Wen the Old Man barged through the door. With a deafening crash, he pointed at Wen Dao, his mouth twisted and eyes glaring, and shouted, "Wen Dao! Learn from Zhu Kehua! You're both from Jixiang Town, but Zhu Kehua has already become the greatest warlord under heaven. He's even been made a prince by the Yang court, ruling over his own territory! You spend all day doing nothing, and you keep disappearing on me! What have you been doing? What could you possibly be doing?"
Wen Dao had long since gone from being annoyed to being thoroughly fed up with Old Man Wen's daily nagging. After the old man finished his tirade and left, apparently satisfied, Wen Dao immediately returned to the bed and lifted the bedding. Inside lay a long, dark-gray sword. He thought: Zhu Kehua! He's been a worthless hell-raiser since childhood! Has that scoundrel finally managed to make it big?
When Wen Dao was eight, the leader of the Assassin Sect, who had come to Jixiang Town on a tour, recognized his talent and secretly brought him into the sect to train. Old Man Wen knew nothing about it. The Assassin Sect was, after all, a sect that kept itself hidden from everyone in the world.
"Zhu Kehua! I hear you slaughter people without restraint and persecute loyal, good men. If someone like you overthrows the Yang court and rules the world, will there be any hope left for the kindhearted common folk or the righteous? I, Wen Dao, will devote every last bit of my strength and effort to taking you down!"
