Chapter 65: A Parent’s Decision
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation
On a frigid winter night like this, even the experienced traveling merchant Xu Sheng was breaking into a cold sweat. His familiarity with the vast desert gave him a deep respect for its dangers, and he knew without a doubt—something major was unfolding tonight.
The crowd surrounding him was on edge, fear gripping them in the face of the unknown. Perhaps if they understood what was happening or knew the truth, they wouldn’t be this terrified. But ignorance, combined with the pitch-black darkness that rendered even a hand in front of one’s face invisible, fueled their dread.
Many felt completely powerless, their fate no longer in their hands. Life and death seemed to hang on the whims of an uncaring night. Amid this chaos, Qin Ming remained calmer than most. Thanks to his abilities, he could vaguely make out shapes in the immediate vicinity. Gripping his white jade alloy blade tightly, he stood ready to strike at a moment’s notice.
Suddenly, a woman’s muffled sobs broke the tense silence behind them. The sound sent a jolt of unease through the group.
“I’m sorry…” the woman wept softly.
“Then let me go,” came the raspy and weak reply of a man. “My neck is bleeding so much—it feels like my head is about to fall off.”
Not far from the group led by Xu Sheng, Cui Hong was drenched in sweat. After luring away the old elephant that had been chasing them, he had quietly circled back. He had negotiated with the creature, ensuring Cui Chong Yi’s safety, allowing him to pursue his immediate goal: catching up with Cui Chong He.
Cui Hong, well-acquainted with the desert’s dangers, knew how to navigate its fringes without much risk—so long as he avoided reckless mistakes. Following the mountain wall, he soon realized he was walking in circles, looping the same area over and over. Quickly, he recited the Purification Mantra under his breath and activated a powerful secret technique, finally breaking free of the loop and moving forward.
But as he glanced back over his shoulder, something made his scalp tighten in fear. He wasn’t alone.
In the dense, impenetrable fog behind him, a pair of massive eyes glowed. They were cold and emotionless, their piercing light cutting through the night mist like frozen blades. Each eye was as large as a house, steadily closing in on him.
The creature’s body was hidden in the fog, its shape indistinct, but Cui Hong could imagine its immense size. His heart raced, his fear growing despite his formidable strength. If not for glancing back at the perfect moment, he would never have realized the beast was there.
Ahead of the monstrous eyes floated a blood-red lantern, tiny by comparison but clearly guiding the way. It looked like the kind of lantern a wealthy household might hang at its gates, yet its glow pierced the fog like a sinister beacon.
Cui Hong didn’t dare linger. Picking up his pace, he fled down the path. Even so, the strange phenomenon unnerved him—if this creature had come from the desert’s depths, there was no telling what it was capable of.
As the fog grew thicker, Cui Hong’s senses began to dull. Even his sharp intuition felt stifled. In his haste, he stumbled off the rugged mountain trail and fell onto the desert floor below.
The ground felt wrong beneath his feet—damp, sticky, and warm. Cui Hong leapt back to the trail, his expression darkening. The acrid smell of urine clung to him, and he muttered angrily, “Who could’ve done this?”
The desert’s strange occurrences only escalated. The dense fog surged like waves crashing against the cliffs. When Cui Hong glanced back again, the massive eyes were much closer now, and under the red lantern’s eerie light, he finally caught a glimpse of the creature: a colossal beast covered in white fur.
“It’s faster than me,” Cui Hong realized grimly. “This is bad—it’ll catch up.”
But then, as if the desert itself rebelled, the fog surged violently. The white beast squinted its massive eyes and, to Cui Hong’s astonishment, turned and retreated. The blood-red lantern faded into the mist, disappearing as quickly as it had come.
“Something’s gone terribly wrong,” Xu Sheng murmured, his unease growing. Strange events like this were rare, and anyone would think twice before acting recklessly in such a place.
The unending desert fog roiled like waves, crashing against the cliffs. But the tumult revealed their location, giving Xu Sheng a clearer sense of direction.
“What do we do?” someone asked nervously.
“Don’t panic. This has nothing to do with us,” Xu Sheng said, trying to calm the group.
The sobbing woman had fallen silent, and the flickering torches carried by the distant group ahead were dimming, their light soon swallowed by the mist.
