Guo Jing's face, usually as calm and solid as a mountain, was twitching violently in every feature.
Huang Rong'er's heart skipped a beat as well.
The husband and wife exchanged a quick glance.
They had heard those two words clearly, shrieked out at the top of his lungs by that little beggar.
"Yang Guo!"
In the next instant, Guo Jing took three steps in two, dashing back into the ruined temple like a man possessed.
Rubble and dry twigs crunched loudly under his heavy boots.
Beside the straw mat, Aniu was still holding up Yang Guo.
Feeding him water with one hand...
...and gently patting his cheek with the other.
Aniu suddenly looked up and saw that the great hero from moments ago had rushed back, charging right up to them with bloodshot eyes.
Frightened out of his wits, his hand trembled, nearly dropping the jade bottle in his grip onto the ground.
Guo Jing asked with a trembling voice:
"Little brother... what did you just call him?"
Stunned by his intense demeanor, Aniu stammered and pulled his neck back:
"Yang... Yang Guo."
Guo Jing's chest plunged violently, his breathing skipping half a beat:
"W-Which Yang? Which Guo?!"
Aniu was even more bewildered, gesturing wildly with both hands in the air:
"The 'Yang' as in poplar tree... and 'Guo' as in passing by!"
Guo Jing froze completely, and Huang Rong slowly approached.
She looked at the youth on the straw mat; his face was veiled by tangled hair and smudged with dust.
Earlier they had been focused solely on treating his injury, so neither had taken a close look at his face.
Guo Jing asked again:
"Did he ever mention..."
"...if he has a courtesy name?"
Aniu scratched his head and said:
"I don't know."
Little Shitou, however, suddenly remembered:
"He does!"
"I think he mentioned it before."
Guo Jing snapped his head over:
"What is it?"
Little Shitou tried hard to recall:
"It sounded like... something about correcting one's faults."
"Oh, right! It's Gaizhi."
A loud boom echoed in Guo Jing's mind, leaving his thoughts completely blank.
His large hands trembled violently as he grabbed his expensive Shu brocade cloud-patterned sleeve.
He plunged the sleeve directly into the chipped, broken water bowl beside them.
Guo Jing's hands shook like a leaf as he gently brushed aside the matted hair on Yang Guo's forehead.
Using his wet sleeve, he wiped away the dust on Yang Guo's face bit by bit.
The forehead, brow bones, bridge of the nose, cheeks... until all the grime was cleared away.
The youth's appearance finally revealed itself piece by piece.
It was the handsome face of a youth, featuring sharp contours and a high-bridged nose.
Sword-shaped eyebrows slanted into his temples. Even with his eyes tightly shut, the corners of his mouth still held a subtle, innate stubbornness and unyielding pride.
Those eyes, those features, that facial structure...
...bore a striking resemblance to the spirited young prince Yang Kang, clad in white furs in the Prince of Zhao's Manor all those years ago!
Guo Jing was a seven-foot tall man who had once charged into an army camp of ten thousand troops without batting an eye even with a blade pressed against his neck.
Yet at this very moment, staring at this face, both of his eyes turned blood-red in an instant.
Two lines of scalding tears burst from his eyes, falling with soft splatters onto the tattered cloth of Yang Guo's chest.
Guo Jing slowly turned his head to look at Huang Rong standing beside him, his voice choking up so much he could barely form a coherent tone:
"Rong'er... it's Guo'er!"
"It really is Guo'er!"
Guo Jing could no longer restrain himself; he gathered the unconscious Yang Guo into his arms in a desperate embrace.
His broad, sturdy arms wrapped tighter and tighter around him, wishing he could grind all the self-blame and guilt of the past dozen years right into his very flesh and blood.
Choked in his grip, Yang Guo's ribs throbbed with pain, and a faint cough escaped his throat.
Guo Jing suddenly snapped back to his senses, hurriedly releasing his hold to lay Yang Guo flat on the straw mat:
"Rong'er! Nine-Flower Jade Dew Pill! Quick!!"
Huang Rong's eye corners were already slightly moist. She stepped forward quickly and poured out a fragrant, clear pill from the white jade bottle.
Aniu and Little Shitou were both stunned.
In their eyes, these two people had generously given medicine earlier and possessed an attire that clearly marked them as extraordinary figures of the jianghu.
And yet now...
...they were actually hugging Yang Guo and crying?
Huang Rong gently pinched Yang Guo's mouth, and with a light flick of her finger, the pill slid down Yang Guo's throat and into his stomach.
Without the slightest hesitation, Guo Jing sat cross-legged on the spot.
He propped Yang Guo up and pressed his two broad, steady hands onto Yang Guo's thin, frail back.
The purest Daoist internal energy of the Quanzhen Sect flowed slowly into Yang Guo's body like warm spring water.
