Qin Ming noticed that his younger self was dressed very shabbily, but he was soon drawn to the booklet.
It was a very thin ancient volume; once opened, the inside turned out to be silk text.
Its beast-hide cover had likely been bound on later. Somber in color, rough and tough in texture, it served to fend off the erosion of time and protect the true scripture within.
Inscribed on the first page was the "unorthodox path" Qin Ming knew so well—he could not have been more familiar with it. A whisper sounded, reading the densely packed words.
Then, that calloused hand turned to the second page. The writing was still tiny, continuing from the page before, and parts of it consisted of new words and illustrations. This instantly caught Qin Ming's attention, and he committed them to memory without delay.
Perhaps there was no need to memorize them at all. These were his faded childhood memories. As he was undergoing his second Newborn breakthrough, his physical constitution had improved drastically, and his mental consciousness had grown stronger alongside it. It was brushing away the dust of time, allowing him to see these scenes of the past again and recall the records on the silk scripture he had already seen long ago.
Half-dreaming and half-awake, Qin Ming wanted to turn to the third page, but his wish went unfulfilled; that large hand did not open it for him.
Now, he carefully scrutinized the silk scripture protected by the tough beast hide.
Honed by the passage of time, it had long since lost its original luster. Faintly yellowed, it exuded a weathered beauty and held the weighty aura of history.
It was indeed very thin, probably containing only ten or twenty pages.
Qin Ming tried repeatedly to turn the page, but he could never open the third one.
He gave up trying and instead looked through the mottled veil of time, taking a careful look at his younger self. That small figure was dressed in ragged clothes.
Even half-awake, Qin Ming felt a stir of emotion. It turned out he had lived an impoverished life in his childhood. His already faded little clothes had patches on them, and the cuffs had long been frayed. Looking down, there were holes even in his small shoes.
He sighed softly, thinking of his later self. In truth, he hadn't had it easy as an adolescent either. He had suffered chilblains, endured starvation, and bled from wounds. Two years ago, he had drifted outside Silver Vine Town, collapsed from illness, and been brought back to Twin Trees Village.
"That year when I was fourteen..." Qin Ming reached for his head. Near the back of his head, there had once been a wound that had bled profusely.
He realized he was already awake. It wasn't a hand reaching up in a dream; his fingers passed through his black hair, touching the spot that had once been bloody.
No scar remained there now; it must have vanished during his first Newborn breakthrough.
"Me as a young child, me at fourteen... two distinct junctures, thoroughly fragmented memories, and those few faded faces that often appear in my dreams."
It was precisely that year at age fourteen, when he was tossed about by hardships and wandered without a home, that had made him more mature than others his age.
Qin Ming looked outside. The heavy night was slowly receding.
He walked into the courtyard, drew a deep breath of the freezing air, and replayed his childhood memories in his mind. The records on the first two pages of the silk scripture were clearly imprinted in his thoughts.
Then, he demonstrated the movements he had never practiced before, along with the methods for regulating his breath and spirit, diligently pondering and studying them.
Only after a long while did he stop. His body remained burning hot, but it was no longer glowing and looked relatively normal.
"That rough, large hand..." Qin Ming reflected. The cuff of the sleeve on that large hand had been severely frayed, and the hand was covered in calluses, indicating that the person lived just as impoverished a life as his young self—far worse than his current situation.
The so-called "large hand" had only seemed huge in the eyes of his younger self, feeling immensely strong and reassuring.
He truly wished he could see that small hand holding the large one again, to make up for the regret of not having seen any kin for so many years.
"The second Newborn transformation isn't over yet. Tonight, I'll keep eating the blood snake filled with spiritual substance. As my physical constitution improves, my spiritual force will grow stronger as well, and perhaps I'll be able to see the past again in my subconscious dreams, bringing more faded childhood memories to the surface."
Thinking of this, Qin Ming was instantly radiant with spirit, his vitality boundless. He hefted a stone millstone in his hands and found it remarkably light!
He roughly estimated that he could now lift a tripod of fifteen hundred jin.
The shallow night arrived. Qin Ming rinsed his burning-hot body. Today, he didn't plan on entering the mountains to hunt; he would stay home and study the newly acquired scripture from the silk text.
"Why did they say it can't be cultivated?" He hoped that when the deep night fell, he might see the reason in his dreams.
Evidently, the silk text had an extraordinary origin; someone had preserved it with great care, fearing it might be damaged.
