A gentle breeze swept through, setting the leaves rustling, while the moonlight clinging to the woodland like pure white, wispy smoke seemed to sway with the wind.
Qin Ming revived, his consciousness flaring like fire, driven by a fierce will to live! He knew he remained in mortal peril. After the silk book method had spontaneously operated, it had once sputtered out entirely, and only now was a hazy light rekindling.
Even so, this astonished him. It had actually dragged him back from the realm of death.
Not long ago, he had truly experienced what dying felt like. The seed of his consciousness had seemed to drop into the underworld, sinking through boundless darkness.
At that time, the soil of his flesh had been lifeless, pitch-black like an abyss.
At the final moment, the Golden Thread Jade Clothes had adhered to his body and pierced the black fog with light, giving him the strength to break free.
Qin Ming looked inward. His five viscera and six bowels—his entire frame—were still riddled with terrifying fractures, but they were slowly knitting together. He had a heartbeat and breath again; he was no longer a living corpse.
At this moment, he was lucid enough to truly see the golden threads and jade radiance in his flesh, sewing wounds and applying medicine, salvaging his collapsed body.
"The silk book method is my true fundamental foundation!" Qin Ming murmured.
This was the art he had cultivated the longest. Practiced from childhood for more than a decade, it had become more natural than breathing—an ingrained instinct.
Otherwise, it would never have operated on its own just now. It continually combed through his entire body, harmonizing into oneness with his flesh, fitting him better than anything else.
When his body had been on the verge of dying, the silk book method, woven into the instinct of his flesh, had rescued him and brought him back.
Qin Ming wondered: had something similar happened back then, when Li Qingxu shattered his skull? In the end, had it resurrected him from the brink of death?
An itch spread across his body as if tiny buds of new flesh were sprouting. A numbing prickle ran through his internal organs, accompanied by a returning sense of pain; feeling was flowing back into his body.
Those organs and innards that had ceased functioning all began working again. To be sure, these were faint tremors, his various bodily functions only sluggishly reviving.
*Where is something wrong?* Qin Ming's intuition was sharp. Even though he had revived and his body showed signs of recovery, why did he sense a lingering oddity? This sudden flash of extraordinary premonition was elusive, like a bolt of lightning streaking across the night sky—untraceable, yet impossible to ignore.
He pondered. Did it have to do with his body? Could he achieve rebirth this time? It was likely impossible.
After his seventh rebirth, his body had not yet recovered, and he was currently in such a wretched state; surviving at all was already miraculous.
However, when that old woman of the spirit field realm plunged down, she had clutched a five-colored vase filled with concentrated heavenly light liquid. That ought to be enough for him to undergo rebirth.
She had also fallen into this region. If he searched carefully, he could probably locate her remains.
*If it isn't an issue with rebirth, where does this sense of wrongness come from?* Qin Ming looked up toward the silver disc in the night sky. Radiant and clear, it resembled a divine lamp wreathed in pale night mist, pouring down water-like moonlight.
There must be something unusual about it. He did not believe this was the legendary moon of myth.
Then, to his shock, he discovered what looked like the light of an ascending immortal streaking rapidly past the bright moon in the night sky, orbiting it before quickly vanishing.
"What is up there?" He stared at the spot, his expression grave.
Then he shook his head. He had to fully survive first; how could he afford to worry about so much right now?
Qin Ming noticed that the silk book method was running with considerable strain. This bodily instinct felt slightly sluggish, the golden threads and jade light noticeably dimmed—a testament to just how grievously wounded he was.
The good sign was that he was indeed recovering. The wounds on his internal organs were closing up. At this rate, his body—fractured like pieced-together broken porcelain—would eventually become pristine as new.
As his body revived, healing continuously and restoring its functions, Qin Ming was overcome by boundless exhaustion. He was about to drift into deep slumber.
Yet he felt quite at ease. This time he would not sink into the abyss of death, but enter a genuine dormancy; when he woke, he might be full of vigor once more.
On the verge of losing consciousness, his mind still lingered on the silk book method. It truly was extraordinary, saving his life time and again. Strictly speaking, however, it was he who was saving himself.
