Chapter 8: Rebirth

Chapter 8 New Life

The atmosphere at the dinner table was silent.

The orange lamplight stretched the shadows of father and son long, casting them upon the wall behind.

Qin Dahai had already set down the rice ladle and was the first to pick up his chopsticks.

He took a bite of greens, placing them in his mouth, chewing slowly and gently, almost soundlessly.

His gaze never once left the face across from him.

Qin Feng was ravenous.

A full day of grueling cultivation had left his body like a bottomless black hole, crazily craving energy and nourishment.

Though the spiritual energy from the elixir Sun Chantang had given him had not yet been consumed, his body’s primal hunger could not be suppressed.

He grabbed his chopsticks without any pretense of politeness, burying his head and shoveling rice into his mouth.

Rice, synthetic meat, vegetables—he stuffed them in by the mouthful, his cheeks bulging full.

His table manners were far from elegant, even somewhat brutish; each swallow was accompanied by the bob of his Adam’s apple, filled with a raw, primal desire for food.

“Gulp.”

After a large mouthful went down, he picked up the cup beside him, took a big gulp of water, and let out a satisfied sigh.

Qin Dahai watched silently. The food in his own bowl had barely been touched.

He watched his son wolfing down his meal, watched his hair soaked with sweat, watched the lingering exhaustion on his face and those eyes that burned with startling brightness.

His right hand—the good one—held his chopsticks, frozen midair.

Qin Dahai wanted to ask.

Was today’s training exhausting?

Was the money well spent?

Can your body… still hold up?

Is there… even a little bit of progress?

But every question was like a thousand-pound boulder, lodged in his throat, refusing to let him speak.

He was afraid.

Afraid that his concern would become a burden.

Afraid that his inquiry would pierce the fragile armor his son had built with strength.

He had seen it too many times.

His son would drag his exhausted body home, wolf down his food just like today, yet the next day’s physical test results would still be as glaringly disappointing.

The greater the hope, the heavier the disappointment.

This cycle had lasted eight years.

He dared not add any extra weight to his son’s shoulders, not even a careless word of care.

All he could do was watch in silence, preparing the most lavish dinner he could in his clumsy way.

A bowl of rice piled like a small mountain soon disappeared.

Qin Feng set down the empty bowl; it was so clean it looked licked, not a single grain left.

“Dad.”

He spoke, his voice still a little slurred from eating too fast.

Qin Dahai’s body gave a slight start, as if jolted from his own thoughts.

He raised his eyes to his son, his Adam’s apple moving, and squeezed out a single syllable:

“Hm?”

“Another bowl.”

Qin Feng pushed the empty bowl toward him.

Qin Dahai smiled, turned around, and filled it to the brim once more.

This time, Qin Feng did not immediately pick up his chopsticks.

He placed the steaming bowl of rice on the table, lifted his head, and looked directly into his father’s eyes, his gaze clear.

Qin Feng looked at his father’s weathered face, at the deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, at the white hairs that had somehow sprouted at his temples, and at his empty left sleeve.

Inside that sleeve were red veins—the hidden wounds left by the Flame Demon, often burning with unbearable heat and torment.

But to pay for Qin Feng’s treatment, Qin Dahai had ignored his own injuries for years, enduring them alone.

“Dad, I have good news.”

Qin Feng took a deep breath.

Qin Dahai’s right hand, holding the chopsticks, stopped.

Slowly, he shifted his gaze from the bowl to his son’s face.

In those eyes, usually as calm as still water, violent ripples stirred for the first time.

“Tell me.”

His voice was tight, carrying a hoarseness he himself did not notice.

“Today, at the Limitless Martial Hall. Master Sun Chantang himself met with me.”

Qin Feng spoke unhurriedly, making sure every word reached his father’s ears clearly.

“He saw my old problem. Said I’ve carried a root illness since childhood.”

As Qin Feng said this, he clearly saw his father’s knuckles turning white from gripping the chopsticks too hard.

