fluffy animal. “It’s so cute!” He beamed, torn between loving the little creature and drooling over the thought of a warm meal.
“You’ll think it’s even cuter once it’s in your bowl,” Qin Ming teased, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously.
Wen Rui chewed on his bottom lip, struggling. He hadn’t tasted proper meat in ages, but the squirrel was so… fuzzy and bright. Little Wen Hui copied her brother’s confused expression, repeating softly, “Squirrel… pretty.”
Lu Ze and Liang Wan Qing exchanged amused glances. The children’s reactions were always heartwarmingly honest.
Qin Ming considered for a moment. “This squirrel’s got a stash of winter treats with it—pine nuts, walnuts, hazelnuts, dates, even mushrooms. We could make a squirrel stew with mushrooms. Fancy stuff, right?”
Wen Rui’s mouth fell open. “That sounds so good… but I don’t want the squirrel to die,” he said, voice tiny. He looked torn, clutching his shirt and glancing at the squirrel with big, watery eyes.
“Ah, come on,” Qin Ming said, rolling his shoulders. “Look at these rare mushrooms it gathered. Tiger Palm Fungus and Yang Bird Fungus—these are proper delicacies. Imagine how yummy it’d all be.”
The squirrel puffed up, red fur bristling, as if it understood the conversation. Wen Rui took a shaky step closer, then drew back. “I… no. I don’t want it to die. Uncle Qin, can we keep it alive? After you awaken, you can catch something bigger, right? I’ll wait for that. I just… don’t want to hurt this one.”
The squirrel looked between Qin Ming’s knife and Wen Rui’s pleading face, making a squeaky sound. Liang Wan Qing noticed, astonished. “This creature understands us. Look how it’s reacting!”
Qin Ming sighed and lowered his blade. It wasn’t a lot of meat anyway, and if the children were this fond of it, he wouldn’t break their hearts. “All right, all right. If it means that much to you, fine. But squirrel,” he warned the trembling animal, “if you bite anyone, I’ll have no problem throwing you into the stew pot.”
Lu Ze frowned, crossing his arms. “This winter’s rough, Qin. Keeping a squirrel as a pet might not be the smartest plan. We don’t have much spare food.”
But the children’s giggles and delighted smiles were enough to silence his doubts. Qin Ming pulled some bitter acorns from the squirrel’s stash and set them aside as squirrel food. Then he placed the creature into an iron cage usually meant for birds. The squirrel stared wide-eyed at its own hoard of winter snacks, then at Qin Ming, speechless but safe.
Lu Ze said nothing more. He picked up the cage and the acorns, while Qin Ming pressed a small bag of walnuts and pine nuts into Liang Wan Qing’s hands. “For the kids,” he said, “let them have something nice to nibble on.”
…
With the small food crisis eased, Qin Ming turned his attention back to the idea of awakening. Lu Ze’s words still echoed in his ears, that maybe his old training methods were holding him back. He recalled odd memories from his childhood—someone had once told him that his strange exercises had potential but were almost impossible to master.
He stepped outside into the courtyard. Night pressed in from all sides, but he moved with a confidence born from years of practice. He wouldn’t abandon these “wild methods” so easily. They’d shaped him, after all.
Qin Ming stretched, twisting his neck and shoulders, loosening stiff joints. He moved like an animal—fluid, controlled, every step and leap balanced. He crouched, sprang into the air, and landed softly. He mimicked moves that seemed part beast, part legend: sitting low like a hidden tiger, stepping through snow like thick mud, spinning swift as lightning. A kick sliced through the air, thudding dully as it struck empty space.
This was just a warm-up. Next came the real drills: “Breathe out the old, breathe in the new,” he whispered under his breath. “Stretch like a bear, twist like an owl…”
Snow scattered as his feet moved. Wind hissed softly with each swing of his arms. He felt it again—that strange silver light flickering under his skin, faint and elusive. It sent warmth rushing through him, as if his muscles were dry soil finally drinking in fresh rainfall. He didn’t feel drained at all. Instead, he felt stronger, more alive than ever.
Was this the start of awakening?
A surge of heat flashed through him, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to run and run until he could hardly breathe. Qin Ming took off across the snow-covered ground, darting toward the edge of the forest like an arrow released from a bow. He felt unstoppable.
But he was not alone.
Far ahead, a tall, slender figure stood as still as a statue, swathed in a black fur cloak that shimmered with eerie darkness. Only a pale curve of her chin was visible, making her seem distant, unreachable.
A crow perched nearby on a twisted thorn bush, and it spoke in a strange, human-like voice. “Hmm, look at that boy. He’s starting to awaken on his own, and already I see unusual signs. Like moonlight dancing on his skin, rippling like hidden waves. Such a rare find in these remote parts.”
It turned its gleaming purple eyes toward the cloaked woman. “Isn’t your teacher looking for a final disciple? That lad could be perfect.”
The woman stood on a large stone, the wind tugging at her cloak, revealing just a hint of a graceful figure beneath. Her voice was crisp and cool. “There’s another candidate,” she said flatly.
Qin Ming felt a prickling at the back of his neck and glanced toward the forest. He nocked an arrow, sharp eyes scanning the shadows, but he saw no one clearly.
The crow gave a low chuckle, wings rustling. “Your teacher’s path is a strange one. Don’t miss a precious seed that could flourish into greatness.”
The woman’s dark hair drifted across her face. She did not soften. “If he isn’t chosen, that’s his fate. I lose nothing. I already have the best candidate in mind.” Her voice carried over the snow like a cold whisper. “For now, searching the mountains matters more.”
She turned, her black cloak and hair whipping in the wind, and vanished into the darkness. The crow followed, leaving Qin Ming none the wiser. He stood there, bow ready, heart pounding. Somewhere in the night, strange forces watched him. And as the silver glow flickered again beneath his skin, he vowed silently that he would not be left behind.