Forgotten Tale of Jianghu

"Shwam, shwam, shwam…"

The sharp crack of the whip slicing through the air echoed from the heart of the battle. Drawn by the noise, Xin Long pushed his way through the crowd, forcing himself to the front.

Five martial artists lay sprawled on the ground, their bodies marred by blade wounds. At the center of the spectacle stood Tai Zhong, locked in a fierce battle with a young woman, seemingly around twenty-three years old, wielding a sword. It was a breathtaking sight — a deadly clash of speed and skill.

It was then that Xin Long finally saw it — the Dragon-Coiling Vine Whip in Tai Zhong's hand. The weapon was a chain whip, its many interlocked segments forming a flexible yet lethal tool. Sharp, dagger-like spikes adorned each link, gleaming menacingly. One strike from those spikes could tear flesh apart, leaving a martial artist's body in shreds — a thought that sent a cold shiver down Xin Long's spine.

"Shwi, shwi, shwi…"

"Shwam, shwam, shwam…"

The chaotic clash of weapons and the swift motions of their bodies filled the air with a symphony of violence. Yet, the crackling of the whip overshadowed all other sounds, silencing the murmurs of the gathered crowd.

The woman's movements were fluid and elegant — a stark contrast to Tai Zhong's aggressive, whip-wielding attacks. His strikes were swift, fierce, like a storm raging in every direction. Even from a distance, Xin Long could feel the shockwaves of their internal forces colliding.

The crowd at the front flinched with each clash, instinctively stepping back when the fighters drew near and leaning forward when they pulled apart — a synchronized rhythm of fear and fascination. Despite their eagerness to witness the fight, no one dared break the circle or speak a word.

Xin Long couldn't help but wonder what had been said before he arrived — what words had ignited this violent duel?

"Hm..."

Xin Long had been so fixated on the fierce battle between Tai Zhong and the young woman that, for a brief moment, he lost all awareness of his surroundings. It was only when a flicker of unease crept into his mind that he instinctively glanced around — and what he saw made a rare sound escape his lips.

There, standing among the crowd, was a face he once called sister — the girl from the Silent Serenity Apothecary. A figure from his dreamlike past. Her delicate, pale face now bore a trace of worry, her soft blue eyes locked onto the ongoing fight, unblinking. Though her expression was calm, the subtle tremble in her gaze betrayed an unspoken fear.

Beside her stood another young woman, equally beautiful, but to Xin Long, her charm paled in comparison. No one, not even a woman of such striking beauty, could rival her in his eyes.

Yet, what unsettled him was not the fight, nor the crowd — but the cold, unwavering calm on the other woman's face. Despite the life-or-death battle unfolding before her, she remained as still as a pond in winter, her golden-hued complexion exuding an unshakable confidence. And then Xin Long saw it — the faint flicker in her emerald-green eyes.

That cruel, merciless glimmer.

It was the same look he had seen countless times — the look of a hunter watching its prey. The same predatory gaze worn by the assassins of his old faction.

His dead black eyes met those merciless green ones — an unspoken exchange between two souls well-versed in bloodshed.

"Enough, Ye Yue… This Dragon Coil Strike of Tai Zhong's is not worthy of being your match."

Even as Xin Long's gaze remained fixed, a cold voice brushed past his ears — though it came from the woman's barely moving lips, the sound cut through the noise of clashing attacks and the murmurs of the crowd, as if overpowering all else.

Such control over internal force.

Yes. The mere movement of her lips carried words imbued with profound inner strength. It was not an ordinary voice—it was speech fortified by internal energy.

Who was she?

Xin Long didn't know, but judging by the way she spoke and the subtle authority in her tone, he speculated she could only be Lady Jing Jing, the future wife of Young Master Xu.

As soon as those words fell, Ye Yue—the young woman locked in battle with Tai Zhong—abruptly retreated, leaping back with a grace so light it seemed she floated on air.