Then a trembling voice broke the quiet: “Xu Sheng, something’s grabbing my ankle. It’s covered in stiff hair—sharp enough to tear through my clothes.”
He wasn’t alone. Others in the group echoed his fear, describing similar sensations.
Qin Ming spotted a small figure darting nearby and raised his white jade blade.
“Don’t move!” Xu Sheng ordered. But before he could continue, something bumped against him too—a creature rubbing against him like a tree trunk.
“We’re heading uphill!” Xu Sheng decided. He knew there was no escaping the desert’s edge before dawn, so he led the group up a nearby slope to the base of a thousand-meter-high cliff.
“This is where we’ll rest tonight,” he declared. “Once the fog lifts tomorrow, we’ll continue.”
One person suggested, “Should we follow the mountains instead? This desert is too dangerous.”
Xu Sheng shook his head. “Those mountains are thousands of meters high, and every inch of them belongs to deadly aberrations. No traveling merchant has ever dared cross them.”
Unexpectedly, the man who had earlier shouted about his bleeding neck wasn’t dead. Though he’d lost a lot of blood, he seemed more terrified than injured, avoiding the gray-cloaked woman who stood nearby.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said, voice trembling. “I’ve never traveled far before. I was so nervous—I must have scratched you.”
“It’s… fine,” the man stammered, backing away from her.
Nearby, a pale-faced boy nervously examined a few black hairs he’d picked up, shivering as the wind howled around him. He had caught a glimpse of the fur beneath the woman’s gray cloak but dared not look further.
Deep into the night, Qin Ming was startled awake by a loud snore. He drew his white jade blade, heart racing—someone was inside his tent!
Cautiously, he searched for the source of the noise, only to freeze in disbelief. A pig, no larger than a hand, lay curled up beside him.
Qin Ming struck a firestarter, lighting a small flame. The pig, now awake, stared back at him with wide eyes. They sat in silence, locked in a bizarre standoff—man and pig, both unsure of what to do next.
Once again, the eerie silence of the desert was broken by the unexpected. A small wild boar, no bigger than a palm, stood before Qin Ming. But it wasn’t its size that startled him—it was the abnormality. Its two gleaming, snow-white tusks had already grown far beyond its mouth, an impossible trait for a piglet.
The little boar bared its teeth in a mischievous grin, and Qin Ming instinctively tightened his grip on his white jade alloy blade, nearly striking at it. But he held back. This was far too unusual.
In fact, everything about today had been unusual, from the dense fog that lingered to the strange encounters on the desert’s edge. Squinting at the small boar, he noticed dark scales on its face. The pattern triggered a flicker of recognition.
His memory jolted back to the time he was recovering from a severe illness. Deep in the mountains, while hunting a blade-horned deer and a donkey-headed wolf, he had stumbled upon a massive wild boar. It weighed over fifteen hundred pounds, far exceeding its kind in size and strength. The beast had gone berserk, charging through the forest and even chasing him for some distance.
That day, a moonworm had appeared, casting its eerie light. The enormous boar had cowered, retreating in fear. It had buried itself in snow, shivering as if to hide.
The resemblance between that colossal boar and this tiny creature was uncanny. Both bore the same dark, scaly patterns on their faces. But while the giant boar had been an unrefined aberration consumed by primal instincts, this little one exuded something far different. Its gaze was calm and deep, almost… intelligent. It wasn’t wild, nor did it have the frenzied, feral air of a beast.
Qin Ming had the distinct impression that this piglet was more akin to an old mountain boar, wise and knowing despite its diminutive form.
He chose caution. Slowly, he sheathed his blade and retreated to the edge of his tent. The moment passed in silence, and soon the camp was filled with the echoing sound of thunderous snoring.
The next morning, the fog had lifted somewhat. As Xu Sheng counted their group, he sighed in relief—no one was missing. Not a single person, nor any of the aberrations traveling with them, had been lost in the night.
Qin Ming noticed the glances some gave him. Resentment, even frustration, flickered in their expressions. A middle-aged man finally spoke up, addressing him directly.
“Young man, you’ve got such a refined face. How on earth did you manage to make such a racket in your sleep? I thought a storm had rolled in during the night and went out to check, only to find it was just you snoring!”
