Chapter 176: The “Costly” Ancestor
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation
A gentle breeze rustled through the forest, causing the leaves to whisper softly, and the moonlight that draped over the woodland, as delicate as white mist, seemed to sway with the wind.
Qin Ming awakened, his consciousness flaring like a rekindled flame, driven by an intense will to survive!
He was acutely aware that he remained in danger. The Silk Script Method had begun to operate autonomously, its once-extinguished glow now dimly reappearing.
This alone surprised him—it had granted him the miracle of waking from the brink of death.
Moments ago, Qin Ming had experienced the sensation of true death. His consciousness had seemed to sink into a murky underworld, lost in an abyss of eternal darkness.
In that moment, everything was bleak: blood-soaked soil, an air thick with death, and blackness as vast as the abyss. At the last critical juncture, the Golden Thread Jade Garment enveloped his body, piercing through the black mist and providing him with the strength to break free.
He performed an internal examination. His organs and flesh were riddled with terrifying fractures, yet these injuries were slowly mending. His heart had resumed its beat, his lungs their rhythm; he was no longer a lifeless husk.
Fully alert, he observed the golden threads and jade radiance flowing through his flesh, working to stitch, heal, and salvage his crumbling body.
“The Silk Script Method is my foundation,” Qin Ming murmured softly.
This was the technique he had practiced the longest—since childhood, over a span of more than ten years. It was more natural to him than breathing, ingrained into his very being.
Otherwise, it wouldn’t have activated on its own, harmonizing his entire body and merging with his flesh and blood to the point of unity.
Even at death’s door, the Silk Script Method, now an innate part of his being, had fought to save him and brought him back.
Qin Ming wondered, had this same phenomenon occurred years ago when Li Qing Xu shattered his skull? Was this how he had defied death back then?
His entire body itched. Tiny new flesh buds sprouted, and his internal organs tingled as sensation began to return.
Organs that had ceased functioning now stirred faintly, their activity weak but steadily increasing.
“Something’s off,” Qin Ming muttered, his intuition razor-sharp. Though he had regained consciousness and his body showed signs of recovery, he still sensed an anomaly.
Such fleeting insights often came like lightning bolts through a night sky: elusive, untraceable, yet profoundly alarming.
He pondered—could it be related to his body? Was this truly a fresh beginning?
Unlikely. After his Seventh Awakening, his body had yet to recover fully. Given his dire condition, survival itself was a blessing.
However, when the elderly woman from the Spiritual Field Realm fell, she had been clutching a Five-Colored Bottle brimming with Celestial Light Liquid. This should have sufficed to facilitate his recovery.
Her remains had landed in this vicinity; if he searched carefully, he might find traces of her body and the bottle.
“If not a matter of revival, then where is this sense of unease coming from?” Qin Ming raised his gaze to the night sky, where the moon hung bright and transparent like a divine lamp, its light filtered through faint mist.
He doubted this was the legendary moon of myths.
Suddenly, his eyes caught a flicker—beams of radiant light streaked across the moonlit sky, moving swiftly around it before vanishing.
“What’s up there?” His expression grew solemn as he scrutinized the area.
But he shook his head moments later. “First things first—I need to survive.” There was no room to dwell on such mysteries in his current state.
Qin Ming noticed the Silk Script Method operating sluggishly. This life-saving technique, embedded in his flesh, felt strained. The golden threads and jade radiance were no longer as vibrant, a testament to the severity of his injuries.
The silver lining was that he was indeed recovering. His internal injuries were healing, albeit slowly. His fragmented body, akin to shattered porcelain painstakingly pieced back together, was gradually regaining its integrity.
As his body repaired itself, exhaustion weighed heavily on Qin Ming. He knew sleep was inevitable.
But this time, it was not the kind of sleep that led to the abyss of death—it was genuine rest. When he awoke, he might feel as vibrant as a dragon once more.
Just before losing consciousness, his thoughts lingered on the Silk Script Method.
