Volume One: Scroll of New Rain Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Youth’s Long Dream

The winter night was bitterly cold, but the bonfire blazed warm. Beneath the vast banyan tree, within that small world wrapped in firelight, a gentle fragrance of wine drifted.

The young ones, including Qiao Qiao, who had never tasted alcohol before, could not resist their curiosity and each sipped a little. Dabai, who had originally meant to tell a second story, instead joined Mingke and the others in vying for the wine. Their curiosity and greed led them all into a state of tipsy merriment, half playing, half feigning drunkenness.

In the deserted chill of night, they sang loudly, laughed, and spoke with unrestrained, innocent exuberance.

"Qiao Qiao, Tao Yao, what do the old folks say? Now that we've drunk, we're all adults!" Ye Mingke squinted and grinned foolishly.

"Yes, yes, we're all grown up now," Tao Yao echoed, slightly intoxicated, repeating the words by habit.

From childhood, clever and brave Mingke had always been right about everything.

"Tch, only adults can drink, but drinking doesn't make you an adult. So, you little brats, hand the wine over to me!" Dabai reached out, trying to snatch the jug.

"In your dreams!" the other three laughed, resisting in unison.

"So, what do you want to do once you become adults?" Ye Mingke asked.

"When I grow up, I want to buy more of those fairy figurines," grumbled old Dabai.

"How unambitious! But that's easy enough—when I leave the island and return, I'll bring you as many as you want!" Ye Mingke declared with grand bravado.

"And you, Tao Yao?"

"I... I don't know," Tao Yao admitted, touching his head and blushing.

"That's not good. If you don't decide now, you might run out of time to do what you want," Ye Mingke said.

"And you, Qiao Qiao?"

"Mingke, do you want to leave this town?" Qiao Qiao lifted her head to look at Ye Mingke, her eyes tinged with a trace of sorrow.

"Hmm... a little. I want to travel far, sword at my side, right wrongs, slay monsters and demons," Ye Mingke replied, his face tilted back, eyes half-closed in laughter, the wine loosening his tongue.

"And you, Qiao Qiao? What do you want to do when you grow up?"

"I... I want to always be Bai Qiao Qiao," she said softly, after a long pause, her head bowed so her words were barely audible.

"I know what I want to do!" Tao Yao, who had been stammering and blushing, suddenly took a deep drink and, emboldened by the liquor, shouted out, drowning out Qiao Qiao's faint voice.

"I like Senior Yi Wan! I'm going to confess to her!"

In the firelight, Tao Yao slapped the wine jar, his eyes blazing at the flames as if he were declaring war on some fearsome enemy, his face full of heroic resolve.

There was a moment of silence, then all three—including the usually quiet Qiao Qiao—burst into an uproar.

"Bold move!"

"Why wait? There’s no time like the present!"

"If you’re a man, do it tonight! Senior Yi Wan is probably in the study hall right now!"

They cheered and pushed Tao Yao toward the direction of the hall.

"No way, Yi Wan’s brother, Song Qing, is in the hall too. Every time he sees me, he wants to chase me out."

"Don’t worry, I’ll distract him for you."

"Are there other people in the hall besides the teacher’s disciples?"

"Don’t worry, Qiao Qiao and I will think of something."

"The teacher’s there too."

"Well, what if we set the hall on fire? A confession by firelight would be even more romantic!"

"Is that really okay?"

"It has to be!"

They all agreed, utterly convinced.

That night, the boys and girls who drank for the first time and played drunk for the first time made a raucous mess of the village school, startling the once-peaceful town into chaos, filling the cold winter night with lively excitement.

That night, they pieced together the most beautiful and warm heart-shaped bonfire in the freezing dark, all so their big, silly friend could make the most heartfelt confession to the girl he loved.

That night, the gentle, kind-hearted giant did the wildest, most rebellious thing of his life, all for the girl he cared for.

That night, a girl in a red dress with a ponytail, bright as flame, fell into the arms of the boy who had finally found his courage.

That night was the beginning of their youth, and also the last joy within the ivory tower of their lives.

That year, Tao Yao was sixteen, Mingke fifteen, Qiao Qiao fifteen.

...

The next morning, it was well past sunrise when Ye Mingke finally awoke, his head throbbing with the sharp pain of a hangover and too little sleep.

He clutched his aching head and staggered out of his room, finding Uncle had already prepared breakfast and was waiting at the table in the courtyard.

Somewhat embarrassed, Ye Mingke hurried through his morning routine and joined Uncle for breakfast.

After eating, Sword Uncle suddenly looked up.

"You rarely get up this late."

"Though you’ve accomplished two goals, don’t get complacent. After breakfast, I’ll show you a new way to train."

