Harvest

“Undergone Newborn only once…” Fu Entao was deeply shaken. He had been a second Newborn for many years, his foundation deep and well-seasoned, yet he had been defeated by a youth who had only just completed his first Newborn transition. Leaning heavily on his long saber with one hand, he violently wrenched the iron spear from his pierced thigh with the other. A torrent of blood gushed out, causing his already exhausted body to sway. Missing an arm and pinned to the ground with an iron spear run straight through his abdomen, Shao Chengfeng struggled to wrench it free. But when he saw Qin Ming turn to look at him, he weakly let his remaining arm fall. “The entire mountain patrol team… wiped out by a single person.” Shao Chengfeng knew there was no escaping death; there was no way his opponent would leave any survivors. “He has only completed Newborn once. How can he be this strong?” Feng Yi'an wiped blood and foam from his mouth, muttering under his breath. Qin Ming spoke. “Tell me something I find interesting.” “In your dreams!” Fu Entao retorted stiffly. He understood full well that no good end awaited him; bowing his head would change nothing. On the other side, Feng Yi'an and Shao Chengfeng showed no intention of speaking further. In ordinary times, they possessed the temperaments of jackals and wolves—ruthless thugs to the bone. If groveling like dogs could have bought them their lives, they wouldn't have hesitated to crawl on the ground and beg for mercy. But that was unrealistic; both men knew death was unavoidable. “Tell me about the Blood Bamboo Forest,” Qin Ming said, walking up to Shao Chengfeng. Shao Chengfeng said not a word, staring hollowly into the night sky. He was already beginning to look back on his past, knowing all too well that his life was about to end. “Nothing to say?” Qin Ming wasted no words. The woodchopping cleaver in his hand swept down with a squelch, separating head from shoulders. Shao Chengfeng’s eyes remained wide open in death. The boy was utterly decisive, chopping him down without another word. Qin Ming had come solely to eliminate the mountain patrol team and harbored no interest in torturing them. Since the man was stubborn and had nothing to offer, beheading him was the simplest course. He wanted to see if, under the absolute despair of life and death, the remaining two would soften and talk. Fu Entao’s face twitched faintly, but his gaze turned even fiercer. Tightening his grip on the long saber, he shifted his feet forward, step by step, actually intending to attack once more. A second Newborn who had run rampant across this region for years, he feared not the threat of death. After all, he was a ruthless fighter forged through life-and-death struggles in the deep mountains. Nearby, Feng Yi'an lay prone on the ground, pinned in place by the iron spear driven through his back. Unable to rise, he merely shuddered slightly. Wind and snow raged as Fu Entao charged like a humanoid beast. Putting everything on the line, he unleashed his fiercest blade light in a final, desperate struggle. After a violent clash, he panted heavily, utterly spent. Fighting up to this point had drained every last drop of his strength, yet the youth remained as vibrant and vigorous as a dragon or tiger, his spirit burning bright. Pfft! Following another exchange, Fu Entao’s right arm was lopped off in a clean stroke, and his long saber clattered to the ground. His face turned ashen as he staggered backward. Compounded by the leg previously run through by the spear, he lost his balance under his grave wounds and dropped to one knee in the snow, gasping for breath. His naturally curly long hair clung wetly to his head, his face etched with indignation and despair. “Do you have anything you want to say?” Qin Ming asked. “Give me a quick death with my own saber,” Fu Entao said, drenched in cold sweat. His left hand trembled as he clutched the stump of his severed arm, though blood had long since soaked half his body and stained the snow beneath him crimson. “What makes you think I would grant you such a wish?” Qin Ming advanced, carrying his woodchopping cleaver. “You… want to humiliate me?” Fu Entao struggled to rise. “Do you think you’re worthy?” Qin Ming rushed past him. The cleaver swept across Fu Entao’s neck, sending a head bearing an expression of bitter resentment flying into the air before the headless corpse slumped to the ground. Feng Yi'an lay prone with an ashen face, struggling