The Return of the Condor Heroes: Starting with a Suicide Note and Conquering All Realms

"Surname Yang"

As soon as the two words were spoken, the official road became so quiet that one could hear the soft sound of snowflakes hitting the bare branches.

Guo Jing's breath caught in his throat for a moment.

He looked down at Yang Guo, who was unconscious in his arms.

The boy was so thin he was just skin and bones, yet his eyes held an innate arrogance.

This arrogance was all too familiar, so familiar that it felt as if someone had grabbed his chest and twisted his heart.

"Could it be that he's Kangdi's...son?"

Guo Jing's voice was hoarse.

Lin Yuan knelt in the snow, burying his head deep, with only a section of his neck showing.

My body is shaking.

That trembling was 30% acted and 70% real.

Standing before me is the successor of the Eighteen Subduing Dragon Palms, the hero of the Condor Heroes.

At this distance, killing himself would be easier for him than stepping on an ant.

"Great hero, please don't make things difficult for Guo'er."

Lin Yuan's voice shattered in the wind, "What his father did has nothing to do with him... He's only eight years old..."

Huang Rong did not respond.

She knelt down, pulled a plain handkerchief from her sleeve, and gently wiped the scabs from Yang Guo's lips. Her movements were extremely gentle, as if she were comforting a sick child.

But Lin Yuan noticed that the order in which she wiped was very particular.

First came the cleft at the corner of his mouth, then the bruise on his cheekbone, and finally an inconspicuous old wound behind his ear.

She is undergoing a medical examination.

New wounds and old wounds have different colors and different degrees of blood stasis.

The cut at the corner of his mouth was bright red with oozing fluid from the edges, indicating it had indeed been there within the last few hours.

However, the bruises on his cheekbones had turned yellowish-green, indicating they were at least three to five days old.

This perfectly matches what Lin Yuan said about being "beaten up by Hanako-bang".

Huang Rong put away her handkerchief, stood up straight, and turned her gaze to Lin Yuan.

"Your younger brother's surname is Yang. What's your surname?"

"His surname is Lin."

"How can brothers be brothers if they have different surnames?"

"They are not blood brothers."

Lin Yuan lowered his head, his voice hoarse.

"We were all begging for food in those dilapidated kilns. He was younger than me, so I... took him in as my younger brother. Out there, you can't survive without sticking together."

Huang Rong hummed in agreement and did not ask any further questions.

But her gaze shifted from Lin Yuan's face to his back.

Where the tattered shirt was torn by the stick, blood seeped from the gaping wounds, which froze into a thin layer of dark red ice.

This kind of injury could never have been caused by oneself.

"Was that injury on your back inflicted by Hanako as well?"

"Um."

Lin Yuan nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing, his voice even lower, "Chen Gouzi wanted us to take the blame for someone else, but I refused, so he..."

At this point, Lin Yuan suddenly shut his mouth.

His shoulders hunched, as if he suddenly realized he had said something he shouldn't have. He nervously glanced at Huang Rong, then quickly lowered his head again.

"N-nothing."

Huang Rong took in this subtle reaction.

A little beggar who has been bullied for years instinctively hides his suffering in front of unfamiliar adults.

It wasn't to hide it; it was a habit formed from a long-term life at the bottom of society.

Because saying too much will only bring more trouble.

This reaction was so natural that Huang Rong couldn't find any flaws to expose it.

"Brother Jing." Huang Rong turned her head to the side, her voice calm.

Guo Jing was still holding Yang Guo, his brows furrowed tightly. He looked up, his eyes reddening.

"Rong'er, this child... is Kang'er's flesh and blood."

"I know."

"Although Kang'er has gone astray, this child is innocent. Look how thin he is, he's practically skin and bones..."

"I said I know," Huang Rong interrupted him, her tone carrying a softness that even she herself was unwilling to admit.

While she was examining Yang Guo's injuries, the young man unconsciously grabbed Guo Jing's clothes.

He gripped it so tightly that his knuckles turned blue, like a drowning person grabbing onto the last piece of driftwood.

Huang Rong had witnessed too much human suffering.

But even in a coma, an eight-year-old child instinctively clung to warmth.

This doesn't seem like an act.

"Ugh!!!"

A sharp, long howl pierced the night sky from the direction of Lujiazhuang in the distance.

Then came a continuous stream of screams. Flames surged, turning half the eastern sky the color of molten iron.

Guo Jing's expression changed drastically.

"Li Mochou has already made her move. Rong'er, if we don't go soon, I'm afraid not a single person from Lu Family Manor will survive."

Huang Rong made a decision immediately.

She took out a small gray cloth bag from her bosom, bent down, and stuffed it into Lin Yuan's hand.

"There are dry rations and medicine inside. You stay here with him and wait. We'll be back before dawn. If he's still not here by dawn, head east into Jiaxing City and find the Beggars' Sect branch. Tell them Guo Jing's name."

Lin Yuan took the cloth bag with both hands, his ten fingers trembling uncontrollably.

"Thank you... thank you, heroine."

Guo Jing gently placed Yang Guo in a sheltered spot on the snowy slope, wrapped him in the thick mink coat layer by layer, and then took the water pouch from his waist.

