At the foot of lush Mangcang Mountain stood a sprawling estate.
Its buildings were plain and old-fashioned, with rows of houses. Rather than pursuing luxury or refinement, the estate had been divided into more than a dozen training grounds.
Scores of sturdy martial artists moved among them, their shouts ringing out as they honed their strength.
Fists and feet clashed in sparring matches, weapons rang together, and spectators cheered.
The place buzzed with excitement.
A man entirely out of step with the spirited atmosphere yawned and ambled into a training ground.
His face was square enough, and if he ever took things seriously, he might have looked like a resolute, stern fellow. But his expression was so languid he seemed half asleep, and his whole person gave off the air of a salted fish.
"Brother Yang!"
"Lie!"
As soon as he appeared, quite a few martial artists came over with warm smiles to greet him. One even called out, "Brother Yang, how about a bout? Same old rules today: the loser owes a jar of wine!"
"No, no!" Yang Lie held his aching lower back with one hand and waved the other. "I drank too much yesterday. My back can't take it... er, my head can't take the wine. You lot carry on."
"Haha! More like Thirteenth Lady left you unable to get out of bed, eh, Brother Yang? I've still got a jar of Tiger Whip Wine. Want me to give it to you to stoke your fire?"
The speaker was a man with a mole on his face.
Someone else joined in. "Lie, when do we get to drink at your wedding with Thirteenth Lady?"
"What nonsense are you talking? Thirteenth Lady and I are friends who appreciate each other. Don't go ruining her reputation."
Yang Lie put