Chapter 14: The First Kill
This novel is translated and hosted on BCatranslation
Qin Ming stood in the darkened clearing, his fingers running lightly over the cold, gleaming blade of his hatchet. He had scraped off the rust, leaving the metal as sharp and bright as a moonlit lake rippling in a crisp autumn breeze.
“Sharp enough,” he muttered, testing the edge with his thumb. Satisfied, he nodded, his voice lowering with a grim sort of determination. “Feng Yian and Shao Cheng Feng… they’ve got it coming,” he mused darkly. “But if some decent folk get caught in the crossfire… well, that’d be a shame.” He needed to be sure of his purpose—steady in his aim.
As dusk crept in, in a quiet, shadowy courtyard, Old Liu and Xu Yue Ping sat together, each cradling a cup of Xu Yue Ping’s last batch of spicy brew. They sipped slowly, savoring the final drops, a heavy sense of weariness settling in around them.
“A deer traded for a man’s life—heartless, truly heartless!” Old Liu spat, his face twisted with disgust. A weight pressed on his heart, one he didn’t dare share with the Qian family.
Xu Yue Ping nodded, his expression darkening as he thought of Feng Yian and Shao Cheng Feng. “If those two have another awakening, these dark days could get even darker.”
“Isn’t there a single decent soul in the mountain patrol?” Qin Ming’s voice broke the quiet as he stepped closer, drawn in by their conversation.
Old Liu sighed deeply, the lines on his face deepening. “If more than half the pears in a basket are rotten, and you just sit there, the rest won’t last long,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “The patrol can hold twelve at full strength, but now only nine are left. Those who didn’t fit in… either they were pushed out or had ‘accidents’ out in the mountains.”
“Can’t anyone keep them in check or stand up to them?” Qin Ming’s tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp, probing for any hint of hope.
Xu Yue Ping, sitting beside Old Liu, shook the wine jar to extract the last few drops and poured them into Qin Ming’s cup. “Sit down, young Qin,” he offered, gesturing for him to join them.
Old Liu stroked his chin thoughtfully. “There are other patrol teams who don’t get along with them—maybe because they can’t stand their wicked ways, or maybe they’re fighting over the mountain’s riches. Blood’s been shed over that.”
“And then there’s Green Mulberry Village nearby,” Xu Yue Ping added. “They haven’t been forced to plant the Black Moon Herb. Seems like Sickly’s got some family connections that pull a lot of strings.”
Turning to Qin Ming, Xu Yue Ping’s gaze grew more serious. “You’ve got a solid foundation, Qin—strong as gold. When spring comes, you should head out and see what’s beyond these hills. Don’t let this place hold you back.”
Qin Ming looked down, his mind drifting through old memories. “Plans, huh? Reckon I’d like to figure out where I came from… back when I first wandered into these parts.”
Xu Yue Ping chuckled softly, a bit sheepish. “If you hadn’t mentioned it, I’d almost forgotten. Always thought of you as one of our own.” He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the weight of the moment, and quickly steered the conversation elsewhere.
He spoke of Scarlet Dawn City, far to the south—a place full of life and promise, where skilled masters and wondrous techniques could be found. “Maybe there, you could learn more—advanced meditation, energy arts, things like that.”
Old Liu nodded approvingly. “I think you ought to go out too, young Qin. When you’re young, be bold and dream big. Otherwise, when you’re old like me, your legs’ll be weak, and all you’ll have left are regrets and sighs.”
Xu Yue Ping chuckled again. “Uncle Liu, I heard you had some big dreams back in the day.”
Old Liu laughed, a deep, hearty sound. “Who hasn’t been young once?”
“What were your dreams?” Qin Ming asked, his curiosity piqued.
Old Liu’s eyes drifted far away, as if peering into a foggy past. “Back then, I had the guts to dream big and act on it. Thought I’d rise up and tame a legendary beast from these mountains. Even set my sights on marrying the prettiest girl around.”
