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

Three tables and chairs in the shop were overturned.

Those five burly men were no pushovers.

The leader, wielding a short axe, charged forward, slashing horizontally with the axe, creating a whooshing sound.

The two behind, each wielding a curved sword, circled around to the left and right, their steps staggered, following the coordinated path used in a life-or-death battle.

The man with the bow on his back retreated to the gate, squatted down halfway, took out his bow and nocked an arrow, aiming the arrow tip at the back of Yang Guo's head.

The last one, unarmed, grabbed a nearby stool and swung it around, smashing it down.

Five people, from four directions, acted simultaneously.

Yang Guo did not retreat.

He bent his knees, his center of gravity dropped sharply, and he pushed his serpentine and acrobatic movements to their limit.

He moved two steps sideways, almost skimming the floor. His short axe missed its mark, the bench fell to the ground, and the two curved knives missed their targets by three inches.

During a break in his sliding steps, he casually flicked his right index finger.

This One-Finger Divine Skill was infused with only 10% of its internal energy. A golden ray the size of an egg shot out from the fingertip and struck the center of the flying bench.

The bench broke apart at the seam, falling into three pieces, and wood chips flew all over the face of the person who grabbed the bench.

The man was still blinking when Yang Guo was already in front of him.

Press your left palm down onto your chest.

There are no fancy palm techniques, just the simplest way of releasing energy.

A wisp of true energy traveled through the Lung Meridian of Hand-Taiyin, striking the opponent's body and stirring up the Qi of the five internal organs.

The man slipped and flew backward, his back slamming into the earthen wall. A layer of plaster fell off the wall, and a lucky painting hanging overhead was shaken down, landing right on his face.

The person sat down against the wall, blood seeping from the corner of their mouth, staring wide-eyed and speechless.

"One," Yang Guo announced.

The sound wasn't loud, but everyone in the shop could hear it clearly.

The scarred man stood behind the wreckage of the counter, his curved sword drawn, tip pointing downwards, but he didn't move forward. His eyes darted back and forth over Yang Guo, trying to gauge his moves.

Yang Guo noticed the man's position. With his back against the kitchen doorframe, left foot forward and right foot back, he was poised to attack or retreat at any moment. This man was a bit smarter than the five burly men.

But I can't worry about him right now.

The two curved blades slashed down again.

The Mongolian scimitar is designed for slashing and cutting, with a large blade curvature, making it suitable for mounted combat. However, in the cramped space of such a shop, the slashing range of the scimitar becomes a hindrance—once the blade is swung, the recovery is slow.

Yang Guo did not use the One-Finger Divine Skill.

The power of a fifth-grade finger strike is considerable, but each strike consumes a significant amount of true energy. It's not worth the effort to deal with this kind of person.

He bent down and picked up a table leg from the ground. It was made of jujube wood, as thick as an adult's forearm, and quite heavy. Yang Guo channeled a wisp of true energy into the wood, and the jujube wood fibers were penetrated by the true energy, causing its hardness to increase dramatically.

Right hand on the table leg, left hand in an empty fist.

The curved sword on the left arrived first.

Yang Guo stepped aside to meet the attack, and the table leg struck the blade.

With a clang of metal against metal, the scimitar was deflected half a foot. The blade's handle went numb from the impact, and the force from the impact distorted his grip on the sword.

Yang Guo didn't give him a chance to adjust.

With a swift movement, he spun halfway around. The other end of the table leg, propelled by the rotation, rammed into the stomach of the person on his right.

The blow landed between the ribs and lower abdomen, where there was little bone to block it, just soft tissue. The man bent over, acid rising in his stomach. Yang Guo raised his knee, striking the man's lowered chin.

Two teeth were broken. Blood and tooth fragments flew out and splattered onto the overturned table beside him.

"two."

As soon as Yang Guo finished speaking, a sudden gust of wind rose from behind him.

arrow.

The Mongol archer at the door finally found the firing window. The arrow flew from behind, traveling in a straight line at great speed and at close range, leaving Yang Guo less than half a breath to react.

Yang Guo did not turn around.

His hearing, nurtured by the internal energy of the Nine Yin Manual, was several times better than that of an ordinary person. The sound of arrows piercing the air was as clear to him as if someone were whistling in his ear. Direction, speed, and landing point were all under his control.

His body tilted half a foot to the right.

The arrow grazed his left rib, catching a wisp of fabric, and embedded itself in the earthen wall behind him with a soft "thud." The fletching of the arrow was still trembling slightly.

Yang Guo pointed back.

This strike used the fifth-grade One-Finger Divine Skill.

A pale golden beam of energy shot from his fingertips, piercing through the entire shop and striking the archer's bowstring. The bowstring, made of twisted iron wire, was snapped by his finger force and snapped back. Freed from the restraint of the string, the bow arm slammed back, striking the Mongolian archer's own cheekbone squarely.

The man covered his face and stumbled backward.

Yang Guo rushed forward in two steps, swung the table leg, and swept it across Yang Guo's temple.

A dull thud. The archer's eyes rolled back, and he fell to the side, the back of his head hitting the threshold, where he fell completely still.

"Three."

Only then did the burly man with the short axe truly panic.

In the blink of an eye, his three companions were down. This young Taoist's movements were too strange, and he fought without following any set pattern. A broken table leg seemed to come alive in his hands.

