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

The kitchen of Qingfeng Inn was filled with half a room of clutter.

A flour jar, a rice bag, a pickled vegetable jar, and several bundles of firewood.

Yang Guo instructed Lu Wushuang to tie the shopkeeper and the scarred man to a pillar next to the noodle vat, and stuff strips of cloth into their mouths.

The other five burly men were all immobilized by pressure points and left in a corner of the shop, where they would not wake up for a while.

The two ordinary travelers had fled through the back door in fright when the fight began, without even taking their belongings. Only Yang Guo and Lu Wushuang remained in the inn.

Yang Guo flipped over a stool and sat down by the stove in the back kitchen, beginning to take inventory of the items he had taken from the scarred man.

A parchment map. A copper letterbox. Three Mongol army tokens, made of brass, their patterns polished to a shine, having passed through countless hands.

And that roster.

Yang Guo looked at the map first.

This drawing is extremely meticulous. The routes of the major and minor official roads in the Guanzhong region, the distances between various post stations, and the altitude of the mountain passes are all marked with perfect accuracy.

This is definitely not something an ordinary scout could draw; it must have been done by a specialist who spent more than a year or two surveying it.

The map was marked with twenty-seven red dots using cinnabar. Each red dot was accompanied by a number in both Mongolian and Chinese, with a uniform numbering format.

The first part is the abbreviation of the place name, and the second part is the numerical sequence number.

Yang Guo spread the map out on the stove and counted the official road lines one by one with his fingers.

"Twenty-seven undercover agents," he said. "They stretch from Chang'an all the way to Hanzhong, spaced thirty to fifty li apart. Each agent consists of two to five people, disguised as shops, inns, and tea stalls. This network, once set up, will take at least three years to dismantle."

Lu Wushuang leaned forward, tiptoed, and looked at the map on the stove. The more she looked, the more her brows furrowed.

"Who exactly is this network of informants targeting?"

"Keep an eye on the entire Guanzhong region." Yang Guo pointed to the location of Zhongnan Mountain on the map. "Look here. There are four stakeouts within a radius of thirty li around Zhongnan Mountain. One in Huxian County, one in Zhouzhi County (the one we just took down), one in Huyi County, and another hidden in Chang'an City. These four stakeouts surround Zhongnan Mountain on three sides, leaving only the Qinling Mountains to the south unguarded. That area is all cliffs and precipices; we don't need to monitor it there."

Lu Wushuang looked in the direction Yang Guo was pointing, and the shape formed by the four red dots indeed completely encircled Zhongnan Mountain.

"The Mongols are really going all out?"

"Not only is the amount generous." Yang Guo picked up the copper letter tube, unscrewed the cap, and poured it out. A neatly folded roll of letter paper slid out from inside.

He unfolded it and read a few lines.

The letter was written in Chinese.

The wording and sentence structure were extremely concise, with a military document format. It began with the recipient's number and ended with a square red clay seal.

The characters on the seal were in Mongolian, which Yang Guo could not recognize.

But he could understand the main text.

This is a transfer order.

He ordered all the secret agents in Guanzhong to complete three tasks within half a month.

The first task: to ascertain the actual strength of the Quanzhen Sect on Zhongnan Mountain. This includes the number of disciples, the names and martial arts styles of the officially registered masters, the amount of grain stored on the mountain, and whether they have any secret dealings with external forces.

The second measure: Cut off all communication channels between the Quanzhen Sect and the Southern Song Dynasty. Messengers were to be intercepted, letters were to be confiscated, and any attempts to use official channels were to be investigated and blocked.

The third matter: Once the leader of the Quanzhen Sect descends the mountain and leaves the Zhongnan Mountain area, all the secret agents will immediately send a message by carrier pigeon to the branch altar of the National Preceptor's Mansion in Chang'an. The branch altar will then send someone to "handle" the matter.

Two horizontal lines were heavily drawn under the word "handle" with a vermilion pen.

Yang Guo folded the letter again and put it into his sleeve pocket. He then reached out and put away the brass letter tube.

"Master, what's the next step?" Lu Wushuang's voice tightened.

"Don't rush." ​​Yang Guo raised his hand and gently patted the back of her head. "Their network is woven in the shadows, and we didn't know about it before, which was truly dangerous. Now, the maps, transfer orders, and numbers are all in my hands, and the initiative has shifted. The Mongols will only assume that this stronghold is still functioning properly, and they won't suspect anything for at least ten days to two weeks. These ten days to two weeks will be our window of opportunity."

