Holding a palm-leaf fan, Mr. Chun sat on the rocking chair under the grape trellis, the chair creaking as it rocked. A light, cool breeze slipped into the courtyard and he realised that he wanted to roll up his tank top to cool down his belly. Instantly, there was a sense of crisis and he quickly corrected his bearing. He straightened his back and tried to flatten that extra bit of flesh sticking out of his belly, pretending that it did not exist.

Right then, his disciple called out to him. "Shifu, time to eat."

"Leave it there." Mr. Chun waved his palm-leaf fan indifferently. His brows slightly furrowed, he hummed an opera tune full of sorrow and anxiety. "The storm rages beyond the Spring and Autumn Pavilion, whence comes the lament that breaks the silence…."

His disciple didn't say anything. He brought out all the plates and dishes and laid them out on the little stone table in the courtyard, a riot of colours and delicious smells.

Great. There was no need to "break the silence" now. Mr. Chun—he whose magnificence was unparalleled in his generation—smacked his lips, his gluttony making him put on an affected tone. "It's too hot, I really don't have much of an appetite. Just looking at the food is enough… Is there still any of that boiled hawthorn tea from yesterday? Get me a bowl, it aids digestion."

Just like that, he first very reservedly digested his food before the meal. Then, he ate two large bowls of rice and drank a bowl of soup to fill in the gaps. Mr. Chun secretly let out a belch, then regretted eating too much. He took another look at his little disciple—lean and wiry and handsome, sleeves rolled up above his elbows, arms wrapped in a thin layer of skin with the curve of his muscles and bones clear and distinct.

'Tch, Mr. Chun thought indignantly. We eat the same things and live in the same place. Why the hell does this kid not put on weight? He's just younger, that's all.

This is really…

The little disciple worked up a great sweat preparing the food, waited on his shifu until his shifu was done eating, then cleared the table without making a sound. After washing everything, he swept the little courtyard and also splashed some cool water to alleviate the summer heat. After cleaning up the interior and the exterior, his dinner was more or less digested. Hence, he washed his hands, steeped a pot of jasmine tea for his shifu, then went to practise martial arts. Throughout the entire time, Mr. Chun's butt never left the chair. Before dinner, this venerable old man had sat there to wait for food and after eating, he continued to sit there. Every now and then, he fanned himself with the palm-leaf fan and thought of exposing his belly to cool down.

Evidently, there was a reason for the flesh.

Mr. Chun watched his little disciple practise his knife skills. The knife in his hand seemed to be alive, like sunlight reflected by the waves at sea, layer after layer folding into one another in an unbreaking chain. When he stood in the courtyard, even the moonlight and the droning of the cicadas did not command any of his attention, that pair of eyes as calm as the eye of a hurricane. Mr. Chun watched from the side for a while, his palm-leaf fan no longer moving. He sighed. This brat truly has a quiet heart.

When it came to learning and practising martial arts, the disciples' natural aptitudes could be sorted by ranks. There were those whose ability to comprehend was very high and could grasp their shifu's teaching after just one time. Those who were slower might practise for ten to twenty years and still fail to grasp the main points. The skills passed down by Wan Mu Chun's line were killing techniques. Killing techniques did not require great physical strength and did not demand the disciples to spend the whole day smashing rocks with their chests; nor did it require unparalleled finesse, the kind that made the audience gasp in amazement the moment the skill appeared. To study killing techniques, the most important natural ability was to have a quiet heart, the ability to breathe in rhythm with the grass and trees, to adhere one's five sensory organs and six senses to the target's, waiting for a chance and killing in a single strike.

No need to be showy but it had to be precise—the precision trained from pouring one's heart and blood into training.

His little disciple was a fine sapling, Mr. Chun thought regretfully. Were it not because Wan Mu Chun had washed their hands of their old ways after liberation, his little disciple's Paoding Jieniu that surpassed the master's might become the legend of his generation.

"Xiao-Xiao'er," Mr. Chun said leisurely, "It's almost time to take a rest. If you were born ten years later, I wouldn't even teach you these skills."

Mr. Chun had picked up the little disciple Wei Xiao from the streets. In the years of political upheaval, the streets were filled with unwanted children. Mr. Chun had been hanging out with a bunch of his friends from the opera scene one day and had drank too much, and picked up a disciple just like that. When he sobered up the next day and took a look, he realised that the child did not have a coarse appearance and he felt as though they had quite an affinity. He could also afford to feed one more mouth so, in that careless and muddled way, he kept the child.

At that time, Mr. Chun had yet to "wash his hands" so he had passed his martial art skills together with his legacy to his little disciple Wei Xiao… and nurtured his disciple into becoming a famous chef of his generation.

