It starts as the story of Ip Man. He was born and raised in Foshan. From the time of his youth he took part in contest after contest of skill in and around the Gold Pavilion. Then, one day, Master Gong arrived from the Northeast to hold a retirement ceremony at the Gold Pavilion.
One retires, one steps forward. But who is entitled to be called a grandmaster? Ip Man? Master Gong's daughter, Gong Er? The self-described 'rascal' of the Northeast? Or is it Master Gong, who took the Northern martial arts to the South?
Some are looking to recover what belongs to them. Others want to achieve enlightenment. Then there are those who are only ever able to start fires and light lamps, and those who observe the currents of a chaotic and war-torn world from the sidelines.
Kungfu, a horizontal and a vertical, falling, rising, charging forward, carrying on. An era, rising and falling, scattering, regrouping, counter-attacking, advancing. It starts in Foshan. Its heart is in Dongbei. Its feet are on the ground in Hong Kong.
This can no longer just the story of Ip Man.
It is the path of the grandmaster: Being. Knowing. Doing.