Forgotten Tale of Jianghu

Under the vast night sky, the full moon hung round and bright, casting a silver glow over the Bai family's courtyard. Xin Long stood still, his gaze fixed on the moon, before his voice broke the silence.

"Do you love him?"

The question, simple yet sharp, drifted into the cool night air.

They were in Bai Jing Jing's courtyard, the quietness of the hour pressing against them. It was already midnight — the result of his request to speak with her earlier in the day, a meeting she had not refused.

Bai Ye Yue was resting at the Silent Serenity Apothecary, and her brothers, Bai Lu Chan and Bai Lu Han, had returned from a long journey and retired for the night. Bai Jing Jing had told him as much, leaving them alone beneath the moon.

At his question, Bai Jing Jing turned her head slightly, studying Xin Long's calm profile. The moonlight highlighted his long black hair and those lifeless eyes that always seemed to swallow everything.

Did she love Xu Zhu Han?

The thought echoed in her mind.

Her wedding was only three days away, yet there was no rush of excitement in her heart, no nervous flutter of anticipation. Instead, she felt an unsettling calm — as though this marriage was less a choice and more an inevitable conclusion.

It was her father's plan. It was what was expected. Xu Zhu Han was a respectable match, the kind of husband she ought to have. She had accepted him not out of affection, but because it was the most logical path forward.

Yes... That was the truth.

She did not love him.

As these thoughts tangled in her heart, Xin Long's voice broke the silence again — soft, almost distant, yet laced with a quiet sadness.

I just... want to see you happy.

Why did Xin Long say those words?

Bai Jing Jing couldn't understand. She had long stopped trying to grasp the depths of his cold, unreadable heart. He was like a still lake — calm on the surface, but unfathomably deep. Yet, she had noticed something.

Every time they met, there were moments — fleeting, but undeniable — when his gaze would linger on her, carrying the silent sorrow of a man who had lost something precious.

Had Xin Long ever cared for her?

It was a question that had haunted her, a riddle she dared not solve.

She found herself staring at him now, as though the answer might be hidden in the shadow of his long hair, in those empty black eyes.

Her voice broke the silence, soft but firm.

"Why do you want me to be happy?"

Snowflakes drifted down, light as whispers, vanishing the moment they touched the ground. But Xin Long stood there, unmoving — as though the cold couldn't reach him.

At her question, he lowered his head briefly before straightening, his back to her now. His voice, steady yet hollow, cut through the stillness like a blade.

"I heard about your wedding."

Bai Jing Jing's heart lurched.

"I traveled for seven days without rest, just to see you again. But the moment I arrived in Chan Hai City… I heard the news..."

The words, plain and unadorned, struck her harder than any elaborate confession ever could.

Her breath caught.

It felt like thunder crashing down upon her chest — relentless, suffocating, and merciless. The ache that spread through her heart was sharp, a pain she couldn't name.

And then…

Without another word, Xin Long turned and walked away.

Bai Jing Jing stood there, frozen, watching his retreating figure, the distance between them growing with every silent step.

It was something impossible — something that could never be.

That thought alone kept Bai Jing Jing's lips sealed, though a part of her had nearly called out his name.

She could only stand there, watching.

Xin Long's figure, distant yet unyielding, leapt over the courtyard wall with ease — a fleeting shadow against the moonlit night. Within moments, he was gone, swallowed by the cold silence of Chan Hai City.

Her gaze lingered on the empty space where he once stood.

And then… she looked up at the moon.

For some reason, it seemed dimmer the moment Xin Long left — as though his departure had stolen a sliver of its light.

A foolish thought.

The snow, soft and delicate, fell against her pale face. She could feel its icy touch, yet her heart ached far more than the cold ever could.

And then, in a voice so quiet it was nearly lost to the wind, she whispered:

"Everything… is too late now, Xin Long."

The wind answered with a sudden gust, cutting through her as though to remind her — yes, everything was too late.

…

Xin Long dashed forward, leaping onto the stage.

