Yuan Xun pulled his right arm back to his right flank. Simultaneously, his footwork shifted from a Cat Stance to a T-Stance as he pivoted thirty degrees to the right. Shaping his left palm into a steel blade, he raised his right arm above his head, his right palm splayed with five fingers curved like an eagle's claws. The steel blade slashed violently upward into the right flank of an imaginary opponent, while his eagle claw struck fiercely at the Rugen acupoint, concluding the killing blow of the Life-Taking Fist. Yuan Xun steadied his stance to catch his breath, his respiration remaining calm and controlled.
The daily training began at the Hour of the Tiger every morning. Though the weather was biting cold, sweat still beaded on his bare, robust, and well-proportioned torso, where muscles rippled, seemingly steaming in the freezing northeastern winter. The wind howled through the bare treetops, rustling and scattering layers of dry leaves across the wide brick courtyard. He looked around. Mount Lian loomed dark and massive, blotting out a vast stretch of the sky. The light was dim and cold. He untied his martial artist's sash, quickly wiped his sweat-dappled body, and wrapped it around his waist. He moved nimbly toward a pair of stone lions with iron rings on their backs. Yuan Xun stepped between them, drew a deep breath into his dantian, channeled his Fire Cloud Art, directed his inner strength down into his legs to anchor his stance, and circulated his energy to his outstretched arms, their rippling muscles looking as though they were sculpted from steel. Holding his breath, he hoisted the pair of stone lions—each weighing no less than five hundred catties—above his head, lifting and lowering them repeatedly. His internal energy had progressed significantly; his diligent practice was yielding remarkable results.
He was pleased with this achievement. Yet, Uncle Duan still looked at him with eyes full of sadness mixed with hopelessness and helplessness. It was precisely because of those old, sorrowful eyes that Yuan Xun trained even harder, wanting to please his aging uncle, whose love for him was boundless. He had lived here, in this remote mountain valley, for as long as he could remember. It was a desolate place, home only to his uncle, himself, Wanqing—his uncle's only daughter, who was about his age—and Yu Si, a middle-aged servant with sharp, slanted eyes. The four of them had lived quietly in this mountain nook for many years. About once every half month, Yu Si and Wanqing would go down to the town to buy food and necessary supplies. Occasionally, Yuan Xun would accompany Yu Si into the mountains to hunt. Yu Si possessed lightning-fast footwork and superb archery skills. He was quiet and rarely spoke, perhaps because his voice carried a slight accent, like that of an outsider. In addition, about once every three or four months, Uncle Duan would receive a visitor. This guest would often praise his exceptional latent talent, yet there was always a hint of lament in his voice, as if mourning the waste of such a marvelous foundation.
During those visits, the elderly guest was known to him only by a brief name: Second Master Xiao, Xiao Daxiong. His Sixth Uncle Duan, Second Master Xiao, and sometimes even Yu Si would converse in a language that Yuan Xun could not understand at all, and Wanqing knew no more of it than he did.
Wan Qing was a beautiful, gentle girl with sparkling eyes, rosy-white cheeks, lips like a bright peach petal, and pearly white teeth. This was what set Wan Qing apart from the other girls of Dai Viet, who had glossy, pitch-black lacquered teeth. Perhaps because her mother had passed away too early, there was no one left to teach her the Dai Viet art of teeth blackening. Since childhood, Yuan Xun had lived alongside her, their affection growing deeper with each passing day. But since she reached the age of the full moon, Wan Qing no longer laughed, played, and ran around with him as before. She was also taught martial arts, fist-and-foot techniques, and swordplay by her father and Elder Xiao, just like him. Wan Qing's body was slender, so her footwork lacked the fierce power of fist-and-foot forms, but whenever she performed the Mandarin Duck Swordplay, Yuan Xun felt as though she were a fairy dancing in the wind. He often praised her with admiration, making Wan Qing blush time and again.
He regarded Wan Qing as his own sister, but lately, she had seemed somewhat self-conscious whenever they practiced swordplay together. Perhaps it was the name of the Mandarin Duck Sword style—the meaning of which Wan Qing had once asked him—that made her so shy! When Wan Qing was shy, her face blushed like peach blossoms, and Yuan Xun found her truly beautiful. Deep within his heart, he felt a faint, gentle stirring, like the fragrance of orange jessamine on nights of the crescent moon. Once or twice, he had wondered and marvelled at that tender sensation. Yet, the long hours of grueling martial arts practice and afternoons spent studying literature and military strategy did not allow this gentle feeling to grow any further.
