HNYWEF -Chapter 196 Furious Helpless Rage

The mountain wasn’t especially steep, but it was hard to walk.

The grass grew up to the knees, and in some places higher than the waist. Stepping into it felt like wading through water—every step required pulling his foot free from tangled roots.

There was no path at all.

Grass blades scraped against his legs. It wasn’t an ordinary itch—it was deep, piercing, the kind that only got worse the more you scratched.

After only a few steps, red rashes had already broken out on Zhou Xiong’s calves. He bent down and scratched twice; it only made it worse. He cursed under his breath and kept walking.

The soldier leading the way was in front, holding a wooden stick to push the grass aside.

He was a local and used to the terrain, walking quickly. Zhou Xiong followed behind, growing more and more strained.

The grass lashed at his face, arms, and neck—burning hot.

He reached up to push it away, and a blade cut the back of his hand. A thin line of blood seeped out. He glanced at it but didn’t care and continued forward.

After about the time it takes to burn an incense stick, the ground beneath his feet suddenly vanished.

His body pitched forward. Instinctively, he grabbed at the side, catching a handful of grass—but it was uprooted instantly. He slid down the slope for half a zhang before a rock stopped him.

“Marquis!”

Two soldiers rushed forward at the same time, grabbing his arms from both sides and pulling him back up the slope.

Zhou Xiong stood there, lowering his head to look at where he had just stepped.

It was covered in grass. No one could see how deep it went underneath.

He caught his breath and brushed the dirt off himself.

“I’m fine.”

The two soldiers exchanged a look but said nothing.

One continued leading the way; the other stayed beside Zhou Xiong, watching his steps closely, ready to grab him at any moment.

After a few more steps, Zhou Xiong stepped on a loose stone. It rolled away and his body swayed. The soldier beside him quickly steadied him.

“Marquis, maybe—should we head back first?”

Zhou Xiong looked at him. The soldier immediately lowered his head and didn’t dare say more.

Zhou Xiong raised his gaze toward the mountain.

There was still a long way up. That crooked stone at the summit still poked out above the treetops, as if watching him.

He looked at it, then at the unseen path beneath his feet.

The grass kept cutting at him, the itching kept drilling into his skin, and the ground beneath could give way at any moment.

This is ridiculous.

He stood there for a moment.

Then he turned around and started heading down.

The two soldiers froze for a moment, then hurried after him, neither of them saying a word.

Going down was even harder than going up, but Zhou Xiong moved faster.

He staggered down the slope, nearly slipping several times. The soldiers scrambled to steady him, but he shook them off.

Zhou Xiong was losing his temper.

When they reached the foot of the mountain, he stopped and looked back up once.

The trees blocked everything. The crooked stone could no longer be seen. He withdrew his gaze and walked back toward the camp.

Back at the military camp, Zhou Xiong shut himself inside his room.

It was small. The windows were closed, and the air inside felt stifling.

He sat on the edge of the bed, both hands on his knees, head lowered, staring at the floor tiles.

He stared at the uneven tiles for a long time.

A deep blue shadow.

He suddenly thought back to that day in the Wagang stronghold—kneeling before that stone tablet, seeing her… and seeing that shadow.

She was in front. The shadow was behind.

She looked at him and smiled; the shadow didn’t move.

She faded, but the shadow remained.

He had thought that shadow was telling him: come find me.

So he came.

He had climbed mountains for a month, walked roads for a month, burned under the sun and soaked in rain. First he was turned away by the local officer, and now even this mountain rejected him.

The grass scratched him, the stones tripped him. Every step felt like the mountain was telling him: you shouldn’t be here.

His mind kept replaying everything.

That shadow. That mountain. That crooked stone. The moment he nearly fell. The pain of grass slicing his arm.

Was that deep blue figure really telling him to come back and look?

Then what was the meaning of this journey? Just to make himself suffer?

He lowered his head and looked at his hand—the cut on the back of it from the grass blade had already dried into a thin black scab.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then suddenly he stood up. The chair tipped backward and slammed onto the ground with a loud crash, but he didn’t care.

He grabbed a teacup from the table and smashed it against the wall—crack. It shattered into pieces, tea splashing across the wall.

He grabbed another cup and smashed it. Then a teapot—thrown hard, breaking apart.

“Damn it!”

The voice echoed out of the room, muffled through the walls, unclear—but the rage in it was unmistakable.

Outside, a patrolling soldier happened to pass by. Hearing the noise, he paused.

He glanced at the tightly shut door, then at the soldier who had led Zhou Xiong earlier.

That soldier shook his head slightly, saying nothing. After a moment, the patrol moved on.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor and faded away.

Inside the room, silence returned.

Zhou Xiong stood amid the shattered porcelain, his chest rising and falling violently.

He stared at the tea stains on the wall, the broken cups on the floor, and the overturned chair.

Outside the window, cicadas kept screaming without end.