Chapter 17: The Harvest
This novel is translated and hosted on BCatranslation
“Only one awakening…” muttered Fu En Tao, his voice low and heavy with defeat. His first awakening had made him strong, like a sturdy old tree clinging to a rocky mountainside. Now, after a second awakening, his strength ran even deeper, yet here he was, felled by a boy who had only awakened once.
Fu En Tao leaned against his long blade, every muscle in his body trembling with exhaustion. With a grimace, he yanked the iron spear out of his thigh. Blood spilled down his leg, pooling around his feet, and his vision swam as he fought to stay upright.
A few feet away, Shao Cheng Feng lay sprawled on the frozen ground. With his one good arm, he tried to pull a spear from his belly, but his strength was gone. When he saw Qin Ming’s eyes on him, he let his hand drop, surrendering to his fate.
“The whole Mountain Patrol… wiped out by a kid,” Shao Cheng Feng murmured, his voice weak but laced with bitter disbelief. He knew there would be no mercy here. Their enemy was not the kind to leave survivors.
“How can he be this strong with only one awakening?” whispered Feng Yian, wiping the blood from his lips as he lay pinned to the ground by another spear.
Qin Ming’s voice cut through the cold air, calm but carrying a sharp edge. “So, got any news worth sharing?” he asked, his tone both curious and menacing.
“In your dreams!” Fu En Tao spat back, his eyes burning with defiance. He knew begging wouldn’t change his fate. Surrender was pointless.
Feng Yian and Shao Cheng Feng kept their silence. They were seasoned warriors who knew that pleading for mercy was a waste of breath.
Qin Ming turned to Shao Cheng Feng. “What’s the deal with the Blood Bamboo Grove?” he asked, stepping closer.
Shao Cheng Feng’s eyes were fixed on the starry night sky, empty and far away. He was already lost in his own thoughts, knowing his end was near.
“Not gonna talk, huh?” Qin Ming shrugged. Without another word, he swung his hatchet, severing Shao Cheng Feng’s head with a single blow. The head hit the snow with a dull thud, its eyes staring blankly. Qin Ming’s hand was steady. He didn’t enjoy killing; he just answered their silence with his own.
He looked at the remaining two. Would they speak now, with death so near?
Fu En Tao’s face twitched, but the fire in his eyes only blazed brighter. He gripped his long blade tightly and started to move, each step slow and deliberate, like a wounded beast ready for one last attack. He had faced death before; he would meet it again like a warrior.
Meanwhile, Feng Yian lay flat on his stomach, an iron spear pinning him to the ground. His body trembled; he couldn’t rise.
Through the howling wind and falling snow, Fu En Tao charged like a beast, using every ounce of his remaining strength in a final, desperate assault. His blade swung with the ferocity of a cornered wolf.
But after a fierce exchange, Fu En Tao was left panting, utterly spent. The boy stood firm, his energy still fresh, his spirit unyielding. With a swift motion, Qin Ming’s hatchet came down, chopping off Fu En Tao’s right arm. The blade clattered to the ground as blood poured from his stump, staining the snow a deep red.
Fu En Tao fell to one knee, breathing heavily. His curly hair stuck to his sweaty, snow-damp forehead. His face twisted in pain, but his eyes were still fierce, refusing to yield.
“Got anything to say before we end this?” Qin Ming asked, his voice quiet but firm.
“Use my own blade and give me a clean death,” Fu En Tao replied, his voice strained as he clutched his severed arm, blood soaking his side.
Qin Ming snorted. “And why would I do you any favors?” He stepped closer, his hatchet still in hand.
“Are you mocking me?” Fu En Tao struggled to stand, his body trembling.
“You don’t deserve it,” Qin Ming said coldly. His hatchet swung, and Fu En Tao’s head flew from his shoulders, landing with a soft thud in the snow. His body crumpled beside it.
Feng Yian, pale and shaking now, tried to rise but couldn’t free himself from the iron spear. He could only watch as Qin Ming approached, his foot pressing lightly on Feng Yian’s head.
“Anything you’d like to share?” Qin Ming’s eyes were cold, his young face strangely sharp in the moonlight.
Feng Yian clenched his fists, then let them drop limp. His strength was gone. “You’re after the spirit creatures? I’ll never tell,” he rasped.
Qin Ming pressed down a little harder, and Feng Yian’s skull made a faint cracking sound. Pain twisted his features.
“Guess that’s a no,” Qin Ming said flatly. Without another thought, he swung his hatchet, ending Feng Yian’s life with a swift blow.
The wind howled through the mountains, but the clash of blades and spears was silent now. The Mountain Patrol was wiped out, and Qin Ming stood alone among the fallen.
He murmured to himself, “Took them all out without even breaking a sweat.”
Qin Ming stood still for a moment, thinking over what he had done. Maybe he didn’t see these men as his kin but more like wild beasts threatening his village.
He started clearing the battlefield. The bodies would be thrown down the mountain; the forest beasts would take care of the rest, leaving nothing behind.
Ever practical, Qin Ming searched the bodies of Fu En Tao, Feng Yian, and the others. Under the flickering light of the Flame Spring, he found coins glinting silver—Night Silver. These were worth more than the common copper coins used in local trade. Round with a hole in the middle, Night Silver symbolized the absence of the sun.
But something more valuable was hidden among their belongings—Day Gold. Purely golden and radiant, the coins were perfect circles, representing the lost sun, a rare treasure among the people.
The Mountain Patrol had little Day Gold; he found only eleven coins. Yet, to the common folk, it was a fortune.
