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

When the two white horses stepped out of the Zhongnan Mountains, the sun was already high in the sky.

On both sides of the official road were vast expanses of dry land, with wheat seedlings just sprouting, sparse and scattered. Along the way, they passed several villages, with low and dilapidated mud-brick houses. At the village entrance, an old man squatted under the wall, basking in the sun. When he saw two white horses galloping from afar, he raised his head in unison.

Yang Guo's sect leader robes fluttered in the wind, their gold edges gleaming in the sunlight.

Several men from the village shoved each other to their feet and peered out onto the main road. It was a rare sight in Huxian County that Taoist priests from the Quanzhen School had come down from the mountain.

"Master, your outfit is far too flashy." Lu Wushuang, riding beside him, glanced around. "Are you afraid people won't know you're the leader of the Quanzhen Sect?"

"How can we not show off?" Yang Guo patted his robe. "When you're out in the world, appearances reflect your strength. Look at that fat Magistrate Zhao, he shrinks back when he sees this outfit. It's the same principle when you're out in the world."

Lu Wushuang rolled her eyes. "You're a cultivator, yet you always talk about showing off."

"Cultivating the Tao, cultivating the Tao, that's what we're cultivating," Yang Guo said earnestly.

The two walked south along the official road, passing through Huxian County and entering Zhouzhi County. The number of people on the road gradually increased. There were farmers driving oxcarts carrying grain, peddlers carrying loads on shoulder poles, and several groups of merchants traveling on horseback.

Yang Guo noticed that there were several more post stations along the road than three years ago. Some post stations had Song Dynasty flags hanging at their entrances, while others had Mongol signs. They were all mixed together, and no one could control the others.

The Guanzhong region was nominally under the jurisdiction of the Southern Song Dynasty, but in reality, the Mongols had long since extended their reach there. Post stations, secret agents, and spies were densely distributed along the official roads.

"Wushuang, do you see that naan bread vendor by the roadside?" Yang Guo's voice suddenly lowered.

Lu Wushuang followed Yang Guo's gaze. On the left side of the official road was a small stall, where a dark-faced man squatted in front of the stove, flipping naan bread in his hands. It looked unremarkable.

"What's so interesting about a pancake seller?"

"His shoes." Yang Guo's lips barely moved. "Mongolian-style leather boots, thick-soled, suitable for horseback riding. Who among the Han people wears those? And look at his hands, the calluses on his knuckles, not from kneading dough, but from holding a curved knife."

Lu Wushuang glanced at the man again, a chill running down her spine.

Yang Guo spurred the horse's belly, and the white horse sped up, and the two quickly passed the stall.

They walked another two miles. Yang Guo looked back.

"They're catching up," Yang Guo said calmly. "There are three horses behind us, keeping a distance of about five hundred paces. They've been following us ever since we passed that naan cake stall."

Lu Wushuang glanced back and saw only a few figures on horseback on the distant official road.

"What should we do? Run?"

"Why run?" Yang Guo scoffed. "I haven't left the mountain for three years. I've finally encountered a few people to practice with. It would be a waste if they ran away."

He patted the horse's neck and slowed it down.

"There's a fork in the road ahead. Going left leads to a small path into the mountains, where there are more trees and fewer people. We'll deal with them when we get there."

Lu Wushuang nodded, placing his hand on the willow-leaf scimitar at his waist.

The two turned left at the fork in the road and drove onto a narrow dirt road in the mountains. Tall locust trees lined both sides of the road, their canopies blocking out the sun completely.

After walking for about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, the sound of horses' hooves came from behind.

Three horses.

Yang Guo reined in his horse and dismounted. He tied the white horse's reins to a tree stump by the roadside, patted the horse's rump, and made it walk a few steps forward.

"You get down too, and lead your horse to the side of the road," Yang Guo said to Lu Wushuang.

Lu Wushuang did as instructed, leading his horse back to the roadside bushes.

Yang Guo stood alone in the middle of the road, his hands behind his back, the hem of his robe billowing in the mountain wind.

Three horses emerged from behind the bend.

The rider in front was dressed in a Han Chinese cloth shirt, but had a curved sword at his waist. The two behind him wore leather armor and no hats, revealing the short hair typical of Mongolians. When the three saw Yang Guo blocking the road, they all reined in their horses.

The man in the lead spoke broken Mandarin. "Excuse me, Taoist priest, may I pass?"

Yang Guo didn't move. "Borrowing passage? You've followed me for five miles just to ask for passage?"

The three of them exchanged a glance.

The leader reached for the curved knife at his waist with his right hand. "Master, you're overthinking it. We're just on our way."

Yang Guo smiled. "Then let me ask you, how much does one of your naan cakes cost?"

The man was stunned.

"Can't answer? A businessman doesn't even know the price of his own goods." Yang Guo stretched out his right index finger, pointing it downwards, and aimed it at the foreleg of the lead horse.

The pure internal energy accumulated over sixteen years within his body was suddenly compressed and surged along the Lung Meridian of Hand-Taiyin all the way to his fingertips.

A pale golden aura condensed at his fingertips.

Yang Guo flicked his wrist, and a golden light shot out from his hand, accompanied by a sharp whistling sound, heading towards the horse's hooves.

"Bang!"

The horse's forefoot was struck by the golden light, and the entire horseshoe detached from its hoof, flying away and crashing with a clang onto a roadside stone. The broken iron surface of the horseshoe was charred black, with a wisp of smoke still rising from its edge.

The warhorse neighed in pain, its front legs buckled, and it almost threw its rider off.

The three Mongolians' expressions changed instantly.

"One-Finger Divine Skill," the leader blurted out. He clearly recognized the skill.

Yang Guo withdrew his right hand, his smile unchanged. "You know them? That saves me the trouble of introducing myself. Tell me, who sent you to follow me?"

The three men exchanged glances, and the leader suddenly drew his sword.

"kill!"