Forgotten Tale of Jianghu-Chapter 52: Formless Force

Xin Long gritted his teeth as Xu Zhu Han's left claw, following a feint from his right, twisted and slashed toward his right forearm. Rather than resist, he deliberately let the sword in his right hand clatter to the ground with a sharp sound, "Clang," as if surrendering it on purpose.

In a swift motion, he leapt into the air, his body stretching horizontally, and with his left hand, reached behind his back to draw the sword wrapped in cloth.

"Bang! Bang! Bang..."

The fierce kicks Xin Long unleashed landed squarely on Xu Zhu Han's chest, but the force was absorbed by the Iron Body Technique. At the same time, claw strikes tore through the fabric around Xin Long's legs, leaving deep, bloody scratches on both shins.

Blood trickled from the fresh wounds, and the creeping pain slowly seeped into Xin Long's chest, gnawing at him with every breath.

With a swift withdrawal of his kicks, he used the force from pushing off Xu Zhu Han's chest to propel himself back, flipping once in midair before landing on the ground a few steps away.

On the other side of the stage, Xu Zhu Han steadied himself. As soon as his feet touched the floor, he lunged forward again, launching relentless Dragon Claw strikes that sliced through the air.

Xin Long raised the sword in his left hand — still wrapped in cloth — using it to block the incoming attacks, carefully adjusting his grip to prevent the fabric from being torn away.

Enduring the continuous barrage of claw strikes, Xin Long subtly worked to peel away the cloth while channeling three-fourths of his internal force to keep his grip firm, ensuring the sword didn't slip from his grasp. It was a struggle — one that gnawed at his concentration and strength.

Xu Zhu Han's eyes, tinged with a faint red from fury, burned with frustration. Despite his fierce strikes, his opponent's body remained unscathed. That growing sense of annoyance was written all over his face — a mixture of disbelief and mounting anger.

Xin Long caught the flash of emotion in his opponent's expression — it was the reaction he wanted to see. A slight smirk tugged at his lips.

Then, with a sudden twist of his right hand, Xu Zhu Han's claw strike darted toward Xin Long's neck. Without hesitation, Xin Long raised his left hand, blocking the attack with his cloth-wrapped sword.

"Slaash..."

The sound of claws scraping against fabric echoed as Xu Zhu Han's relentless strikes finally tore through the cloth wrapped around the sword. Bit by bit, the shroud fell away, revealing the bare hilt and the dark, ominous sheath beneath.

The moment Xu Zhu Han caught sight of the unyielding blackness of the sword's sheath, his lips twitched, and his eyes narrowed in sudden hesitation — a fleeting flash of surprise and unease that did not escape Xin Long's notice.

It was enough.

Channeling his internal force, Xin Long sent a final surge of energy through his hand, casting aside the remaining fabric in one swift motion. The dark sheath gleamed ominously, fully exposed at last.

A faint murmur rippled from the crowd gathered beneath the platform.

"What..."

"Hmm..."

Soft gasps and quiet exclamations—the weight of the sword's presence stirred an unspoken tension.

Yet, before the echoes of their voices could settle, Xu Zhu Han struck again—both hands twisting as his claws carved twin arcs through the air, aiming straight for Xin Long's ears.

Xin Long merely smiled.

In one fluid motion, his right hand gripped the hilt, drawing the sword from its sheath with deadly grace. His inner force surged to its fourth level—a peak of restrained yet fierce power.

Recalling the last move he had witnessed from Bai Ye Yue's Flaming Sparrow Blade Technique, he slashed forward—a bold, decisive strike that cut through the air with lethal precision, mimicking the body-severing motion of the Sparrow's Split attack.

His eyes remained tightly shut as he executed the strike—a ruthless, unwavering slash, cutting from Xu Zhu Han's right waist up to his left chest.

In that fleeting moment, Xu Zhu Han's twin claws, once rushing toward Xin Long's temples, halted mere inches from his temples—so close they could have grazed a single grain of rice.