Such mastery of movement…

Xin Long silently acknowledged it. The Qinggong technique she displayed was leagues beyond his own. Though his skills were formidable for someone his age, he was far from reaching her level. Still, he didn't allow frustration to cloud his mind—he was only eighteen. Time was on his side.

It was then, as Ye Yue withdrew, that Xin Long finally grasped the meaning of the woman's words.

Indeed.

While Ye Yue had been clashing with Tai Zhong, her attacks had been measured and restrained. She hadn't fought to her full potential—her movements had been fluid but gentle, exchanging blows without exposing her true speed or strength.

If Ye Yue had used that same Qinggong technique to strike Tai Zhong, he wouldn't have been able to overpower her. In fact, there was a chance he might have lost outright.

As this realization settled in his mind, Xin Long saw Tai Zhong lunge forward, his Dragon Coil Strike twisting like a serpent—closing the distance between himself and the retreating Ye Yue.

"Shwam..."

The owner of those emerald-green eyes moved—faster than Ye Yue. Her movements were so swift and precise that Xin Long couldn't even discern the exact technique she used.

Then, just as Tai Zhong's Dragon Coil Strike surged toward Ye Yue, a slender right hand shot out and grasped the incoming strike.

It was firm. Unyielding.

"Ah… the Golden Phoenix Iron Gloves..."

A voice from a nearby martial artist reached Xin Long's ears.

Her right hand, clad in a pair of shimmering golden gloves, remained steady — fingers tightened like steel around Tai Zhong's spiraling strike. The gloves gleamed, their joints adorned with sharp, claw-like tips, a silent promise of both beauty and lethality.

Despite the sheer force of Tai Zhong's attack, there was no reaction — no recoil. It was as though the deadly Dragon Coil Strike had been effortlessly neutralized.

Because of those gloves.

"Wum... Wum..."

The subtle sound of suppressed internal energy vibrated through the air.

"Ah… Flaming Sparrow Internal Force."

As Xin Long watched, the woman's right hand moved — swift and precise. With a single motion, Tai Zhong's Dragon Coil Strike stiffened, its joints locking in place like frozen iron.

Then, in a sudden snap, the joints crumbled, one after another, falling piece by piece until they clattered to the ground, leaving Tai Zhong's arm hanging limp down to his waist.

Xin Long noticed that the woman couldn't see Tai Zhong's face since he was turned away — but the sharp cry he let out spoke volumes. A scream, laced not just with pain but with fear.

Yes… fear.

Xin Long's mind worked quickly.

He had heard of it before — from Zhen Yi.

The Flaming Sparrow Internal Force. A rare, powerful technique rooted in heat and internal energy, said to belong solely to the Bai Family. It was a force few could master, passed down within their bloodline.

Tai Zhong surely recognized it too.

Which could only mean… the woman was no ordinary martial artist — she had to be a direct descendant of the Bai Family.

Xin Long's thoughts tightened like a noose.

"Hah…"

A long, quiet sigh slipped from his lips.

It wasn't just a simple fight — this was a true death trap.

The Dragon-Tiger Rank martial artist, Tai Zhong — and now his fiancée, a master of the Flaming Sparrow Internal Force.

If Xin Long truly wanted to dismantle Tai Zhong, brute force wouldn't work. He would have to get close — dangerously close — weaving his way into their trust, constructing a web of deception.

Yes… a plan would have to be set in motion.

Then, the woman spoke, her voice smooth yet laced with venom:

"Don't even dream of using your pitiful tricks on me… Worry about keeping your unruly disciples in line first…"

Her lips barely moved, words slipping out like a blade through silk.

"I have a wedding to prepare for, after all… Oh, and Tai Zhong — I'm sure you know everything about the Bai Family..."

The woman — Bai Jing Jing, also known as Saintess Jing Jing — locked her sharp gaze onto Tai Zhong, who still trembled, his Dragon Coil Strike shattered both in technique and in spirit.

Yes.

Everyone in the martial world knew of the Bai Family.

