Chapter 2: The Flame Spring
This novel is translated and hosted on BCatranslation
Encircled by jagged stones, the Flame Spring bubbled and steamed, casting its warm, golden glow far and wide across a world wrapped in endless night. The light, fierce and unwavering, pierced through the darkness, sending shadows darting back into their hidden corners.
Qin Ming crouched by the pool, his hand dipping into the warm, glowing waters to pull out a gleaming stone. This gem, more brilliant than a polished ruby, shimmered with a soft, fiery hue, casting little beams of light that flickered across the surrounding darkness. These were sunstones—precious jewels every household needed for light. Their source was this very spring. When their glow began to fade, they were returned to the pool, where they’d drink again from its mysterious power and shine just as brightly as before.
The pool brimmed with a fiery red glow, gleaming like molten rock, but it was strangely cool to the touch—cooler even than a person’s skin. The surface of the water sparkled and shimmered, with bright flames leaping and dancing within. But this wasn’t any ordinary fire, nor a simple spring. It was a unique gift, a blessing in a world where the sun had vanished, leaving only shadows of twilight and depths of night.
In these days, where true daylight was just a distant memory, the Flame Spring had become a lifeline. It kept the mutated grains like silver wheat alive and even the simple crops like potatoes growing. Every living thing depended on its warmth. Without the spring, sickness would spread, and life would wither. The Flame Spring was, in every way, their heartbeat.
Even without sunlight, the seasons went on. In spring and summer, the Flame Spring was generous, bubbling up to meet the needs of sowing and growth. But in winter, things changed—a time of scarcity when the spring’s light, though still strong, could only warm the sunstones that lit their homes.
In this world of darkness, life was a constant chase for warmth. The Flame Spring, blazing against the eternal night, naturally drew the eyes and desires of many creatures hiding in the shadows. Luckily, most of these beasts stayed in their own territories, keeping a delicate balance—for now.
But the village faced a hard truth—supplies were running low. A year filled with misfortune had emptied their stores. First, there were monstrous birds with sharp beaks that sliced through their wheat fields like knives, leaving barren patches behind. Then came the plague of ants, devouring what was left, followed by mistakes made by men. Now, with winter closing in, many villagers were on the brink of starvation.
The night was soft now, its colors muted and gentle, with occasional bursts of “earthlight” in the distance, faintly outlining the thick forest beyond. But when deep night fell, everything would be swallowed by an impenetrable darkness where nothing moved, and silence ruled.
Qin Ming stood by the spring, his thoughts drifting to the days ahead. He wondered when he might set out again to find a way to ease their desperate food shortage. His eyes traveled to the dark wilderness where snow piled high, reaching chest-deep—a harsh reminder of the world they lived in. The edge of the village, lit by the spring’s glow, marked a small, brave boundary against the vast, creeping darkness.
A cold wind swept through, sending ripples across the square-shaped pool, which spanned about fifteen feet across. Snowflakes fell softly upon the twin trees beside the spring, their jade-like leaves unfazed by the cold. Besides keeping bugs away in the summer, though, they weren’t much use.
A snowflake, icy cold, slipped down Qin Ming’s neck, snapping him back to reality. No matter what, he needed to get his strength back; the outside world was too dangerous for a man who wasn’t at his best.
He made his way back through the village, passing houses lit by the soft glow of sunstones. Behind him, the wilderness stretched out in pitch-black darkness, silent and foreboding like a giant beast ready to swallow everything whole.
Back in his small courtyard, Qin Ming began a series of movements—an exercise routine he had done for years. His muscles moved with the ease of practice, and soon a fine sheen of sweat covered his brow, warmth spreading through his limbs. Only when he felt the heat settle deep inside did he stop.
Inside his simple dwelling, he carefully took out a tiny crystal vial, no bigger than a thumb, intricately carved and perfectly clear. Inside, a blue liquid swirled, icy and shimmering with flecks of frost. Holding it up to the light of a sunstone, he watched the fire’s glow refract through the crystal, casting patterns of light on the walls.
The vial bore two finely etched characters: “Mineral Essence.” The liquid inside was a deep, mesmerizing blue, swirling like mist when gently stirred, almost dreamlike.
Qin Ming held back the urge to open it. His recent illness had left him weak, and using the essence now could do more harm than good. He had found this rare treasure in the dangerous mountain wilds. Until then, he’d only heard stories of such a thing; he never imagined he’d hold one in his hand.
