Forgotten Tale of Jianghu

Flap… Flap…

A carrier pigeon soared over the medicine trays as Chu Cao carefully dried them. It darted past the trays and disappeared into her father's private chamber.

She had grown used to this sight over the past two years.

Time and again, messenger pigeons arrived for her father, Chu Wei Ran. Each time, without fail, he would leave their home shortly afterward — sometimes gone for a week, ten days, or even a full month before returning.

It no longer surprised her.

What did surprise her, however, was how this pattern began the moment her father first heard her mention Xin Long's antidotes.

When she asked him about it, he never gave a clear answer.

But through her own efforts, she discovered that the antidotes were meant to counteract the effects of the Brain-consuming pill — something that both astounded and unsettled her.

From that moment, a question took root in her mind:

Had Xin Long fallen victim to the Brain-consuming pill?

Yet, the idea that Xin Long — of all people — would possess knowledge of such a rare antidote seemed… improbable.

After all, Xin Long had vanished without a trace for two long years.

Had he died?

The thought lingered as she absentmindedly clutched a medicine tray, lost in thought.

Suddenly, movement caught her eye — her father emerging from his quarters, a medical satchel slung across his back.

His travel-worn cloak, the way his robes were neatly secured — he was clearly preparing for a journey.

Before she could fully grasp the situation, her father's voice — calm but brief — broke the silence:

"Daughter, I must tend to a patient far from here… I'll be leaving shortly..."

"I've asked Jingjing from next door to stay with you while I'm away..."

She simply nodded, watching as her father stepped past her without waiting for a response, vanishing through the doorway.

She didn't ask where he was going.

She never did.

Perhaps it was because she feared the answer — or perhaps because she didn't want to burden him with more questions before his journey.

As for Jingjing — she was a 25-year-old woman with a reputation for beauty in Kunming City.

Strangely enough, Jingjing had only moved to Kunming two years ago — exactly one month after Xin Long disappeared.

And without fail, whenever her father left on one of his sudden trips, Jingjing would always stay by her side.

What connection did Jingjing have with her father?

Was it truly just a simple favor from a neighbor — or was there something more?

…

"Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop."

The steady rhythm of approaching horse hooves echoed into his ears, pulling him out of his thoughts. Leaning against the shade of a dense tree, he adjusted his posture instinctively, ready for anything.

The small forest buzzed with life — the distant cries of mountain birds, the rustling of branches swaying in the cold wind, and the soft sound of snow beginning to fall. The chill of winter deepened with each passing moment, seeping into his bones. He heard it all. Felt it all.

It had been two days since Xin Long left Chan Hai City. After passing through four small towns, he finally stopped to rest beneath a tree in this remote forest. Yet, during these two days, his mind had been consumed by unanswered questions about Zhen Yi's attitude and the affairs of their sect. No matter how much he pondered, the answers never came.

Then there was Bai Luo.

Yes… Bai Luo.

Thinking of Bai Luo only made it worse.

Despite always acting superior, Bai Luo had started looking at him with a strange fear and disgust ever since they returned from Kunming City with Wei Wei. Xin Long noticed this shift immediately — Bai Luo's sudden change in behavior gnawed at his thoughts. Why? Why did Bai Luo's attitude shift so drastically? He kept replaying the moments, yet no clear answer emerged.

Even their sect leader, Murong Jing, hadn't summoned him since his return from Kunming City. Why? He didn't know. He had even tried probing Wei Wei for answers, but the seductress dodged his questions with a smile, revealing nothing.

As Xin Long drifted deeper into his tangled thoughts, the sound of horse hooves grew louder from his right side. Snapping out of his daze, he swiftly turned his head to see who was approaching.

A figure dressed in a neat, dark blue robe, with a sword strapped to his back, rode calmly into view. It was none other than Brother Shen, whom Xin Long had encountered back in Chan Hai City. His composed, steady demeanor hadn't changed a bit.

Beside him, a young woman dressed in soft red robes followed closely. Though her appearance was delicate, her expression was anything but — her eyes burned with a fierce resentment, and her lips were pressed into a tight, unforgiving line. She bore a striking resemblance to Brother Shen, suggesting they might share the same master.

Xin Long remained standing, silently watching as they approached.

"Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop."

The horse let out a soft snort as Brother Shen tugged at the reins, bringing it to a stop. Tilting his head slightly, he smiled and spoke.

"Taking a rest along the road, I see? What a coincidence, running into you here..."

For a brief moment, Xin Long caught a flicker of surprise in Brother Shen's eyes — a reaction to seeing him here, in this remote part of the forest. It made sense. After all, Xin Long had left Chan Hai a day later than them, yet somehow arrived here first.

The explanation was simple — Xin Long hadn't stopped to rest in the towns along the way, pushing through the night and only halting when absolutely necessary to let his horse recover. His relentless pace had brought him here ahead of schedule.

But what truly caught his attention was the young woman's hostile glare. Her resentment was palpable, her narrowed eyes filled with a burning grudge. Her jaw was clenched so tightly that it distorted her otherwise elegant face.

Why? Why did she look at him with such hatred?

"Oh…"

Xin Long responded with just a single word, his cold, lifeless eyes staring back.

The sharpness of his brief reply wiped the smile off Brother Shen's face, and even the woman beside him seemed taken aback, her expression falling into a frown.

He didn't care. To him, a simple "Oh" was more than enough.

After all, he never bothered to understand the emotions of others. Misunderstandings like this were bound to happen.

