The token of blood

Chapter: The token of blood

The town was lively, the scent of freshly steamed buns mixing with the chatter of merchants and travelers. Li Xin, as always, remained unbothered, quietly tending to his stall. He had lived unnoticed for years, avoiding unnecessary trouble, but fate had a way of pulling people back into the world they abandoned.

Meanwhile, rumors spread like wildfire. Someone had deliberately let slip that the stolen sword had been seen in a nearby town. It wasn't this town, but close enough for people to take interest.

The two martial artists searching for Li Xin—one man and one woman—also heard the rumor. They had been looking for him, but now, with no response to the letter from his master and the martial world in chaos, their patience was wearing thin. If Li Xin refused to act, then someone else would take matters into their own hands.

But the outside world no longer cared about the sword's original owner. Whether he was alive or dead, it didn't matter.

Jian Hu, now mostly recovered from his injuries, had gone out into town to gather information. He had his own reasons for tracking the stolen sword, and the recent rumors only confirmed that things were spiraling out of control.

Then—a disturbance.

A masked figure lunged toward Li Xin.

The blade came fast—ruthless, without hesitation.

Li Xin had avoided countless conflicts over the years, choosing a quiet life, but this sudden attack left him no choice.

His eyes remained calm, but his body moved on instinct. He turned slightly, his gaze landing on Jian Hu, who stood nearby—a sheathed sword hanging loosely at his side.

There was no time to ask.

With a swift motion, Li Xin reached out and took Jian Hu's sword.

Jian Hu raised an eyebrow but didn't stop him. Instead, he stepped back, folding his arms—curious.

Steel met steel. A loud clang rang through the street.

The attacker was strong, but impatient. His strikes were aggressive, each one aimed to kill quickly, but they lacked precision.

Li Xin moved without waste. Parry. Sidestep. Counter. His grip on the borrowed sword was firm but detached, as if he were simply going through motions long abandoned.

The masked man swung in a downward arc. Too predictable.

Li Xin shifted slightly, letting the blade pass harmlessly by his side. Then, in the same breath, he turned the sword in his hand—a single strike.

It wasn't flashy. It wasn't reckless. It was perfectly timed.

The attacker's weapon flew from his grip, clattering to the ground. He staggered back, his balance lost. In that instant, he knew he had lost.

His decision was instant—he ran.

Li Xin didn't chase. There was no need.

But as the attacker disappeared into the crowd, one thing was clear—someone wanted him dead.

Jian Hu had arrived moments earlier, intending to step in. But when he saw Li Xin grab his sword, he stopped.

For a brief moment, the way he held the sword, the precision in his movements, the detached ease in his counterattack… It wasn't just self-defense.

It was the mark of a man who had once lived by the sword.

Jian Hu smirked slightly but said nothing.

Meanwhile, the nearby shopkeepers stood frozen, their expressions a mix of shock and unease.

"Li Xin… can fight?" Someone whispered.

Most had assumed he was just an ordinary street vendor, quiet and indifferent to the world. But now, after witnessing his effortless swordplay, their perception of him had changed.

Some were scared.

Some were impressed.

Some were watching.

But among all these reactions, the real question remained—who had found out about him? Who wanted him dead?

Jian Hu glanced at the direction the attacker had fled, then back at Li Xin, who was quietly fixing his stall, as if nothing had happened.

With a sigh, he placed his sword back at his waist.

"You really think you can stay uninvolved forever?" he thought.

Because whether Li Xin admitted it or not—his past had finally caught up to him.

Unraveling the Threads

The air remained tense even after the attacker had fled. The weight of many stares lingered on Li Xin, but he paid them no mind. Without a word, he placed Jian Hu's sword back into its owner's hands and resumed tending to his stall as if nothing had happened.

Jian Hu, on the other hand, watched him with quiet amusement. He knew what he saw—the old Li Xin had resurfaced, if only for a moment. But whether that moment meant anything to Li Xin himself was another matter.

The surrounding merchants and bystanders eventually dispersed, whispering among themselves. Some were eager to forget what they had seen, while others would carry the tale beyond this marketplace. Rumors would spread.

As expected, trouble was only beginning.

That evening, Jian Hu sat across from Li Xin inside the small, dimly lit room of the house they shared. He lazily swirled a cup of wine in his hand, eyeing the man across from him.

"You're not going to ask who sent that attacker?" Jian Hu finally broke the silence.

