In the year Yang Guo turned twelve, he had two ultimate wishes.
First, don't lose an arm.
Second, don't starve to death.
The former was still a ways off, but the latter was an urgent crisis right in front of him.
"Yang Guo..."
"Aniu's burning up with fever again. He's hot to the touch."
In a pile of straw in the corner of the ruined temple, Little Shitou pulled his hand back from Aniu's forehead, his face wrinkled like a steamed bun.
Aniu was three years older than Yang Guo and usually ate enough for two.
Yesterday, he could still fight a wild dog for half an hour over half a moldy flatbread, but today he was breathing more out than in.
Yang Guo crouched down and reached out to feel Aniu's forehead.
"Did you go ask at the pharmacy?"
Little Shitou pulled three copper coins from his shirt and said with a tearful voice:
"The fever-reducing herbs cost eighteen coppers."
"We only have three coppers in total. We can't even buy the leftover dregs."
Yang Guo stared at the three coppers and fell silent for two seconds.
"What about Old Man Wang?"
Little Shitou hung his head.
"He doesn't have any either."
"That bastard Liu San went to collect protection money again this morning. He said he'd smash the stall if Old Man Wang didn't pay up."
"He took all twenty-two coppers Old Man Wang earned selling flatbread today."
At the mention of Liu San, Yang Guo's eyelids drooped.
Liu San was a notorious local ruffian in the western district of Jiaxing, targeting only soft targets he could bully.
In his twenties, he didn't do a single honest day's work.
He ate without paying, drank on credit, and loved wandering the streets with his two henchmen when he had nothing better to do.
He specialized in picking on the old, weak, sick, and disabled.
When he ran into armed escort guards, he was more polite than anyone.
But when he bumped into old men and women selling vegetables, his voice rang louder than a brass gong.
Yang Guo held no grudge against him—or more accurately, had held no grudge before.
Old Man Wang had sold flatbread for most of his life.
Every day when closing his stall, he would always save a few flatbreads for Yang Guo and the other young beggars.
So if Liu San took other people's money, it was none of Yang Guo's business.
But taking Old Man Wang's money?
That wouldn't fly!
Yang Guo turned and headed straight out. "Let's go."
Little Shitou stood frozen. "Where to?"
"To get money."
"How?"
Yang Guo turned around and patted his forehead.
"Mind your own business!"
"You're still wet behind the ears. Certain businesses aren't for kids your age to know about."
Little Shitou's eyes lit up, and he leaned in, lowering his voice.
"Are we gonna steal?"
Smack!
Yang Guo flicked his forehead.
"Can you call this stealing?"
"Liu San stole Old Man Wang's hard-earned money. We're just retrieving it and returning it to its rightful owner."
"This is upholding justice."
Little Shitou held his red forehead and pouted.
"Isn't that still stealing..."
Yang Guo gave him a side-eye and shook his head.
"Kid, your comprehension skills are terrible."
"You won't last long in the jianghu like this."
...
At the entrance of the west street, the stench of alcohol filled the air.
Liu San had just stumbled out of a tavern. The cloth pouch at his waist hung heavy, jingling with coins.
Yang Guo squatted under a broken wall diagonally opposite, clutching half a piece of unleavened bread hard as a brick, his eyes fixed on Liu San's waist.
Little Shitou shrank behind him and tugged at his clothes. "Yang Guo, he has two henchmen with him!"
"I'm not blind, I see them."
"What do we do then? If we get caught, we'll definitely get beaten up!"
Yang Guo swallowed the last bite of hard bread and stretched his ankles.
"Just watch the show from behind."
"Remember, if I get caught later, don't get reckless and rush out."
"Why?"
"If one more person gets beaten up, the medicine bill doubles. Can you do the math?"
Little Shitou immediately shrank back behind the wall and nodded.
"Makes sense."
Yang Guo straightened his ragged short jacket and walked straight toward Liu San.
When Mu Nianci was alive, she had taught him some basic martial arts moves.
It wasn't much, just a few moves of the Carefree Stroll Palm.
Due to the short time, he had only learned three to five stances.
Internal energy was out of the question.
After all, Mu Nianci herself was hardly a first-rate master.
But Yang Guo had noticed since he was little.
Setting aside how good this palm technique was for fighting...
