One hundred thousand yellow sands and one hundred thousand dusts cannot see my old friend deep in the green mountains. We may look back over the years, raise a glass and chat and laugh into the world. Many years later, some people said they had seen a swordsman in blue shirt in Yan'an, whose swordsmanship was as elegant as flowing clouds; some said they had seen a female general in Chongqing, who was superb with short swords; and some said they had seen an old man with white hair in Taiwan, who always cleaned an old sword on full-moon nights.
Winter, sixth year of the Republic of China.
On the top of Jade Girl Peak in Huashan Mountain, the snow fell silently.
Chen Qingping was sitting cross-legged in front of the cave. His beard and hair were all white. Three bone-penetrating nails were inserted into his chest. His blood had condensed into dark purple. With trembling hands, he took out a bronze ring from his arms and put it into the palm of the young man kneeling in front of him.
"Six lives... Remember... Tai Chi Sect... The treasure of the sect, "Shanhe Policy"... Was killed by Jiang..."
Before the words could be heard, the man had died.
Thirteen-year-old Li Liusheng clutched the ring tightly, and the half-broken Tai Chi diagram on the ring made his palms ache. He kowtowed three times to his master's body, turned around and walked into the wind and snow.
On the mountain road in the distance, seven or eight figures of men in black were approaching quickly. The leader had a ferocious scar on his face.
Ten years later.
The waves of the Huangpu River lap at the mottled stone steps of Shiliupu Wharf.
