No. 110 Courtyard on Rongxian Street should actually be considered a small residential neighbourhood. It was just that the small neighbourhood only had one building, hence the name.

In the past, it was a public housing built by a work unit. The construction of the building preserved a special characteristic of old public housings from the past: shadow on the north, light from the south^[1]. Every floor had a narrow public corridor running along the northern side from the east to the west, while on the southern side was a row of ten apartments sitting side-by-side. Everyone shared one elevator. Later on, after the work unit was gone, the public housing also went through a "housing reform." Via the residents' voluntary purchase of the apartments, it became a housing property that could be bought and sold in the market.

The building was constructed in 1990. The babies born after '90 were already losing hair in large amounts, so there was naturally a limit to how fresh and beautiful the buildings that were the same age as them could be. The walls were mottled, and from the rusty railings to the narrow stairs, there was nothing that didn't show the sign of old age.

But even though the building was rather old, the environment in that little neighbourhood was pretty good. It was sparsely populated and tranquil, and after twenty years, the trees had also grown verdant. Walking into the courtyard in summer, a person would feel that it was cooler than the outside by five degrees. The location was also good, barely two stops away from the CBD or less than twenty minutes' walk. The large gate on the neighbourhood's west side directly faced a bilingual kindergarten. Fifty meters out of the large gate on the east side, there was a decent public primary school that had moved there a few years ago. Hence, this place could be considered a "school district residence." Most ordinary folk wouldn't be able to afford it.

Right now, among those staying in this courtyard were the nouveau riche who bought the apartments with cash for the sake of the school district admission quota, the wealthy who paid tens of thousands in rent every month just so that it was more convenient for their children to attend kindergarten, and also the "natives" of the courtyard who only had two little rooms left after they lost their jobs when the work unit was restructured. People from all walks of life made up the whole place.

Parked at the courtyard were luxury cars that cost millions and also little Santanas that looked like they were about to reach scrappage age. However, there were typically no parking spaces in this kind of old and tiny neighbourhood, so regardless of whether they were luxury cars or rundown cars, they all had to be stuffed into whichever nook and cranny that could be found. All the wheels were united in having a small wooden board to shield them from dog urine.

When Yu Lanchuan reached the place, someone happened to be moving in. There was a small electric car charging via a power cord connected to the reception office at the entrance blocking the road and the moving van from the movers was stuck at the gate, unable to enter.

"Whose car is it at the entrance? Please move it!" The moving van's driver whistled and shouted. After shouting for a long while, no one answered so he got down from the van and unleashed his voice. "Red colour! Four wheels! There are words on the car, 'Traditional Acupuncture and Moxibustion Therapy, Burial Clothes, Flower Wreaths Discount,' whose is it? Whose flower wreaths are on discount? Move your car!"

Yu Lanchuan, "..."

It was truly a one-stop service provider.

He couldn't be bothered to squeeze past the baking hot moving van so he stopped at the entrance to wait for them to move away.

This was a place he had spent a lot of time at when he was young. Right after the entrance of the courtyard were two rows of scholar trees, with a lane for walking in the middle. At this time, the flowers of the scholar trees had long since withered away and only the overlapping layers of leaves remained. The fiery midsummer sunshine was blocked by those leaves, leaving just a few stray fragments of light to fall to the ground. The branches of the old scholar trees contorted into gnarly, twisted knots. A slightly damp air emanated from the rich greenery, carrying a touch of the tranquil solitude of being free from the worries of the mortal world.

In a flash, ten years had passed. The building had grown old, the old residents were gone, and the trees had also grown tall.

Granduncle had lived for nearly a century. He was also someone who didn't walk the conventional path and was an old man who easily dropped out of contact. As his relative, Yu Lanchuan was actually already mentally prepared and he couldn't say that he was grieving deeply now. It was just that when he was standing here with the old man's ashes, he suddenly had a feeling that the people had changed while the material things had not. It was like an era had disappeared into the air while he was not paying attention.

The old man did not leave many possessions behind. Other than the rundown car that was practically scrap metal, he only left some daily necessities and his camera. In his will, he asked Yu Lanchuan to develop the few photos which were to be the old man's final masterpieces, and also stated that everything in his bag was to be left to Yu Lanchuan.

Other than his will, the bag also contained two small booklets. One of them was the manual for the Seven Secret Arts of Han Jiang swordplay; Yu Lanchuan was already thoroughly familiar with it. The other one was something he had not seen before. The will stated that it was the heirloom of the Han Jiang Sect. The old man himself was the 136th sect leader and he intended to pass it on to Yu Lanchuan, making him the 137th leader.

However, the old man indicated that it was fine whether or not he wanted to take up the mantle. Han Jiang Sword Sect did not have any disciples anyway.

The contents of the "sect heirloom" was mainly divided into three sections: Sect Rules, Way of Cultivation and Sect-Exclusive Ancient Teachings. They had all been passed down since ancient times.