When the body was fully healthy, this essence could strengthen one’s constitution and refresh the spirit. But since escaping the mountains, he’d been too ill to use it. “Maybe in a few more days, it’ll be safe,” he thought, carefully putting the precious vial away.
A cold wind howled through the empty courtyard, and the quiet settled over him like a familiar cloak. Qin Ming had grown used to such silence. As the hours went by, the night deepened, and the shallow night was nearing its end.
Then Lu Ze arrived, a boy of five bundled warmly against the cold trailing close behind him. Despite his thick clothing, the child’s cheeks were bright red from the chill.
“Wen Rui’s shot up!” Qin Ming said, measuring the boy’s height with a wave of his hand.
“Uncle, are you better now?” Little Wen Rui asked, his big, bright eyes wide with concern. He was at that sweet, innocent age when kindness came as naturally as breathing.
Qin Ming grinned. “Loads better. In a few days, Uncle will go catch that talking ‘bird’ you keep dreaming about.”
“A talking bird? For real?” Wen Rui’s eyes lit up at the thought.
But Lu Ze’s face was serious. “Things are weird lately,” he said, handing Qin Ming a food box. “Don’t rush off just yet.”
Qin Ming opened the box to find rock rice—coarse, gritty, and tough to chew. Still, his stomach rumbled. He only ate twice a day, and he was hungry. To his surprise, there were a few red dates mixed in, soft and fragrant, offering a rare hint of sweetness.
He noticed Wen Rui eyeing the dates, his little throat swallowing instinctively. Qin Ming felt a pang of guilt. Kneeling down, he asked softly, “Wen Rui, tell Uncle the truth. Are you still hungry?”
Lu Ze shook his head. “Nah, he’s just staring at the red dates.”
Without a second thought, Qin Ming picked out the dates and offered them to the boy, who took them with wide eyes. Lu Ze tried to stop him. “Those are for you, to build up your strength. Don’t give them away.”
Just then, Liang Wan Qing showed up, her face stern. She glanced at Wen Rui and gently scolded, “Your Uncle Qin is still recovering. Without meat or proper herbs, you shouldn’t be greedy for food.”
She wasn’t unkind. At first, she hadn’t thought Qin Ming would survive, like the other three villagers who’d succumbed to illness. She’d argued against her husband’s kindness. But seeing him slowly regain his strength, even as their own supplies dwindled, she felt compelled to help in whatever small way she could.
Wen Rui nodded, his big eyes blinking earnestly. “Uncle, you eat. Get well soon. I’m not hungry.”
Qin Ming smiled but found it hard to eat. He insisted Wen Rui keep the dates, even as a sense of urgency settled in his chest. Soon, he would have to venture into the wilds again.
He thanked the couple, his gratitude clear, though his words were few. Instead, he turned the conversation to the happenings outside the village.
Liang Wan Qing stayed for a while but eventually had to head home, where their other child, barely two years old, needed her care.
“There’s been a giant beast prowling the woods lately,” Lu Ze warned, his face darkening. “Some folks have already lost their lives. It’s too dangerous to go out alone.”
Qin Ming nodded, his brow furrowed. There had been a lot of movement in the woods recently. Maybe the fierce snowstorms had made food scarce for the mountain beasts, or maybe there was some other reason. Whatever it was, the wilds had become a hotbed of danger, especially near the spot where Qin Ming had gotten sick. He remembered a pair of eyes, brighter than sunstones, glaring through the darkness, freezing the entire forest in an instant.
His thoughts drifted back to that frightening experience a month ago. Deep in the pitch-black forest, he and three companions had unknowingly stumbled into a crevice, plunging into the earth’s dark embrace.
The underground world was bizarre, almost otherworldly. After the pitch darkness came a blinding light, so intense it felt like needles in their eyes, making them water with pain. But the most terrifying thing was the way his heart pounded—furiously, as if trying to break free from his chest, like a drumbeat that shook his very bones. His body felt paralyzed, his blood rushing like a wild river, and a faint roaring filled his ears.
Qin Ming was certain he’d die there, his heart ready to burst from the strain. But then, as suddenly as it began, the blinding light within the crevice dimmed, and he saw silver threads—fine as silk, weaving together like a spider’s web, making his head spin and his senses blur.
