Chapter 21: The Blood Bamboo Forest
This novel is translated and hosted on BCatranslation
Under the soft silver moonlight, the towering mountains stood silent and grand, their snowy peaks sparkling faintly. The forest below was a tangle of larch, hazel, and birch trees, most stripped bare of leaves, their branches weighed down by a fine layer of frost. There was hardly a sound—only the crunch of Qin Ming’s boots as he trudged through the deep, powdery snow. He crossed one mountain ridge after another until, at last, he reached the edge of a place he had never dared to visit before: the Blood Bamboo Forest.
Qin Ming paused, breathing in the thin, chilly air. This part of the mountain felt strange, as though he’d stepped past the familiar borders of his old hunting grounds. Earlier, he’d heard the howls of distant beasts and the caws of odd birds, but here and now, there was only silence. The cold breeze whistled through the skeleton trees, making the forest seem as if it were holding its breath.
“This is way creepier than I thought,” Qin Ming murmured, narrowing his eyes as he surveyed his new surroundings. He had expected danger, but something about this emptiness put him on edge—like even the animals knew better than to come here. In warmer seasons, when the Fire Springs within the valley’s depths flared to life and blood snakes slithered out to hunt, this place would be even worse: quieter, yet somehow more alive with hidden threats.
Leaning forward at the lip of a sloping valley, Qin Ming looked down into the heart of the Blood Bamboo Forest. Despite the dim moonlight and swirling snow, he could see row upon row of scarlet bamboo stems rising tall, their thin leaves trembling slightly in the wind. They looked like bright red coral swaying in a white, frozen sea. The sight was both beautiful and unsettling.
“Man, that’s pretty wild,” he whispered, his tone a mix of nervous admiration and teenage bravado. “Not exactly a place I’d bring a date, though.”
He knew perfectly well why people avoided this valley. The blood snakes that lurked there had a nasty name—tough, fast, and deadly. Even the local Mountain Patrol refused to set foot inside. Today, Qin Ming noticed no obvious signs of the Fire Springs glowing, but that didn’t mean it was truly dormant. He wouldn’t trust appearances. Beneath the ice and snow, hot embers could still be smoldering, waiting to flare up.
Determined to get a better look, he circled higher along the ridge, picking his way around boulders and slippery patches. From his new vantage point, he peered down again and spotted something subtle: a faint red gleam at the forest’s center, like a tiny, dying coal that refused to go dark.
Frowning thoughtfully, Qin Ming turned away from the valley and headed back toward more familiar hunting grounds. The night stretched on, and he moved with quiet patience. After a while, he managed to catch a large snow hare. He gripped the struggling creature by the ears.
“Sorry, buddy,” he said, sounding genuinely regretful as he glanced down at the plump rabbit. Returning to the high ground he’d chosen earlier, he hurled the hare with all his might toward that soft red glow far below.
The rabbit hit the snow with a muffled thump. Almost instantly, a red blur streaked out from the shadows, so fast that Qin Ming barely saw it move. The shape shot straight into the rabbit, piercing it in a heartbeat. Qin Ming’s eyes narrowed, and a shiver ran up his arms. He watched a faint golden shimmer dance across his skin—his awakened energy stirring at the threat.
There it was: a blood snake. Just over a meter long, slender and deadly, as hard as iron and swift as an arrow. Qin Ming set his jaw, muttering under his breath, “Talk about intense. And that’s a small one. If something bigger pops up, I’m toast.”
As if summoned by his thoughts, more red flashes darted forward from the valley’s center, snakes gliding over the snow in eerie silence. This time they didn’t strike like arrows; they simply slithered over to the rabbit and sank their needle-like mouths into its body.
“Yo, you guys enjoying the free buffet?” Qin Ming said quietly, crouching low and watching from afar. The snakes drank the rabbit’s blood quickly and neatly. These were no normal serpents; instead of swallowing their prey whole, they drained it like cunning vampires.
He observed them carefully. After feasting, most of the snakes retreated back toward the faint red glow—except for two that continued to glide through the bamboo, obviously on guard. Then, something bigger and more ominous emerged: a larger snake head peered out from the glowing center, tongue flickering as if tasting the cold night air.
“Fantastic,” Qin Ming sighed, rolling his eyes. “Just what I needed: the big boss snake showing up.”
The larger snake seemed alert, and the smaller ones behaved like sentries, patrolling the snowy ground. They were smart—smarter than most beasts Qin Ming knew. They tested their prey first, let the lesser snakes feed before taking any chances themselves. Poisoning them wouldn’t be easy.
After a while, the two patrol snakes slowed down, chilled by the winter air, and slipped back into the red-tinged core of the valley. The forest was silent again.
“Well, at least the cold gets to them,” Qin Ming muttered, picking his way down the slope. He knew he’d need much better equipment before taking them on. Those iron-tough snake jaws could punch through flesh as if it were soft cheese. Even for someone awakened like him, one bad bite and he’d be finished.
He soon found where he’d stashed his gear: iron spears, armor, and a handful of other weapons. He examined them thoughtfully, considering which would be best. Heavy hammers were great for smashing big creatures, but these snakes were small and lightning-fast. A sharp blade might serve him better, something like Fu En Tao’s finely honed weapon.
“Yeah,” Qin Ming said to himself, holding up a slender blade. “This’ll be way more useful than my big black hammer.”
