He was Leng Jing, known to the martial world as Young Master White Rainbow. For ten years, he had traversed the Jianghu, and rarely had he ever met an equal.
Those who had seen him said he was a man of true kingly grace and refined elegance; his bearing was such that even his enemies were captivated by him.
His extraordinary deeds could not be fully told even if one spoke for three days and three nights. He had already become an immortal legend.
On the fifteenth day of the third month, at Linjiang Tower, eighteen gangs from across the three rivers held a banquet to entertain Young Master White Rainbow. In truth, it was a long-premeditated assassination. This plot had been five years in the making, involving more than ten sects from both the righteous and unorthodox paths. They had cast a dragnet so vast that over five hundred assassins were stationed at the front lines alone, to say nothing of the countless ambushes lying in wait along the road.
Everything was for a single objective—to kill Leng Jing.
The reason for killing Leng Jing was simple: he was too devoted to the path of the chivalrous hero. Since time immemorial, no one had ever executed justice as recklessly as Leng Jing. He never hesitated to offend the powerful and influential; sometimes, for the sake of justice for a single insignificant nobody, he would challenge the very laws of the entire Jianghu.
The reason such an eccentric man could survive until now lay in his transcendent martial prowess and wisdom. Even the Dark Radiance Sovereign, the pinnacle of the Demonic Path, listed the Young Master White Rainbow—who was not yet thirty—as his foremost respected adversary.
Luo Feng had to admit that through Young Master White Rainbow’s eyes, he could almost see the entire world. This man’s gaze was incredibly profound, as if the myriad things of the world did not exist within his sight at all; the place he gazed upon was a distant realm far beyond the imagination of mortal men. Before him, it felt as though no evil could remain hidden. Luo Feng felt that this sensation made his own heart falter with guilt.
Yet, he still tightened his grip on the poisoned dagger hidden in his robes—he had to succeed in one strike, regardless of how great a figure fell beneath his blade.
He did not deny that he had been struck by Young Master White Rainbow’s broad and scholarly grace at first sight. It made his hand tremble slightly, and he even began to fantasize—if he had met Leng Jing earlier, he would surely have prostrated himself on the ground and taken him as his master.
But it was too late. He had already committed himself to the assassins' organization; he had to complete the mission even if it cost him his own life.
Inside Linjiang Tower, Luo Feng, disguised as a minor official, feigned a stumble into Leng Jing's arms. As he poured the wine, his left hand secretly drew the dagger. He only needed to inflict a tiny scratch on Young Master White Rainbow, and Leng Jing would instantly die from the poison. The immortal legend would come to an end. And he would add another achievement worthy of his master's praise.
Only, when that time came, where else in the world could one find a second Leng Jing? He was truly a peerless man, the likes of whom appeared once in a thousand years.
Luo Feng felt so much regret he nearly wept; he knew well that his sorrowful appearance was delicate and moving, capable of touching anyone's heart.
But Leng Jing did not even look at him. Instead, he said calmly, "You are free now."
Free? Luo Feng sneered in his heart. What freedom did he have to speak of? Having become a member of an assassin organization due to a blood feud, he was controlled by others at every turn, living a bloody life of taking souls every day. When had he ever been free? What right did this man have to give him freedom?
Leng Jing, however, stood up, leaving behind the room full of guests, and walked toward the stairs. His gait was elegant, like a noble Dragon God. Luo Feng had never seen a Dragon God, but he had an inexplicable feeling in his heart—he felt that the Dragon God from the myths he heard as a child should look exactly like Leng Jing.
The dagger in his robes was never brandished. Leng Jing’s sudden departure also caused the conspirators' pace to falter slightly.
But it didn't matter. Every plan was proceeding exactly as imagined; Leng Jing was doomed to die. Everyone present held sufficient confidence; though Leng Jing was formidable, he was, in the end, only one man.
*The Chronicles of the Martial World, Volume 37* records: "In the fifteenth year of the Heavenly Saint era, on the fifth day of the third month, the six cults, four sects, and three gangs of the Three Rivers Eighteen Factions plotted to execute Young Master White Rainbow, Jing. In a moment, the plot was shattered and the factions overturned. Jing broke the enemy and achieved victory, a feat cited as a wondrous tale."
The four words "broke the enemy and achieved victory" cursorily encapsulated the tragic and heroic scenes of that night’s fierce battle. Perhaps the only survivor who truly witnessed that peerless battle was Luo Feng.
He thought for many years about what had caused the turning point in his life. His life had countless turning points, but one thing was certain: Leng Jing had indeed given him the key to freedom.
He never saw that awe-inspiring man again until the day he died. Yet, the man often haunted his dreams—was that perhaps another cage the man had placed him in?
For such a god-like figure, who in this world could possibly be worthy of him?
It would not be himself. Luo Feng gave a bitter smile as a cup of strong liquor went down his throat, spicy as fire. He hoped to get drunk and meet him in a dream, even if it was only the few words the man had left him. If that man ever found a place to belong, he would use this cup of wine to congratulate them from afar—may they grow old together in peace.
So bitter. Luo Feng clutched his lapel, his eyes blurred with drink.
The bright moon illuminated the earth, its clear light like snow.
A silver shadow streaked through the moonlight. Atop the dragon's back, Leng Qingqing sang a self-composed song with selfless excitement: "My baby flies so fast~~ Making the phoenix cry and scream~~"
One man's bitterness, another man's joy.
One only knows their own bitterness and joy.
[End of Side Story]
