Chapter 3: The Wilderness
This novel is translated and hosted on BCatranslation
The last glimmer of daylight had faded, and the village was caught between dusk and true darkness. Everywhere, people hurried about, clumping together near the Fire Spring, clutching sunstones they’d gathered. Qin Ming was getting ready too. He’d strapped on his hunting fork and tucked a short knife into his belt. He had his bow and a quiver of arrows slung over one shoulder. He’d already eaten the flatbread that Lu Ze had dropped off earlier that day, but he hadn’t said a word to him about tonight’s plans. There was no point—Lu Ze would only have tried to talk him out of it.
It wasn’t as if Qin Ming wanted to plunge into danger. He’d thought it through. He planned to head to a place he believed to be safe enough, just to see if fortune might smile on him. He remembered spotting something in the forest last autumn. If he was lucky, it might still be there now, waiting to be claimed.
“Come on, let it still be there,” Qin Ming muttered under his breath, tugging his hood a bit lower. “Let’s hope I strike some kind of jackpot tonight.”
Soon, the village paths fell quiet. The others had either finished gathering sunstones or had decided it was too dark to keep working. Qin Ming slipped out of his house, his eyes darting around for any curious neighbors. He passed two villagers on the way, giving them a friendly nod and a quick grin. Before they could ask anything, he moved on, silent and sure-footed.
He walked by the Fire Spring’s glow, then stepped beyond the final line of houses. Ahead lay the wilderness—vast, cold, and cruel.
The snowy drifts reached all the way up to his chest, clinging to him like icy waves. Every step felt like pushing through a wall. His breath froze into tiny crystals on his eyebrows and lashes. Night pressed in from all sides, turning the world into a strange, black blur, leaving him able to see just a few steps ahead. Still, he kept moving, one careful step at a time, his hunting fork ready in his hand.
After what felt like ages, he finally covered the four miles he’d planned for. Just ahead, the shapes of trees rose against the dark sky, forming a dense forest. He only wanted the forest’s edge, not the deeper, more dangerous heart. He took a careful breath and stepped beneath the bare branches.
All around him, trees stood stark and silent, their limbs weighed down by snow. Qin Ming stopped and tried to remember the path he’d seen that strange creature follow in autumn. He recalled a hollow in a tree trunk—maybe it had been a kind of den. His mind drifted back to its size, unusual for anything he’d seen before. A mutant, perhaps. If he could find its stash, there might be something worth taking home.
He moved deeper into the forest, branches cracking under his boots. Odd bird calls echoed now and then, sounding like distant laughter. Suddenly, a foul, rotten smell drifted toward him, making him grimace. He gripped his fork tighter and spun around, every nerve on edge.
Without warning, he jabbed his fork upward, aiming at a flicker of movement that swooped down from above. There was a dull thud and frantic flapping. Qin Ming peered up. Dangling high in the branches was a vulture-like creature with a disturbingly human-like face, shriveled and pale. A Human-Faced Vulture. It screeched, diving straight for his head. He sprang back and thrust the fork forward, forcing the bird to jerk away at the last second. With another eerie screech, it vanished into the shadows.
“Ugh,” Qin Ming muttered, breathing hard. “Guess food’s so scarce they’re getting desperate.” His voice was low, like a teenager who had just spotted something gross. He waited, expecting another attack, but nothing happened.
The forest was quiet again. He needed to keep moving—he hadn’t come this far to give up. After resting a moment, he trudged on. The trees changed slightly—pines, broadleaf trees, and birches huddled together. He recognized them from before. This was the right place.
He found the tree hollow he remembered, and it looked just as he’d pictured it, only now free of snow. That worried him. If the hollow was empty and clean, maybe the creature had left. Disappointed, Qin Ming leaned against the tree, thinking fast. Better to check thoroughly before giving up.
He held his hunting fork in his right hand, the knife in his left. Slowly, step by step, he crept through the snow. He paused and studied the ground. Yes, there—tracks! He was on the right path after all.
Just then, a burst of brilliant light slashed across the sky, lighting up the forest as if by magic. Qin Ming gasped, then quickly regained his cool. It was the glow from the Fire Spring, a rare flare that sometimes brought clouds and a brief hope of rain. In this land of eternal night, such a glow was oddly beautiful. He took advantage of the light, scanning the trees carefully.
As the brightness faded, he spotted another hollow, this one rimmed with frost. He smiled to himself. He was getting close. The wind picked up, tugging at his clothes. He carefully put down his fork and leaped up, grabbing the trunk to reach the hollow. With his blade, he tapped at the hollow’s edge.
A sudden scuffle inside. Something squeaked, darting back just before his blade sliced the hollow’s lip. A grin flickered across Qin Ming’s face. “Sweet. Still here,” he said quietly, sounding more excited than scared. If he could get at this creature’s main stash, maybe he’d hit the mother lode.
He took out a small sunstone from his pocket. Its gentle glow helped him see inside. He pulled on a beast-hide glove and reached in, ignoring the frantic squeaks. Something scrambled inside, bumping against his glove. Qin Ming grabbed hold and yanked it out.
He held a bright red squirrel, its fur gleaming like polished silk in the sunstone’s light. It was bigger than normal, maybe two pounds or more—definitely a mutant. It snapped at his glove, trying to bite him and wriggle free.
“Dude, chill,” Qin Ming whispered, sounding like an annoyed boy who’d just caught a bratty younger cousin. He tied it up with some iron wire and hung it on a low branch, safely out of reach. Then he shone his sunstone into the hollow again.
His heart practically soared. Inside were walnuts, chestnuts, red dates—wonderful dried foods. In a place where people always worried about starving, these were treasures. Qin Ming’s eyes lit up. He knew these supplies could keep him and his friends going for quite a while.
He set to work at once, scooping out handfuls of dried goods and filling his beast-hide bag. The squirrel hissed and squeaked, its black eyes glaring at him. Qin Ming just chuckled. “Man, what were you thinking?” he teased. “No way you’d survive on this stuff all winter anyway, right?”
He checked a few more hollows in nearby trees—these mutant squirrels often stored food in several spots. Bingo! He found more nuts and dried fruits, enough to fill multiple bags if he’d had them. He cracked some walnuts on the spot, chewing happily, and even ate a few dates after brushing them off in the snow. They were sweet and felt like a gift from the forest itself.
Soon, Qin Ming’s belly was warm and full. He couldn’t believe his luck. All in all, the squirrel had stashed around thirty pounds of food. He stuffed about half of it into his pack. The squirrel, its energy gone, hung limply from the branch, looking faint and defeated.
“Seriously?” Qin Ming laughed softly. “You just fainted on me?” He’d heard mutant creatures were not only tougher but also smarter and more temperamental. This one had clearly had enough for one night.
Qin Ming shrugged. “Wen Rui wanted some stew. Looks like I can whip something up when I get back.” His grin widened. His friends would be thrilled—he’d actually managed to bring home something good.
Back at Twin Trees Village, a few folks had noticed him heading out, armed to the teeth. Rumors drifted through the houses. Lu Ze heard people whispering that Qin Ming might be after something big, maybe even a bear. Lu Ze frowned, worried. What was Qin Ming thinking, heading off alone?
…
Qin Ming stood now on a low hill at the forest’s edge, looking out at the rolling darkness of the mountains. He’d searched for more squirrel holes but hadn’t found any. Still, with a bag full of dried fruits and nuts, he couldn’t really complain.
From this vantage point, he could see the dark outline of distant peaks and faint, mysterious lights glowing in the far-off mist. He knew that deeper into those mountains lay dangers and secrets he wasn’t ready to face. Not yet, anyway.