In the small pavilion, "Fearless" Lü Qiang and Wu Tong shared an unforgettable afternoon. Lü Qiang, having drunk the aged Shaoxing Zhuangyuan Hong, felt a deep satisfaction. In high spirits, he passed on his life's treasured art—the Eight Cloud Hands—to Wu Tong, guiding him through the intricacies of martial skill. When the mood struck, they exchanged poems, matched wit in verse, and spoke of the affairs of the martial world over wine. Lü Qiang's admiration for Wu Tong's talent was plain to see, and Wu Tong's respect for Lü Qiang could not be greater.
Yet all good things must end. Wu Tong lifted the wine jar to refill their cups, only to find it empty. He gave a rueful smile. "Elder, the wine is gone."
Lü Qiang chuckled, lifting his eyes to the horizon where the blood-red sunset painted half the sky. "Young brother, perhaps this is Heaven's will. Look—the sunset is glorious. We have spoken and drunk our fill. They say the setting sun lies at the edge of the world, but look as far as you can and you still cannot see home. Let us finish this last cup and part ways here. One day, we shall meet again in the jianghu."
Wu Tong, ever a man of feeling, was moved to sadness. "Tomorrow the mountains will lie between us, and the world will be a mist of uncertainty. Elder, where will you go?"
A shadow passed through Lü Qiang's eyes. "The realm is in chaos. An Lushan has raised troops in Fanyang, the land is bathed in blood, and the people north of the river are in desperate need. I will go there. If I can save one person, I will save one person; if I can aid one city, I will aid one city."
Wu Tong's admiration deepened. Solemnly, he raised his cup. "Elder, you are a hero of this age, guided by benevolence and righteousness, aiding the weak and opposing the wicked. I salute you. May we meet again in the martial world and drink as we do today."
Lü Qiang's heart stirred at Wu Tong's sincerity. Reaching into his robe, he took out a small pellet. "Young brother, Zhuangyuan Hong is strong in its after-effect. This is a sobering pill—take it, and you will be spared a headache later."
Though Wu Tong could hold his drink, today he had indeed drunk heavily, and his head throbbed faintly. He accepted the pill respectfully and swallowed it without hesitation. It melted on his tongue, fragrant and refreshing, clearing his head and easing the ache at once.
Seeing Wu Tong restored, Lü Qiang was pleased. This youth is not merely a talent for a hundred li, but for a thousand. Today is only the first stretch of his steed's stride; in time, he will be a giant of the martial world. Aloud, he said, "Young brother, when next we meet, we shall drink again! The roads of the jianghu are long—take care."
"And you as well, Elder. Until we meet again."
They stepped from the pavilion into the glow of the setting sun, their shadows stretched long upon the earth. Lü Qiang untied his horse from a nearby tree, mounted, and, glancing back, raised a hand in farewell. Wu Tong stood watching, reluctant to part.
With a squeeze of the knees, Lü Qiang's mount leapt forward, hooves drumming the earth. Horse and rider dwindled into the horizon, swallowed by the crimson light. Wu Tong remained motionless for a long while, thoughts churning. From drinking and reciting poetry, to receiving martial instruction, to parting at sunset—it felt like a dream, yet more vivid than life.
Drawing a deep breath, he looked toward the west, where the sun had nearly vanished below the earth, leaving the sky brushed with pale violet. Inwardly, he vowed: When I meet him again in the jianghu, I will live up to his trust, spread the Eight Cloud Hands far and wide, uphold justice, and protect the weak.
With resolve burning in his heart, Wu Tong took up his own reins, mounted, and rode toward White Cloud Mountain. The sunset wrapped him in golden light, as if blessing his path, a sign that his journey through the martial world would be bright and full of promise.
Indeed, it was a meeting of heroes, each recognizing the other. Watching "Fearless" Lü Qiang vanish into the distance, Wu Tong stood long in thought before finally turning his horse's head toward the mountain.
White Cloud Mountain lived up to its name—wreathed in mist year-round, its pines and cypresses stood tall, mirrored in flowing streams. Along its slopes were Daoist temples, Buddhist monasteries, and nunneries, gathering places for seekers of the Way. Truly, it was a land of spiritual vitality.
By the time Wu Tong reached the Daoist temple on the mountain, the night sky was jeweled with stars. Entering, he wore a solemn expression and called out in a clear voice, "Wu Tong pays respects to his master, the White Cloud Immortal." He bowed low, touching his forehead to the ground in deep reverence.
The White Cloud Immortal was a recluse of great renown. Though a hundred years old, his hair was like snow and his face like that of a youth, his spirit undimmed. Delighted to see his disciple, he raised his right hand in a gentle gesture. "Rise."
His kindly gaze swept over Wu Tong, noting his bright eyes, healthy color, and abundant energy. "Tong'er, what delayed you on your journey? Did you meet a worthy man on the road?"
Wu Tong answered respectfully, "Master, I met the elder 'Fearless' Lü Qiang, and so was delayed."
The Immortal nodded knowingly. "Given your nature, you must have found yourself in some affair of the jianghu. Am I wrong?"
Realizing there was no concealing the matter, Wu Tong replied frankly, "Master sees all—so it was."
The Immortal sighed, speaking with gentle gravity. "The affairs of the martial world are never the work of one man alone. True heroes carry heavy burdens—rescuing the suffering, upholding the good—much as we seekers of the Way strive in our own path. The road is not easy. You must think well before you walk it."
Wu Tong pondered a moment, then asked, "Master, what is xia yi—chivalry and righteousness?"
The Immortal sighed again. "Xia—chivalry—is founded on ability; only those with skill can uphold it. Yi—righteousness—is the root of being human. Without righteousness, a man is merely a beast at table. What is xia yi? To aid the poor, punish evil, uphold justice; to draw one's blade when the road is unjust."
"And a xia ke—a wandering knight-errant?"
"One who holds benevolence and righteousness in his heart, who when the moment calls, acts without hesitation, risking life without regret, and goes forward even against ten thousand foes."
Wu Tong asked again, "Master, how is my skill?"
The Immortal smiled faintly. "You are of noble bearing, a talent for a thousand li, with virtues plain to see. By fate's gift today, your martial skill is already far from ordinary, standing tall among men." He knew well that Lü Qiang's martial art drew on the strengths of many schools, refined into his own mastery, and that the Eight Cloud Hands was among the rarest treasures of the martial world. Wu Tong's chance to learn it was extraordinary indeed.
Surprised, Wu Tong asked, "Master, how did you know I had such an encounter?"
"Your breathing is light and slow, your eyes shine with inner light, and your step is sure. Your skill is now no less than mine." Yet even as he spoke, the Immortal's face clouded, showing no joy. He sighed deeply. "Misfortune hides in fortune, and fortune rests in misfortune. This elder's love of talent is exactly what I have long feared. Had you not met him today, you might have lived a quiet life, never meddling in the affairs of the martial world. But Heaven has decreed otherwise, and who are we mortals to fight Heaven's will?"