Forgotten Tale of Jianghu

"Jili… jili..."

"Khup… khup..."

The chirping of wild sparrows echoed in the distance, mingling with the rhythmic clatter of horse hooves. The wooden pavilion on the outskirts of Kunming City seemed to blur for a brief moment.

With a firm grip on the sword in his right hand, he sat up straight. Yes, it had only been a short daze — no more than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn.

Though the mist hung heavy in the air, he could clearly see martial artists clad in matching dark blue robes riding past the main road outside the pavilion, heading into Kunming City. Without a second thought, he assumed they were here for the wedding of Young Master Xu Zhu Han.

Reaching back, his fingers brushed the hilt of the sword strapped to his back. His gaze drifted to the broken piece of steel — once a solid block of iron — that he'd purchased from the smithy. A subtle smile crept onto his lips.

At that moment, a sudden gust of wind swept across the pavilion, biting into his skin like a silent blade.

The night before, he had ventured to the smithy, purchasing a steel block nearly two fingers thick with a single slash of his sword. Returning to this very pavilion — the place where the legendary Son of the Beast once devoured his enemies' hearts — he had spent the night practicing his stolen techniques.

The blade arts of the Southern Ridge were vast and ever-changing. He seamlessly transformed Tai Shan Hu's Coiling Vine Strike into a sword form, just as he reworked Ye Yue's blade techniques into a series of hand strikes.

Adaptation… Reinvention…

Because in a world where strength ruled, one's sword was never truly bound by its original form.

The techniques he had observed and absorbed were no longer mere imitations — they had been reshaped, redefined, and merged into a chaotic blend of palm strikes and sword forms. They were unpredictable, ever-shifting — a storm of techniques that even he found difficult to tame.

And that was the point.

The more disordered his martial arts appeared, the harder it would be for others to grasp his true abilities.

When he fought against Young Master Xu, he could not reveal his Soul-Splitting Blade technique, just as he could not use the Fire Palm techniques. The moment he unleashed those arts, keen-eyed martial artists would immediately trace them back to their origins. And once his roots were exposed, every plan he had woven would crumble like water slipping through sand — leaving him with nothing but a swift death.

He could not afford that.

His movements needed to remain a mystery — a web of seemingly contradictory styles.

Yet, such a chaotic blend required precision in execution. For that, he had trained relentlessly through the night, every move calculated, every strike sharpened.

With these thoughts swirling in his mind, Xin Long rose from his seat and stepped toward the broken block of steel. His right hand slowly slid his sword back into its sheath at his waist. He did not take the two broken steel pieces with him — there was no need to draw unnecessary attention.

Instead, he used his Qinggong technique to slip into the shadows behind the pavilion. Hidden among the tangled underbrush, he concealed the steel fragments, ensuring they would not be discovered.

After all, mercenaries were trained to notice the smallest details.

Small clues could snowball into larger ones.

With a final glance at the concealed steel, he looped around the pavilion and stepped back onto the main road, blending seamlessly into the flow of people. His figure disappeared into Kunming City once again — just another shadow among many.

Xin Long entered the Blood Lotus Tavern at the city's edge. His gaze swept across the room, calmly taking in the scene. The tavern buzzed with life — a mix of martial artists and common folk gathered around round tables, their conversations merging into an indistinct hum.

Yet, as the topics of their heated debates reached his ears, a flicker of amusement crossed his face — subtle but unmistakable.

"Enjoying yourselves, hmm?"

A quiet chuckle escaped his lips.

He moved toward an empty table, ordered a modest meal, and ate at a leisurely pace. All the while, his mind remained sharp, filtering through the words exchanged around him.

Though his expression was neutral, he did not miss the eyes darting in his direction — fleeting glances from various martial artists. They studied him, some with curiosity, others with thinly veiled hostility, all silently measuring him as a potential rival.

Xin Long, however, remained unfazed — choosing to act oblivious to their scrutiny. Let them watch. Let them guess.

Once he finished his meal, he settled the bill and left the tavern. Retrieving the horse he had left overnight, he guided it by the reins, heading toward the Fairy Blossom Pavilion.

The city felt calm — too calm. Martial artists and townsfolk moved through the streets, their chatter filled with talk of recent festivities. The sense of normalcy blanketing Kunming City struck Xin Long as almost unnatural. Peace was often the thin veil draped over chaos.

"A room available?"

Reaching the entrance of the Fairy Blossom Pavilion, Xin Long addressed a young attendant standing outside — a polite smile plastered on the boy's face, though his eyes subtly assessed Xin Long's demeanor.

"Yes, Young Master… We still have rooms, but…" The boy's smile widened, though his words carried a slight hesitation. "The prices have gone up a bit, I'm afraid…"

Xin Long gave a small nod — not the least surprised. It was a familiar scene. Whenever a festival or gathering drew more people to the city, prices always soared. A natural consequence of demand.

No argument… No negotiation… Just a nod…

Then, his voice lowered ever so slightly.

"Can you also find me a set of tight-fitting black robes — something that suits my figure?"

Xin Long's gaze remained steady as he posed the question. It wasn't mere whim — his worn-out robes, now slightly frayed at the edges, needed replacing. More than that, with his meeting with Bai Jing Jing approaching, it was essential to present himself as calm, composed, and in control.

After all, most women — whether they admitted it or not — often judged a man by his appearance.

"Of course, Young Master... It will be exactly to your liking…" the attendant responded swiftly, a practiced smile on his lips.

Xin Long gave a small nod, his expression betraying nothing. From within the folds of his robes, he withdrew a handful of gold pieces and handed them over without hesitation.

"Two sets of black robes... A week's stay... Keep the rest..."

The attendant's face lit up at the sight of the gold — his composure momentarily slipping into a flash of delight.

"Thank you, Young Master… Please, come inside… I'll show you to your room right away…"

Without wasting a moment, the attendant turned to a stable hand lingering nearby.

"Hey! Go fetch someone to take care of the Young Master's horse… Move quickly…"

The words rang out, sharp and efficient, and Xin Long stepped inside the Fairy Blossom Pavilion — the weight of countless hidden motives pressing against the elegant silence within.

The attendant, still smiling, turned back and called out to another worker within the Fairy Blossom Pavilion.

Xin Long's gaze lingered on him for a moment — sharp, calculating. The boy seemed to be more than just an errand runner. His tone carried a hint of authority, his words clipped and confident. Perhaps he was the head of the attendants here… or perhaps not. It didn't matter.

As the boy retreated into the pavilion, Xin Long calmly tied his horse's reins to a post outside, his fingers steady and unhurried. Then, without a word, he followed the attendant.

"Room 202..."

The boy stopped in front of the door, his voice clear and direct.

Xin Long's eyes darkened for the briefest moment — 202.

A flicker of surprise crossed his mind. This room… it was no ordinary coincidence. He had stayed here once before, long ago — in a different time, under different circumstances.

"Young Master, you may rest here without worry… I'll fetch your robes immediately," the attendant said, his voice eager, breaking the silence.

Xin Long gave a slight nod in response. No unnecessary words.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room… unchanged.

The same modest furnishings. The same quiet, unassuming atmosphere.

And yet, the weight of the past hung in the air — a silent echo Xin Long could not ignore.

Yes… Kunming City. It always led him back here.

End – 39