The Dance Of The Silver Moon

The roof of the tavern was slick with night dew, reflecting the pale light of a crescent moon. Above, the sky was a deep, ink-blue void; below, the streets of Chaisang were silent. But on the tiles, the air was screaming.

Sikong Changfeng stood at the apex of the roof, his spear held loosely at his side. Facing him were six men in charcoal-grey leather armor, their faces obscured by serpent-shaped metal visors. These were the "Fangs" of the Jade Serpent—elite killers trained to strike in unison.

"The Young Master of the Baili Clan is inside," the lead assassin hissed, his voice sounding like dry leaves skittering on stone. "Hand him over, and you might live to see the sunrise, beggar."

Changfeng didn't answer with words. He kicked the base of his spear, sending the weapon spinning into a blur of silver.

"I’ve always found that the sun rises much faster when I’m busy," Changfeng said.

With a sudden burst of speed, he lunged. The Phoenix-Tail Spear wasn't just a weapon; in his hands, it was a living extension of his Qi. He moved with the "Thirteen Paths of the Wandering Dragon," a technique that favored agility over brute force. The silver tip of his spear whistled through the air, creating a piercing sound that shattered the silence of the night.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Three assassins met his strike, their curved scimitars sparking against the spearhead. They were fast, but Changfeng was faster. He planted his spear in the roof tiles and used the shaft to vault himself over their heads, his rags fluttering like the wings of a tattered hawk. Mid-air, he spun, the butt of the spear catching one assassin in the throat and another in the chest.

Meanwhile, a seventh assassin had bypassed the roof battle. He dropped silently through the tavern’s skylight, landing like a cat directly in front of the counter.

Baili Dongjun didn't look up from his wine jar.

"You're stepping in a puddle of spilled Spring Dew," Dongjun said, his voice eerily calm. "It’s very sticky. Hard to get off your boots."

The assassin didn't hesitate. He drew a serrated dagger and lunged at Dongjun’s throat.

Dongjun’s hand moved—not toward a sword, but toward the ivory-handled daggers he had revealed earlier. He didn't use them to stab; he used them to flow. This was the "Brewmaster’s Footwork," a secret technique his mother had taught him under the guise of "improving his balance for carrying wine."

He stepped to the left, a movement as smooth as wine pouring into a cup. The assassin’s blade sliced through empty air. Dongjun caught the man's wrist, redirected his momentum, and slammed him face-first into a heavy fermentation vat.

"I told you," Dongjun whispered, his eyes flashing with a hidden, dormant power. "It’s sticky."

Back on the roof, the battle had reached a fever pitch. The lead assassin realized that Changfeng was no ordinary wanderer.

"You use the spear of the Western Regions!" the assassin shouted, gasping for breath as he parried a strike that nearly took his ear off. "You are a disciple of the Spear Immortal!"

"I told your friends earlier," Changfeng replied, his voice rising in intensity. "I have no master. I only have a thirst!"

He gathered his internal energy, his Qi swirling around the silver spearhead until it began to glow with a faint, ghostly white light. This was the "First Form: Falling Moon." He swung the spear in a massive horizontal arc. The sheer pressure of the wind generated by the move sent three of the assassins flying off the roof, crashing into the willow trees below.

The remaining Fangs retreated, realized they were outmatched. They didn't flee out of fear, but out of professional calculation. They vanished back into the shadows of the alleyways, leaving their fallen comrades behind.

Changfeng stood alone on the roof, his chest heaving. He looked down through the broken skylight.

Dongjun was standing over the unconscious assassin, looking at his ivory daggers with a mix of regret and resolve. He looked up at Changfeng.

"My roof is ruined," Dongjun said, though his smirk returned.

"And my spear is hungry for more than just thugs," Changfeng replied, jumping down into the tavern. He looked at the ivory daggers in Dongjun's hands. "Those aren't the tools of a simple brewer, Dongjun. Those are the 'Moon-Slayer Blades.' They haven't been seen in the Jianghu for twenty years."

Dongjun tucked the daggers back into his belt. "Then let's hope people have short memories. Because if they recognized the blades, they’ll definitely recognize the wine I’m brewing for the King of Chaisang next week."

"The King of Chaisang?" Changfeng asked, cleaning his spear.

"The man who truly runs this city," Dongjun said, his expression turning serious. "The one who invited the Hidden River here

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***