A few of its turns, evasive footwork, and close-body techniques were exceptionally handy for swiping things.
Liu San puffed out his stomach as he walked over, reeking of alcohol.
The moment they brushed past each other, the tip of Yang Guo's right foot suddenly slipped in the mud. He lurched as if tripped by a stone, crashing headlong into Liu San's chest.
"Which blind dog is this?!" Liu San cursed loudly, raising a palm to push him away.
Yang Guo whipped backward with the force of the push, leveraging the waist-twisting footwork of the Carefree Stroll Palm, his left hand brushing past and scooping at Liu San's lower back.
There was a soft riiiiip.
The next instant, Yang Guo fell heavily into the mud.
Liu San looked down, brushed his dirty lapel, and spat:
"Where did this beggar come from? In a rush to reincarnate?!"
Yang Guo clutched his knees, rolling on the ground and wailing:
"Master, spare me! I haven't had a bite to eat or a drop to drink in three days! My legs are too weak to move!"
The two thugs beside Liu San doubled over with laughter.
"Alright, Third Brother, why bother with a little beggar? Let's go, let's go, we need to get to the brothel."
Liu San spewed a few more curses and strutted away arrogant as ever.
Once the three turned deep into the alley, Yang Guo's tragic wails abruptly ceased.
He slowly climbed to his feet, patted the dirt off his rear, and grinned wide.
Little Shitou darted out from the wall corner, full of anxiety. "Yang Guo! Did that hurt?"
"Nonsense, of course a real fall hurts!"
"Then why are you grinning so wide?"
Yang Guo shook a gray cloth money pouch out of his tattered sleeve.
He bounced it in his hand twice, the heavy clinking of copper coins sounding crisp and pleasant.
"I made a fortune, should I cry instead of laugh?"
Little Shitou's mouth slowly drifted open. "When did you swipe that? I didn't even blink, and I still didn't see it!"
Yang Guo chuckled. "If you could see it, Liu San definitely would have seen it."
He pulled open the drawstring and poured the contents into his palm—a full fifty-plus coppers.
Swiftly and nimbly, he counted out twenty-two coppers and stuffed them into Little Shitou's hand.
"This is Old Man Wang's flatbread money."
He counted out another twenty coppers.
"This is for Aniu's medicine."
Finally, around ten-plus copper coins remained in his palm.
Little Shitou swallowed his saliva and whispered:
"Yang Guo, I'm a bit hungry."
Yang Guo pocketed the coins and looked at him.
"What a coincidence, me too."
...
Yang Guo and Little Shitou forced the twenty-two copper coins back into Old Man Wang's hands.
The old man stubbornly chased after them and shoved three piping-hot, freshly steamed flatbreads into their hands.
The fragrant aroma of flour filled the air, so hot they had to toss the bread back and forth between their hands.
Yang Guo took a big bite without the slightest pretense of politeness.
They were young beggars who frequently went hungry, sometimes nearly starving to death to meet King Yama.
When your stomach is about to be burned through with hunger, acting overly polite just means you think you've lived too long.
This body was only twelve years old, its skeleton not yet fully developed.
Twelve years ago, when he opened his eyes and saw Mu Nianci's sallow yet gentle face, Yang Guo's mind had gone completely blank.
It was only when the woman softly called him "Guo'er" that he woke up completely—
As a high school student in his past life, after pulling an all-nighter reading 《The Return of the Condor Heroes》 and imagining the tragedy of the final battle of Xiangyang and the martyrdom of Guo Jing's family...
He had fallen asleep feeling deeply distressed, only to wake up having transmigrated directly into the world of Condor Heroes.
Over these years, he had long accepted reality.
Transmigration was transmigration.
No system, so be it.
His mother later passed away from illness as well.
Only after spending a few years as an actual beggar did he truly come to realize it.
It was easy for a book to casually state "making a living by begging," but when it actually fell on one's own head, life was not easy in the slightest.
A child of just a few years trying to survive alone in this world was far less simple than imagined.
If you fell sick, no one cared.
If you got beaten, no one helped you up.
Half a mantou earned with great difficulty could be snatched away the moment you turned around.
That was why over these years, Yang Guo had gradually gained Little Shitou and Aniu as companions who were equally homeless.
The three of them squeezed into a ruined temple, sharing whatever food they had, and at least looking out for each other if someone tried to bully them.
