Chapter 175: Rebirth as a Butterfly
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation
A full moon hung high in the sky, its pristine light bathing the mountain ridges and filling the ravines. The silver glow stretched across the forest, painting everything in a pale, ethereal hue.
Qin Ming was in a daze. Was this some hallucination brought on by the brink of death?
No, it couldn’t be. This wasn’t a mere moon moth floating in the air; it was far more radiant than the strange insect from Black and White Mountain.
The night mist swirled, though not thickly. The moonlight cascaded down like water, creating a faint, dreamlike smoke that lent an understated and hazy beauty to the landscape.
“I’m already dead; who’s got time to admire the scenery?” Qin Ming muttered, forcing himself to sit up. He discarded the parachute pack still strapped to him but couldn’t resist stealing another glance at the world around him.
For someone who had spent his life in darkness, seeing the moon was an exceedingly rare experience.
Leaning against an ancient tree, Qin Ming found he could no longer feel the agony wracking his body. Instead, numbness spread through him, a sign he knew all too well—his life was likely slipping away.
This was a mountainous terrain bathed in moonlight. Towering trees soared into the sky, their vines adorned with purple blossoms, while smaller trees bore vibrant red fruits. The soothing chirps of insects echoed through the night, amplifying the tranquil atmosphere.
“In my current state, I’ll probably end up as a meal for some wild beast. Is this how I get buried—inside the belly of an animal?” he mused aloud. Even speaking felt laborious; his body was growing increasingly unresponsive.
Turning his focus inward, he examined himself. His internal organs were a shattered mess, riddled with cracks. His heart no longer beat; his lungs didn’t breathe. He was, for all intents and purposes, a walking corpse.
Yet Qin Ming wasn’t ready to give up.
“I have too many regrets. I can’t just die like this. Even that scoundrel Cao Wu Ji, loathed by people, gods, and spirits alike, keeps living as though nothing can stop him. I’m still young—better than many of the ancestors were in their youth. I can’t meet my end so soon!”
He clenched his fists, rallying himself, and began cycling through various techniques: the Fate-Altering Sutra, the Wood Sutra, and every other method he could think of to restore his body.
“I want to pave a way for the newly awakened. Their path is too harsh.” He paused, shaking his head. “No, that’s too grand. A small fry like me doesn’t deserve to dream so big yet. But I still have rivals waiting for me to crush them. And my grandfather… he’s still out there. We were each other’s only family. I want him to see me start my own family, to feel the joy of being a great-grandfather. Oh, and I’ve seen the moon—why not aim to see the sun next?”
Desperate to live, Qin Ming clung to every shred of ambition, building his resolve with every passing thought.
He tested all but one of his techniques—the domineering Purple Core Thunderfire—too dangerous in his current state. Among them, the Wood Sutra, a gentle, life-nurturing practice, seemed to help, perhaps due to the vibrant forest around him.
Lush greenery surrounded him, exuding vitality. Moonlight mingled with the aroma of wildflowers and the earthy scent of grass and soil, filling the air with a refreshing vitality. For a brief moment, the energy of the forest seemed to invigorate him.
But it was fleeting.
Despite his efforts, Qin Ming’s condition continued to deteriorate. His heart, lungs, and kidneys had completely failed; even the faintest flicker of life in his organs was now extinguished.
“Is my body truly dead?” he thought, disheartened. No matter how hard he struggled, it seemed impossible to escape this fate. He had exhausted every method at his disposal.
He wasn’t a disciple on the path of immortality, nor a divine seed of the Secret Sect, but merely an ordinary practitioner who had excelled among his kind. Yet even that wasn’t enough to defy destiny.
Under the moonlight, Qin Ming leaned against the ancient tree, sighing in resignation. His once-fiery spirit had been extinguished.
Nearby, crimson fruits dangled temptingly from a tree, a reminder that he hadn’t eaten in ages. But with his stomach ruptured and his body essentially lifeless, the thought of food only made him turn away.
Qin Ming didn’t fear death, but he regretted the life he was leaving behind. Slowly, he calmed his racing thoughts and allowed himself to take in the serene beauty around him.
A shimmering lake lay nearby, its surface occasionally broken by vibrant five-colored fish leaping into the air. They disturbed the moon’s reflection, scattering its image into ripples that shimmered like broken silver. Wisps of mist mingled with moonlight, creating an ethereal, otherworldly scene.
“To be buried here wouldn’t be the worst,” he muttered, his voice tinged with melancholy.
Pale smoke curled through the forest as Qin Ming tilted his head to gaze at the sky. Was that truly the moon? Or had he fallen into some godlike creature’s domain?
He dismissed the thought. The Night Fog World was teeming with powerful beings, some ancient Trailblazers who might still be alive. If the moon had existed in this world, it wouldn’t have escaped their notice.
This place, he concluded, wasn’t the mysterious depths of the black mist or the domain of any quasi-divine being. His physical body wouldn’t have been able to enter such a realm.
Once more, Qin Ming turned his focus inward. Although his body was failing, it hadn’t decayed. It was still holding on, thanks to his profound foundation. Even though his body had been torn apart and pieced back together, it retained a remarkable vitality.
He suspected his survival was partially due to the Purple Mist, Golden Glow, and Silver Light he had absorbed from the clouded mountain earlier. These substances acted like mystical medicine, nourishing his flesh and organs.
The forest’s Wood Qi, which he had drawn upon earlier, also helped stave off decay.
But this was no permanent solution. Time was against him, and even his resilient foundation couldn’t last forever.
