Chapter 3: The World of the Wilderness
This novel is translated and hosted on BCatranslation
When night’s shadow fell over the land, the calm didn’t last long. The whole village seemed to wake up at once, every home bustling as people hurried toward the Flame Spring to gather Sunstones.
Qin Ming had been getting ready for this night for a while. He had his hunting pitchfork, a short blade, and his trusty bow. The flatbread that Lu Ze had given him had been his last meal before setting off, though he hadn’t told anyone about his plans to leave the village. He didn’t want anyone’s well-meaning words to make him second-guess himself.
He wasn’t reckless; he wasn’t out here looking to die. No, Qin Ming had decided he’d try his luck in a place with fewer dangers. He’d thought long and hard about it, remembering the creature he’d glimpsed once in the autumn woods. If it was still out there, he might just find it.
“Hope it’s still hanging around,” he muttered under his breath. “Might be more than I bargained for.”
As the noise outside died down, with fewer people going out for the Sunstones, Qin Ming knew it was his moment. He slipped out, passing a couple of villagers on his way. With a nod and a quick wave, he greeted them, but before they could ask him anything, he’d already moved past, quiet as a shadow.
He walked beyond the Flame Spring, stepping into the unending darkness beyond the village. The wilderness was harsh, cold as ice. Snow piled high on the ground, and Qin Ming trudged through it, the drifts reaching up to his chest. The air was sharp and bitter, frosting his eyebrows and the tips of his hair into a brittle, icy crust.
Though there was a pale light from the night sky, it wasn’t enough to see far. Everything was a blur in the distance. Gripping his pitchfork tight, Qin Ming pressed on, each step a battle against the cold. After about four tough miles, he saw it—a dark mass ahead. That was the forest he was looking for. He wasn’t planning to go deep into the woods; his target was right on the edge.
Moving carefully, Qin Ming entered the thicket. Most of the trees were bare, their branches heavy with snow, except for a few evergreens that still held onto their color. He stopped, thinking back to the movements of the creature he’d seen before. Somewhere around here, there had been a hollow in a tree—a likely spot for its den.
“It was bigger than the others,” he whispered to himself. “Probably mutated. If I can find where it nests, there could be a good payoff.”
After a brief rest, he moved on. The forest was quiet, except for the occasional eerie cry of a strange bird and the flash of its glowing eyes in the dark, adding to the desolation of the place.
Suddenly, Qin Ming froze. A foul smell drifted on the cold wind—a scent that didn’t belong. Tightening his grip on the pitchfork, he scanned his surroundings, senses on high alert.
Without warning, he jabbed his pitchfork upward toward the branches above him!
He’d heard a rustle—a faint but unnatural sound—and traced the source of the smell. Looking up, he saw it: a dark shape hanging upside down, its face like that of a shriveled old man, deathly pale. It dropped from the branch, aiming straight for his head with a nasty snarl.
It was a terrifying sight—a sudden nightmare come to life in the dark woods. But Qin Ming’s reflexes were quick. He thrust his pitchfork up, and it met the creature mid-air.
A screech tore through the night, sending a chill down his spine. The creature, thwarted, flapped away, gliding to the side. The cold wind howled as it spread its wings wide, and with a powerful flap, it vanished into the trees, disappearing into the night sky.
The encounter had been short, but Qin Ming knew what it was.
“A Man-faced Vulture,” he muttered. A scavenger known for its ugly face and nasty habits. It looked like a cross between a grey-black eagle and a creepy old man, with a beak curved like a knife. It didn’t weigh much, maybe forty pounds at most, and usually didn’t go after living adults—just carrion. Maybe it was desperate, low on food.
He waited a moment, keeping his eyes on the dark around him. But the creature didn’t come back.
His goal was close; there was no turning back now. Taking a deep breath, he moved forward again.
“This is the spot,” he whispered.
The forest here was a mix of pine, broadleaf, and birch trees. When he saw the familiar hollow in a tree, he knew he was in the right place. It wasn’t far, and he could see its edges clearly—clean and undisturbed. That wasn’t a good sign.
“If it were still here, its breath would’ve frosted the hollow’s entrance in this cold,” he thought, feeling a bit let down. Had the creature abandoned this place?
He took a deep breath and decided to look around more. Holding his pitchfork in one hand and his knife in the other, he moved carefully, his eyes always on the lookout for danger.
Qin Ming moved silently, scanning the ground and the trees. After a while, he saw tracks in the snow—a good sign!