He stood up and walked to the noodle vat. The scarred man was tightly bound by the reins, his back against the pillar, dried bloodstains on his chin, his eyes fixed on Yang Guo.

Yang Guo ripped the gag out of his mouth.

"One last question for you. Where is the branch of the Imperial Preceptor's Mansion located in Chang'an? How many people are there? What is the name of the leader?"

The scarred man spat a mouthful of bloody foam onto the ground.

"Stop dreaming."

Yang Guo squatted down to be at eye level with him.

"I asked three questions. You can answer one, two, or all three. The more you answer, the greater your chances of survival."

The scarred man didn't speak. He shifted his gaze from Yang Guo's face to the shopkeeper not far away, and a slight twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth. It was a warning look.

The shopkeeper was so frightened that he turned his head to the other side.

Yang Guo waited for five breaths before standing up.

"OK."

He extended his right hand, the edge of his palm striking the scarred man's crown. He didn't use the One-Finger Divine Skill, but simply infused a wisp of innate vital energy into the strike at the very moment of impact. The true energy traveled along the Governing Vessel, descending directly from the Baihui acupoint, dispersing several energy nodes within the spine.

The scarred man's body suddenly arched, then went limp. His eyes remained fixed.

They killed people extremely quickly, without any hesitation.

Lu Wushuang stood two steps away, her fingers tightening slightly as she gripped the hilt of her sword.

She didn't say anything.

Yang Guo turned to look at the shopkeeper.

After Lu Wushuang slashed his belt, the shopkeeper was only tied up haphazardly with a rope. His knees were covered in mud, and a large patch of skin on his left cheek was scraped, oozing blood. At this moment, he was huddled against the base of a pillar, his body trembling so much that even the flour in the flour bin was falling off.

Yang Guo bent down and pulled the gag out of his mouth.

"What's your last name?"

"Qian... Qian Fugui," the shopkeeper said, his voice trembling with tears.

"I asked you what your last name is, don't try to apply that to other situations!"

"I'll ask you one more time, what's your last name?"

Qian Fugui trembled violently, shaking as he stammered, "My surname is Qian..."

"Manager Qian," Yang Guo said, his tone much gentler than when he spoke to the scarred man.

"You're Han Chinese, working for the Mongols is just for money. In these chaotic times, I understand you're just trying to make a living."

The shopkeeper nodded frantically, his head slamming against the flour jar with loud thuds.

"Tell me where the branch altar of the Imperial Preceptor's Mansion is, and how many people are inside, and I'll let you go. I'll also give you twenty taels of silver for travel expenses, enough for you to reach a place the Mongols can't find."

The shopkeeper's lips trembled, and his eyes involuntarily glanced at the scarred man beside him who had already died.

Yang Guo did not urge him.

After about ten breaths, Yang Guo slowly stood up and patted the dust off his body.

"If you don't want to talk, that's fine too. I'll tie you to the entrance of the inn and write four big characters on your chest with charcoal: Mongolian Spy. Guess how the villagers nearby will treat you when they see this?"

The shopkeeper's face suddenly turned pale.

He knew the temperament of the people in Guanzhong better than Yang Guo did.

Two years ago, when Mongol troops passed through the area, they burned down three villages outside Zhouzhi County.

The men were all killed, the women were taken away, and not a single grain of livestock or food was left.

This grudge is still etched on the broken stone tablet by the roadside.

Anyone branded as a Mongol spy could be buried alive by the villagers with shovels, without the need for government officials to arrive.

"Tell me...tell me," the shopkeeper said, his teeth chattering. "East of Chang'an, three miles south of the Big Wild Goose Pagoda, there's a shop called Wanfu Cloth Shop. They sell cloth in the front, and in the back there's a cellar, and below the cellar is a branch altar."

How many people?

"I... I only went once and saw five or six people. The number of people coming and going is not fixed, sometimes there are more than ten. I have never seen the leader, I have only heard people call him 'Darughachi'."

Yang Guo went through the information in his mind. Wanfu Cloth Shop, three miles south of the Big Wild Goose Pagoda, a cellar, five to ten people, the leader was probably a Mongol official of the Darughachi level.

