Rimba Persilatan
episode 1

Fu Ke-wei stood on the hill, raised his head and

breathing deeply, after closing his pair of eyes,

his whole body was frozen, but every muscle in his body was frozen

it's like losing energy.

Long time ago.he just started breathing again, the behavior was like.

the dead, only different from the dead, he was still breathing.

In the eastern horizon there is already a ray of dawn, now the situation in the

the surroundings are starting to look.

Around the mountains it is full of forests

green, fresh green weeds, wildflowers

there's everywhere. He sipped the fresh air of spring, The weather is good in the day

Cing-ming (Ceng-beng) is hard to come by, in stark contrast to

Cing-ming last year the rain upset people.

This is a great place to sleep long, behind there

yin-yang Hills, in front of not up to nine li, there was a huge river of silver glistening, facing the water back against the mountain,

the mountain is clear water.

Before the dawn sun appeared, he had already finished practicing silat

every day he has to be trained.'...

He picked up the sword that was placed on the grass field,

tidying up his clothes, young face, starting to return to that face

normally, a face that looked red was fleshy healthy.

After traveling in the martial world for five years,

this trip did not leave a frown on his face, he remained

young, healthy, energetic. Five years, in his memory is very long, days

what he went through was full of sabers and machetes, experience in and out of the door of life or death, now he was lazy

thought about it. At the age of eighteen he was already out of the mountain, he was getting ripe, the ripening made him understand bitter bitterly

life, the maturity that makes him aware of birth, old, sickness, death, the unpredictable circle of life.

Every year on Cing-ming's day, he always comes here,

clean and worship at the tomb of his father and mother

he had been dead for eight years, and his teacher, who was sitting there, left his life, his teacher who had educated him to adulthood. So even though he was tens of thousands of li in the wild there, he had to get to this place on this Cing-ming day, eight years felt like one day, he was never absent.

The house he was in front under the mountain slope, the name

his place was Liu Jiang's village, he lived with four-five

twenty heads of families, half more were diligent farmers.

Now he lives alone, several small mountains above him

planted with a type of fir tree, the age of the tree is tens

year, there was absolutely no need to be taken care of by him. Hence, he was troubled in the martial world, there was nothing he was worried about.

After praying to his mother's father and teacher, his mind was like

smoke, hovering above the air. He thought: 'man is so small and erratic! Life, only a few tens of years, dies, becomes a pile of yellow soil. No matter the saint or not, life is the same, death is the same, no one can run from the round of life.

The sun has gone up on the east mountain, the mountain breeze

blowing cold. He gave the instruments of prayer, and,

put it in the basket, then out of the mouth

the cemetery, before leaving he gazed again at the cemetery

deserted. He knew, he already had to go, go the path he chose, go to the unpredictable realms. Cing-ming next year, will he be able to return this cemetery to clean and repair his grave"

You can only rely on guesses. Maybe, his dead bones

he himself did not know which was buried in the yellow soil, and was eaten by maggots.

Finally he left with steady steps,

signifies the determination of him who will advance forward.

At the bottom of the hill, Liu-jiang village is already visible.

From the row of irregular houses, he could already see

clearly the building of the house is three rows, in front of it there

big yard, that's his house.

Located three-four li, he suddenly saw from the shadow of the forest, in front of his yard fortress there was one foreign shadow

flashed disappeared. He stood up, stopped walking.

Slowly she put her tote basket, standing up

concentration, his face had changed, turned cold, strange,

his pair of eyes were shining, his entire body was filled with

the eerie air. He took out his sword and tucked it in his waist,

lifting long coat cloth pasted on his waist,

roll up the sleeve, check the left arm protector

and right. Outside of his hand guards were three blades each

the blade that was not strange in shape but was shining and curved

like a crescent moon, the knife's name is Xiu-luo, made in India.

Because of his weapon, he in the martial world was nicknamed: Xie-jianxiu-luo (Curving Blade Perseverance Sword).

Name Xie-jian-xiu-luo, in the martial world recognized as a person

the bravest, the most difficult to guess, the most difficult to face, the mysterious young fighter, no matter which fighter is either white or black, all are disinclined against him, besides

he never lies and never regrets.

