Chapter 38: A Night Without Rest
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation
As the sun slipped below the distant hills, the reddish glow in Qin Ming’s room dimmed like a dying ember. The old bronze basin’s Sunstone, once bright and steady, now offered only a weak, flickering light. Qin Ming stood there, heart pounding, as a strange, icy chill spread through his fingers. He had only just touched a piece of that Sunstone, yet something felt terribly off. His fingertips stung as if frostbitten, and he jerked his hand away at once, rubbing it frantically with his other palm.
“Seriously?” he muttered under his breath, voice cracking as it sometimes did, like any teenage boy’s might when he was nervous. He shook his hand again, trying to get rid of the odd numbness, but it refused to vanish. How could he stay calm when something this weird was happening?
Leaning closer, he picked up a small piece of the Sunstone and held it to the fading twilight outside the window. Under the last scraps of daylight, it looked disappointingly dull. Instead of feeling solid and special—like some legendary treasure—its surface seemed damp and slippery, as if it had melted in his hand.
“Wait… did this thing just melt?” Qin Ming whispered, squinting at it. He gave it another squeeze, half expecting some magical reaction. Instead, a chilly, colorless liquid trickled between his fingers. No sparkle, no strange scent—just something that looked as ordinary as plain water. In legends, mystical materials were always dramatic, stirring up whispers and celebrations in distant towns. This was more like a soggy clump of dirt.
“Ah, so you’re just leftover scraps, huh?” Qin Ming said, glaring at the tiny puddle in his palm. “You’re cold, sure, but not exactly impressive.” He tried flicking the liquid off, but it stubbornly clung to his skin as though refusing to fall.
“What’s your deal?” he asked, frowning at the stuff. It certainly didn’t feel like anything legendary. He recalled warnings from Mu Qing and Cao Long about materials lurking under strange lights—things that could seep into a person’s body and cause all sorts of trouble. Just thinking about it made him shiver. He couldn’t ignore this goo if it decided to burrow into his skin.
Then he noticed the sensation changing. The harsh, icy bite in his fingertips softened into a gentle warmth, like soaking cold hands in a warm bath. It drifted slowly up his arm, toward his shoulder, and then his neck. Qin Ming’s eyes went wide. He tried the special Awakening Method he’d practiced from that old silk script, hoping to block whatever force was moving through him, but it was no use. The warmth flowed right past every barrier he tried to raise.
“Ugh, fine, I get it!” he complained, sounding every bit the frustrated teen. “You’re not just some random puddle. But could you at least chill out for a second?”
The more he resisted, the faster it spread. Soon, that gentle warmth had reached both arms and then climbed into his head. Nervous but curious, Qin Ming glanced into a polished bronze mirror. He expected something dramatic—glowing eyes, strange lines on his face—but instead, he just looked… normal. No pain throbbed in his skull, no dizziness crept through his thoughts. In fact, he felt clearer and more awake than he had all day, as if he’d just shaken off a long nap.
To test himself, he picked up his heavy black metal hammer and stepped into the courtyard. He tried a few practice swings, slicing through the air with all his might. His strength felt about the same, but his senses seemed sharper. When he looked at the evening sky, distant mountain outlines were suddenly clearer, less blurred. It wasn’t earth-shattering, but it was something.
Later, he snatched a quick meal and wandered toward the village entrance, stopping beside an old fire spring sheltered under two remarkable trees—one black like ink, the other as white as carved jade. Even in the coldest winters, their leaves stayed full and lush. He ran his fingers along the black trunk, pondering silently.
“This strange liquid came from the direction of Black and White Mountain, right?” he murmured. “Are you two trees related to all that?” He’d tried chewing their leaves before, hoping for some secret power, but nothing ever happened.
He shrugged, feeling oddly fine. If this liquid had been dangerous, surely he’d be sick by now. Instead, he felt… brighter. More alert. Still, just as he began to relax, distant sounds drifted through the quiet night. Angry shouts, sobbing children, a woman’s muffled cries—all coming from Old Liu’s courtyard.
Without hesitation, Qin Ming hurried over, heart tightening at what he might find. He arrived to see three enormous chickens—one a pale golden color that gleamed faintly—surrounding Old Liu’s family. These were no ordinary chickens; one looked like a second-mutation Golden Rooster, its wicked talons scratching deep into the courtyard stones.
Three men stood there too, dressed in outfits that marked them as Golden Rooster Riders from Golden Rooster Ridge. They had Old Liu cornered, his family trembling behind him.
Old Liu looked desperate but determined. The lead rider’s voice was low and mocking: “You’re getting old, Liu. Your body’s not up for another awakening. Why not sell us your red herb at a decent price? At least leave something for your family.”
His companion nodded, pretending to care. “Exactly. That fiery red herb is too risky. If you fail your awakening, it’ll kill you. Give it to us, old man.”
Old Liu clenched his jaw. “I’ve prepared carefully for this,” he said quietly. “I’ve taken medicine, done everything slowly. I can handle it.” His eyes were fierce, like a last flame refusing to go out. It was clear he’d staked everything on this chance—his one shot at a second awakening.