Hearing a heavy cough from Sixth Uncle Duan's room and seeing the dim light of an oil lamp filtering through the cracks in the door, Yuan Xun knew that Uncle Duan was awake, diligently lighting the fire and boiling water to brew tea. This habit had become a regular, disciplined routine for about eight or nine years now, and he never allowed anyone to assist him with it. As time went on, his health declined further. At sixty years of age, a man of his superb martial arts caliber should not have been in such a frail state. He would often sit in contemplation over a cup of Xue Shan tea. This extraordinarily flavorful tea was brought as a gift by Second Master Xiao whenever he visited. Uncle Duan's face had a strange, bluish tint. Xun did not dare to ask, but he suspected that his uncle had been severely injured by some kind of Han Yin Poison Palm, especially given the heavy coughing. At those times, his uncle would quickly drink three cups of tea and close his eyes to meditate and circulate his energy. It seemed he was trying to use what little internal power he had left to fight off the bizarre, destructive energy ravaging his increasingly withered body.
Over time, he realized that the guest surnamed Xiao visited him at very regular intervals. Several times, Yuan Xun wanted to ask, but looking at his sickly uncle's melancholy eyes, something held him back. Suddenly, he remembered that Elder Xiao usually came once every three months during the waning moon, and the last visit had been three months ago. Instinctively, he had a premonition that something new was about to happen, though he did not know what it was. His premonitions rarely played him false. Hearing a soft rustle behind him, Xun turned around. Wan Qing appeared in the dim shadows:
“Brother Xun! Your hearing is truly superb. Even though I used the Cat Footwork, you still detected me.”
Yuan Xun unwrapped the shawl from around his waist and draped it over his broad shoulders:
“Sister Qing, why did you get up so early? It's freezing cold!”
Wan Qing laughed softly:
“It's already the start of the Hour of the Rabbit, how is that early? Brother Xun, you should put on some warm clothes. Don't just rely on your strong constitution!”
With that, Wanqing hurried over to the crossbar used for hanging sandbags for arm strength and steel broadsword training, quickly gathering the clothes Yuanxun had draped over it. In the dim light, her silhouette moved swiftly and gracefully. A vague sense of warmth, born of knowing he was being cared for, welled up in Yuanxun's heart. He stepped quickly to her side and reached out to take the clothes from her.
"Wanqing, let me do it! What brings you out here so early?"
"Early? What do you mean early? I wake up in the middle of the hour of the Tiger every morning. The Lightning Sword style that Fourth Master just taught me is much harder than the Yue Maiden Sword. I've been practicing relentlessly, but I still haven't mastered it."
"That's true! The Lightning Sword belongs to the hard styles; it focuses primarily on speed, where the mind and the sword must become one. I heard Uncle say it's much harder to master than even the Tempest Sword. If you can master it, you'll truly be invincible under heaven, and even I wouldn't dare get close to you."
In the dim light, Wanqing's eyes sparkled. Had it been daytime, he would have seen her cheeks flush red.
"Brother Xun! You always tease me! I only practice because Father told me to, just to stay healthy. How can a woman compete for supremacy with anyone, let alone be 'invincible'?"
"You say that, but Uncle told me there is no shortage of heroic women in the Central Plains martial world whose earth-shattering skills put men to shame."
"But how could I have such grand ambitions? I'm just a girl suited for the kitchen and embroidery... Oh, goodness! Brother Xun, Father told me to tell you that he has something he wants to say to you!"
"What is it about?"
"How should I know? Go see Father and you'll find out immediately!"
Wanqing turned and went back inside. Yuanxun hurriedly put on his clothes.
The final button hid his broad, muscular chest, which was completely covered by a tattoo of a purplish-pink tiger's head. He hurried into the house.
Standing outside the closed door, with faint light seeping through the cracks, a nameless anxiety welled up in his heart. For the first time in his life, Uncle Duan had broken his routine to call him into the study in the middle of his practice session. Usually, the older man would only lean on his cane to watch him train, offering pointers and corrections. This unusual summons made him worry that something grave was about to happen. Yuanxun let out a long sigh, as if trying to expel all the anxiety from his chest.
