Huang Rong from The Return of the Condor Heroes: Brother Jing, let's get a divorce.

Qiu Chuji's voice still echoed in the square, and some people below had already knelt down.

The first to kneel were the fourth-generation disciples who had voted for Yang Guo. Their knees slammed heavily against the bluestone slabs, releasing years of pent-up frustration in a single shout as they cried out in unison, "Welcome, Sect Leader!"

This shout caused those behind to kneel down as well. Of the three thousand Quanzhen disciples, seventy percent knelt down.

The remaining 30% were all disciples whom Yin Zhiping had won over with benefits over the years. They looked at each other, their faces extremely pale, knowing full well that the situation was hopeless and that continuing to resist would only lead to their deaths. In this situation, they could only reluctantly bend their knees.

Yang Guo stood on the ninth-floor platform, his left hand still wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage, a sharp pain shooting through his wound. His lower back ached terribly, his legs felt weak, and he desperately wanted to lean against a pillar. But he gritted his teeth and forced his back to stand straight, refusing to show any weakness in front of these Taoist priests.

He knew exactly what was going on. The harder a new broom sweeps clean, the easier things would be for him later. "Strike while the iron is hot" was his survival rule back in the entertainment industry; today, he had to establish the rules for these Taoist priests.

"Get up, all of you." Yang Guo waved his hand, his tone somewhat nonchalant. "It's tiring for me to bend my neck to look at you all while you're kneeling."

The disciples below exchanged glances, looking at each other with concern. This new sect leader spoke in a manner completely unlike that of a high-ranking Xuanmen master, and was indeed rather unconventional. However, the domineering and unrestrained air in his words instilled a sense of awe in them.

Yang Guo descended the ninth wooden staircase. Qiu Chuji, Wang Chuyi, and a few others were waiting for him on the eighth floor. Qiu Chuji's expression was complex, and his gaze swept over Yang Guo's excessively youthful face several times.

He felt a mix of emotions. This kid was eccentric, yet he knew the patriarch's sword technique. Now that he had become the sect leader, he wondered where the Quanzhen Sect would go.

He suppressed all his concerns and finally said, "Come with me. Sanqing Hall, the handover ceremony."

Inside the Sanqing Hall, the air was filled with the fragrance of sandalwood.

The ceremony was brief. Ma Yu sat on a prayer mat and handed Yang Guo a bronze Double Ninth Festival token.

The token felt heavy in his hand, making Yang Guo's wrist sag. The front was engraved with the two characters "Chongyang" (Double Ninth Festival), and the back featured a pattern of nine yangs returning to one. The edges had long been polished to a shine by the repeated handling of successive sect leaders.

"This token was left by the founder. Seeing the token is like seeing the sect leader." Ma Yu coughed twice, his throat full of phlegm. His old eyes looked at Yang Guo, full of expectation and helplessness as he entrusted him with a heavy responsibility. "Guo'er, you have taken over this sect today. The burden from now on will fall on your shoulders. The lives of three thousand disciples depend on you."

Yang Guo carefully tucked the token into his pocket, pressing it against his chest. He didn't kneel; in his entire life, he had only ever knelt before his mother and aunt, and would never bow to these old Taoist priests. He simply bowed deeply to Ma Yu.

"Don't worry, Uncle Ma. Although I may be a bit glib, I'm quite capable when it comes to practical matters."

Ma Yu sighed; the child's inherent arrogance was incurable. He didn't press the matter further and, supported by the young Taoist, retreated to the inner hall to rest.

Only the Seven Immortals of Quanzhen, Yang Guo, and a few deacons from the Discipline Hall remained inside the hall. Huang Rong waited outside with two Beggars' Sect disciples; she did not enter.

She was shrewd and calculating. After all, she was an outsider. If she interfered in the internal affairs of the Quanzhen Sect, it would only provoke the old Taoist priests and cause trouble for Yang Guo.