Li Xin remained calm, his fingers resting lightly against his teacup. "Does it matter?"

Jian Hu huffed a laugh. "It matters if they come again."

A small breeze drifted through the open window, carrying in the cool scent of night.

Li Xin's gaze didn't waver. "Then I'll deal with it when it happens."

His voice was indifferent, but Jian Hu saw through it. The attack had changed something—even if Li Xin refused to admit it.

Jian Hu leaned back, stretching his legs out lazily. "Rumors of the sword's whereabouts were spread intentionally. Someone wants the world to chase after it."

Li Xin didn't respond.

"And now, someone wants you dead," Jian Hu continued. "Yet, you're still sitting here selling buns as if nothing has changed."

Li Xin finally looked at him. "You're still here too."

Jian Hu grinned. "Unlike you, I have unfinished business."

Li Xin didn't press further.

The quiet stretched between them. Neither man was in a hurry to fill it.

Outside, **the world was moving—**forces gathering, warriors seeking the sword, sects shifting like tides.

But inside this small house, two men sat in silence, one unwilling to return to the past, the other unwilling to let it go.

And **somewhere out there, another shadow was already moving—**one that would not be as easily deterred as the last.

The scent of steamed buns still lingered in the air, but the marketplace had yet to fully return to its usual rhythm. The earlier sword fight was not something people could forget so easily. Some avoided Li Xin's stall entirely, while others cast cautious glances in his direction, as if reevaluating who they thought he was.

Li Xin, as always, remained indifferent. He had resumed his work as if the fight had never happened, his hands skillfully folding dough, steam rising around him like a quiet mist.

But Jian Hu had not forgotten.

Leaning lazily against a wooden post near the stall, he watched the world move with a thoughtful expression. Then, something caught his eye—a small, unfamiliar object near where the fight had taken place. Without a word, he strolled over and picked it up.

A token.

The edges were worn, the engraving faint, but Jian Hu immediately recognized its shape. His playful demeanor shifted, his grip tightening around it.

This was no ordinary attacker.

That night, Jian Hu tossed the token onto the table between them. The dim candlelight cast a shadow across its surface, revealing the worn insignia—a coiling serpent entwined around a blade.

Li Xin barely spared it a glance.

"Recognize it?" Jian Hu asked.

Li Xin took a sip of tea. "No."

Jian Hu sighed. "Of course you don't care." He picked up the token, turning it between his fingers. "This insignia belongs to a sect that shouldn't exist anymore."

That made Li Xin pause.

Jian Hu smirked. "Now I have your attention."

Li Xin set down his teacup. "Explain."

Jian Hu leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "The Serpent Blade Sect—destroyed years ago. Their leader was executed, their disciples scattered. But someone must have survived, because this is their mark."

Li Xin remained unreadable. "And?"

Jian Hu's eyes darkened. "And they don't kill without purpose." He tapped the token against the wooden surface. "This wasn't a random attacker. Someone deliberately sent them after you."

The room was silent except for the flickering of the candle.

Jian Hu studied him for a moment before speaking again. "I thought you had no enemies left."

Li Xin exhaled quietly. "So did I."

But the past had a way of resurfacing when least expected.

Outside, the night stretched over the town, quiet but watchful. In the alleys, in the hidden corners of the world, shadows moved.

Somewhere, in the distance, another pair of eyes was watching Li Xin's home.

And the next strike would not be so easily avoided.

Jian Hu set the token down and leaned back, watching Li Xin's expression—or rather, his lack of one. It was frustrating how unshaken he remained, even when someone had just tried to kill him.

"So," Jian Hu said, stretching his arms behind his head, "what's the plan? You can't just sit here selling buns and wait for the next blade to come."

Li Xin picked up the token and turned it in his palm. The coiling serpent seemed almost alive under the candlelight, a relic from a past that should have been buried. A forgotten enemy, resurfacing after all these years.

He placed the token back on the table. "I don't plan."

Jian Hu scoffed. "Then what? Wait until they send someone stronger?"

Li Xin met his gaze. "If they come, they come."

Jian Hu shook his head, muttering under his breath, but he didn't push further. He knew Li Xin well enough—once he decided to stay out of something, prying him out of it was like trying to move a mountain.

Outside, the town had gone quiet for the night, but the weight of unseen eyes still lingered. Someone was watching. Someone was waiting.

Li Xin blew out the candle.

And in the darkness, the storm continued to gather.