He had endured all of this.
But there were two things he absolutely could not accept.
In the future: Little Dragon Maiden's purity, and his own arm.
Why should he?
Other transmigrators got a system, or at the very least were born into a wealthy, prominent clan.
Yet when it came to him, he was even booked for a lifelong disability later down the line.
God was definitely taking things personally against him.
Naturally, Yang Guo knew about many opportunities.
The Nine Yin Manual.
The Jade Maiden Heart Manual.
Dugu Sword Tomb.
The Heavy Dark Iron Sword.
He even knew the benefits of the Bodhisattva serpent gallbladder.
But the reality was harsh: where was he supposed to find them?
A twelve-year-old kid.
No money, no horse, and no map.
If he really dared to plunge headlong into the deep mountains to look for Dugu Sword Tomb...
Who knew whether he'd see Brother Condor or not.
But the wolves, tigers, and leopards would definitely feast on him first.
So over these years, Yang Guo had stayed very honest and low-profile.
At least in most things.
Surviving when he needed to, swiping a chicken when he needed to.
As for the future?
Lay low—lay low first and worry about it later.
...
After buying the medicine, Yang Guo fished out another two copper coins and bought half a bag of broken rice.
Passing by the steamed bun shop at the street corner, the steamer lid was just lifted, sending white steam wrapped in meat fragrance shooting right into their nostrils.
Little Shitou's legs felt like they were filled with lead; he couldn't move a single step, his eyes glued to the meat buns.
The owner of the bun shop grew so uncomfortable from his staring that he yelled, "If you're not buying, beat it!"
Yang Guo walked ahead a few steps, then turned back with a dark face and grabbed him by the back of his collar. "Are you coming or not?"
Little Shitou's eyes didn't budge at all:
"Yang Guo, that meat bun just spoke to me. It begged me to eat it."
Yang Guo dragged Little Shitou away like a dead dog.
"What it said was for you to stay away so your drool doesn't fall into the steamer."
Walking to the diagonal corner at the end of the street, Yang Guo paused and stopped in his tracks.
Sitting on the bluestone steps was an old monk.
His beard and eyebrows were completely white, and the wrinkles on his face were deeper than old tree bark, making him look at least over a hundred years old.
His monk robe was faded from many washings, and he wore a pair of old straw sandals on his feet.
His appearance was hardly different from the two of them being beggars.
But the old monk held a mud-sealed wine jar in his hands.
The moment the wine jar opened, the rich, mellow aroma wafted straight to the nose.
Yang Guo's nose twitched.
That was aged Nu'er Hong wine from Drunken Immortal Restaurant, the cheapest jar of which would cost at least three hundred coppers.
Worldly justice really was non-existent.
A monk guzzling three-hundred-copper aged wine like water, while a transmigrator munched on a one-copper piece of flatbread.
Yang Guo narrowed his eyes and lowered his gaze.
Now in late autumn with a chilly wind, pedestrians on the street all shivered with their necks tucked in.
Yet the old monk, clad only in a single layer and straw sandals, sat right in the draft with his body as straight and firm as a slab of bluestone.
No runny nose, no trembling wrists.
It had just rained last night, and the ground around was covered in messy mud, yet the soles of the old monk's sandals were so clean they barely had a speck of mud on them.
What caught the eye most was a gray cloth pouch casually tied around the old monk's waist.
It hung heavy, possessing considerable weight.
Yang Guo pressed his palms together and muttered softly under his breath:
"Amitabha, Lord Buddha, please don't take offense. Today I'm doing a reverse alms solicitation. Once I strike it rich in the future, I'll definitely re-gild your golden statue."
Beside him, Little Shitou was dumbfounded. "Yang Guo, are monks allowed to drink alcohol?"
Yang Guo said softly, "Normally, no."
Little Shitou asked, "Then why is he drinking?"
Yang Guo replied:
"That's why I suspect..."
"...he's definitely no good monk."
Little Shitou rolled his eyes.
"Then..."
Yang Guo took a step forward:
"A scum of the Buddhist order..."
"...is everyone's business to deal with."
Little Shitou hurried to keep up. "How do we deal with him?"
Yang Guo continued:
"By safekeeping his money..."
"...so he doesn't keep breaking the precepts."
Rate on N.U.
