Luoyang. Night.
At three-quarters past You hour, in Luodeng Alley.
The night wind flowed like water; stars and moon hidden. Luoyang's annual "Night Lantern Festival" was in full swing. Dozens of alleys in the city glittered with lights. Families poured into the streets, hanging lanterns, singing and laughing in boisterous celebration. Nowhere was more bustling than Luodeng Alley, the birthplace of the Luoyang Lantern Market since the Tang Dynasty.
From dusk onward, the lantern lights surged like tides through the streets, illuminating the alleys as bright as day.
All kinds of lanterns blanketed the alley, dazzling with color. Flowery lanterns, ornate carriages, street performances—cries of vendors, laughter, and chattering filled the air like a sea of living lights.
Yet at the alley entrance, under a century-old pagoda tree, a humble little medicine shop stood quietly as usual, utterly detached from the festival's chaos.
Above the shop hung a weathered wooden sign: "Shen Ji Tang."
Inside, the firelight flickered and the room was steeped in the scent of herbs. A young man was bent over sorting medicines. He was about sixteen, with clear features and bright eyes. Though dressed plainly, he carried an air of quiet strength. His hands moved deftly, arranging herbs like polygonatum, angelica, earthworm, and ligusticum in perfect order.
His name was Shen Qingyuan, and he had lived here since childhood as the disciple of the shop's late master, Shen Buyu.
Shen Buyu had been a famed physician of Luoyang, his skills profound and mysterious. He once served in border campaigns for three years, saving countless lives. Sadly, five months ago, he died suddenly in bed. The cause of death remained unknown. Some said he succumbed to illness; others believed he was slain by enemies from the martial world. The truth was never confirmed.
Since then, Shen Qingyuan had managed the pharmacy alone, accompanied only by the old assistant Qian Santong, a loyal but once-gambling-addicted man who had followed Shen Buyu for years.
"Qingyuan, is the ginger soup ready yet?" came the old man's coarse voice from outside.
"It's done," Shen Qingyuan replied, lifting the brass kettle and carefully pouring steaming soup into a bowl before stepping outside.
At the doorway stood a frostbitten old man, rubbing his hands to keep warm.
"Uncle Liu, you're here again. Don't catch a chill." Shen Qingyuan handed him the bowl.
The old man laughed, warming his hands over the bowl. "You little rascal, your soup's even better than your master's."
"You flatter me," Shen Qingyuan replied with a smile, though a trace of bitterness flickered in his eyes.
He looked toward the alley entrance, where amidst the crowd and lantern light, a plain black covered carriage slowly rolled in.
It had no lights, its curtain was drawn, and it blended eerily into the night, standing out precisely because it tried not to.
The sudden clatter of hooves broke the noise. People instinctively made way.
Suddenly—"Bang!"
The carriage struck a lantern rack. The horse neighed wildly. Lanterns burst into sparks, flames flared up, and panic swept through the crowd.
"Fire!"
"Out of the way!"
Chaos ensued. Shen Qingyuan's heart tightened. He leapt over the threshold and stood before the shop.
In front of the wrecked carriage knelt a woman in purple. Her sword lay across her arms, her shoulder bled, and her face was pale.
Despite her injuries, her presence was commanding.
Her gaze pierced the crowd, fixed on the alley entrance.
There, under the moonlight, a gray figure approached slowly.
The man wore a gray cloak, his face indistinct, a long saber in hand. Though the blade remained sheathed, a chilling aura radiated from it.
He walked so slowly it seemed he floated on wind—but made no sound.
The crowd fell silent, as if even the wind dared not blow.
"You've finally come," the woman in purple whispered, her voice as sharp as steel.
The gray-cloaked man replied calmly, voice like an ancient well: "You cannot guard that blade."
Shen Qingyuan's heart trembled.
Blade?
He remembered his master's dying mutterings:
"Duanhun... the blade must not be drawn… the Shen family… must not forget…"
Without another word, the woman leapt up, her sword flashing like lightning, aiming for the man's throat.
He simply tilted aside and raised his palm.
"Bang!"
The sword shattered, the woman was flung like a broken kite, crashing into the lantern rack, blood spraying.
The crowd screamed and backed away.
Shen Qingyuan stepped forward, but Qian Santong grabbed him tightly.
"Don't move!" the old man hissed. "This isn't something you can meddle in!"
"She'll die," Shen Qingyuan protested.
"And so will you," Qian Santong said, trembling. "That woman… she's Falling Feather Niang, third on the Killer's Ranking from the Purple Swallow Pavilion. And that man... is the number one on the Blade Ranking—Heavenly Shadow Soul Severing."
Shen Qingyuan's pupils shrank.
Though young, he had heard of the infamous secret rankings—assassin and blade rankings. Anyone on them was a walking reaper.
The gray-cloaked man approached the fallen woman, drawing his blade slowly.
The blade had not yet emerged, yet the wind howled and the lights dimmed.
The woman struggled to rise, pulling a blood-stained letter from her sleeve and hurling it into the air. At the same time, she smashed a lantern rack to shield herself and fled.
The man did not pursue. His eyes followed the letter as it fluttered—
—landing at Shen Qingyuan's feet.
He looked down, the world falling silent around him, and read the eight blood-written words:
"Duanhun appears. The Jianghu falls. Shen clan—destroyed."
Boom—!
His mind exploded.
A blood letter? Shen clan? Destroyed?!
Qian Santong dragged him back inside and bolted the door.
"Hide the letter! Don't let anyone see it!" the old man cried, sweat pouring down.
"Uncle Qian—" Shen Qingyuan asked, dazed. "What's going on?"
