Volume One: Wandering Amidst Indistinguishable Paper Leaves Chapter Fifteen: The Withered Wood Hand

Yang Ning carried Old Mu on his back as they traversed the mountain forest. Old Mu lay slumped over Yang Ning, occasionally giving directions, each time pointing toward paths that were dark and difficult to navigate. Yang Ning understood well that the old man was deliberately choosing these tangled, shadowy routes to evade his pursuers. More than once, he considered tossing the old fellow to the ground, but remembering how this man had single-handedly slain over a dozen strong men from the Five Venoms Palace, he couldn't help but feel a deep wariness and dared not act rashly.

The old man was not heavy, yet every so often he would pause to cough, and each cough brought forth a stench tinged with the metallic odor of blood that made Yang Ning extremely uncomfortable. The mountain path grew ever steeper and more rugged as they climbed, and after about two hours, Yang Ning found himself nearly exhausted. They had ventured deep into the mountains, and just as he was about to stop for a rest, Old Mu suddenly asked, "Isn't that a cave over there?" He lifted his hand and pointed not far ahead.

Yang Ning looked in the indicated direction and saw a chaotic tangle of brambles and withered vines, behind which there did seem to be a dark, yawning cave. As they approached, Old Mu said, "Let's rest here for now."

Worn out and parched, Yang Ning pushed aside the withered vines to reveal a rather spacious cavern. Inside, darkness reigned, making it near impossible to see anything. He set Old Mu down first before slumping to the ground himself.

Old Mu instructed, "Stand watch at the entrance. If you notice anything unusual, alert me at once."

Yang Ning snorted inwardly, "I've carried you all the way here, dead on my feet, and now you want me to stand guard? Wait until your injuries flare up—I'll see you dead yet." He sat at the mouth of the cave, his throat dry as dust, helpless to do anything about it.

After a while, he noticed Old Mu’s breathing had slowed to a faint whisper. Turning back, Yang Ning asked softly, "Sir, how are you feeling now? Are your wounds alright?"

Old Mu offered no reply—as though he had already fallen asleep. Yang Ning called again, but still there was no response. Only then did he allow himself a cold, mocking smile. By now, he had adjusted to the dimness and could make out Old Mu curled up deeper within the cave. Yang Ning stood and crept closer, fist clenched, but after a moment’s hesitation, he shook his head. The old man was gravely wounded, and though Yang Ning had suffered hardships, Old Mu had not truly harmed him. There was no need to strike at a wounded man.

Still, the sinister old man filled him with disgust. He doubted Old Mu would ever lead him out of the mountains; more likely, when the old man regained his strength, he would become a greater threat. Now, seeing him motionless and apparently asleep, Yang Ning realized this was the perfect moment to slip away.

The ridges of Ox-head Summit stretched endlessly, and with Old Mu injured, there was no way he could track Yang Ning down if he left now. Moreover, Yang Ning’s mind was still preoccupied with Xiaodie’s safety—he could not afford further delay.

He turned and tiptoed toward the cave entrance. Just as he stepped outside, he felt something strike the back of his knee. His entire leg went numb and rigid, rendering him immobile.

Startled, he heard Old Mu’s chilling voice behind him: "You intend to leave?"

"Old Mu, you’ve misunderstood," Yang Ning replied quickly, forcing a smile. "I saw you were injured and wanted to fetch some water for you to drink, maybe find some wild fruits to give you a bit of nourishment. You’re in no condition to go without proper sustenance."

Clearly, the old man had only feigned sleep to test whether Yang Ning would abandon him. Yang Ning felt a cold sweat break out—had he tried to attack, his own life would have been forfeit. Old Mu, though wounded, had just demonstrated a skill that could easily kill him with little effort.

"So, you were thinking of my welfare?" Old Mu let out a dark chuckle. "You’re quite filial. I thought you’d leave me behind and run off into the night."

Yang Ning replied with a grin, "Meeting you in such a remote place must be fate. Since you’re injured, it would be terribly unprincipled of me to abandon you. Sir, you’ve misjudged my character."

"Seems you’re quite loyal, then?" Old Mu lifted his arm and struck Yang Ning’s knee again. The numbness vanished instantly, and Yang Ning could move his right leg once more. Old Mu commanded, "Come here!"

Yang Ning longed to smash the old man’s head in with a rock, but on the surface he kept smiling. "Old Mu, your skills are truly formidable—I am in awe." He squatted in front of Old Mu and asked, "What are your instructions?"

Old Mu’s eyes bore into Yang Ning. Though Yang Ning was a bold man, he felt profoundly uneasy under that gaze, a chill running down his spine.

"Seeing your loyalty, I’ll be honest with you. I was injured by those men’s Five Venoms Needles—there’s poison in my body now." Old Mu spoke slowly, "But this sort of poison is no real threat to me. Give me three days and I’ll expel it completely."

So the old man was poisoned—that explained the foul, bloody stench of his breath.