Yang Guo turned around to face the Seven Masters and the assembled stewards. His usual playful demeanor vanished, his gaze sweeping across their faces like a knife, as he issued his first order as sect leader. He would use Yin Zhiping as a scapegoat to firmly establish his authority.

"Discipline Hall, obey my command!"

Zhang Zhiyuan, the head of the Disciplinary Hall, stepped forward, cupped his hands, and bowed his head, not daring to look directly at Yang Guo: "Please give your orders, Master."

"First, starting today, conduct a thorough investigation of the entire sect. Register all disciples who were forced to take unknown poisons by Yin Zhiping. Submit the list to me within three days. Every single one of them must be accounted for; no one will be overlooked. Anyone who dares to conceal or fail to report will be punished as an accomplice."

Zhang Zhiyuan's expression changed, and he felt a chill run down his spine. The new sect leader's first act was so ruthless, showing no regard for the feelings of his fellow disciples. He dared not disobey and replied in a low voice, "Yes, sir."

"Second," Yang Guo raised his voice, holding up two fingers, "Yin Zhiping's residence is to be sealed off immediately. His study, secret room, wardrobe, and even under his pillow—turn them upside down. Focus on finding letters, tokens, and keepsakes; anything related to his interactions with outsiders, especially anything from the Mongols."

After these words were spoken, the hall fell silent for two breaths, so quiet that even breathing could be heard.

Qiu Chuji frowned and stepped forward. Although he was disappointed in Yin Zhiping, Yin was, after all, his eldest disciple whom he had watched grow up, and the reputation of the Quanzhen Sect could not be trampled on by Yang Guo.

"Guo'er, you just accused Zhiping of colluding with the Mongols on stage. This matter is of great importance and cannot be based on just one side's story. Searching his residence is fine, but if no evidence is found, you must give Zhiping an explanation."

Yang Guo glanced at Qiu Chuji. He knew perfectly well that this old Taoist was a man of principle, valuing evidence and adhering to rules, and would never easily believe that Yin Zhiping was a traitor. This man wasn't an enemy, but he wasn't easy to fool either; there was no benefit in standing up to him.

"Grandmaster Qiu is right. That's why I had the Discipline Hall search." Yang Guo crossed his arms, adopting a frank and open demeanor. "If they find anything, they'll be dealt with according to the rules. If they don't, I, Yang Guo, will apologize to him in public. Is that alright?"

Qiu Chuji couldn't find fault with him, so he nodded and said no more.

"Third." Yang Guo's tone deepened, his gaze fixed on the members of the Discipline Hall with an extremely oppressive intensity, determined not to give Yin Zhiping any chance to turn the tables.

"Grandmaster Wang personally sealed Yin Zhiping's major acupoints, including Qihai and Shenque, severing his internal energy. Before escorting him away, he was thoroughly searched, with every hair and the soles of his shoes examined! Afterward, he was placed under house arrest in the east wing, guarded day and night by four third-generation disciples and two senior deacons of the Discipline Hall. No one was allowed to visit him without permission. Three meals a day were delivered by special personnel from the Discipline Hall, and the food had to be inspected in person before being served."

Wang Chuyi couldn't bear it any longer and couldn't help but interject. He was a kind-hearted man, and seeing Yang Guo's ruthless methods, he felt a pang of pity: "Guo'er, Zhiping is, after all, the chief disciple. Before he's been convicted, treating him like a serious criminal, even crippling his ability to resist, isn't that going too far?"

Yang Guo tilted his head, looking at Wang Chuyi, a cold smile creeping across his face. These old Taoist priests have really lived too comfortably for too long; they don't even know how to guard against a poisonous snake bite.

"Grandmaster Wang, I have been very polite to him."

Yang Guo raised his voice, each word landing firmly, exuding an unyielding strength that left no room for argument.

"Just now on the stage, he almost stabbed me with that strange, mysterious internal energy. Faced with such an extremely dangerous person, if we don't seal his internal energy and keep a close watch on him, are we supposed to let him suddenly attack and hurt people? If he had won, guess what he would have done to me? I'm afraid I wouldn't even have a complete corpse left by now!"

