017 Embarrassment

With intermittent effort, it took Du Ruo about forty minutes to finally reach the summit of a small hill. This hill didn’t have a name; understandably so, as at the foot of Mount Huang, there were simply too many such slopes. If each were to be named, it would be an impossible task.

Standing atop the hill, Du Ruo turned to look back and could see Du Family Village and Yang Family Village not far away. By now, quite a few villagers were already up and about, either busy with their morning chores or heading to the town for work.

He lingered for a while, taking in the scenery and using the moment to rest, but decided against pressing further toward Mount Huang. He was now at the very edge of the mountain’s boundary; any further would mean leaving the beaten track entirely. There was another reason he hesitated: venturing deeper harbored real danger.

In his current state, Du Ruo couldn’t guarantee he’d make it through unscathed or at his own pace. So, after one last look, he turned and prepared to descend.

“Mount Huang... just wait a little longer for me. One day, I’ll climb all the way to Tiandu Peak and watch the sunrise from there again,” he promised himself.

There are three official routes up Mount Huang, each made easier or harder by the presence of cable cars, but all are meticulously planned and constructed. Crowds of tourists frequent these paths, driving even the wild animals away. It’s as if there’s an unspoken agreement between people and beasts: neither interferes with the other.

Truth be told, aside from these three roads, attempting a fourth path to the summit would be pure fantasy for Du Ruo right now. Never mind the poisonous insects and snakes; there are fierce animals too. In recent years, there haven’t been reports of tigers or bears, but wild boars and clouded leopards can still pose a serious threat. Mount Huang is also famous for its strange, precipitous rock formations—many of which are so steep and barren that scaling them would be beyond human ability.

Shaking his head, Du Ruo dismissed thoughts of climbing Mount Huang for now. He had a bigger challenge right in front of him.

The main difficulty in ascending was the steepness; it was almost impossible to run, and the physical exertion was immense. But descending was a different beast altogether. It didn’t require as much stamina, but the danger was multiplied several times over.

First, there’s the simple act of getting down the hill—but Du Ruo intended to run. Anyone who’s tried running downhill knows: one misstep, a loss of balance, and you could easily tumble all the way down. The next thing the village would be doing is holding a funeral.

Second, running downhill means everything happens much faster than going up. It’s as if your opponent’s speed has increased several times; you have far less time to react.

In short, running uphill tests your stamina and physical condition.

Running downhill, however, is a test of focus, footwork, and reflexes.

After giving himself ample time to rest, Du Ruo gritted his teeth and started back down along the same path he’d come.

...

In less than fifteen minutes, he was back at the base, where he’d started. At this point, aside from his face, only the collar and back of his shirt remained intact; the rest of his shirt and his pants were shredded into strips.

“Pah, I overestimated myself. Didn’t expect it to be this tough,” he muttered, spitting out a leaf that had found its way into his mouth.

He’d known it would be difficult, but since he’d managed the climb well enough, he’d figured his current skill level could handle the descent. But after only a few steps, he found himself unable to slow down. The branches and thorns lashed at him like whips, catching him off guard. The ground was littered with loose stones and obstructing branches.

Soon, he was so busy protecting his head and face that he neglected his footing. Fearing a misstep, he focused all his attention on where he placed his feet, using his hands to shield his eyes and face, and bulldozed his way down through sheer willpower. By the end, his clothes were in tatters and several parts of his body were bleeding.

His limbs got the worst of it; in some places, the scraps of fabric were soaked with blood.

“Oh my, young man, did you get lost up there? How did you end up like this? Don’t move—I’ll call an ambulance for you.”

Du Ruo had just reached the bottom and was sitting on the ground, pulling thorns out of his arms, when a loud voice startled him.

“Uncle Yang, it’s me, Du Ruo. Don’t call anyone, I’m fine—just a few scratches,” he replied quickly, looking up to see it was Yang Chenguang’s father, and hurriedly stopped him from making the call.

If Uncle Yang really called an ambulance, Du Ruo would have to leave town from embarrassment alone. As a local, returning from the mountain in such a state would be the talk of the village in no time. He couldn’t afford that.

“Du Ruo? How did you manage to get yourself like this—did you roll down the mountain?” Uncle Yang came closer, recognized him, and after checking him over and seeing it was only cuts and scrapes, relaxed a bit and helped pull away the thorns.

“Something like that. What about you, Uncle Yang? What brings you here so early?” Du Ruo quickly changed the subject, curious why Uncle Yang was out this way at dawn.

“This is my family’s tea garden and vegetable patch. I just came to check on them. Can you walk? Do you need me to carry you down?” Uncle Yang still looked worried.

“No, no, I’m fine. I’ll head back myself. You carry on—and please, Uncle Yang, don’t tell anyone about this. I’m heading back now,” Du Ruo said, glancing around and realizing it really was a tea garden. He hadn’t noticed it before, nor did he know Yang Chenguang’s family owned a plot here at the foot of the mountain.

Refusing Uncle Yang’s offer, Du Ruo started toward the guesthouse.

“Next time, I’ll have to stash a change of clothes in the bushes down here. That was humiliating—good thing Uncle Yang’s discreet,” he thought.

Du Ruo slunk back to the guesthouse in a sorry state. He even avoided the main road, choosing deserted paths, and didn’t go through the front desk, heading straight to his building. Fortunately, the timing was right—most tourists were already out climbing or at work—so nobody saw him in his disheveled state.

Once in his room, he went straight to the bathroom, cleaned himself up in front of the mirror, and took a shower. Only then, wearing just shorts and holding a bottle of iodine, did he set about treating his wounds.

“I was careless. I’ve only been training for a little over ten days. I’ll have to be better prepared next time,” he told himself.

He didn’t intend to practice hill running every day; today was more of a trial, to test if it was feasible. Now he knew it was not only possible, but incredibly effective—the results were clear. In less than two hours, he’d achieved what used to take him a whole day.

Eighteen points of Xingyi experience, eighteen points in the Natural Gate technique, and 0.18 attribute points—already credited. Yes, for the first time, the Natural Gate’s attribute points had grown by the same amount as his Xingyi skill, which made sense given that both climbing and descending the mountain worked the legs and balance hardest.

“Du Ruo, who would’ve thought? You’ve got quite a figure,” came a teasing remark.