Forgotten Tale of Jianghu

Within the quiet stillness of Silent Serenity pharmacy store, the shopkeeper's daughter, Chu Cao, watched the young man leave. A hint of confusion flickered in her eyes, as if trying to understand something beyond her grasp.

Chu Cao... Chu Cao was the daughter of the renowned apothecary, Chu Wei Ran, also known as the "Silver Robe Divine Physician." While her father treated patients, she diligently assisted him in running their medicine shop. She wasn't just a beauty admired throughout Kunming City—people revered her not only for her appearance but also for her medical knowledge, which she used to help the sick alongside her father.

No one knew whether she possessed martial arts skills, for Chu Cao had never been involved in a fight. The people of Kunming adored her, and because of that, she had never encountered any enemies nor faced any conflicts.

At this moment, she found herself staring after Xin Long, perplexed. It wasn't without reason—her father, Chu Wei Ran, had once given her specific instructions.

The medicines that young man had purchased were identical to the ones her father had warned her about. Her father had told her about three particular medicines, instructing her to notify him immediately if anyone ever bought them together. He had emphasized their importance, though he had never explained their purpose.

As Xin Long disappeared from view, Chu Cao turned her gaze back to the counter, where she noticed a folded piece of paper left behind. Curious, she reached for it and unfolded it.

"One day, you will belong to me… Xin Long."

As she read the note, a surprised laugh escaped her lips.

"Xin Long, huh? A little boy who still reeks of milk thinks he's going to claim me someday? Ha-ha!"

Yet, as she recalled the intense and unwavering gaze he had fixed on her earlier, she found herself chuckling again—though this time, a little differently.

What she didn't realize was that the words he had written had already left a lingering mark in her heart.

…

Taking shelter in the ruins on the outskirts of Kunming City… Xin Long hid from the oppressive darkness of the night that engulfed the Silent Valley. He watched the passersby, observing their every movement. The gentle yet relentless snowfall blurred his view into the distance. A sword was tucked at his waist, and his right hand gripped its hilt tightly, ensuring it was ready for quick action.

He was waiting—waiting for prey that could offer him the vital heart he needed. If Wei Wei returned, finding a suitable target would become more difficult. And once he rejoined the sect, killing Bai Luo would still be uncertain. That was why he needed a sure kill now—a prey whose heart he could claim without fail.

"Clop, clop, clop…"

The faint sound of hooves echoed from afar, drawing closer toward the town. He heard it and felt a flicker of relief. Fate was not always cruel, after all. With a hint of satisfaction, he stepped out from his hiding place onto the main road, waiting.

Through the curtain of snow, he saw a man in his thirties riding a horse. The rider approached, and he noticed the hilt of a sword protruding from his back, extending beyond his right shoulder. A swordsman… A martial artist. This was the prey he had been hoping for. He only sought martial artists; he had no interest in harming ordinary people. A martial artist should die by the hand of another martial artist—that was his belief.

"Hey... you! What are you doing standing in the middle of the road? Move aside, you dog bastard!"

The rider noticed him and pulled the reins, bringing the horse to a stop. His voice was harsh, dripping with anger. The man's eyes mirrored a cruel, merciless nature, much like his own. He liked that. This was the kind of prey he preferred. This man could not possibly be one of those righteous, white-clad martial artists.

Locking eyes with the rider, he replied calmly, "I'm waiting to kill you."

Upon hearing those words, the rider burst into laughter—loud and mocking. Then, with a swift motion, he dismounted, his eyes narrowing with dangerous intent. The laughter vanished; in its place was the look of someone prepared to take responsibility for those words.

The rider drew his sword from his back and charged forward in a fury. Without hesitation, he unsheathed his own blade and braced for the attack.

"Swish, swish."

"Clang, clang."

With precise movements, he parried the continuous strikes aimed at his chest and neck. Seizing an opening, he thrust his blade toward the rider's throat, unleashing the deadly technique he had mastered. The rider's martial skills were inferior to his own—he realized he was fortunate.

He pressed forward, slashing at the chest, abdomen, and every vulnerable spot he could reach. With his left hand, he drew his dagger from his waist and thrust it at close range.

"Clang."

"Thud."

"Urgh."

The rider deflected the dagger, but the exertion left him exposed. He plunged his sword into the man's chest, stepping forward to trap his opponent.

The rider froze, his eyes wide in disbelief, resembling a stone statue. He smirked, grateful to this man for providing what he needed.

Pulling his sword from the chest, he retrieved his dagger from the ground. He led the rider's horse back onto the road and sent it off in the direction it had come.

"Swish."

He heaved the rider's corpse onto his back and carried it behind the ruins.

The crescent moon hung above, casting light that revealed everything he needed to see. He dropped the body to the ground and crouched over it. Placing his dagger on the chest, he sliced downward with practiced precision.

Blood sprayed onto his face and body. He licked his lips, savoring the warmth of the blood, as his hand burrowed into the open cavity. With a firm grasp, he reached the still-beating heart.

"Thump, thump, thump."

The heart pulsed in his grip. He tore it free and bit into it, his teeth sinking into the flesh. He then retrieved a bundle of herbs from his chest pocket and chewed on them, dulling the pain of the ritual.

He looked at the lifeless body before him and pondered briefly. There was no guilt—he had killed to survive. The fault lay with those who had driven him to this path.

With that thought, he continued to consume the heart.

Unbeknownst to him, a pair of eyes watched from the rooftop of the ruins—wide with disbelief and horror.

End – 15