Chapter 77: Dispelling All the Fog
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation
Qin Ming stood by the window, gazing into the night sky, lost in thought. Most of his memories had returned, though some details still lingered in a frustrating haze.
“If my theory is correct,” he muttered to himself, “even if there was no Qin Ming, there would have been a Zhang Ming or a Zhao Ming. The Cui Family just needed a ‘name’ to stand there.”
The thought made his chest feel heavy.
“The rise of the Li Family—this sudden collision with the millennial clans—has nothing to do with me. The Cui Family couldn’t have predicted this a decade ago.”
Qin Ming reasoned that his role within the Cui Family had reached its natural conclusion. It was meant to end sooner or later, and the Li Family’s arrival had simply provided the perfect excuse to draw the curtain.
Clearly, in a clash as massive and terrifying as the one between the Cui and Li families, his presence was incidental. He had merely been caught in the storm, playing out his “last act” of usefulness. Like the elders of the Cui Family, he too was destined to be spent.
But unlike him, those elders had willingly walked this path, fully aware they faced near-certain death. They had already lived out their years and had chosen to burn brightly for the Cui Family one last time.
Qin Ming’s emotions churned with complexity.
“Every spring, they would receive a special letter…” he murmured. This was the first clue that had tipped him off to something unusual. Every year without fail, those letters arrived, and the household’s mood would change. Even the stern and rigid Father Cui would crack an uncharacteristic smile.
“One year, I overheard something, but it’s been too long. I didn’t pay attention back then.” He frowned, trying to piece together the faint memory.
Now, in the midst of his fourth awakening, there was still a chance he could recall the missing fragments. This particular awakening, after all, was tied to his senses, subconscious, and instinct.
“I can tear away the veil of the past,” he thought. But he also realized the cost. This time, the spiritual material required for his awakening was exorbitant.
“If I hadn’t entered the Thunderfire Refinement Temple and withstood six or seven waves of celestial light, gaining those rare and extraordinary spiritual substances, this awakening might have ended poorly.”
The head injury he had sustained was more severe than he had imagined. It had brought him to the brink of death and wiped out his memory entirely. Thankfully, this awakening promised to resolve everything once and for all.
“Clearing old afflictions and undergoing rebirth… It’s like I’ve used double the spiritual material.” He had a strong feeling that this awakening would be the most intense he’d ever experienced.
“Maybe by tomorrow morning, all the blurry places in my mind will finally come into focus.” Realizing he had been locked in his room all day without eating, Qin Ming stood and left to grab a quick meal.
That night, as he drifted into sleep, golden needles threaded through his body, weaving a tapestry of healing. At the same time, silver mud enveloped him from head to toe, like a final, potent medicine being applied. The fractures in his skull were no longer a concern—every hidden danger had been eliminated.
Qin Ming was entering the final stage of his fourth awakening.
In the dead of night, drenched in sweat, he woke abruptly. Words tumbled from his lips, unbidden: “I am Qin Ming. I have a grandfather. I’m not one of the Cui Family.”
He sat up, breathing heavily. The moment felt strangely familiar.
Memories surged as he recalled waking up in a similar fashion two years ago in a household in Silver Vine Town. Back then, he had bolted out into the freezing snow, screaming incoherently.
“My head was severely injured by Li Qing Xu, and I remained in a coma for a long time. Cui Hong and that woman with the red mole on her right eyebrow placed me in Silver Vine Town. I survived that winter but nearly lost my mind…”
He sank deeper into thought. Two years ago, during that period of nightmares and confusion, he had encountered visions of his childhood self and his grandfather. It was then he realized his true name was Qin Ming. Was the Awakening Method from the silk manuscript already at work back then?
Falling back into a restless sleep, he relived those same dreams. But this time, they were clearer.
“These aren’t dreams,” he realized. “They’re my childhood memories.” His subconscious was still alive, actively piecing the fragments together.
In the dreams, he saw his grandfather, a kind yet weathered old man, who confirmed what Qin Ming had always known deep down: his name was Qin Ming.
“Child, the method in the silk manuscript doesn’t work,” the old man sighed, though he would still open the manuscript, explaining each page with care.
Qin Ming’s grandfather had always been honest with him, warning that pursuing the method could ruin him.
“I’ve spent my entire life practicing it, and I suspect that to truly master it, one might need to die—but not completely. Balancing that line is impossible.”
The old man’s voice softened. “What is rebirth? Perhaps it begins only after one has faced death.”
Young Qin Ming couldn’t grasp the depth or danger of those words.
“It’s just an old man’s foolish thinking,” his grandfather added with a rueful smile. “Even the great sages who had the manuscript before me couldn’t master it. The very origins of the manuscript are shrouded in failure—its creators and their disciples all perished, leaving it in obscurity.”
“Grandfather, when I succeed, you won’t have to suffer anymore. I’ll take good care of you,” young Qin Ming had said with childlike determination.
The old man ruffled his hair, his expression a mix of love and worry. “Alright, then grow up quickly. Seventy is rare for a poor man like me. I’m already over fifty. At best, I have ten more years.”
“But I don’t want that!” Qin Ming protested, clutching his grandfather’s rough hand. “You can live to a hundred! I’ll grow up soon, I promise. Where are my parents? Let them take care of you!”
At this, the old man’s face fell. “Your parents… They, too, were consumed by the silk manuscript. They left long ago to pursue its method. If my guess is right, they’re no longer alive. They’ve likely passed before me. I don’t want to lie to you, because my time is short. You must grow up strong, Qin Ming, so you can survive without me.”