"Is that you, Xun'er? Come in, my boy!"
Yuanxun was startled. His uncle's hearing was truly extraordinary. Despite the rustling wind and his deliberate attempt to suppress his sigh, he had still been detected. His uncle's internal energy remained incredibly profound.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside quietly. Duan Zhengxin, his Sixth Uncle Duan, sat silently behind the writing desk next to a boiling kettle. Warm sparks crackled from the charcoal embers, and the air was thick with the fragrance of Jade Leaf Orchid. Sixth Uncle's eyes were fixed on the fresh flame of a white candle, which had been lit to provide more light than the peanut oil lamp. Lost in thought, he seemed unaware of Yuanxun's presence. Yuanxun tiptoed over and sat on a stool near the base of a pillar. He respected the silence of his aging martial uncle, who was his father's sixth sworn brother. He looked around the small room, which served as both Sixth Uncle's study and tea room. Everything was bathed in the flickering candlelight. Beneath his silver-white eyebrows, his sorrowful, melancholic eyes seemed lost in distant memories.
"Yuanxun! You have just turned eighteen this year."
"How quickly time flies!"
His voice suddenly rang out in the cozy room.
Yuanxun stood up and bowed his head, awaiting his uncle's instruction.
“Bring the stool and sit close to me. I want to tell you of a grave matter that I have carried heavily in my heart for so long.”
“Come here, my child! Huan'er!”
He did as his Sixth Uncle bade, waiting in silence.
“Twelve years ago, when you were just six years old and Wanqing had just turned five, on a freezing winter day just like today, the armies of the Ming dynasty breached the passes and poured into Dai Viet...”
His eyes flashed with pain. He continued:
“Back then, the Ho dynasty had only been on the throne for a few years. The people's hearts were still divided, and their yearning for the Tran dynasty remained deeply etched in the minds of the Dai Viet people due to the illustrious exploits of your ancestors. Therefore, the strength of a united mind was not to be found as it had been during the Dien Hong Congress. Thus, the Ho dynasty quickly collapsed before an offensive that was nowhere near as fierce and overwhelming as that of the Tartars of old. Even though Quy Ly was an adaptable, resourceful man, capable of calculation and foresight, who knew how to effectively reform the administrative and military apparatus, the root of all strength is the people, and that was something Quy Ly failed to grasp. Ah! Only then does one realize that the hearts of the people are everything. The Ming dynasty chose the perfect moment to seize victory. Had they been thirty years later, once that Qilin had won the hearts of the people, it would not have been so easy for them to triumph, even with their invading hordes of thieves, thugs, and all the martial arts masters of the Central Plains. I do not intend to tell you how your beloved Fatherland was crushed under the harsh hands of Zhang and Huang... I only wish to speak of my third brother, your father, a Prince of the Tran dynasty... You cannot fathom it—what Zhang and Huang plundered from Dai Viet was the very essence of your Fatherland, just as my own homeland suffered over a century ago. By order of the Ming Emperor, Zhang and Huang gathered all the books of scholars, geographers, physicians, even master carvers, builders... and beautiful women. Every essence of the nation was swept away in an attempt to erase the civilization of the Hong Lac lineage. Among those countless masterpieces was the *Van Kiep Bi Truyen* of Grand Duke Hung Dao, your great-great-grandfather, who led the resistance through two wars against the Yuan-Mongols, and who also contributed no small effort in the first war against them.”
“Since then, one hundred and fifty years have passed. That handsome, young Prince foresaw the expansionist dreams of Genghis Khan's descendants, and he allied with the Emperor of my country, Dali, to form a bond as close as lips and teeth. The close bond between the Tran and Duan royal families was forged from that moment. Aside from his extraordinary talents in statecraft, military strategy, and his benevolent heart, Grand Duke Hung Dao possessed formidable martial arts skills, which he exchanged with my ancestors. From then on, the two families became as one. And now, in the blink of an eye, a century and a half has passed.”