Wang Chu opened his mouth, but was rendered speechless by Yang Guo's words and did not say anything more.

Yang Guo scanned the room, taking in the expressions of the old men. "Any further objections?"

No one spoke up; no one wanted to provoke the new leader at this critical juncture.

"Then let's get it done."

The deacons of the Discipline Hall received their orders and filed out. Only the Seven Masters and Yang Guo remained in the hall. The atmosphere was somber, and the old Taoist priests, each lost in their own thoughts, were all calculating the future of the Quanzhen Sect.

Yang Guo didn't linger. His lower back was aching terribly, and he just wanted to find a place to sit down as soon as possible. He cupped his hands in greeting, turned around, and walked out of the Sanqing Hall.

The sun was already setting in the west. Huang Rong leaned against a pillar in the main hall, holding her dog-beating stick. When she saw Yang Guo come out, she immediately took two steps forward and looked him up and down. Her gaze finally fell on the blood-soaked strip of cloth in his left hand, her eyebrows furrowed into a tight knot, and anger mixed with heartache rose in her heart.

"Your hand." Huang Rong's tone was cold and hard, but she couldn't hide her concern.

"It's just a flesh wound, I won't die." Yang Guo grinned nonchalantly, trying to maintain his masculine pride.

Huang Rong walked up to Yang Guo, lowered her voice, afraid that others would hear his weak condition: "Guo'er, come with me. There are too many people around here."

Yang Guo glanced around. There were still quite a few martial arts practitioners on the square, and several sect leaders were chatting with Quanzhen disciples; it was definitely not the place to talk. He nodded slightly and turned to walk towards a side hall on the west side of Chongyang Palace.

Yang Guo followed behind Huang Rong.

The beautiful woman walked with a graceful sway, her waist twisting with just the right amount of movement. In particular, her large, round buttocks, like a full moon, were faintly visible under her green dress, making Yang Guo's eyes dizzy and causing him to forget most of the soreness in his lower back.

Huang Rong seemed to have eyes in the back of her head, noticing Yang Guo's unwavering gaze. She didn't care, instead feeling a secret, proud smugness.

That brat is such a lecher; even injured like this, he still tries to take advantage of people.

The two walked through a corridor, turned two corners, and entered a small hall for guest retainers to rest. The hall was simply furnished with a wooden table, two chairs, and a half-open window that let in a few wisps of evening breeze.

Huang Rong bolted the door from the inside, made sure no one was around, turned around, and slapped Yang Guo on the shoulder, adopting the posture of a first wife disciplining her husband.

"Are you tired of living?"

Yang Guo winced in pain, took a step back with a pained expression, and said, "Rong'er, go easy on me. Your man is just an empty shell now; he can't take this kind of abuse."

"An empty shell? You know you're just an empty shell." Huang Rong sneered, leaning her dog-beating stick against the wall and walking to the table to sit down. She took a small porcelain bottle from her waist, slammed it heavily on the table, and said angrily, "Nine-Flower Jade Dew Pill. First, stretch out your hand, and I'll apply the medicine for you."

Yang Guo obediently sat down opposite her and offered his left hand.

Huang Rong unwrapped the bandage and looked at the deep, bone-revealing gash on her palm, the flesh torn open and bloody. Her brows furrowed even more, her heart clenched as if it had been squeezed, and her movements involuntarily softened. She dipped a silk handkerchief in the medicinal powder and carefully applied it to the wound.

The medicinal powder irritated his wound, and Yang Guo hissed, cold sweat beading on his forehead: "Rong'er, be gentle..."

"Shut up." Huang Rong interrupted him without even looking up, finally unable to hold back the sour taste in her stomach. "How many days have you been fooling around with those two vixens in the Ancient Tomb? Your steps were unsteady during the duel, and you couldn't even hold your sword properly. Do you think I didn't see it?"