"You're asking me? I don't know either! But listen carefully: from now on, you cannot leave freely. Trust no one! You are of the Shen family… your parents didn't die of illness. They were silenced."
Shen Qingyuan's eyes widened. "What?!"
Just then—
"Bang—!"
The rooftop trembled. A shadow burst through the window.
"Kill!"
Like lightning, the shadow slashed down at Shen Qingyuan's throat!
Qian Santong roared, flinging two silver needles that shot toward the attacker's eyes.
Whoosh—!
The attacker narrowly dodged, stepping back a half step.
"Run!" Qian Santong shoved Shen Qingyuan aside.
He rolled behind a medicine cabinet and looked up—Qian Santong was engaged in close combat.
The hunched old man now struck like thunder, each palm heavy with deadly force.
"You're… from the martial world?" Shen Qingyuan whispered.
"I'm surnamed Qian," the old man growled, "but I deal not in money—I deal in lives!"
He drew a cold steel needle and hurled it.
The assassin dodged but was grazed across the cheek, leaving a bloody mark.
"You won't stay hidden for long," the attacker snarled before vanishing into the night.
Only flickering lamps and the mingled scent of blood and medicine remained.
Shen Qingyuan sat frozen, heart like ice.
His life, from this night on, would never be the same.
The lights dimmed. The festival waned. The blood had not cooled.
Qian Santong sat in the rear hall, pale and panting. The herbal pot boiled beside him, steam curling. But his eyes were fixed on the blood letter, deep as ancient wells.
Shen Qingyuan sat on the floor, clutching a dagger—his master's only keepsake. The blade was plain, without a hint of luster.
"Were my parents really… murdered?" he rasped.
Qian Santong rose slowly, retrieving a dusty scroll from an old chest.
"See for yourself."
Shen Qingyuan unrolled the yellowed parchment—and his face turned pale.
It was a secret letter from Tianji Tower.
"The Shen clan, old family of Luoyang, famed healers—but secretly harboring a military map. Their descendants may bring chaos to Jianghu. Eliminate early."
His fingers trembled as he read the chilling line.
"My father… was killed over a map?"
"Yes," Qian Santong said grimly. "But it wasn't just any map—it was the Crimson Feather Map."
"Crimson Feather Map?"
"A lost relic of a fallen dynasty. Said to reveal three hidden military caches—arms, armor, troops. Whoever holds the map… could raise rebellion."
"But how did my family get it?"
Qian Santong sighed. "Your grandfather Shen Wanlun once served as a military draftsman. After being exiled, the map was thought destroyed. But he secretly split it into three parts, hiding them in medical classics."
Shen Qingyuan's mind raced—his master's dying obsession with Lingshu, Suwen, and Duanhun Lu...
"Then that blade…" He looked toward the corner at the dusty saber.
Qian Santong nodded solemnly. "Duanhun Blade is no legendary weapon. But hidden inside its sheath… is the final piece of the map."
"The woman in purple… came for the map?"
"No. She came to protect the blade."
"Protect it?" Shen Qingyuan didn't understand.
"She's the disciple of the current master of Purple Swallow Pavilion, which once followed your mother."
Shen Qingyuan froze.
"Your mother… was the deadliest assassin in the Jianghu, codenamed Moon Jade, once leader of the Purple Swallow Pavilion."
"My… mother?!"
"She tried to leave the martial world for your father. But Jianghu never forgets. After your father's death, she vanished. The world assumed you both died—but only your master and I knew you were hidden here, to avoid that storm."
Shen Qingyuan's hands clenched. All his peaceful years—an illusion.
In his blood ran secrets that could shake the world.
"The blood letter said 'Shen clan destroyed'…"
Qian Santong replied grimly, "Now that the blade has appeared, the Jianghu will rise in storm. If you wish to survive, you must go to one place."
"Where?"
"Zangjian Manor in Jiangnan."
"Zangjian Manor?"
"Your master's old friend founded it. The most powerful sword manor in the Central Plains. Its master, Lu Yinfeng, owes your master a life. If you seek refuge there, he will protect you."
Before Shen Qingyuan could answer—
"Boom!"
The outer wall exploded with a thunderous crash!
A figure rushed through the dust—black-clad with gold trim, a crimson mask, twin sabers at his waist.
Fifth on the Killer's Ranking—"Twin Blade Wraith!"
"Still chasing?!" Qian Santong roared, flinging more silver needles.
The Wraith laughed coldly, his sabers moving like shadows, deflecting every needle with ease.
"Old man, I'll borrow your life now."
He vanished, reappearing instantly before him.
Qian Santong countered with a palm strike. The air cracked—it was the famed Zhenyuan Palm, enough to shatter bone.
Boom! The strike landed, forcing Wraith back three steps. But the killer only smiled coldly: "Impressive force—but you're old."
His sabers flashed.
"Qingyuan, run!!" Qian Santong bellowed, blood pouring from his mouth.
Tears blurred Shen Qingyuan's vision. "I can't leave you!"
"If you die—the Shen clan truly dies. Go!!"
Steel pierced flesh.
Qian Santong collapsed, eyes resolute.
Shen Qingyuan bit back his scream, grabbed the Duanhun Blade, opened a hidden trapdoor, and vanished into the darkness.
Wraith sneered. "You can hide for now… but not forever."
The night deepened.
Shen Qingyuan fled toward Jiangnan, blood letter in hand, hatred on his back, and a mystery still buried deep within the Soul Severing Blade…
From this night forth, Jianghu would drown in blood and shadows.
(End of Chapter One)