Chapter 17: The Harvest
This novel is translated and hosted on BCatranslation
Fu En Tao, leaning hard on his long blade, still couldn’t believe it. “Only one Awakening…” he muttered through clenched teeth. After all the effort he had put into growing stronger through a second Awakening, here he was, beaten by a kid barely through his first. Shaking, he pulled an iron spear from his thigh. Blood gushed from the wound, and he staggered, fighting to stay on his feet.
Shao Cheng Feng, sprawled on the ground, was in far worse shape. He’d lost an arm, and an iron javelin pinned him like a scarecrow to the earth. He tried tugging it free once more, but as soon as Qin Ming glanced over, Shao Cheng Feng gave up and let his hand fall helplessly.
“The entire Mountain Patrol… finished off by a single kid,” Shao Cheng Feng rasped, voice barely a whisper. He knew perfectly well that he wouldn’t make it out alive. The boy before him had no reason to leave survivors.
Feng Yi An lay beside him, coughing and trying to wipe blood off his chin. “He’s only had one Awakening,” he managed, sounding as if he couldn’t quite believe his own words. “How is he this strong?”
Qin Ming stepped forward, his posture calm and oddly relaxed. He looked young—too young for all this—but there was nothing gentle in his eyes. “All right, c’mon,” he said, voice casual in a way that felt terribly out of place. “If you’re gonna speak, at least say something that’s not completely boring.”
Fu En Tao glared, every muscle tensed. “In your dreams!” he snapped. He knew what would happen next, no matter what he said. Why beg?
Shao Cheng Feng and Feng Yi An held their tongues. They’d always been merciless fighters. They understood that mercy wouldn’t be found here. Pleading wouldn’t help them now. The silence between them and the boy was heavy and grim.
Qin Ming shrugged and turned to Shao Cheng Feng. “All right, mate,” he said, like a teenager pressing a classmate for rumors, “what’s the deal with this Blood Bamboo Forest I keep hearing about? Any interesting secrets to share?”
Shao Cheng Feng said nothing. He stared up at the sky, as if trying to memorize the pattern of the clouds before leaving the world behind.
Qin Ming sighed. “Not talking, huh?” He didn’t waste time. In one swift, fluid motion, he raised his heavy cleaver and brought it down. Shao Cheng Feng’s head rolled clear of his shoulders, eyes still locked in stunned disbelief. Qin Ming felt nothing in particular. It was just one more step in an already dreadful night.
He wasn’t here to torture anyone. If these men had information, they’d share it; if not, he would move on. Time was precious, and they were threats, not people he needed to spare.
Fu En Tao grimaced, his eyes blazing with a fierce, feral light. He gripped his long blade with all the strength he had left and tried to advance. He had fought for years in these mountains. He had survived countless battles. He wouldn’t flinch from death now.
Feng Yi An lay trembling on the ground, pinned down like a trapped animal, unable to move an inch. The wind whipped through the jagged mountain pass, and Fu En Tao suddenly lunged forward, aiming a final desperate strike at Qin Ming.
They clashed in a spark of metal on metal. Fu En Tao, drained and bleeding, barely had any strength, while Qin Ming moved as if his limbs were still fresh and quick. With a neat slash, Qin Ming chopped off Fu En Tao’s right arm. The older man gasped, pale from pain and loss of blood, his blade clattering uselessly to the ground.
Qin Ming raised an eyebrow, sounding like a teenage boy daring a classmate to spill a secret. “So, got anything worthwhile to say before this is over? Y’know, something that might actually interest me?”
Fu En Tao’s breathing was ragged, and he pressed his stump with trembling fingers. “Finish me off,” he croaked. “Do it with my own blade.”
Qin Ming tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “And why exactly would I do you that favor, huh?”
Fu En Tao tried to stand, failed, then slumped, glaring in fury. “You just want to mock me, is that it?” he wheezed.
A faint smirk touched Qin Ming’s lips. “You think you deserve any special treatment?” Without waiting for a reply, he swung his cleaver again. Fu En Tao’s head rolled into the snow, just like Shao Cheng Feng’s.
Now there was only Feng Yi An, who stared wide-eyed as Qin Ming stepped closer and pressed a firm boot against his skull. The man’s voice shook as he tried to speak. “You… you want secrets about Spiritual Creatures, right?” His words were faint but defiant. “Well, forget it. I’m not telling you a single thing.”
Qin Ming’s weight increased, and the man’s skull gave a dreadful crack. With a final, swift swing of the blade, it was done. No more Mountain Patrol. They had melted away into the stillness of the mountains, like a bad dream.
Qin Ming straightened up and took a deep breath of the cold night air. He could ask Old Man Liu about the Blood Bamboo Forest later. The old man knew the Deep Mountain region better than anyone. He could guide Qin Ming to the Fire Springs without these men’s help.
