Chapter 6: The Golden Age
This novel is translated and hosted on BCatranslation
The moment Qin Ming stepped back into his snow-covered courtyard, a wild swirl of feelings spun inside him. Just a few days ago, he’d been told that mastering certain techniques was impossible for him. But now, he could actually feel them sparking to life inside his body, as if he’d finally found the key to an ancient, secret door. Everything had changed. It felt like he stood at the edge of a whole new world of power.
He had just returned from the wilderness, and he could sense a quiet heat glowing beneath his skin. Outside, snow drifted down in delicate flakes, but he felt pleasantly warm, as though the biting cold could no longer harm him. He pressed the ball of his foot against the hard ground, and, to his astonishment, the big stone mill in the courtyard rose into the air. He didn’t even have to try very hard—it was as if he had become lighter than gravity itself.
Qin Ming couldn’t resist testing this new strength. He leapt upward and scooped a handful of snow straight from the rooftop. His breath, steaming in the chill air, shot out in a thin, spear-like gust, making a sharp whistling sound. There was a strange, thrilling grace to it all, as if even the wind obeyed him now.
His movements felt smooth and powerful. His core tensed, and each breath fell perfectly in step with the next. One moment he stood solid and still; the next, his shape blurred as he moved. The snow on the ground stirred into swirling patterns, rising like tiny silver dancers all around him. He swung his arm in a long, sweeping arc, and the drifting snow scattered like seeds thrown into a white sky. The force of his motion alone was shocking, as if the air itself rippled with his energy.
A strange current hummed under his skin, and warmth flooded his body, making it tingle. He noticed silvery lines shimmer faintly across his flesh, and sweat poured down as if every drop was carrying away something unwanted or old. He felt light and clean, as if something wonderful was happening inside him.
Qin Ming grinned. He felt terrific—his whole body seemed touched by a gentle glow, a soft silvery sheen. He knew these changes were rare, even during something as legendary as an Awakening. This was special. He kept training, pressing himself to the edge of his limits until, finally, he had to pause. Awakening was a journey, he reminded himself, something that happened step by step. But now he was certain he would see it through.
Instead of returning indoors, he settled down in the quiet courtyard and let the snow fall onto his shoulders. Even sitting still, he radiated warmth. He was at peace, so unlike the Qin Ming of before—who, weak from illness, had shivered miserably under heavy blankets and hot stones. Back then, warmth had been something distant and fragile. Now, it seemed to live inside his bones.
He closed his eyes and imagined himself practicing those tricky motions over and over again. He aligned his breathing with his thoughts, feeling that shimmering light gently returning. The words he remembered drifted through his mind: Mind guides breath, breath follows intent. The glow around him brightened a shade, and his heart felt steady and calm.
Soon, the courtyard fell silent. Snow blanketed everything, as if the world had wrapped itself in a heavy, quiet quilt. Qin Ming stayed there, unmoving, emptying his mind until nothing remained but a quiet stillness. After a while, the silver glow faded, and he opened his eyes, feeling renewed and changed inside.
He tested his strength again, easily hefting the two-hundred-pound millstone. It was unbelievably simple, as if he were lifting a mere bucket of water. Then he eased it down gently, admiring how much more controlled he had become.
“I’ll probably nail my Awakening in about two more days,” he murmured, sounding a bit amazed, like a boy who had just discovered he could fly. He was so close he could practically feel it.
All of a sudden, a fierce hunger gripped him, a hunger he was starting to recognize as part of this change. He rushed to cook a pot of mushroom soup, tossing in walnuts, almonds, and chestnuts. He added red dates and hawthorn berries too, feasting until his stomach felt pleasantly full. He sighed with satisfaction, glad to have quieted that bottomless pit inside him—even if just for a while.
Then he returned to his training, determined to speed up this Awakening process. He moved like a taut bow, every muscle singing with energy. The snow in the courtyard whirled about as he danced through his exercises. Time passed strangely—he’d practice, then rest, then eat, over and over. His strength didn’t just come in sudden bursts; it grew steadily, firmly, and it showed no signs of stopping. Early evening slipped into deep night, and still he trained, driven by that wild, unstoppable force humming within him.
