Forgotten Tale of Jianghu-Chapter 51: Cloud-Grasping Claw

As Xu Zhu Han vaulted onto the stage with a swift motion, a flicker of movement at the gate caught Xin Long's eye.

Draped in violet robes, Ye Ziyan emerged — a quiet shadow among the falling snow. The mist curled around her, blurring the sharpness of her figure, yet an undeniable presence lingered.

Not far from him, Bai Jing Jing stood frozen — an unnatural stillness etched across her usually confident face. Something had shifted within her, a rare fracture beneath the surface.

Xin Long's gaze roamed further.

There was Bai Hongfu, his head tilting ever so slightly from left to right — a subtle tic, a silent calculation.

And Shaolin Sect's Abbot Kongshan — his expression a mask of indifference, yet his steady stare cut through the crowd like a blade.

Then there was Wudang Sect's Daoist Master, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes dark with unreadable intent.

All around, the gathered martial artists had fallen silent — a heavy, unreadable stillness hanging over the arena.

Xin Long's lips curled into the faintest smile.

Not because he was pleased — but because Xu Zhu Han had leapt onto the stage without being invited.

It was a small act of defiance. And that amused him.

"Swish... pat—"

The sound of steel flickering through the air.

"Tap..."

The moment Xu Zhu Han's feet touched the stage, he stepped forward — unsealing Wangba's blocked meridians with a sharp flick of his fingers.

And then — with a voice that cut through the frozen air like silk —

"I, Xu Zhu Han, wish to exchange martial skills with Xin Long..."

His words rang clear. Confident. Bold.

Xin Long's smile deepened — not of joy, but calculation.

He saw it — the flicker of doubt behind Xu Zhu Han's fiery gaze.

Beneath the fearless words, there was hesitation.

Doubt clouded the young man's eyes — a silent storm of suspicion.

And to Xin Long, that was the most satisfying sight of all.

The wind howled softly, and the snow, light and delicate, spiraled down like whispers of death.

Yet, Xin Long's focus remained — fixed solely on Xu Zhu Han.

Even as Wangba, now freed, leapt down from the stage —

Even as the crowd held their breath —

His gaze never wavered.

"I may not be able to match the martial arts of a Tiger-Dragon title holder..." Xin Long said. "but I accept Young Master Xu's challenge..."

The word "challenge" hung in the air.

Xin Long's dark eyes flickered — a shadow of amusement dancing behind them.

He had never issued a challenge.

Yet, Xu Zhu Han had boldly twisted the moment — as though he was the one being provoked.

And that small distortion — that deliberate shift of the narrative —

Was enough to make Xin Long's smile linger.

Because now...

It wasn't a simple spar.

It was a battle in front of everyone.

A battle where every move would be watched.

Where Xu Zhu Han had unknowingly placed himself on a stage not of his own making —

But of Xin Long's design.

"Accepting a challenge" — yes, that was what he said. The meaning behind those words hung in the air, sparking a silent question in the minds of all who heard. Was this a playful contest or a deadly duel? The ambiguity fanned the flames of intrigue.

As his words faded, a wave of applause erupted from the gathered martial artists, their claps blending into a single roar that echoed in Xin Long's ears. At the same time, he noticed the faint smirk creeping across Xu Zhu Han's lips. It was subtle — a flash of satisfaction, though the storm in his eyes betrayed him.

Stepping forward slowly, Xin Long closed the distance between them, and when he was near enough, a sly, effortless smile unfurled on his face. Without raising his voice, he spoke softly, words meant only for Xu Zhu Han's ears.

"Does Brother Xu already imagine a bride waiting for you at tomorrow's wedding?"

The corner of his mouth lifted just slightly as a soft chuckle escaped his lips.

As his words settled, Xu Zhu Han's jaw visibly clenched. His teeth ground together so tightly it was a wonder they didn't shatter. His knuckles whitened, the simmering rage within him threatening to explode — yet he swallowed it down, his voice low and strained.

"You... You—"

The seething anger in Xu Zhu Han voice only fueled Xin Long's satisfaction. The more that hatred burned, the more erratic his opponent's strikes would become — and that was exactly what Xin Long wanted.

Once Xu Zhu Han's fury boiled over, his attacks would lose precision, growing wilder and more aggressive. And when that moment came... Xin Long's plan would slip into motion like a blade sliding between ribs — smooth, cold, and merciless.

...

Bai Jing Jing...

