In the heart of the Eastern provinces, where mist clung to the bamboo forests like silk on skin, tales began to stir of a mysterious young man. His name was Wei Long—a man whose past was blank, his skills unproven, and whose every success seemed to border on the supernatural.
But no one knew the truth:
Wei Long had no martial talent.
No discipline. No training. Not even a proper stance.
But he had luck—divine, absurd, illogical luck. The kind of luck that made the heavens chuckle and fate lose track of its own plans.
And yet… no one knew.
It began in the outer village of Baiyu, where Wei Long first arrived looking for work. A bandit raid was sweeping through the region. The villagers hid, weapons drawn. Wei Long, having mistaken the bandits for opera performers (he was nearsighted), walked directly into their path.
A wild goose—startled by the shouting—swooped down and collided with the lead bandit's face. In the confusion, Wei Long tripped and pulled down a hanging cart, knocking out three more. The rest fled, believing he had summoned the bird deliberately.
From that day on, they called him "Goose Tamer Wei", and whispers spread:
"He commands nature with hand signs."
"He's an ancient beast master reborn!"
"No, no, he studied under the Sky Hermit. I saw him blink twice before the goose came!"
Wei Long tried to correct them. "No, really, I just—"
But they bowed before him and offered him a house.
In the nearby city of Lianfang, a rich merchant heard the tales and invited Wei Long to advise on a trade dispute. Wei Long, who had no clue about politics or business, accidentally dropped his cup of tea. It splashed onto a secret letter the merchant's rival was about to deliver—revealing coded treachery.
Stunned, the merchant declared:
"You saw through the plot with such grace!"
"He's a political mastermind."
"No, no—he predicted the betrayal and used tea as a metaphorical sword!"
Wei Long simply mumbled, "I just dropped the cup…"
Weeks passed. Rumors grew into legends.
To some, he was a strategic genius.
To others, a demonic charm master who bent women and fate alike with a smirk.
To the monks of the Lotus Temple, he was the reincarnation of a long-dead martial saint, walking among mortals with hidden power.
Each person saw something else:
A swordsman swore Wei Long's footwork was unmatched (he was dodging a bee).
A noble lady fainted, believing his silence was deep melancholy (he was daydreaming about dumplings).
A tactician bowed, thinking his lazy posture was a sign of ultimate inner peace (he had back pain).
Wei Long, meanwhile, wandered from town to town in blissful confusion.
"I think I've been promoted to something?" he told a farmer one day.
"To what?"
"I don't know. But there's a lot of bowing."
And thus began the legend of Wei Long—the man cloaked in mystery, revered by all, envied by many, truly understood by none.
And in truth…
He was just very, very lucky.
To be continued...