Chapter 7: An Encounter
This novel is translated and hosted on BCatranslation
Beyond the small village, the world was swallowed by a deep and unyielding darkness, where the shapes of the landscape blurred and disappeared into the night’s embrace. Few dared to wander outside at this hour.
“Uncle Yang?” Qin Ming called softly, his voice barely a whisper as he spotted a sturdy figure not far from the village’s edge. The cold air seemed to amplify every sound—the rustling of leaves, the distant calls of night birds—all felt louder, sharper.
Yang Yong Qing, a rugged man with a coarse layer of stubble covering his face, turned his head in surprise. His eyes squinted through the dim light, and his lips curled into a half-smile. “Ah, Little Qin, out roaming already? The shallow night hasn’t even come yet,” he chuckled deeply, his voice like gravel grinding in a pit.
Qin Ming moved closer, his steps crunching on the snow-covered ground. “I thought I’d try my luck beyond the village,” he replied, his voice low but clear, like he didn’t want to wake the wilderness around them. “Maybe I’ll find a beast frozen to death in the cold.”
Yang Yong Qing laughed again, a rough, chesty sound. “Seems we’re of the same mind. I’ve just come back from circling the mountain’s edge, but luck wasn’t with me tonight.” His words carried the tone of a man who had seen much of the world beyond the village’s safety.
Qin Ming was taken aback. This middle-aged man, known for his thick beard and rugged build, had already returned from scouting the wilderness. Most people wouldn’t dare to be up and out this early.
“Uncle Yang,” Qin Ming ventured, “are you out here scavenging for dead carcasses too?” He knew Yang Yong Qing was no ordinary man—one of the few awakened warriors in Twin Trees Village.
Yang Yong Qing’s expression softened, and he nodded. “Aye, boy. These days, we use whatever we can find. No shame in that.” The two continued talking in hushed tones until their attention was caught by a moving shadow in the distance.
“Mountain patrol,” Yang Yong Qing murmured, his eyes narrowing, focusing on the figure emerging from the shadows.
In this sunless world, the wilderness was a place of constant danger. Skilled patrols were needed to guard its borders, warning the villagers of the threats lurking in the dark forests.
A man stepped forward, clad in rough leather armor, tall and broad-shouldered. A bow was slung across his back, and he held an iron spear firmly in his hand. His long hair flowed freely, giving him a wild, untamed look.
“Brother Shao,” Yang Yong Qing greeted, his voice steady, as if speaking to an old comrade.
Shao Cheng Feng, a man nearing forty with a gaze sharp as a hawk’s, nodded back. His presence was formidable, and his voice carried the weight of authority. “Out with someone so young? Is this the sickly lad I’ve heard about?” His tone was curious, slightly mocking.
“No, Sickly’s from the next village over,” Yang Yong Qing explained with a grin.
Shao Cheng Feng looked unimpressed. “Your Twin Trees Village is lacking,” he said bluntly. “No newly awakened in their prime for decades.”
Yang Yong Qing didn’t seem bothered. “It is what it is,” he replied calmly. “Awakening at fifteen or sixteen isn’t something you can force.” His words were simple but carried the wisdom of acceptance.
“But who would’ve thought,” he continued, “that Sickly would turn out so strong? I heard he’s recently recovered and even gotten stronger.”
Shao Cheng Feng nodded. “Yes, the boy’s remarkable. But who knows if he can match the elites from that bright city far away.”
“It’s hard to say,” Yang Yong Qing mused. “Each place has its way of nurturing its own.” He had seen the bustling city life, understood the benefits of advanced training scrolls and resources. He wasn’t envious, just aware.
“True enough,” Shao Cheng Feng conceded. “I’ve heard of two extraordinary youths there—a boy and a girl—who’ve surpassed all others of their generation. They’ve stunned the entire region.”
“Indeed, that place seems blessed,” Yang Yong Qing remarked, his tone free of envy. The cities had their advantages, but the villages had their own strengths.
