Beyond the Timescape

Chapter 58: A Birthday Alone

The night wind howled across the harbor. Seawater lapped gently against the sides of the black-canopied Dharma Boat, churning up a thick, gray-black foam along the hull. The small vessel swayed with the tide, its timbers creaking softly in the dark.

Beneath the canopy, Xu Qing sat in deep concentration, refining pills.

His hands moved with practiced precision. He plucked leaves, extracted sap, and harvested stamens, his movements a blur of efficiency. Slowly, a rich medicinal liquid pooled at the bottom of his stone bowl.

After verifying the proportions and making a few minute adjustments, he added the Seven-Leaf Grass. Midnight crept up on him. With utmost care, he squeezed a single drop of Spirit-Condensing Leaf sap into the dark mixture.

*Hiss!*

A sharp sizzle pierced the quiet cabin as a plume of green smoke erupted from the bowl. Xu Qing waved his sleeve, scattering the toxic fumes. The dark liquid rapidly congealed into a white, semi-solid paste that pulsed with a faint, inner luminescence.

Success on the first attempt.

After a meticulous inspection, Xu Qing scooped out the paste and rolled it into perfectly round pills, setting them aside to dry in the shade. A rare gleam of satisfaction flickered in his eyes.

“I finally refined a White Pill.”

He murmured the words into the quiet cabin. Unbidden, memories of his time studying under Master Bai surfaced, followed by stark images of the Scavenger Camp. On this particular day, the flood of the past left the young man’s heart unusually restless.

After a long silence, Xu Qing let out a soft sigh and peered out of the boat. The world beyond was swallowed by pitch blackness, broken only by the high-hanging moon casting a shimmering, fractured reflection across the sea.

The harbor was dead silent. A damp, chilling sea breeze swept in, lifting his hair.

“Master Bai should have returned to the Purple Soil by now,” he whispered to the dark. “I wonder how Cross and Luan Ya are doing… And Captain Lei’s grave… are the weeds overgrowing it?”

“And I still haven’t found the Destiny Flower.”

He was accustomed to the biting loneliness. He had adapted to the cutthroat meat grinder of Seven Blood Eyes. Yet, beneath the blood and paranoia, Xu Qing was still just a boy. He sat in the dark, his mind drifting back to that cramped shack in the Scavenger Camp, sharing roasted snake meat with a familiar old man. He could almost hear Captain Lei rambling about camp gossip, see him puffing on his pipe, taking swigs of cheap liquor.

The memory was razor-sharp.

Xu Qing’s eyelids drooped. “The slum teacher once said that when a person starts dwelling on the past, it means they are growing older…”

He reached into his leather pouch and pulled out a jug of wine he had purchased during his daytime patrol. Gripping the jug, Xu Qing stared up at the luminous moon. Slowly, he raised the clay vessel, offering a silent toast to the night sky, and took a deep pull.

Framed by the canopy, the lone youth sat on his boat—one toast to the moon, one drink for himself.

The liquor of the main city was far more potent than the swill from the Scavenger Camp. It burned like liquid fire down his throat, igniting a blaze in his stomach that seemed to scorch his very veins. His breathing hitched. A moment later, he took another heavy gulp.

“To Captain Lei. May your soul find peace in the heavens,” he rasped.

“To Master Bai. May you live a long, healthy life.”

He paused, staring at the rippling water. “And to myself… happy birthday.”

He tilted the jug back again. Today was his birthday. Though his cold, hardened demeanor made him look sixteen or seventeen, Xu Qing had only just turned fifteen. The horrors he had survived had violently stripped away his childhood, forcing him into a premature, ruthless maturity.

And today, just like every year before, he sat alone in the dark, offering himself silent blessings.

Only this year, he had wine.

As the jug ran dry, unbidden thoughts of his family clawed at his mind. He tried desperately to picture their faces, but the features remained agonizingly blurred. The fading of their memory felt like a physical ache in his chest. He didn’t want to forget them, but the passage of time was a thief he couldn’t kill.

A long time passed.

“Are you all doing well?” he whispered to the floorboards.

The sea breeze howled, whipping his hair across his face, scattering the ghosts of his past. The biting chill slowly dragged him back to reality. The vulnerability vanished from his eyes, replaced once more by a chilling, predatory sharpness.

“Survive.” The word was a vow. “If I can carve out a better life… if I can somehow find a way to see my parents again… then I will.”

“Which means I must become stronger.” Xu Qing slowly raised his head. Bathed in the pale moonlight, the youth looked like a lone wolf staring down the abyss.

He turned back into the cabin, sat cross-legged, and began to cultivate.

***

In the days following his birthday, Xu Qing’s routine stabilized into a relentless cycle of patrols, pill refining, and cultivation.

Even with the aid of Spirit Stones, his progression in the Sea Transformation Scripture had begun to slow. However, he had just shattered the bottleneck of the sixth level, stepping into the seventh. As he cultivated, he could feel the spiritual energy flooding his unblocked meridians like a torrential river. Within his Dantian, the Spirit Sea was no longer a mere pool of water; it was a violent, roaring ocean of pure, concentrated power, crashing against the boundaries of his mortal vessel.

The deeper he delved into the scripture, the more arduous the climb became. Yet, this was only relative. Compared to the other disciples of Seven Blood Eyes, Xu Qing’s cultivation speed was nothing short of monstrous.

Reaching the seventh level of the Sea Transformation Scripture brought a terrifying leap in his combat prowess. He could feel the sheer difference in his bones. If he were to face the version of himself from before he joined Seven Blood Eyes, he was absolutely certain he could slaughter his past self within thirty breaths.