Mr. Chun said, "When I'm dead in the future, you will be the sect leader. However, our sect has been passed down the generations since the Southern Song dynasty, we've already made our money's worth. Our founder also does not desire you to expand our sect and gain glory, so just relax."

Wei Xiao had been reticent since young. After hearing that, he only smiled. The knife in his hand did not stop gleaming.

In ancient times, the sect of Wan Mu Chun had not been any sort of righteous or reputable sect. For the sake of producing a "lethal blade" in their disciples, the masters had been willing to use any method. Getting beaten and scolded were minor matters; not paying attention when practising and having their life taken by their shifu in a moment's carelessness was also not a rare occurrence. Mr. Chun reminisced about the past and said, "We were forced out into the world since we were young and after growing up, we had to depend on this nonsense to earn a living and survive, seeking both fame and profit. But why do you practise these skills?"

As usual, Wei Xiao only smiled and replied in a very soft voice, "I just like it. It feels like the knife can keep me company and chat with me."

After hearing that, there was a thunk in Mr. Chun's heart. He thought, In that case, you're better off seeking both fame and profit.

Because seeking fame and profit was human nature. Those who seeked neither fame nor profit were more often than not closer to demons.

When Mr. Chun was young, he heard a legend that said that there were some famous and treasured swords passed down since ancient times that were different from ordinary metal from the moment they came out of the forge. After many years had gone by, the swords gained a spirit and could be reborn as a human. There might be one such person every ten thousand years, and they were capable of communicating with swords. Others looked at swords as lethal weapons that harmed people but in the eyes of those people, the swords were old friends that they were meeting again. Hence, regardless of whether they practised knife skills or swordplay, one light touch and they could grasp the entirety, one example and they had thorough comprehension. They were all knife and sword wielders of frightening talent.

However… more often than not, such people did not have good endings.

From ancient times until now, how many of the big or small demons in the stories passed on among the people had good endings?

Before Mr. Chun departed the world, he held his little disciple's hand and instructed him two things.

The first was: don't make a name for yourself, don't take things too seriously, be satisfied with the minimum. Let your talent fade away and become an ordinary person.

The second was: Wan Mu Chun's knife skills should end at your generation. Don't pass it down further. Killing techniques are a bad portent.

Wei Xiao cried bitterly as he sent off his revered teacher. He remembered their eternal parting, yet did not remember his shifu's words.

People came and issued challenges; Wei Xiao never turned down an invitation. He had never suffered a defeat, how could he bring shame to his ancestors' name?

Old Mr. Yu gathered the heroes to lay siege to the Xu clan, issuing an Alliance Leader's Command; Wei Xiao answered the call. As the descendant of one of the Five Supremes, how could he shrink back?

At the Martial Arts General Assembly, he showed his face and had some tea, leaving as soon as the barest formalities were done—that was Wei Xiao's personality. Even if he was forced to stay longer, he had nothing to say to the others. He did not have the golden touch, not everything he did was a success.

Surrounded by the Beggars' Sect juniors, he neither retreated nor cowered. One against many, he fought until his eyes were reddened yet no one lost their lives. They only each had one arm broken. Wei Xiao had already done his utmost to go easy on them.

Famous blades could not hide their sharp edges. Mr. Chun's worries all became reality.

Wei Xiao made a name for himself, took things too seriously, and was unwilling to get by on just the bare minimum. But he was also not the kind of hero that would have hundreds answering to his call at the moment of crisis, so he could only be burdened by his fame and live in hiding.

When he was at the age when he was enamoured with the other sex, Wei Xiao had also once had someone he liked. It was just that society wasn't so open back then. He had a shy personality and didn't dare express his feelings, hiding them in his heart. Later on, the girl married an old friend of his and no matter how strong his feelings were, they could only be buried in his heart. A few more years passed. Due to circumstances of that era, the couple passed away, leaving behind a young son that they entrusted to Wei Xiao. The child was none other than Wei Huan.

Before the age of five, the child was called Yan Huan. Later on, when he played outside with other children, he was laughed at for not having parents and was called a bastard. Wei Xiao overheard them and changed his surname because of that. From then on, he raised him like his own child. Hence, the gossip and rumours swerved to a new target, saying that the child was his illegitimate child that he sired without getting married.

But all that wasn't important. His reputation wasn't anything good to begin with.

His ancestors had practised Paoding Jieniu for the sake of finding their footing in life. When they could no longer do so, naturally they would no longer practise it or pass it down. Wei Xiao was not the same. He passed his knife skills to his disciples because he wanted to introduce an old friend to the younger generation. He couldn't stop himself.