This wasn’t the first time Qin Ming had found Day Gold. Before he’d fallen sick, he’d stumbled upon corpses near a rocky crevice and found a small vial filled with a precious mineral essence.
Day Gold was rarely seen in Silver Vine Town, so he hadn’t dared to spend it—it would draw too much attention. As for the finely crafted crystal vial, he hadn’t used it yet. After recovering from his illness, he had awakened on his own.
He knew little about the mineral essence and wanted to learn more, to use it wisely. Most importantly, he sensed a great storm was coming, and he needed to appear as if he had only gone through his first awakening.
“I’ve only awakened once, and I don’t have the strength to handle the Mountain Patrol. When this storm comes, if I’m at my second awakening, there’ll be no trouble,” Qin Ming thought.
He continued gathering the spoils from the mountain. “Good armor, well-forged blades—all quality stuff,” he muttered, running his hands over the gear. He planned to hide it deep in the forest, to retrieve it when he ventured into the Blood Bamboo Grove.
Ever cautious, he searched every body thoroughly, not even sparing the golden mastiff. He picked it up, thinking about cutting a large piece of meat for a stew back at his cabin.
But he sighed and tossed the mastiff into the snow. He couldn’t afford to waste time.
Inside the damaged cabin, he found it surprisingly well-kept. Thick animal skins covered the floor, and silver bowls and chopsticks were neatly arranged on the table. Fine knives for slicing meat were lined up perfectly.
He opened a wine jar, and the rich aroma filled the air, far better than the rough old brew at Xu Yue Ping’s place, which had long run dry.
After searching, he found little else of value. In a partially collapsed cabin, he discovered an old sword manual. Its leather cover was worn, the pages frayed, edges curled from use.
It was clear someone had studied it a lot; there were notes and annotations in different hands, giving it an ancient charm.
Flipping through, Qin Ming recognized some sword techniques. Fu En Tao’s swordsmanship was only part of what was written here. Deeper inside were techniques like ‘Heaven’s Light’ and other secrets.
He didn’t linger, closing the manual quickly and taking it with him. This old tome was more valuable than the Day Gold coins.
Having finished his search, golden ripples appeared on Qin Ming’s skin as he unleashed his strength. The remaining cabins exploded one by one under his blows.
The wind howled fiercely, sweeping the wood fragments down the mountain with the storm. Even the snow on the ground stirred, mingling with the falling flakes, erasing most traces of what happened here.
“It’s a shame about my hatchet,” Qin Ming muttered as he examined the blade. It was chipped in several places. Though made of refined iron, it was nothing compared to the Mountain Patrol’s weapons.
“But it’ll do for now,” he decided. Finding a whetstone nearby, he quickly ground away the nicks, reshaping the edge. The hatchet’s blade was narrower now, but it would still do the job.
Qin Ming then hid the bodies deeper in the forest, knowing that the wild beasts would soon take care of them. When he went to check on the four men he had intercepted earlier, not even a bone fragment remained. The forest had swallowed them whole.
He moved a few heavy stones aside to retrieve his bundle from a small snow cave. There, he changed out of his torn, bloodstained clothes into clean, simple attire. He carefully burned what needed burning and buried what needed burying, including the Day Gold and the sword manual, leaving them hidden in the mountains.
With all evidence of the battle erased, Qin Ming vanished into the woods, moving like a shadow. When he returned to Twin Trees Village, it was as if nothing had happened. He looked the same as always—an unassuming youth with a gentle demeanor. No one would guess he had just fought a deadly battle.
He dragged a piece of game behind him, his steps light and easy. Once home, he boiled a tub of water—a luxury for him—and enjoyed a warm, relaxing bath. His tall, well-built body glistened with water, his muscles smooth and defined. He scrubbed thoroughly, washing away all traces of blood and dirt, ensuring no sign of the recent fight remained.
Before long, he made his way to Lu Ze’s house.
“Hey, Uncle Qin, what’s that you’ve got there?” Wen Rui called out, bounding over like an eager puppy, his eyes wide with curiosity.
Qin Ming held up a large slab of fresh meat, a grin spreading across his face. “This? It’s something tasty. You know how they say, ‘In the sky, there’s dragon meat; on the ground, donkey meat.’ I managed to catch a wild donkey today.”
He had missed out on the golden mastiff and its meat stew, so now he planned to enjoy a hearty donkey meat hotpot as a fitting substitute.
Soon, the room was filled with laughter and cheerful chatter. The warmth of the fire and the smell of cooking meat created a homely atmosphere, a stark contrast to the cold, deadly mountain where he had been earlier.
“Uncle Qin, this donkey meat is amazing!” Wen Rui exclaimed, his face lighting up as he chewed. His enthusiasm was infectious, and even the adults couldn’t help but smile.
Sitting by the steaming hotpot, Lu Ze, still weak from his injuries, spoke slowly, his voice calm but serious. “Qin Ming, you’ve already built a solid foundation with your awakening. You should think carefully about your second awakening.”
Qin Ming nodded, his face thoughtful. “I know, Brother Lu. Don’t worry, I’ve thought it through.”
After the meal, Qin Ming returned to his small, humble home, his mind already plotting his next move. He needed to speak to Old Liu without drawing too much attention. The old man would surely know something about the Blood Bamboo Grove, and Qin Ming was determined to learn all he could.
“If I can reach my second awakening sooner, I don’t want to wait,” he thought, his eyes gleaming with determination. “I need to head into that mysterious Blood Bamboo Grove as soon as possible.”