Biographie

Comme l'éducation est l'un des aspects importants d'une famille asiatique typique, son père lui acheta un roman en anglais pris au hasard pour l'encourager à lire. Ce livre particulier transforma le petit garçon en un mordu du monde mythique de sword and sorcery. Ce livre était "Bloodsword : The Battlepits of Krarth", son tout premier livre-aventure de JdR. La série Bloodsword fut rapidement suivie par Fighting Fantasy de Steve et Ian Livingstone, les livres d'aventure de Donjons et Dragons, la quête de la Terre du Milieu, la série Lone Wolf, et tous les livres qu'il pouvait emprunter à ses amis ou à la bibliothèque. Son intérêt finit par englober les romans de fantasy et de science-fiction, comme ceux de Dragonlance, les Royaumes Oubliés, et Technoguerriers. Et non le moindre, le célèbre manga "Dragonball".

Bien qu'il connaissait les jeux de rôle sur table, il ne fit jamais vraiment une partie avant la fin de l'adolescence, lorsqu'il prit une pile de papiers jetés à la corbeille - sa famille n'avait pas vraiment les moyens d'acheter des livres. Cette pile de papiers se trouva être une photocopie du Player's Handbook 2ème édition d'Advanced Dungeons & Dragons. Avec le livre photocopié, et quelques trucs bricolés maison, il a fini par convaincre ses camarades de classe d'essayer une partie d'AD&D après l'école. Et comme pour la plupart des fans de fantasy, il commença à gribouiller ses personnages préférés (il avait l'habitude de dessiner des animaux), comme Raistlin, et Raistlin, et Raistlin. La sortie de jeux micro AD&D, comme Dark Queen of Krynn, Pool of Darkness, etc., augmenta encore beaucoup sa dépendance aux JdR.

Son AD&D ne cessa jamais vraiment, même lorsqu'il fut incorporé dans l'armée (service national). Il finit par convaincre ses compagnons de chambrée d'essayer le jeu, mais la partie s'arrêta vite après qu'il fut transféré dans une autre unité. Le régime d'entraînement plus dur laissa peu de temps pour vraiment jouer, et le sommeil devint bien trop important. Cependant, c'est pendant cette période qu'il découvrit Elfwood, qui fut l'une des principales influences qui le poussèrent à dessiner plus sérieusement. Impressionné par les dessins de la galerie en ligne, et avec les conseils de dessinateurs plus expérimentés comme William Li, il commença à s'exerver au dessin de fantasy pendant ses week-end, et des périodes creuses occasionnelles à l'armée. Souffrant de son manque de parties sur table - ses nouveaus compagnons n'aimaient pas la fantasy, il sortit et convainquit ses collègues compatriotes d'Elfwood de se réunir pour une partie. Et ainsi le groupe de JdR "Thelandria" fut formé. Ce fut une très grosse partie avec plus d'une douzaine de joueurs et un gros chariot. Le groupe finit par faire sa dernière partie lorsque presque tout le monde fut tué, après des années de jeu.

Il fait aussi de nombreux autres JdR comme Palladium, Rifts, le Livre des Cinq Anneaux, Everquest, Ars Magica, Battletech, Gamma World, Judge Dredd, Shadowrun, et Heroes Unlimited. En dehors du jeu sur table, c'est un grand fan de JdR PC comme Baldur's Gate, Icewind Dale, Temple of Elemental Evils, et de nombreux autres JdR - tant occidentaux que taïwanais.

En ce moment (octobre 2006), il travaille comme chercheur-ingénieur sur des biopuces microfluidiques, et il passe ses week-end à pratiquer des arts martiaux chinois, et un peu d'oeuvres de sculpture.

une petite histoire (en anglais) pour finir :

It was a stormy night, multiple streaks of lightning crashed onto the dull weathered rocks that populated the valley. Like lions berserked, the thunders roared their fury, but at the eye of this unnatural storm, a lone tower stood unmoved, untouched by the anger of the gods. They were helpless, they could do nothing, the world was ending. The eyes of all were on the tower, on the lone cloaked figure who dwelled within. The ancient wizard, who was born and was breathing his last within this dark tower, within the solace of his chambers.