"Brother Shen… are you seriously making a fuss over that mongrel dog, some nobody with no name, no background — who has nothing to do with Fire Palm Master Zhen Yi? Please... He's just another mercenary, same as Zhen Yi..."

Her words ignited Xin Long's blood, boiling it from within. Mongrel dog.

She had compared his parents to dogs — a casual insult, yet it cut deeper than any blade. Right here, right now, he swore he would make her eat those words.

And the fact that she and the others saw him as nothing more than a hired sword… there was no reason to hold back anymore.

As his fury darkened his gaze, she seemed to notice.

Instead of fear, however, a slight, mocking smile crept across her lips.

"Swish, swish."

"Thud, thud."

With a flick of his right hand, concealed weapons shot out, striking both horses. The sudden attack gave Brother Shen and the woman no time to react. Their horses reared in pain, causing the two to leap off and land deftly using their martial arts techniques.

"Bang…!" "Swish, swish..." "Snap…"

A preemptive strike—yes, that's what it was.

In one swift motion, Xin Long drew the sword strapped at his waist. His body surged forward, closing the distance as he struck at Brother Shen.

"Clang…"

"Swish, swish..."

"Clang, clang..."

But experience and skill weren't lacking on Brother Shen's side. He deftly parried each strike with smooth, calculated moves.

"Don't mistake my kindness for weakness…" Brother Shen said, his voice steady. "I only spoke nicely to you because I plan to get revenge for my sister's parents… My plan was ruined because of her foolishness… but you're not even close to my level…"

Xin Long…

Despite unleashing move after move from his Soul-splitting Blade Technique, not a single strike touched Brother Shen's robes. The man was calm, unshaken.

And now, the truth dawned on Xin Long. The hidden tension between Zhen Yi, the young woman behind Brother Shen, and the unsaid words—they were all connected.

Then…

A sudden gust of wind from behind.

Sensing danger, Xin Long immediately abandoned his attack, stepping back and leaping into the air. As Brother Shen shifted his stance, it became clear—another force was approaching.

A blade—yes, a direct and deadly thrust from behind, aimed straight at him.

Xin Long barely evaded. The blade missed him by a hair's breadth.

Still airborne, he unleashed his Fire Internal Force, channeling it into his sword. Flames of inner energy surged along the sword's edge.

Then—twisting his body mid-air—he landed softly on the ground.

The woman's sudden attack hadn't gone unnoticed by Brother Shen either. He leapt back, wary of the danger.

Without hesitation, Xin Long transformed his Fire Flame Ignition technique into a sword strike—its fluid, snake-like motion perfectly complementing the soft blade in his hand.

A flash of red, silent and deadly, streaked through the air. The sword, now infused with the fiery essence of his internal force, slithered toward Brother Shen's chest like a venomous serpent.

"Clang!"

Brother Shen parried, his blade ringing out as it clashed against Xin Long's sword. The force of his inner energy lifted the blade slightly upward—but Xin Long's soft sword, bending with the momentum, twisted and coiled, striking toward Brother Shen's shoulder.

A flash of panic crossed Brother Shen's face—he hadn't expected the flexibility of Xin Long's weapon. The sharp tip of the sword grazed a vital tendon near his collarbone.

If Xin Long had been wielding a solid, rigid blade, this move would have simply been deflected. But with a soft sword, the attack curved unnaturally, slipping past Brother Shen's defense.

His speed, his precision—Xin Long's mastery of the Fire Flame Ignition was evident.

As Brother Shen froze for a moment, his body stiff from the brief pain, Xin Long's lips curled into a faint smile.

He had planned this—the initial strike wasn't just to wound Brother Shen, but to lure the woman into attacking again.

And just as expected—

The soft whisper of a sword sliced through the air behind him.

Xin Long smiled.

Balancing on one leg, he twisted his waist backward, letting his body bend and flow with the motion—until he was nearly horizontal in the air.

The woman's blade surged forward, slicing just beneath his chin, narrowly missing his airborne form. It skimmed past him like a whisper.

Before she could strike again, Xin Long's left index finger darted out—swift as a snake—and jabbed at a spot on her chest, right at the pressure point near her sternum.

"Swish, swish."

"Thunk."

He could have thrust his sword forward, piercing her heart and ending it right then. His right hand gripped his blade, perfectly aligned to strike.

But he didn't.

Not yet.

Because the woman who had mocked his parents as mere dogs—and the Brother Shen who stood poised to finish him off—he wanted something more than their deaths. He wanted to shatter them first.

The technique he used was none other than the Fire Palm Technique, the same one he had wielded back in Chang hai City. This time, however, it wasn't just a palm strike—it was transformed into a sword technique. The first move was a deceptive sword strike; the second, a precise pressure-point jab using his finger.

Victory wasn't solely due to superior strength.

Xin Long had adapted. He analyzed the situation, reacting not with brute force but with sharp, calculated moves. Brother Shen's momentary stiffness and the woman's slight hesitation—they were all threads in his web.

More than that…

His martial arts had evolved.

Though it was only a single step forward, the shift was undeniable. It wasn't just about mastering the Fire Palm techniques anymore—Xin Long had begun to shape and blend them, molding the rigid into the fluid.

Yet, this wasn't true mastery.

True mastery required time, experience, and a deeper understanding—not only of his own techniques but of the martial world as a whole.

Knowing a hundred techniques didn't make one a supreme warrior.

It was when mind and body moved as one—when instinct and intent fused—that true mastery could be claimed.

And how many martial artists in this world ever reached that realm?

A mere handful—perhaps fewer.

End – 28