Any technique was lifeless on its own; he was the only one who had mastered this art and forged it into an instinct of his flesh and blood. To walk the path of the silk book method was exceedingly arduous; he had practiced for over a decade before truly mastering its flow.
Even the Destiny-Altering Scripture, said to have stymied many famous figures, had not stopped him; he had crossed its threshold in no time.
According to the records, the silk book method required an elder to serve as a guide, using their own cultivated heavenly light force to lead the way and help the successor blaze a path before the initial circulation could form and flow smoothly.
Without that, it was hopeless; successors simply could not master it.
Yet the patriarchs who founded the art—figures suspected to be on the level of the Six Imperials, Rulai, and Yuqing—had either died, been crippled, or vanished, to say nothing of their disciples' miserable fates.
The ominous reputation of this scripture had spread far and wide, and its path had naturally been severed.
Everyone knew it was formidable and terrifying, but they could only study it as a reference. To truly pursue it required immense daring and courage.
After all, it took a heavy toll on patriarchs!
Qin Ming had simply forced his way through by sheer grit, carving the path on his own!
As he grew drowsy, changes occurred within his body. Streams of radiance surged continuously, blooming in his flesh like outer heavenly light cutting through the night mist to fall across the earth.
The circulating pathways of the silk book method grew somewhat dim.
However, his condition did not worsen; his recovery continued.
His flesh regenerated, his internal organs regained vitality, his heart began beating powerfully, and his breathing steadied.
With the passage of time, variegated colored mist and shimmering dawn light swirled within Qin Ming, looking remarkably like shooting stars streaking across the dark sky.
His body hummed and resonated as different regions released different bursts of brilliant radiance, each dominating its own domain.
It was precisely because of this that Qin Ming sank into a deep slumber, sleeping on without waking, as though sealed within his own subconscious. The Golden Thread Jade Clothes remained, though barely holding together.
Light of varied hues now flowed through the different regions of Qin Ming's body, dividing his flesh into separate territories that felt somewhat isolated from one another.
Consequently, his senses were severed and obstructed.
Even if an earthquake occurred right now, he would be unable to wake anytime soon.
After who knows how long, Qin Ming regained sensation. When he opened his eyes, his hair stood on end, for he saw a kindly old woman.
On that plot of land in the sky, he had encountered the Cui clan's old woman and nearly burst apart in death. Now, opening his eyes only to see an old grandmother beaming with smiles gave him quite a fright.
The candlelight flickered. The room was not large, and the aged table and chairs held a faint, crystalline luster from years of wiping. He was lying on a bed frame with flaking lacquer.
"Child, you're awake. Time to drink your medicine," the silver-haired old woman said with a smile.
Qin Ming sat up abruptly. He felt his physical condition was good, free of pain, his vitality brimming—no worse than before.
This allowed him to breathe a long sigh of relief, and he hurriedly asked, "Greetings, Elder. Where... is this?"
Hearing voices, a young man walked into the room. He was stout and powerfully built, sporting a full beard, his eyes bright and piercing.
"Yaozu carried you back on his back," the old woman said, smiling.
"Thank you, elder brother."
Qin Ming got up, feeling nothing amiss in his body.
"I just turned sixteen; I might not even be older than you," the bearded youth replied. His voice indeed sounded unlike that of an adult man.
"This... Many thanks, brother."
Qin Ming had not expected him to look so mature—likely because he never shaved his beard, which hid his youthful face.
The old woman smiled and said, "Don't rush to get out of bed. When Yaozu found you, you were covered in a layer of dried blood scabs, in terrible shape."
The youth, Wu Yaozu, brought him a bowl of soup with chunks of chicken and mushrooms, giving off a rich, savory aroma. Qin Ming thanked him repeatedly. He was indeed starving, so he took it and finished it off in moments.
He had no fear of foul play; if anyone had wished him harm, he would never have awakened at all.
Yet in the next breath, he sensed something amiss. Why was the entire room drifting with immortal mist and radiant with divine dawn light? The old woman looked like an ancient statue steeped in age, exuding an unfathomable radiance so dense he could barely keep his eyes open.
Such a sight was terrifying!