“And how’d that work out?” Qin Ming asked, a grin spreading across his face.
Old Liu chuckled ruefully. “Well, once, while patrolling, we came across that beast. It wasn’t lookin’ for a fight, just passin’ through, but it nearly wiped us out. After that, my body was damaged, and any hopes of a second awakening were gone. And as for that girl… she married one of my rivals.”
Qin Ming raised his cup. “That’s tough, old man.”
Old Liu chuckled again. “So, I got even—I married his older sister. Made him call me ‘brother-in-law’ for life.”
Qin Ming burst out laughing, his grin wide. “Now that’s the spirit!” They all shared a hearty laugh, their spirits warmed against the chill of the coming night.
As the night deepened, the three men lingered over their half-empty cups, sharing stories and a quiet camaraderie.
When Qin Ming returned home, he set about cleaning his iron bow, its length marked by engravings of beasts. The bow, however, had lost much of its former strength; if he drew it too hard, it might snap.
“Guess it’ll have to do,” he muttered, resigned.
He filled his quiver, wrapped in sturdy animal hide, with iron-tipped arrows, and packed a few spare clothes into his leather bag.
“Tomorrow’s the middle of the month,” he mused, glancing up at the deepening night sky.
That night, he went to bed early, focusing his energy within, sharpening his senses like a blade in preparation for what lay ahead.
Part Two
In the dead of night, Qin Ming awoke. He had rested enough. The sky was still a vast stretch of ink, with hours yet until dawn. He pushed open the courtyard gate with the silence of a shadow.
The world outside was wrapped in darkness, silent and eerie. Most men would be blind in such blackness, but not Qin Ming. Since his awakening, his senses had sharpened like a hunter’s blade, his eyes keen enough to pierce the dark and see the shapes of the world around him.
He avoided the path by the Flame Spring, instead choosing a more hidden route, circling around.
Snow had been falling for days, and now it grew heavier, each flake descending like a quiet threat from the heavens.
His black hair, loose over his shoulders, caught the cold wind. Tall and strong, he moved with purpose, his steps sure and steady as he made his way toward the mountains.
Images of the injured villagers flashed before his eyes, and the memory of Feng Yian offering a deer at Uncle Qian’s funeral burned in his mind. The injustice of it stirred something deep within him. He could not bear it any longer. Today, he would face those patrolmen.
Qin Ming entered the mountains with a calm and focused mind. His goal was clear; there was no room for fear or doubt. To him, this was no different than walking the road home.
Within the thick forest, the howls of unseen beasts echoed, rising and falling like some dark symphony. Shadows moved above him, and within the dense trees, many eyes watched him—some as red as blood, others green like ghostly flames, and a few, silver and cold. All were fixed upon him. He could hear the breath of strange beasts, the soft whisper of claws through the snow. The mountains at night were a realm of danger.
Suddenly, Qin Ming quickened his pace, charging toward a great beast, his hatchet flashing in his hand. With a swift, well-practiced swing, he cleaved the creature’s massive head from its shoulders. Blood sprayed across the snow, and the beast’s body, weighing more than six hundred pounds, collapsed with a heavy thud.
Instantly, the forest fell silent. The eyes in the darkness blinked out like dying stars.
Qin Ming pressed on, his steps unyielding, heading steadily toward the patrol’s camp.
Moments later, the beast’s carcass was beset by scavengers, torn apart in a frenzy of snarls and growls.
As he neared his destination, Qin Ming stood atop a nearby peak, his eyes narrowing as he looked upon the patrol camp across from the Flame Spring.
Though dawn was yet far off, there was movement below. A tall man with curly black hair—nearly two meters tall—was feeding bloody chunks of meat to a fierce golden mastiff.
“Fu En Tao,” Qin Ming whispered to himself. He recognized the man by his distinct hair. The strongest of the team leaders was already there.
He watched as four others emerged from the wooden huts, among them Feng Yian and Shao Cheng Feng.
“They got here early,” Qin Ming noted, frowning. They must have come the day before.
