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

The rainstorm started two hours earlier than Huang Rong had predicted.

When Lu Wushuang reached the mass grave on the back mountain, the rain was already pouring down. Large raindrops pelted the leaves, making a pattering sound. She limped through the mud, her shoes filled with mud, and with each step she struggled to pull her feet out.

Two Beggars' Sect disciples were squatting under a crooked pine tree, waiting for her. One was tall and the other short, both dressed in rough, woodcutter's clothes, with woodcutting knives at their waists. When Lu Wushuang approached, the taller one cupped his hands in greeting, said nothing, and simply handed her a torch.

The torch wouldn't light in the rain. Lu Wushuang took it, tried it a couple of times, and then tossed it aside.

"Follow me. No need for torches, I know the way."

She led the two around three half-collapsed graves and through a patch of waist-high weeds. The rain was pouring down, and visibility was almost zero. She relied entirely on her memory from the previous night to find her way—turn left at the old locust tree that had been struck by lightning, and walk another twenty steps to the spot where Yang Guo had marked the spot with his sword.

The sword is still there. The loess soil, washed by the rain, has become loose and soft, and mud clings to the hilt.

"This is it. Dig." Lu Wushuang pointed to the ground under the sword hilt.

Without a word, the two Beggars' Sect disciples grabbed their short shovels and started digging. The soil was shallow; they dug less than a foot before hitting something.

A foul stench wafted up.

Lu Wushuang's stomach churned violently. Yin Zhiping's body had only been buried for a little over a day, but the damp and sultry mountain air had already begun to cause it to bloat. The smell, a mixture of sweet, cloying, and foul odors, intensified after being exposed to the rainy night, and once it entered her nostrils, it was impossible to escape.

She turned her head, bent over, and dry-heaved twice. Her mouth tasted sour, and her stomach churned.

The tall Beggar Clan disciple glanced at her and whispered, "If you can't take it, young lady, retreat to the upwind side first."

Lu Wushuang wiped her mouth and shook her head.

She remembered what Yang Guo said before he left—"Be afraid, but you still have to do it."

She crouched down and reached out to help drag the body out of the pit. Yin Zhiping's Taoist robe was soaked and tattered by the mud and water; it felt cold and stiff to the touch, a sensation that made her scalp tingle. She bit her lip, her eyes filled with physiological tears, unable to tell whether they were from the stench or the rain.

The three men worked together to pull the body out of the pit, wrapped it in a straw mat they had prepared beforehand, and tied it tightly with hemp rope. The tall man carried the body on his back, the short man carried a short shovel and a bundle in front, and Lu Wushuang brought up the rear.

They couldn't see anything in the rain. They walked down the mountain along a small path behind the hill, their feet sinking into mud and gravel, each step slippery. Lu Wushuang's left leg was already weak, and in these conditions, walking was even more difficult. She fell twice, scraping her knees and hands, blood and mud mixed together, washed everywhere by the rain.

When they reached a bend halfway up the mountain, the short man suddenly stopped and raised his hand to make a shushing gesture.

Lu Wushuang pricked up her ears. The sound of rain mixed with footsteps and voices, coming from the side road on the left.

"...This awful weather! The sect leader ordered a retreat, and then it just had to start pouring rain..."

"...Stop complaining, let's go. It's shorter to take this shortcut down..."

They were disciples of the Quanzhen School patrolling the mountain. Some of the people who were returning from the search took a shortcut down the mountain and happened to pass by here.

Lu Wushuang's mind went blank. She turned to look at the straw mat wrapped around the tall man's back. The blood seeping from the gaps in the straw mat was being diluted by the rain and was trickling down the tall man's back.

Her hands and feet were ice cold, but her mind was working quickly.

"Hide the stuff in that bush over there. Crouch down and don't make a sound." Lu Wushuang lowered her voice and pointed to a waist-high bush on the right.

The two Beggars' Sect disciples moved swiftly, quickly stuffing the corpse deep into the bushes and covering it with two layers of weeds.

Lu Wushuang straightened his soaked Taoist robe, stepped out of the bushes, and deliberately headed towards the fork in the road.