It was truly extraordinary, having saved his life time and again.
But to be precise, it was he who had saved himself.
Techniques, no matter how miraculous, were lifeless tools. Qin Ming had refined this method into an instinct, integrating it with his blood and flesh.
Mastering the Silk Script Method was no easy feat. It had taken him over a decade of relentless practice to perfect it.
Even the Fate-Altering Sutra, infamous for stumping countless elites, had not posed such a challenge for him to grasp.
Historically, the Silk Script Method required an elder practitioner to guide the novice, using their mastery of Celestial Light Force to pave the way. Only then could the foundational circulation of the method be established.
Without such guidance, success was nearly impossible.
Yet the founding patriarchs—figures on par with the Six Rulers or even the Buddha himself—had either perished, fallen, or vanished. Their disciples fared even worse.
Thus, the method became infamous, its path fractured. Though its power was undeniable, few dared to pursue it, save for theoretical study or inspiration.
After all, it had a reputation for being “costly”—even for patriarchs.
Qin Ming, however, had forged ahead on sheer willpower, blazing his own trail.
As he sank into slumber, light flowed within him. Streaks of radiance surged through his blood and flesh, blossoming like celestial light piercing through the night mist and scattering across the earth.
The circulation paths of the Silk Script Method had dimmed somewhat.
Yet his body continued to mend. His organs regained vitality, his heartbeat grew firm, and his breathing steady.
As time passed, his body radiated colorful mist and vibrant light, resembling a meteor shower tearing through darkness.
His body emitted faint hums and resonances, different regions releasing distinct bursts of brilliance.
However, this phenomenon also trapped Qin Ming in deep unconsciousness, sealing him within his own subconscious.
The Golden Thread Jade Garment barely sustained him, its protective glow flickering.
Within Qin Ming, multicolored light flowed through his flesh, segmenting his body into distinct territories that seemed isolated from one another.
This division disrupted his senses, leaving him disconnected and uneasy.
Even if the earth had quaked beneath him, he wouldn’t have stirred. How much time had passed? He couldn’t tell. Gradually, awareness seeped back into his body, and as his eyes fluttered open, a chill surged up his spine. A kind-faced old woman was smiling down at him.
For a moment, panic flooded him. Memories of an old woman from the Cui family flashed before his mind—her presence in the heavenly realm had nearly caused him to implode. And now, upon waking, another elderly woman, with a similarly serene expression, greeted him. His heart leapt in alarm.
The room was small and dimly lit by a flickering candle. The furniture, though worn and aged, gleamed faintly from years of care and polishing. Qin Ming found himself lying on a bed with peeling lacquer, its surface smooth from long use.
“You’re awake, child. It’s time to take your medicine,” the old woman said kindly, her silvery hair catching the dim light.
Qin Ming bolted upright, startled by the sudden clarity of his body. There was no trace of pain, and his vitality seemed as strong as ever—perhaps even better than before. He exhaled in relief and quickly asked, “Grandmother, where am I?”
Before the old woman could reply, a youth stepped into the room. He was sturdy and muscular, with a bushy beard that gave him the appearance of a grown man. His sharp, bright eyes exuded strength and focus.
“You were carried back by Yao Zu,” the old woman explained with a gentle smile.
“Thank you, brother,” Qin Ming said, bowing his head in gratitude as he climbed out of bed.
The bearded youth chuckled, his voice youthful despite his appearance. “I’m only sixteen—probably younger than you.”
Qin Ming blinked in surprise. The lad’s mature look had deceived him. “Ah, my apologies. Then thank you, brother,” he said, adjusting his tone. He couldn’t help but wonder if the thick beard was masking the boyish features underneath.
“Don’t rush to get up just yet,” the old woman advised with a warm smile. “When Yao Zu found you, your body was covered in a layer of dried blood. You were in terrible shape.”
Wu Yao Zu, the bearded youth, handed Qin Ming a bowl of soup. Inside were chunks of chicken and mushrooms, their aroma rich and inviting.