As he moved, the sound of clapping and cheers from the gathered martial artists echoed in his ears. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Bai Jing Jing sitting between two older men, a fair distance away from Prey Xu. His gaze swept further, catching sight of Bai Hongfu, who was watching him intently — his expression as unreadable as ever.

The moment Xin Long's feet touched the stage, he gave Chu Liusan a respectful nod, then slowly turned his body in a single, deliberate motion to glance down at the crowd below. The clapping didn't cease — the martial artists continued to applaud, some more enthusiastically than others. Yet amid the noise, he noticed Bai Jing Jing, her face solemn, her gaze fixed on him.

Then there was Bai Hongfu — his brows furrowed, eyes shadowed like a predator's stare locked onto the stage.

He also spotted the stern Shaolin Sect abbot, his sharp, hawk-like eyes brimming with untamed intensity, along with the calm and composed Wudang Sect leader beside him. Next to them sat Prey Xu, his expression unreadable, watching the unfolding scene beneath the golden rays of the sun.

At last, Xin Long's gaze returned to Bai Jing Jing, taking in her green robes and those clear, jade-like eyes. For a fleeting moment, his focus lingered on her, before he finally turned back toward the stage.

The Four-Faced Blade Master, Chu Liusan.

Today, he was the final opponent Xin Long had to face. Only by defeating him could he advance to the next day's final round, where he would battle Wanba.

This was merely an exhibition match, and with so few participants, only six martial artists had remained for the second day of the competition. Two had already lost to Wanba, and another had fallen to Chu Liusan.

Now, the only ones left were Wanba, Chu Liusan — and Xin Long.

If Xin Long could overpower Chu Liusan, then he would face Wanba in the last round.

As Xin Long pondered the competition's structure, his hand moved instinctively to unfasten the whip-sword he wore like a belt. He chose not to draw the sword hanging at his waist—because Chu Liusan was holding onto the blade.

It was an almost comical sight — to any onlooker, it would appear absurd. A sword strapped tightly across his back, another hanging at his side, and now one in his hand, partially unsheathed but halted mid-motion by Chu Liusan.

Three swords… Three different positions... And one silent confrontation...

If it came down to a head-on clash, Xin Long knew he would be at a slight disadvantage. Chu Liusan's internal force edged above his own — a fact he acknowledged the moment his hand instinctively drew the waist-bound blade and extended it to his side.

Under the faintly slanting rays of the sun, the sword in his hand shimmered dimly — a dull gleam, as though veiled in shadow. Yet, glancing at Chu Liusan's blade, Xin Long noticed it, too, bore the same muted glimmer, like steel seen through a curtain of falling snow.

The moment Xin Long leveled his sword, a sudden silence blanketed the surroundings. He noticed it at once.

The audience had fallen still — not out of fear or hesitation, but out of respect. It was an unspoken rule: when two warriors stood at the brink of a decisive battle, all noise must cease. The crowd's hush was a silent offering, ensuring the fighters' focus remained undisturbed.

Xin Long knew this — just as Chu Liusan surely did.

Chu Liusan, dressed in a crisp white robe, his cheeks lined with faint traces of stubble, gazed at Xin Long with the piercing stare of a lone wolf — sharp, unyielding, predatory.

From beneath the stage, Bai Jing Jing watched. Her eyes flickered not to Chu Liusan, but to the swords Xin Long carried. One was strapped boldly across his back, wrapped tightly in cloth — a silent sentinel looming behind him. Another hung at his waist, unmoved, while a third extended in his grasp, glinting coldly in the light.

It was an odd sight — a strange, almost overwhelming presence.

Unable to resist, Bai Jing Jing finally spoke — a quiet question slipping from her lips.

And then she remembered.

Xin Long's answer from before echoed in her mind:

"It belongs to a friend... I must keep it with me until next month — until I return it to him…"

A blade that was not his, yet never left his side.

A sword tied to a promise.