Qin Ming opened his mouth to protest but closed it again, the injustice weighing on him. How could he explain that it hadn’t been him but a mysterious boar?
“Exactly! I thought it was thunder too!” an old man chimed in.
Nearby, Wu Zheng rubbed his tired eyes, dark circles betraying his exhaustion. He glared at Qin Ming. “I wanted to sleep near someone familiar for safety, but who knew your ‘presence’ in sleep was so overwhelming?”
Before Qin Ming could defend himself, Xu Sheng interrupted. “Enough. Let’s not waste time. Boil some water, eat some rations, and let’s get moving.”
Their group set off again, but less than an hour into the journey, the mood turned tense. Through the dissipating mist, a shadow moved quickly toward them.
“Don’t panic,” Wu Zheng whispered. “It’s a human.”
No one relaxed. Out in these wilds, meeting another person wasn’t necessarily better than encountering a beast. Besides, their group had non-humans among them—an obvious source of potential conflict.
As the figure drew closer, Xu Sheng’s expression darkened. Recognition dawned in his eyes. It was the man who had fought the Old Elephant yesterday. His arms were unnaturally long, nearly reaching his knees, and his sharp features gave him an imposing presence. His gaze was piercing, like bolts of lightning.
Qin Ming’s heart sank. He knew the long-armed man was here for him. Without waiting, he stepped forward.
“You all should leave,” the man—Cui Hong—said to the group.
Xu Sheng hesitated but eventually sighed, aware of the overwhelming difference in strength. His responsibility was to the larger group, not to one individual. “Take care, young man,” he said to Qin Ming before leading the others away. Wu Zheng glanced back several times before finally following.
When they were alone, Cui Hong stepped closer and bowed slightly. “Young master.”
Qin Ming avoided the gesture, shaking his head. “Don’t call me that. I’m not worthy of such a title. Two years ago, you saved me—I should be the one bowing to you.”
“It was my duty,” Cui Hong replied evenly.
The desert around them was pitch black, a void of sound and light. Qin Ming’s mind churned with questions, but the complexity of Cui Hong’s expression gave him pause. This reunion wasn’t what he had imagined—it felt heavy, fraught with unspoken truths.
“Have you undergone Awakening?” Cui Hong asked, his eyes sharp and searching.
“Call me Qin Ming,” he replied. “The title feels strange.”
“Very well. Qin Ming, have you Awakened?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Qin Ming nodded. He could sense that lying would be pointless. If the Cui family had sent someone to find him, they would have already investigated everything.
“Ah,” Cui Hong sighed, his expression clouded by a mix of emotions—regret, hesitation, and a hint of guilt.
“Is something wrong?” Qin Ming asked, suddenly alert.
“Qin Ming,” Cui Hong began, his voice apologetic. “Do you want to leave this remote place and journey to distant cities?”
Qin Ming didn’t respond. The question seemed unnecessary; wasn’t that what he was already doing?
Cui Hong’s face grew more solemn. “I’m sorry. I can’t disobey my orders. You cannot leave this region. You’re meant to live a peaceful, ordinary life here. Everything will be arranged for you.”
“What do you mean?” Qin Ming’s voice rose. “Are you saying you’re here to cripple me?”
He staggered back into the desert, his worst fears solidifying into reality. The long-armed man’s arrival wasn’t a joyful reunion; it was a storm crashing into his fragmented memories, stirring long-buried doubts.
“Who ordered this?!” Qin Ming demanded, his head pounding.
Cui Hong hesitated, then said, “Your father.”
Qin Ming’s voice cracked as he shouted, “And my mother?!”
“She gave the same orders before I came here,” Cui Hong admitted.
Qin Ming felt as though his skull might split. His world tilted, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse. It was as if his life had been pieced together from fragments, a false construct riddled with lies.
How could parents do this? How could they deny their child the right to forge his own path? He thought of Lu Ze and his wife, who had sacrificed their own comfort to protect their children, Wen Rui and Wen Hui. That, he believed, was what true parents should do.
“Why?!” he roared, clutching his head as the pain threatened to consume him. The memories he fought to recover seemed just out of reach, slipping through his grasp like grains of sand.