to push himself up, but the iron spear plunged through him only trembled slightly, firmly rooted in the frozen earth. Humiliation burned in his chest as the youth stepped up before him and rested a foot atop his head. “Do you have anything you’d like to say to me?” Qin Ming looked down at him. Feng Yi'an clenched his fists, only to release them weakly. Panting heavily, he spat, “You’re looking for spiritual creatures? I’m not telling you anything.” Qin Ming applied a fraction more force with his foot. A faint crunch echoed from Feng Yi'an's skull as the bone cracked beneath the pressure, the agonizing pain twisting his features. Without hesitation, Qin Ming brought his blade down, decapitating him on the spot and ending the bearded man's life. As for where the Blood Bamboo Forest was located, he could simply ask Old Man Liu when he returned. In his youth, Old Man Liu had harbored grand ambitions and frequently ventured into the mountains alongside the older generation of patrol teams; he knew the distribution of Fire Springs across the mountains thoroughly. Only the howling wind remained on the mountain; the piercing ring of clashing steel had died away. This entire patrol team had been wiped out, resolved by Qin Ming alone. He murmured softly, “I actually killed so many people, and my hands didn’t even shake.” Standing quietly in reflection, Qin Ming realized it was likely because he had never viewed these men as his fellow humans, but rather as mountain monsters preying upon the villagers. He began cleaning up the battlefield. The corpses merely needed to be cast down the mountain for a “stomach burial.” All manner of wild beasts prowled the dense forest; not even a scrap of bone would be left. Frugality was second nature to Qin Ming. Searching through the bodies of Fu Entao, Feng Yi'an, and the others under the glow of the Fire Spring, something gleaming appeared in his hand—night silver. This currency had vastly greater purchasing power than copper bits, occasionally seen when merchants conducted transactions in town. The coin was round with a circular hole through its center, symbolizing the absence of the sun—hence its name, night silver. Soon after, Qin Ming discovered something even more precious: day gold. Brilliantly golden throughout, the solid, unbroken disk resembled the lost sun, embodying a cherished wish of humanity. The patrol team carried little day gold into the mountains, totaling only eleven coins between them, but to ordinary folk, this was already a small fortune. This was not the first time Qin Ming had “found” day gold. Before contracting that strange illness, he had discovered several corpses near the ravine he had fallen into, finding not only day gold but also a vial of precious mineral essence. Day gold circulated rarely in Silver Vine Town, so he had never spent it, lest he draw unwanted attention. As for that exquisite, delicately carved crystal vial, he had left it untouched for the time being as well, having completed his Newborn transformation on his own after recovering from his illness. Moreover, he knew little about mineral essence and needed to learn more about it before using it carelessly, so as not to squander its true value. Most importantly, word of the present incident would soon erupt into the open; it was best for him to keep a low profile under the identity of a first Newborn. “I’ve only undergone Newborn once and lack the strength to deal with a patrol team. Once the storm of this incident brews and settles, there will be no problem if I then become a second Newborn.” Qin Ming continued scouring the mountaintop for spoils. “Fine armor, repeatedly refined long sabers—all good things!” He sighed with regret as he ran his hands over the armor and weapons. He planned to bury them separately across various spots in the woods, only digging them up when needed for exploring the Blood Bamboo Forest. Unpretentious to the core, he rifled through everyone from head to toe. He didn't even spare the golden mastiff, hauling the beast up by the scruff, sorely tempted to carve off a slab of meat and cook a pot of dog meat stew in one of the wooden cabins. He had set out in the dead of night, waiting in the forest until the night mist dispersed, and had fought fiercely against the mountain patrol team until now. The immense exertion had left him thoroughly famished. Yet with a sigh, he gave up on the idea and dropped the mastiff back into the snow. For prudence's