Chapter 3

Guo Jing: “Brother Zhang, why humiliate yourself like this? Out on the road, who doesn’t run into trouble? Even a stranger in need, I’d lend a hand—how much more so when we’re comrades journeying through the myriad worlds? By the way, is the money I sent you enough? If not, I’ll find another way to raise more for you.”

Zhang Chu’an: “More than enough, more than enough—I haven’t actually hit any real trouble. I just think money makes things easier, and the more the better. Since you’ve sent it to me, I’ll keep it for now and use it for investment. How about we split the profits fifty-fifty?”

Guo Jing: “No.”

Zhang Chu’an: “Then let’s—”

Guo Jing: “I don’t want any return on investment. If you profit, just return the principal. My mother taught me since childhood that helping others isn’t for repayment—it’s out of inner righteousness. If I took your repayment, how could I ever become a great hero?”

Nie Huaishang: “Well said! Brother Guo has truly opened my eyes today. You will surely become a hero worthy of reverence.”

Zhang Xiaofan: “Brother Guo is truly admirable.”

Zhang Xiaofan: “Brother Guo, you won’t become a great hero—you’re on a different level entirely. You’ll become a colossal hero. Brother Guo, I recommend you read a wuxia novel called The Legend of the Condor Heroes. After reading it, I’m sure you won’t regret it.”

Guo Jing: “All right, then I’ll go buy a few copies.”

Guo Jing, having left the chat group, asked his family’s driver, Old Liu: “Uncle Liu, have you heard of a book called The Legend of the Condor Heroes?”

“Young master, you don’t even know The Legend of the Condor Heroes? Then again, you’ve been buried in books since you could remember—no time for computers or TV, let alone wuxia novels. But young master, The Legend of the Condor Heroes was our youth. You can’t imagine how wildly popular Jin Yong’s novel was back then.”

As Old Liu spoke, his eyes lit up and his words flowed endlessly—until he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Guo Jing’s stunned expression, causing him to pause in confusion.

“Young sir, what’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

Guo Jing waved his hand dismissively. “No, Uncle Liu. I’m just curious about this wuxia novel—I’d like to read it.”

“Of course! To be honest, I was a die-hard Jin Yong fan—I own every one of his novels. Tonight, I’ll bring them home for you.”

“Thank you so much,” Guo Jing said, then lay back to nap, hiding his inner shock. Could that Guo Jing be me? My own story is being told as a novel in another world.

“Heh, who would’ve thought? This world has terrifying science and organizations far more cohesive than the myriad immortal sects—and even stories of Zhang Xiaofan and Guo Jing’s world. Too bad there’s no story of him and Zhang Chu’an.” Inside the Shanghai Cultural Art Museum, Nie Huaishang, having just left the chat group, silently sighed in regret.

He had read both The Sword of Zhuxian and The Legend of the Condor Heroes. Honestly, he never imagined that the unassuming Guo Jing and Zhang Xiaofan would one day rise to such heights.

As for Zhang Xiaofan—forget it. The combat power in The Sword of Zhuxian was terrifying. Even with the Five Volumes of Heavenly Books, Zhang Xiaofan remained the absolute peak of power in his world.

In their world, that power could have slaughtered every immortal sect. Even Master Baoshan couldn’t stop him. As for Guo Jing, limited by his world’s level, even reaching the Five Greats’ martial prowess meant little in their world.

But Guo Jing’s strength wasn’t martial skill. After reading The Legend of the Condor Heroes, Nie Huaishang could only describe him in one phrase: this man is a born commander.

He led ten thousand troops on his first campaign and captured Chagatai and Jochi—two seasoned generals—without heavy losses.

That command talent was terrifying. As for online claims that Guo Jing only won against Jochi and Chagatai thanks to the Wu Mu Legacy and Huang Rong, Nie Huaishang thought those people were nothing but keyboard heroes who only talked big.

As the younger brother of the Nie Clan Lord of Qinghe, Nie Huaishang knew managing ten thousand pigs wasn’t easy—you had to feed them, water them, manage their waste, and arrange their sleep. Managing ten thousand people was far harder, because people had will and initiative—ten thousand people meant ten thousand different thoughts.

Which keyboard hero could honestly swear he could lead a ten-thousand-person tour group and bring them all back safely?

But can leading a ten-thousand-person tour even be compared to commanding ten thousand soldiers in battle? Especially when your opponents are Jochi and Chagatai—rare generals of their age?

And Guo Jing achieved this on his very first campaign. Nie Huaishang could only call him a born commander.

But if Guo Jing and Zhang Xiaofan are both so extraordinary, then what of Zhang Chu’an? Is he truly as selfish, cowardly, vile, and shameless as he appears—or is he simply putting on the persona everyone expects?

If so, then Zhang Chu’an’s mind runs deep, Nie Huaishang thought.

Unconsciously, Nie Huaishang walked to the windowsill. His gaze passed through the window, over the bustling city, finally settling on the towering Pearl Tower. That tower stood like a straight, sharp sword, piercing the heavens, plunging into the clouds. Farther away, Lujiazui was a sea of prosperity—skyscrapers rose like forests, lights blazing brilliantly, like glittering pearls embedded upon the earth.

The Lotus Pond of the Jiang Clan of Yunmeng was famed for its tranquil ponds and blooming lotuses; the Cloud Deep Unknown of the Lan Clan of Gusu resembled a fairyland, veiled in mist, forever unfathomable; the Golden Terrace of the Jin Clan of Lanling gleamed with gold and splendor, radiating endless wealth and nobility; the Ever-Night City of the Wen Clan of Qishan burned with light as bright as day, showcasing its unceasing prosperity and vitality. Yet none of these famed landscapes could compare to the city before him. This city was a true miracle.

Only when he stepped into the myriad worlds did he realize how narrow his former perspective had been.

As an immortal cultivator, he had always looked down on mortals, regarding them as insignificant dust. But this scene shattered his perception, reducing his cultivator’s pride to rubble. He was stunned to discover that mortals—those beings he once deemed worthless—could live so well, so brilliantly, without any protection from immortal cultivators.

If the evils of their world came here, could they withstand a single artillery shell? Could the Yiling Burial Mound, which terrified the immortal sects, survive a single atomic bomb? Could the immortal sects defeat a single heavy combined arms brigade? Could they defeat twenty-nine?

Before these mortals, we immortal clans are truly the vermin.