Huang Rong from The Return of the Condor Heroes: Guo'er, calm down.

If there were no fun to be had during the days of the Quanzhen Sect, it could drive people crazy.

Fortunately, Yang Guo was someone who knew how to have fun.

Yin Zhiping's legs trembled whenever he saw Yang Guo. For the past two weeks, he had to put on a respectable facade in front of others during the day, and at night he had to give this little darling special lessons, talking until his throat was dry. Whenever he paused, Yang Guo would glance at the back of the mountain with his sly eyes.

This glance was enough to jolt Yin Zhiping awake. Even if he was so sleepy that his eyelids were drooping, he had to force himself to keep talking.

"Master, isn't the Qi-raising method of this 'Golden Goose Skill' a bit like a toad hopping around?"

Yang Guo sat cross-legged on the futon, happily munching on a large white steamed bun.

With two huge dark circles under his eyes, Yin Zhiping held a cup of cold tea and rolled his eyes listlessly: "Vulgar! A golden goose soaring through the sky, how elegant and graceful that is! How can it be compared to... to that thing?"

"Isn't the principle the same?" Yang Guo swallowed his steamed bun, patted the crumbs off his hands, and said, "It's all about gathering strength, kicking, and leaping upwards. The only difference is that the toad lies down, while the goose flies."

Yin Zhiping was too lazy to argue with him.

This kid's comprehension is too high, it's frightening.

What would take an ordinary disciple three months to master in terms of internal energy cultivation, he could grasp in a single listen. Despite having only practiced for half a month, the Quanzhen internal energy within his body was already taking shape, though not yet profound, it was remarkably pure.

In addition to his inherently sinister nature, Yang Guo is now like a sharp blade hidden in a tattered cloth.

……

The grand competition at Chongyang Palace was not merely a matter of fighting and killing. For the hundreds of Taoist priests of the Quanzhen Sect, it was a triennial "ranking" event. Who would enter the inner hall to listen to the lectures, and who would be sent to the back mountain to grow vegetables, all depended on their performance in the next few days.

The atmosphere throughout Zhongnan Mountain had changed. The once tranquil and peaceful Taoist temples were now filled with tension. Before dawn, the training rooms were already packed with people, and the noise of them practicing their fist techniques was so loud it gave one a headache.

Yang Guo was lying on an old, crooked tree in the back hall, a blade of grass dangling from his mouth, his legs crossed, squinting at the drifting clouds in the sky.

"Guo'er!"

A furious voice came from under the tree. Yin Zhiping, sword in hand, head held high, veins bulging on his neck, yelled, "What time is it? You still have the mind to sunbathe here? Get down! Practice the 'Quanzhen Sword Technique' I taught you last night ten more times!"

Yang Guo spat out the grass root in his mouth and slowly poked his head out: "Master, sharpening your spear at the last minute can make it shine, even if it's not perfect. But if you sharpen it too much, it'll break easily."

"You!" Yin Zhiping was furious. He looked around and lowered his voice, "Do you know what this competition means? Zhao Zhijing has already declared that he will have Lu Qingdu cripple you on stage! He says swords have no eyes, but it's really just a matter of settling a personal score!"

Yin Zhiping was genuinely anxious. For the past two weeks, although Yang Guo had been using his weaknesses against him and causing him considerable trouble, the boy's talent was simply too great; as he taught him, he had even developed a genuine affection for him. He didn't want to watch his old friend become a cripple.

Yang Guo flipped down the tree, his movements as light as a raccoon, landing silently.

"Don't worry, Master." Yang Guo patted the dust off Yin Zhiping's shoulder, laughing carefree. "I'm tough as nails, I can take a beating. Besides, doesn't our Quanzhen Sect emphasize self-cultivation? If that fat senior brother really wanted to kill someone, wouldn't Grandmaster Qiu intervene in front of everyone?"

"What do you know!" Yin Zhiping said with exasperation. "Zhao Zhijing is the head of the third-generation disciples. He usually forms cliques and has a lot of influence. If he does it discreetly and says it was an accident, who can do anything to him? Take your master's advice. If you draw Lu Qingdu tomorrow, just admit defeat when you go on stage. It's not shameful."

Looking at Yin Zhiping's anxious face, Yang Guo felt a slight warmth in his heart. Although this cheap master was a lecher and a bit of a coward, he was actually quite sincere towards him.

"Admit defeat?" Yang Guo's lips curled into a playful smile, but his eyes turned cold. "Master, I, Yang Guo, have never learned how to write those two words in my entire life."

He took out the small porcelain bottle, still warm from her body, from his pocket; it was a keepsake left to him by Huang Rong.

