Forgotten Tale of Jianghu

As Xin Long sprinted away, Chu Cao's voice called after him. His lips curled into a faint, satisfied smile.

"I've always known you're not as innocent as you pretend to be, Chu Cao..."

He recalled the way she had stared at him — those clear, glassy eyes filled with surprise when they met in the marketplace. The same eyes that had subtly watched him from the moment he stepped into her shop, despite her indifferent words.

"You acted like you didn't know me, but the moment I stepped out, I knew you'd call my name…"

His voice was a low whisper, more to himself than anyone else, a quiet acknowledgment of the game they both seemed to be playing.

And then, without hesitation, Xin Long continued his sprint — heading straight for the Lotus Courtyard in the northern part of Kunming City, a place a young man had mentioned earlier. There were still many tasks left unfinished, threads of his plans yet to be tied.

He ran not just because there was work to be done, but because every step brought him closer to the future he envisioned — the one he would seize with his own hands.

Meeting Chu Cao again had merely been a brief moment of indulgence — a flicker of borrowed strength.

Now, there was no turning back. Xin Long would face everything — boldly and without fear.

…

Lu Sanhong stood still, his gaze fixed upon his opponent, the Waveblade Swordsman Tian Jiao Li. His sword was held firm, the blade angled precisely — ready.

The Forest of Secrets lived up to its name. Dense trees, towering bamboos, and scattered blossoms surrounded the open dueling ground. Just beyond Tian Jiao Li, past the curtain of foliage, Lu Sanhong imagined the grand Manor of Secrets. Though its full form remained hidden, the soft morning light that filtered through the leaves seemed to reflect off its imposing silhouette.

Yes — the Manor of Secrets, built at the heart of the forest, stood proud and unyielding — an eternal symbol of ambition and strength. It was the dream Lu Sanhong shared with his brothers, a dream that, at the age of twenty-nine, he was determined to make a reality.

And today, standing between him and that dream was Tian Jiao Li.

Despite being his rival, Lu Sanhong felt a flicker of respect for the Waveblade Swordsman. Every challenger, every opponent who dared to cross swords with the Lu brothers, played a part in pushing them forward. To raise the reputation of their clan's martial arts, they had to defeat every adversary — no mercy, no compromise.

Not long ago, his younger brother Lu Jianhui had already secured victory in the first duel against Tian Jiao Li's companion. Their battle of hidden weapons had ended with Lu Jianhui's undeniable triumph. Now, this second match would be the deciding blow — the one to seal their clan's honor.

If Lu Sanhong won, Tian Jiao Li would be bound by the rules of the Lu family: he would have to transcribe a martial arts manual for the Lu Manor and personally demonstrate the techniques within. This was not only a law set by the Lu family but a rule etched into the hearts of the three brothers.

Victory was the only path. Losing was never an option.

If they lost, they would have to surrender something that every martial artist dreamed of — the Nightfall Sword. Along with it, they would also forfeit the highest-level sword technique of the Lu family, the Lu Sword Style (Blood Shadow Sword Technique). Because of this, the competitors showed no mercy in the battle.

Even though the mist hung heavy in the air, his thoughts were cut short as Tian Jiao Li gritted his teeth and made his move. Seeing this, he steadied his sword, adjusted his body posture, and closed the distance between them. Before Tian Jiao Li could even execute his sword strike, he had already launched his attack.

"Whoosh... whoosh… Clang!"

"Clang! Clang! Clang!"

The moment he struck, Tian Jiao Li let out a fierce roar and retaliated with sheer force. The surrounding bamboo trees swayed wildly, as if cheering him on, their leaves rustling in the wind. The relentless clash of swords rang in his ears, each strike echoing without pause.

Under his unyielding onslaught, one strike after another, Tian Jiao Li was already drenched in sweat. His teeth clenched tight, and his eyes—filled with fear and anxiety—were locked onto his opponent.

From the moment he blocked the first strike and observed Tian Jiao Li's movements, it became clear—Tian Jiao Li was no match for him. Even though he had only used sixty percent of his internal force, Tian Jiao Li had countered with his full strength. It didn't take much to realize that Tian Jiao Li's internal power was far weaker than his own.

After delivering five consecutive sword strikes, Lu Sanhong leaped back three steps and stood still, calmly watching his opponent.

The moment he retreated, Tian Jiao Li attempted to chase after him—pushing off the ground and leaping through the air—

"Swish… swish…"

"Hngh!"

"Rip!"

His upper robe tore apart mid-air, the fabric shredded so thoroughly that there was nothing left to salvage. It happened so quickly, Tian Jiao Li froze—caught between shock and disbelief.

Suppressing a groan, Tian Jiao Li hastily withdrew his sword and leapt back to the spot where he had first jumped. His eyes, filled with astonishment and confusion, were fixed on Lu Sanhong.

"How... how did you strike me?"

The wavering voice of the Waveblade Swordsman broke the silence, carrying a tremble that betrayed his shaken composure.

Lu Sanhong smiled faintly, nodded once, and replied calmly:

"Forgive me, Brother Tian Jiao Li... This is a family sword technique... The secrets of our Lu Sword Style cannot be revealed... I hope you understand that I cannot answer your question..."

His voice was steady, his words polite—but the unyielding confidence behind them cut deeper than any blade.

"Indeed... Revealing the secrets of one's sword technique is no different from digging one's own grave..."

The cold wind whispers across the battlefield. The mist, still thick and unmoving, clings to the faint rays of sunlight filtering through the sky. Overhead, wild sparrows soar, their cries echoing like a chorus of agreement to his words.

Suddenly, the swaying trees, bent by the breeze, appear to bow even lower — as if paying silent respect to him.

Defeating an unworthy opponent so effortlessly brings him no true satisfaction. It is but a fleeting moment of amusement, one that only his two younger brothers would ever understand.

The reason is simple.

Because he is Lu Sanhong.

End – 38