She didn't fully grasp what Xin Long had said, but the flicker of fury in Xu Zhu Han's eyes—those blazing, sharp eyes—set off a ripple of unease in her heart. Yes, the way X u Zhu Han stared at Xin Long was not that of a friend, but of a rival, watching an enemy's every move.

It struck Bai Jing Jing then—perhaps Xu Zhu Han had always harbored the desire to challenge Xin Long. Why else would someone like him, a young master accustomed to luxurious robes, dress like a wandering martial artist? It was a deliberate choice. His crimson outfit, so bold and striking, seemed to reflect the fire burning behind his gaze, aligning perfectly with the fury brewing within him.

She wasn't the only one who noticed. Others surely shared the same thought — why would a wealthy heir like Xu Zhu Han discard his noble attire for the humble garb of a martial artist unless he had something to prove?

Even so, Xin Long's face remained unchanged — that faint, elusive smile lingering at the corner of his lips. Whatever words he had just spoken to Xu Zhu Han, they had stirred something fierce. And yet, the more Xu Zhu Han burned, the calmer he seemed.

What could he have said to make a man like Xu Zhu Han bristle with anger while he simply... smiled?

The rising tension in the air thickened as the crowd's cheers and shouts suddenly fell into silence. The abrupt stillness sent a chill through Bai Jing Jing's spine — like the unsettling calm before a storm.

And then —

Xin Long moved.

A sharp leap back, swift as a shadow. His right hand gripped his blade, the steel gleaming coldly, extending in a steady line pointed directly at Xu Zhu Han.

Bai Jing Jing's breath caught in her throat as she watched the silent standoff, the distance between them a fragile thread stretched taut, ready to snap at any moment.

Xin Long kept his smile.

Even as Xu Zhu Han's eyes blazed with fury, locked onto him with an unrelenting stare, he didn't waver. His gaze met Xu Zhu Han—not with defiance, but with that same faint smile, calm and unreadable.

He waited.

Waited for Xu Zhu Han to make the first move.

The silence around them wasn't simply quiet—it was the kind of silence that hung heavy, like the entire crowd had shifted their focus solely onto the two of them. Xin Long knew this. Every eye was on them now, every mind attuned to their clash.

And so, he smiled wider.

Not a smile of amusement, nor one of arrogance. It was a crafted expression—one of mock forgiveness, as though he were a magnanimous man gazing at a child throwing a tantrum.

Yes.

Let the crowd see this: Xu Zhu Han, the one seething with anger. And him, Xin Long, offering a gentle, understanding smile.

It was a performance.

A subtle, calculated act.

Because in a battle where swords had yet to be drawn, the sharpest weapon was perception.

...

Bai Hongfu watched the two men on the platform—Xin Long and Xu Zhu Han—his heart pounding with a strange mix of anticipation and unease.

His mind wandered back to the words his son, Bai Lu Chan, had spoken the night before.

"Father, it seems the bond between Jing Jing and Xin Long is... not as simple as it appears..."

And more than that, Bai Lu Chan had said something that still gnawed at Bai Hongfu's thoughts:

"I saw it in Xin Long's eyes—the look of a man who has lost something precious..."

Bai Hongfu's gaze sharpened, flickering between the two men before him.

Xu Zhu Han—his future son-in-law—was brimming with anger, his every movement coiled with barely restrained fury. That much was expected.

But it was Xin Long's smile that unsettled him.

It wasn't a smile of joy or arrogance—it was something else entirely. A cold, controlled mask, a smile that seemed more like an act of defiance wrapped in mock forgiveness.

The same smile Bai Hongfu had seen the day after the match, when Xin Long had approached Bai Jing Jing—spoken to her softly—then walked away, his steps slow, steady, and heavy as though each one carried a weight too painful to bear.

A man rejected.

A man still standing.

Bai Hongfu's thoughts spiraled.

One man was his daughter's choice. The other—her future.

One would be his son-in-law by tomorrow.

The other... was the man who smiled, even as his heart bled.

And for a fleeting moment, Bai Hongfu felt something unexpected.

Pity—for them both.

Xu Zhu Han's sudden attack shattered Bai Hongfu's thoughts like glass.

The young master of the Xu family lunged forward, his every move steeped in fury and precision.

"Swish... hiss..."

The air itself seemed to ripple and moan as Xu Zhu Han unleashed one of the Shaolin Sect's most formidable techniques—Dragon Claw.

His fingers, curved like a claw, sliced through the air with a sharp whistle, the sheer force of his internal energy warping the surrounding wind.

