Volume One: Carefree Journey Amidst Indistinguishable Paper Leaves Chapter Eighteen: Skeleton

Is this old man paranoid or what? Yang Ning, annoyed, said, "Enough nonsense. You old scoundrel injured me, and now you want to kill me. How are we going to settle this score?" He remained alert, wary of a sudden attack from Old Mu.

Old Mu's eyes were fixed intently on the scroll in Yang Ning's hand. After a moment of silence, he finally said, "Hand over the scroll, and I will heal your wounds and let you leave. My word is good; I would never deceive you."

Trust you? Not a chance.

"Old Mu, you’ve memorized every detail of this scroll by now. Why do you still need it?" Yang Ning asked. "Have you not already deciphered its secrets?"

"What are you implying?" Old Mu’s voice grew cold.

Yang Ning sneered. "If I’m not mistaken, your sudden madness in the cave must be related to this scroll." His eyes flickered. "Did your cultivation of the Six Harmonies Divine Skill go awry, and now you’re hoping to find a solution within this scroll?"

He was only speculating, but Old Mu’s expression changed drastically. "How... how do you know?" he blurted out, then realized he’d revealed too much, and quickly sneered, "Nonsense, I would never lose control like that. You're talking rubbish."

Yang Ning was now certain his guess was right. The scroll was indeed vitally important to Old Mu, and this gave Yang Ning more confidence. He stroked his chin and said, "You know very well if I'm speaking nonsense. Earlier, you couldn’t walk—not because you were poisoned, but because you suffered a backlash from your cultivation, right?"

Old Mu took a deep breath before saying, "Little Rabbit, do you know who I am?"

"I don't."

Old Mu sneered. "Have you ever heard of the Nine Heavens Pavilion?"

"Nine Heavens Pavilion?" Yang Ning frowned. "What’s that supposed to be?"

Old Mu was irritated but kept his composure. "It’s not surprising you haven’t heard of it. Let me tell you—the Nine Heavens Pavilion is the foremost institution in Northern Han, directly governed by His Majesty the Emperor. It recruits talented individuals, and experts abound. I am one of its Five Element Lords—the Wood Lord!"

"Wood Lord?" Yang Ning laughed. "That’s a much grander title than ‘Old Mu.’ By the way, Wood... Wood Lord, you’re from Northern Han. What are you doing here in Southern Chu?"

Old Mu didn't answer, but his voice grew sinister. "If you hand over the scroll, not only will I spare your life, I’ll take you as my disciple and bring you into the Nine Heavens Pavilion. Members there receive official stipends, live without worry, and can rise through the ranks and bring honor to their families."

He chuckled, "Little Rabbit, I’m offering you this opportunity. Will you follow me?"

Yang Ning knew Old Mu was baiting him, thinking him a child. He hoped to use the scroll to bargain for healing and escape from this monster’s clutches. As he pondered, Old Mu stepped forward and said in a deep voice, "What are you hesitating for?"

Yang Ning immediately stepped back and said, "You want the scroll? Fine, but..." He hadn’t finished when he felt the ground beneath his feet shift—the stone he was standing on loosened, and he began to sink. Alarmed, he saw Old Mu darting towards him, but as Yang Ning tried to push off with his foot, the edge stones gave way, and he tumbled down with the cascading rocks.

Yang Ning had never expected the stones beneath him to be so unstable. As he fell, he desperately hoped to grab something to save himself. His right hand still clutched the scroll, while his left caught hold of something—it seemed to be a vine. This was his lifeline, and Yang Ning dared not let go.

He continued to plummet, wind roaring in his ears, his hand gripping the vine painfully tight. The cliff was steep but not perfectly vertical; there was a slight incline. Using the terrain to his advantage, his descent slowed, and with all his strength, Yang Ning managed to hang suspended in midair.

Panting heavily, he scrambled to find footholds, finally stepping onto a protruding rock on the cliff wall and relaxing slightly. The night wind chilled him to the bone; his entire body was slick with cold sweat.

He faintly heard the Wood Lord calling from above, but the voice was distant and indistinct. Yang Ning looked up—only starlight in the night sky, the cliff top nowhere in sight. Looking down, darkness prevailed. He realized he was stuck between two worlds, neither up nor down. Fortunately, vines covered the cliff wall, hanging in strands; without them, he would have been doomed.