The footsteps grew closer. Four Quanzhen disciples emerged from around the corner, the leader carrying a windproof lantern that cast a small, dim yellow light. Seeing a person standing in the middle of the road, all four paused in surprise.

"Who?" the leading disciple demanded.

Lu Wushuang stood in the rain, raised her hand to shield her eyes from the lantern light, frowned, and looked annoyed at being disturbed.

"The people in the Sect Leader's courtyard," Lu Wushuang spoke, her tone cold, invoking the names of Yang Guo and Huang Rong together, "are acting on the Sect Leader's orders to handle a matter for the Huang Gang. Did you return from the mountain search?"

The leading disciple took two steps closer, scrutinizing her in the lamplight. He recognized her face—he'd seen her in the main hall during the day; she was the limping girl who stood behind the new sect leader pouring tea.

"Yes. The sect leader has given the order, and we're rushing back to the front courtyard." The leader hesitated for a moment, "It's the middle of the night, and the young lady is all alone in the back mountains..."

"I'm not alone. Chief Huang has arranged for someone to wait for me up ahead." Lu Wushuang tilted her head behind her to indicate that there were still people in the distance. She emphasized the words "Chief Huang."

The lead disciple's expression changed. Huang Rong's reputation in the martial arts world was even stronger than that of the Quanzhen Sect. Being the Beggar Clan leader's person and holding a position close to the sect leader—these two relationships combined meant that even if he had a hundred times the courage, he wouldn't dare question her.

"Well... take care on your journey, young lady." The leader cupped his hands in greeting and told the three behind him to hurry away.

The footsteps faded into the distance. Lu Wushuang stood in the rain, shivering uncontrollably. It wasn't the cold, but the lingering fear. Her legs were too weak to stand, and she squatted down, leaning against a nearby tree trunk, gasping for breath before she could catch her breath.

"Let's go. Come out." She called back towards the bushes.

Two Beggars' Sect disciples carried the corpse out. The taller one glanced at her, his eyes filled with admiration.

The three continued on their journey.

Beside the official road at the foot of the mountain, the abandoned post station appeared as a dark silhouette in the rain. Half of the surrounding wall had collapsed, and several large holes were leaking from the roof, allowing rainwater to pour in.

Lu Wushuang took out the things Huang Rong had prepared beforehand—a Mongolian-style curved knife and the Huodu porcelain bottle that had been found on Yin Zhiping.

She arranged the scene according to Huang Rong's instructions.

The body was placed in a corner of the post station, positioned on its side with its right hand outstretched, as if it had fallen during a struggle. A Mongolian scimitar lay two steps away, its blade smeared with blood that had seeped from the corpse. Huo Du shoved the porcelain bottle into Yin Zhiping's arms, unscrewing the cap halfway, spilling a few drops of the sedative's residue onto his clothes.

The short Beggar Clan disciple then stomped out several more footprints of varying depths on the muddy ground outside the inn, simulating the traces of a fight between multiple people.

Lu Wushuang took two steps back and looked at the scene in the dim light of day.

Yin Zhiping's body lay curled up in the corner, his Quanzhen Taoist robe tattered and torn. The hole in his chest, stabbed by Yang Guo, had been repaired, making it look more like a stab wound from a Mongolian scimitar. The porcelain bottle and the scimitar were positioned perfectly, suggesting a conflict between two people, with one side killing the other and fleeing in haste.

"Alright. That's enough. That's it." Lu Wushuang nodded to the two Beggar Clan disciples.

The tall and short men packed up their tools and disappeared into the rainy night. They would return via another route, not with Lu Wushuang.

Lu Wushuang walked up the mountain alone.

The torrential rain showed no signs of stopping. There wasn't a dry spot on her body; her Taoist robe clung to her skin, soaked with cold water, and too heavy to drag. She limped along, slipping and sliding as she climbed the mountain path, falling three more times in the process. The last fall was particularly hard; her right elbow struck a rocky edge, and the pain made her lie in the mud for a long time before she could get up.

She didn't cry. Crying wouldn't have helped her; no one on this mountain would come to her aid.

The gate to the headmaster's courtyard was ajar.

Lu Wushuang pushed open the door and went inside. The courtyard was pitch black. She dragged herself, covered in mud, to the front of the main house and reached out to push the door open.