Xin Long sidestepped—calm, fluid, a mere shift of his body—but his right hand moved like a viper, unsheathing his sword in a flash of silver.

Steel met flesh.

A faint, chilling sound echoed—a whisper of metal grazing skin.

"Is that... Iron Body Technique?"

"Dragon Claw... paired with the Iron Body Technique?"

The murmurs of astonished martial artists buzzed from below the platform, their disbelief almost louder than the clash itself.

Bai Hongfu's heart pounded.

Yes—this was not a simple attack. Xu Zhu Han had combined the Dragon Claw with the Iron Body Technique, reinforcing his body to endure the counterstrike. An elite combination known only to Shaolin's most advanced disciples.

But Xin Long...

He didn't flinch.

His sword had met Xu Zhu Han's iron-hardened waist—but his eyes... cold, dark, and dead as ever... showed no surprise. No anger.

Just that same quiet, unforgiving smile.

Bai Hongfu's hands tightened around the edge of his robe.

One was a blazing dragon, his fury unchecked.

The other was a serpent in the dark—silent, patient, and deadly.

And this was only the beginning.

The clash between Xu Zhu Han and Xin Long spiraled into a storm of fury and precision.

"Swish... hiss..."

"Daang! Daang!"

Xu Zhu Han's Dragon Claw roared forth — claw-like fingers slicing through the air, his strikes relentless, a flurry of razor-sharp attacks aiming to tear Xin Long apart.

But Xin Long didn't break.

He twisted his body, evading each deadly claw by the barest of margins. His long black hair trailed behind him like a shadow, and his crimson-tinged sword lashed out in response.

Steel and claw met again and again — swift, precise, yet... ineffective.

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A sudden flash — Xu Zhu Han's claw grazed Xin Long's chest.

The fabric of Xin Long's robe shredded, revealing a thin, bloodied line across his pale chest.

Bai Hongfu's shake his head slowly.

Why wasn't Xin Long fighting back with full force? His attacks seemed... lacking. The famed Flaming Sparrow Blade Technique of Bai clan — should have been more lethal.

Yet, his sword strikes came in the same repetitive pattern, cycling through the five foundational Flaming Sparrow moves over and over again. There was no flair, no advanced techniques — just the basics, played on repeat like a broken string on a guqin.

How had Xin Long even learned the Flaming Sparrow Blade Technique in the first place? And why did it feel... incomplete?

The question gnawed at him like a puzzle with missing pieces.

Was this truly the full extent of his martial mastery?

Or was there something lurking beneath the surface — hidden, waiting — just like the man himself?

The movements and attacks were more intense than usual, making him stand out clearly among the softly falling snowflakes. Both Xin Long and Xu Zhu Han had not yet reached the pinnacle of internal strength, martial arts, or speed.

Xu Zhu Han had mastered advanced martial arts techniques like the Dragon Claw Technique and the Iron Body Technique. However, his internal strength and martial skills were only slightly above average, leading Xin Long to make this assessment.

Nevertheless, Bai Hongfu firmly believed that it was only a matter of time before Xu Zhu Han became a top-tier martial artist. The martial arts and internal energy techniques Xu Zhu Han practiced were orthodox and solid. With time, they would only grow stronger and more refined.

Unlike the martial artists from unorthodox factions, who often relied on shortcuts to enhance their internal force, the techniques of the orthodox, white-clad martial artists required patience and years of dedicated practice. Though slow and demanding, these methods led to steady and lasting progress.

With this understanding, Bai Hongfu was confident that Xu Zhu Han would eventually rise to the ranks of the elite.

As Xin Long and Xu Zhu Han exchanged blows, they had already reached the twenty-third move. Bai Hongfu, observing closely, had been counting each strike as the fierce battle unfolded.

At that moment, Xu Zhu Han feinted with a strike from his right claw, only to suddenly shift and thrust his left claw toward Xin Long's forearm.

"The Cloud-Grasping Claw..."

Yes... Xu Zhu Han had just executed the Cloud-Grasping Claw, one of the moves from the Dragon Claw Technique. It was a move where the left hand feigned an attack while the right hand targeted the opponent's forearm, aiming to seize and slash.

However, Xu Zhu Han had reversed the move—using his right hand to feint and his left hand to strike at Xin Long's right forearm. Though the hands were switched, the movement and the essence of the technique remained the same.

It seemed clear to him—Xu Zhu Han's intention was to force Xin Long to lose control of the sword in his right hand.

"Clang... Whish!"

End – 51