"Why didn’t it kill you?" Yang Ning cursed inwardly. The old fraud could lie without blinking—claiming the poison posed no danger, yet needing three days to purge it. What a contradiction, but only someone as thick-skinned as him could say such things with a straight face.

But if Old Mu needed three days to recover, did that mean Yang Ning had to wait here the entire time? If he stayed in the mountains for that long, he’d never catch up to the escort party.

Though anxious, he kept his expression calm.

"You’re right, meeting you here is fate," Old Mu said, patting Yang Ning’s shoulder with a peculiar smile. "Since you’re so loyal, I’ll trouble you these few days to stand guard for me, and fetch food and water. Three days from now, I’ll personally lead you out of the mountains."

A wave of dread washed over Yang Ning, though his face showed only a hint of reluctance. "Old Mu, even if it were years, I’d gladly stay by your side and learn from you. But I have other matters to attend to, and can’t enjoy your guidance for long. Here’s what I’ll do: tomorrow, I’ll bring you enough supplies for three to five days, then go in search of my companions. Leave me your address, and when I miss you, I’ll come visit. What do you say?"

Old Mu burst into an eerie laugh that made Yang Ning’s skin crawl.

Withdrawing his hand from Yang Ning’s shoulder, Old Mu gazed at his own right hand as though appreciating a work of art, and asked in a slow, deliberate tone, "By the way, what’s your name?"

"I’m an orphan—a wanderer. People call me Little White Rabbit," Yang Ning replied with feigned sincerity.

Old Mu kept his eyes on his hand. "Little White Rabbit, do you know what this hand is called?"

Yang Ning felt a flicker of irritation. Was this old pervert trying to tease him? He’d never heard of a hand having a name before. He couldn’t help but say, "Is it called Miss Five?"

"What?" Old Mu hadn’t quite caught that.

Yang Ning forced a smile. "I don’t know, please enlighten me."

With a calm voice, Old Mu said, "Many people call this hand the Withered Wood Palm."

"The Withered Wood Palm?"

"Wherever the Withered Wood Palm passes, all things wither," Old Mu said lazily. "Just as when I patted your shoulder a moment ago, several of your meridians were already injured. From now on, those meridians will gradually deteriorate and, in a few days, will be completely withered. Little White Rabbit, do you know what happens when the meridians wither?"

Yang Ning’s face turned ashen. He never imagined that Old Mu had struck him while seeming so harmless, and now he wanted nothing more than to strangle the old man then and there. He forced a smile, "Old Mu, what have I done to offend you, to deserve this?"

"If ordinary meridians wither, you’d simply be paralyzed," Old Mu replied. "But I’ve struck the extraordinary meridians within you—once they’re destroyed..." He trailed off with a chilling laugh, leaving the rest unsaid.

Just hearing the name "extraordinary meridians" was enough to know this was no trivial matter. Yang Ning let out a long sigh. "Old Mu, you... you return evil for good." Yet even as he said this, he doubted it was possible for a mere pat to inflict such harm. The old man had a habit of exaggerating, and for all Yang Ning knew, it was just a scare tactic.

"Don’t worry. I only wanted you to understand the true might of the Withered Wood Palm," Old Mu said, coughing a few times before continuing. "I see you’re highly gifted. Once I recover, I intend to take you as my disciple and teach you unparalleled martial arts, making you a top-tier master. With such skills, nothing in this world will be beyond your reach. Little White Rabbit, are you willing?"

Unparalleled martial arts?

Yang Ning wanted nothing more than to spit in the old fraud’s face. If you really had such skills, how did the men from the Five Venoms Palace manage to hit you with a hidden weapon?

"Of course I’m willing," Yang Ning replied, "But my meridians..."

"No need to worry. Over the next three days, I’ll massage your meridians each day. When the time is up, you’ll be as good as new," Old Mu said. "But if something unexpected happens in these three days, or if you get lost in the mountains and can’t find me, that’s not my fault." As he finished speaking, his body suddenly shuddered violently, and his whole frame trembled. He raised a hand, gasping, "Go... stand watch at the entrance..."

Yang Ning now realized that the poison in Old Mu’s body flared up in intervals. He had appeared fine earlier because the poison hadn’t acted up; now, the effects were clearly upon him.

Yang Ning understood that unless he was absolutely certain, he must not make a move. Otherwise, not only would he fail to kill the old fraud, he’d probably lose his own life in the attempt.

Old Mu had already seated himself cross-legged, palms upward, his hands facing each other at chest level. Yang Ning returned to the cave entrance and leaned against the stone wall, cursing the old man’s ancestors for eighteen generations, both fore and aft.

Perhaps it was the exhaustion from days of running, or the turmoil of the night, but Yang Ning, pressed against the stone, soon drifted into a hazy sleep.

In his dreams, a girl of thirteen or fourteen stood among the flowers, smiling radiantly at him. She was lovely and delicate, her beauty outshining the blossoms, her sparkling eyes like stars shining in the night sky.