Time wasn’t on his side. Once the Fire Springs died out completely, the blood snakes would weaken, but he wasn’t the only one with eyes on this land. There were others—powerful people and top-level beasts—negotiating and lurking around the mountains. Qin Ming had to make his move soon, before anyone else swooped in and claimed the forest’s spirit objects first.
“Guess I freaked them out a bit tonight,” he said, smirking as he turned away from the valley. “I’ll come back tomorrow. No point rushing.”
He dragged the rabbit’s drained remains back down the mountain, his mind busy with plans. Earlier, Fu En Tao, Shao Cheng Feng, and others had wanted to claim a part of this forest, but Qin Ming had dealt with them. He knew what he was doing—he just had to stay sharp.
Not long after, something caught his eye: three large, flightless birds—mutated ground chickens—running through the trees below, each carrying a rider. Qin Ming ducked behind a trunk, curious. These creatures came from Golden Rooster Ridge, a place far away. Why would their riders show up here now? One of the riders wore armor that looked unfamiliar, maybe from Red Glow City?
They vanished into the distant darkness, not heading toward the Blood Bamboo Forest. Qin Ming let out the breath he’d been holding and moved on, cautious as ever.
Just when he thought he was free to return home, he encountered another group. Four awakened individuals crossed his path. Two wore fine black robes woven with metal thread, their faces hidden. The other two looked like local hunters in their thirties. One of them gave Qin Ming a friendly grin.
“Hey there, kid,” the older local called, his voice carrying strangely in the frosty air. “We’re looking for a place nearby—heard there’s a spot where silver light’s been seen. You know anything about that?”
Qin Ming stiffened. So they were treasure-hunting. He nodded toward a distant crest. “Yeah, sure. Just head straight about three miles that way.”
The man smiled wider. “Thanks, but how about you guide us? We’ll pay you a piece of Night Silver for your trouble.”
Qin Ming shook his head, taking a step back. “No thanks, mate. That area’s too dangerous. Plus, I need to get home. My mom’s counting on me to bring back something to eat.”
Before he could turn and leave, a cold, youthful voice came from one of the robed figures: “Kill him. We can’t have anyone know we were here.”
Qin Ming’s heart skipped a beat. He’d met people from Red Glow City before—Cao Long, Wei Zhi Rou, Mu Qing—they’d at least pretended to be respectful. But these strangers were heartless, ordering a murder as casually as if discussing the weather.
He raised both hands slightly, trying to reason. “Whoa, guys, chill out. Look, I’m just a local kid. No need to get nasty.”
“Sorry, kid,” said one of the local men, stepping forward, regret flashing in his eyes. “They’re paying us. We have to follow orders.”
“Three-Eyed Sect, right?” Qin Ming asked softly, recognizing their behavior.
The man lunged at him, blade flashing in the moonlight. But Qin Ming reacted instantly. He became a blur, moving faster than they could track. In a blink, his short blade sliced their throats. The men’s eyes went wide, shocked that the ‘harmless kid’ had struck like a trained fighter.
The robed men stood rooted to the spot, stunned. Qin Ming showed no mercy. He snatched his black metal hammer off his back. There was no time for fear—only action. If they meant to kill him, he’d fight back and win.
Metal clashed as the next foe tried to block his hammer strike, their blade ringing out as steel met steel. Qin Ming focused on the one who felt truly dangerous. Had it been a week ago, he might have struggled. But tonight, everything he’d practiced—the blade moves he’d studied—flowed naturally, giving him a calm, lethal precision.
With a grunt, Qin Ming knocked aside the man’s weapon. The impact made the man’s arm go numb, terror dawning in his eyes. Qin Ming’s hammer crashed into his chest, crushing bone and muscle. Blood sprayed across the snow. The man fell without a scream.
Qin Ming turned to the last robed stranger, who staggered backward, horrified. The teen hurled his heavy hammer, and the man’s head burst like a ripe fruit. It was over almost as quickly as it had begun.
Not wasting any time, Qin Ming cleaned his hammer with a handful of snow. He dragged the bodies away and hurried back down the mountain. The area was growing busy with unwelcome guests, and he couldn’t afford to lose track of the Blood Bamboo Forest. He still needed to wait for the Fire Springs to fade. After he ate a quick meal at home, he snuck back into the mountains under cover of darkness.
“Every day that passes helps me,” he whispered to himself, standing guard in the shadows. “The weaker those Fire Springs get, the better. But I have to watch out for these newcomers. They’ll want the same prizes I do.”
He stayed hidden through the night, knowing no one would want to face the blood snakes in pitch darkness. By dawn, Qin Ming crept back to the lookout point. He saw that the dim red glow at the valley’s center had faded a little more. A smile tugged at his lips.
“Perfect,” he said, tucking his blade at his side. If he timed it just right, by tonight he might be able to strike and claim what he wanted.
But just then, a strange phenomenon lit up the mountain—a kind of “earth light” shimmered and danced, casting flickering beams across the snowy peaks. The red bamboo glowed softly beneath the swirling lights, the scene breathtaking and otherworldly.
Qin Ming stood still, caught between wonder and worry. It was a sight he’d never forget. And in the distance, he spotted yet another group of figures approaching.
He slipped deeper into the shadows, choosing silence. If these strangers planned to charge into the Blood Bamboo Forest, he could let them go first. He would watch from the darkness, patiently waiting for the perfect moment to act.