Admit defeat? If I admit defeat, how can I be worthy of that night's madness? How can I have the face to go down the mountain to find her?

"Oh, isn't this Junior Brother Yin?"

A sinister voice broke the conversation between master and disciple.

Zhao Zhijing led a large group of disciples in a grand procession. He walked at the front, wearing a brand-new Taoist robe, and held two iron gallbladders in his hands, which jingled loudly. Behind him, Lu Qingdu stood like a mountain of flesh, holding a heavy sword that was two fingers wider than an ordinary sword, his face full of fat trembling with each step.

"Still cramming at the last minute?" Zhao Zhijing glanced at Yang Guo sideways, his eyes like those of someone looking at a chicken waiting to be slaughtered. "I heard that in the past half month, this kid hasn't even mastered the feeling of qi? Junior Brother Yin, your ability to teach disciples is getting worse and worse."

Yin Zhiping's face was grim. He cupped his hands and said, "Senior brother is joking. Guo'er is still a novice. Tomorrow is just a chance for him to broaden his horizons."

"To broaden your horizons?" Lu Qingdu stepped forward, casting a large shadow over Yang Guo. He grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth. "Junior Brother Yang, if we meet again tomorrow, your senior brother will certainly give you a good 'welcome'. This sword was specially passed down to me by Master; it weighs thirty pounds. I wonder if Junior Brother Yang's small frame can withstand a bit of it?"

The surrounding disciples burst into laughter, their eyes filled with schadenfreude.

Yang Guo shrank back, a look of horror on his face, and hid behind Yin Zhiping: "Such a heavy sword? If... if it hits my foot, won't it swell up for days?"

"Hahahaha!" Lu Qingdu laughed even more wildly. "Don't worry, senior brother has a steady hand. He'll only smash bones, not feet."

Looking at this group of arrogant and domineering Taoist priests, Yang Guo lowered his eyelids, concealing the cold light in his eyes.

……

The next day.

As dawn broke, the martial arts training ground in front of Chongyang Palace was already bustling with activity.

This competition was unprecedented in scale. Not only were all seven masters of Quanzhen present, but even some lay disciples from the foot of Zhongnan Mountain came to watch the spectacle. Hundreds of people formed a huge circle, with a stone-paved arena in the center, surrounded by apricot-yellow Taoist flags that fluttered in the mountain wind.

The bell tolled three times, and the clouds and mist dispersed.

Qiu Chuji sat upright in the center of the high platform, his hair and beard all white, exuding an imposing aura without anger. His gaze swept over the sea of ​​disciples below, and he declared in a clear voice: "The Quanzhen School cultivates its Dao through martial arts. Today's competition aims to exchange skills and verify what we have learned. We must stop when we have enough, and not harm the harmony among fellow disciples."

No sooner had the pleasantries been said than the gong was struck, and the competition officially began.

The first few matches were just a bunch of amateur fourth-generation disciples sparring. They went back and forth, their swordsmanship was so standard that it was almost boring to watch.

Yang Guo stood at the very back of the crowd and yawned. The Quanzhen Swordplay emphasizes balance and tranquility, but in the hands of these mediocre practitioners, it became rigid and inflexible. Every move was executed with a forced posture, making it seem less like fighting and more like theatrical performance.

"Next match: Pi Qingxuan, a disciple of Zhao Zhijing, will face Ji Qingxu, a disciple of Yin Zhiping!"

This match is going to be quite interesting. Both of them are among the best of the fourth-generation disciples.

Swords flashed on the stage, and the fight was fierce and evenly matched.

Zhao Zhijing sat in the audience, stroking his beard with a smug look on his face. His disciple, Pi Qingxuan, launched a fierce attack, each move aimed straight for vital points, clearly having inherited his father's true skill—ruthlessness.

Sure enough, in less than fifty moves, Pi Qingxuan knocked his opponent's sword away with a single strike and then kicked Ji Qingxu in the chest.

"Pfft!" Ji Qingxu spat out a mouthful of blood and fell off the stage.

"You flatter me!" Wang Zhitan clasped his hands in a fist salute, but his face was full of arrogance.

Yin Zhiping's face turned ashen, and he quickly ordered someone to help his disciple up. Zhao Zhijing, on the other hand, laughed loudly and shouted from afar, "Junior Brother Yin, it seems you've been so focused on self-cultivation these past few years that you've neglected your martial arts skills!"

The atmosphere instantly became oppressive.

It was obvious to everyone that Zhao Zhijing was trying to intimidate Yin Zhiping. In the following matches, whenever Zhao Zhijing's disciples encountered Yin Zhiping's men, they attacked them with extreme brutality, leaving them either injured or crippled.

