Long Fei pulled the Tai'a Sword from his back and asked Fat Wang to chop some bamboo and bring it over.
It was clear there had been a wooden trestle bridge leading to the center at one time.
But with the passage of years, the wooden trestle bridge had rotted away, leaving only a few lonely piers standing on the water's surface.
No one knew what material the Tai'a Sword was made of, for it was a reddish-gold color, neither gold nor copper nor iron.
It was three feet and three inches long, and three inches and three tenths wide.
Black fish-scale patterns adorned it, the edge sharp and intimidating, without a single crack or fracture; the blade could be called perfect.
The handle was wrapped in a layer of python skin, probably added by someone later, and the grip felt rather nice.
Weighing thirty-three pounds, Long Fei picked it up without feeling its weight.
But to Fat Wang, it was a bit heavy.
He grasped it with both hands, struggling to call Lu Buping for help.