Despite his panic, the burly man also possessed a certain amount of courage.

With bloodshot eyes, he roared and raised his short axe above his head, bringing it down with all his might. His axe technique was unpredictable, following the most primitive, desperate path of the Mongols—I don't care how you dodge, I'll keep hacking away until you can't withstand it anymore.

He is indeed very strong.

The first axe blow struck a fallen table, splitting it in two. The second axe followed Yang Guo's movements, but he dodged it, the blade embedding itself in a pillar, sending splinters flying. The third axe blow changed from a chop to a sweep, swinging horizontally with a whooshing sound.

Yang Guo took two steps back, letting the axe pass right past his chest.

The burly man with the short axe chopped faster and faster, his breathing becoming increasingly labored.

Yang Guo kept counting his breaths.

He used the Snake-like Leap and the Golden Goose Skill in combination, dodging and weaving through the small shop. He didn't rush to counterattack, but instead focused on wearing down his opponent's stamina and patience. The man, a former Mongolian wrestler, possessed explosive power, but lacked endurance. After swinging the axe at full power for more than thirty breaths, his strength would begin to wane.

By the time the fourth axe blow came down, the burly man's shoulders were already trembling slightly. The axe blade was a beat slower than the first three blows.

Yang Guo had been waiting for this moment.

He stepped on a broken bench on the ground, used the momentum to leap up, and landed on top of the burly man's head.

Pointing out with the index finger in the air.

He only used 30% of his internal energy.

The pale golden light struck the burly man's right hand between his thumb and forefinger with pinpoint accuracy.

The sound of bone cracking was faint, but the burly man reacted strongly. His fingers loosened, and the short axe slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground. His right hand was completely deformed; the outline of the bone beneath the skin at the base of his thumb was clearly visible, skewed in an inappropriate direction.

Yang Guo landed behind the burly man and chopped him on the back of the neck with a hand chop.

Clean and swift. The person fell forward, face down on the floor.

"Four."

The man on the left, whose curved blade had been deflected, had somehow gotten up. He wasn't stupid; four out of five were down, and he was the only one left to die. He crouched low and crouched as he ran towards the kitchen.

Yang Guo didn't even bother to chase after him.

With a flick of his finger, he unleashed a burst of force that struck the man's left knee.

His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, his chin hitting the threshold. Yang Guo walked over and tapped him on the back of the head with a table leg. The force was precisely controlled; it wouldn't kill him, but he wouldn't wake up for at least half a day.

Five.

The shop became quiet.

From the moment Yang Guo made his move to the moment the last person collapsed, no more than fifty breaths elapsed. Five people lay sprawled on the ground, some unconscious, others in too much pain to speak. Tables and chairs were shattered, and the air was thick with the smell of wood chips and dust.

Yang Guo threw away the table leg and patted the wood chips off his hands.

He turned his head and looked at the scarred man behind the counter.

"You haven't moved an inch from beginning to end," Yang Guo said. "Are you waiting for an opportunity, or for reinforcements?"

The scarred man gripped his curved sword, his knuckles white from the force. He stared at Yang Guo for three breaths, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"Your One-Finger Divine Skill... are you a descendant of Emperor Duan, the Southern Emperor?"

Yang Guo shook his head. "What do you care whose successor I am? You have two choices. First, lie down like them. Second, tell them everything you know, and I'll let you go."

The scarred man fell silent.

Yang Guo could tell that this person was making a judgment. With the secret base destroyed, he, as the leader, wouldn't be able to explain himself upon returning. Surrendering and revealing the intelligence meant certain death upon returning. Both paths led to certain demise.

So he chose the third option.

The scimitar slipped from his hand.

The entire curved blade flew out of his hand, spinning straight towards Yang Guo's face. At the same time, he drew a short dagger from his waist with his right hand, sprang up, and used the flying dagger as cover to close in on Yang Guo.

The close-quarters killing technique of the Mongol scouts. They would throw a knife to force the opponent to block or dodge, then, in the moment of distraction, stab them in a vital spot with a dagger. This move had killed many skilled warriors on the battlefield.

But it didn't work on Yang Guo.

Yang Guo turned his head to dodge the flying knife, which spun past his ear and "thud" embedded itself in the wall behind him.

At the same time, his left hand reached out and gripped the scarred man's wrist, which was holding the dagger.

The Qiankun Technique is activated.

A surge of scorching primordial energy emanated from his palm, flowing along the meridians of the scarred man's wrist. This energy, a fusion of yin and yang, nourished his own people but tormented his enemies. Wherever the energy reached, the meridians there felt as if they were being roasted by fire.

The scarred man's fingers began to spasm.

The dagger fell to the ground with a "clink".

Yang Guo placed his right index finger three inches below the Tanzhong acupoint on the chest, and released a wisp of true energy, directly sealing the Qihai acupoint.

In an instant, most of the scarred man's strength was drained away. His legs went weak, and he knelt down on one knee.

Yang Guo squatted down and patted his face.

"I gave you a chance."

Lu Wushuang's voice came from the backyard.

"Master, caught him! This shopkeeper was fast; he was climbing over the wall when I chopped off his belt with one stroke and fell face-first into the mud."

Yang Guo chuckled and stood up.

"Drag him in."