Qin Ming listened attentively, not saying a word. After a brief pause, Shao Cheng Feng disappeared back into the night, melting into the shadows like a ghost in the mist.
No one knew what strange creatures lived deep within the black mountains or how many dangers lurked there. That’s why the mountain patrols were so vigilant, always on guard.
“Are all mountain patrols this tough? Do they go into the mountains every day?” Qin Ming asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Some are very diligent,” Yang Yong Qing replied with a knowing smile.
Qin Ming was surprised. Did this mean some weren’t as responsible? He hadn’t expected such a comment from this burly, bearded man. Most villagers saw the patrolmen as guardians of their safety.
“The situation in the mountains is getting stranger and more dangerous,” Yang Yong Qing added, his voice dropping lower. “I reckon it won’t be long before there’s a ‘mountain sweep,’ and high-born disciples might come along. Young Qin, you’d best work hard. Aim to awaken in your prime.”
He clapped Qin Ming on the shoulder, his grip firm. “Who knows? Maybe one of those noble ladies will take a fancy to you, and you’ll change your fate.”
With that, they parted ways, and Yang Yong Qing returned to the village. Qin Ming, deep in thought, continued toward the wilds, the cold wind brushing his face and the darkness pressing in from all sides.
His steps were swift, cutting through the deep snow that reached up to his chest. Snowflakes flew to the sides as he moved. The darkness began to lighten slightly; the shallow night had arrived, and the faint outlines of the forest began to emerge.
Standing at the forest’s edge, Qin Ming stayed cautious. No one knew what dangers might hide in the dense woods. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow, looking for any movement.
His stomach growled loudly, a reminder of his hunger. Earlier, he’d held back his hunger when meeting familiar faces on the road, but now, his restraint was gone.
As his stomach churned, he tightened his grip on his hunting fork and, with swift determination, darted into the thick forest. He moved with the grace of someone who’d walked these paths many times, his steps light and quick.
He passed through the territory of the mutated squirrel and crossed a low hill, going further than he’d gone before. Soon, he noticed signs—scattered bones of beasts and large hoofprints. The trampled snow made paths that made his way easier.
A soft, weeping sound drifted through the trees, like a woman’s cry—an odd sound in such a wild forest. It echoed, haunting, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.
Qin Ming quickened his pace, searching for the source, and soon found it.
Amid the dark woods, pairs of green eyes stared at him—at least a dozen creatures hidden in the shadows. Their gazes were fixed on him, unblinking.
To someone unaware, the crying might have been terrifying. But to those who roamed the wilds often, it might be an opportunity.
Qin Ming charged forward with his hunting fork. Instantly, there was a flurry of flapping sounds as over a dozen creatures took flight into the night sky, startled.
These were nocturnal carnivorous birds, about two feet long. They lived in groups, their cries eerie, preying on small animals and sometimes humans.
Qin Ming reached the spot but cursed under his breath. On the ground lay only a heap of bloodied bones and torn hides; a deer had been devoured completely.
Failing to snatch food from the birds, he turned to leave, wary of an ambush.
He moved toward an open area where the trees were sparse and blood stained the ground. Here, he found paw prints of a beast larger than a soup bowl, likely a massive predator’s feeding ground.
Whatever was left of the carcass must have been taken by other scavengers. As Lu Ze had said, even the forest’s outskirts had grown dangerous. Who knew what lay deeper inside?
Remaining on guard, Qin Ming left the bloody site. Shortly after, he noticed numerous hoofprints in the snow, which piqued his interest, and he began to follow them.
In the dimness of the night, about twenty black shadows stood ahead. Their large forms clustered together, imposing.
“Saber Antler Deer!” Qin Ming’s face lit up with excitement. Deer herds were rarely seen in this area.
He unfastened his bow and aimed at a large stag. These weren’t docile creatures; adult males had six antlers, flat and sharp, like steel blades. A charge from them could be deadly.