Grasping weakly for his rune-scarred scythe, the emancipated man convulsed violently as yet another spasm gripped his ancient age-mottled mortal shell. Blinking his blood tinted tears away, he sighed as the pain in his heart gradually eased into a dull throbbing ache. Spitting the tangly metallic taste of blood from his mouth, the ancient necromancer stood up, his failing form upright and straight despite his great age. "It's time.", he whispered to himself.

His eyes, burning crimson with unnatural fervor, the pale necromancer stroked his silvery runic scythe gently and slowly began his long journey to the peak of the tower, to the altar where he will cast his final spell. "If only...", the weeping wizard whispered as he made his way to his final destination. "If only.... ", he moaned as a sudden pain ripped at his wiltered heart.

The freezing winds howled, and whipped through the narrow corridors seeking for the mortal who would bring about the end of everything, the end of the world. The storm grew stronger, desperated. Dark oily raindrops were hissing as they struck unrelentlessly against the cold fossilized bones of the dark tower. A rain of scorching acids. They burnt, they killed all that they touched, man, animals, everything. Surely, Nature had gone crazy.

Wild laughters soon erupted from his slender frame, "My life is mine and no others. The world must end. But if only..." He shook his head sadly, his eyes filled with unspeakable sorrows, his long white hairs rippling gently despited the wild gales that sought take away his life. "If only...", the ancient wizard lifted his foot and took yet another step. She is waiting.

With every step the wheezing old man took, the earth shook in defiance. Great cracks appeared throughout the rocky landscape. The earth shook again. The sea heaved, and raging torrents of oily fluid gushed through the great gaps of the wizard's valley. There can be no peace.

Pausing a moment to catch his fading breath, his eyes roamed the valley of which had been his home for the past decades, centuries, when it was once green and full of life. But now like the rest of the world, it is dead and so cold that nothing grow upon it, ever. The soils was poisoned, the air noxious and the rain burning. And now, only clumps of vicious monstrous plants stalk the garden he once tenderly groomed.

He sighed, his once peaceful grove had become a place devoid of harmony, only chaos remained. Only regrets.

Brushing his crimson tears away, the necromancer shivered slightly in the extreme cold that had permeated his valley. Gingerly flexing his stiff joints, the stubborn old man continued up the stairs determinedly. "I must... "

Great torrents of tainted sea water kept pouring into the valley, pounding mindlessly against the mystical barrier he had risen around his tower. Dark energies crackling as the shield resisted the sea's onslaught. And then they came.

In anguish, the ancient man averted his crimson eyes as he reluctantly hurled a bolt of dark crackling lightning toward the horde of finless shark-like monsters. They emerged from nowhere, madden by a justified vengeance, the demon fish sought to break through the mystic barrier. Oh, they screamed, each and everyone of them screamed their hatred for man, for their losses, just as they slowly, but surely died under the merciless grip of the necromancer's spell. "I'm sorry. Forgive us... ", the wizard wept as his lightning streak hungrily towards the blood-madden sharks.

Then after a blink of an eye, or perhap an eternity of silence, no one knows, a weeping figure with a silver scythe had finally made his way to the peak of the ancient tower. Dark arcane energy slowly gathered about the wizard as he began his mournful song. He sang of a world where the sun was gently nurturing the young seedlings, a world where the air was rich with the songs of birds, rich with the aroma of roses and a world in harmony. But now, the world is dying, in great pain, agony. He wept as he ended his song.

Holding his father's runic scythe with his two wiltered hands, the ancient wizard whispered a short farewell and smited the heart of the dying world. Silence.

"NOOoooooo!!!", a shout broke the silence, the voice was his.

"What right do you have to end a life, even if it is in pain, suffering? None. NONE. You have no right! Is it mercy?", the voice demanded fiercely.

He screamed, his fingers crutching at his face, inflicting deep bleeding grooves. "NOOOoooo!!", the wizard dug at his eyes, for he could not bear to see. The world is suffering. And he struck the pulsing gem, the heart of the world. If only...

A blinding light. The world was silent. A soft sigh escaped the weathered old figure still on his throne of bone. "It's time."

The ancient necromancer remarked as he reached for his scythe, a single tear falling from his closing eyes. "But if only...", the old man whispered as he breathed his last, a journey ending before it began.

Perhaps the birds would come again.

If only man...