Volume One: Carefree Journey Amidst Indistinguishable Paper Leaves Chapter Sixteen: The Six Directions

When Yang Ning awoke, daylight had already filled the sky. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting a dappled pattern on the ground. Looking up, he saw the forest lush and verdant—the mountain scenery was exquisitely beautiful, a stark contrast to last night’s gloom and shadows. The fresh air filled his lungs, clearing his mind and refreshing his spirit.

“Awake?” came the old wooden voice from behind. “I’m thirsty. Go find some wild fruit to stave off our hunger.”

Yang Ning turned to look. Though the cave was still dim, it was much clearer than last night. The old man, Mu, sat cross-legged inside, resembling a meditating monk.

Yang Ning cursed inwardly; he was thirsty himself. Forcing a smile, he said, “Old trickst—oh, good morning, Elder Mu. Did you sleep well last night?”

Elder Mu ignored him. Yang Ning, rebuffed, stood up and stretched. The night’s rest had restored much of his strength and energy.

He was about to leave when Elder Mu’s voice rang from behind: “Rabbit, you’re a clever one. Don’t bring trouble upon yourself.”

Yang Ning understood the warning—he feared Yang Ning might try to escape. With a chuckle, Yang Ning said no more.

The mountain forest was thick with trees, tangled vines, and thorny undergrowth. Finding wild fruit wasn’t easy, but Yang Ning was young and nimble, and he moved swiftly through the woods. After four or five miles, he heard the gentle sound of flowing water. Following it, he came upon a mountain stream. Thirsty, he knelt by the bank and washed his face with the clear, pristine water.

The natural, untainted water tasted marvelous, and he drank his fill. Glancing around, he spotted a few wild fruit trees nearby, heavy with unfamiliar but tempting fruit. He picked several, biting into the crisp, sweet flesh—delicious.

He weighed the idea of escaping while he had the chance. Now would be the perfect moment to slip away from Elder Mu. But the old man’s threat lingered in his mind, making him hesitate.

That crafty trickster claimed to have injured his meridians with the withered wood technique, but Yang Ning remained skeptical. The old man was supposedly gravely injured, so how could a mere pat to the shoulder have left him crippled? More importantly, Yang Ning felt no discomfort whatsoever.

His eyes flicked about as he considered his options. At last, he decided not to delay, heading south. He had walked less than half an hour when a sharp pain suddenly shot from his chest up to his shoulder.

Yang Ning collapsed to the ground, sweating and clutching his chest, his heart pounding wildly. The stabbing pain made it nearly impossible to breathe.

After a while, the pain began to recede. When it finally faded, Yang Ning took several deep breaths, eyes cold with fury. Clenching his fists, he cursed, “That old bastard really did go all out.” Any doubts he had about Elder Mu’s threats vanished.

Resentful at being coerced by the old man, Yang Ning berated himself for ever climbing the mountain. But at this point, he could only adapt as best he could.

He returned to the stream, picked five or six more fruits, and, in a foul mood, made his way back to the cave. Even before he entered, he heard strange cries from inside. Curiosity piqued, he crept to the entrance and peered in.

Inside, Elder Mu was writhing and rolling on the ground, fists pounding his chest as if possessed by madness.

Yang Ning jumped in fright. Was the old man succumbing to poison?

Elder Mu let out low growls, as though fighting to stifle his own voice. After thrashing about, he suddenly sprang up and rushed to the cave wall, bracing himself against it before slamming his head into the stone.

Yang Ning was aghast—not that he cared if Elder Mu knocked himself dead, but if the old man perished, who would cure Yang Ning’s injury?

Elder Mu, wild-eyed, smashed his forehead several times until blood streamed down his face, yet seemed oblivious to the pain. Yang Ning rushed forward, calling, “Elder Mu! Elder Mu! Whatever’s troubling you, don’t do this to yourself!”

Elder Mu turned abruptly, face twisted with rage, eyes bloodshot. Blood dripped from his brow, soaking the headband tied around his forehead.

“Elder Mu…” Yang Ning recoiled at the beast-like gaze fixed on him, his hair standing on end. What kind of poison could do this to a master like Elder Mu, reducing him to such a deranged state?