He staggered as his vision darkened, his companions collapsing around him. Only when the silver threads vanished into the darkness did his heartbeat slow, his body relaxing. He managed to drag his three companions out one by one, and after what felt like an eternity, they finally awoke.
Near the crevice, Qin Ming discovered several bodies, freshly dead and dressed for spring. Never one to waste an opportunity, he searched them and found a small crystal vial of blue liquid among the belongings. He hadn’t told Lu Ze about it; the dead men had seemed important, and he didn’t want to stir up trouble.
In the mountains, fierce beasts would have long since devoured those bodies; not a trace would be left.
Returning to the village, Qin Ming and his companions had grown weak, their steps faltering, their minds clouded. Three of them died that very day, their bodies turning black and lifeless. Only Qin Ming had survived, his strength slowly returning over the course of a month.
After finishing his coarse meal, Qin Ming and Lu Ze talked for a long time. Little Wen Rui sat beside them, listening with wide-eyed curiosity.
The conversation eventually lightened, and Qin Ming turned to the shy boy, saying, “Wen Rui, once I’m strong again, you’ll have all the dates and nuts you want.”
“Will there be meat?” Wen Rui asked softly, swallowing again as if remembering some distant taste. His face flushed with hope.
“There will be, I promise!” Qin Ming chuckled, ruffling the boy’s hair.
As the night deepened, Lu Ze rose to leave, taking Wen Rui with him. The glow from the Sunstone in the brass basin was beginning to fade.
Qin Ming closed his eyes and sat still, his mind journeying through a series of motions, training his thoughts until they were calm and clear. When he opened his eyes again, he caught a faint glimmer of silver on his skin—a flicker that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
“Was it just an illusion?” Qin Ming wondered, startled.
The sight had been fleeting, but he was sure he’d seen it—a faint silver ripple across his skin, gone in an instant. For years, he had practiced this peculiar form of training without any results, and now, something had finally changed.
A fine layer of sweat coated his body, and he felt as though he had just undergone a great trial. Yet, he felt invigorated. Stepping out into the courtyard, his eyes gleamed with excitement as he went through the motions once more.
He immersed himself in the practice, and soon his body grew hot, as though a vibrant force flowed through him like a river nourishing a parched land.
After a long while, Qin Ming was drenched in sweat, a fine mist rising from his head. His whole body felt rejuvenated, as if the last remnants of his illness had been burned away. Only when fatigue set in did he stop, and then he saw it clearly—a faint silver glow emerging from his skin before dissipating swiftly.
“It really is different,” he thought, his heart pounding with excitement. There was a warmth coursing through him, nurturing his spirit, his energy growing stronger by the moment.
After a brief rest, he considered continuing, but his stomach growled loudly, reminding him of his hunger. He had already eaten supper, but he could not risk depleting his strength further. He certainly wasn’t about to ask Lu Ze for more food.
His clothes were soaked through, so he went to heat some water for a wash. Looking at his reflection in the basin, his face, once pale and gaunt, now bore a healthy flush. “I’m almost recovered,” he murmured to himself. “I’ll set out at dawn.”
He had no desire to be a burden on others. Now that he could move freely once more, he was determined to find a solution to their food shortage and free himself from this predicament.
Qin Ming took the spent Sunstone back to the Flame Spring, keeping only a small piece for his journey. The village lights dimmed one by one, merging with the surrounding shadows.
The winter night was cold and fierce, the wind howling as it whipped up the snow into a blinding white storm, burying courtyards in drifts.
“I’m so hungry!” Qin Ming muttered to himself. Though it wasn’t yet time for sleep, his hunger gnawed at him like a wolf inside his belly. At that moment, he’d have gladly eaten a field mouse if one had crossed his path. But even the mice had disappeared in these dire times.
He tried to calm himself, to find rest, but his hunger was too fierce. He forced himself to think of pleasant things—of faces blurred by time, of those dear to him.
His thoughts turned again to his peculiar training. Something had truly changed tonight. The silver ripples had appeared, however briefly, and he wondered what other secrets might yet be revealed. His mind wandered to the thought of ripe berries under the snow, of roasted lamb legs by a crackling fire.
“No, I mustn’t think like this!” he chided himself, pinching his arm to keep his thoughts in check.
Resolute, he decided he would set out at the next shallow night, all for little Wen Rui’s sake. And he couldn’t help but smile, swallowing at the thought of the feast to come.
With thoughts of food warming his weary heart, Qin Ming finally drifted into a restless sleep.