Renowned for their mastery of both the Flaming Sparrow Internal Force and the deadly Flaming Sparrow Blade Technique, the Bai Family had long carved their name into the annals of Jianghu. They left no survivors in battle — that was their unyielding tradition.

Some whispered the Bai Family were like venomous snakes, striking without warning. Others claimed they were neither righteous nor evil, standing outside the bounds of conventional martial families — a shadowy force unto themselves.

In the city of Luoyang, where the Bai Family reigned supreme, no one dared provoke them. It was said that anyone foolish enough to seek conflict with the Bai Family was merely choosing a path that led straight to death's embrace.

"The Bai Family doesn't blink when they kill..."

That was a saying etched into the bones of the martial world.

And standing at the heart of this fearsome family was Bai Jing Jing — the daughter of the clan leader, Bai Hongfu.

Her presence in Kunming City was no accident. She was there at her father's behest, sent to observe her soon-to-be husband, the wealthy Xu Zhu Han — also known as Young Master Xu — to better understand his character and abilities before the marriage was formally arranged.

Satisfied with what she saw, she agreed to the union — and thus, the wedding was set.

Accompanying Bai Jing Jing was her half-sister, Bai Ye Yue. The name fit — after all, she too bore the Bai bloodline.

While staying in Kunming City, Bai Jing Jing had grown acquainted with Chu Wei Ran, the Silver Robe Divine Physician who owned the Silent Serenity Apothecary. Their connection stemmed from a life-debt — Bai Jing Jing's brother, Bai Xiao Tian, had once suffered a grievous internal injury from an ill-practiced cultivation technique. It was Chu Wei Ran who had saved his life.

As a result, whenever Chu Wei Ran traveled, he entrusted his young daughter, Chu Cao, to Bai Jing Jing's care — a responsibility she quietly accepted.

Beneath her cold, unreadable gaze, the threads of loyalty, debt, and quiet observation wove themselves into an intricate web — a silent storm waiting to break.

This incident, too, was nothing more than a confrontation born from a subtle provocation involving Chu Cao and Bai Jing Jing.

"Pa… Pa… Pa…"

The sharp claps broke the stillness, each strike ringing out like a sudden crack of thunder.

"Truly worthy of its name — the famed Flaming Sparrow Internal Force... Impressive..."

Then, with a slight pause, the voice added with a taunting undertone:

"And you must be... Bai Jing Jing?"

Before she could gather her thoughts, a figure emerged from the shadows — slow, deliberate.

His black robes clung tightly to his frame, and his face remained partially hidden beneath the dark fabric. Beneath the flickering glow of the flames, the cold, razor-sharp gaze from beneath his hood was impossible to miss.

Strapped to his back, wrapped in a cloth, was a long sword — a clear sign that this was no ordinary man but a martial artist.

Under the wavering light, his presence was like a shadow that had slithered into the open — silent, yet threatening.

The moment the man clapped his hands and spoke, the previously buzzing crowd fell into an abrupt silence. Bai Jing Jing noticed this at once.

Not far away, Tai Shan Hu clenched his dragon-bone whip — now reduced to a mere, tattered length — and ground his teeth in frustration. Without hesitation, he signaled one of his disciples, who was supporting another wounded follower, to retreat. They limped away from the crowd, dragging their injured comrades behind them.

A faint smirk crept onto Bai Jing Jing's lips as she watched the scene unfold. The crowd, just like her, observed the retreat with a mix of mockery and quiet amusement, their faces lit with half-hidden grins.

With a cold, unreadable expression, Bai Jing Jing turned back to the man who had clapped and spoken moments earlier. She gave him a small nod of acknowledgment.

The instant she did, the man calmly raised his right hand, pulling down the black cloth that concealed his face.

Beside her, Chu Cao's sharp intake of breath broke the tense silence.

What Bai Jing Jing saw was a pale, unyielding face — its expression devoid of warmth — lips drawn into a thin, merciless line. His gaze was piercing, colder than steel, as if he had never known a day of mercy.

Then came the chilling words, his voice as emotionless as his stare:

"I am Xin Long — a hired killer..."

End – 34