Volume One: Carefree Journey Amid Indistinguishable Paper Leaves Chapter Fourteen: Elder Wood

In the depths of the mountain forest, a chilling gloom hung in the air. Yang Ning’s expression was grave as he examined the ground nearby, where a damp patch caught his eye in the cold moonlight. He crouched, dipped a fingertip into the substance, brought it close to his nose, and immediately detected a strong scent of blood. He realized it was fresh blood.

Looking ahead, he saw the blood spattered and trailing deeper into the woods. After a moment’s deliberation, he surmised someone had been wounded and retreated further into the forest. Though he knew it was fraught with danger, Yang Ning couldn’t resist following the trail of blood into the thicket. After a short walk, he suddenly came upon a scene of corpses strewn haphazardly across the ground. The silence was absolute, and the sight of so many bodies sent a chill through his heart.

He spotted a steel blade nearby, bent to pick it up, and cautiously approached the bodies. On closer inspection, he saw eight or nine corpses; apart from one whose head was severed from his body, the others were relatively intact compared to the two he had seen earlier. All wore purple garments, and a few lay face-up—Yang Ning noticed a spider tattoo at the center of their brows, recognizing them as comrades.

Weapons were scattered among the bodies: besides broadswords, there were iron hooks, short daggers, chains, and other implements, clearly marking them as skilled fighters. The corpses were robust and well-trained, making it difficult for Yang Ning to fathom how so many could have perished in such a short time.

He was still pondering this when a sudden sound came from nearby. Tensing, Yang Ning gripped the blade and turned to look. There, amidst a tangled heap of vines, the noise had originated. Step by step, Yang Ning approached, soon hearing hurried breathing behind the vines. In the pale moonlight, he saw a figure leaning against a tree—a man clad in a gray robe with a gray headband. His snowy white hair stood out starkly, and his eyes were cold and fierce.

At the sight of this man, Yang Ning immediately recalled the “gray-robed old man” mentioned by the purple-clad men earlier; it was likely this white-haired elder before him.

The old man’s breathing was rapid and weak. His gaze, icy and sharp, flickered with suspicion as he took in Yang Ning’s appearance. “Who... who are you?” he asked, his voice frail and evidently wounded.

Yang Ning surmised that since the purple-robed men were searching for this elder, and now all lay dead in the mountains, the culprit must be the white-haired old man. Yet, looking at his withered form, it was hard to believe so many strong men could have fallen to his hand.

“Sir... what happened to you?” Yang Ning asked cautiously. “Are you wounded?”

The old man’s voice was cold: “I asked who you are. Why are you here?”

A chill emanated from the elder, and Yang Ning would have preferred to leave this place of misfortune. He retreated two steps, but suddenly the old man’s arm jerked, and a vine shot out like a viper.

Yang Ning’s face darkened. He gripped the blade and swung, but the vine seemed alive—it curled aside before the blade could strike, and Yang Ning felt his wrist tighten as the vine coiled around it.

Startled, Yang Ning tried to break free, but his arm went numb as though shocked by electricity. The blade fell from his grasp, and the vine dragged his entire body forward.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Yang Ning regretted ever climbing this eerie mountain. He hadn’t seen the excitement he’d hoped for; instead, he was about to be killed by this old ghost.

With a heavy crash, Yang Ning was flung to the ground, bones nearly breaking apart. As he struggled upright, he found the old man looming close, cold eyes locked onto him, still leaning against the tree.

“You’re not from the Palace of Five Venoms?” The old man scrutinized Yang Ning, a feeble threat in his tone. “Who are you? If you don’t tell the truth now... I’ll kill you.” His brow furrowed, his whole body shuddered as if seized by chills, then he turned away and vomited a mouthful of blood.

Yang Ning was assaulted by the stench—overwhelmingly foul.

“So the old man truly is wounded,” Yang Ning thought, and quickly said, “Sir, you’re mistaken—I’m not from the Palace of Five Venoms. I stumbled into the mountain by accident.”

He laughed inwardly, thinking this old fellow was formidable—he was no match for him. For now, he could only play along and wait for a chance to escape. As for the Palace of Five Venoms, he had no idea what it was.

“By accident?” The old man sneered. “A child like you, at this hour, would just happen to wander into the mountain?” Blood still stained his lips, his body trembled, but his tone was chilling.

