Yang Guo: I'm invincible in the opening battle against Aunt Guo!

The main hall of the Guo residence.

The atmosphere was so oppressive that it was hard to breathe. Everyone was gathered together.

The garrison commander of Xiangyang, Lü Wende, and his generals were all present.

Lu Wende was a middle-aged military officer in his forties, with a dark complexion and an upright demeanor.

He spoke first, his voice heavy: "Master Guo, this is a treacherous plot by the Mongols! They'd love for us to leave the city for a decisive battle so they can annihilate our main force in one fell swoop! We must not fall for their trap!"

"But Fu'er is in their hands!"

Guo Jing slammed his hand on the table, cracking the hard pear wood surface in several places. "Am I supposed to just watch my daughter die?"

Lü Wende sighed and said nothing more.

The other generals looked at each other, none of them daring to speak.

Huang Rong sat to the side, her eyes closed, her face deathly pale.

She was extremely anxious, but forced herself to think calmly.

Years of experience in the martial arts world have taught her that it is precisely in times like these that one must not panic.

She opened her eyes, her voice hoarse: "The Mongol camp is well-organized and full of experts. With the Golden Wheel Monk and other masters present, even you, Brother Jing, might not be able to escape unscathed. Let alone save Fu'er."

Zhou Botong, unusually serious, stroked his chin and said, "That old monk's martial arts are not weak, and with those five strange fellows, they are indeed troublesome. I can handle two of them, but I can't beat six."

Wanyan Ping's eyes were red, but she held back her tears.

Yelü Yan gripped the hilt of his knife tightly, remaining silent.

Little Dragon Girl stood quietly in the corner, her gaze fixed on Yang Guo.

Since arriving in the city, she and he haven't exchanged a single word.

But now is not the time to speak.

Da Wu and Xiao Wu stood to the side, wanting to speak but not daring to.

Wu Xiuwen glanced at Yang Guo furtively, a hint of schadenfreude flashing in his eyes.

But he quickly composed himself; to show that expression at a time like this is tantamount to courting death.

The hall was deathly silent.

Just then, a calm voice rang out:

"I'm going to rescue Fu Mei."

Everyone turned to look.

Yang Guo stood up, his gaze calm yet resolute.

"Guo'er?" Huang Rong was taken aback, a complex light flashing in her eyes.

Yang Guo walked into the hall and slowly said, "The enemy will definitely be prepared for a large-scale attack by an army or a group of experts, but they might be more vulnerable to a lone infiltrator. I have learned the art of breath-holding and stealth, and I also know the art of disguise. Going alone will actually give me more confidence."

Guo Jing stared at him, his gaze trembling.

This young man, knowing full well that it was a dangerous place, still chose to venture into it alone.

For Fu'er.

"Guo'er..." Guo Jing's voice was hoarse, a thousand words stuck in his throat.

Yang Guo interrupted him: "Uncle Guo, Fu'er is my person. Saving her is my duty."

These words, though spoken in a plain tone, carried a powerful weight.

Huang Rong's eyes welled up with tears.

Yang Guo turned to her, his tone becoming calm: "Master, I need a detailed layout of the Mongol army camp—they must be holding hostages in a side tent in the central command area, heavily guarded but not in the main tent. Also, prepare a signal arrow for me. At midnight, if I succeed, I will use the signal arrow. You will lead the elite troops to meet me outside the city."

Huang Rong took a deep breath, suppressing the surging emotions in her heart, and nodded, saying, "Alright. The Beggars' Sect has a detailed map of the Mongol camp; I'll have someone fetch it right away."

"If things fail..." Yang Guo paused, his gaze sweeping over everyone before finally settling on Guo Jing and Huang Rong, "then the city gates must not be opened for my sake alone."

"Guo'er!" Huang Rong suddenly stood up, her voice trembling.

Yang Guo smiled slightly, a smile that seemed particularly warm in the heavy atmosphere: "Master, don't worry, I'm lucky to be alive."

After the discussion concluded.

He turned and walked towards the door, his back as straight as a pine tree, his steps as steady as a rock.

Everyone stared at his retreating figure, speechless for a moment.

Wanyan Ping bit her lip, and tears finally fell.

Yelü Yan gripped the hilt of the knife tightly, but straightened her back.

Little Dragon Girl watched that figure quietly, her eyes filled with complex and unfathomable emotions.

Zhou Botong suddenly spoke up: "This kid has guts."

Guo Jing strode forward and, just as Yang Guo was about to step out the door, slapped him hard on the shoulder.