When it was finally time to sleep, he washed himself in icy water without feeling a shiver. His tall, lean frame showed no hint of spare fat—just strong, packed muscle. His black hair dripped and sparkled under the soft glow of a sunstone lamp. In that gentle light, his skin seemed almost to glow, as if lit from within. He slept deeply that night, free of dreams, sure that the Awakening would continue as he rested. He awoke the next day with a startlingly big appetite, wolfing down seven full meals. The Awakening drank up his energy like a thirsty plant.
But soon, a problem appeared: he was running out of supplies. The dried goods that had once seemed endless were nearly gone. Qin Ming sighed, pressing his hand to his rumbling stomach. “Ugh, I’m almost out of mushrooms. I’d kill for a proper bowl of soup right now,” he muttered, feeling a flicker of disappointment. Being stuck with only dried nuts and fruits was getting old.
Worse yet, he realized he only had enough food for one more day. “Seriously, am I just a bottomless pit?” he grumbled. Still, he refused to slow down. When he was still, he felt solid as a mountain; when he moved, he cut through the air like an eagle. The silver glow in his pores brightened, day by day, marking each small step of his progress. He placed himself at the edge of the courtyard and lifted both millstones at once. With a grunt and a burst of strength, he hauled them clear off the ground.
Just then, Lu Ze pushed open the courtyard gate and froze, gaping. Qin Ming had known Lu Ze for ages, but he’d never seen him look so astonished. Liang Wan Qing, who lived next door, came over too, drawn by the sound.
“Qin, what the—” Lu Ze gasped, unable to finish. Only the day before, he’d felt sorry for Qin Ming, certain he’d miss his “golden age” window to Awaken. And here Qin Ming stood, hefting two heavy millstones like they were pillows.
Liang Wan Qing stared, speechless, while Lu Ze shook his head in disbelief. “He’s like Er Bing Zi from that other village,” Lu Ze finally said, grinning wide. “That bloke lifted four hundred pounds right after his Awakening, remember?”
Qin Ming lowered the millstones carefully, smiling at the small crowd gathering around. He noticed Wen Rui peeking in, her eyes shining with admiration. “Uncle Qin, you’re amazing!” she squeaked, small face glowing with excitement.
Qin Ming felt a warm glow in his chest. “It’s still going,” he admitted quietly. “I can feel it. I haven’t finished Awakening yet.”
Liang Wan Qing’s eyes widened. “Even around here, when someone awakens during the golden years, they usually can’t lift more than five hundred pounds, tops. Could Qin Ming go beyond that?”
Lu Ze leaned closer. “In Bright City, I heard there’s a fellow who can haul six hundred pounds. Think Qin could match that?”
Before they could wonder more, a sudden commotion on the street caught their attention. Liang Wan Qing hurried off to see what was wrong. She soon returned with a troubled expression. “Grandma Zhou’s taken a turn for the worse,” she said softly.
Qin Ming’s heart tightened. He remembered the old woman, so pale and kind, offering him dried potatoes not long ago. Something must have happened. He and Lu Ze exchanged worried looks, then followed Liang Wan Qing toward Zhou’s home, weaving through snow-covered lanes.
They found a crowd inside the Zhou family courtyard. Grandma Zhou lay still, eyes closed, face drawn and quiet. Two children knelt beside her, sobbing and calling out “Grandma” in trembling voices. Zhou Chang Yu, her son, had returned from searching for food with a broken arm—and empty-handed. This bitter winter had brought hunger and pain to everyone, including Grandma Zhou’s family. She had hidden away precious bits of food, saving them for her children and grandchildren, while eating almost nothing herself. Even the nuts Qin Ming had given her sat untouched, carefully hidden so that others might survive.
