Chapter 61: A Life Pieced Together
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation
Qin Ming rubbed his temples, wincing slightly as he tried to piece together the broken fragments of his memory. Each time he tried, it was like a sharp needle pricking his mind, leaving him exhausted and drained. He couldn’t help but think about how badly he’d been hurt in the past. Even after regenerating and improving his physical state over and over, he still hadn’t fully recovered.
But he was sure he was getting close. A few more rounds of rebuilding his body, and maybe—just maybe—he could solve the last of his issues.
“My memories are so fragmented,” Qin Ming muttered, frowning. “Feels like my life’s been patched together, almost like it’s fake.”
When he was young, he’d lived in poverty, his clothes all tattered and patched. But things changed when he turned thirteen or fourteen. The images were vague, like flashes of light in a dark room, but he saw himself riding a beast outside a massive city. The mount was tall, fierce, and covered in shimmering scales—definitely not an ordinary creature.
He also remembered living in a grand mansion, surrounded by luxury. Important figures in the house dressed in fine clothing and adorned themselves with jade, moving with an air of elegance. Even the women had these fancy hairpins—some made of rare feathers that glowed with golden light, others with flowers that seemed like they were always blooming.
In this magnificent place, his name had been Cui Chong He. He seemed to be part of the main family. Qin Ming remembered seeing a boy about a year younger than him—Cui Chong Xuan—swallow a Three-Color Flower and successfully merge four types of Celestial Aura. The elders had praised him for it.
“It’s all so confusing,” Qin Ming murmured.
He’d had everything—luxury, rare beasts, a grand family—so why hadn’t he started cultivating like the others? Cui Chong Xuan had merged four types of Celestial Aura, and the elders had even given him an incredible manual—the “Six Rulers Mind Technique.”
“Merging four types of Celestial Aura doesn’t seem like much,” Qin Ming thought. Here, in this remote place, he’d surpassed that, all on his own. But there were still too many things he didn’t understand. The images were too broken.
“When I was fourteen, it all changed,” he recalled, his frown deepening.
Suddenly, the luxury vanished. The fine clothes were gone, replaced by ragged garments. He had become just another teenager in a village—until one night, when a boy in feathered clothing arrived with a group, and fire consumed the village. Almost everyone was killed, and Qin Ming had barely survived, left horribly injured.
Qin Ming dipped a finger into his tea, writing numbers on the table: three, thirteen, fourteen, sixteen. Each of these ages had been drastically different, like he’d lived multiple lives, each one disconnected from the last.
In his memories, he’d seen the girl from last night—Li Qing Yue. When he was thirteen or fourteen, he used to travel with others his age, all riding rare beasts. Most of the time, Li Qing Yue had been with them. She’d been one of his closest friends.
“But when we met here, she acted like she didn’t know me,” Qin Ming muttered, puzzled. “Is it because I’m down and out now, far from the Cui family? Or is there something deeper—something that happened two years ago that I still can’t remember?”
Qin Ming sighed, shaking his head. The more he tried to understand, the more disconnected everything felt. Some of the memories were weightless, like floating leaves that didn’t belong to him at all.
He decided to push it from his mind. Even if he learned more, what would it change? He’d already left that life behind. Right now, what mattered was growing stronger. As his strength returned, maybe his memories would too.
Turning back to the book in front of him, he flipped it open.
“Yellow Mud Palm… Not the best name,” he muttered, “but according to the ancient records, it’s actually a pretty orthodox technique.”
He skimmed through the pages, surprised by what he read. People who practiced this technique praised it, calling it incredible. But due to the talent required, most couldn’t reach the higher levels. Some of the notes seemed to come from older masters, claiming that Yellow Mud Palm could rival even the most advanced martial arts techniques.
Qin Ming’s interest was piqued. He calmed himself, focusing as he began to read more deeply.
Gradually, misty images formed in his mind. An elder appeared, demonstrating different forms of palm strikes—from transforming one’s physical state, to cultivating Celestial Aura, to finally showing how the Yellow Mud Palm could turn the ordinary into something extraordinary.
When the vision ended, Qin Ming was awestruck. He clapped his hands together, impressed.
“If I could reach that level, I’d be close to mastering the way itself,” he muttered.
The technique’s creator had been too modest with the name. Once trained to even the first level, the Yellow Mud Palm could penetrate bone, destroy organs, and shatter a body from the inside without leaving a mark.
“This is true soft power,” Qin Ming realized. The Celestial Aura behind this was not ordinary. It must have integrated multiple secret techniques to become so powerful.
“If I could advance, this soft Celestial Aura could pierce armor, tear through scales, destroy anything in its path,” he thought, excitement welling within him.
He flipped to the last page of the book, and the scenes reappeared in his mind.
“The highest level allows you to channel the essence of the earth itself, dramatically increasing its power,” he whispered, eyes wide.
The elder stood on the ground, absorbing energy from the earth through his feet, combining it with Celestial Aura. Eventually, the energy between his hands grew dense and almost tangible, like yellow mud coating his palms. He swung his hand, and a massive beast, as tall as a small mountain, shattered into pieces. Blood stained the earth.
“Incredible!” Qin Ming gasped. This was more than martial arts—it was something extraordinary.
“Reaching that level is going to be tough,” Qin Ming sighed. He was confident in his comprehension skills, especially after experiencing the elder’s insights firsthand. Comprehension wasn’t the issue.