Qin Ming’s blood boiled. These knights were basically bullies, trying to snatch Old Liu’s precious herb and offer a pittance in return. Old Liu must have risked life and limb to get that herb, probably venturing into dangerous places these so-called knights wouldn’t dare enter alone.
Stepping forward, Qin Ming tried to keep his voice steady. “Hey, leave him alone,” he said, sounding like a teenager trying to stand tall. “He earned that herb. You lot have no right—”
One of the men sneered. “Who’s this kid? Get lost, boy.” The others shot Qin Ming a glare that warned him not to meddle.
Old Liu gently raised a trembling hand to stop Qin Ming. “Don’t, Ming,” he said softly. He didn’t want a young villager getting hurt. After all, these fellows had once been bandits, only recently pardoned. Tangling with them could bring bigger trouble.
But Qin Ming refused to give up. He remembered that the red herb had been granted to them by Cao Long and Mu Qing of Red Glow City. They weren’t just some random folks in the wild. “This herb is protected,” Qin Ming said, trying again. “Cao Long and Mu Qing—”
“Shut it,” snapped the leader, rolling his eyes. “Your fancy backers don’t scare us, kid.”
Realizing he’d get nowhere, Old Liu vanished inside his house and returned holding a cloth bundle. Inside were glowing red herbs. His hands shaking, he broke off a piece and handed it over, keeping the rest for himself. He looked hollowed out, but determined not to give everything away.
“Is this all?” grumbled one of the knights, eyeing the bundle as if suspecting some had already been eaten. Old Liu said nothing more, just held himself steady.
The knight slapped Old Liu’s shoulder, leaving bruises and a wave of hidden pain behind. “Count yourself lucky,” the man said, smirking. Then he and his cronies strutted off into the night, their footsteps crunching through the snow.
The moment they were gone, Old Liu coughed hard, flecks of blood staining the snow. Qin Ming rushed forward, worry sharpening his voice. “Liu, are you okay?” he asked, voice cracking with concern.
Old Liu wheezed slightly. “I’ll be fine,” he managed. “He used a dirty move—something they call Yellow Mud Palm. It messes with your blood energy, making awakening nearly impossible for a while. But I’ll recover. I’ve survived worse.”
Qin Ming’s fists clenched as he looked at the closed village gate. He longed to chase after those bullies, hammer swinging, but he knew better. That would only invite a larger group from Golden Rooster Ridge to descend upon the village. He had to be patient, to find another way.
“It’s not right,” Qin Ming said quietly. “We won’t let them get away with this.” Yet he knew talk was cheap. The world beyond their quiet village was growing more dangerous, and even now, the Three-Eye Sect and others like them were testing Old Liu’s resolve too. They were all caught in a tense struggle, and there were no easy answers.
Later that night, though Qin Ming wanted to rest, he simply couldn’t. He paced his small courtyard for hours, energy pulsing through him in a steady, tireless rhythm. Usually, after such a stressful day, a person would collapse into sleep. But now, Qin Ming felt as though someone had turned off his need to sleep entirely. Midnight came and went, and still he circled the village, trudging through snowdrifts, counting his laps. Eighteen full rounds, and he wasn’t even winded. His heart thumped calmly in his chest, neither racing nor slowing, just steady and strong.
“What’s happening to me?” he whispered, pausing under the faint starlight. Back in his courtyard, he ran through the Silk Script Awakening Method’s moves, swinging his blade faster and faster. He broke a sweat but never felt tired. The warm, alert energy inside him kept him going, like a hidden fire that refused to go out.
Before dawn, he tested his strength on a heavy stone stele that weighed more than a thousand pounds. He dug in his fingers and lifted it overhead, arms trembling but not giving out. He’d never managed that before. When morning light brushed over the village, Xu Yueping noticed his bloodshot eyes.
“Qin, are you all right?” she asked gently.
He just shrugged, rubbing his face. “Didn’t sleep well,” he said, which was true enough, if not the full story.
Later on, Qin Ming reported everything to Cao Long, Mu Qing, and Wei Zhirou—how the Golden Rooster Knights had bullied Old Liu, and how the Three-Eye Sect had tried it before. Mu Qing’s fury was swift. She found the knight who’d threatened Liu and slapped him so hard his teeth rattled. Cao Long swung his halberd, slicing a tree clean in two, warning them all that any further trouble would cost them dearly.
The Three-Eye Sect received similar threats. Old Liu nearly cried with relief. Qin Ming felt a bit safer knowing that Liu’s protectors were serious, yet he still doubted these bullies would give up so easily. The world was full of people who pushed boundaries until someone pushed back.
That evening, Qin Ming sat quietly in his courtyard, flipping through an old blade manual he’d once buried in his yard for safekeeping. The Sunstone’s soft glow seemed clearer than before. He noticed details in the lettering he’d never paid attention to, as if his mind had sharpened along with his eyes. Outside, the night air felt fresh and clean, as if some unseen veil had been lifted.
He touched his forehead where the warmth had settled, realizing something had changed inside him. He wasn’t sure if it was good or bad, but he couldn’t deny it was there. Somewhere, somehow, that strange liquid had rewritten a part of him. And as he listened to the quiet hush of the village night, he couldn’t shake a strange, exciting thought:
“This world,” he murmured, voice soft in the darkness, “feels different now.”