Forgotten Tale of Jianghu

As Xin Long landed back on the ground, his eyes locked onto the young woman's face—frozen in shock.

Disbelief and fear twisted her expression, and in those wide, trembling eyes, he saw the flickering shadows of panic.

"Go on—say it again," he said, his voice a low growl. "Did you just call me a mongrel dog? Then let me turn you into the very dog you mocked—before I kill you."

Though his teeth were clenched tight, his fury burned through his gaze.

She had nothing to do with him—yet she dared to insult him. Worse, she had the audacity to drag his parents into her mockery. His rage wasn't an overreaction—it was the only natural response.

Xin Long…

He slid his sword back into the sheath at his waist. Then, reaching into his chest pocket, he pulled out a small bottle—the Demon's Lust poison.

With a flick of his thumb, the lid popped open. Two small, dark pills tumbled onto his palm.

A faint smile crept onto his lips.

Stepping forward, he grabbed the woman by the chin. Before she could resist, he forced her mouth open and flicked the pill inside. His hand covered her mouth, making sure she swallowed.

Then, without hesitation, he turned to Brother Shen.

The same eerie smile. The same motion. The same cruel, calculated act.

Brother Shen's eyes blazed with fury—not at the pain, but at the realization. He recognized the poison. Xin Long saw it—the flash of hatred in Brother Shen's glare, the unspoken curse behind those gritted teeth.

Reaching back into his pocket, Xin Long pulled out yet another bottle.

"This…" he said softly, "this one is a special poison—Spiritshatter Pill... If you don't find the antidote within a day, your blood vessels will burst one by one… and you'll die a slow, agonizing death…"

He chuckled—a dark, satisfied sound.

"Consider this my gift to you. Let's see if you can find the cure in time."

Xin Long's laughter echoed through the air—harsh, unrestrained, and cruel.

Yes…

Satisfaction.

It wasn't just about surviving—it was about making those who sought his death suffer first.

And with two more pills in hand, he repeated the same vicious act again.

The distant cries of wild crows tore through the silence, their sharp calls blending into Xin Long's wicked laughter.

In that moment, he thought…

Even the crows seemed to celebrate his revenge.

The crows' cries echoed through the air, a haunting chorus that seemed to mock and applaud in equal measure.

And then—he noticed it.

The swaying branches of the trees, creaking softly in the wind, almost as if they were nodding… silently acknowledging his actions.

Without a word, Xin Long moved back to the tree where he had been hiding earlier. Slinging his bundle over his shoulder, he made his way to the roadside. There, a horse remained tethered.

He untied the reins, swung himself onto the horse's back, and with a sharp kick, rode away from the small forest.

As the hours slipped by, he allowed himself a quiet, satisfied smile.

By the time those two shook off the effects of their paralyzed muscles, it would be far too late.

An eye for an eye—that was the law of balance.

They hadn't realized it, but the moment the young woman dared to call him a mongrel dog, her fate had already been sealed.

He had already given her a gift in return.

The price for her insult.

And now, the debt was paid.

…

"Gee… Woo…"

Murong Jing leaned back, his hand resting behind him as he gazed into the kennel, watching the dogs within. Snowflakes drifted from the sky, yet the cold barely touched him—his body wrapped in a thick wool coat and hood, keeping him comfortably warm.

But his thoughts… they were far from the winter's chill.

Instead, his mind circled around the one person he had never truly seen—the so-called Great Master.

Despite being the leader of the Shadowmoon reaper sect, he remained nothing more than a subordinate under this mysterious figure's command.

Like the rest of the sect members, Murong Jing had consumed the Brain-Consuming Pill—though none of them knew this. Even the four senior members, those untarnished by any poison, were unaware.

It gnawed at him.

He had mastered the Soul-splitting Blade Technique and established the sect at the Great Master's behest. Yet now, hidden behind the scenes, the Great Master continued to pull the strings. Time and time again, Murong Jing had entertained the thought of rebellion—of severing his chains.

But he never acted.

Because the moment the Great Master died… so would he.

More than once, he had considered hoarding the antidotes—those deadly pills given once a year to the sect members to stave off the poison's effects. Yet every time, it was as though the Great Master could sense his intentions, always speaking in veiled threats, as if warning him not to step out of line.

There was no escape.

For all he knew, there could be spies planted around him, watching his every move. One mistake—just one—and not only would he be killed, but someone else would simply be chosen to replace him as the sect leader.

Murong Jing had no way of knowing how powerful the Great Master truly was. The Soul-splitting Blade Technique he had been taught was already a top-tier martial art—one that could kill with silent precision.

If even this was but a mere fragment of the Great Master's knowledge… how deep did his martial mastery go?

It seemed impossible—unthinkable—that he could ever turn his blade against him.

A fight against the Great Master?

That was nothing but a fool's dream.

"Hoo…"

Murong Jing let out a long, weary sigh.

It wasn't just a sigh—it was the weight of a man drowning in his own helplessness, trapped under the shadow of his unseen master.

A life dictated by the strings of another—like a puppet bound to its master's hand—had long left him disillusioned.