Yang Guo chuckled dryly, feeling terribly guilty, and refused to admit anything. "Rong'er, you've wronged me. I was diligently cultivating the Nine Yin Manual day and night in the Ancient Tomb, and I overdrawn my internal energy. Cultivation always comes at a price."

Huang Rong raised her eyes and stared at him expressionlessly for three breaths, her gaze seeming to see right through him.

Yang Guo felt his scalp tingle from her gaze, and turned his head away, not daring to meet her eyes, for fear that she would see through his disguise.

Huang Rong lowered her head and continued applying the medicine. Although she was angry inside and her words were sharp, her hands were very gentle. Every time her fingertips touched the edge of the wound, she would pause slightly, afraid of hurting him.

"Let's get down to business," Huang Rong said while carefully wrapping her bandages, turning her attention back to the bigger picture. "Wang Qingchen publicly exposed Yin Zhiping for forcing people to take poison today. He brought it up himself; you didn't force him. But this alone only proves that Yin Zhiping is wicked, not that he deserves to die. Those old fogies of the Quanzhen Sect are extremely protective of their own."

Yang Guo nodded; he had already considered this. "That's why I had the Discipline Hall search his residence. That old bastard is cautious, but even the most cautious person leaves traces. He couldn't have been communicating with Huo Du solely through verbal exchanges; there must have been letters, tokens, or something like that. Once they find those, he's doomed."

"Although I had long ago investigated his background and knew that he was secretly colluding with the Mongols, such a heinous crime of betraying one's master and ancestors would not be accepted by the Quanzhen Sect without overwhelming evidence, and Master Qiu and the others would not believe it either."

Huang Rong picked up the cold tea on the table, took a sip, and sorted out her thoughts. She had already paved the way for Yang Guo's escape route. "So before I came, I had already instructed the Beggars' Sect's spies in the Guanzhong area to intensify their collection of evidence. Huo Du's men did indeed enter and leave the post station near Zhongnan Mountain three months ago. The post station manager remembered that a Mongol left a letter. The recipient's signature was crossed out, but the envelope had the Taoist name and code words of the Quanzhen Sect on it."

Upon hearing this, Yang Guo's eyelids, which had been drooping due to exhaustion, lifted slightly, his weariness vanishing from his mind. "Where's the letter?"

"The spies are still on the trail. The shopkeeper took the Mongol's money and handed the letter over to a Taoist priest who went up the mountain. The spies are sketching the Taoist priest's physical characteristics."

Huang Rong put down her teacup, tapped her fingers twice on the table, and revealed her secret: "Give me five days. You can trust the Beggars' Sect to do things right."

Looking at Huang Rong's earnest profile, Yang Guo felt a warmth in his chest, and his breathing became heavier. This woman, the leader of the world's number one gang, had even mobilized the Beggars' Sect's spies to help him secure his position as the leader of the Quanzhen Sect. She had practically tied her life and fortune to his.

He stared at her fair neck, and besides wanting to press her down on the table and kiss her a couple of times, he couldn't think of a better way to repay her.

Ignoring his still throbbing left hand, he leaned forward, his left hand reaching around the corner of the table and resting on Huang Rong's hand without regard for propriety, his thumb caressing her smooth skin.

"Rong'er, you're so good to me."

Huang Rong felt a tickle on the back of her hand from his restless thumb, and her ears burned. After all, this was Chongyang Palace, and there were eyes and ears everywhere. She dared not let him do as he pleased, so she shook off his hand.

"Don't lay a hand on me. Your internal energy is depleted right now; you can't even beat a chicken. Just focus on healing."

"I'll just touch it, it won't hurt me." Yang Guo chuckled, completely ignoring the warning, and shamelessly reached out his hand again, determined to take advantage of the situation.

Huang Rong was furious. Seeing his recklessness, she stretched out two fingers and pinched the uninjured flesh on the back of his hand hard. Yang Guo hissed in pain and quickly withdrew his hand, rubbing the red mark with a wronged expression.