"Sorry, Uncle. It won’t happen again," Ye Mingke said earnestly, putting down his bowl at once. Uncle had always been strict, but seldom scolded him so directly.

Seeing the sincere brightness in Ye Mingke’s eyes, Uncle fell silent for a moment.

"I’m sorry," he said softly, lowering his gaze. "I know your training these years has been hard, with almost no rest. It’s just... just that—"

In his heart, he thought, there really is no more time.

"It’s all right, Uncle. I know these exercises may not seem as magical as the techniques taught at the school, but they’re important for me. At least, over the past five years, I’ve felt my overflow has improved a lot."

Ye Mingke grinned, sensing what his uncle wished to say but left unsaid.

After breakfast, Sword Uncle led Ye Mingke into the bamboo smithy.

"Uncle, are we chopping wood again for the new training?"

"Something like that. Still chopping something."

"Okay, I’ll go get my hatchet, then."

"No need. Use this—it’s just about the same."

"Uh, Uncle, I think there’s a bit of a difference between a hatchet and a wooden sword. The hatchet’s made of iron, the sword of wood—they’re not really the same, are they?" Ye Mingke laughed awkwardly.

"I think they’re about the same."

"Then what do you think is similar to chopping wood?" Ye Mingke asked, despairing at his uncle’s logic.

"Chopping stone. Isn’t that similar?"

"Uncle, you must be in a good mood, telling jokes again."

Ye Mingke answered with a blank face, as he really had no expression left for his uncle’s humor.

"A wooden sword can’t split stone."

"Then why can a hatchet split wood?"

"Because a hatchet is harder than wood."

"Water is softer than stone, and also softer than wood, but why can water wear through stone?"

"Regardless, a wooden sword can’t cut stone."

Uncle stopped arguing and instead picked up a sheet of paper.

"Which is harder, paper or iron?"

"Iron."

"Watch closely."

Uncle fixed his gaze on the paper, then with a sudden flick of his wrist, slashed it through the air.

The paper shot out, straight and sharp as a sword, and embedded itself three inches deep into a block of iron beside him.

"My goodness," Ye Mingke bent down to examine the paper, truly embedded in the steel, utterly astonished.

"The sword’s name is Relentless," Uncle said quietly. This time, unlike before, he didn’t merely demonstrate but explained in detail the flick and slash of the paper.

This technique was perhaps the most intricate of all. The reverse calculation of the paper’s trajectory revealed an extremely complex formula, and even the subtle tremor as it touched iron contained profound skill.

"But that’s just the surface. What matters most is the clarity of your intent—the conviction that nothing in the world is truly a single whole. Everything has a seam; everything can be cut!"

"And you must have resolve—whatever you are, whoever your opponent is, at the moment you strike, do not retreat, do not yield. Even if it’s paper against steel, you do not yield!"

Ye Mingke listened, utterly absorbed. Though he had never formally cultivated, and some details escaped him, it was as if a new world had opened before his eyes.

So much could be achieved by human effort—how wondrous the world truly was.

He strove to absorb every word; when he didn’t understand something, he either asked Sword Uncle or committed it to memory to ponder after practice.

Sword Uncle’s instruction lasted all day. When the hour of the rooster sounded, both Ye Mingke and his uncle looked outside and found that dusk had already fallen.

But the night did not descend as early as it had at the start of winter.

"This winter is ending, the days are growing longer," Ye Mingke said.

"Yes," Uncle replied, gazing out the window for a long time.

At the hour of the rooster, after a hasty meal, Ye Mingke followed his lifelong habit and went to bed early.

Sword Uncle did not sleep, but sat silently by the window.

The night of the fifteenth had come.

The daylight was extinguished as if someone had blown out a candle. Darkness surged, blanketing the whole town.

From the deepest shadow bloomed a sinister, bloody red. Beneath that crimson dome, a spectral moon-fiend alighted atop the town’s ancient tower, stretching its five enchanting heads, singing an ancient nocturne in a voice as fine and sharp as a weeping girl.

The withered corpses drifted once more through the town, raising their heads, but tonight no bloody rain fell into their eyes.

They wandered quietly and forlornly, as if they had roamed these streets for a thousand years.

But tonight, the town was not as peaceful as before. A dazzling divine light burst from the grandest mansion, then from the study hall as well.

As if triggering a chain reaction, pillars of divine light erupted in many corners of the town.

The beams moved slowly, step by step crossing the town with a majesty as deep as an abyss. The desiccated corpses fled before them, and flocks of moon-fiends scattered at their approach.

At last, the radiant lights converged before a bamboo hut. Sword Uncle opened the door and calmly stepped out.

The brightest beam of light thundered with a voice like rolling thunder.

"Swordmaster, you have broken the covenant between us!"

PS: New author, new book—please support with a favorite or a recommendation. Thank you all!