But not only did no one gather around, people actually started to keep their distance, and even those few who were brave enough only dared to sneak a peek from around the corner.

  "This person suddenly started practicing martial arts in the street. Could he have lost his mind?" Guo Dalu had been practicing confidently at first but gradually began to realize something was off.

  Thankfully, he quickly had an epiphany.

  "I'm practicing real martial arts, no fshy moves or fancy footwork. These ordinary people surely can't appreciate it. Fine, I'll do something impressive to show them!"

  With this thought, Guo Dalu suddenly performed a somersault, and with a "bang," he broke a rge hole in the wall behind him with a punch. Then with a "whoosh," he kicked over the stone pilr used for tying horses at the street corner—of course, his own pants were torn in the process.

  The street was filled with gasps of surprise, and suddenly everyone scattered in panic. A few shops even locked their doors, thinking a madman who had taken the wrong medicine was loose on the streets.

  That was how Guo Dalu's street performance went. After practicing a round of his martial arts and adding a few extra moves, he ended up with nothing but a pair of torn pants.

  Why didn’t his story sound as noble as other fallen heroes’?

  Well, that's just how things are—many things in life sound beautiful in theory, but when you actually try to do them, they don't turn out so great.

  That night, Guo Dalu went to sleep on the offering table in an old temple, his stomach growling with hunger.

  Of course, he could have gone to the best restaurant for a meal and stayed at the finest inn afterward, but our hero, though somewhat confused, would never stoop to being zy. There were certain things he would rather die than do.

  "Even if I were to become a thief, I would be a great robber, never a petty thief who steals chickens and dogs." By the afternoon of the next day, Guo Dalu suddenly thought about becoming a thief.

  This idea came to him out of nowhere—even he didn’t know where it came from—perhaps it had something to do with his stomach, which was nearly worn through with hunger.

  "Being a thief isn't so bad; there are many righteous bandits who rob the rich to help the poor. Haven't their stories been passed down for generations in the martial world?"

  So, Guo Dalu decided he would become a bandit, of course, a righteous and noble one.

  This time, he was determined to succeed, with no room for failure.

  "To do something well, you must first pn it thoroughly."

  What should he pn for as a thief?

  First, of course, he needed to find a suitable target—someone who was very rich and cruel, and if they were a corrupt official, that would be even better.

  If you rob someone like that, not only would no one bme you, they would actually appud you.

  Guo Dalu perked up and began searching around. After a long while, he finally found his target.

  It was a rge mansion situated on the side of a mountain, grand and imposing in its architecture.

  This suggests that the homeowner must be very wealthy.

  The mansion is located far from the city, in a remote and desote area, almost completely isoted. The nearest pce to the house is a cemetery.

  This indicates that the homeowner is not an upright person, as an upright person would never live in such a pce.

  All the conditions are perfect. Now, all that's left is to wait for the right moment to make a move.

  The most suitable time, naturally, is at night.

  But Guo Dalu couldn't wait any longer. He barged into the house at dusk.

  The first thing he saw was a bed.

  A very rge, very comfortable bed.

  And on the bed y a person.

  Aside from that, he saw nothing else.

  The mansion was spacious, with grand architecture. It had at least thirty rooms, front and back. The rgest room was big enough to accommodate over a dozen banquet tables.

  But all the rooms, front and back, were empty. Even the kitchen was empty.

  Guo Dalu was stunned.

  The person lying on the bed wasn't asleep. His eyes were wide open the whole time, but even as Guo Dalu ran around searching every corner, the man paid him no attention.

  Finally, Guo Dalu couldn't hold back anymore. He rushed to the man's bedside, wanting to ask him what was going on.

  But the man spoke first, "Did you find anything valuable?"

  Guo Dalu could only shake his head.

  The man sighed and said, "I knew you wouldn't find anything. I've been searching for three days, and even the st broken iron pot was traded for pancakes. If you can still find something, you're truly something else." He wasn′t bad-looking, but his face was sallow and thin, and his voice was weak, as if he hadn′t eaten for days.

  Yet the bed he was lying on was undeniably a fine bed.

  How could such a good bed still be in this empty mansion? And what was this man doing lying on it?

  Guo Dalu couldn't help but ask, "What kind of pce is this?"

  The man replied, "Speaking of the owner of this mansion, he's quite famous."

  Guo Dalu asked, "Famous? For what?"

  The man said, "Have you heard of Fugui Mountain Vil? This is Fugui Mountain Vil."

  (T/N: 富贵山庄; Fùguì Shānzhuāng, means Prosperity Mountain Vil)

  Guo Dalu almost couldn't stop himself from shouting, "Fugui Mountain Vil? This godforsaken pce is called Fugui Mountain Vil?"

  The man replied, "Exactly. Just as a fat person can become thin, Fugui Mountain Vil can become poor. What's so strange about that?"

  Guo Dalu asked, "Then who are you? What are you doing in this ghostly pce?"

  The man cleared his throat and said, "Where else would I be? I'm the seventh-generation master of Fugui Mountain Vil."

  Guo Dalu was stunned once again.