Forgotten Tale of Jianghu

"In seven days, there's going to be a grand wedding in Kunming City — the wedding of the young master Xu. It was only announced two days ago, without much fanfare… but now the news has already spread like wildfire across Jianghu..."

Xin Long was seated in the Silver Tortoise tavern, located in Chanhu, a town bordering Kunming City. His hunger gnawed at him like a dull blade, and he ate in silence, his cold, black eyes betraying nothing. Yet, when the idle chatter from the nearby table mentioned the sudden wedding announcement, his hand, still holding his chopsticks, paused ever so slightly. Without giving himself away, he continued eating — but his ears sharpened, and he listened closely.

"Indeed! The young master Xu is the most distinguished figure of Kunming City… His wedding will surely be a grand spectacle… I heard the bride is none other than the renowned beauty of Kunming, Lady Jing Jing… They say she's as radiant as the sun and as graceful as the moon — truly a perfect match!"

"That's not all…" another voice chimed in. "I heard martial artists with the Dragon-Tiger Title will attend. With so many fighters gathered, it's bound to be a breathtaking event… Even the Abbot of Shaolin Sect is rumored to make an appearance to offer his blessings… Some of the martial artists have already arrived in Kunming for the occasion…"

"Hm..."

A single, low sound escaped Xin Long's lips. It was neither a question nor a reaction — just a cold, indifferent acknowledgment.

But inside, his thoughts stirred.

Dragon-Tiger Title…

He repeated the words in his mind.

Until now, he had assumed young master Xu was just another wealthy merchant's son — ordinary and unremarkable. But this changed everything. A martial artist with the Dragon-Tiger Title wasn't just anyone. It was a mark of strength and prowess, only granted to those who had overcome rigorous trials and tests — a title earned through blood, sweat, and bone-shattering combat.

Killing someone like that wouldn't be easy.

Even if his martial skills surpassed Xu's, there would be guards — warriors skilled enough to rival him — standing by the young master's side. Assassination would be near impossible. And with so many renowned fighters gathering for the wedding, the risk only grew.

It wasn't just Xu he had to consider — it was the crowd of martial artists flocking to Kunming for the event.

Why would the sect leader, Murong Jing, order me to kill someone like this?

Before he could dive deeper into his thoughts, the conversation from the other table rose again, breaking his focus.

"If the Shaolin Sect is attending, the other major sects will surely follow… Kunming City is about to be more crowded than ever… I'm heading back there right now — I can't miss young master Xu's wedding... It's a rare chance to see the great sect leaders up close... Meeting the heads of the Shaolin and Wutang Sects… that's not something ordinary folks like us get to experience. This time, I have to seize the opportunity..."

The voices belonged to a group of men who had arrived at the Silver Tortoise tavern after Xin Long. Though he hadn't turned to look at them, he had noticed their entrance — five men seated around a table. He didn't bother to check who was speaking or what they looked like… not until now.

From their words, it was clear: one of them was a local of Kunming City.

Xin Long's thoughts, momentarily severed, reconnected — and with them came a grim realization.

Does Murong Jing want me dead?

The question surfaced unbidden, slithering into his mind like a poisonous snake.

Why?

Why order him to assassinate a Dragon-Tiger Title martial artist — a task as good as throwing him into a den of wolves? It was no simple mission. Killing someone like young master Xu meant leaping straight into death's maw. Even if he could match Xu in skill, the other fighters — those guarding him, those attending the wedding — would not stand idly by. The moment swords clashed, others would close in.

Not to mention… with the wedding drawing in so many martial artists, even white-clad sect disciples would be lingering in Kunming, watching, listening.

It was a death sentence.

Xin Long's jaw tightened, the sharp clench of his teeth barely concealed. A flash of rage stirred within him — hot, violent — yet it died just as swiftly, swallowed by the familiar cold emptiness in his chest.

He almost let the sound of his teeth clicking together slip from his lips.

Snap.

Had that sound escaped, everyone in the tavern would've heard it — but it hadn't.

Instead, his cold, dead eyes shifted ever so slightly, and for the first time, he turned to glance at the table where the five men sat.

Five of them — martial artists.

He had noticed their white robes the moment they entered, but now he studied their faces, memorizing each one. Only one had his back turned, but the rest — their features, their stance — were etched into his mind.

With a blank expression, he turned his gaze back ahead.

Yet, within him, a faint flicker of dark amusement stirred.

Though the men didn't realize it, they had unknowingly revealed far more than they should have. They spoke in riddles, danced around the truth — but Xin Long had gleaned the heart of their words.

His target was no ordinary young master — he was a Dragon-Tiger Title martial artist, backed by sects powerful enough to shake rivers and mountains.

But this also meant something else: if he wanted to succeed, he had to prepare. Every piece of information — even from loose-lipped fools like these — was a weapon.

"…Hn."

He exhaled, a single, cold breath slipping past his lips.

Without a word, Xin Long reached into his robe, pulling out a few silver coins. With a flick of his finger, they clinked softly onto the table.

He rose.

The tavern boy, startled by the sudden movement, rushed forward — but Xin Long didn't speak. He simply pointed at the coins, an unspoken signal that his meal was paid.

Then, without another glance at the five men, he walked out of the tavern.

The sooner he reached Kunming City… the more time he would have to prepare.

Every day ahead was another step closer to either death — or something far worse.

End – 30