"Got it?" Yang Guo turned around and asked Lu Wushuang.

"Wanfu Cloth Shop, three miles south of the Big Wild Goose Pagoda, in the cellar," Lu Wushuang repeated.

Yang Guo nodded and stuffed the strip of cloth back into the shopkeeper's mouth.

He searched the back kitchen and brought out a jar of rapeseed oil. The seal on the jar was cracked, and it was heavy when he picked it up.

He carried the oil jar to the front hall.

Five burly men, their pressure points sealed, lay sprawled across the shop. Tables and chairs were broken, and the air was thick with the smell of sawdust and dust.

Yang Guo poured the rapeseed oil from the jar and splashed it around the base of the wall. The oil seeped into the dry wooden floor, darkening its color instantly.

"Wushuang, search everything of value. Take those three horses out of the backyard too. Don't forget the leather pouches hanging on the saddles; there might be something inside."

"What happens after you lead the horse?"

"Then burn this place down. Every lost spies among the Mongols is a welcome relief. As for the people inside..."

Yang Guo paused for a moment and glanced back at the kitchen.

He didn't finish his sentence.

Lu Wushuang stood still for two breaths.

"I'll do it." Her hand rested on the willow-leaf dagger at her waist.

Yang Guo turned to look at her.

Six months ago, this girl had to close her eyes when she was killing chickens and bleeding them on Zhongnan Mountain. Her wrists were shaking so badly that she missed with her knife and got covered in feathers from the chicken.

"Can you do it?"

"They're Mongol spies." Lu Wushuang drew his knife halfway, the blade gleaming coldly in the dim light of the kitchen. "They don't know how many civilians died in those three villages in Zhouzhi the year before last?"

She didn't look at Yang Guo when she said this; her eyes were fixed on the direction of the kitchen.

Yang Guo didn't say anything more.

He turned and walked to the backyard, pushing open the side door to fetch the horse.

Three Mongolian horses were tethered to wooden stakes. The saddles were crudely made but sturdy, and the leather pouches contained a few pieces of dried meat patties and a jug of mare's milk wine.

Yang Guo removed all the skin pouches and turned them inside out. In the last pouch, he found two copper tokens and a small packet of loose silver.

A few muffled thuds came from the kitchen. The sounds were faint and stopped quickly.

Then came the sound of footsteps.

Lu Wushuang emerged from the kitchen. Her willow-leaf scimitar was sheathed, a few specks of dark liquid clinging to the scabbard. Her face paled slightly, her lips were taut, but her steps remained steady.

The two men led five horses out of the inn's side door. Yang Guo tied the three extra horses together and attached them to the saddle of his own mount.

He paused for a moment, squatting by the oil stains near the doorway, his tinderbox glowing in the dim light. The light from the tinderbox illuminated half of his face, creating a play of light and shadow.

"Let's go, there's no need to stay in this lousy place."

He threw the tinder in.

The oil stains ignited extremely quickly. Blue flames spread along the floor, leaping up the dry wooden walls with crackling sounds. Within a dozen breaths, the fire engulfed the entire front hall, and thick smoke billowed out from the window openings.

The two mounted their horses and galloped back the way they had come.

The night wind rushed into his collar, carrying the acrid smell of burning wood behind him. Yang Guo glanced back and saw that Qingfeng Inn had been reduced to a bonfire, with pillars of fire shooting out of the roof and illuminating half the sky.

After riding for two miles, there were no other pedestrians on the official road. Yang Guo tightened the reins and slowed the horse down.

Are you alright?

Lu Wushuang pursed her lips and remained silent. The sound of horses' hooves pounding on the dirt road carried far into the empty night.

After a long while, she spoke.

"Master, I have six lives on my hands."

"Seven," Yang Guo corrected her. "Including the shopkeeper who broke his leg in the backyard."

Lu Wushuang rolled her eyes at him. "Can't you speak like a human being?"

Yang Guo rode his horse over and reached out to rub the back of her head.

"That's how it is the first time you kill someone. I'll treat you to dinner later; the roasted lamb leg in Chang Le Town is pretty good."

Lu Wushuang lowered her head and muttered, "Who asked you to pay? You want me to sell myself to pay off my debts! Humph..."

But she didn't slap Yang Guo's hand away.