The disciples below the stage remained silent, none daring to provoke this unfortunate situation.

"Next game!"

The Taoist priest in charge of calling out the names glanced at the divination slip in his hand, and his voice suddenly rose a few decibels.

"Lu Qingdu, a disciple of Zhao Zhijing, will face off against... Yang Guo, a disciple of Yin Zhiping!"

wow——

The entire audience erupted in uproar.

This draw was too "coincidental". Who doesn't know that Lu Qingdu is the strongest among the third-generation disciples, while Yang Guo has only been a disciple for less than two months?

Zhao Zhijing's smile deepened. He looked at Yin Zhiping, his eyes full of provocation: "Junior Brother Yin, this is fate."

Yin Zhiping's teacup wobbled violently, spilling scalding tea onto the back of his hand. He wanted to stand up and protest, but the lots were drawn in public, and if he interfered, he would be breaking the rules.

"Yang Guo! Come on stage!"

Lu Qingdu, unable to contain himself any longer, grabbed his heavy sword and charged onto the arena like a wild boar. With a thud, the ground seemed to tremble.

He brandished his heavy sword, creating a whistling sound, and pointed at the crowd below, roaring, "Where's that kid surnamed Yang? Don't hide in your crotch and be too scared to come out! Get up here and face your death!"

The crowd automatically parted to make way.

All eyes were on that corner.

Yang Guo walked out slowly. He was holding a wooden sword in his hand—the kind of peach wood sword that beginners use to practice martial arts; it was light and flimsy, and the blade wasn't even sharpened.

He looked terrified; his legs were trembling, and he was taking one step forward and half a step back.

"Senior brother... could you please not hit me?" Yang Guo stood at the bottom of the steps, looking up at the ground with a pitiful expression. "I twisted my back while chopping wood yesterday, and it's still not better today."

"Enough with the nonsense!" Lu Qingdu sneered. "Come on up! Your senior brother will set your bones!"

Yang Guo sighed and slowly climbed onto the arena.

The two stopped.

On one side was a tall, strong thug wielding a heavy sword; on the other side was a slender boy holding a wooden sword.

The contrast was so stark that even Wang Chuyi on the high platform frowned and turned to ask Qiu Chuji beside him, "This child was sent by Jing'er? He seems to have a shallow foundation; I'm afraid he'll suffer a loss."

Qiu Chuji sighed, "Zhiping is so foolish. Why did he let him go on stage? If things get dangerous later, we'll have to step in and save him."

"start!"

A gong sounds.

Lu Qingdu gave Yang Guo no chance to catch his breath, roaring, "Take this!"

The heavy sword, like Mount Tai pressing down, carried a suffocating force, heading straight for Yang Guo's head. If this strike landed, not only would a wooden sword be broken, but even an Iron Head Kung Fu master would have his skull cracked open.

It’s over.

Yin Zhiping closed his eyes, unable to bear watching the bloody scene.

……

A strong wind blew in, ruffling the stray hairs on Yang Guo's forehead.

Just when everyone thought Yang Guo was doomed, he made a move.

But instead of dodging, he... fell down.

"Oh my god!"

Yang Guo let out a scream, as if he had been terrified by the sword wind. His legs went weak, and he collapsed to the ground without any regard for his image, rolling over in the process.

This roll was extremely messy, like a street ruffian throwing a tantrum, covered in dust.

But it was precisely this roll that allowed him to narrowly avoid the fatal sword strike.

boom!

The heavy sword slammed down on the spot where Yang Guo had just stood, and the bluestone slab shattered instantly, sending fragments flying everywhere.

"You missed?" Lu Qingdu was taken aback, then flew into a rage. "Let's see how long you can hide!"

He raised his heavy sword and swept it across the battlefield. The sword was so long that it covered half of the arena.

Yang Guo had just gotten up when he saw this and screamed again, "Help! Murder!"

He clutched his head, darting left and right on the arena like a frightened monkey. When Lu Qingdu's sword slashed to the left, he dodged to the right; when the sword swept upwards, he lay on the ground pretending to be dead.

Each time, it was a narrow escape.

A piece of her clothes was torn off, and her hair was disheveled; she looked extremely disheveled.

A burst of laughter erupted from the audience.

"What kind of martial arts competition is this? It's like putting on a monkey show!"

"This Yang Guo is such a disgrace! He's completely disgraced the Quanzhen Sect!"

Zhao Zhijing laughed so hard he almost fell over: "Junior Brother Yin, your disciple's escape skills are top-notch. It seems he's practiced a lot."

