Who knew how long he had walked? All he knew was that the mountain walls on either side stood sheer and steep, as if carved by blades. Looking up at the sky, he found it blue and bright, as though he were gazing upward from the bottom of the sea.
The rocks all around were pitch-black and gleamed with a dark luster. The road twisted and turned, becoming ever more perilous and rugged. Song Qingshu had no choice but to release the horses and camel he had brought with him. He could only wait until he crossed the mountains, then buy new mounts from the local herdsmen.
At the same time, he could not help sighing. The famed Duku Highway of later generations ran roughly in this direction as well. With the technological conditions of that later age, tens of thousands of soldiers had fought for ten years, with over a hundred casualties, before it was finally completed. One could imagine just how dangerous and difficult this route was in the present era.
The reason he had abandoned the main road for these smaller paths was that he had occasionally spotted scattered footprints along the way. In his view, this vast mountain range was rarely visited by people, and no one would normally pass through. Those footprints had most likely been left by Mongol warriors pursuing Huo Qingtong.
He could not help worrying in secret. By his reckoning, he was a day or two late. He did not know whether Huo Qingtong had escaped alive or already been captured.
He used his lightness skill to race through the mountains and wilderness, and without the camel and horses, he was much faster than before.
After tracking for another dozen or so li, he suddenly could not find any further traces. Song