Chapter 28: The Feather Cloak
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation
Qin Ming stood very still, trying hard to appear calm. On the surface, he looked as if nothing could shake him, but inside, his mind was spinning with sudden, vivid memories. At first, these memories were faint and dusty, like old photographs hidden in an attic. Then, like a bolt of lightning cutting through a stormy sky, they burst into full view: sharp and soaked in blood.
He remembered a distant night full of fire and screams. In those images, a strange boy appeared, wearing a cloak made of shimmering feathers. He moved like a ghost through the chaos, while all around him were broken bodies and pools of crimson.
Qin Ming lifted a trembling hand to his forehead. That feathered cloak had always hovered in the back of his mind, like a scar he refused to look at. Now it had returned, dragging with it painful scenes he’d tried so hard to bury.
He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stay composed. He let out a careful breath and, when he opened his eyes, he looked steady again. This wasn’t the place to lose control. Drawing on his “Light Shroud” skill, he blended quietly into the crowd, making himself as ordinary as a grain of sand. His hair stirred in the breeze, and he stood tall once more. Inside, though, those memory fragments kept flickering like ghostly lanterns at midnight. He decided to watch them from a safe distance, as if they belonged to someone else’s horrible dream, not his.
Again, he saw that terrible night. Flames raged on all sides, consuming a forest, swallowing a whole sky. At the base of a mountain, a village burned as though it were made of dry leaves and straw. Wooden beams crashed and splintered, while the streets were painted red with blood.
In the heart of that inferno stood a boy in a feathered cloak. The firelight danced along those feathers, making him look more like a spirit than a human. He moved gracefully, untouched by the dirt and ashes he passed over. His footsteps were so elegant that not even a spark dared stain his shoes.
A fourteen-year-old Qin Ming lay wounded on the ground nearby, choking on smoke. He heard people crying out, saw sparks showering down like fireflies gone mad. A piece of a burning home collapsed close by, shattering into sharp splinters.
He could see the dead—neighbors, friends, the entire village scorched into ruin. His world had been snuffed out in a single night.
The boy in the feathered cloak carried a purple bamboo staff that glowed strangely. He walked through the wreckage until he stood over Qin Ming. The boy’s eyes were bright like stars, but there was a cruel glint beneath that shine. He raised the bamboo stick and struck Qin Ming’s head. Pain exploded through Qin Ming’s skull, blood spilling into his eyes, and the world began to spin. Smoke and flames danced in front of him, making it hard to breathe, making it hard to think.
Qin Ming’s clothes were torn and dirty. His body throbbed. That first strike to his head had left him gasping, barely clinging to consciousness.
The boy struck again and again, each hit landing with a horrible crunch. Bones creaked, and Qin Ming’s vision blurred with tears and blood. It felt like hours, though it must have been moments. There was a steady, merciless rhythm to the beating.
Through clenched teeth, Qin Ming’s voice now sounded distant and shaky, “I always thought my head injury was just some freak accident,” he whispered, trying to understand the past. It was like talking about a stranger’s life, not his own.
In the background, shadowy figures combed through the village, leaving no survivors. Yet the feather-cloaked boy focused only on Qin Ming, as if he were the sole target that mattered. With every strike, it seemed he could have ended Qin Ming’s life instantly—but he didn’t. Instead, he dragged it out, making him suffer as if it were some cruel game.
Qin Ming, still lost in that memory, thought bitterly, “If he wanted me dead, why not finish me off in one blow? Why make it slow? What’s the point of all that showy violence?” He frowned, feeling the old anger and confusion rise up inside.
He focused on the boy’s face. There was beauty there, a sort of eerie grace, but it was all hollow. Underneath, there was a heart of ice. Qin Ming remembered how his arm snapped, the bones cracking under that glowing bamboo stick. How long had he been unconscious after that night, his body broken and battered?
His chest tightened at the thought. “He just enjoyed hurting me,” Qin Ming realized. “He got some sick thrill out of it.” Even now, recalling it made him feel bruised and helpless. He remembered how the boy never bothered to use his hands, always keeping a strange distance, letting the bamboo staff do the dirty work.
He remembered the sound of his skull cracking. Pain that seemed endless. The boy was like a bright, untouchable star, while Qin Ming was just dirt underfoot.
Right before he passed out completely, Qin Ming thought he saw two rescuers rushing out of nowhere. They chased the boy away, then scooped Qin Ming up, dragging him off into the dark night. Half-blind with pain, Qin Ming caught a glimpse of a distant city glowing on the horizon—Falling Moon City.
He heard murmured voices as he drifted in and out of darkness: “Avoid Falling Moon City. We don’t want trouble.” He remembered someone sighing, “His head’s got three fractures, scalp ripped open… He’s in bad shape. Might not live. And his arm, his chest… a wreck.”
Then, nothing. Blackness.
Back in the present, Qin Ming stood rigid, forcing himself to taste that darkness again. “So someone saved me,” he thought quietly. “They took me away, helped me heal. No wonder I lost these memories. My head was practically smashed to bits.” He reckoned he’d been out cold for months. He’d woken up later with a healed arm and chest, completely forgetting that night. And if it weren’t for seeing a similar feathered cloak today, he might never have remembered any of it.