Even fierce predators avoided a frontal attack, opting for sneak attacks. Anyone caught in the herd’s midst would face a grim fate.
Qin Ming pulled his bow into a full draw, and with a whistle, the iron arrow shot out like lightning, piercing the stag’s lung. The Saber Antler Deer, known for their ferocity, didn’t flee but charged straight at Qin Ming.
The herd, startled, followed its lead, galloping furiously. Snow erupted in their wake, and their hoofbeats created a trembling rhythm that shook the forest.
Qin Ming stayed calm, pulling his bow again. His shot was precise; the iron arrow buried itself deeply, causing the stag to shudder.
He put away his bow and arrow and climbed a thick tree several meters high, positioning himself carefully. In the dense forest, aiming from a tree was challenging due to the branches.
After a frantic sprint, the stag stumbled, losing its footing, and collapsed in the snow. The herd, spooked, halted briefly before thundering away.
Qin Ming waited a moment. Seeing no other dangerous beasts, he leapt down from the tree and approached with his hunting fork. The dark-brown Saber Antler Deer was sturdy, weighing at least seven hundred pounds. Even in winter, it hadn’t thinned. With such a catch, Qin Ming was satisfied.
Knowing the forest was too dangerous to stay in, he immediately dragged the Saber Antler Deer and began heading back. Experiencing his “awakening,” he marveled at his increased strength. Dragging such heavy prey across the snow, he moved swiftly without getting tired.
The forest was filled with towering trees, like larch and spruce, reaching into the night sky. The mountain wind picked up, flinging snow that stung his face.
Suddenly, Qin Ming felt a chill as a pair of furry paws landed on his shoulders from behind. He sensed hot breath near his neck—a massive maw ready to snap his neck.
In an instant, he hunched his shoulders, crouched low, and rolled into the snow.
Despite his swift movements, Qin Ming didn’t come out unscathed. The beast’s claws had torn through his clothes, leaving deep gashes in his shoulders, burning like fire.
With a violent burst of snow, a massive shadow leapt from a hidden snow pit. The creature was tall, muscular, and terrifying. It lunged with a fierce roar, aiming to strike again.
Qin Ming moved like a serpent, sliding along the ground, narrowly avoiding the beast’s swipe.
The shadow lunged again, its claws ready to tear off a person’s face. Its gaping maw revealed rows of gleaming fangs, dripping with saliva.
Qin Ming couldn’t rise to his feet in time but didn’t panic. With quick reflexes, he stretched out his hands, grabbing the beast’s forelimbs and holding them firmly. The claws hovered close to his face, but he managed to keep them from pressing down.
Now face to face with the beast, Qin Ming saw it clearly.
It had a donkey’s head, with a wide mouth and a mane of long black hair cascading down its neck. Its body was like a mountain wolf’s, lean and powerful. Its jaws snapped toward Qin Ming’s throat, hot breath steaming from its blood-red maw.
Despite its terrifying appearance, Qin Ming stayed calm. He used the beast’s claws to shield himself from its jaws. Coiling his body, he tensed his legs and suddenly kicked out, landing a powerful blow to the beast’s belly.
Qin Ming’s strength, heightened by his awakening, was extraordinary. His kick sent the creature tumbling across the snow.
“A Donkey Wolf!” he muttered, recognizing the beast. Locally known as a “Mountain Rascal,” it had a donkey’s head and a mountain wolf’s body, more dangerous than a regular wolf. This mutant weighed over 400 pounds.
The mutated Donkey Wolf, vicious and clever, quickly regained its footing. It pressed down on Qin Ming’s hunting fork, shoving it deep into the snow.
Qin Ming was surprised by its cunning. It knew to keep him away from his weapon.
The Donkey Wolf’s eyes burned with a fierce light. It stood tall, roaring, its voice echoing through the forest.
Qin Ming didn’t flinch. He drew a short knife and advanced cautiously. In the throes of his awakening, he believed he could defeat it even bare-handed.