Qin Ming turned toward the youth, who was likewise extraordinary—incredibly formidable for his age. A rainbow light rose within him, his physical body like a casket meant solely to house that light.
Then he noticed the humble room shifting as well, shimmering with iridescent light, adorned with carved beams and painted rafters, unimaginably grand.
The worn table and chairs, polished smooth over many years, began exuding a five-colored divine haze, and even the bed he lay upon steamed with purple mist. The place was magnificent, a veritable pavilion of jade and jasper. The scenery before him had completely transformed.
Qin Ming was dumbfounded. What was happening?
Looking through the doorway, he saw an old hen in the courtyard flapping its wings, surrounded by rising plumes of dawn light.
He pinched his cheek hard and shook his head vigorously to clear his mind. Otherwise, none of this felt real—it was simply too absurd.
Suddenly, he realized that his own body was also radiating iridescent light, swirling with variegated divine mist divided across different regions—an unnatural sight.
"It's fine, don't be nervous. The medicinal broth causes slight hallucinations; it'll pass in a bit," the mature-looking youth Wu Yaozu consoled him.
*A hallucination?* Qin Ming felt profoundly uneasy. Then he found his eyelids too heavy to lift. Having just awakened, he grew drowsy under the effects of the soup and fell into sleep once more.
In his haze, Qin Ming felt as though he were experiencing many strange dreams, faintly hearing voices and seeing bizarre, marvelous sights.
In his stupor, he saw the old woman tottering out of the courtyard, seeming to mutter to herself: "The last time I saw someone like this was the last time... In the end, with a bang, he blew apart. To think someone still dares to practice it. Truly brave."
Afterward, Qin Ming dreamt of his grandfather, followed by the folks from Twin Trees Village, Meng Xinghai, and the others.
In his dream he saw Li Qingyue and her surroundings, and seemed to hear another's voice: "Grandfather, I want that near-immortal item."
On the verge of waking, he saw the old woman outside the courtyard burn to ashes, after which the entire town turned into a sea of fire, leaving broken walls and ruins everywhere.
Finally, Qin Ming woke up. He was drenched in sweat, yet felt wonderfully comfortable, his entire body cleared and brimming with vigorous vitality.
He climbed out of bed and stepped outside. A few vegetables grew in the courtyard, where an old hen was strolling about.
He walked out of the courtyard. Outside, a Fire Spring bubbled, surrounded by utter desolation—rubble and ashes everywhere, exactly as he had seen in his dream! Amid the ruins stood only the dilapidated little courtyard behind him.
In the distance lay an expanse of woodland alongside a Fire Spring lake, blanketed in moonlight, exceptionally peaceful and serene.
Qin Ming felt a surge of intense unease. Had he truly fallen from the sky into a forbidden death zone? But if that were so, how could he still be alive? A death zone was a place where even venerable elders of unfathomable cultivation dared not tread lightly, because it was genuinely lethal! Take Cao Qianqiu, as domineering and powerful as he was: when a dying elder once invited him to venture into a death zone, he had simply shut the door and ignored the man.
The entire expanse of ruins was utterly deserted, without a single soul. The youth Wu Yaozu and the old woman seemed never to have existed.
Yet this small courtyard was so real, right behind him, with the old hen clucking away.
However, a lone courtyard standing amidst such desolate ruins was blatantly unnatural! He turned back to stare at it. If he walked away toward the distance, would this courtyard vanish?
Soon after, Qin Ming turned his attention inward. The fractures across his body had disappeared, and his internal organs were fully healed!
This filled him with wild joy. So quickly? His body was completely restored; he had genuinely returned from the dead.
"Could it be that I was unconscious for a very long time?" he wondered.
A moment later, Qin Ming noticed something that left him dazed, sparking an earthquake in his heart.
Within his body, lights of various colors flowed, each occupying its own territory. Could what he had seen in his dream not have been entirely an illusion or hallucination?!
He finally realized what was happening to him, never expecting this day to arrive so soon.
Qin Ming's brow furrowed tightly. Was this his ultimate destination?
Yet soon, a smile returned and his brow smoothed out. He considered this a good thing—discovering it early was better than anything, for it could be resolved at the very root!
Chapter 176