Liberi Reader

This time, her blade flies quicker than in their previous bouts. Waai Fu can only feel the autumn wind brushing against her face, leaving her no time to react.

Suddenly, a wall appears in front of her, or rather, a man's back as thick and wide as a wall.

Waai Fu looks at the wall in front of her that she last saw over a decade ago. Still, the sight overlaps with the one in her memories.

The reunion comes sooner than she expected, and catches her off guard.

Huai Tianpei sweeps a quick glance behind him.

His movements are light and quick, but Waai Fu catches them perfectly clearly.

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Waai Fu gets a front row seat to the action.

Sidestep, chop, quick step, twist, elbow strike. All moves she has learned herself.

Seeing the pained expression on his opponent's face, it is clear that Huai Tianpei is using his full strength.

Waai Fu imagines what it feels like to be slammed into a wall.

After being knocked back several feet, the woman steadies herself with her blade. The tremendous impact seems to have little lasting effect on her, as she lifts her sword again and assumes a defensive stance.

But being knocked off-balance has made her furious, and anger whips into a tangible wind, with everyone present feeling a chill run up their spines at the same time.

The moonlight intensifies.

The woman raises her head and glances toward the sky, the clouds drifting across and obscuring half the moonlight.

She lowers her half-raised blade.

A sorrowful howl resounds through the long and deserted street.

Back at the agency, Waai Fu saw plenty of soap operas depicting children reunited with their parents.

Some cried bitterly while others threw furniture around, the actors' intense performances felt strange and unfamiliar to Waai Fu.

When watching with Hung or Lee, they would always silently change the channel.

She tried to imagine what it would be like when she saw him again. The pent-up resentment, anger, confusion, and dissatisfaction that accumulated over a decade... How would she express herself to him?

But at this very moment, the man standing right in front of her feels less real than the cold wind blowing on her face.

Dad, what does 'Hung Mei Wing Chun' mean?

Of all the countless kung fu styles under Heaven, you choose this one, huh? Alright, I'll teach you this one.

Which style do you use, dad? I want to learn the same one as you.

I'll teach you mine, but not now. You still haven't mastered the basics. Once you've got a solid foundation, then you can learn my kung fu.

Okay!

I've sparred with him so many times that I've lost count.

The moment our fists connect, my arm adapts with my muscle memory. More submerged memories also flow out from my mind.

A small courtyard with blue brick and stone flooring, a large porcelain water jar always filled full, wooden stakes wrapped with cloth... and a tall figure whose face could never be clearly seen.

That was my world, day after day, diligently practicing and enduring hardships, year after year, cultivating my mind and tempering my character.

My sparring partner changed from my father to a wooden dummy, never letting myself rest, even for a day. Over the past decade, practicing kung fu became as natural as eating and sleeping.

I think I asked him the question.

'Why?'

Why did you teach me kung fu, why did you have me become a warrior just like you?

The intertwining of moves and techniques, the simple and genuine connection.

You've taught me so much.

But I was never chasing you.

I've found my own goals, I know why I practice kung fu, and I won't change the path I chose just because a man's back popped up in front of me.

And I will surpass you.

Huai Tianpei twirls his beard, thinks for a long time, and suddenly bursts into laughter.

Her wound reopens, and the young Anasa girl holds the sword in front of her chest with her left hand, throwing her chakram with her right, barely deflecting the enemy's attack.

She falls back step by step, as her arms feel heavier and heavier.

The young Candleholder turns around to face his powerful foe, and a light gleams from his sword unsheathing.

The young Anasa girl hugs the sword tightly in her arms, and leaps down into the churning sand.

Zuo Xuanliao looks at the box in his hands, the surface clearly worn down by gravel and sand.

A few days ago, was there another person looking at this box just as he is now? How did he feel?

If there was a mirror in his military tent, Zuo Xuanliao would have noticed the strands of silver hair on his scalp multiplying over the past few days.

The General lingers in his tent, the night outside his window still seemingly serene. The unseen danger lurks far away, but he knows it is still out there.

He has seen these sights for decades, but he has never loathed the vast desert as much as he does right now.