Volume One: Wandering Without Distinction Chapter Thirteen: Ox-Head Ridge

The constables burst into the teahouse, and the man’s expression changed dramatically. Soon, the sounds of crashing and banging echoed from inside, silencing the husband and wife, who dared not utter a word.

The teahouse was small, and several constables searched every inch before returning. One reported to their leader, “There’s no one inside.” The head constable glanced around, tossed a sheet of paper to the man, and said coldly, “This is a wanted notice. Paste it outside your teahouse. If you see this boy—dead or alive—bring him to the authorities and you’ll be handsomely rewarded.” With that, he flicked his reins and led the others away at a gallop.

After they left, the man turned to his wife and said urgently, “Did you hear? That little beggar is a murderer! Why didn’t you let me report him?” The woman replied calmly, “Better to avoid trouble when you can.” The man, clearly frustrated, searched the teahouse inside and out once more. When he found nothing, he breathed a sigh of relief. “So the boy is gone?”

The woman waited until the constables were far away before slipping behind the teahouse. Not far off stood a simple bamboo enclosure, clearly an outdoor privy.

The man immediately understood, and sure enough, Yang Ning emerged from within.

Though the constables had searched thoroughly, they’d neglected this spot.

“Uncle, Auntie, I’m sorry,” Yang Ning said with a respectful gesture. “I’ll leave at once. I won’t bring trouble on you.” He had expected that the minions of Xiao Yishui would eventually track him down, but he’d never imagined their efficiency would be so ruthless—already identifying the culprit and searching everywhere.

The man’s face was ashen, suspicion still lingering in his eyes. “You… did you really kill someone?”

Yang Ning didn’t explain. Instead, he took out a gold leaf. “I have no silver on me. Could I exchange this gold leaf for some small change?”

The man was startled at the sight of it and shook his head quickly. “We don’t have that much silver. Just go, hurry!” Yet his gaze was fixed greedily on the gold.

Yang Ning hesitated, but in the end pressed the gold leaf into the woman’s hand and hurried off. The woman called after him several times before he stopped. She caught up and asked, “Young man, where are you headed? The authorities are searching everywhere for you.”

Yang Ning smiled. “I’m going to the capital, hoping to catch up with an escort caravan. But they left days before me—I don’t know if I can overtake them.”

The man came closer. “If the escort caravan followed this main road, even if they left days ago, you might still catch up.” He pointed southeast. “Walk that way for a day and you’ll reach Oxhead Ridge. If you cross through it, you’ll save at least two days compared to the main road—you might make it.”

“Oxhead Ridge?” Yang Ning’s eyes brightened.

The woman urged, “It’s deep forest and dangerous, young man. You’d be better off forgetting it.”

The man said, “I’ve pointed out the path. Whether you dare take it is up to you. Best get going—if the constables return, we’ll be in trouble.”

Yang Ning was a little heartened, thanked them, and dashed away before the woman could return the gold leaf.

He followed the direction given, stopping only briefly to rest. By dusk the next day, he saw the outline of mountains ahead—an unbroken range with two peaks rising like a pair of ox horns.

As the sun set, the last rays bathed Oxhead Ridge. Yet the ridge seemed shrouded in gloom. Though it looked close, the remaining daylight would not see him there.

As he drew nearer, hoofbeats thundered behind him. Yang Ning’s heart tightened. He glanced back—several riders were approaching at speed.

He clenched his fists, fearing the constables had doubled back and the teahouse man had betrayed him.

There was no cover in the open, and the riders had already spotted him. Escape was impossible.

Five swift horses raced past, their leader sparing him only a glance.

Yang Ning saw at last that these were not constables but five men dressed in identical purple robes, each with a mark between the brows—though they sped by too quickly for him to see it clearly.

He breathed easier as the riders galloped past, but then they halted a short distance ahead. One circled back, reining in beside him. The purple-robed man looked Yang Ning up and down, then asked coldly, “Have you seen an old man in a gray robe?”

Yang Ning shook his head. “No, I haven’t.” So they were searching for an old man—but who could he be?

Just then, a shrill sound came from deep in Oxhead Ridge. Yang Ning looked up and saw a streak of light shooting into the sky from the mountains—clear and sharp against the darkening sky, accompanied by a piercing screech.

The purple-robed men saw it too. Their leader’s face changed. “It’s in the mountains! Let’s move!” They spurred their horses toward the ridge and disappeared.

Yang Ning watched them go, confusion deepening. These men were clearly dangerous, but their purpose was a mystery. The signal flare from the mountains clearly meant there were others hidden there.

Should he avoid them and find another route? But if he wanted to catch the caravan, this shortcut was his only chance. After a moment’s thought, he pressed on toward Oxhead Ridge.

After half an hour, he reached the foot of the mountain and saw several horses tethered there, but not a sign of the purple-robed men.

He guessed they had left their mounts and continued on foot—riding would be impossible on the steep, wooded slopes.

If he took one of their horses and quietly rode off, he might escape notice, and with hard riding could catch the caravan. But taking the main road risked crossing paths with Xiao Yishui’s men, who were already scouring Huize County with eyes and ears in every quarter. He needed to be careful.

Moreover, the purple-robed men’s behavior had piqued his curiosity.

The climb grew rougher as he ascended. The mountain was thick with trees, and Yang Ning guessed the purple-robed men had headed toward the flare, trying to recall its location as he picked his way through the forest, alert to every sound.

Oxhead Ridge lived up to its name, rising and falling, never a steady climb.

The new moon was cold and faint, and with autumn setting in, the mountain air was chill and heavy. Wolf howls and bird calls echoed through the woods. Before he knew it, Yang Ning was deep in the mountains, with no sign of any living soul—not even a trail in sight. The darkness was oppressive and the forest eerie, enough to make even the boldest man uneasy.

Just as he began to regret entering the forest, a shout rang out to his left. He tensed, but after a few calls, all fell silent.

He waited a moment. Hearing nothing further, he crept cautiously toward the sound. The woods were dim, obscuring everything. Suddenly, his foot caught on something soft and he nearly fell, but caught himself on a sapling.

Moonlight filtered through the branches. Glancing down, Yang Ning’s face went pale—he almost cried out.

A body lay stretched across the ground, motionless. His foot had landed squarely on its abdomen. In the cold light, he saw the corpse was headless.

A heavy, metallic stench filled the air—Yang Ning was no stranger to blood, but the sight of the headless body chilled him.

From the clothing, it seemed to be one of the purple-robed men he’d seen earlier.

He covered his nose with a hand. Just then, another scream came from not far off—shrill and quickly cut short. Yang Ning’s heart pounded as he crept forward, covering another dozen steps before spotting a figure standing ahead. He ducked behind a tree.

But the figure remained motionless. Yang Ning peered around the trunk. The man stood upright, head and arms dangling limp, unmoving.

Sensing something odd, Yang Ning stepped out. The figure didn’t react. He approached, called softly, “Hey,” then noticed the man’s chest bulging unnaturally as if something was stuffed inside. Since he showed no sign of life, Yang Ning circled around him.

Only then did he see: a tree limb as thick as an arm had impaled the man from behind, pushing through his chest. The bulge was the trunk forcing its way out.

The grisly deaths of the two corpses left Yang Ning more and more unsettled—someone had killed with extraordinary cruelty.

He edged closer to examine the face. One look, and he recognized him as the same purple-robed man who had questioned him at the mountain’s base. In the center of the man’s brow was a tattoo, shaped like a spider.