As his breath faded into the cold air, a soft breeze brushed against his face, a fleeting touch of coolness that did nothing to ease the storm within him.

Xin Long…

Yes... Xin Long.

The boy he had personally fetched over five years ago—an order from the Great Master.

It was a clear command—specific in date, time, and location. The Great Master knew exactly when and where to find the child, as though the entire event had been carefully calculated long before it even happened.

He still remembered the scene—burned into his memory like a scar.

When he arrived, Xin Long was unconscious, his small frame sprawled beside the lifeless body of a woman—likely his mother. The dagger lodged in her chest remained upright, a cruel monument to her death.

The sight had startled him—no, it had shaken him.

Though Murong Jing had long carried out assassinations at the Great Master's behest, building the Shadowmoon reaper sect upon a foundation of blood and steel, this… this was different.

In all his years, he had never taken part in something so vile.

His sect had women among its ranks, but never—not once—had he abused his authority to seize them for his own pleasure.

Not once had he stooped to such despicable acts.

Even in those days, when the seductress Wei Wei, renowned for both her deadly charm and unparalleled beauty, grew increasingly bold in her attempts to capture his attention—he had refused.

Despite her enchanting allure, Murong Jing had never taken her, nor anyone else, for himself.

He was a killer, a leader of assassins, a blade for hire…

But there were lines even he would not cross.

The thought had crossed Murong Jing's mind back then—his master must have been involved behind the scenes.

To be able to state the exact date, time, and location so precisely—how could that be anything but the work of someone deeply entangled in the situation?

What confirmed his suspicion even more was the place itself—the residence of the Divine physician.

Murong Jing had searched through the healer's collection of medical texts, hoping to uncover something of value—perhaps a hidden secret behind the strange circumstances of that day.

Yet, all he found were ordinary medical books.

For the Divine physician's residence to hold only such trivial texts—it didn't make sense.

It couldn't be a coincidence.

This wasn't just a simple case of murder—it was a meticulously orchestrated scheme.

Whether the true objective was to steal a precious medical manuscript or something else entirely, one thing was clear—it was all part of a larger, calculated plot.

Even as he brought the dazed, unknowing Xin Long back to the sect, there was an unsettling feeling gnawing at him—a feeling he couldn't shake.

He hadn't wanted to take the boy.

The memory made Murong Jing tilt his head from side to side, as though the motion might dislodge the unease creeping up his spine.

Two years ago, Xin Long had returned from Kunming City alongside Wei Wei.

And despite the many dangerous missions the Great Master had sent them on—five in total—Murong Jing had never once been summoned to meet Xin Long directly.

All five missions had been deadly tasks—each target a difficult kill.

Yet each time, Xin Long and Wei Wei had returned victorious, their success only highlighting the strange synergy between the two.

However, the boy's demeanor had changed.

Under Wei Wei's influence, Xin Long seemed like a man lost in a mist of illusions—trapped, unable to break free from her enchantment.

It was no accident.

The Great Master's repeated orders to send Xin Long on those dangerous missions were no mere tests—they were veiled attempts at eliminating him.

It was a quiet death sentence disguised as loyalty.

And now, the latest order involving Kunming City was no different.

The moment Murong Jing heard about the target—Master Xu, the young lord—everything became clear.

He knew all too well who Master Xu was.

Despite inheriting his title after his father's assassination by Wei Wei, Master Xu was no ordinary noble.

He wasn't a martial arts novice like his father had been.

Master Xu was a disciple of the distant yet formidable sect led by the Tiger-Dragon Ranked warrior, Shaolin.

The only reason Wei Wei had easily killed Master Xu's father was because the man had been away at Shaolin's sect during the attack, leaving his guards defenseless—many of whom had already fallen prey to Wei Wei's deadly charm.

It hadn't been a battle—it had been a massacre.

Yet, because of this scheme, Xin Long had been sent into what was essentially his own grave—like a man forced to dig his own tomb.

To assassinate Master Xu—who held the Dragon-Tiger Rank—was an impossible task for Xin Long.

Not only was Master Xu skilled in martial arts, but his personal guards also included several Tiger-Dragon Ranked warriors, along with veteran fighters who had once served under his father.

It was clear to Murong Jing—his master hadn't just given Xin Long a mission.

He had sent him to his death.

If the Great Master truly wished for Xin Long's death, why not simply kill him within the sect's walls?

Why bother sending him on these deadly missions instead?

The answer was obvious.

It was like shooting two birds with one stone.

If Xin Long succeeded in assassinating Master Xu, it would be a remarkable achievement, solidifying the sect's power.

But if he failed—and died—then the Great Master's true wish would be fulfilled.

Either outcome served the master's purpose.

But why?

Why did the Great Master want Xin Long dead so badly?

The question echoed in Murong Jing's mind—an unanswered riddle gnawing at him.

Frustrated, he finally turned away from the kennel, heading back to his quarters.

Behind him, the dogs howled—piercing, defiant cries that filled the air.

But his footsteps never faltered.

No matter how loud the howls became, he didn't stop walking.

End – 29