Chapter Sixty-One: Entering the Mountain—A Mark

At the foot of the mountain, people from the martial world continued to converge on Falling Sunset Mountain. The leaders of various groups of independent adventurers were still busy showing off their skills, recruiting more members to expand their teams. Once a group had enough people, they would rest briefly before heading up the mountain.

Several of the small sects that had been resting at the base were now starting their ascent as well, including the Jade Clarity Sect, which was comprised entirely of women.

Seeing that the women of the Jade Clarity Sect had already entered the mountain, Shi Jianduan of the Flying Cloud Stronghold led his men to follow them into the forest.

Although Fatty Fan was still working hard to recruit more people, he hadn’t succeeded in attracting a single new member.

Yet, Fatty Fan was an honest sort. As he chatted with Little Ding, he shared everything he knew in detail, even recounting his own embarrassing stories without reservation.

It turned out that Fatty Fan had previously worked as both a cook and a guard for a wealthy household in Yongzhou City. Not long ago, he had accidentally stumbled upon the master of the house having a clandestine affair with his brother’s wife in a secluded corner of the back garden. The master, using this as a pretext, promptly dismissed him.

With nowhere to go, Fatty Fan heard about the miraculous object rumored to be on Falling Sunset Mountain and joined the throngs of independent adventurers flocking to the site.

Having lived in Yongzhou City for many years, Fatty Fan was well-acquainted with many of the independent martial artists and had a thorough knowledge of the various stories and lore of the martial world.

For example, regarding the other group leaders: Jin Million ran a silk business in Yongzhou and was the wealthiest; Wanjinyou sold oil in Yongzhou; Zhu Fen was a butcher who sold pork; Bai Zheteng was a drifter, working as a martial arts instructor one day, a bodyguard the next, and an escort the day after—never sticking to one trade for long.

From Fatty Fan’s accounts, Little Ding also gained a general understanding of the major martial sects in the Song Kingdom.

The Song Kingdom’s people valued martial prowess. Among its sixteen provinces, each boasted at least one or two martial sects or clans renowned throughout the land.

Some of these sects or clans had long histories and were well-established, though now somewhat faded in influence, such as the Sword Manor in Youzhou and the Jade Clarity Sect in Jinzhou. Others were up-and-coming, having risen to prominence in the past few decades and now at their peak—such as the Xuan Yun Sect of Jinzhou, the Lan Bing Sect of Youzhou, the Shark Hunters of Qingzhou, and the Heavenly Net Sect of Jiaozhou.

There were also those neither especially old nor new, but still famous, such as the Cang Yu Sect of Yanzhou, the Tianwu Gate of Yongzhou, and, alongside Sword Manor and Plum Sword Manor, the Spirit Sword Manor of Yangzhou and the Cleansing Sword Manor of Jiaozhou. These four manors, two in the north and two in the south, were collectively known in the martial world as the “Four Great Sword Manors.”

Beyond the sects, there were influential groups not quite fitting the criteria of sect or clan, but holding significant sway in the martial world, such as Azure Cloud Temple of Jingzhou, Red Feather Pavilion of Zhongzhou, Lingyou Fort of Xuzhou, Silver Moon Escort Agency of Jizhou, and the Brocade Workshop of Yangzhou.

According to Fatty Fan, there were hundreds or even thousands of named sects and clans in the Song Kingdom, with at least dozens enjoying widespread fame and renown.

Among these, some enjoyed excellent reputations, others less so; some focused solely on cultivation and ignored worldly affairs, while others roamed the land, righting wrongs and punishing evil; some were shrouded in mystery and inscrutable to outsiders, and some acted in ways both righteous and wicked, defying all convention. In short, as the saying went: in a big enough forest, you’ll find all sorts of birds!

Little Ding and Fatty Fan chatted until midday, but Fatty Fan still hadn’t managed to recruit a single new member.

Their companion, the elder named Mu Hong, simply sat cross-legged under a tree nearby, resting with his eyes closed. The one named Mu Yi, who was disguised as a man, quietly listened to Little Ding and Fatty Fan’s conversation, occasionally stifling a giggle at the amusing parts, her eyes curving into crescent moons, making her look especially charming.

