On the day when the Prime Minister married my childhood sweetheart, I died quietly in the woodshed. No one in the house could detect my breath, but they didn't know that I was the last inheritor of the Turtle Breathing Technique in the world. When the prime minister was regretting and weeping at my grave, I had already slipped away to the south of the Yangtze River, drinking wine and listening to music on a painted boat, and pinched the handsome scholar's face. This day was supposed to be a happy one, until one day a heavy rain washed away my ancestral grave, and the Prime Minister discovered that my coffin was only stuffed with a bundle of rotten straw. That day, the powerful prime minister threw the tea cup and vowed to find me even if he overturned the whole world.