Suddenly, a burst of red light flared up from the distant hills, lighting up the forest in a crimson glow. Startled, Qin Ming tensed, using the momentary light to search for any signs of movement or hidden dens. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow, looking for any threats.
The light faded, and darkness took over again. It had been “earth light,” a rare thing when the Flame Spring released a glowing mist from deep underground. It usually happened in warmer months, lasting for days and bringing rain—a strange and beautiful sight in a world always in twilight.
As the darkness returned, a real smile spread across Qin Ming’s face. He’d spotted another tree hollow, this one lined with frost.
Moving quietly through the snow, his steps softened by the wind, he crept toward a thick tree. He raised his pitchfork cautiously and reached for the hollow.
Setting the pitchfork aside, Qin Ming leapt up from the snow and grabbed the tree trunk, climbing up quickly. When he reached the hollow, he swung his knife at the opening, and there was a dull thud. Inside, a creature that had been about to dart out pulled back just in time, barely missing his blade.
Qin Ming hadn’t expected to trap it so easily—a lucky break. His plan had been to find its main nest and take whatever food it had stored away—a reward worth the risk.
The hollow was filled with frantic movements and high-pitched cries. The opening was small, so Qin Ming had to stretch awkwardly to reach inside. After a few swings with his knife, he widened the hole, revealing the hollow’s inside.
He pulled out a leather sack, slipped it over his hand, and reached in to grab his catch. The sound of frantic squawking rose from the darkness. He shoved his whole arm in, feeling the wild thrashing inside. Luckily, the thick leather protected him from bites.
With a quick jerk, he pulled out his prize.
Pulling a Sunstone from his pocket, Qin Ming shone its light into the hollow and grinned. Inside were piles of wild walnuts, chestnuts, and red dates—dried goods enough to fill a sack. These were the real treasures he was after.
Hunger’s a harsh thing, but these dried fruits would keep it at bay. They were lifesavers. Qin Ming’s eyes lit up with excitement.
He glanced at the small creature he’d caught. Its bright red fur gleamed like silk in the Sunstone’s glow.
“A red squirrel,” he murmured. Normally, one might weigh a pound, but this one was over two—a sign it was mutated. It bit at the leather sack around his hand, trying to break free, but it wasn’t going anywhere. That shiny fur would fetch a nice price.
Pulling out some wire, he tied the squirrel up tight and hung it on a nearby branch.
Now came the fun part: he began pulling out the nuts and fruits, filling his leather sack. Soon, the flat bag was bulging.
When he lifted it, it weighed over eight pounds.
Nearby, the tied-up squirrel, its eyes like little black beads, glared at him, squeaking like it was cursing him.
Qin Ming chuckled. “You’ve got quite the appetite; eight pounds of food wouldn’t be enough for you, huh?” He hung the sack on his pitchfork and continued looking, holding the Sunstone up high.
In the deep of winter, these mutated critters wouldn’t hide their food in the snow—they’d lose it themselves. Qin Ming soon found another hollow nearby, then another, and even a fourth. Each one had more nuts and dried fruits.
He cracked open some wild walnuts, chewed on a few chestnuts, and sighed with contentment. They tasted pretty good. After washing some dates in the snow, he ate five in quick bites, enjoying their sweetness.
With a happy smile, Qin Ming felt truly at ease. These dried fruits weren’t just tasty—they’d get him through this ordeal. This red squirrel, with its fine coat, had four nests and over thirty pounds of winter food—a real treasure that filled half his leather sack.
The squirrel, still hanging there, had stopped squirming. It hung limp, its eyes wide and still.
Surprised, Qin Ming gave it a little shake. “Playing dead, are you?”
He’d heard tales of these mutated mountain beasts being tough and clever. Who’d have thought they could be scared to death?
“Well, well. Little Wen Rui wanted some meat. Looks like I can make a stew,” Qin Ming said, pleased to grant the kid’s wish so soon.
Meanwhile, back in Twin Trees Village, a few villagers were chatting.
“I heard Qin Ming went out armed to the teeth,” one said. “Looked like he was after something big!”
Lu Ze overheard and frowned. “That boy, out there alone. Could he be hunting a bear?”
…
Qin Ming stood on a high ledge, near the peak of a low hill at the forest’s edge. After a long search, he hadn’t found any more hollows.
Reaching the top, he looked out. The forest stretched like a dark sea, and the jagged mountains loomed in the distance, their outlines barely visible.
Deep in those mountains lay places of wonder and danger, hidden by the thick night mist. Only faint glimmers could be seen, shimmering in the haze.
Qin Ming knew those places held the unknown—the mysterious and the perilous—a world far beyond his reach.