The wind and snow stopped, and the night lightened a bit as a result. In an era without a sun, this was what passed for a "clear day."
Qin Ming studied the silk text intensively. Although he had only seen two pages, the records were densely packed with tiny words and illustrations. More than half the content on the second page was completely new to him now; these resurfaced memories needed to be pondered thoroughly, practiced until mastered inside and out.
"It's exquisite. Unfortunately, I can't compare it to intermediate meditation arts or advanced Yiqi Arts, so I don't know its exact tier."
In this remote place, Qin Ming lacked Newborn arts. Aside from the silk text, he had only read the widely circulated Initial Exposition of the Night Meditation Art.
The silk text mentioned "heavenly light," but only briefly in passing, and it did not explain how to develop "heavenly light force," let alone the widely revered "Tathagata force."
Qin Ming frowned. The silk text was undoubtedly extraordinary, but why did it lack a detailed exposition of the critically important heavenly light?
He read attentively, practicing repeatedly in the courtyard, and eventually formed some conjectures. The silk text aimed to convey as much as possible with the most concise words; if one persevered in practicing it, heavenly light would naturally emerge from one's flesh and blood, thereby invigorating the essence, qi, and spirit.
It was just that it truly made no mention of how to produce heavenly light force.
"Does the silk text only address the elevation of one's level of life, without any specific means of self-defense?" This speculation left Qin Ming somewhat bewildered.
In the afternoon, the brightest time of the shallow night, Qin Ming rubbed his temples. After half a day of study, he felt slightly drained mentally, but he had likely grasped the new contents of the silk text completely.
When he practiced once more, his movements were smooth and fluid without a hitch, blending seamlessly into his surroundings. His gaze was focused and clear, his hair drifted in the air, and his whole demeanor conveyed an easy, natural grace.
Most importantly, the warm current inside him surged, and the silvery ripples appearing on the surface of his body solidified slightly, as though transforming into "silver clay."
The silk text did not state what level one would reach or what state would manifest, so Qin Ming had no way of judging how well he was doing.
He stopped to rest. Even just standing there, he seemed relaxed and composed, carrying an added air of poise.
"Little Qin, come out quick! Let's head into the mountains to pay homage to the ruins," Xu Yueping called out to him.
Qin Ming had originally planned to stay home and comprehend the silk text, but since he had already studied it thoroughly, going out was fine as well.
He asked, "What ruins?"
Xu Yueping chuckled. "The mountain patrol team's outpost! Let's see what traces that wise mountain god—er, no, I should say mountain monster—left behind."
Then he lowered his voice. "Let's see if any good stuff was left behind."
This wasn't on a whim. The leaders of several villages had gathered, secretly discussed refusing to plant Black Moon anymore, and jointly decided to check out that outpost.
"Let's go!" Qin Ming nodded.
Lately, even the Newborns of the various villages had to travel in groups of several people before daring to venture a little deeper; otherwise, the dense forest was exceedingly perilous.
Not everyone dared to travel alone in the mountains like Qin Ming.
In the end, it all came down to strength.
"There's a bunch of fine wine here," Qin Ming called to Xu Yueping. He was very familiar with this outpost; the glint of blades in the snowy night could still flash before his eyes.
Xu Yueping and Yang Yongqing dashed over at once, overjoyed. So-called paying homage to the ruins had always been about seeing if anything useful was left behind.
The men of the villages were just as simple and unpretentious.
Old Man Liu's aged face bloomed with a grin. His legs no longer felt weak at all; leaping more than half a zhang high, he shot over with a whoosh.
Qin Ming said with a smile, "Grandpa Liu, how about that? Just yesterday I said I'd honor you with ten jars of fine wine, and today we found a whole pile. Let's split them up and take them back quickly."
"Good, good, good!" Old Man Liu repeated in delight, itching to slap open the mud seal right then and there to taste the wine.
"Coming to the mountain patrol team's place to grave-rob—why does this feel so satisfying? Heh heh," Xu Yueping chuckled endlessly.
The Newborns from the other villages were naturally alerted. In the end, Twin Trees Village took over thirty jars, while the remaining minor portion was split among the other villages.
Although Qin Ming had found them, one couldn't hog everything, lest someone stir up trouble afterward.
In fact, the investigators from the mountain patrol team had already visited earlier and noticed the fine wine, but having official duties and looking down on such wine, they had paid it no mind.
