The Tracker

Night had fallen. A round moon hung high in the nine heavens like a silver platter, spilling countless streams of pale radiance. Its faint, hazy glow spread across the mountains, where birds and beasts were endless and peaks rose and fell, lending the landscape an added chill.

Thirteen figures clad in nightclothes, each carrying a long, strip-shaped object on their backs, swept silently through the forest. With a tap of their toes, they trod upon branches and leaf tips, producing only soft rustling sounds as they flashed several zhang away in the blink of an eye.

Trailing far behind those thirteen were two young and middle-aged men in fine robes, one holding a yellow weasel in his arms. Their bodies were as light as flight as they ran, their qinggong even more accomplished than that of the thirteen ahead.

"Stop. Here."

The young man was around twenty, his complexion waxy yellow and his features fairly upright. Most striking of all were his bright, shining eyes, especially conspicuous in the darkness. The yellow weasel in his arms kept chittering without pause.

The group stopped where they were. Two black-clad men in nightclothes stepped out. One took out a torch carrying the faint scent of pine oil, while the other opened a tinderbox and lit it, illuminating the surrounding area.

"Sir, we found something."

One of the black-clad men pointed toward a spot not far from the group, a flash of shock and vigilance appearing in his eyes.

Broken stones lay scattered there, and the weeds around them were dusted with powdered rock. A gap the size of a millstone had been blasted open. Looking inside, it was pitch-black; no one knew how many meters down it reached. The skill of whoever had struck was truly frightening.

"It was him. It should