Fang Hong spent his life obsessed with the martial path, focusing on steady and solid skills. Not until his fi…
Fang Hong spent his life obsessed with the martial path, focusing on steady and solid skills.
Not until his fifties did he feel his martial arts were complete and think of founding his own sect.
When news from the north arrived, he was at his home in Qinghe, preparing to name his new sect.
His young son squirmed in his arms, playfully dotting his nose with red ink from a seal.
"Xu'er, your father will be right back!" He kissed his son, exchanged a firm look with his family, dropped his pen, took up his old weapon, and headed for Zhongdu Bridge.
His sect was never founded, and Xu'er never saw him again.
A grandmaster, killed at last by a swarming tide of enemy soldiers.
Before dying, he taught only one "disciple", a boy who reminded him of his own son.
Fang Hong thought, "This life wasn't bad at all."