He tucked the scroll into his shirt, gripped the vine with both hands, and pulled himself up, feeling a stabbing pain in his right palm. A glance revealed his hand was torn and bleeding, his body covered in stinging wounds and countless small gashes.

Yang Ning shook his head with a bitter smile. He’d thought Bullhead Ridge was a shortcut, but now it seemed it was nearly a dead end.

Pressed against the cliff, his life was not immediately threatened. Above, Old Mu’s voice still drifted down from time to time, but Yang Ning did not respond.

That old fiend wasn’t worried about his life—only the Six Harmonies Divine Skill scroll.

No doubt Old Mu was now in utter despair, with the scroll having fallen into the abyss with Yang Ning; he was probably beside himself.

Eventually, Old Mu’s voice ceased. Yang Ning tugged at a vine to ensure its strength, then endured the pain in his hand and began to climb upward.

Climbing cliffs was a skill he’d trained for before; it was not unfamiliar to him.

He had no intention of ascending to the top right away, only testing whether it was possible. Though the Wood Lord was silent now, Yang Ning did not believe he would leave so easily—he was likely still waiting above.

After climbing a short distance, his hand throbbed with pain, forcing him to stop. Suddenly, he noticed something odd behind the vines. He parted the dried branches and discovered a crack in the cliff—a natural fissure, concealed by the vines and nearly impossible to spot.

The crack was not wide, but just large enough for a person to slip through.

Dangling from the cliff was dangerous, but Yang Ning did not hesitate. He swung over, grabbed the rock at the edge of the crack, and jumped inside.

He’d thought it was merely a shallow fissure, but after entering, he realized it was deep, burrowing into the mountain. Ahead was pitch black, its depth unknown.

He stooped to pick up a stone and held it in his hand, then cautiously ventured deeper. After ten paces, darkness surrounded him; he could see nothing. One hand gripped the stone, the other stretched ahead to feel his way. The crack grew narrower as he went.

Yang Ning expected to reach the end quickly, but after walking for quite some time, the fissure seemed endless—twisting and winding, always sloping downward.

After half an hour, the narrow path suddenly widened, and he heard the faint sound of running water ahead.

Yang Ning quickened his pace. Soon, a glimmer of light appeared, and his spirits soared. Breaking into a jog, he soon reached a larger opening. Inside, though dim, it was no longer pitch black.

It was a spacious stone cave, with three walls enclosing it. One side was open, where a curtain of water cascaded down, blocking the view outside.

Yang Ning realized the sound of water he’d heard earlier came from this waterfall.

This waterfall was smaller than the one he’d seen atop the cliff, but it completely sealed the open side.

Light filtered through the water curtain, illuminating the cave; outside, dawn was breaking.

Yang Ning exhaled deeply, surprised to find such a place. Exhausted, he went to the waterfall, washed the blood from his hands, drank a few mouthfuls of the cool, sweet spring water, and tore a piece from his shirt to bandage his wounded right hand. Then he lay down, closed his eyes.

That night had been harrowing—he’d nearly lost his life in the mountains. Now, both body and mind were utterly spent. His whole body ached, and lying on the ground, he soon drifted into a deep sleep.

He slept soundly, undisturbed by the roar of the waterfall. When he awoke and sat up, he saw a dazzling glow ahead—the mist from the waterfall catching the sunlight, forming a faint rainbow, beautiful and brilliant. The light streamed in, brightening the cave.

Yang Ning felt much refreshed. He peered down at the waterfall, which plunged less than twenty meters into a pool below, sending up sprays of water—quite a spectacle.

"Escaped with my life," Yang Ning muttered, stretching lazily as he stood. Turning around, he surveyed the cave more closely—last night’s darkness and exhaustion had prevented him from noticing much, but now he saw it was a vast stone chamber. In the center stood an oval-shaped stone, its surface smooth but covered with thick dust, resembling a table. Beside it was a grass mat, though rotten and decayed, and atop the stone table lay a flat box.

Apart from these, there was nothing else in the cave.

As his gaze swept the room, Yang Ning suddenly froze, his face changing. In one corner of the chamber lay a skeleton.

Instinctively, Yang Ning clenched his fists and approached slowly. The skeleton was clearly seated cross-legged in life, with a grass mat beneath it—just as decayed as the one by the stone table. The remnants of clothing still hung from the bones, though most were weathered and tattered.

"So this stone chamber once had a master," Yang Ning thought. "But how did he die here? The corpse has become nothing but bones—it must have been many years since this person passed away."