Qin Ming’s stomach growled, and he accepted the bowl gratefully. “Thank you. I owe you both so much.”
As he devoured the soup, a thought crossed his mind—if they had meant him harm, he wouldn’t have woken up at all. But as he finished the last drop, an odd sensation crept over him. The room seemed to shift. Suddenly, a radiant aura filled the space, bathing everything in a divine glow.
The old woman no longer looked ordinary. She resembled an ancient statue, exuding an ageless, enigmatic light so intense it was hard to keep his eyes open. Qin Ming’s breath caught in his throat. What kind of place was this?
He turned his gaze to Wu Yao Zu. The boy’s youthful appearance belied an extraordinary presence. Within him, a vibrant “rainbow light” swirled, as though his very body served as a vessel for immense power.
Even the modest room seemed to transform before Qin Ming’s eyes. The worn furniture shimmered with radiant colors, and the bed he had rested on now emanated a majestic purple mist. This was no mere room; it was a splendid palace, resplendent and otherworldly.
He peeked outside the door, catching sight of a hen scratching the ground in the courtyard. As it flapped its wings, it too emitted a divine radiance. Qin Ming pinched his cheek and shook his head, desperate to snap out of what felt like a fever dream.
Wu Yao Zu’s calm voice interrupted his spiraling thoughts. “Don’t worry. The soup has mild hallucinogenic properties—it’ll wear off soon.”
Qin Ming tried to steady his nerves, but the surreal sights around him left him unsettled. The next thing he knew, his eyelids grew heavy again. Unable to resist, he drifted back into unconsciousness.
In the haze of his dreams, he saw fragmented visions. A hunched old woman shuffled out of the courtyard, murmuring to herself, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen someone like this. The last one exploded with a bang. Yet here comes another brave soul, daring to tread this path.”
Scenes from his past surfaced in his dreams. Twin Tree Village, his grandfather, and Meng Xing Hai—familiar faces and places. He also glimpsed Li Qing Yue, surrounded by ethereal lights, her serene beauty a striking contrast to the strange voices he heard: “Ancestor, I too wish for a near-immortal artifact.”
As he stirred closer to waking, his dreams took a darker turn. The old woman’s body turned to ash, and the entire town was engulfed in flames, reduced to ruins.
When Qin Ming finally woke again, his body was drenched in sweat, but he felt oddly refreshed. His vitality had returned in full force, and every part of him felt invigorated.
Stepping out into the courtyard, he noticed a lone hen clucking as it wandered about, and rows of neatly planted vegetables. Yet beyond the small yard lay desolation—ash, rubble, and ruins. The sight was eerily reminiscent of his dream.
The small courtyard seemed to be the only intact structure amidst the wasteland. Behind it, dense woodlands framed a tranquil fire spring, its waters glimmering under the moonlight. The contrast between serenity and destruction unnerved him.
“What is this place?” Qin Ming muttered, anxiety gnawing at his chest. Had he truly fallen into the forbidden depths of this world? A place so perilous even veteran masters dared not venture?
His mind raced, recalling tales of the forbidden lands. Even figures as formidable as Cao Gan Qiu had refused to tread such paths, knowing the risks were insurmountable.
Yet here he stood, amidst ruins and silence. The old woman and Wu Yao Zu seemed to have vanished as if they had never existed. Only the courtyard, with its wandering hen, remained as proof of their presence.
Despite the eerie calm, Qin Ming turned his attention inward. His injuries were gone, his organs fully healed. Joy bubbled up inside him. His recovery was nothing short of miraculous.
But then he noticed something strange. Within his body, vibrant lights surged and shimmered, each occupying distinct regions. The dream, he realized with a chill, wasn’t entirely imaginary. The visions had left their mark.
This was it. The beginning of something greater—or perhaps, his ultimate trial. A smile crept across his face. “Better to confront it now than later,” he murmured. Whatever awaited, he was ready to face it head-on.