In total, there were twenty sect rules, all written in classical language in the traditional writing. Yu Lanchuan had attended a business school at university and had studied abroad after that. He had downed a bellyful of western writings and his classical Chinese was just at high school level, and he felt dizzy with just one look. He skimmed through the whole thing until the end and finally found a handwritten line in simplified writing. It was the old man's handwriting.

The old man knew his level and had purposely written an annotation. The annotation was very plain: Anyone who can fulfil the twenty sect rules is a saint. There's no need to study them closely. We mere mortals only need to follow the country's laws and regulations and adhere to society's customs.

The Way of Cultivation section summarised the understanding gained by the generations of sect leaders from their practice and study of martial arts. Each one of them had differing skill levels and the "legacy" they left behind also took on many different forms and shapes. Some were long and complicated secret chants while some were stick figures stretching out their arms and kicking their legs.

For this section, the old man wrote his annotation at the beginning and the annotation had a "the heart as broad as the sky and earth are wide" feel to it: I guess you probably won't understand this. If you don't understand, then take your time. If you still don't understand after taking your time, then just let it be.

The last section was Sect-Exclusive Ancient Teachings. Yu Lanchuan had heard of this before. According to legend, in ancient times, a number of sects had their own exclusive medicinal prescriptions, treatments for injuries, ways to regulate inner breathing, detoxification methods—all sorts of things, all of them mysterious. They were not passed down to outsiders and were considered a part of the sect's teachings that were passed down from generation to generation. These were things like the Life Giving Pill or Wound Healing Pill found in wuxia stories.

Yu Lanchuan flipped to the last section out of curiosity, wanting to see what kind of secrets that could not be spread that his sect had. In the end, he found that the old man had covered those pages with ink and even wrote in large red letters: These nonsense are unscientific. Go to the hospital if you're sick.

It was followed by three exclamation marks.

The 137th sect leader held this quality heirloom in his hands, evaluated it, and felt that the remaining days of his sect… would be nothing more than this.

The owner of the electric car took his own sweet time to finally arrive. The driver of the moving van was starting to grumble discontentedly. The sound of people talking called back Yu Lanchuan's attention and he looked up with a rather complicated expression at the small eleven stories high building.

Among the things the old man left behind, the most important and the most troublesome to take care of was none other than this apartment.

The old man's home was on the tenth floor. It was a small unit with two bedrooms, with approximately seventy square meters of floor space. Just now, Yu Lanchuan had enquired at the real estate agency at the intersection—the market price of a house like this was 8.5 million yuan, excluding tax.

This amount was enough to make any member of the salaried class faint.

The old Yu Huaide had never gotten married and didn't have children of his own. From young, he and his younger brother—Yu Lanchuan's biological grandfather—grew up depending on each other for survival. Yu Lanchuan's grandparents had passed away one after another a few years ago. His family members were few; both he and his father were only childs.

Yu Lanchuan's father, Yu Jianhua, had had enough of the shackles of marriage and family life. After getting divorced with much difficulty, he was like a little bird flying free of its cage and was now a staunch believer in singlehood. When Granduncle passed away, Yu Jianhua had hurried over to see the body and helped to take care of some matters, then left with a flourish of his sleeves. As for the assets left behind, his father had said, "You're the only one left in our family in this generation anyway. Anything we have will be yours in the future. Deal with them as you see fit."

Hence, this apartment, theoretically, should have fallen into his hands.

In the same world, millions of house loan slaves had dreamed the same dream.

...And it nearly came true for him.

Unfortunately, this was not the second half of the story of Jane Eyre because, in his will, the old man also said that this apartment could not be left to the descendants of his family.

Back in the year of the housing reform, a resident had to pay 50,000 yuan to gain the rights to the property. Even though that amount now might seem like they were getting the house practically for free, 50,000 was a number that was not small to many people twenty years ago.

The old man was a bachelor and had always saved little while spending a lot. Don't talk about 50,000, he could not even produce 5,000. The money for buying the house was collectively gathered by all his friends from his far-ranging connections who heard of his difficulty.

The old man's relationships with other people were too good, the number of people he had helped too many, and who knew how many people had helped him gather the money. There were some who were embarrassed by how little they had and could only contribute thirty or fifty yuan. They didn't feel that it was appropriate to leave their name and didn't plan to ask him to pay them back.

Later on, before the old man could straighten out who were the people he should pay back, the economy and the housing prices in the country took off together. In the second year, the small 50,000 yuan apartment doubled in price. After that, before everyone's dumbstruck eyes, it flew to the sky like it was on a rocket.

If someone were to come and dispute that 50,000 now, it would reflect badly on them.

Hence, the old Yu Huaide said that even though this apartment was under his name, it could not be considered his personal property. He would definitely not sell it off and if any of his friends in the martial arts world faced troubles and came to Yanning, they could all come to this place.

Which was to say, this school district residence that was so close to carrying the surname Yu was the Martial Arts Alliance's Yanning Management Office.