The moment Xin Long's words echoed in Bai Jing Jing's mind, Chu Liusan let out a sharp cry — a fierce, guttural sound of pure aggression — and charged straight ahead.

Without so much as blinking, Bai Jing Jing's eyes stayed fixed on the scene.

"Clang… Clang…"

Xin Long remained still, his whip-sword extended to his side — a silent wall of steel. His body did not waver, not even a twitch. His focus was absolute, waiting for the precise moment when Chu Liusan's attack would reach him.

He had watched Chu Liusan's movements before — every swing, every thrust. The patterns were carved into his mind. Yet, a flicker of doubt lingered — would Chu Liusan reveal a hidden move this time? A secret technique he had not yet seen?

He could not afford a single mistake.

The silence of the crowd only deepened the tension. The faint whisper of wind brushing through the air was the only sound Xin Long heard, a soft and deadly undertone to the battle about to unfold.

He could sense the stares of the gathered martial artists beneath the stage — all eyes locked on the two of them, a silent audience entranced by the fierce confrontation.

But the moment Chu Liusan lunged forward, his pride igniting his attack, Xin Long's focus sharpened. His mind cast aside all distractions, preparing to counter.

"Clang!"

Chu Liusan's twin-edged blade sliced through the air, each motion swift and fluid. His blade danced, forming a deadly pattern that pressed fiercely against Xin Long.

Xin Long moved — his foot sliding back, his right hand steady on his whip-sword. Each strike from Chu Liusan forced him to parry or evade, the deadly rhythm of steel clashing with steel echoing through the silent field.

Chu Liusan's right foot pivoted, and with a sharp swing of his twin-edged blade, he executed a chest-splitting strike — an attack so fast and precise that even his body seemed to flow seamlessly with the blade's movement.

The air between them seemed to ripple, and the deadly dance had only just begun.

"Tan…"

Xin Long tilted his body to the right, sidestepping Chu Liusan's chest-splitting strike. As the blade slashed past him, his hand flicked, and his whip-sword lashed out, intercepting the attack with a downward cut.

The moment sword and blade clashed, Xin Long felt his blade curve slightly — a crescent bend, as if the steel itself recoiled from the force of Chu Liusan's strike. His grip trembled, ever so faintly, and the subtle quiver in his hand did not escape his notice.

Chu Liusan's blade, though descending vertically, threatened to shift into a sweeping horizontal slash at any moment — a deadly feint Xin Long had anticipated. He did not press his attack; instead, he evaded again, wary of the sudden shift.

Because he had dodged to the right, countering a leftward swing with his free hand was impossible. It left a blind spot — one that Chu Liusan could exploit. So rather than risk a reckless strike, Xin Long chose to parry the falling blade directly, preventing the shift into a horizontal arc.

By locking down the vertical motion, Chu Liusan's follow-up attack was neutralized before it could even begin.

As their weapons met again, Xin Long's right hand trembled ever so slightly. The force behind Chu Liusan's blows… was it stronger than his own? The thought struck him like a spark against flint.

From beneath the stage, Bai Hongfu watched the exchange unfold — each dodge, each parry. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

In his mind, the path was clear: if Xin Long had countered the initial strike by deflecting the falling blade with a precise sword-edge block, he could've immediately retaliated. A swift stab straight at Chu Liusan's chest would have forced him to retreat, opening a perfect opportunity for Xin Long to pursue and press the attack.

A critical moment — one where a single misstep could turn defense into offense.

And yet, Xin Long hadn't taken that chance.

Bai Hongfu's smile faded.

But before he could dwell on the miscalculation, his expression shifted into surprise.

Xin Long, having sidestepped and parried, didn't follow through with a sword thrust. Instead — with his right foot pivoting — he unleashed a sudden, wind-splitting kick.

A low, swift strike aimed directly at Chu Liusan's side.

The sheer unpredictability of the move caught both Chu Liusan and Bai Hongfu off guard.

Xin Long's sword was a shadow, but his kick…

It was a flash of lethal intent.