My father forced me to squat for ten years, and the whole village laughed at me as a waste.
That mute father didn't allow me to learn martial arts, and only asked me to do three stupid things: squat before dawn, move rocks under the sun, and look at the moon late at night. I hated him for ten years, hated his useless stupidity, and hated my life that I couldn't hold my head high.
Until that winter night, the men in black massacred the village in search of revenge.
I hid in the woodshed and saw the man who had been silent all his life using the three moves I had practiced for ten years - breaking the sword with two fingers, splitting the ground with one step, and piercing the knee with a stone.
He fell into my arms and said before he died: "What you practice is the magical skill of subduing mountains that has been lost for three hundred years."
A yellowing secret book, a rusty tiger talisman, nineteen veterans who have been waiting for thirty years, a stuttering scholar's fragments, and the silver bell of a barefoot woman guarding her pulse.
There is also a secret that has been hidden under these mountains and rivers for three hundred years.
From Qingya Mountain to He Lanxue, from hating him to understanding him, from being ridiculed to being worshiped——
It took me ten years to learn to hate, one year to learn to forgive, and one punch to learn to pass on.
The stupidest persistence, the heaviest mountains and rivers.
