Fang Yuan set his teacup down and then he took a step forward.
"Is this what you also want, boy?" Fang Yuan asked.
The boy didn't hesitate as he dropped to his knees hard enough that the floorboards shuddered.
"Great Master," he said, "please… accept me as your disciple. I will kowtow three times and devote my life to your teachings!"
Fang Yuan watched the kid and then a wave of memory pierced through him.
It was when he was seven, the rain hammered the crooked roofs of a forgotten alley.
Water streamed down cracked walls, pooling around a skinny youth standing barefoot in the mud.
Fang Yuan was shivering and covered with both blood and water as he stood before an old beggar beneath a tattered cloak.
The old beggar's beard was unkempt, his eyes cloudy, and his teeths were yellow.
The old man studied him for a long, heavy moment.