His heart felt weighed down, but he knew clinging to fury wouldn’t help now. He needed answers. He needed to find that boy from the past and settle this once and for all.
“The feathered cloak,” Qin Ming muttered under his breath, squinting thoughtfully. “That thing wasn’t just some fancy costume.” That night had also involved skilled fighters he couldn’t name. This had to be linked to a powerful group. He forced himself to stay calm, pressing his lips tight as he considered what to do next.
“If I’d been in his place, I wouldn’t have messed around,” Qin Ming said softly, voice tense and low. “I’d have ended it quick. No loose ends, no second chances.” He thought again of Falling Moon City, that name echoing in his head. His old village must have been nearby. The memory made his heart tighten, but he refused to let panic show on his face.
Just then, Old Man Liu, watching from the snowy crowd, whispered excitedly, “She’s strong! That woman in the feathered cloak—who is she? Not afraid of those Moon Bugs at all, is she?”
Others nearby, standing in the snow, looked on in awe. It was rare to see a fierce female warrior like that, perched atop a giant green bird in midair, glowing with an almost magical light.
“She’s probably not here to really fight,” said an elderly man, squinting up at the sky. “Fighters at that level usually just show off their strength. Real battles are another matter entirely.”
Before he could finish, the distant mountain, bathed in cold moonlight, flared with dazzling brightness. Suddenly, the Moon Bugs—tiny, silver, arrow-like creatures—shot out towards the woman on the green bird. People gasped, their expressions twisting with alarm. This wasn’t a mere standoff; it looked like a real clash.
Four figures seated calmly in the snow far below didn’t even blink. They seemed to know a secret no one else did.
High above, the woman raised her slim hand. The air swirled into a curtain of shining raindrops. The silvery Moon Bugs struck these drops, sounding like knives hitting crystal. The raindrops weren’t ordinary—they turned into thin, glowing threads that sliced through the bugs as though they were made of paper. Almost all the Moon Bugs vanished, leaving only two to plummet into the snowy forest below, triggering a sudden avalanche.
Everyone watching fell silent. They could hardly believe what they’d just seen.
The main Moon Bug, glowing like a silver moon over the trees, didn’t attack again. The woman in the feathered cloak didn’t push forward either. She pulled back, as if satisfied with this small test. Both sides were feeling each other out. If one had shown clear weakness, the other would have ended things quickly. Now they both knew where they stood.
Qin Ming stared at the woman on the green bird, feeling uneasy. It was too much of a coincidence to see another feathered cloak like that. Still, he couldn’t jump to conclusions. Just because she wore feathers didn’t mean she had anything to do with that monstrous boy from his past.
He leaned closer to Mu Qing, a companion wrapped in black. Speaking quietly, he asked in a voice that tried to sound casual, “Hey, is wearing a feather cloak some big deal or what?”
Mu Qing glanced at him. “People from Beyond the Realm are strange,” she answered softly. “They don’t follow our rules. As for who she is, I don’t really know.”
Qin Ming nodded and dropped the subject. There was no point in guessing right now.
Ahead, the four figures seated in the snow looked like they were finishing their meeting. They even smiled slightly. Although Qin Ming couldn’t catch their words, it seemed some agreement had been reached. Watching this, the onlookers guessed that the quick skirmish in the sky had helped move the negotiations along.
Ling Xu, a man dressed in flowing white, spoke clearly, “We’ll help you drive off those newcomers,” he said to the snowy beings, “but in return we want a share of the harvest from the special Nodes. And any newly taken land should go back to how it was.”
A snow-white weasel, sitting beside the others, hissed, “Why should we give you anything? Maybe we should join forces with the newcomers instead. That would be simpler.”
Ling Xu didn’t bat an eye. “Don’t bother testing us,” he said calmly. “We know what you want. We only ask for the resources from the Nodes. Those newcomers, however, want it all—the goods, the land, and your homes. They claim they’ll only stay a few months, but do you truly believe that?”
The weasel narrowed its eyes, then shrugged. “Fine, we agree.”
“Excellent,” said Ling Xu, getting to his feet. “No fussing about, then.”
The two sides stood, their main deal made. Details would come later.
“That’s it?” people whispered, surprised the talks ended so fast.
“Wait for orders,” said a large tabby cat with a red sword strapped to its back. It addressed the crowd with a steady gaze. “Prepare to enter the mountain.”
A quiet excitement stirred among those who came from Red Glow City. It was all happening, and the tension in the air felt almost electric.
Qin Ming caught sight of a crow gliding by. It landed on a jagged rock rising from the snow. Nearby stood a woman in a fur cloak, her black hair fluttering softly. She was looking at him, a curious gleam in her eyes.
The crow spoke in a low voice, “Why’s that boy’s energy so much weaker now? Like he’s hiding it, trying not to stand out. I told you he wasn’t simple. Are you sure he’s the right one? Maybe check again.”
The woman nodded, still watching Qin Ming. “The one I chose is like a hidden sun, waiting for clouds to part. If he shows his strength now, he’ll only draw trouble. I’ve already made sure he’s staying quiet, sent him away from danger.”
She narrowed her eyes, studying him more closely. “Still, I might send someone to test him,” she said softly. “Just to see if he’s really worth keeping as a spare.”