The door opened from the inside.

Yang Guo stood at the doorway, holding an oil lamp in his hand. The dim light shone on his face, revealing a profile that was not very expressive.

He looked Lu Wushuang up and down.

Lu Wushuang was soaked to the bone. Her gray Taoist robe, several shades darker from the rain, clung tightly to her body, clearly outlining her figure. Her waist was extremely narrow, below which were her shapely, firm curves, and then her long legs, still wrapped in the wet cloth. The collar of her robe had come undone from running, and large amounts of rainwater streamed down her collarbone, seeping deep into the fabric.

Yang Guo's gaze swept down from her collarbone, lingering for two seconds at a certain spot before moving away.

He stepped back, making way for the doorway.

"Come in. Don't stand outside."

Lu Wushuang walked into the house, her shoes leaving a trail of muddy footprints on the floor. She hugged her arms, shivering from the cold, her teeth chattering.

There was a pot of hot tea and a dry towel on the table.

Yang Guo placed the oil lamp on the table and sat back in his armchair. He pointed to the towel.

"Wipe it first."

Lu Wushuang picked up a towel and wiped her face and neck haphazardly. The towel was warm, still warm from being roasted. She paused, then looked down at the towel in her hand.

He heated it up and waited for her.

The thought crossed her mind for a moment, but she quickly suppressed it.

"Is the matter settled?" Yang Guo asked.

"It's all done. The body is in the post station, and everything is arranged as Sister Rong instructed." Lu Wushuang's voice was hoarse. "We ran into four patrolling disciples who were returning on the way, but I managed to get away with it."

Yang Guo picked up his teacup, took a sip, and didn't ask for details.

"Go change your clothes. There are clean Taoist robes behind the screen." Yang Guo gestured with his chin toward the screen. "Don't make my room all muddy."

Lu Wushuang took the dry Taoist robe and went around to the back of the screen. With her back to Yang Guo, she peeled off the soaking wet clothes one by one. The coarse cloth clung to her skin, making a slight sound as it was pulled off.

Yang Guo sat in the chair, his ears perked up.

He held his teacup, his gaze fixed on the screen. The light from the oil lamp cast Lu Wushuang's shadow as she changed clothes onto the thin silk of the screen—a slender waist, outstretched arms, and distinct curves.

Yang Guo took a sip of tea and almost choked.

He abruptly pulled his gaze away, staring at the teacup on the table. His own face was reflected in the tea. Yang Guo cursed himself inwardly: "You're such a spineless coward! You were just drained dry by two women, and you can't even bear to look at a shadow..."

Lu Wushuang came out after changing her clothes. The dry Taoist robe she wore finally warmed her up a bit. Her hair was still dripping wet, clinging damply to her cheeks and neck.

Yang Guo glanced at her and handed Lu Wushuang a cup of hot tea.

"Drink it while it's hot, and go to bed early afterward."

Lu Wushuang took a sip of hot tea, feeling warm all over, and then she suddenly spoke.

"The crater has been washed away by the rain. I looked back when I left, and there wasn't a trace left."

Yang Guo nodded.

The mass grave, washed away by the torrential rain, will never have its shallow pit found again. Yin Zhiping's "grave" has vanished, and his "corpse" has appeared where it was supposed to be.

This matter is now completely resolved.

Yang Guo stood up and walked to the door of the inner room. He paused for a moment, but didn't turn around.

"You did a good job tonight."

He said four words and then went into the inner room.

Lu Wushuang stood there, clutching the still-warm teacup in her hand. She lowered her head, swallowed the last sip of tea, and went to lie down on the hardwood couch in the outer room.

She closed her eyes. Her mind was filled with images from tonight.

Heavy rain, mud, the stench of corpses, and the approaching lanterns of the patrolling disciples.

She knew that from tonight onwards, her relationship with Yang Guo would be more than just threats and coercion. She personally moved the corpse, personally set up the fake crime scene, and personally deceived the Quanzhen disciples.

Lu Wushuang turned over and buried her face in the thin blanket.

The torrential rain outside was still pouring down. The rain washed away every inch of soil in Zhongnan Mountain, carrying away all traces that shouldn't have been left.