Chapter 76: Truth Is Just Another Veil
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation
Evening descended upon Red Glow City, its faint twilight fading into the enveloping embrace of true night. The sunstone in the room dimmed to near darkness, leaving Qin Ming seated silently, his face obscured by shadow, save for his luminous eyes, which seemed to hold the last glimmer of light.
He cast his mind back to his fourteen-year-old self—a boy whose heart brimmed with emotion, deeply attached to those around him. Back then, the notion of parting, of life and death, had shaken him to his core, making him unwilling to let go.
In his memory, that younger version of him trembled slightly. He had wanted one final look at his parents and younger brother, knowing full well he might never return from the journey ahead. But when he turned around, all he saw was their retreating figures. His eyes reddened as he fought back tears, forcing himself to turn away quickly. Resolute, he followed the elderly members of the Cui Family, men and women already advanced in age, onto a path of no return.
As expected, their path was fraught with danger. Though they fled, no matter how far they ran, they were always found.
The Cui elders, frail and near the end of their years, displayed a terrifying might. They fought with unyielding determination, and their fearless onslaught made even the Li Family warriors hesitate.
“Some of these old geezers were once formidable figures in the Cui Family’s main lineage. The older they get, the more dangerous they become. I even spotted Cui Chong He among them. He’s likely to be the next standard-bearer,” whispered a voice from the Li Family’s camp in the darkness, eyes tracking the fleeing Cuis.
“Although Cui Chong He hasn’t embarked on the Awakening Method, his exceptional talent is undeniable. Rumor has it he’s destined for a path beyond the ordinary. There’s reliable news that even as a child, it was clear he was meant for something extraordinary—likely to become a Near-Immortal,” speculated another voice.
The Li Family’s elite suspected the Cui elders were risking everything to get Cui Chong He out, possibly to meet a legendary “Old Master” who was said to be his destined mentor beyond the world’s boundaries.
Qin Ming remembered it all—the blood and bones strewn along their path. The fallen included both Cui elders and Li Family warriors. Eventually, they broke through the encirclement, disguising themselves in tattered clothes and hiding in a village long prepared by the Cui Family.
After several bloody skirmishes, the Li Family seemed to hesitate. Their pursuit grew less urgent.
“Perhaps they’ve realized that others from our Cui Family have already slipped away via a different route,” one elder mused.
“Or maybe, after two centuries, the Ancestor has resurfaced,” another whispered.
In the village, the few surviving Cui elders, battered and near death, spoke in hushed tones. Most of their companions had already fallen along the way, their lifeless bodies left behind. It was their sheer madness and disregard for death that finally made the Li Family wary. Had the Li warriors pressed harder, they might have annihilated their foes.
The fourteen-year-old Qin Ming watched silently, even as the elders admitted to having given everything they had left. One of them, his blood-streaked face deeply lined with age, turned to Qin Ming and spoke with a chilling smile. “Your talent is remarkable, truly suited for the Awakening Method. Practicing the technique from the silk manuscript is a waste—it’s a dead end now.”
Another elder, his expression conflicted, added, “Just wait a little longer. Cui Old Seventh will come to save you once he learns of this.”
Back at the inn, Qin Ming watched the memory unfold. It was evident to him now that everyone in the Cui Family knew how much Cui Hao, his Seventh Uncle, cared for him. Even these elders openly spoke of it.
“Are you Seventh Uncle’s… grandfather?” fourteen-year-old Qin Ming asked. The journey had made many things clear to him, leaving him deeply disheartened.
“Yes,” the elder replied, his voice filled with both pride and sorrow. “Old Seventh is my favorite grandson. But he has a fatal flaw—he’s too emotional. Come, sit beside me. As long as I’m alive, no one will dare touch you.” He patted the ground next to him.
“Is being too emotional really a fatal flaw?” Qin Ming wondered as he sat down. Wasn’t he the same kind of person?
“All of you old fogeys, stay away from me,” the elder barked, glaring at the blood-soaked survivors. His tone held no warmth.
One of them retorted, “We’re all going to die here anyway. But there’s no regret—we’ve slain so many from the Li Family. They wanted to rise by crushing our Cui Family, showing their might to gain prestige and ascend to the ranks of the Millennial Clans. But this time, they’ve paid a heavy price. Whether or not someone is pushing them forward, the Li Family won’t come out as the true winners.”
“This child is still young. He shouldn’t die here. You lot, move over there,” the elder commanded.
The other elders obeyed, dragging themselves a few steps away.
Later, the elder led Qin Ming into a dilapidated house in the village. “Knowing Old Seventh’s temperament, he’ll come for you when he hears of this. But he’ll likely be stopped. The clan can’t afford to lose him. His talent is too similar to mine—he’s one of the Cui Family’s future pillars. I’m sure someone will send reinforcements to rescue you. Just hold on. The Li Family isn’t stupid; they know the situation now and won’t focus their elites here anymore. Besides…” He broke into a fit of coughing, blood pouring from his mouth. Qin Ming rushed forward, unsure how to help.
The elder waved him off. “My time is up. Listen to me—stay in this room. Tell them I’m healing and not to disturb you.”
Tears streamed down Qin Ming’s face as he nodded, watching the elder close his eyes for the last time.