Once the news spread that day, even more people headed over, and the mountain patrol team's outpost was visited by all sides to "loot the grave."
"Could this person be the one who killed everyone in the mountain patrol team?" Qin Ming was surprised. Upon returning from the mountains, he saw a portrait.
It was none other than the dark-faced man. To give credit where it was due, the illustration of him wielding a sword to slay a blood snake looked quite dashing.
Someone from Silver Vine Town had sent out a stack of portraits, instructing the various villages to be vigilant and report any findings immediately.
The mountain patrol team was no soft target; its highest authority was an important figure in Chixia City.
"His name is Wang Nianzhu. He looks heroic and spirited; who would have thought he was that kind of person?" Qin Ming truly hadn't expected that after killing the man, he would see his portrait and learn his name.
"Well, you didn't die in total obscurity. At the very least, portraits of you are being posted across the towns, making your name known far and wide for a time, even if this place is remote." Qin Ming glanced at it a few times and left. Someone whose head he had already smashed wasn't worth dwelling on.
"Still, as for which clan or organization he belongs to, I hope the mountain patrol team can dig that up." Then, he thought of Golden Rooster Ridge and the Three-Eyed Cult, which were also worth watching closely.
In the deep night, after Qin Ming ate the blood snake meat, the medicinal effects took hold quickly. His entire body turned burning hot again and began to glow, almost just like the previous time.
Finally, draped in his "jade suit sewn with gold thread," he drifted off to sleep.
Once again, Qin Ming saw his childhood self. Though impoverished, with ragged clothes and torn shoes, the boy seemed full of perseverance, practicing the Newborn art on the silk text over and over again.
"If it has an extraordinary origin, why can't it be cultivated?" His young self was stubborn and resolute, unwilling to give up.
"Once, an extraordinary figure cultivated the art on this silk text and practiced himself to death—and he was one of its creators." The large hand caressed the beast-hide cover of the silk text.
"Ah?" Young Qin Ming was still childish, completely baffled.
"Some paths are too glorious. And other paths have an uncertain future. A few old fellows were unwilling to resign themselves to fate, so they researched together, hoping to rival those magnificent paths. The theory was sound, but in the end, after abandoning their original achievements to switch to this art, they either died, were maimed, or departed for the far ends of the dark earth when their lifespans were nearly spent. If even they couldn't cultivate it, how could those who come after?" The whisper echoed.
"If it can't be cultivated, why keep it?" the young boy asked.
"The parts that couldn't be cultivated were torn out, leaving only a small portion behind. But even this requires the assistance of someone who has cultivated the art to gain entry. So it's enough to just read through this silk text."
"What about the larger portion that was torn out?" Young Qin Ming still refused to give up, for this was the only remarkable art he could obtain.
"Burned."
Young Qin Ming fell silent, seeming a bit sorrowful, looking down at his little shoes that exposed his toes.
When the shallow night arrived, Qin Ming woke up.
He sighed softly. He had thought he had acquired a heavenly tome, but it seemed he had expected too much; moving forward, he would still need to pay more attention to other advanced Yiqi Arts.
Yet he also fell into a daze. No one had helped him, and yet he had successfully cultivated the first two pages of the silk text.
"Even if I succeeded, what of it? The rest of the silk text was burned. And even its creators couldn't manage it—after testing it in person, they practiced themselves to death. After so many years, the others are probably long gone from this world as well."
Qin Ming got up and went out into the courtyard, sensing the changes within himself. Because this second Newborn transformation had been assisted by spiritual substance, it was swift and fierce, and he had already succeeded.
He felt that now, even with a single arm, he possessed the strength of a thousand jin.
...
Two days later, word came from Cao Long, Wei Zhirou, and Mu Qing that the higher-ups were going to hold one final negotiation with the top-tier abnormal creatures of the mountains, with the venue set at the entrance outside the mountain range.
At this moment, many people were already waiting there.
In the snow, a donkey ambled forward, treading leisurely across the drifts.
"This must be the mount of some big figure from Chixia City, right?"
As the donkey drew closer, people discovered that the donkey's back was not empty. A creature sat cross-legged upon it, yet it was no human—it was a snowy-white weasel, utterly quiet, like an old monk deep in meditation.
That the very first creature to make an appearance was so bizarre left many people too intimidated to speak.
Chapter 26