The sun rose in the east, spilling golden dawn over Yang Mountain just as it had for the past sixty years.
The early-rising disciples were already standing on the rocky cliffs, facing the sea breeze as they meditated, held horse stances, and practiced their arts.
But the elder who had sat fishing beneath the cliff every single day for sixty years was absent for once, leaving even the seagulls lingering by the sea somewhat puzzled.
On the southern side of Yang Mountain stood a bamboo cottage, with the mountain behind it and the sea before it. Sixty years had yellowed the entire structure, but its courtyard was neat and clean. A small vegetable patch lay beside it, and several dried fish hung on a string outside, making it look like a seaside fisherman's home.
At that moment, the cottage door stood open. Dressed in martial attire, Fengguancheng stood before the Spirit Altar in the main hall, offered a stick of incense to a memorial tablet, then lifted an old sword from the altar.
The sword was three feet long, its scabbard dark blue-black. A yin-yang fish design was engraved on its brass guard, which had blackened with age and exposure to incense smoke. Overall, it looked more like a household ward than a warrior's weapon.
Bian Yuanlie stood at the doorway in a hemp robe. Though already over ninety, he carried himself like a humble apprentice, and the sight clearly puzzled him.
After all, Fengguancheng had been invincible from the moment he burst onto the scene, his fists and feet wielded with transcendent skill. Though he used weapons too, he never carried one himself, simply using whatever was nearby. Even with nothing at hand, he could tear off a strip of his robe and beat an opponent until they could