A strong wind swept past, stirring the papers on the desk.
One large hand shifted the paperweight while the other dipped the brush in ink and began to write. Wherever the tip passed, ink trails spread like roaming dragons and snakes, dots and circles, vertical strokes and horizontal, the brush following his will, moving as he pleased.
Lian Youming drew his breath and force inward. Holding the brush in one hand, he tried to work on the finer details, just as those manuscripts described.
In the blink of an eye, only one day remained until New Year's Day. Hong Kong had grown lively too. The sound of festive music could already be heard in the streets, and bands performed on passing vehicles, drawing cheers from pedestrians.
Advertisements for celebrations hung everywhere-fireworks displays, song and dance parties, celebrity concerts-and figures hurried about in every direction.
The clinic was closed too, with a sign announcing a break.
Shen San wore an impressive traditional Chinese suit, his pocket stuffed with red envelopes and a festive smile on his face. Everyone he saw received one; even the White Lotus Sect Master was not left out.
But the old man left as quickly as he had arrived. After all, he had the martial arts school and his family to look after. Apparently, some of his disciples had even become stunt performers, filming with movie crews. With the big occasion coming up as well, he was run off his feet.
Only one day remained until the battle date too.
Hong Kong had suddenly turned much colder. Though there was no frost or snow, the cold wind forced pedestrians to hunch their shoulders and tuck in their heads.
Yang Shuang stood in the courtyard practicing her palm techniques, her feet planted on newly replaced paving tiles. They