Volume One: Carefree Journey Amidst Indistinguishable Paper Leaves Chapter Twenty-One: The Tavern

Inside Yang Ning’s chest, his vital acupoint churned like a stormy sea, while Lord Mu felt his strength draining away from every fiber of his being. Though he possessed extraordinary martial prowess, he now understood the situation, and shock contorted his pallid face as he gasped, “You... you’re using the Six Harmonies Divine Art?” His voice was feeble, trembling with terror.

After Yang Ning fell from the cliff, Lord Mu was initially overwhelmed by despair, though unwilling to simply depart. Yang Ning’s fate mattered little to him, but he could not bear to lose the hard-won Six Harmonies Divine Art. Most crucially, as Yang Ning had guessed, Lord Mu’s practice of this art had already wrought profound changes in his body; though not quite at the brink of madness, he was not far from it.

Lord Mu knew that only the one who tied the knot could untie it. He understood the meridian paths depicted in the eleven scrolls of the art, yet suspected that the scrolls concealed deeper mysteries, and believed he needed to find a method within them to restore himself. He searched day and night near the cliff, sleepless and relentless, and though he finally encountered Yang Ning, his exhaustion left him dazed, and his internal strength had been steadily drawn into Yang Ning’s vital acupoint. At first, Lord Mu failed to notice anything amiss, instead attempting to unleash even fiercer internal force to kill Yang Ning.

But his efforts backfired. Had Lord Mu withdrawn before Yang Ning’s meridian path was fully opened, he could have easily avoided having his internal energy siphoned away. Though he recognized the exquisite subtleties of the Six Harmonies Divine Art, he, like Yang Ning, did not truly understand its ultimate essence.

Had he not coveted Yang Ning’s carefree gait technique, his strike to Yang Ning’s head would have left no chance of survival. Thus, his predicament was of his own making.

His hand happened to rest on Yang Ning’s shoulder—one of the eleven vital points for cultivating the Six Harmonies Divine Art. If it were only resting there, it might have been harmless, but to coerce Yang Ning into revealing the secret technique, he tormented him with internal force. Without this, Yang Ning would never have managed to open his meridian passage, nor would Lord Mu’s internal force have poured forth like a breached river.

Now, realizing this was caused by the Six Harmonies Divine Art, Lord Mu knew it was too late. His left hand was glued to Yang Ning’s shoulder and could not be withdrawn. He tried to raise his right hand to strike Yang Ning dead, but his body was limp and powerless; his right arm would not even move. All his internal strength flowed through his left hand into Yang Ning, and he could not muster what little remained to his right hand.

Yang Ning had no inkling of Lord Mu’s condition. He merely guided the energy to his vital acupoint to relieve the swelling in his meridians, believing Lord Mu was attempting to kill him with internal force, unaware that he was actually absorbing Lord Mu’s energy. The burning pain in his chest, he thought, was Lord Mu’s doing.

His head spun, and he believed death was inevitable at Lord Mu’s hands. Legs weak, he collapsed to the ground, and Lord Mu likewise crumpled beside him.

Yang Ning slumped against a nearby tree, finding some comfort in the posture, while Lord Mu’s hand remained on his shoulder. Yang Ning saw no hope for survival—his mind clouded, his chest tight—until he lost consciousness.

He had no idea how much time had passed before he woke. The surroundings were silent, moonlight gently falling. For a moment, Yang Ning thought he had died, but glancing about, he found himself still in the grove. Turning to the side, his expression changed dramatically.

Behind him, Lord Mu lay flat on his back; yet he was no longer the man Yang Ning had known.

One glance at Lord Mu’s arm revealed it was shriveled like a dead branch. Previously, his skin had been withered, but now his arm was skin and bone, devoid of flesh. His face was even more horrifying.

It looked like nothing but a sheet of human skin stretched over his skull; the contours of bone were starkly visible, eye sockets sunken into black hollows. Lord Mu’s entire body, from any angle, was unmistakably a dried corpse. Without the tattered gray robe draped over him, Yang Ning would never have recognized him.

In such a state, Lord Mu could not possibly be alive—he was dead beyond doubt.

Yang Ning inhaled sharply, steadying his nerves. Reflecting on the events, he sensed that Lord Mu’s transformation into a dried corpse was intimately connected to himself.

He was clever by nature; in the heat of danger, he had not thought much, but now, recalling Lord Mu’s final exclamation—“Six Harmonies Divine Art”—before Yang Ning lost consciousness, he wondered if Lord Mu’s fate was the result of the art’s workings.

He remembered how he had guided the internal energy to his vital acupoint to ease his pain; could that have been the cause of Lord Mu’s demise?

