Volume One: Carefree Journey Amidst Indistinguishable Leaves Chapter Twenty-Seven: Burning the Scrolls

Amidst the flickering firelight, Yang Ning finally saw that he was in a dilapidated ancestral hall. It seemed as though many people once lived nearby, though for some reason it had long since been abandoned. The statue that was originally enshrined within had toppled from its pedestal, broken into several pieces, thickly coated with dust and spiderwebs, making it impossible to discern which deity it once represented.

Yet the altar itself stood quite tall, higher than Yang Ning’s chest, built from stacked stones—clearly, much effort had gone into the hall’s construction in its day.

With no pots or bowls at hand, Yang Ning searched for a while and eventually found an incense burner among the ruins, likely once used for offerings. It was filthy, but after rinsing it with rainwater outside, it was still far from clean. He had to make do, filling it halfway with rainwater and setting it over the fire to heat.

He fetched Xiao Guang’s clothes and laid them beside the fire to dry, thinking to himself that he’d done more than enough for the boy. If not for meeting him, the so-called greatest good man under heaven, Xiao Guang would have already lost his life.

Suddenly, Yang Ning remembered the horse still outside. In his haste, he had carried Xiao Guang into the hall first and, after all this commotion, had completely forgotten to tie up the horse. Alarmed, he rushed outside and his heart sank—the horse was gone. He searched around the ancestral hall but saw no trace of it. Frustrated and angry with himself for such carelessness, he wanted to search further, but on such a rainy night, where could he possibly go? Fuming, he returned to the hall and saw Xiao Guang lying quietly. If not for saving him, Yang Ning thought, he wouldn’t have lost his horse, and felt an urge to shake Xiao Guang awake and give him a thrashing.

When the water in the incense burner was finally hot, Yang Ning set it aside to cool a bit, then tested the temperature. He propped Xiao Guang up and brought the warm water to his lips. Xiao Guang’s eyes were barely open, but he managed to drink a few sips before gently shaking his head. Yang Ning let him lie down again, tore a strip from Xiao Guang’s damp shirt, soaked it in the remaining hot water, and placed it on Xiao Guang’s forehead.

Outside, the wind and rain had lessened, but Yang Ning had no idea what hour it was. Feeling somewhat weary, he was about to rest by the fire when, all at once, a sharp pain stabbed through his chest. His heart pounded violently, and the meridians in his chest seemed to twitch and convulse.

Clutching his chest, Yang Ning felt the pain surge and ebb with the spasms of his meridians. Cold sweat soon beaded on his forehead, and a dreadful fear rose in him: was his old injury acting up?

The Wood Immortal had injured Yang Ning’s meridians with his withered-wood hand, and it had flared up once before, but since then, Yang Ning had felt no discomfort. After the Wood Immortal was drained of his inner force and died, Yang Ning had worried no one could heal him, but in the past two days, nothing had seemed amiss, and he had almost forgotten the wound entirely.

Now that the pain had returned, Yang Ning instantly thought of the Wood Immortal. This time, the pain was far worse than before. Dizzy and weak, pain wracked his body as he rolled on the ground, hoping it might ease his suffering.

Breathing became difficult, his vision blurred, and his mind went blank.

When he finally regained his senses, he found himself lying on the ground in utter silence. Sitting up, he saw the fire beside him had burned low, and realized he must have fainted from the pain. The wood in the firepit was nearly gone.

Raising a hand to his chest, the stabbing pain had vanished without a trace. He tossed a few dry branches onto the fire, noticing that the clothes he’d worn—soaked earlier—had dried considerably by the heat.

Suddenly, Xiao Guang began to mutter in his sleep, “Sir, go… go quickly…!”

Yang Ning glanced over and saw Xiao Guang curled in the dry straw. His pallor had lessened, his cheeks more flushed than before. Moving over, Yang Ning removed the cloth from his forehead and felt his temperature—it had dropped, though he was still a bit feverish.

“Sir, don’t… don’t worry about me…” Xiao Guang’s body trembled as he muttered, “You… you go on ahead…”

Yang Ning thought to himself that the boy was loyal, dreaming of others’ safety even in his sleep.

He suspected the “sir” Xiao Guang mentioned was likely the elder in the brown robe. Xiao Guang called him “sir,” which puzzled Yang Ning even more—he had no idea what their relationship truly was.

All at once, a startled cry rang out. Xiao Guang suddenly sat bolt upright, his face deathly pale and drenched in sweat, eyes wide with terror in the firelight.

Yang Ning knew he’d awoken from a nightmare and just watched him from beside the fire in silence.

Xiao Guang, startled awake, first saw the fire, then wiped the sweat from his face. His eyelids drooped, his voice slurred with confusion, “Where… where am I?” No sooner had he spoken than he collapsed back onto the ground, eyes closing before Yang Ning could respond.