Duan Zhengxin suddenly fell silent. As if standing before a pain too deep for words, he drank another cup of strong tea, trying to suppress his sorrow. In the corners of his wrinkled eyes, two late teardrops glistened. The creases on his forehead deepened. With a sigh, he continued:
"Some people already know or have heard of these matters, while others could never possibly know. My Third Brother, your father, was a Prince of the orthodox lineage of the Tran dynasty. From a young age, he cared nothing for wealth or fame, wandering the jianghu and making alliances with heroes. There were eight of us who swore brotherhood. The world bestowed upon us the fine title of the Eight Great Masters. Though our martial arts skills varied and our talents differed, we took Benevolence, Righteousness, Propriety, Wisdom, and Trustworthiness as our foundation. We drank blood to seal our oath, becoming closer than blood brothers. From then on, we gained some renown in the jianghu, respected not only in Dai Viet but also by the great masters of the Central Plains.
My Eldest Brother was of the Buddhist school, and my Second Brother was of the Daoist school. Each possessed their own unique, peerless martial arts, though they have vanished from the jianghu for many years now. Both were from the North. Eldest Brother was simple-hearted and always smiling, hence his Buddhist name, Grandmaster Huo Fo. Second Brother was quiet and contemplative, his thoughts profound, his martial arts bizarre yet superb; his Daoist title was Daoist Master Tian Xu. My Third Brother was of a gentle disposition, possessing orthodox martial arts. He was honored with the beautiful title 'The Peerless Sword of the Southern Sky,' Tran Nguyen Lu, with his Cloud-Mist Locking Swordplay—alas, it has now been lost to time. Our Fourth and Fifth Brothers were outstanding figures, descendants of generals from the cherry blossom land of Fusang. They parted ways with Third Brother and the three of us ten years ago, before the day of the massacre. Here, take this token. It is also the last relic of your father, the token of recognition for our Eight Great Masters, which I only managed to receive from your father's hands just before he passed away..."
Hero Doan drew a brocade pouch from his robes, opened it, and handed him an octagonal piece of emerald-green jade, carved with eight longswords surrounding a single moon. Holding his father's relic in his hands, Nguyen Huan suddenly felt a sharp pang in his chest, stemming from the agonizing pain of his family's tragedy, the details of which he was waiting for his Sixth Uncle to reveal.
Hero Doan lit his water pipe. The crisp crackling of the silver-trimmed antique ceramic pipe and the billowing clouds of smoke plunged the room into the quiet stillness of a solitary winter morning. Doan Chinh Tam called out to his daughter. Uyen Thanh emerged from the adjacent room. It was clear she had been waiting there for a long time, eavesdropping on the conversation between him and her father.
"Thanh'er! Uncle Xiao will surely arrive sometime this morning. You and Uncle Yu should prepare a few dishes for us; I want them to be more special than usual. Ah, and also, the jar of Hundred-Flower Wine buried underground has been there for over a hundred days now! Remember to tell Uncle Yu to dig it up, my child. Every winter, Second Brother Xiao always looks forward to the carp from Yunmeng Lake. Remember to tell Uncle Yu to try his best to get some. Who knows when we will have another chance..."
He trailed off, his eyes filled with a gentle melancholy. Uyen Thanh bowed her head and withdrew, as silently as she had entered. A moment later, Nguyen Huan heard her voice drifting in, clear as jade chimes, playfully chattering and teasing Old Fourth Yu.
– Nguyen Huan, now that you know a little about your background and lineage, I will also tell you the tragic story that I have kept secret for the past twelve years. You see, Huan-er! The Van Kiep Secret Manual is a book of military strategy and also an unparalleled martial arts manual. The martial arts section is the second volume. In the past, the Grand Prince once traveled to Dali and had a fateful encounter with an extraordinary master who passed it down to him, but it is not something just anyone can learn. For nearly two hundred years, not a single person in the Tran royal family or among the common folk has possessed the skeletal constitution required to master the internal power recorded by the Grand Prince. Although your father's Cloud-Mist Locking Sword is also among the world's ultimate sword techniques, because he could not master the Kshana Infinite Divine Art, the power of the Cloud-Mist Locking Sword was greatly diminished, though it still made a name for itself throughout the land.
To practice the Kshana Infinite Divine Art, one must have a unique body with reversed meridians. In the past hundred and fifty years, since the time of your great-great-grandfather, you are the only one who meets this condition. Huan-er! You are the only one who can master it. Unfortunately, the manual has fallen into the hands of another. Since the Grand Prince passed away, the Van Kiep Secret Manual only passed down the military strategy, the secret techniques, martial arts, and medicine. In each generation, only a single person knew its hiding place, out of fear that descendants, eager to practice without understanding its essential origins, would suffer qi deviation. Yet, someone still found out and seized it...