Yin Zhiping's face flushed red; he wished he could disappear into the ground. He opened his eyes and looked at the figure on the stage, scurrying away with his head in his hands. He was both angry and anxious: "Guo'er, Guo'er, just admit defeat! If this keeps going, you'll die sooner or later!"

However, Qiu Chuji, sitting on the high platform, frowned more and more deeply.

"That's not right," Qiu Chuji said in a low voice.

"Senior brother, what's wrong?"

"Look at his footwork," Qiu Chuji said, his eyes gleaming. "It seems chaotic and disorderly, but it actually conforms to the principles of the Nine Palaces and Eight Trigrams. Lu Qingdu attacked with thirty-six sword strikes, yet he didn't even manage to harm a single hair on his head. Is this really just luck?"

On the stage.

Lu Qingdu was already panting heavily. Although the heavy sword was powerful, it was extremely tiring. His frantic hacking had exhausted him, and sweat trickled down his flabby body and stung his eyes.

"You damn monkey! Don't you dare run away!" Lu Qingdu leaned on his sword, panting heavily, his chest heaving violently.

Yang Guo, hiding behind a pillar in the corner of the arena, peeked out with half his head, his peach wood sword still trembling in his hand: "Senior brother, your sword is too terrifying. How about... how about we take a break?"

"Stop taking a break, my foot!"

Lu Qingdu felt utterly humiliated. He roared, mustered the last bit of his inner strength, raised his sword with both hands, and charged forward like a cannonball.

He used all his strength in this attack, determined to smash the slippery loach into a pulp.

As Yang Guo looked at the mountain of flesh charging towards him, the hint of cowardice in his eyes vanished instantly.

Right now.

He stopped running and stood still, as if he were frozen in fear.

Just as Lu Qingdu rushed in front of him, the heavy sword fell.

Yang Guo suddenly slid in a tackle.

This time, instead of sliding backward, you slide forward.

He crawled between Lu Qingdu's legs, keeping his entire body close to the ground.

In the instant he crawled through, Yang Guo's peach wood sword "accidentally" stabbed upwards.

The location is extremely tricky.

The nerve on the inside of Lu Qingdu's thigh was numb.

At the same time, his toes seemingly unintentionally hooked Lu Qingdu's heel.

"ah--!"

Lu Qingdu felt a numbness in his thigh, tripped over his foot, and instantly lost his balance. His forward momentum was too strong to stop.

That enormous 300-pound creature drew a graceful arc in the air.

Then--

boom!

A loud bang echoed throughout the dance hall.

Lu Qingdu landed face down, slamming hard against the edge of the arena. The heavy sword in his hand flew out and landed with a clatter at Zhao Zhijing's feet, startling Zhao Zhijing into quickly pulling his foot back.

The entire venue was deathly silent.

Everyone stared wide-eyed at Lu Qingdu, who lay motionless on the ground, and then at Yang Guo, who stood on the other side of the arena, holding a peach wood sword and looking completely bewildered.

Yang Guo dusted himself off and carefully walked over, poking Lu Qingdu's butt with his wooden sword.

"Senior Brother? Senior Brother Lu?"

no response.

"Ouch! Senior Brother, how could you be so careless!" Yang Guo suddenly shouted, his face full of concern and fear. "I told you to rest for a while, but you insisted on rushing in so recklessly. Now look what happened, you've knocked yourself unconscious, haven't you?"

He turned around and bowed repeatedly to Qiu Chuji and the others on the platform: "Grandmaster, fellow disciples, everyone saw it! Senior Brother Lu fell down on his own, it has nothing to do with me! I... I didn't even touch him!"

Zhao Zhijing looked at his unconscious disciple on the ground, then at the innocent-looking Yang Guo, and trembled with anger, his hand pointing at Yang Guo shaking.

"You...you..."

"Uncle Zhao, please don't be angry." Yang Guo blinked his eyes, looking sincere. "Brother Lu is too fat and his stance is unstable. Let him eat less meat and practice his horse stance more, then he shouldn't fall down on his own."

puff.

Someone in the crowd couldn't help but burst out laughing.

Then, the laughter spread rapidly, as if it were contagious.

What was initially thought to be a one-sided massacre ended in such a comical way.

Sitting in the audience, Yin Zhiping looked at the boy standing on the stage with a wicked grin and suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

That trip, that poke.

It is clearly a variation of the "Dingyang Needle" and "Sweeping Leaf Leg Technique" from the Quanzhen Swordplay.

This kid...

They turned the Quanzhen Sect's kung fu into a sneaky and insidious technique.