The dark blade, infused with the surge of inner force, shimmered crimson—the sheer intensity of energy distorting the once-black steel into a burning red glow. For an instant, the sword flashed with blinding brilliance.

As the slash completed its arc, Xin Long kept his eyes shut, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

A task accomplished.

Why?

Because he did not hear the sound — that distinct "Clang" — the metallic ring that should have echoed had Xu Zhu Han blocked the strike.

From two folds to four, from four to eight, and from eight to sixteen — he had tested this strike countless times.

Even Xu Zhu Han, a master of iron-body martial arts, could not possibly withstand the precision and power of the perfected Flaming Sparrow strike.

It was the result of unwavering confidence and relentless practice — a truth Xin Long firmly reminded himself as he kept his eyes shut.

From beneath the stage, voices burst out one after another, their disbelief rippling through the air.

"Ha..."

"Impossible..."

"The Flaming Sparrow Rebirth Slash..."

"No way — that's impossible..."

"That... That's a demon blade..."

In reality, the move Xu Zhu Han had just used against Xin Long came from the Dragon Claw Technique—one of its moves, known as Moon Snap Grip.

The move targeted the temples. With a swift turn of the wrist, it would twist and claw back from behind — a vicious strike designed to rip through the enemy's defenses.

As Xin Long listened to the chaotic shouts from beneath the stage, he suddenly felt something warm and wet splash across his face and body.

" Thud..."

The sound of fingernails pulling free from his temples was followed by the heavy thud of a body collapsing to the floor.

"Ah...!"

The crowd's panicked cries echoed once more, pulling Xin Long's eyelids open.

What he saw was Xu Zhu Han—his body drenched in blood, the right side slashed from waist to beneath the left shoulder, severed cleanly in two. His upper torso, now separated from the lower half, had fallen backward, while the lower portion leaned to the side, crumpling onto the stage. Blood pooled beneath Xu Zhu Han's remains, forming an ever-growing scarlet puddle.

Xu Zhu Han's wide, lifeless eyes stared into the void — a haunting sight for those watching, frozen in death.

It wasn't unfamiliar to Xin Long; he had witnessed such horrors many times before.

Yet...

"Aah..."

Xin Long gasped softly, a flicker of surprise breaking through his composed exterior.

Currently, a wave of fear washes over Xin Long's face, his expression a perfect blend of shock and panic. His right hand, still clutching the sword, trembles ever so slightly, and his knees quiver—just enough to suggest a man frozen in fear.

To the onlookers, it appeared as though Xin Long had accidentally killed Xu Zhu Han — an unintentional strike that left him utterly horrified. His stance, his subtle tremors, and the look of disbelief etched across his face painted a picture of a man paralyzed by the gravity of his own actions.

This act, this performance of fear and regret, was the only way to ensure that he would not be suspected of cold-blooded murder.

He stood directly before the three judges, his figure locked in place. Their eyes, wide and stunned, bore into him—lips parted in shock, unable to form a single word.

Xin Long knew this was good. Very good.

They had all seen him with his eyes shut moments earlier. And now, as they witnessed his "accidental" reaction upon opening them, the illusion was complete.

It was a carefully crafted mask — one of fear and remorse — flawlessly displayed for all to see.

Just like the Shaolin Sect's Abbot, those standing face-to-face with Xin Long — Bai Jing Jing and her two brothers, the Violet Princess Ye Ziyan, his beloved Chu Cao, and the crowd of martial artists cheering from below — all witnessed his every move and expression.

As the scene unfolded, four of Xu Zhu Han's personal guards leapt onto the platform, their steps swift and urgent.

Behind them, running with equal haste, was none other than Chu Cao.

"Swish—swish—thud!"

The moment one of the guards landed on the platform, he surged forward, aiming a palm strike — brimming with internal force — straight at Xin Long's chest.

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Xin Long saw the attack coming, yet he couldn't dodge. He couldn't block it with the sword in his right hand either. Any sudden counter would shatter the carefully crafted illusion of a man paralyzed by shock.

If he evaded or retaliated, his trembling stance — the one designed to mimic fear and disbelief — would instantly be exposed as a lie.