“Perhaps the only way to survive is to be reborn—to allow my flesh and blood to rejuvenate completely!” His eyes landed on the shimmering blue liquid he had carefully bound to his external body using Adhesion Force. It glimmered like an illusory dream.
However, the odds of rebirth seemed slim with his body in such a dire state. Consuming the substance in this condition might even harm him. “But when death’s knocking, who has the luxury to worry about that?” Qin Ming resolved.
He had no way out—only forward.
In an instant, he activated the Celestial Light Force, channeling the entire blue liquid into his flesh and blood. With his body unable to eat or absorb substances the usual way, this was his final gamble.
Qin Ming’s body barely obeyed his will anymore, but thankfully, his Celestial Light Force, a unique fusion of Divine Wisdom and Consciousness Aura, still responded to his command.
Blue mist wove through his torn flesh, even seeping into his shredded heart, lungs, and kidneys. Despite the agony, he clung to a memory: “The ordinary walk this path through body mutations, pressing onward step by step. The trailblazers before us battled giant beasts and, on the brink of death, consumed rare herbs to transform. Their path was paved with bloody footprints. If they could do it, so can I!”
Reinforcing his resolve, he drove his Celestial Light Force through his battered body.
Failure today would mean death. And sure enough, consuming the mineral essence in such a fragile state wreaked havoc on his body—blood poured from his seven orifices. Though drained of blood, a dreamlike blue liquid coursed through his veins, trembling as if trying to awaken his dormant potential and instigate renewal.
But his body, patched together like fractured porcelain, threatened to collapse entirely. If it did, he’d be nothing but scattered, mangled flesh.
Unlike the trailblazers before him, Qin Ming’s body had long surpassed death, deemed incapable of regeneration. In this state, what method could keep him alive?
Facing death, Qin Ming held his body together through sheer will. Surviving the brutal transformation caused by the mineral essence, he turned to the Fate-Altering Sutra—a mysterious scripture from the depths of the Night Fog World, revered by outsiders and seekers alike.
He began circulating its power.
The Fate-Altering Sutra allowed the simultaneous flow of his Celestial Light Force, Divine Wisdom, and Consciousness Aura. Together, they merged like golden rivers coursing through his ravaged body. Yet his flesh and organs were in dire straits, fractured into fragmented sections even at a microscopic level.
As the Sutra unfolded, the golden rivers spread across the shadowed and shattered landscape of his internal world. Like a pioneer clearing land, they sought to drive back the encroaching black fog. The Celestial Light, Divine Wisdom, and Consciousness Aura converged as seeds of light, buried deep within his flesh’s shadowed soil, waiting to sprout and dispel the stench of decay.
Qin Ming dared to hope—yearning for new life to bloom in the desolate soil of his body.
But at the end, the golden rivers dried up, fully absorbed into the dark, barren earth. His spirit dimmed, sinking into the soil alongside the lifeless seeds. His body showed no sign of renewal.
Confusion and despair gripped him. Was this the end? Had all his struggles been for nothing? Even the Fate-Altering Sutra couldn’t rewrite his fate. He released a final sigh of resignation, his dimming consciousness whispering, “This era bursts with potential—laws flourish, paths intertwine, and the vast depths of the Night Fog World brim with mystery. Near-Immortal Seeds and Divine Seeds may ascend to godhood. I can’t miss this! I won’t! I want to carve a path for the ordinary, for those who strive for rebirth!”
With his last sigh, the Sutra’s flow halted, its golden rivers vanished into the void. His consciousness extinguished, leaving his body silent and motionless.
Under the moonlit sky, a streak of rainbow light traced an arc across the heavens, lingering near the moon before dissipating. The world plunged back into stillness.
Qin Ming’s broken body lay inert, shrouded in churning black mist. The seeds planted by the Sutra lay dormant, unable to take root or sprout.
Not long after, golden threads emerged from within him, intertwining to mend his shattered flesh. Silver light surged, covering his torn organs and sinews with a radiant balm. Gradually, the silver light shifted to a jade-like hue, releasing a faint medicinal fragrance.
The transformation culminated in the formation of a Golden Thread Jade Garment, wrapping his body in its intricate embrace. Despite this miraculous sight, Qin Ming remained deathly still, his body encased like a cocoon.
Time passed in silence until a fragment of Qin Ming’s consciousness flickered to life, illuminating parts of his body. He emerged from the cocoon of flesh, confused and disoriented. “Who am I? Where am I?” he murmured.
He glanced down and saw a body crusted with blood, exuding death. Nearby, butterflies fluttered under the moonlight, their delicate wings catching his eye. His consciousness instinctively followed them.
“No, I’m not one of them,” he whispered, halting mid-flight. “I’m Qin Ming. I’m not dead yet!” Snippets of memory surfaced—just enough to reignite his will. He realized that if his consciousness fully detached, his physical body and dormant main spirit would perish.
Without hesitation, he returned to his body.
This fragment of consciousness, fortified by Divine Wisdom and Celestial Light Force, burned intensely, striving to awaken the dormant core of his being. Slowly, his main consciousness began to stir, faint ripples of light spreading from within.
“I will wake up. I’m not a butterfly. I am a Trailblazing Ancestor!” The fragment roared, igniting into a blazing inferno. The flames spread, rekindling his main consciousness until it shone brilliantly, and Qin Ming fully awakened.
The Golden Thread Jade Garment glimmered once more as his soul burned bright. Against all odds, he had risen again.