As the medicine dissolved and the internal energy circulated...
...in less than the time it takes to burn half an incense stick, the blackened skin of Yang Guo's palm gradually took on a warm, healthy flush.
"Mm..."
A faint groan trickled from Yang Guo's lips.
His eyelids fluttered several times before slowly opening a crack.
The glaring daylight, mixed with swirling dust, made his eyes sting.
Huang Rong bent down, her clean, elegant face softening with a gentleness she rarely displayed, as she spoke:
"Guo'er, you're awake?"
Guo Jing hurriedly withdrew his palm power. Half-kneeling on the ground beside him, he carefully supported Yang Guo's shoulder, grinning broadly through a face full of tears:
"Guo'er!"
Yang Guo opened his eyes slightly and looked at the two of them.
The man squatting before him had a broad, thick build like a towering iron mountain.
His broad face had thick eyebrows and large eyes, carrying a dignified and righteous demeanor, yet the look he gave him was filled with heartbreak and tender affection.
The woman standing beside him held a translucent, jade-green bamboo staff.
She wore a dress of white and green; her delicate, ethereal grace could not be concealed, and her eyes held a keen intelligence that could see right through people.
As a transmigrator, the string in Yang Guo's mind instantly snapped tight.
Guo Jing! Huang Rong!
This was the world-renowned hero, Guo Jing.
As he looked at the two before him, a massive surge of emotion welled up in his heart.
In his memory, he had stayed up late reading 《The Return of the Condor Heroes》, picturing the tragic final battle of Xiangyang in his head before falling asleep and transmigrating here.
Flame and blood surged atop the walls of Xiangyang City.
With martial arts that reached the heavens, if Guo Jing and Huang Rong wanted to leave when the city fell, who under the heavens could stop them even a single step?
Yet this honest, righteous grand hero naturally would not abandon the common people of Xiangyang to survive alone.
He had chosen the most tragic path—to live and die with the city, sacrificing his life for his country.
A true hero of the nation.
Awe and shock collided within him, making Yang Guo's mind short-circuit as he blurted out numbly:
"Guo... Hero Guo? Chief Huang?"
The ecstatic joy on Guo Jing's face froze instantly, as if he had taken a heavy blow to the chest.
Hero Guo?
Chief Huang?
How distant! How strange!
Over the years, it wasn't that Guo Jing hadn't searched for Yang Guo and his mother.
Mu Nianci had always possessed an unyielding, proud spirit.
Gentle on the outside yet strong within, she knew full well how deeply Ke Zhen'e hated the name 'Yang'.
She had no wish to live under another's roof.
Besides, she had no fixed home, drifting across various parts of Jiangnan with Yang Guo.
Later, when she fell ill, she brought Yang Guo back to Jiaxing.
Seeking medical care depleted all her savings, casting them into the most obscure corner of Jiaxing City.
After Mu Nianci passed away from her illness, Yang Guo fell into complete poverty, becoming a little beggar.
Beggars had no household registration, much less a permanent shelter.
One night they might sleep in a ruined temple west of the city, and the next they might huddle in a dilapidated kiln to the east.
This month they might be in the southern part of town, until the government chased them off or local thugs fought over territory.
The very next day, they would drift elsewhere with a group of beggars.
Guo Jing had asked friends in the jianghu to make inquiries and had even come to Jiaxing personally several times to look for them.
Yet when jianghu people searched for someone, they looked through sects, escort agencies, inns, and acquaintances.
Where Yang Guo moved was among ruined temples, vegetable markets, docks, and the bases of city walls.
At times, both parties were clearly in the exact same city, yet it was as if they were separated by two entirely different worlds.
There were even a few times when Guo Jing and Yang Guo were only a short distance apart.
Yet in the end, they still passed each other by.
In the end, it was not that Guo Jing hadn't searched.
It was simply that in this world, a child with no father, no mother, and no idea where his next meal would come from...
...disappearing into a sea of people was all too easy.
Guo Jing could only hope for the best later on.
Perhaps Yang Guo would live well.
Perhaps staying with his mother, life might be bitter and austere...
...but at least he would have someone to accompany and care for him.
Yet now, what was he looking at?
A ruined temple, broken earthenware jars, a chipped bowl, and a tattered straw mat.
Beside him were two little beggars clad in equally ragged clothes.
An intense pang of heartache struck Guo Jing's soul.
"All these years..."
"...this is how Guo'er has been living?"
Tears gushed from Guo Jing's eyes once more. He tightly grabbed Yang Guo's cold, thin wrist, his voice cracking with desperation:
"Guo'er!"
"I am your Uncle Guo!"
He clutched the robe at his chest, his heart aching as if pierced by knives:
"Your Uncle Guo has let you down!"
"If only I had found you years earlier... how could you have ended up wandering the streets!"
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