“Grandfather, what do you want? What’s your wish? I’ll fulfill it for you,” the boy had insisted, tears welling in his eyes.
“Once, I only wanted to master the silk manuscript’s method,” the old man said with a sigh. “Now, I just want you to grow up safely. That’s all that matters to me.”
As dawn broke, Qin Ming woke with a soft murmur, “Grandfather, where are you now?”
It had been over ten years since his grandfather disappeared, leaving a silence that weighed heavily on him. He sat there, unmoving for a long time, before whispering again, “Has my last family member really gone too?”
“Grandfather, you were right. To master the technique from the silk manuscript, one must die once. I can fulfill all your wishes now, but I still long to see you again,” Qin Ming said quietly.
He rose from his bed and washed himself with cold water, fully aware that his fourth awakening was now complete. His mind was sharp, his memories vivid, and his body seemed stronger than ever.
“I think I might possess a strength close to five thousand pounds now,” he mused to himself. “The severe head injury I sustained in the past affected me deeply. This time, the reason so much spiritual material was consumed wasn’t just to repair old wounds—it was also to make up for the setbacks caused by those injuries in my previous awakenings.”
Reflecting further, Qin Ming estimated that if his head had never been injured, during his first awakening he might have been able to lift over 1,200 pounds. Now, with those lingering issues resolved, he felt light, nimble, and completely relaxed. His strength had clearly reached new heights.
Yet even with this newfound power, thoughts of his grandfather and the Cui family weighed heavily on him, dimming any sense of triumph.
“When I first entered the Cui family, the direct descendants personally made me write down the name ‘Cui Chong He’ and memorize it deeply. For a long time, I wasn’t allowed to interact with outsiders.”
Qin Ming recalled the early days with the Cui family. Once, while in the manor, he overheard someone whispering, “He really does resemble him.”
The truth became clear to Qin Ming only later. The Cui family had never publicly announced that someone had gone missing. When he was younger, he had felt puzzled by this.
Now he realized he had seamlessly “replaced” someone. Just as one person left, he arrived, taking their place.
It explained why Cui Chong Xiao, the eldest brother with a prematurely mature demeanor, had given him an odd look during their first meeting, scrutinizing him closely. In hindsight, everything seemed to have been foreshadowed long ago.
Then, Qin Ming recalled a certain “detail” from the time his parents received a special letter. Now, after his fourth awakening, with the fog of confusion lifted, he could clearly remember the anomaly. Cui Father and Cui Mother had been ecstatic, whispering to themselves, “Chong He is precocious, a talent destined by the heavens…”
Thinking carefully about it now sent chills down his spine. Because there really had been another Cui Chong He!
Prodigies like Li Qing Xu, Li Qing Yue, and the Wang family’s direct descendant were only recruited by the people beyond the boundaries in their teenage years. But the true Cui Chong He had been sent away at just three or four years old!
“How terrifying must his talent have been? It’s likely that what Second Uncle Cui said in his drunken ramblings was true, but those words weren’t meant for me—they were meant for the real Cui Chong He, someone destined to come close to immortality.”
Qin Ming speculated that the legendary elder of the Night Fog World, often mentioned by Cui Father, undoubtedly existed. The real Cui Chong He had surely become his disciple long ago.
“Cui Father and Cui Mother were exceedingly cautious. Eldest Brother Cui Chong Xiao returned only once every few years, and they never let the family discuss which sect he belonged to, fearing it might cause trouble.”
Given that Cui Chong He’s talent was even more astonishing, it was natural that they would protect him even more rigorously, not allowing a single rumor to spread.
In fact, this made sense.
All the great families were sending their descendants to the lands beyond the boundaries. Every year, young direct descendants from the Cui family entered the service of people beyond.
Many of the Cui family elders were already living there permanently. It was likely that other powerful figures from other great families also resided in those lands.
But that place wasn’t a utopia. The different families’ forces were deeply entangled within the sects, their connections intricate and overlapping.
Cui Father and Cui Mother were afraid that if someone discovered Cui Chong He’s identity, he would be “targeted,” and they feared he might meet harm there.
So, they raised another Cui Chong He.
“They were meticulous in their selection. It’s possible my appearance even somewhat resembled his,” Qin Ming thought. “Given their caution, it would have been abnormal if they hadn’t done something to protect the real Cui Chong He.”
“Two years ago, perhaps Cui Chong He was exposed—or maybe he was confident enough to step forward. He was ready to come into the spotlight, to finally reveal himself. And so, my role was to come to an end.”
As memories of the past flooded his mind, Qin Ming’s eyes grew profoundly deep.
“The clash between the Cui family and the Li family? I’m only here to play out my final act,” he muttered, thinking of Cui Hao’s grandfather.
“If it hadn’t been for Seventh Uncle’s grandfather staying in that village, I might never have waited long enough for Li Qing Xu, the young man in feathered robes, to appear. I’d have been taken away by those other old men.”
Qin Ming vividly remembered how Seventh Uncle’s grandfather had twice scolded those elders, warning them to stay away and not come near him.
Without Seventh Uncle Cui Hao, it was unlikely Cui Hong and that mysterious woman would have appeared to rescue him.
“Although there are still some things I don’t fully understand, the broad picture is clear. It’s all because I’ve fulfilled my ‘mission.’ Now it’s time for me to step aside. The near-immortal Cui Chong He will take the stage.”