The Return of the Condor Heroes: I, Jinlun, Refuse to Be a Tool

The cold wind outside the tent carried the thud of Mongolian hooves, slicing through the silence inside like a dull knife. Jinlun Fawang, or rather, the transmigrator now inhabiting his body, slowly opened his eyes. His gaze moved from the rough wool felt overhead. His palm instinctively covered his chest, where a familiar dull ache lingered: an old wound left from the body’s fight with Guo Jing.

“Your Holiness, you’re awake?” The tent flap lifted gently, and a man in the uniform of a Mongolian bodyguard stepped inside, bowing as he carried a steaming bowl of goat’s milk. His eyes held a mixture of reverence and wary curiosity…