In his entire life, Wei Xiao made two mistakes. The first was when he saw Wei Huan take out the manual for Paoding Jieniu and move according to the instructions, he couldn't resist correcting him. The second was when little Gan Qing took his razor blade and awkwardly tried to learn from him, when she kept pestering him, he failed to stand firm.

By nature, Wei Huan was not a lively and extroverted child. Wei Xiao couldn't help but feel that the child was similar to himself and became even more shut-in after staying with him. At that time, they were poor and couldn't afford toys. Teaching him martial arts was to sharpen his mind and also to relieve boredom.

But he was wrong. Wei Huan was not at all like him. After growing up, he took one wrong step and every step thereafter was also wrong. The vagaries of life pushed him into a place where Wei Xiao could not reach.

Later on, by chance he took in Gan Qing. At that time, Wei Xiao was already old and his personality became even milder. Like he was taking care of a little flower, he took great care of this little girl whose background was complicated. At the start, he had thought of it in a simple way: the little girl was still so young, her family was dead, she had no one to look after her, and the reason she was in this plight was entirely because he hadn't taught his disciple well; hence, it was his responsibility to bring this child up.

But humans were not flowers and grass. As time went by and he brought the little girl up, he forgot why he had taken her in at the beginning.

Wei Xiao was old now. Knives and swords would rust and their blades curve, humans also would become lonely. When he was young, he had been burdened by Wei Huan and had never gotten married. In his old age, he had no descendants around him. He couldn't help following the norm and started desiring the mundane life that other elderly people had. That one active and lively little burden became the center of his life.

Gan Qing's personality was the total opposite of her shixiong. She was bright and clever, and terribly mischievous. Before the age of five, she climbed trees and roofs, stopping at nothing, and her knees were forever scraped. When she started school, the teacher would summon her guardian every other day. But her academic performance was surprisingly quite good and her teachers had been saying since she was young that she would enter university in the future.

For her sake, he started to keep a low profile, to conceal his identity and live in hiding. He stuck to her from day to night every day, forever worrying over an unending stream of petty matters. Sometimes, he would vaguely feel that she was his little daughter who had come to comfort him in his final years.

However, once an untouchable truth was submerged in the lake, the moonlight and the fragrance of the flowers on the surface would all become a transient reflection on the water. A stolen comfort would have to be returned one day.

The ancestors had passed down the rule that every generation of Wan Mu Chun could only be passed down to a single disciple. Wei Xiao broke the rule.

It was too cold that day. Gan Qing had run away from home for a week already and Wei Xiao was nearly going mad. Right when he ran out of ideas and was even willing to expose his hiding place by going to No. 110 for help, Meng Tianyi brought home a bloodsoaked Gan Qing.

Wei Xiao's heart fell with a thunk. In his heart, he knew something bad had happened.

"Was it really Wei Huan?" Meng Tianyi's forehead was covered in sweat. "T-That's impossible, right? Wei Huan's really back? And he could act so viciously? Didn't you say that he even sent money back then for this girl to go to school… Wei-xiong, what are you doing?"

"I'll go take a look. He dared raise his hand against her but dared not come to see me… You keep an eye on Gan Qing, don't let her go out again!"

"Me?" Meng Tianyi pointed at himself, then looked at Gan Qing, feeling his head already starting to ache. "Ai, Wei-xiong, this kid of yours is a living ancestor. How can I control her?"

Wei Xiao's steps paused. He walked quickly to the desk and took out an envelope. His head lowered, he wrote the words "My humble respects to all my ancestors of the sect of Wan Mu Chun."

"Hey!" Meng Tianyi turned pale with fright. "What are you doing? Can you really bear to throw her out of the sect?"

"If I don't do this, I won't be able to scare her into staying still." Wei Xiao rolled a few banknotes together with a sheaf of western fast food coupons together and stuffed them into the envelope so that it wouldn't look empty. At that time, to a household like theirs, western fast food was still a very luxurious thing that they could only eat once in a while. They couldn't bear to directly place their orders and would always carefully save up a lot of coupons like these, collecting until they had what they wanted to eat.

But Wei Xiao then glanced at Gan Qing and sighed. He took out the coupons, switching them for a twenty yuan note. "I must have owed you in my past life."

He couldn't bear to make the child be miserly and stingy like himself.

And that turned out to be the last time he saw his little creditor.

There were some people whose lives were probably just for the sake of settling debts. When the debts were settled, it was time for them to leave.

All that remained after were a few stories passed on among the people. Together with the old incidents of the jianghu, they scattered into the wind.