Nguyen Huan's every nerve grew so tense that his breathing quickened.
– Uncle! That person... who is he?
– I do not know either!
– He... was he alone?
– No! He came with a troop of government soldiers. He was dressed in black, his face as pale as a corpse. I knew he was wearing a human-skin mask. If he were a regular officer, those experts capable of facing the Eight Great Masters—your martial uncle would have known immediately if he looked into it. No, he was no ordinary officer. The commandants leading the army treated him with the deference due to a prince, while the likes of Zhang, Huang, Li, and Ma were at most marquises and earls, and their martial arts had not yet reached the pinnacle.
– He alone could defeat the Four Great Masters?
– No! There were three of them, but the man in black was the leader. His martial arts were bizarre, extremely vicious, and incredibly profound. He alone fought barehanded in a life-and-death struggle against me and your father, yet he still held the upper hand.
– Uncle! Could it be... could it be that the Cloud-Mist Locking Sword technique could do nothing to him?
– Of course it could. Your father unleashed the full power of the Cloud-Mist Locking Sword, which temporarily kept us alive, but because... because...
– Uncle, what kind of palm style did he use that was so formidable?
– His palm wind was as cold as ice, its power terrifying. Your father had to use the Palm-Breaking Stance, yet he still could not overwhelm him. Before closing his eyes for the last time, your father mentioned the Xuanming Divine Palm of the Two Elders of the past, but judging by his strength, his inner power was far superior to theirs.
– Sixth Uncle! Who are the Two Elders?
– They are two devils from the Central Plains whom I have never met.
– Then how do you know his inner power is superior to theirs, Uncle?
– Your father said so!
– Just now, Sixth Uncle, you left your sentence unfinished... but because of what?
– Ah! Yes... My life was hanging by a thread under his left palm strike. Disregarding his own safety, your father unleashed a wide sweep of his sword. Just as I took a blow to my chest, fortunately, your father's blade managed to sever three fingers from the enemy's left hand—the pinky, ring, and middle fingers. The force of his palm strike was reduced to a mere twenty percent, which is why I am still alive today, useless as I am. But to save me, your father left his Rugen acupoint exposed, and he took a direct hit from the enemy's right palm.
At that moment, I lost consciousness, only catching a final glimpse of Third Brother being sent flying like a kite with a broken string. Perhaps because they arrogantly assumed that Third Brother and I could not survive that insidious palm strike, they set fire to the manor, dug up the secret manual, and left. Afterward, Third Brother and I were revived by a passing Buddhist traveler, but Third Brother's injuries were too severe; three days later, he passed away.
- Sixth Uncle! My father... but what about my mother and siblings?
- Your mother passed away when you were only three years old. You are your father's only child!
- Where was I at that time?
- You and Uyen Thanh were carried on the back of Old Fourth Du to hide when the government troops swarmed in.
- Where was my family's manor back then? How did they know where the secret manual was hidden? Where were Seventh and Eighth Uncles at that time?
- When your Tran dynasty fell to the Ho dynasty, it was also the time you were born. Your father brought your mother to live in the Xuan Hong Mountain of the Yen Tran region. Only your father knew where the secret manual was hidden. For twelve years, I have thought about it but found no clues as to who discovered it and informed the enemy; even Third Brother could not guess. My two junior martial brothers also died in the chaotic flurry of blades. Uyen Thanh's mother, once famous as the greatest beauty of the Northwest, was only twenty-five years old back then when she was captured and went missing. I could not find her body among the corpses strewn across the manor.
Doan Chinh Tam bowed his head over the writing desk, his aging shoulders trembling. Nguyen Huan's heart felt as though salt were being rubbed into it. Pain and hatred mingled like sharp daggers piercing his heart, leaving him paralyzed. The room sank into a desolate silence. Uyen Thanh's weeping snapped them both back to reality.
- Uyen'er! Stop crying, my child! What can tears achieve? Bear this pain as I have for twelve years. You too, Nguyen Huan! You must prove yourselves worthy of the shared pain of our Fatherland, of the two peoples currently exiled and trampled under the shackles of slavery. Turn your grief into spiritual strength and fight fiercely amidst this pain. Be worthy, my children!