There was still a vast chasm between him and the Vajra Sect’s Old Ancestor, but Xu Qing was now confident he could survive a direct clash for at least a few exchanges.

*When I get just a little stronger, I’ll go butcher that old dog,* he thought coldly.

Leaving the Vajra Sect’s Old Ancestor alive was a festering thorn in his side. Even though the old man was bound by the strict, profit-driven laws of Seven Blood Eyes and couldn’t strike directly, he would inevitably hire proxies to do the deed. Xu Qing had to accelerate his growth and eradicate the threat permanently.

In addition to his cultivation, Xu Qing had thoroughly dissected the jade slip containing the schematics for his Dharma Boat. Having completely memorized its intricate arrays and structural limits, his control over the vessel had reached a level of masterful fluidity.

He had also finalized his upgrade path: absolute sturdiness and defense.

In the hyper-capitalist meat grinder of Seven Blood Eyes, every scratch on a hull meant bleeding Spirit Stones for repairs. By maximizing the boat’s durability, he minimized wear and tear, effectively cutting his overhead costs and protecting his investments.

More importantly, in a dystopian city where betrayal was a currency and murder a daily transaction, the Dharma Boat was his only true sanctuary. He needed an impenetrable fortress to cultivate, rest, and refine his pills without having to sleep with one eye open.

His pill production had also been highly profitable. He had stockpiled a significant number of White Pills and Black Pills.

Relying on his ingrained survival instincts, he didn’t just stop at Black Pills; he mass-produced the lethal poison powders that had kept him alive in the slums.

He treated every refinement session with deadly seriousness. Botany and pharmacology weren’t just hobbies; they were the brutal survival skills he had bled to master. They were carved into his very bones.

He meticulously categorized and stored the leftover herbs in the cabin’s dense array of compartments, turning the interior of his black-canopied boat into a hyper-organized apothecary.

Because the main city was swarming with prying eyes and informants, he refrained from experimenting with new, volatile poison formulas. However, he had hoarded a massive stockpile of toxic materials. He planned to find a remote, hidden location outside the city to refine them all at once.

Meanwhile, his work at the Homicide Department had become second nature. Over the past few days, the entire department had been aggressively hunting down the Night Dove strongholds. A massive influx of intelligence and clues poured in daily. Xu Qing could sense the tension in the air; the department was preparing to pull the net tight.

Tonight was not his scheduled shift, but Xu Qing had actively traded with another disciple to take the night patrol.

Night patrols were a mandatory duty for all Homicide Department disciples, and they were notoriously lethal. Anyone walking the streets after dark kept their vigilance dialed to the absolute maximum.

As dusk bled out of the sky, Xu Qing adjusted his gray robes. He slipped packets of poison powder into his concealed sleeve pockets, secured his dagger and iron spikes, and stepped off the Dharma Boat.

The sun had vanished, plunging the world into a dreary gloom. A cold, steady rain began to wash over the sprawling metropolis.

Xu Qing melted into the shadows. He moved through the downpour like a phantom, his presence entirely swallowed by the night.

The wind whipped at his robes, snapping the fabric loudly. The icy air was refreshing against his lungs, cutting through the city’s oppressive humidity, though it failed to mask the underlying stench of blood and rot that permanently hung over Seven Blood Eyes.

*Tap. Tap. Tap.*

His boots struck the wet bluestone pavement in a rapid, rhythmic cadence. From a distance, his footfalls barely disturbed the puddles, sending out delicate, lotus-like ripples with every step.

The night deepened, and the rain turned into a torrential downpour. Xu Qing blurred past dark alleys and shuttered storefronts, expertly bypassing several active murder scenes. By midnight, he arrived at Banquan Road.

Through the curtain of rain, he spotted an inn whose lanterns were still lit. Xu Qing tucked himself into the pitch-black corner beneath an overhanging eave and waited in absolute silence.

Days ago, his terrified informant had coughed up the location of a wanted criminal named Qing Yunzi.

The Homicide Department’s bounty slip painted a gruesome picture: Qing Yunzi hailed from the Qingyun Sect, a minor faction subservient to the Purple Soil. He was at the ninth level of Qi Condensation. He was a ruthless, depraved sadist who had tortured and murdered several female disciples within his own sect. While fleeing the subsequent manhunt, he had slaughtered multiple mortal villages, leaving a trail of rape and pillage in his wake.

Xu Qing hadn’t cared. He had no personal grudge against the man, and in this chaotic, dog-eat-dog world, everyone had their own twisted methods of survival. Xu Qing wasn’t a savior; he didn’t have the luxury of dispensing justice.

But the man had made one critical mistake.

Xu Qing’s informant was supposed to meet him two days ago at the bustling market where they had first crossed paths, seeking the antidote to the poison he had given her. Yet, she never showed up.

So, earlier that day, Xu Qing had gone looking.

The wind was strong, but it couldn’t disperse the unique scent of the poison powder he had coated the Spirit Coins with. Following that faint, deadly trail, he easily found the woman’s residence and saw the signs of a struggle inside. Tracing the scent further, he tracked it to this very inn.

He had waited all afternoon. Then, he saw a man reeking of the concentrated poison powder enter the inn.

The man’s appearance matched the bounty slip perfectly. It was Qing Yunzi.

So, tonight, Xu Qing had swapped shifts and come here, waiting silently in the rain.

His informant was his responsibility.