sake, he could not linger here; he needed to clear the battlefield quickly. Stepping into one of the wooden cabins, Qin Ming found it comfortably furnished. Thick beast-pelt rugs lined the floor, silver bowls and chopsticks sat atop the dining table, and the carving knives used for roast meat were exquisite and finely crafted. Any jar uncorked from the row of liquor jugs released a rich, mellow aroma, visibly far superior to that jar of harsh, fiery vintage at Xu Yueping’s house that had long since been drained dry. Rummaging through this cabin yielded little of note, but among the ruins of the cabin collapsed during the fierce battle, he unearthed a saber manual. Its aged leather pages were worn thin and dog-eared at the edges. It was evident that people had studied it frequently, filled with dense notes and annotations penned by different hands, bearing the marks of antiquity. As he flipped through the pages, Qin Ming spotted familiar saber techniques. Fu Entao’s blade craft was only a portion of what was recorded in the manual, which went on to mention “heavenly light” and deeper realms of cultivation. He did not turn any further, snapping it shut and slipping it onto his person. This aged leather volume was worth far more than all that day gold. Once Qin Ming finished thoroughly sweeping the area, broken golden ripples shimmered across his skin. As his fists and kicks struck out, the remaining wooden cabins shattered one after another. With the wind blowing hard, splintered wood was instantly swept into the air and carried tumbling down the mountainside by the gale. Snow was whipped up from the ground to mingle with the heavy flakes descending from the sky, leaving hardly any trace behind. “A pity about my woodchopping cleaver.” Qin Ming inspected the blade. It was heavily nicked with countless notches. Though forged from refined iron, it was still no match for the weapons wielded by the patrol team. “Still usable, at least.” Finding a whetstone left at the site, he swiftly ground down the notched sections and put a fresh edge on the blade, leaving the metal slightly narrower than before. Qin Ming hauled all the corpses down the mountain and hurled them into the dense forest, watching with his own eyes as several wild beasts emerged to swiftly drag the bodies away. As for the four he had ambushed on the road earlier, when he went looking for them again, he discovered that not even bone fragments remained. Heaving aside the heavy rocks, Qin Ming retrieved his bundle from the snow cave. He stripped off his bloodstained, battered outer clothing and armor, changing into his ordinary clean garments. Burning what needed to be burned and burying what needed to be buried, he hid items including the day gold and the saber manual in the mountains. Before long, he vanished into the dense forest. Qin Ming returned quietly, dragging a game animal behind him. No one could tell that this gentle youth, who appeared no different from usual, had just emerged from a bloody life-and-death struggle. He boiled a pot of water, treating himself to a comfortable hot bath instead of his usual cold wash. His tall, well-proportioned frame gleamed with a translucent luster, muscles contoured in smooth, fluid lines. He washed himself thoroughly, ensuring not a trace of odor remained after the bloodbath. Before long, he arrived at Lu Ze's home. “Uncle Qin, what kind of meat is this?” Wenrui bounced over to ask. Holding up a large cut of fresh meat, Qin Ming smiled. “A real delicacy. In heaven there’s dragon meat, on earth there’s donkey meat. Your uncle hunted a wild donkey today.” In truth, he had been unable to stop thinking about a copper pot of dog meat stew. Having missed out on the golden mastiff had left him full of regret, so he now intended to make it up to himself with a hot pot of donkey meat. Soon, cheerful laughter echoed from the house. “Uncle Qin, the donkey meat is delicious!” Before the steaming copper pot, the wounded Lu Ze spoke up. “Xiao Qin, now that you’ve laid a golden foundation, you should give careful thought to your second Newborn transition.” Qin Ming nodded. “Don’t worry, Brother Lu, I know what I’m doing.” After the meal, he returned home, pondering how to question Old Man Liu about the Blood Bamboo Forest without drawing suspicion. If he could achieve his second Newborn transition earlier, he had no desire to delay, and wished to pay a visit to the mysterious Blood Bamboo Forest as soon as possible.