Forgotten Tale of Jianghu

Drawing on his inner strength, Chu Liusan countered the incoming slash with a forceful parry. Yet, the sheer power he exerted had slightly exceeded his control, revealing a crack in his precision.

At that exact moment — standing so close their shoulders nearly touched — Xin Long's right foot cut through the air in a sudden sweep, a fierce spinning kick aimed directly at Chu Liusan's left flank.

There was no time for anything but a reaction. Chu Liusan's only option was to block — and with his right hand gripping his sword, his left hand instinctively shot out, meeting the kick head-on.

A sharp sound split the air.

"Smack…"

The clash of flesh and bone reverberated, the shock traveling up Chu Liusan's arm. His parry worked — barely — but the impact sent him staggering half a step back, disrupting his stance.

Bai Hongfu, observing from the side, narrowed his eyes.

That kick… it wasn't just a wild strike.

Xin Long's move was calculated. Had Chu Liusan dodged, his balance would have faltered, leaving him open for a follow-up horizontal slash — a killing blow.

The entire exchange, from kick to counter, lasted no longer than a blink.

"Thud..."

The sound echoed again in Bai Hongfu's mind, and then came the calm yet biting voice of the Shaolin Sect abbot standing beside him.

"Hmm… that… that's the 'Butterfly Whirlwind Kick' of the late Master of Fengdie City…"

The mention of the legendary technique pulled Bai Hongfu's thoughts back into focus. His eyes traced Xin Long's movements again, this time with newfound clarity.

Xin Long, having forced Chu Liusan off balance, didn't press the attack. Instead, with a single smooth motion, he leapt back — widening the distance between them once more.

And in that brief pause, his cold voice sliced through the silence.

After delivering the spinning kick, Xin Long swiftly withdrew his leg, leaping back in a single, fluid motion. His blade remained poised, perfectly aligned with Chu Liusan, a cold gleam dancing along its edge.

His dark, dead eyes — sharp as a knife's point — locked onto Chu Liusan's figure. Then, with a voice as calm as it was cutting, Xin Long spoke:

"Senior Chu Liusan… I don't think there's any need for us to keep fighting..."

The words landed like a stone in a silent pond.

Chu Liusan, his body still tense and slightly off-balance from the sudden retreat, flinched ever so slightly. For a brief moment, his face twisted in confusion — a flicker of hesitation creeping into his usually steely gaze. His eyes, clouded with disbelief, searched Xin Long's expression for meaning.

Seeing this crack in Chu Liusan's composure, Xin Long's lips curled ever so subtly into a smile — not one of amusement, but of silent, mocking satisfaction.

Chu Liusan's voice broke the silence, edged with suspicion:

"Why don't we need to fight anymore, little brother?"

The question hung in the air, but Xin Long didn't flinch. His response came steady, his tone as clear as still water:

"If I had used my full inner force just now…" Xin Long's gaze shifted ever so slightly, his head tilting to the side. "Your left arm would have shattered at the joint, and the left side of your head would have taken the full brunt of my kick... But since this was just a friendly match, I showed mercy... I'm sure you noticed..."

The words were delivered without a hint of arrogance — only calm, unshakable confidence.

Silence.

Chu Liusan's face stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. Though unspoken, the sudden wave of realization struck him — the kick had felt strong, but controlled. Too controlled.

Watching Chu Liusan's eyes widen, Xin Long's heart remained still, but somewhere deep within… there was a silent, unseen chuckle.

Yet outwardly, his face showed no sign of gloating — only quiet, unyielding resolve.

"One must know their limits…"

A victory deserved is a victory claimed. Exploiting a slight advantage in inner force and speed, Xin Long seized the moment — not by force, but by words. His opponent, Chu Liusan, was only marginally weaker in internal strength. Had Xin Long unleashed his full power in that kick, Chu Liusan's left arm might have fractured — or perhaps not. It could have bent but not broken, depending on how much strength Chu Liusan had used to counter.

Xin Long hadn't used his full force — only about three-quarters of it — yet Chu Liusan's arm remained unscathed.

So why retreat?

Simple… To win with words.

