Fang Yun raised his brush, dripped sacred blood onto a Sage Page, and slowly wrote, one word at a time.
First, he wrote the tune title: "The River All Red."
My wrathful hair thrusts up my crown; beside the railing, the driving rain has ceased. I lift my eyes and gaze afar, then howl toward heaven, my valiant heart ablaze. Thirty years of fame are dust and earth; eight thousand miles of road, clouds and moon. Do not idle away your youth until your hair turns white, leaving only futile grief.
Jing Kingdom's shame remains uncleansed; when will its subjects' hatred end? Drive the great chariots forth and trample through the passes of the Helan Mountains. With soaring resolve, feast on invaders' flesh when hungry; laughing and talking, drink demon barbarians' blood when thirsty. Let us begin anew, reclaim our old mountains and rivers, and pay homage at the imperial court!
The third calligraphy realm: Ink Forms Bone.
From every direction and every angle, each word seemed supported by a skeleton, standing upright upon the page.
The brush swept like a knife, its strokes like blades.
On the viewing stands, sorrow filled everyone's eyes. They seemed to see a towering figure standing by a railing after the autumn rain had ceased, his wrathful hair thrusting up his crown. He gazed toward the horizon, with nowhere to vent his grief and fury over the tearing of the national fortune, and could only howl toward heaven to release his lofty resolve and love for his country. As Zhang Longxiang, he had regarded all fame as dung and dirt. As Void Sage Fang, he had traveled beneath stars and moon, fighting across the worlds and witnessing countless storms. Jing Kingdom was in peril; he could no longer squander his years. He must not