He knelt down, reached out and brushed away the frozen, messy hair from Yang Guo's forehead, and stared at him for a long time.

"This child's eyebrows... really look like Kangdi's."

He stood up and didn't look back.

Two figures soared into the air, landing on the tips of withered branches like two withered leaves swept away by a fierce wind, disappearing into the night sky ablaze with fire in just a few breaths.

The air currents stirred up by the light-footed skill swept across the ground, swirling up a cloud of snowflakes.

Lin Yuan knelt on the spot, motionless.

Ten breaths.

Twenty breaths.

Thirty breaths.

He only slowly raised his head when the last trace of life force had completely dissipated.

The humble, fearful, and tearful expression on his face was like a used piece of paper that he crumpled up and threw away.

The cold, underlying color is revealed.

Lin Yuan bent down and opened the cloth bag.

Two golden-yellow flatbreads and a small bottle of brown ointment.

He parted the dry rations and, at the bottom of the cloth bag's inner lining, his fingertips touched a small, hard object.

bronze medal.

It's not much bigger than a thumbnail, with a tiny "beggar" character cast on the front and three horizontal lines engraved on the back.

The secret token of the three-bag disciples of the Beggars' Sect.

Lin Yuan's pupils contracted for a moment.

Huang Rong ultimately left herself a backup plan. This bronze token was hidden under the dry rations; if an ordinary beggar received it, he would never notice it.

But as soon as he enters Jiaxing City with this package, the Beggars' Gang's spies will be able to track his movements through the bronze token.

A smart woman.

Lin Yuan flipped the bronze plaque over and looked at it twice, but didn't throw it away. He tucked it into the innermost layer of his clothes.

Discarding it might arouse suspicion. It's better to keep it; you might be able to use it as a trump card later.

He took out the medicine, pried open Yang Guo's mouth, and carefully fed him one pill. He then stuffed the rest back into the cloth bag and carefully kept it close to his body.

After doing all this, Lin Yuan took out the book "The Essentials of One-Finger Divine Skill" stained with black blood from his pocket.

Moonlight pierced through the clouds and shone on the yellowed pages of the book.

The ink stains were mottled, and in many places they were blurred and difficult to discern due to sweat and blood stains.

However, the basic mantras for regulating Qi and the diagrams of the twelve meridians are still clearly readable.

In the blank spaces of the book pages, there were some crooked and messy annotations carved with fingernails, the handwriting rough and sloppy.

"The Qi gathers at the index finger, travels along the Hand Yangming Large Intestine Meridian, and exits through the Shangyang acupoint..."

Lin Yuan read it silently three times, then closed the booklet.

The One-Finger Divine Skill is a closely guarded secret of the Dali Duan family, and this "essentials" book is clearly just an introductory level book.

The truly advanced finger techniques are only half a page long in the book; the rest were either torn out or were never fully copied in the first place.

With the pitiful amount of Qi he currently possesses in his dantian, he can barely even begin to grasp the basics.

The foundation is insufficient.

One-Finger Divine Skill requires profound internal strength as a foundation, but he didn't even have a complete set of internal energy cultivation techniques.

The wisp of energy generated by the Nine-Flower Jade Dew Pill could only help him open the door to martial arts; he was still a long way from "entering the gate."

He needs a real set of internal skills.

Lin Yuan's gaze pierced through the wilderness, looking towards the silent darkness in the southeast.

He remembered the original text of the suicide note clearly.

After the Lu Family Village massacre, Ouyang Feng, the Western Poison, will appear near Jiaxing.

The old poisoner who was tricked by Huang Rong with fake scriptures and went into a state of demonic possession and lost his mind was actually Yang Guo's adoptive father in the original novel.

Although Toad Style Kung Fu is insidious, it is undoubtedly a top-tier external martial art.

For Lin Yuan, who had no master, no sect, and couldn't even gather a complete internal energy manual, a mad, top-level master was actually the best teacher.

Because a madman won't ask where you come from. A madman won't care about your identity.

A madman only recognizes fists, only recognizes...

"Guo'er".

Lin Yuan looked down at Yang Guo, who was sleeping soundly wrapped in a fur coat.

The boy's brows were furrowed in his dream, and his lips moved occasionally, as if he were saying something.

"If we want to survive and learn martial arts, we have to meet the most dangerous person in the world."

He bent down and carried Yang Guo on his back.

The boy was shockingly thin, hanging lightly on his back, almost weightless.

I've only taken two steps.

Without warning, a line of bloody words exploded in my mind.

It's not a complete suicide note.

There was only a fragmented remnant, like the last few lines remaining on a violently torn page of paper.

The handwriting was crooked and distorted, the strokes were broken and intermittent, and it conveyed a strong sense of despair that was so intense it was nauseating.

[…Ouyang Feng…he doesn’t recognize anyone…but he will kill…]

[...on the first meeting...never...from the front...]

The writing abruptly ends here.

It's as if the person who wrote these words had already breathed their last after writing the word "front".

Lin Yuan stood frozen in place, a chill creeping up his spine from his tailbone to the back of his head.

The previous version of myself died at the hands of Ouyang Feng.

Moreover, he died so quickly that he didn't even have time to finish writing a complete suicide note.