"After you get back, immediately use the breathing techniques of the Nine Yin Manual to restore your inner strength." Huang Rong stood up, smoothed out the wrinkles in her clothes, straightened her collar, and forcefully suppressed her romantic thoughts, restoring the dignified demeanor of the Beggar Clan leader.

She looked down at Yang Guo, her tone full of warning, "You are now the sect leader, and your every move is being watched. Yin Zhiping is under house arrest, but his loyal followers haven't been completely purged yet. If people see that you are terribly weak, they will have other ideas."

Yang Guo understood the implications of her words, so he dropped his playful grin, straightened his back, and nodded seriously. "I understand. I'll go into seclusion tonight to regulate my breathing."

Huang Rong walked to the door, her hand resting on the latch, but she stopped. She bit her lower lip, the image of the two alluring women in the ancient tomb flashing through her mind, and a wave of bitterness washed over her.

She had her back to Yang Guo, refusing to let him see the awkwardness on her face, and kept her voice very low.

"Don't let those two women see about your injury when you get back. If they feel sorry for you, they'll make a scene. You're not allowed in anyone's room for the next few days, and you'd better sleep alone."

Hearing the sarcastic tapping, Yang Guo grinned, even the soreness in his back lessening somewhat. "Rong'er, are you jealous?"

Huang Rong's secret was exposed, and her earlobes turned bright red. She unlatched the door, walked out without looking back, and didn't leave a single word behind.

Yang Guo leaned back in his chair, rubbing his fingers which had been pinched red, his stomach filled with a bittersweet feeling. His first wife had spoken; he would have to become a monk for the next few days. Fine, anyway, his body was so weak and his dantian empty that even if he wanted to cause trouble, he wouldn't have the strength. He might as well take this opportunity to rest for a few days.

---

East wing room.

Four third-generation disciples and two disciplinary hall deacons stood guard outside the door, holding long swords and with solemn expressions, not letting even a fly in.

Inside the room, Yin Zhiping sat cross-legged on a hard wooden couch. He tried to circulate his inner energy, but several major acupoints, including Qihai and Shenque, were sealed off by Zhang Zhiyuan's heavy techniques, leaving his meridians empty and unable to muster any internal energy. This gave him a great sense of powerlessness.

In addition, the injury to his chest was extremely severe, causing internal organ tremors. Every breath he took aggravated the dull pain below his ribs, making him break out in a cold sweat.

But he remained calm on the surface, his eyes slightly closed, showing no sign of defeat in front of the guards, while his mind raced as he calculated his next escape route.

Half an hour ago, Zhang Zhiyuan personally searched his body, his rough hands even squeezing through the seams of the inner lining of his Taoist robe, but he found nothing.

Then the people from the monastic community searched his residence. Through the window, he saw several Taoist priests carrying away the boxes in his study, not even sparing the hidden compartment under the bed.

He wasn't flustered; in fact, he sneered inwardly.

The truly fatal letter had been burned to ashes days earlier. Huo was no fool; he used coded language to transmit messages, writing them in ordinary Taoist manuscripts, so that laymen would not be able to decipher them.

Those copies were mixed in with thousands of scriptures in the library. Even if you turned the entire Chongyang Palace upside down, you wouldn't find a single clue.

He was worried about something else.

Wang Qingchen, that spineless coward, shouted it out in public, ruining his entire plan. This meant that the poison could no longer be concealed.

Now that Yang Guo has become the sect leader, given that little beast's vengeful nature, he will definitely investigate along this line. As long as the source of the poison formula is found, they can follow the trail to Huo Du.

Although it cannot directly convict him of colluding with the Mongols and committing the death penalty, it is enough to leave him speechless and with no chance of redemption.

He must find a way to escape before Yang Guo finds out the truth; he cannot simply sit and wait to die.

Yin Zhiping struggled to move his body, enduring the pulling pain in his chest, and reached into his robes, pulling a sachet from a hidden pocket in his sleeve. His fingers stiffened as he unwrapped the sachet, touching a small, cool porcelain bottle. Zhang Zhiyuan had only considered it an ordinary sachet during the search and hadn't examined it closely, allowing Yin to slip through the cracks.