- Uncle! Before he closed his eyes, did my father leave any last wishes, Uncle?
- He did, my child! But are you worthy of hearing those last wishes?
- Sixth Uncle! I will strive to be worthy!
Nguyen Huan's eyes blazed with fire, his gaze sharp as a thousand arrows. Gritting his teeth, he knelt and kowtowed, his forehead striking the Bat Trang tiled floor:
- Sixth Uncle! I kowtow and promise before you that I will always be worthy. Thank you, Sixth Uncle, for taking me in!
- Nguyen Huan! Stand up at once!
The great hero Doan's shout rang out like thunder. Startled, Nguyen Huan stood up and bowed his head.
- If I have done anything wrong, please forgive me, Sixth Uncle!
- Huan'er! What is this talk of gratitude? I regarded my Third Brother as my own flesh and blood, and I hold you in higher esteem than even Thanh'er. How can you achieve great things if you fuss over such trivialities and formalities? From now on, you must understand that if you fail to fulfill your father's wishes and testament, I will not be able to close my eyes in death, and even my Third Brother will suffer in shame in the Nine Springs...
- Foster Father! Please allow me to say this. I will avenge us, and I will find my foster mother and bring her back, if she is still alive...
- Huan'er! Quiet for a moment!
He turned and called for his daughter:
- Thanh'er! Come closer.
Frightened by her aging father's wrath, Uyen Thanh suppressed her grief and tiptoed over to his side.
- Yes, Father.
"Stand before me, and I shall tell you the final wishes of the deceased. Huan-er! You must not call me your foster father, for my Third Brother betrothed the two of you when you were still children. I must fulfill the promise I made to my Third Brother all those years ago; you two should not let ordinary bashfulness stand in the way. Perhaps I should not speak of this now, but I do not cling to trivial formalities. Both of you, maintain your bond as brother and sister until the day Nguyen Huan returns. Do not be swayed by such soft, youthful sentiments, for this is a sacred duty to the departed, and it is also your mother's wish—Thanh-er, you know this, do you not? Listen to me, both of you. Before Huan-er sets out early tomorrow morning, I want you to exchange three bows so that my mind may be at ease!"
Uyen Thanh's face flushed red, as did Nguyen Huan's. They turned to face each other, lowered their heads, and knelt to exchange three full bows. Hero Doan's voice rang out:
"I am well pleased by this. Now, Nguyen Huan, kneel and listen to your father's last testament. I know you wish to pay respects at your father's grave, but that can wait until your return. I hope that on that day, your father will smile and receive you as a worthy son. Before me, and with your father's spirit hovering near, listen to the wishes of the departed."
"Huan-er, hear the vow to avenge our country and our family. Finding Uyen Thanh's birth mother is but a secondary wish of your father and mine. Our greatest, most noble aspiration is to reclaim the Van Kiep Secret Manual at all costs. It is not merely the heirloom of a single clan, but the treasure of an entire resilient nation. Tran Nguyen Huan! Do you hear me? Uyen Thanh! Bring me the wine and the dagger!"
He reached out to take the wine jar and poured it into a cup:
"Nguyen Huan! Stand up!"
Understanding his meaning, the young man respectfully held the cup of wine before him. Taking the dagger, its steel gleaming with a water-blue sheen, he made a light cut across his wrist. A stream of warm blood spurted out, filling the cup.
Her hands trembling, Uyen Thanh tightly wrapped a pink scarf around Nguyen Huan's wrist after applying medicine to stop the bleeding. Paying no heed to his wound, Nguyen Huan raised the cup of blood-wine respectfully to his brow:
"To the departed soul of my father! To my esteemed uncle! I, Tran Nguyen Huan, a descendant of the Dong A lineage, solemnly swear to use all my strength, my will, and my very life to fulfill this final charge. If for any reason I fail to accomplish it, I shall no longer deserve to walk this earth. I pray that both my fathers bear witness to this!"
He threw back his head and drained the cup of blood-wine, the crimson mixture spilling down his face and neck.
"Excellent! Rise, worthy descendant of the Grand Prince, Commander-in-Chief, Supreme Duke of the Realm. Pray that his spirit guides and protects his descendants to fulfill this mission. Now, go outside, my children!"
Dawn was just beginning to break...