The Donkey Wolf lunged, bringing a foul wind. Its deep growls caused snow on the branches to fall.
Qin Ming met its charge. His knife clashed with the beast’s claws, producing a sharp sound.
He swung his leg with force, the crack of bone breaking echoing. The beast howled, its body collapsing.
Seeing his chance, Qin Ming pounced, pinning the beast. His fists fell like stones. With a crunch, the beast’s neck snapped. Its body stilled. Silence followed, broken only by Qin Ming’s breath.
The mutated beast’s sleek coat remained dark, undiminished by its bloody end. Anyone who stumbled upon this scene would be in awe—a feared Donkey Wolf, felled by a single man’s hands.
Kneeling beside the beast, Qin Ming saw a glint of metal in its flesh. He pulled out a broken iron arrowhead. A memory sparked—this was the creature that ambushed him some nights ago. He’d shot an arrow in desperation, and it had hit.
He rubbed his shoulder, wincing. The cut was shallow, but it reminded him how close he came to death. A second slower, and it might’ve been his neck twisted like a dry branch.
Weariness settled over him, heavy as the sky above. His stomach growled, a hollow noise gnawing at him. He wanted to spit-roast venison, but a fire would shine like a beacon—a risk too great.
His gaze fell to the Donkey Wolf and the Saber Antler Deer. Beyond them, a low hill rose. Dragging both beasts over it would be a colossal task.
“Better to lighten the load,” he thought grimly.
Working quickly, Qin Ming drew his knife. The warmth still clung to both beasts. With deft strokes, he slit their hides. Blood gushed, steaming in the cold air, staining the snow. Though young, Qin Ming’s years in the wilderness had honed his skills. He gutted both carcasses, burying the entrails deep in the snow.
“I hope there aren’t any dangerous creatures nearby,” he murmured. He hadn’t yet gone deep into the forest.
But as he climbed halfway up the hill, a sudden commotion shattered the night’s quiet. Birds took flight, and unseen beasts scurried away.
“Has the scent of blood drawn a giant beast?” Qin Ming whispered, scanning the woods below.
The sounds grew nearer—low growls, snow crunching, branches cracking.
A shadow emerged, vast and terrible. It was like an iron-clad chariot, crashing through the undergrowth.
Qin Ming’s breath caught. A wild boar, immense and terrifying, weighing over fifteen hundred pounds.
A boar of six hundred pounds could rule its territory, but this beast dwarfed them all. Its bristle-like fur stood on end, while its tusks—longer than a man’s arm—gleamed.
“What kind of monster could drive such a boar to flee?” Qin Ming wondered.
He expected it to thunder past the hill’s base, but it sniffed the air and charged up. The blood scent had triggered its instincts, making it more dangerous.
Qin Ming knew he was in danger. This beast was a threat, but whatever drove it here might follow. He listened, hearing distant sounds of danger approaching.
The wind stilled, the world held its breath.
The boar, like a boulder, crashed through the snow. Branches snapped, trees splintered.
Qin Ming’s jaw tightened. He climbed a nearby tree, perched on a sturdy branch, nocking an iron-tipped arrow.
The boar drew closer. When it raised its head, Qin Ming saw its face, covered with black scales like dark iron.
His fingers tightened on the bowstring, ready to shoot, but he sensed something wrong. Suddenly, all sound ceased. The birds were gone; fleeing beasts vanished. The forest fell into eerie silence.
Then, he noticed a soft light rising from a distant peak, like a wisp of fog in moonlight. It grew brighter, ascending higher.
At that moment, the ill-tempered boar dared not make a sound. It retreated, careful, its massive frame moving with stealth. It slunk into the thickets, lying low in a hollow, covering itself with snow.
In this age of eternal night, the sky was meant to stay dark. Yet there it was—a bright glow, like a brilliant moon.
Qin Ming’s heart pounded. For he knew what he saw wasn’t a moon, not a star, but rather, an insect!