When Zhou Chang Yu realized what his mother had done, he wept and slapped himself, cursing his own helplessness. His wife wept too, clinging to him. All around them, neighbors sighed, wiping their eyes. The sorrow hung heavily in the cold air.
Qin Ming’s heart felt heavy. Only a few days ago, Grandma Zhou had offered him food with trembling hands. He hadn’t expected to lose her so soon. The sky outside darkened into late evening, and people drifted quietly back to their homes. Qin Ming returned later with a cloth bag of nuts and pressed it into Zhou Chang Yu’s hands.
“Here,” Qin Ming said softly. He didn’t ask if they wanted it—he simply turned and left, not waiting for them to refuse.
Zhou Chang Yu called after him, voice trembling, “Brother Qin…” but Qin Ming didn’t look back.
That night, Qin Ming sat alone in his courtyard. The world seemed colder now, despite his newfound warmth. Other people had family to mourn with. He had almost no one left—just fading memories of distant faces. He feared that one day, he wouldn’t be able to recall them at all.
He gazed into the starless sky and felt something twist in his chest, an aching loneliness. Then, as if in answer, he felt an enormous pressure pass overhead. He jerked his head up, startled, and spotted two golden lights moving through the darkness. They looked like lanterns, but far too large, and they swam through the sky as if carried by some giant, unseen creature. The wind howled, rattling rooftops and flinging snow about like frantic ghosts. A higher life form—a massive being—was passing over Twin Trees Village. Qin Ming’s breath caught. He watched those glowing eyes drift away into the blackness, and as they left, the wind fell silent.
Neighbors spilled out into the streets, frightened and curious. The older folk tried to calm the younger ones, saying it was probably just a powerful creature flying over, nothing to worry about. Still, Qin Ming returned to his courtyard feeling the weight of it all. The silent darkness felt like a heavy curtain, hiding countless mysteries beyond the village walls. He wanted to see it all, to understand the world’s secrets, to not be trapped in this endless winter of fear and hunger.
With firm resolve, he began practicing a set of moves he remembered from childhood—exercises that had once felt too hard. Now, they felt natural, almost easy, as though he’d been meant to learn them all along. He felt a new kind of life welling up inside him, a bright surge of energy. Soft light glowed around his body, warming him from head to toe. This was Awakening. It swelled inside him, and suddenly he was starving again, more hungry than ever before.
He gulped down piles of dried fruit and nuts, washing them down with hot water, but it still wasn’t enough. His mind drifted to the forest—a place full of rich, meaty prey, like roasted rock goats, night deer, and plump pheasants with black feathers. Just imagining them sizzling over a fire made his mouth water. Fresh meat. He knew that was what he needed now, something hearty and strong to feed the power growing inside him.
After polishing off another heap of nuts, the hunger eased a bit. Still, Qin Ming knew what he had to do next. “Well, guess I’ll have to head into the woods tonight, no choice there,” he said under his breath. He was running low on dried goods anyway, especially after giving five pounds of his precious stock to the Zhou family. Fresh meat would be the only answer to keep his Awakening on track.
He slept like a rock that night—no dreams, just deep, heavy sleep. By the time he woke up, he was humming with energy, though that hunger scratched at him once again. He felt stronger now, as if lifting five hundred pounds would be child’s play. And still, the Awakening kept pushing him forward.
He stretched, bending forward and backward until his spine cracked and tingled. He imagined this move as the “Dragon Spine,” feeling a hot, crackling energy climb from the base of his spine up to the top of his head. Tiny sparks of life thrilled through his body, lighting him up with that soft, silvery glow. This was it—he was speeding straight towards the peak of his Awakening.
Before early night had settled in, Qin Ming was already walking out of Twin Trees Village. He realized dried nuts and fruits were never going to cut it now. He needed real food, something that would feed this blazing fire inside him. He pictured the forest creatures and the juicy meat they would provide. He felt no fear—only hunger and determination.
And so he went, striding swiftly toward the forest’s deep shadows. He would feed his Awakening, no matter what. There was a whole world out there, waiting for him, and he would meet it with both strength and courage.