The real challenge was the amount of Celestial Aura he’d need—he had to accumulate enough before he could use it to channel the earth’s essence.
Qin Ming moved to the courtyard and began to practice. He started with the soft energy, the mysterious force at the core of the Yellow Mud Palm. He practiced tirelessly, taking breaks only for meals.
After a half day, feeling a bit exhausted, he finally stopped.
Resting, Qin Ming reflected on what he’d learned. Among all the techniques he’d acquired, only the final move in the sword manual could compare to Yellow Mud Palm—a sword aura that could cut the sky and tear apart the night.
“I’m leaving soon. I’ve got things to finish up,” he said, standing. He always took his promises seriously—he’d said he’d do it, so he would.
Not long after, he grabbed a net and headed for the mountains.
Winter was almost over. In a month or so, the ice and snow would melt, and spring would arrive. Some of the birds were already becoming active, getting ready to nest.
Qin Ming knew the mountains well. With his skills, it wasn’t hard to sneak up on and catch a small animal. Half an hour later, he saw his target and quickly threw the net into a cluster of brambles.
“Help! Someone’s trying to kill a bird!” screeched a small creature caught in the net, struggling frantically.
Qin Ming rushed over, grinning. Inside the net was a pale blue bird, a little smaller than his palm. Its eyes sparkled like gemstones.
“Hey, Two-Legs, have mercy! Let Little Sparrow go, and I’ll lead you to a big bear. Lots of meat on a bear, you know,” the bird pleaded.
Qin Ming laughed. He’d finally caught the talking sparrow, just as he promised Wen Rui.
He carried the bird back to the village, but as he approached the entrance, a furious voice called out behind him, “Who took my wife?! Stop right there!”
Turning, Qin Ming saw a much larger bird—definitely not an ordinary sparrow. Its feathers ruffled, eyes bloodshot, it had an unmistakable roguish look.
“Two-Legs! Let go of that sparrow, or I’ll call Old Bear down from the mountain and have him rip you apart! I’m the Great Sparrow of this mountain, and I can even get the Mountain Lord to wipe out your whole village!” the bird screeched.
But as it got closer, the bird suddenly stopped. Its expression softened.
“Big brother, big misunderstanding! We’re on the same side here,” it said meekly, fluttering in place.
Qin Ming raised an eyebrow.
“Master Wu told me to help you out in the mountains—scout, send messages, whatever you need. But, you know, I recently got married and… Well, I’ve been a bit busy,” the sparrow said.
“What nonsense are you talking about?” Qin Ming asked.
“Master Wu—the raven! You know, the one that follows that lady in the black cloak. And let me tell you, that woman’s got the looks—top-notch! I could draw you a picture…”
Qin Ming sighed. Was this bird really a person who’d turned into an animal?
“Big brother, please, show some mercy. Let my wife go,” the sparrow pleaded.
…
Later, at Lu Ze’s house, the two kids were jumping with joy.
“Uncle, you’re amazing! You actually caught a talking sparrow! I’m so happy—the squirrel was getting lonely.”
“That’s my wife! A squirrel should be with a weasel, not me!” the mutant sparrow called from the roof, correcting them.
The red squirrel stared at the bird, eyes full of hostility.
Lu Ze and his wife were starting to believe these little animals were really something else.
Qin Ming spoke, “Keep it for a few months, then let it go. I’ve talked to it. From now on, when Brother Lu goes into the mountains, it’ll help give warnings. It won’t cause trouble—if it does, I’ll find Master Wu.”
The next day, Yang Yong Qing sighed heavily as he brought his black goat to Qin Ming, ready to head for Golden Rooster Ridge.
Qin Ming didn’t really want to make the trip again. It was a hundred miles both ways—why hadn’t this been resolved yet?
“Uncle, don’t worry too much,” Qin Ming said. “Just get there by nightfall—no need to rush.”
“Alright then.”
Qin Ming still refused to leave before lunch, and eventually, Yang Yong Qing couldn’t wait any longer. Worried about being late and provoking the bandits, he set off alone.
However, less than half an hour later, he came galloping back, a wide grin on his face.
“Big news! The heavens have smiled upon us! All the bandits at Golden Rooster Ridge are gone—wiped out!”
“What?!” Everyone rushed out, astonished.
Yang Yong Qing had been shocked when he heard the news on his way there. Just yesterday, he’d been cursing the bandits, hoping they’d drop dead, and now, the place was a ghost town.
Qin Ming took a sip of his tea, gazing out the window. Looked like his business here was finally over. Time to move on.
…
In a famous city, grand buildings stood tall, their rows gleaming under the sun. Inside a massive hall adorned with carvings and paintings, a dignified man sat on a throne.
“Recently, several Yin-Yang Elixirs have come out of Black and White Mountain. They’ve caught the attention of many prominent families and outsiders. Cui Hong, you’re familiar with that area—you went there two years ago. Go see if you can find an elixir.”
Standing in the hall was a man with unusually long arms. He nodded in agreement.
“Back then, you left the child near Black and White Mountain, didn’t you?” the dignified man asked.
“Yes. If he survived, he should still be there,” the long-armed man replied.
“Take a look while you’re there,” the man ordered.
“Is there anything specific you want?” the long-armed man asked cautiously.
“We’ll see,” was the simple reply.