After many years, I wrote this transcript.
In the autumn of 2007, I was still running errands in Hongqiao, Tianjin, and a copper token excavated from the demolition abruptly tore my eight years of hiding into pieces.
Each of the six major martial arts schools in Tongyi Hall maintains its own territory. Some adhere to the ancestral precepts and value friendship, while others abandon the rules and pursue windfall wealth. I have abandoned my membership and abandoned my apprenticeship. Without the protection of a master, I have no top martial arts skills. I can only rely on the old rules of worshiping the dock, splitting accounts between three and seven, and keeping a line in everything to survive step by step among the various factions.
From the Antique Alley in Northern Jiangsu to the General Hall of Tianjin, from the camel caravan in the Hexi Gobi to the old stage of Dali, I have seen first-class warriors subdue everyone with just their breath, and they have also seen through the fragile friendships in the face of interests.
When smart phones became popular and surveillance was spread all over the streets, the vast network that trapped everyone was finally closed by the times.
I write all the old things on paper, just to retain a period of old martial arts days in the market that I can never get back.