Back in the inn, the sunstone finally extinguished. Qin Ming sat alone in the dark, murmuring softly, “Before I lost my memory, I already knew so much.”
In the tattered room, fourteen-year-old Qin Ming sat silently, his brush having written only a single word—abandon—before he could bring himself to write no more. The silence in the room weighed heavily, broken only by his steady breaths.
Having regained his memories, Qin Ming now relived the emotions from that moment. The pain was overwhelming, sharper than when his skull was later shattered, more agonizing than the slow slicing of flesh and lungs. At the time, sitting there, he had felt suffocated, the hurt swallowing him whole.
In the dim light of the inn, Qin Ming shook his head forcefully, driving away the heavy emotions. He reexamined the past, almost as though engaging in a conversation with his self from over two years ago. He whispered softly, “You think you found the so-called truth because of what you saw and heard along the way? No, that was just another curtain hiding what lay beyond.”
The dusty pages of memory turned again, revealing a boy draped in feathered robes—Li Qing Xu—stepping forward with an ethereal grace, his intent as sharp as a blade. His grandfather had been right. The Li Family hadn’t sent a legion of skilled fighters to hunt them, but a smaller elite group was enough to destroy the village.
Qin Ming didn’t skip over this memory. He let it wash over him, revisiting the fracture of his arm, the shattering of his skull. Quietly, he retraced every detail, determined to strip away the illusions of so-called truth.
Seventh Uncle Cui never arrived as hoped. The elder’s prediction proved true once more. Instead, Cui Hong—a man with extraordinarily long arms—and a woman with a red mole above her right eyebrow came for him, spiriting him away under the cover of night. Skirting the Moonfall City, they chose to journey further afield.
“It didn’t matter where we went,” Qin Ming murmured to himself in the inn, “so long as it was far from reach.” He watched his memories unfold, the pair leading him towards the Black and White Mountain. He understood their reasoning.
Two years ago, celestial light had pierced the shroud of night and fallen across the land. One beam struck Black and White Mountain. Cui Hong and the woman had originally planned to investigate the site. That the area was remote was merely a convenience. And so, Qin Ming found himself stranded there.
“Two years ago, I was already perceptive. I sensed something was off. But I was too emotional. Was that truly a weakness? Maybe it was,” Qin Ming said quietly. His voice grew softer. “Back then, I was still too young, too naïve compared to what I know now.”
The most significant revelation came from his progress with the silk manuscript. By training in its techniques, Qin Ming’s body underwent a total transformation, paving the way for him to glimpse fragments of the truth.
The silk manuscript was extraordinary. Since his rebirth, it had stirred his subconscious into vivid activity, showing him glimpses of his three-year-old self in the liminal state between sleep and waking. These weren’t memories lost to Li Qing Xu’s violent assault; they were naturally faded recollections from childhood.
“Silk manuscript… you haven’t failed me,” Qin Ming mused. “Training in your methods since I was young was worth it. At the critical moment, you revealed my truest self. Perhaps it was those years of persistence that ultimately saved my life.”
He suspected the manuscript had been silently shaping him all along. After all, when Li Qing Xu had shattered three parts of his skull, he should have died. Surviving was nothing short of a miracle.
“My childhood wasn’t easy,” Qin Ming reflected. “I wore patched clothes, and my little shoes had holes in them. Perhaps I had it worse than most. The old man who taught me words and the silk manuscript was just an ordinary person. His hands were rough, his clothes as tattered as mine.”
And yet, the Cui Family’s Fifth and Seventh Uncles had said that his grandfather had “cut all bonds” and left to forge his own path in the Great Yu Kingdom’s capital.
The elder who raised Qin Ming, an ordinary man, was said to be a great master by the Cui elders. But if that were true, why had they lived in such abject poverty?
Qin Ming’s heart ached for his younger self. As he stared through the yellowed pages of his memories, he felt the weight of that boy’s emotions once more.
As Qin Ming grew older within the Cui family, his early memories naturally faded, leaving behind only faint impressions—chief among them, the vague recollection of a kind grandfather.
“I missed him. I wanted to see him again,” Qin Ming whispered. Those were his exact thoughts as a child, tears brimming in his eyes. He had wanted to reclaim the silk manuscript, but the Cui elders denied him. They claimed it was too fragile, an ancient artifact. They told him to master the Awakening Method first before learning the techniques hidden within.
So Qin Ming practiced relentlessly, through rain and storm, for years without pause. His deepest motivation? To retrieve the manuscript and honor the memory of his grandfather, who lingered as a faint shadow in his heart.
Even as time dulled his memories, turning them into a hazy blur, Qin Ming’s dedication never wavered. Practicing the silk manuscript had become second nature, driven by an unexplainable obsession.
Looking back now, Qin Ming saw the truth. In the early days at the Cui Family, someone had deliberately guided him. If he wanted to see his grandfather, he had to master the silk manuscript.
“Was Second Uncle’s drunken slip truly an accident? Did Fifth Uncle’s timely advice press too hard?” Qin Ming muttered in the dim room. He began piecing together the scattered fragments of his past, finding connections where once there were none.
“If there was one more person involved in all of this,” Qin Ming said, pushing open the window to gaze into the inky night, “then everything makes sense. Otherwise… it’s all just too cruel.”
And with that, he let the night’s breeze carry away the last whispers of his unanswered questions.