Although Xie-jian-xiu-luo shocked the martial world, but

people who know his real name and real face, very few

once. After the morning passed, inside the village just stay

fix the grave or pray to Grandma

forefather. Then he appeared under a big tree at the mouth of the village, in the

in front of a small wooden bridge that runs over the river,

he stood cliatas bridge, saw the yard of his house which

half a li. He did not look back at the village, his mouth turned

cold laughter, suddenly with big strides he crossed the bridge

small, he walked away from the place. Even his face did not look

Not long after, there were eight people, old, young, male,

women are walking down a small path chasing after him.

... Silat Novel Stories...



Wednesday, 07 March 2001

Rimba Persilatan 1

Fu Ke-wei stood on the hill, raised his head and

breathing deeply, after closing his pair of eyes,

his whole body was frozen, but every muscle in his body was frozen

it's like losing energy.

Long time ago.he just started breathing again, the behavior was like.

the dead, only different from the dead, he was still breathing.

In the eastern horizon there is already a ray of dawn, now the situation in the

the surroundings are starting to look.

Around the mountains it is full of forests

green, fresh green weeds, wildflowers

there's everywhere. He sipped the fresh air of spring, The weather is good in the day

Cing-ming (Ceng-beng) is hard to come by, in stark contrast to

Cing-ming last year the rain upset people.

This is a great place to sleep long, behind there

yin-yang Hills, in front of not up to nine li, there was a huge river of silver glistening, facing the water back against the mountain,

the mountain is clear water.

Before the dawn sun appeared, he had already finished practicing silat

every day he has to be trained.'...

He picked up the sword that was placed on the grass field,

tidying up his clothes, young face, starting to return to that face

normally, a face that looked red was fleshy healthy.

After traveling in the martial world for five years,

this trip did not leave a frown on his face, he remained

young, healthy, energetic. Five years, in his memory, it's a long, long day

what he passed was full of sabers and machetes,

the experience of going in and out of the door of life or death, now he is lazy

thought about it. At the age of eighteen he was already out of the mountain, he was getting ripe, the ripening made him understand bitter bitterly

life, the maturity that makes him aware of birth, old, sickness, death, the unpredictable circle of life.

Every year on Cing-ming's day, he always comes here,

clean and worship at the tomb of his father and mother

he had been dead for eight years, and his teacher, who was sitting there, left his life, his teacher who had educated him to adulthood. So even though he was tens of thousands of li in the wild there, he had to get to this place on this Cing-ming day, eight years felt like one day, he was never absent.

The house he was in front under the mountain slope, the name

his place was Liu Jiang's village, he lived with four-five

twenty heads of families, half more were diligent farmers.

Now he lives alone, several small mountains above him

planted with a type of fir tree, the age of the tree is tens

year, there was absolutely no need to be taken care of by him. Hence, he was troubled in the martial world, there was nothing he was worried about.

After praying to his mother's father and teacher, his mind was like

smoke, hovering above the air. He thought: 'man is so small and erratic! Life, just a few tens of years, dies, becomes a pile of yellow soil. No matter the saint or not, life is the same, death is the same, no one can escape the life cycle.

The sun has gone up on the east mountain, the mountain breeze

blowing cold. He gave the instruments of prayer, and,

put it in the basket, then out of the mouth

the cemetery, before leaving he gazed again at the cemetery

deserted. He knew, he already had to go, go the path he chose, go to the unpredictable realms. Cing-ming next year, will he be able to return this cemetery to clean and repair his grave"

You can only rely on guesses. Maybe, his dead bones

he himself did not know which was buried in the yellow soil, and was eaten by maggots.

Finally he left with steady steps,

signifies the determination of him who will advance forward.

At the bottom of the hill, Liu-jiang village is already visible.

From the row of irregular houses, he could already see

clearly the building of the house is three rows, in front of it there

big yard, that's his house.

Located three-four li, he suddenly saw from the shadow of the forest, in front of his yard fortress there was one foreign shadow

flashed disappeared.