The rain outside had lessened, though it still fell in a gentle drizzle.

Leaning against the stone altar, Yang Ning reached into his robe and took out the scroll of Six Harmonies Divine Skill. After all the recent ordeals, the scroll was torn in several places—fortunate, really, that it had survived so much. They had fallen into a pond, struggled through wind and rain, and even fought in the mud, yet most of the scroll was intact; its material was exceptional.

He read through it again from beginning to end, already having memorized the routes of the eleven red-marked meridians.

When the Wood Immortal had died so mysteriously, Yang Ning hadn’t dwelled on it, but now, thinking carefully, he realized the death was likely tied to the Six Harmonies Divine Skill.

The Wood Immortal’s martial arts were formidable; compared to him, Yang Ning was like a lamb before a tiger. Yet the tiger had perished at the hands of the lamb—improbable, unless there was a reason, and the only explanation was the Six Harmonies Divine Skill.

He recalled that when the Wood Immortal forced his inner force into Yang Ning, he’d been desperate and had guided the energy along the red line to his dan tian and central chest acupoint. That was likely what killed the Wood Immortal—meaning Yang Ning had, in his confusion, already used the Six Harmonies Divine Skill.

He also remembered the Wood Immortal’s madness, doubting the authenticity of the Six Harmonies Divine Skill, and claiming to have spent two years acquiring the scroll.

Clues suggested the scroll likely originated from the Palace of Five Poisons. The Wood Immortal had obtained it by some means and was pursued by their people.

Yet after practicing the Six Harmonies Divine Skill, the Wood Immortal’s body had changed in strange ways.

What puzzled Yang Ning was that since the Wood Immortal had trained in the Six Harmonies Divine Skill, surely he knew its secrets—so how could he be killed by its power so easily? Yang Ning had merely memorized the red lines’ routes, so how could he use the skill in such a crisis? Was it possible that simply guiding inner force along those meridians was the essence of the art?

He had many questions but no answers. Still, he knew the Six Harmonies Divine Skill scroll was a source of trouble.

The Palace of Five Poisons—just the name sounded ominous. If they had pursued the Wood Immortal so relentlessly to recover the skill, they would not give up easily. Keeping the scroll risked exposure, and since he’d already mastered the meridian routes, there was no need to court disaster.

He raised his hand, ready to toss the scroll into the fire, but then recalled how desperately the Wood Immortal had wanted it back. Surely he knew the meridian paths by heart—why did he still need the scroll? Was there some hidden secret within?

Yang Ning examined it over and over, but found nothing unusual. Perhaps the Wood Immortal, having suffered inner turmoil from incorrect practice, hoped to find a cure in the scroll. As Yang Ning himself had not trained in the skill, he would not suffer such effects.

But keeping the scroll might tempt him to practice, and if he ended up mad like the Wood Immortal, it would be disastrous.

Since it was the root of trouble, it was best to destroy it early and nip disaster in the bud.

Being a carefree sort, he tossed the scroll into the flames. In moments, it was reduced to ashes.

With the scroll gone, Yang Ning felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. Only the Wood Immortal had known it was in his possession, and now that man was dead, and the scroll destroyed, no one else in the world would know he’d ever come into contact with the Six Harmonies Divine Skill.

Leaning against the altar, he dozed off. When he next opened his eyes, dawn had broken. Looking over at Xiao Guang, he saw the boy’s complexion was much improved, and he seemed to sleep soundly.

Yang Ning rose and stretched at the door. Not far off, the lush bamboo grove stood shrouded in post-rain mist, ethereal and magnificent, as if part of some celestial realm. The mingled scent of bamboo and earth after rain was invigorating.

His mood instantly brightened, but remembering the lost horse, he knew he’d have to make his way to the capital on foot, which dampened his spirits. Returning to the hall, he squatted beside Xiao Guang, who still had his eyes closed, and said softly, “Xiao, I’ve done all I can for you—more than enough. I have other matters to attend to and can’t stay here. From here on, you’ll have to rely on yourself. I hope you pull through.” He sighed, muttering, “I’d hoped to get some reward from this fellow, but that seems unlikely now.”

He stood to leave, but then heard Xiao Guang’s weak voice: “Where are you going?” The boy had woken up.

Yang Ning paused, glanced down, and grinned. “You’re awake? I thought you’d never make it.”

“If I died, all your effort would’ve been for nothing, wouldn’t it?” Xiao Guang replied feebly, eyes half-open. “Did you save me?”

“Of course,” Yang Ning rolled his eyes. “Listen, Xiao Guang, you really should thank me. If it weren’t for me, you’d be dead for sure. Tell you what, since we know each other, just give me a few hundred taels of silver. If you don’t have cash, jewelry or trinkets will do. Surely that’s fair? Don’t tell me you have nothing at all—if that’s the case, we can’t even be friends.”

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