He had no choice but to remain frozen, letting his facade of helplessness and horror sink deeper into the minds of those watching.

To them, Xin Long was no longer a threat — just a man too stunned by his "accidental" kill to even defend himself.

"Take it, Xin Long. Smile and take it. Didn't you already prepare for something like this?"

He screamed these words inwardly, his mind racing even as his expression remained a mask of stunned fear. His unblinking eyes, wide and lifeless like a chicken's, locked onto the palm strike hurtling toward his chest — a strike brimming with internal force.

Thud.

A dull, explosive impact.

"Ha—!"

"Stop!"

Boom.

Thud.

The palm strike landed squarely against his chest, sending his body hurtling backward. A roar of shock erupted from the crowd below the platform — a chaotic mix of shouts and gasps.

In the same instant, Chu Cao's sudden martial move twisted the attacker's momentum, causing the one who struck Xin Long to stagger forward, stumbling over himself.

Xin Long's back slammed against the platform floor. The sword in his right hand remained clutched in a death grip — his fingers tightening reflexively around the hilt.

For a fleeting moment, the world spun.

And then... darkness swallowed everything.

...

Chu Cao, without hesitation, unleashed her Hundred Falling Leaves Strike, channeling nearly three-quarters of her internal force into a distant palm strike.

The shadow of her palm shot forward like a bolt of energy, trailing behind the martial artist who had just struck Xin Long. The force struck him from behind, causing a violent surge of internal energy through his body — from back to front — as though an invisible wave was tearing through.

With a sudden, sickening thud, the man lurched forward, flipping over in an awkward arc before collapsing to the ground — lifeless. His very soul seemed to have been shattered.

But Chu Cao had no time to care.

Her gaze snapped toward Xin Long who was already airborne, his body flung backward by the force of the previous attack. She could do nothing but watch as he slammed onto the platform. His back hit the wooden floor with a heavy thump. His right hand clutched his sword so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

His eyes—shut.

A cold dread coiled in her stomach.

Then, from below, a thunderous voice roared—a fierce, commanding bellow that sent a tremor through the air. The Shaolin Sect's Grandmaster. His voice was sharp and ferocious, like the roar of a tiger.

Chu Cao barely registered it. Her eyes were locked on Xin Long.

The crowd erupted, their gasps and shouts merging into a chaotic wave of noise.

Ignoring the remaining three guards, Chu Cao dashed straight to Xin Long's side — every step fueled by urgency.

Xin Long's clothes were damp with Xu Zhu Han's blood, streaks of crimson splattered across his face. Seeing him in such a state, Chu Cao's heart twisted with guilt.

She dropped to her knees beside him, gently pulling him into her arms.

The internal force she had unleashed — the very power she'd kept hidden — had saved Xin Long, yet there was no relief in her heart.

There was no room for regret either.

Suddenly, the resounding shout of Shaolin Sect's Grandmaster Kong Shan echoed through the hall, cutting through the chaos like a blade.

The clamor died instantly.

Even as silence swept over the crowd, Chu Cao remained where she was — still holding Xin Long close, her mind swirling with unspoken turmoil.

...

Hundred Falling Leaves formless force

Among the highest levels of internal force techniques, it is said that those struck by this skill cannot survive even if they possess the lifespan of a hundred years. To begin training in this method, one must first cultivate an internal force equivalent to twenty years' worth of practice — only then can the technique be learned.

Chu Cao, having had her meridians opened by her father, Chu Wei Ran, from a young age, was further aided by the steady and precise intake of internal force-enhancing medicines provided by her father, the renowned Silver Venom Apothecary Master. As a result, her internal force was exceptionally strong, allowing her to begin training in this advanced art at the mere age of thirteen.

Not only does the Hundred Falling Leaves Formless force surpass the Bai Family's Flaming Sparrow Internal Force, but it also pairs seamlessly with the Formless sword Technique. Another remarkable aspect of this internal force art is its deceptive nature — a practitioner can conceal their true internal strength, appearing no different from an ordinary person. This unique trait adds to the technique's fearsome reputation.

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