Once Yu Lanchuan thought of this matter, his heart started bleeding. These whimsical jokers, couldn't they look for some suburb in an outskirt district or county to set up their management office!

Right when he was grieving internally with a cold expression on the outside, a gust of wind blew suddenly from behind him, hitting the back of his head. Yu Lanchuan was still immersed in his thoughts thousands of miles away and, without engaging his brain, his body automatically slid a step away. At the same time, he stood at an angle and jabbed backwards with his elbow. A plastic walking stick slid along his elbow like a swimming fish, following the shift in his center of gravity to sweep below his ribs. Using his hand, arm and shoulder as a sword, in a blink of the eye, Yu Lanchuan single-handedly exchanged over ten moves with that plastic walking stick that seemed to want to stick itself to his body. It was only when the walking stick nearly touched the cremation box containing Granduncle's ashes that it came to a stop just in time.

Yu Lanchuan pushed his glasses up, looking rather miserable. He finally saw clearly that the madman who had swung a walking stick at him for no reason was an old man.

The old man had a red band around his arm. His hand was holding a green-coloured plastic walking stick and his shirt that had been washed very clean had a few patches on it. He wore a pair of horn-rimmed presbyopic glasses.

The old man lowered his head. From over the top of his glasses, his gaze pierced out from his eyes. He looked at the cremation box, then at Yu Lanchuan, and smiled. "Yu-dage, your precious grandson has brought you home! Xiao-Chuan is already so big now. Grandpa Yang nearly couldn't recognise you just now looking from far."

Yu Lanchuan was momentarily stunned, barely keeping his temper in check. Looking carefully again, he remembered that this Grandpa Yang seemed to live on the sixth floor and was close to his family's old man. In the past, they had often gone fishing together.

Old Yang clutched the walking stick under his arm. Then, without any clearly visible movement—it seemed like he only reached a hand out, light as a feather—he took the cremation box.

Yu Lanchuan said, "Hey-"

"Child, now that he is almost home, let me bring my old brother home for this part of the journey." Old Yang waved him off. Then, his face seemed rather desolate. "Fuliang Yue, Han Jiang Xue, Tang Qian Yan, Chuan Lin Feng… The Five Supremes from back then; in these years, some have left this place and some have left this world. I'm the only old fool left behind now."

Five Supremes? Wasn't there only four?

Yu Lanchuan stared fearfully at the old man's tottering back, afraid that he would drop his granduncle. He had heard that not knowing how to count was a sign of dementia.

"There's no one to carry on the titles either. Only your family's Xiao-Chuan is somewhat useful and can still take a few moves from me. The rest… Ai, all useless things!" Old Yang chattered endlessly at the cremation box. "The once-every-three-years Martial Arts General Assembly—now that you're gone, when everyone comes to Yanning this year, who will they come for?"

"That's right." Old Yang remembered something and turned his head to ask Yu Lanchuan, "Xiao-Chuan, up to which level have you practised the Seven Secret Arts swordplay?"

Yu Lanchuan was completely lost. "...What is the benchmark for the rating?"

Standard and Poor's?

Upon hearing that, Old Yang let out a heavy sigh. As the saying went, "The weasel declines into a rat." Each generation was worse than the last.

Sighing mournfully, Old Yang led the big rat Yu Lanchuan to the elevator lobby. There was already someone there waiting for the elevator. Yu Lanchuan's gaze swept past that person and he jolted. "It's you?"

Gan Qing really could not find a place to stay. With no other choice, she thickened her skin and ate her words, and had come dejectedly to Boss Meng's relative's house to plead for shelter. For the sake of giving the old lady a good impression, she had purposely cleaned herself up today and dug out the only non-work dress she had. She had combed her hair neatly and tucked it behind her ears, revealing a bright, clean forehead and five features. She looked like a proper human now.

Her original intention was to "quietly enter the village without firing a gun" and to be as low-profile as possible. She had never thought that before she even went up the building, she would bump into these two. It was truly bad luck.

Gan Qing's eyes flitted to the plastic walking stick in Old Yang's hand and away again. She didn't dare look too long. She gave Yu Lanchuan an uncomfortable and exceptionally demure smile.

When she smiled, the sharp corners of her mouth were revealed. For unknown reasons, Yu Lanchuan again felt that strange sense of familiarity he had felt that day at Mudpool Backlane. He involuntarily took another look at her and asked doubtfully, "You're staying here too?"

T/N:

After much internal debate, I have decided to keep most of the martial arts titles and names in pinyin. Please refer to the Glossary for more info on the names of the (four out of) Five Supremes. If you can't remember them all now, no worries, the names will turn up again if they're important to the story.

[1] Shadow on the north, light from the south - 坐北朝南

In Chinese, the phrase literally means "back to the north, front to the south." Some interpret 朝南 strictly as the door of the house facing north, but there are also interpretations that say that 朝南 just means that the light comes from the north, and so could refer to the windows. Based on the description in the text, the latter interpretation is applicable here.