Yang Guo turned around.

Guo Jing's eyes were filled with tears, his voice hoarse but firm: "Guo'er, come back alive. We're waiting for you."

Yang Guo nodded solemnly.

There were no superfluous words, no grand pronouncements.

He pushed open the door and stepped into the midday sunlight.

After returning from the hall, Yang Guo closed the door and began preparing the items needed for tonight's operation.

He checked each item—night clothes, dagger, rope, fire tongs, wound medicine—one by one, and put them into his pocket after confirming that everything was in order.

He sat at the table and suddenly remembered that he hadn't signed in for the day.

I've neglected this golden touch these days.

With a thought, the system interface appeared before my eyes.

[Check-in]

[Check-in successful!]

[Congratulations, host, you have obtained: Proficiency in Mongolian (Permanent Passive Skill)]

In the next instant, Yang Guo felt countless unfamiliar syllables, words, and grammar flooding into his mind.

The Mongolian language that was originally difficult to understand now seemed incredibly natural, as if it were his mother tongue that he had spoken since childhood.

He tried reciting a few words silently in his mind, and they came out fluently and with authentic pronunciation.

"This is good stuff." Yang Guo's lips curled up slightly.

With this skill, we're much more confident about tonight's operation.

He then took out a mask as thin as a cicada's wing from the system.

That was the [Disguise Mask - Advanced] that I got from the system check-in. Wearing it allows you to change your appearance at will, making it extremely difficult for ordinary people to recognize you.

When the mask is placed on the face and internal energy is slightly circulated, the facial muscles begin to wriggle and reorganize.

A moment later, an unfamiliar face appeared in the bronze mirror—a square face with thick eyebrows, the typical appearance of a Mongolian man.

Yang Guo nodded in satisfaction.

Just as he was about to take off the mask, a soft knock came from outside the door.

"Guo'er?"

It's Huang Rong's voice.

Yang Guo opened the door, and Huang Rong slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

Her eyes were full of worry.

Upon entering, he looked Yang Guo up and down, as if trying to etch his current appearance into his heart.

"Why is Master here?" Yang Guo asked.

"I'm worried about you," Huang Rong said frankly, her gaze sweeping over his face before she suddenly paused, "Your face..."

Yang Guo then remembered that he was still wearing a disguise mask. He smiled slightly, reached out and wiped his face. The unfamiliar face rippled like water and returned to its original appearance.

"This is a disguise mask," he explained. "I obtained it by chance, and it allows me to change my appearance at will."

A look of surprise flashed in Huang Rong's eyes, but then she understood.

She was already used to Yang Guo's extraordinary adventures.

"Having this is not bad," she nodded. "It can help cover our tracks. But..."

She paused, her worry deepening: "The Mongol army camp is full of experts. If you go in alone, what if..."

"Don't worry, Master." Yang Guo grasped her hand, feeling its icy coldness and slight trembling. "I not only have a disguise mask, but I can also speak Mongolian."

Huang Rong was taken aback: "You can speak Mongolian?"

Yang Guo released his grip, cleared his throat, and said in Mongolian, "Master, please listen to me. I am Mongolian, from the grasslands."

The pronunciation, the intonation, the vocabulary—it was so authentic that Huang Rong was dumbfounded.

"Guo'er, when did you learn Mongolian?" she asked incredulously. "How come I didn't know?"

Yang Guo had already prepared his explanation, and he sighed softly, "After my mother passed away, I wandered the martial world for a while. During that time, I met a Mongolian merchant who taught me some Mongolian. And then... I've never forgotten it."

Huang Rong looked at him, a complex emotion flashing in her eyes.

She knew that Yang Guo had lost his mother at a young age and must have had a difficult time wandering alone.

Those past events I'd rather not revisit, those deep-seated wounds in my heart...

She didn't press him further, but simply held his hand gently: "Guo'er, promise me."

"What?"

"If there is any danger, I would rather abandon Fu'er than let anything happen to you."

Huang Rong looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears. "Fu'er is my daughter, of course I love her dearly. But you... you are also my disciple. I won't allow you to sacrifice yourself to save her."

Yang Guo was moved and took her hand in return, solemnly saying, "Master, don't worry, I'll be alright. I promise you, I will definitely come back alive."

Huang Rong gazed at him for a long time before finally nodding gently.

She released her grip and took a step back. "If you succeed, send a signal, and I'll bring men to meet you."

Yang Guo nodded.