Lord Mu’s martial skills were formidable, and Yang Ning had been certain that encountering him meant certain death. Yet, seeing Lord Mu now reduced to a dried corpse while Yang Ning had survived felt unreal, as if in a dream—this outcome was almost unimaginable.

Recalling the burning sensation in his chest, Yang Ning touched the acupoint; now, it felt normal, which eased his mind.

Though Lord Mu was thoroughly dead, Yang Ning felt no elation, only worry.

Lord Mu had once injured Yang Ning’s extraordinary meridians, and they had flared up again afterward. According to the old fiend, if left untreated, his meridians would gradually wither and he would die. Now the old man was gone, and Yang Ning wondered how his wounds might heal.

Yet, several days had passed without another flare-up. Yang Ning suspected the last incident might have been a mere result of exhaustion, or perhaps his injuries were not as severe as Lord Mu had claimed.

With the greatest threat eliminated, Yang Ning felt a measure of relief. He had lingered in the mountains for days, and the escort company likely had taken Xiao Die far away.

Still, he would not give up until the last moment; it concerned his fate, and as long as there was hope, Yang Ning would persist.

Though delayed, Xiao Die’s departure from Huize City had only been about ten days prior; by calculation, she should still be en route. Walking on foot would make catching up impossible, but if he found a fast horse, it was not out of the question.

His first task, therefore, was to cross the mountain ridge.

Yang Ning was no stranger to wilderness survival; he easily fashioned a simple compass, determined his bearings, and was about to head south when he remembered something and returned to Lord Mu’s corpse. Reaching into the old man’s clothes, he searched.

There was little on him except a pouch containing some broken silver coins and an exquisitely crafted oval copper token.

The front of the token bore the inscription “Nine Heavens Tower,” and on the back was a large character for “Mu,” with “Imperial Decree” etched in the corner.

Yang Ning recalled the old fiend mentioning the Nine Heavens Tower, claiming it was governed by the Emperor of Northern Han and filled with masters.

It seemed Lord Mu had not lied about this matter—the copper token proved he was indeed likely Lord Mu of the Nine Heavens Tower, and the words “Imperial Decree” perhaps truly connected him to the Northern Han court.

But Yang Ning had no interest in the mysterious Nine Heavens Tower, and felt the token would only bring trouble. He tossed it aside, taking only the coin pouch.

Heading south, by noon on the third day, he finally emerged from Bullhead Ridge. As he descended, the weather suddenly changed; dark clouds gathered, and rain began to pour.

Yang Ning cursed his luck—the vast wilderness offered no shelter, and he could not return to the mountain to escape the rain. Forced to press on, he trudged through the downpour until evening, soaked to the bone. Fortunately, after half a day in the drizzle, he reached the main road.

As dusk fell and the fine rain continued, Yang Ning followed the roadside for a while. Suddenly, he spotted a building ahead through the rain and quickened his pace, hoping for shelter.

Approaching, he saw four or five carriages parked outside, covered with tarps against the rain, and seven or eight fine horses tied to the hitching post beside the house.

Each carriage had a small flag at its corner, though the rain had soaked them into limp bundles, making it impossible to see any markings.

Yang Ning’s heart tightened.

He drew closer to one carriage, glanced at the house, and found it was a roadside tavern, larger than the crude tea stalls he’d seen before. The main road saw plenty of traffic, and such establishments were likely common.

“Hey, you little beggar, get away!” As Yang Ning reached for the carriage flag to inspect it, a rough voice barked, “That’s not for you to touch! If you tamper with the escort flag, I’ll chop off your hand—want to try?”

Yang Ning’s body tensed. He had suspected as much; now he was certain this was an escort company.

His heart leapt, but quickly cooled. Though it was indeed an escort team, many such companies traveled the main road, and by his calculations, the one that had taken Xiao Die away was already three or four days ahead. This caravan likely had no connection to hers.

Besides, there seemed to be no one atop the carriages.

Looking over, he saw a burly man standing at the tavern door, gripping a heavy bronze staff and glaring coldly.

Yang Ning forced a smile, approached the tavern’s eaves, and asked, “Uncle, is this an escort company?”

The man eyed Yang Ning warily, snorted, and said nothing, turning into the tavern. Yang Ning followed, undeterred.

Inside, Yang Ning sensed something was amiss; several pairs of eyes fixed on him. He hunched, grinning, and glanced around: five or six tables were all occupied, packed with people. The two tables nearest the door stared at him.

The sky was gloomy, and the room had not been lit; for a moment, it was impossible to discern the situation.