As teams and sects around them left the foot of the mountain one after another and headed into the hills, Little Ding began to grow anxious. He was not like the others, who were merely here for the spectacle or on a whim—it didn’t matter to them if they entered the mountain early or late. He, however, was here to find someone; with every moment's delay, Mei Ruoshuang’s peril increased.

He had hoped to join a larger group, at least to look out for one another, and, if danger arose, to have more people to share the risk with. Unexpectedly, his luck had failed him again; he had somehow ended up in the smallest team, and after that, no one else was willing to join them.

“Fatty Fan, I don’t think you’ll be able to recruit any more people. Why don’t we just head up the mountain? By the time you manage to fill out your roster, others will have already found the miraculous treasure and left,” Little Ding said, now comfortable enough to address him by his nickname.

“Don’t be hasty, Brother Ding. Even if it’s just the four of us, we should eat lunch before heading up…” Fatty Fan replied, then reached back to unstrap the iron pot he carried and, as if by magic, produced a pile of spices, cured meat, vegetables, and steamed buns.

Little Ding and the disguised Mu Yi could only stare at each other in surprise.

There were plenty of dry branches and leaves around, so it was easy to gather enough for a fire. Fatty Fan arranged three stones in a triangle to make a makeshift stove, set the pot on top, and soon had a fragrant pot of vegetable and meat soup simmering.

He divided the steamed buns among the group, but there was only one bowl for the soup.

Little Ding and Fatty Fan didn’t mind, sharing the bowl between them and eating heartily, taking turns with each mouthful. The elder Mu Hong, lured by the aroma, helped himself to the soup with a ladle. The young woman, Mu Yi, however, seemed rather reluctant—she simply nibbled dryly on her steamed bun, refusing to come over for the soup.

Fatty Fan continued to urge her, oblivious, but Little Ding thought to himself: as if she’d come! What girl would willingly share a bowl with a strange man?

Fortunately, the young woman had a water pouch and ate her bun with cold water, so she wasn’t at risk of choking.

When the four had eaten their fill, they looked around and found that everyone else had already gone into the mountains.

“Well, let’s go too,” Little Ding said with resignation. He had hoped to get an early start by rising at dawn, but fate had other ideas.

The four packed up and started on their way into the mountains.

Little Ding wasn’t unwilling to enter the mountains earlier; he was just apprehensive about going alone. The last two times he’d ventured into Falling Sunset Mountain, he hadn’t gone far before running into wolves and bears. After hearing Mei Ruoxue’s account, he knew the dangers lurking within. If he wanted to save someone, he would first have to save himself—if he couldn’t keep himself alive, how could he hope to rescue anyone else?

On the way in, Little Ding planned to mark his path to avoid getting lost.

However, when he looked at the flowers, plants, and trees along the way, he saw that there were already manmade marks everywhere, of all kinds and descriptions.

It seemed that getting lost might not be so easy after all.

But—

Little Ding had underestimated the challenge.

As they ventured deeper, the forest became denser. After crossing several small ridges, the path disappeared altogether. Looking at the various marks along the way, he realized they pointed in every direction—disorderly and confusing. It was impossible to tell which route was correct and which was not.

Looking back, he saw that marks filled the landscape in every direction—he could no longer tell which way they had come.

“Which way should we go?” Little Ding asked, glancing at Fatty Fan and the two Mus. The three looked at each other, shrugged, and spread their hands—clearly, they were just as lost.

It seemed that in a primeval forest, making marks didn’t guarantee you wouldn’t get lost. Too many marks were just as useless for navigation.

“Why don’t we just pick one type of mark and follow it, right or wrong?” Little Ding suggested.

“Fine, let’s do that,” Fatty Fan agreed, now a little deflated, apparently forgetting he was supposed to be the team leader.

The four chose a mark that was easy to recognize and set off after it.

They had barely walked for the time it takes to drink a cup of tea when the young woman, Mu Yi, suddenly let out a startled cry—