Yang Ning sat on the ground, sighed, and said, “Sir, I’m a wandering beggar. I lost my companions, heard they left the main road days ago, so I thought to cut through the mountains to catch up.”

“Crossing these deep forests?” The old man laughed harshly. “You’ve got guts, not afraid of being devoured by tigers and leopards?”

“I didn’t know the mountain was so dangerous.” Yang Ning, aching all over, struggled to stand. “Sir, you should rest. I won’t disturb you, I’ll head down now.” He turned to leave, but the old man barked, “Stop!”

Yang Ning knew the elder wouldn’t let him go easily, so he turned back with a wry smile. “Sir, I have nothing, just a worthless life. I happened to stumble here by bad luck. Don’t worry, I saw nothing tonight and will never speak of it.” He thought, “I have no idea what you’re up to; I couldn’t say anything even if I tried.”

The old man said coldly, “Even if you tell, it matters not.” He pointed ahead. “Do you know who they are?”

Yang Ning thought it best to know as little as possible and shook his head. “No, sir, and I don’t want to know.”

“I told you—they’re from the Palace of Five Venoms. Have you forgotten?” The old man snorted. “Don’t try any tricks with me!” Another fit of coughing seized him, his body trembling violently.

“He seems seriously injured,” Yang Ning thought. “If he wants to kill me, I’ll just fight him to the death.” But he smiled and said, “Sir, you’re mistaken. I don’t know anything about the Palace of Five Venoms or Six Venoms. I just want to cross the mountain and find my companions quickly.”

“You want to cross the mountain? Hah, you don’t realize your life hangs by a thread.” The old man sneered. “Those from the Palace of Five Venoms are cruel and wicked. I opposed them, and now they’re hunting me. Though I’ve slain these men, there are others nearby heading this way. If they see you, you’ll be killed as well.”

This old man was truly unreasonable—he killed them, not Yang Ning, so why threaten him?

Seeing Yang Ning silent, the old man thought he was frightened and asked quietly, “Are you familiar with the mountain paths?”

Yang Ning shook his head. The old man said, “You aren’t, but I am. If you want to live, obey my orders. I can lead you out; otherwise, you won’t escape their pursuit.”

You’re familiar? If Yang Ning didn’t know the old man’s martial prowess, he would have scoffed. The Ox-head Ridge stretched far, its forests devoid of clear paths. The old man was obviously hiding from his pursuers and likely didn’t even know the mountain’s name. Yet he claimed to know the trails—such shameless boasting.

Yang Ning saw through him but feigned innocence. “Sir, you really know the way out?”

The white-haired old man nodded. “Yes. No more talk. I’m lightly wounded, movement is difficult, and their men could arrive any moment. This place isn’t safe—carry me away from here.”

Yang Ning immediately understood: the old man was unable to walk, as he had vomited blood earlier, and the stench was foul—his injuries must be severe. Though he killed the Palace’s men, he was clearly wounded himself, yet he claimed it was just a minor injury, another blatant lie.

The old man’s claim to know the mountain paths and his promise to lead Yang Ning out were more lies; his real aim was to have Yang Ning carry him away. Yang Ning knew that since the old man needed him, he wouldn’t kill him yet. Escaping now wasn’t wise; if he angered the old man, he’d suffer for it. He decided to wait until the old man’s injuries worsened, then look for an opportunity to flee.

The old man, seeing Yang Ning hesitate, snorted coldly. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want to leave the mountain?”

Yang Ning quickly smiled. “Sir, you misunderstand—I’m just worried I won’t be able to carry you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m very light,” the old man replied. “Hurry, or when their men arrive you’ll have no chance to leave.”

With no other option, Yang Ning approached and hoisted the old man onto his back. Oddly, though the old man didn’t look thin, he felt light as a feather. Yet the closer Yang Ning came, the stronger the stench became; with the old man on his back, breathing heavily, the smell was nearly unbearable.

“That way!” The old man, draped over Yang Ning’s back, pointed into the depths of the forest. “Do exactly as I say, and you’ll leave the mountain safely.”

“If I really obey you, I’ll probably end up dead, silenced by you,” Yang Ning muttered inwardly, but said aloud, “Sir, may I know your name?”

“Just call me Old Mu,” the elder answered. “Hurry now, don’t waste time!”