Suddenly, Elder Mu lunged at him. Yang Ning, anticipating this, leapt back. Elder Mu stumbled and fell, then continued to writhe and pound his chest on the ground. Yang Ning retreated outside, heart pounding. It was a long time before Elder Mu finally stilled, lying motionless as if dead.

After a while, Yang Ning crept back inside. Elder Mu’s eyes were shut tight, jaw clenched, blood still trickling from his ghastly pale face.

Yang Ning nudged him with his foot—no response.

“Did the old bastard really die from the poison?” Yang Ning’s heart sank. He knelt, reaching to check Elder Mu’s breath. There was still a faint pulse—he sighed in relief. He slapped Elder Mu’s face a few times, cursing, “You old fiend, if you want to die, what’s it got to do with me? Why drag me down with you?” He gave him a few more resentful kicks.

Suddenly, something caught his eye—a book or scroll lay open at the base of the wall. Intrigued, Yang Ning picked it up.

It turned out to be a painting scroll, mostly still rolled up. The surface was smooth, but the material was clearly not ordinary paper—its nature was unfamiliar.

The scroll was yellowed with age, evidently ancient. Yang Ning examined it closely. Every half-inch or so, a naked human figure was drawn, each in a slightly different posture, crisscrossed with lines—clearly diagrams of the body’s meridians.

He was curious. The scroll obviously belonged to Elder Mu, but why did the old man carry it with him?

Elder Mu remained motionless, like a corpse.

The cave was dim, making it hard to see the scroll clearly. Yang Ning stepped to the entrance, where the light was better. Now he could make out the details: the meridian lines on each figure were mostly black, but every diagram featured a conspicuous red line.

The scroll was aged and yellowed, the red lines somewhat faded but still distinguishable.

The scroll opened from right to left. On the far right were four large ancient characters, written vertically, with several smaller columns of script beside them.

Yang Ning’s knowledge of ancient texts was decent, but his grasp of archaic characters was limited. Still, he could just about make out the four large characters:

Six Harmonies Divine Art!

Yang Ning paused, struck by the impressive name. Now he understood—this scroll was likely a martial arts manual. It made sense for Elder Mu to carry such a secret.

The dense small script at the side was mostly unreadable to him. He could just make out phrases like “Six harmonies: above and below, four directions, heaven and earth, universe,” and “Gather the six harmonies, a grain of sand becomes a mound,” but little else.

Yang Ning had undergone specialized training in his previous life, including detailed study of human skeletal and meridian anatomy. So the tangled web of meridians on the scroll felt oddly familiar.

The first diagram’s red line began at the five fingers of the left hand, five lines running from the fingertips to the wrist, converging at a meridian, then continuing up the arm to the left armpit, crossing to the center of the chest, where the red line halted at a specific point.

Yang Ning immediately recognized it: that point in the chest was the crucial “Shanzhong” acupoint.

From the left fingertips to the center of the chest, the route seemed straightforward, but actually passed through more than a dozen acupoints. Each highlighted acupoint was slightly thickened for clarity.

In fact, the entire path was dotted with thirty or forty points, but only a dozen or so were connected by the red line. Yang Ning was well-versed in these, but still couldn’t guess the purpose of the diagram.

He decided to unroll the scroll fully and lay it out on the ground. It was not especially long—eleven diagrams from right to left.

The artist was clearly a master; the figures were rendered with lifelike precision. Each of the eleven figures struck a slightly different pose. For example, in the first diagram, the left arm was raised while the right arm rested by the side. In the second, the positions were reversed—highlighting the key meridian, as the red line in diagram one ran up the left arm.

In every diagram, the red line traced a distinctive meridian route. Yang Ning quickly noticed that although each started in a different place, all ended at the Shanzhong point in the chest.

The eleven diagrams began respectively at the left hand, right hand, both shoulders, both feet, both knees, below the navel, between the eyebrows, and at the spine—the back view showing the figure facing away.

Each diagram’s red line followed a different meridian, passing through a varying number of acupoints. For the feet, the line snaked from the soles up to the chest, traversing dozens of points; for the shoulders, which lay closest to the chest, there were only seven or eight.

Though the figures were accurately drawn and the acupoints marked with black dots, none were labeled. To the uninitiated, the diagrams would be incomprehensible.

But Yang Ning understood that, as a martial arts manual, the Six Harmonies Divine Art was meant for experts already familiar with the body's acupoints. Even without labels, a true practitioner would recognize each point at a glance.