Mo Da descended from the Sword Storing Pavilion, smiling all the way through the Cloud Mist Hall, to offer incense before the ancestral shrine.
"The 'Cloud Mist Thirteen Forms with a Hundred Variations' were created by a busking ancestor, and I too am a busker, which fits quite well,"
"But why should my disciple tread the same path as I did?"
Mo Da placed three large incense sticks into the burner, suppressing a hint of his smile.
An elderly voice echoed in the great hall of the ancestral shrine:
"Master, Martial Uncle, Great-Grandmaster, Great-Great-Uncle... and all the ancestors of the Hengshan Sect."
"Please, bless...
"Bless Rong so that he may grow up safely and become the mighty force behind our Hengshan Sect's Swordsmanship!"
...
...
When Zhao Rong rode back to Zhao Family Fort, it was only past the hour of the dog, and Grandpa Zhao Fu had not yet slept.
He was very happy to see his grandson return.
They talked about affairs in Longquan until late into the night.