Calmly, he descended the mountain, choosing a spot along the path where the others would travel. Four patrolmen had yet to arrive; he’d deal with them first.
Snowflakes settled gently on Qin Ming’s black hair, turning it white, yet he stood unmoving like a stone, patient and resolute. The night crept on, and slowly, the thick mountain mist began to lift, giving way to a faint light that stretched thinly across the sky.
For those awakened like Qin Ming, the dark was less a curtain and more a thin veil. His keen eyes soon caught sight of a figure approaching, wrapped in a heavy fur cloak, moving from beyond the mountains. The face was familiar to him; he had seen this man standing beside Feng Yian in Silver Vine Town when they had humiliated Xu Yue Ping.
Like a statue of ice hidden behind the trunk of a great tree, Qin Ming moved with a silent swiftness. In an instant, he was upon the man, colliding with him in a heavy, dull thud that resonated through the cold air.
A sickening crack sounded as bone gave way under the force. The man’s eyes bulged wide, filled with shock and pain. But before he could muster a cry, Qin Ming’s lean but strong hand clamped tightly around his throat.
With a sharp twist, a snap echoed in the stillness of the forest. The man’s neck broke, his head lolling almost free from his body. The lifeless form crumpled to the cold ground, the head hanging at an unnatural angle, frozen in a mask of terror and disbelief.
Qin Ming dragged the body deeper into the woods, where the shadows lay thick. The stench of alcohol and cheap perfume clung stubbornly to the dead man’s clothes, explaining the sluggishness of his reflexes—he had reaped what he’d sown. After searching the body and finding nothing of value, Qin Ming cast it aside like refuse. He took a deep breath, feeling a strange, unfamiliar flicker within him—this had been his first time taking a human life.
Though he had braced himself for this moment, a shadow of unease settled in his heart, as if a cold hand had gripped it. But he steeled himself quickly. He had hunted beasts before, creatures of fang and claw; he was no stranger to blood and death.
“For planting the Black Moon Herb at the Flame Spring, you’ve brought death upon the villagers, one after another,” he whispered to the cold night air. “You’re worse than the fiercest beasts in these mountains. Tonight, I’ll put an end to you all. This is what my heart desires.”
Resolute, Qin Ming’s heart grew steady as stone. To him, these patrolmen were no different from the monsters he hunted. His resolve only hardened.
He waited, standing like a shadow among shadows. Soon, a second man appeared, braving the howling wind and the falling snow. In the dim light, the man’s tall figure loomed, wrapped in armor much like Shao Cheng Feng’s.
Covered in a thin layer of snow, Qin Ming slowly drew his hatchet from his belt, eager to see how well its edge would fare.
As the man drew near, the steel of Qin Ming’s hatchet caught a flicker of light, and he sprang forward, swift as a dark breeze, closing the distance in a heartbeat.
The patrolman sensed danger and reacted, his instincts honed; he sidestepped and dove, trying to avoid the unseen threat. For an awakener, his reflexes were sharp and impressive. Against an ordinary opponent, he might have lived.
But Qin Ming was faster. His blade cut through the air in a swift arc. With a single, clean stroke, the man’s head parted from his shoulders.
Blood sprayed across the white snow, and the headless body collapsed where it stood. Qin Ming wiped his blade clean, his face calm, composed, his breath steady. This time, there was no hesitation.
The snow began to fall more heavily, the wind driving it against his face. He looked up at the swirling flakes and murmured, “A fine snow.”
The storm would help him—covering his tracks, masking his movements.
Standing tall in the midst of the storm, he waited, a sentinel in the shadows. The third and fourth men soon followed, each one meeting the same swift, silent fate amid the shadowed woods.
There was no longer any doubt within him. Qin Ming could smile gently at little Wen Rui, and he could wield his blade without mercy against those more vicious than any beast in these mountains.
With sure and purposeful strides, he moved forward—alone, yet unafraid—heading straight toward the patrol’s base, like a hunter closing in on his prey.