This was given to him personally by Huo Du. When Huo Du handed it to him, he said with certainty, "Master Yin, keep this for life-saving purposes. If you are ever forced into a desperate situation, open the bottle, and within half an incense stick's time, everyone within a ten-zhang radius will faint."

He scoffed at the time, not even giving it a second glance, thinking that as the head disciple of Quanzhen Sect, holding great power, how could he possibly have fallen to such a state?

Now it seems that Huo had thought further ahead than he had, and had long anticipated that he would one day lose control of the situation. This palm-sized porcelain vase had become his last lifeline.

Yin Zhiping carefully tucked the porcelain bottle into the inside of his undergarment and closed his eyes again. He couldn't rush things; the more desperate the situation, the more he needed to stay calm. There were heavy guards outside the door, and with his vital points sealed and his internal energy restricted, forcing his way in would be certain death.

Only after the injuries have subsided somewhat, and under the cover of night, can one find a way to open the acupoints and then seize the opportunity to use the sleeping drug, will there be a glimmer of hope.

He was resting with his eyes closed when he heard light footsteps outside the window.

He opened his eyes alertly, lifting his eyelids a crack to look out through the window.

As darkness fell, lanterns lit up the corridor, casting long, dim shadows on the ground. Two figures approached from the direction of the Sanqing Hall, one after the other, and turned into the corridor leading to the west side hall.

The one in front, wearing a blue Taoist robe, with a slender figure and a casual gait, was Yang Guo.

The one behind her, dressed in a simple blue robe and carrying a long, emerald-green staff, moved with light steps—it was Huang Rong.

The two walked at a distance of about three feet. But Yin Zhiping, with his sharp eyes, noticed that when Yang Guo turned the corner, he reached his right hand back slightly, clearly to clear the tassels of lanterns hanging from the pillars behind him.

Huang Rong did not step aside or say thank you, but instead walked past the hand that had moved aside in an extremely natural manner.

This detail is so small that most people wouldn't even notice it, at most taking it as a sign of respect from a junior to an elder.

But Yin Zhiping had been involved in the Quanzhen Sect for more than a decade, dealing with all sorts of people every day, and reading between the lines was his livelihood.

A man clearing obstacles for a woman is an action that only happens when the body has formed an extremely intimate habit.

That unspoken understanding is something that could never be so natural between strangers.

What were they doing in that side hall? A lone man and woman, without even a servant.

Yin Zhiping racked his brains, trying to recall everything that had happened that day. Huang Rong had come to Zhongnan Mountain today, ostensibly to attend a ceremony on behalf of the Beggars' Sect.

She spoke up for Yang Guo on the stage, targeting herself at every turn. This is understandable. The Beggars' Sect allied with the Quanzhen Sect, and she didn't want the sect leader to fall into the hands of someone she didn't like. She wanted to support a compliant puppet.

However, the Beggars' Sect leader and the newly appointed leader of the Quanzhen Sect, alone in a side hall with the door closed, trying to avoid being seen...

Yin Zhiping didn't think about it any further. Because deep down he believed that the guess was too absurd, so absurd that even he himself laughed.

Huang Rong was Guo Jing's wife, a renowned female strategist, known for her purity and virtue, and famous throughout the martial arts world. Yang Guo was her junior.

Between these two, who are separated by generations, what shady dealings could they possibly have?

But that action of adjusting the lantern tassel was like a tiny thorn, stuck deep in his mind, and he couldn't pull it out no matter what.

Yin Zhiping closed his eyes again and slowed his breathing. He kept this matter firmly in mind and didn't forget it.

Having spent so many years in the Quanzhen Sect and climbed to the position of chief disciple, he had long since learned a lesson: any seemingly insignificant detail can become a deadly weapon at a crucial moment.

If used properly, it's anyone's guess who could end up ruined and disgraced.