As the wind moaned through the scattered timber remains, Qin Ming thought it over. He had killed so many tonight without a flicker of hesitation. Why was that? Perhaps it was because he saw them not as human beings, but as monsters threatening his village. In that sense, he had done what he must.
He moved quietly, dragging bodies away to toss down the steep slopes. Down below, fierce predators of the Dense Forest would take care of them. No one would find these corpses easily. The hush of the wilderness was all that remained.
As he searched the bodies, he found a handful of odd-looking coins—Night Silver, more valuable than copper. Each was a smooth round disk with a hole in the middle, said to represent the missing sun. He also discovered a few Daylight Gold coins—only eleven, but they shone brightly in his hand. These sunny coins were rare and worth a small fortune. Back in Silver Vine Town, they’d draw attention he didn’t want. He remembered once finding a Miniature Crystal Bottle with Mineral Essence on a corpse. He’d never dared spend such treasures. Drawing suspicion was the last thing he needed.
Qin Ming whispered to himself, “I’ve only had one Awakening and took out their entire patrol. Guess I should start thinking about the second Awakening when things calm down.” He pictured himself growing stronger, exploring deeper into forbidden territories. He was practical—there was no need to rush if it would get him killed.
He gathered what he could: solid armor, well-forged blades—things that might come in handy if he ventured into the Blood Bamboo Forest. He stashed them around the woods, hiding them under fallen logs and brush, making sure he’d know where to find them.
He even considered the Golden Mastiff’s carcass. It looked like it might provide a decent meal. His stomach rumbled, but it was too risky to linger. With regret, he heaved the animal aside and hurried on.
Stepping into one of the huts, he found it strangely cozy. Thick furs covered the floor, and polished silver bowls, along with elegant chopsticks, were placed neatly on a small table. A delicate knife for slicing meat lay nearby, and rows of clay wine jars lined a shelf. The aroma reminded him faintly of that strong liquor in Xu Yue Ping’s home. He searched thoroughly but found nothing of real value.
In another hut, half-collapsed during the fight, he discovered an old Blade Manual. Its leather cover was worn and cracked. Inside, the ink had faded in places and there were scribbled notes by different hands. As he flipped through the pages, he recognized techniques that Fu En Tao had tried to use earlier. He saw mentions of something called “Celestial Light,” hints at higher mysteries he didn’t yet understand. Qin Ming closed the manual and tucked it away, smiling faintly. This was worth more than all the Daylight Gold put together.
Outside, he summoned those golden ripples he could generate just under his skin, channeling his energy. With a few bursts of strength, he smashed the remaining huts, leaving nothing but shattered planks. The wind picked up the splinters and carried them off, until it was as if no one had ever lived here at all.
Qin Ming examined his cleaver. It was dented and chipped now, the refined iron no match for the enemies’ tougher weapons. He frowned slightly. “Still workable,” he said to himself. Then he sharpened it as best he could, making its blade narrower and keener.
He hauled the remaining bodies downhill, letting the Dense Forest’s creatures do the rest. Some corpses from earlier had already vanished, leaving not even a bone behind. Nature was swift and thorough out here.
Back at his secret Snow Cave, he recovered his bundle of belongings. He changed into fresh clothes, carefully hiding his Daylight Gold and the Blade Manual where no one would find them. He burned or buried anything that might hint at what had happened. Then he slipped quietly into the forest, carrying a chunk of game meat slung over his shoulder.
By the time he reached the village, dawn had begun to soften the sky. He walked in calmly, the same gentle boy everyone knew. He drew a hot bath, scrubbing away the grime and blood, erasing any sign of the fight. Soon, he smelled only of soap and fresh water.
A little later, he entered Lu Ze’s house. Wen Rui’s eyes lit up at the sight of the meat Qin Ming brought.
“Uncle Qin!” the boy called cheerfully, though Qin Ming was really just an older youth. “What kind of meat is that?” Wen Rui asked, curiosity shining in his eyes.
Qin Ming flashed a casual grin. “Oh, this?” he said, shrugging like a boy trying to impress his friends. “Heard the saying ‘dragon meat in the sky, donkey meat on the ground’? Well, guess who snagged a wild donkey today?” He gave a goofy wink as if this were some grand culinary triumph.
Wen Rui’s mouth fell open. “Seriously? Donkey meat? Never tried that!”
They cooked it, and soon the house was filled with warm laughter and the rich smell of stew. Around the table, Lu Ze, still bandaged from old wounds, nodded appreciatively at Qin Ming. “Your first Awakening’s given you a solid base,” he said. “Don’t dawdle too long before the second.”
Qin Ming gave a confident nod, sounding like a teenager brimming with plans. “Don’t sweat it, Brother Lu. I know what I’m doing,” he replied, trying to sound casual. Inside, he was already forming a plan.
After dinner, Qin Ming headed home, thinking how to approach Old Man Liu about the Blood Bamboo Forest. If he could secure a second Awakening, he’d do it as soon as possible. The mountains and its secrets waited, and he intended to be ready.