“Then, he treated me.”

“He said he used his ultimate technique, the Ten Complete Hands, to force out all the toxins that had accumulated in my body for eight years.”

“Dad.” Qin Feng looked at his father’s instantly widened eyes and spoke each word deliberately:

“My illness is cured.”

“Master Sun said I’m just like a normal person now.”

“He healed me.”

When the last four words fell, time seemed to freeze.

The living room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Outside the window, a civilian anti-gravity vehicle glided by silently; its headlights swept across the wall for a moment, illuminating Qin Dahai’s face, frozen in shock.

He did not move, like a statue instantly turned to stone.

One second.

Two seconds.

Five seconds.

Ten seconds.

"Clang——"

A crisp sound broke the frozen air.

It was the metal chopsticks from Qin Dahai's hand, slipping from his trembling fingers and falling onto the hard floor.

He showed no reaction.

His lips moved, like a fish out of water, but no sound came out.

His eye sockets, at a speed visible to the naked eye, quickly turned red.

A layer of watery light shimmered, gathered, and swirled in his eyes, but stubbornly refused to fall.

"Goo...good..."

He finally squeezed out a broken, off-key syllable from the depths of his throat.

Then, he abruptly stood up.

The movement was too hasty, too violent; the chair was knocked backward by his thigh, its legs screeching against the floor in a harsh shriek.

Qin Dahai turned around, in a posture almost like fleeing, with his back to Qin Feng, stumbling and rushing toward the bathroom.

"I... I'm going to smoke a cigarette."

His voice was slurred.

"Bang!"

The bathroom door was slammed shut heavily by him.

Inside the door came the sound of a lighter clicking "click, click" several times before finally igniting.

Qin Feng sat quietly at the dining table, staring at the tightly closed door.

He did not move, nor did he speak.

Behind that door, the man who had held up the sky for him was releasing the pain, self-blame, worry, and resentment accumulated over eight full years.

That was a father's tears.

He lowered his head, silently picked up the chopsticks, and began to eat that second bowl of rice.

The sweetness of the rice melted on his tongue.

Qin Feng savored it carefully; it was a taste named "hope" and "rebirth."

...

That night, Qin Feng slept extremely soundly.

After a day of extreme training, his body was undergoing self-repair and growth at an unprecedented efficiency.

The gentle energy left in his body by the nutritional agent, like the most dutiful gardener, nourished every dried-up cell in his body.

Deep in his consciousness, the panel of "Heaven Rewards Diligence" floated quietly.

The passive effect of "Imperial Basic Body Training Method (Beginner Level)" was like a tireless precision engine, bit by bit, accumulating capital for him on the path to becoming a strong man.

Qin Feng had an extraordinarily magnificent dream.

In the dream, his perspective broke free from gravity, flew out of the atmosphere of Qiming Star, and soared into the boundless deep space of the universe.

He saw interstellar cargo ships as huge as giant beasts shuttling on fixed routes, their hulls flashing with the emblems of various trade guilds.

He saw burning planets and broken planetary belts, scars left by war, silently telling of the empire's iron blood and expeditions.

He saw magnificent creation nebulae, as if hand-colored by God, where countless new stars were being conceived and born, emitting charming light and heat.

He saw figures that only existed in news and legends.

Some, clad in powered armor and wielding chainsword greatswords, fought against ferocious alien war leaders above the asteroid belt, each collision bursting with dazzling light comparable to a supernova.

Some sat cross-legged in the orbit of a gas giant; with just one breath, they triggered energy tides spanning billions of miles, forming a psychic storm that swept through the ring system.

"Fist Emperor" Rocks, "Dragon Snake" Wang Chao... names that thundered in the ears, figures like gods and demons, flashed before his eyes one by one.

That was an era belonging to the strong, a magnificent, iron-blooded, and stirring great era.

And he, Qin Feng, after eight years of silence, had finally obtained the first ticket to step onto that stage.

(End of this chapter)