Zhang Xiaohua followed the footprints before the Mountain God Temple down the mountain.
But he quickly noticed something odd about them. The tracks seemed to belong to two people: one set sank deeper, the other was lighter. Yet they had one thing in common—their strides were enormous. A single step of theirs covered many of Zhang Xiaohua's. Zhang Xiaohua was rather dumbfounded. Just how long were these people's legs?
Moreover, when descending the mountain, they had always taken the steepest routes. Zhang Xiaohua could not do that. He could only seek out gentler slopes, then look for the tracks again once he reached the foot of the mountain.
After walking for another half an hour, Zhang Xiaohua understood everything. A small grove lay ahead. When he reached it, the footprints vanished, only to reappear on the far side of the woods. By then, Zhang Xiaohua, who had already set half a foot into the martial world, seemed to realize that the tracks he was following had likely been left by a martial arts master.
But what were such masters doing at the Mountain God Temple? That was not what Zhang Xiaohua wanted to know. He only wanted these footprints to lead him back to the world of men.
After walking for a while longer, Zhang Xiaohua encountered another problem. The footprints split into two trails, each heading in a different direction.
Faced with this sort of one-out-of-two dilemma, Zhang Xiaohua did not hesitate at all. He easily chose the correct answer.
Why?
Even if Zhang Xiaohua thought with his heel, he knew he should follow the deeper tracks. The lighter ones had clearly been left by someone skilled in lightness arts. With snow stretching as far as the eye could see, what if that person suddenly took a whim and