Forgotten Tale of Jianghu

On the platform, Xin Long's lips curled into a faint smile as he looked at Ye Ziyan — the woman's palm still hovering two inches from his chest, while his own hands remained poised near her temples, a hair's breadth away.

"How about now, Ye Ziyan?"

The whisper of his words slithered through the tense air.

Ye Ziyan's breathing quickened ever so slightly.

A single murmur escaped her lips, wavering between shock and disbelief.

"A black-clad martial artist…"

The scene was frozen — his left and right palms framing her head, her hand still suspended at his chest. From below the stage, the watching martial artists broke into sudden applause, their cheers mingling with murmured approval.

But none of this was an accident.

Xin Long hadn't just attacked using the Bai Family's Flaming Sparrow Blade moves — he had done so intentionally. It was a calculated move, designed to burrow into Bai Hongfu's mind like a thorn.

The more Bai Hongfu fixated on Xin Long's techniques, the more his focus would shift… away from the real danger.

After all, if Bai Hongfu ever discovered Xin Long's secret meetings with Bai Jing Jing, things could unravel. It was a delicate balance of misdirection — making Bai Hongfu suspect everything and nothing at once.

As these thoughts simmered in his mind, Xin Long smoothly retracted his left foot, his stance shifting ever so slightly into a relaxed yet composed posture.

Then, with a cold smile:

"You should lower your hands now, Ye Ziyan..."

A slight pause.

"I still owe you a meal… for sparing me today…"

Amidst the snow-laden ground, where the sun's rays brushed a soft glow against the white expanse, Xin Long's gaze locked onto Ye Ziyan's face. The faint shimmer of light danced across her skin, yet her eyes held a steady, unyielding gleam.

He spoke, his voice a mere whisper:

"You spared me first…"

A simple sentence — yet layered beneath it was a deeper meaning. He hadn't said it to flatter her, nor out of genuine gratitude. It was a calculated move, a subtle nudge to stir her thoughts.

The moment the words left his lips…

"It's not sparing you…" Ye Ziyan replied, retracting her palm, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "If I had struck you with my full force, you would have been gravely injured… but I'd be dead too..."

Even though her hand had hovered mere inches from his chest, if she had unleashed her internal force, the backlash from Xin Long's counterattack would have harmed them both.

Xin Long knew this.

That was why he spoke — not to acknowledge mercy, but to plant the idea that, for all her skill, she had still shown restraint.

His lips curled into a faint smile.

"Looks like we're friends now."

His words hung in the air like a quiet promise — lighthearted yet deliberate. It wasn't about friendship; it was about shifting the atmosphere, blurring the lines between opponent and ally.

Without waiting for Ye Ziyan's response, Xin Long's gaze flickered toward the crowd — carefully, calculatingly.

His eyes met the piercing stare of the Shaolin Sect abbot, his expression calm yet unwavering. Next, he noticed the nod of acknowledgment from the Wudang Sect leader, whose serene demeanor masked the keen sharpness behind his gaze.

And then… Bai Hongfu.

His gaze was an unyielding storm, cold and unreadable. Though his face betrayed nothing, his eyes burned with a quiet intensity, tracking Xin Long's every move.

Beyond Bai Hongfu stood Xu Zhu Han, his expression shifting between suspicion and confusion, as if Xin Long were an enigma he could never quite decipher.

Further back, the loyal guards of the Xu Family exchanged hushed words, their laughter a soft undercurrent against the crowd's murmurs. The martial artists who had gathered to witness the match continued whispering and gesturing from below the platform.

Xin Long absorbed it all — every glance, every shift in expression, every unspoken word.

Then, with both hands clasped behind his back, he bent at the waist in a subtle bow — a gesture of respect, but never submission. His posture, his movement — all deliberate, all controlled.

And without another word, he leapt down from the stage, the hem of his dark robes fluttering in the snow-dusted air.

Having already secured two victories, Xin Long knew there was no need to fight again — his path to the next round was guaranteed. With that in mind, he stepped off the stage in a fluid motion, landing softly on the snow-dusted ground.

Behind him, Ye Ziyan followed suit, her presence a quiet shadow at his back.

Without turning fully, Xin Long gave her a brief glance before speaking softly:

"I have some matters to attend to, Ye Ziyan…"

It was a simple parting — light, yet distant. Before she could respond, he pivoted forward, his gaze locked on one person alone — Xu Zhu Han.

His pace was steady, unhurried, yet there was an undeniable authority in every step he took. The moment he stopped before Xu Zhu Han, the air between them seemed to still — a thin layer of frost forming beneath the surface of their words.

Then, in a voice just loud enough for Xu Zhu Han to hear, Xin Long spoke:

"I'm going to meet your fiancée, Bai Jing Jing... Is there anything you want me to do, Brother Xu?"

The words were like a blade to a man—subtle, yet sharp enough to wound.

He watched as a flicker of anger darted through Xu Zhu Han's eyes—a flash of heat breaking through his otherwise composed expression. It was brief, but Xin Long caught it. He always did.

Satisfied, he allowed himself a faint smile.

"I'll visit you tonight, Young Master Xu… but for now, I'll take my leave… Ah—" Xin Long's tone shifted to one of faux curiosity, his face an unreadable mask of innocence. "By the way… I suppose I won't have to fight again today, will I?"

The question hung in the air, as if Xin Long were merely seeking confirmation—a simple inquiry. Yet the glint in his dark eyes told a different story.

He saw how Xu Zhu Han's jaw tightened, his fury simmering beneath a thin veil of control. Every word Xin Long spoke was meant to kindle that fire, to chip away at the man's restraint, bit by bit.

And then—

A sudden movement. A martial artist dashed past them, leaping onto the stage with a graceful bound. The crowd roared, cheers and shouts erupting as another match was about to begin.

Amid the rising noise, Xin Long's smile deepened.

Because the loudest battles were never fought on the stage—they were fought in the quiet spaces between words.

"Silver-Faced Tyrant Wanba..."

Xu Zhu Han's voice, low and strained with suppressed anger, broke through the roar of the crowd.

"I'm not ordering anything, Xin Long..."

The words were clipped, as if he was fighting to rein in his fury. Yet, the flash in his eyes betrayed him—a spark of unyielding wrath.

Xin Long's lips curved into a faint smile, a subtle nod following—polite, yet mocking in its precision. Without another word, he turned, his steps calm and unhurried, as he headed for the exit of the courtyard.

The weight of Bai Hongfu's unrelenting gaze followed him — those sharp eyes burning into his back the entire time. Even without looking, Xin Long could feel the older man's scrutiny, analyzing his every move.

And it only made his smile deepen.

As the snow continued its slow descent, a quiet satisfaction settled in Xin Long's chest. Each thread of his plan wove itself tighter — a silent web growing stronger with every carefully chosen word.

With every step away from the courtyard, his mind churned, calculating the next phase of his scheme. This game had only just begun.

Above him, the winter sun hung a little higher, its pale rays slicing through the cold air. The martial arts tournament behind him rumbled on — fighters leaping onto the stage, cheers and shouts filling the space he had just left.

But for Xin Long, the real battle was never in the ring — it was always in the shadows.

End – 45