The fifth day of the eleventh month, in the Jiazi year.
Foshan.
The Hung Fist Association Hall.
"Huo Diange?"
Lian Youming studied the old man before him, who was looking at him as well.
The man had a square, purplish face, short eyebrows, a broad mouth, narrow eyes, a straight nose, and a pair of protruding ears. His appearance seemed ordinary enough, yet whenever his eyes moved, a piercing gleam surfaced within them, like Yin-Yang opening and closing, or two streaks of violet lightning that made it difficult to meet his gaze.
By rights, if this man had lived until now, he would have been nearly a hundred. But judging by his bearing and vigor alone, he looked barely fifty.
The two beside the old man were no ordinary people either.
One was dressed like an old farmer, with rolled-up trouser legs and straw sandals. Despite his plain clothes, his bearing was tranquil, his eyes clear and lively, and he possessed a restrained scholarly elegance. The other was a young man built like a bull calf, wearing a blue-and-white striped sailor shirt, with close-cropped hair and a face as black as coal.
The old farmer stooped as he casually looked around, picking his ear with his left index finger. Yet after just a couple of idle glances at Lian Youming, a trace of gravity gradually entered his sleepy eyes, which opened considerably wider.
"The younger generation is truly formidable! Since you've become the leader of the Two Teachings, I imagine you know about those who faked their deaths to withdraw from the world. Indeed, I'm one of them."
"Oh?" Lian Youming silently considered the man's identity while continuing aloud, "May I ask your name, senior?"
The old farmer slowly uttered his name. "Fu Jianqiu!"
Lian Youming smiled.
Here was powerful