Xin Long had leapt back not out of fear, but calculation. His goal wasn't to overpower Chu Liusan physically but to claim psychological dominance. With a calm voice and a steady gaze, he spun the truth — half a lie, half a possibility — into an unshakable statement.

Could he have won the fight if it continued? Perhaps. But he wasn't a fool. Tomorrow, he'd face Wangba and Prey Xu. Wasting his strength now was not an option.

Why risk a hard-earned victory when a simple twist of words could secure it just as well?

The moment the words left his lips, a ripple of reactions spread through the crowd beneath the stage.

"Yes… yes, that could've happened…"

"No way... Impossible!"

"It was a friendly match — maybe he did hold back out of courtesy..."

The murmurs blended into a low hum, sweet as honey to Xin Long's ears. Each word of speculation, every doubtful remark — they were not mere noise. They were praises cloaked in disbelief, admiration disguised as argument.

To Xin Long, these voices were a symphony of his own making, a testament to his cunning.

Let them wonder. Let them doubt.

All that mattered was that they spoke his name.

As Xin Long listened to the ripple of murmurs below the stage, his gaze remained locked on Chu Liusan's face — a mask of unreadable expressions shifting and twisting, caught between confusion and disbelief. It was a delicate moment, the exact point where doubt could bloom into defeat.

Then, a clear, authoritative voice cut through the noise, slipping into Xin Long's ears like a blade of ice.

"Indeed, Young Chu Liusan... The Butterfly Whirlwind Kick from Young Xin Long — such a fearsome technique... I've witnessed it once before, and it is truly a sight to behold…"

A single word escaped Chu Liusan's lips.

"What?"

It was the unmistakable voice of the Shaolin Sect's Chief Abbot — a man of unshakable presence and revered wisdom. His words carried the weight of absolute truth.

Yet… Xin Long had never once practiced any so-called Butterfly Whirlwind Kick.

The move he used was a simple spinning kick, executed with precision, exploiting a brief opening. There was no hidden technique, no secret art — just raw opportunity turned into advantage.

And yet, the Chief Abbot had named it. Claimed to have seen it before.

The crowd buzzed louder.

"The Butterfly Whirlwind Kick? I've heard of it..."

"So, Young Master Xin possesses such a technique? No wonder Chu Liusan didn't stand a chance..."

"The Abbot himself said so — it must be true!"

The truth no longer mattered. Perception had already twisted into reality.

Amid the swelling storm of voices, Xin Long lowered his gaze, his lips curving into the faintest smile.

Let them speak. Let the lie grow wings.

Even Chu Liusan — lost in his own thoughts — laughed suddenly, a strange, almost bitter chuckle. Whether it was disbelief at the Abbot's words or the absurdity of the moment, it didn't matter.

Because now, the Butterfly Whirlwind Kick belonged to Xin Long.

Xin Long's kick — simple, direct, and calculated — was never the famed Butterfly Whirlwind Kick.

Yet, Chief Abbot Kongshan's words fell like a stone into a still pond, sending ripples through the crowd.

It wasn't a mistake born of ignorance. No — the Abbot had spent the first day observing Xin Long's techniques with quiet intensity, his sharp gaze dissecting every move. When Xin Long's spinning kick mirrored the surface-level fluidity of the Butterfly Whirlwind Kick used by the Fengdie City Master, the Abbot's mind simply connected the dots.

After all, the last time Kongshan witnessed the Butterfly Whirlwind Kick, a man's wrist had snapped with a sickening crack, his head twisting unnaturally mid-air. The image was burned into the Abbot's memory.

So when Xin Long's kick aligned — even superficially — with that deadly move, the Abbot drew his own conclusion. And, for a man of his stature, a mere thought became an undeniable truth.

The crowd drank in the Abbot's words like parched earth soaking up rain.

"The Butterfly Whirlwind Kick… so that's how he overwhelmed Chu Liusan!"

"No wonder! It's a legendary move — only a master could pull it off…"

Xin Long said nothing, his lips a thin line—neither confirming nor denying.

It wasn't his lie. It wasn't his truth.

It simply… was.

A fool's luck or a devil's wit?

Whichever it was, Xin Long didn't care.

The legend of the Butterfly Whirlwind Kick was now his to bear.

End – 48