Wuxia: The World Is Too Noisy, Yet I Insist on Listening

At Luoyang's city gate, the minor official asked the usual three questions.

“Name?”

“Wang Zhaoye.”

“Who was your master?”

“Han Tingxue.”

The tip of the brush suddenly stopped.

Three years ago, Han Tingxue had died on a snowy night, branded a traitor. Now his apprentice had swaggered into Luoyang with the Cold Rain Sword on his back.

Wang Zhaoye actually only wanted to find out one thing.

What had happened back then?

Because after Han Tingxue's death, what he hated most was people keeping things from him.

So all these years, he'd practiced swordsmanship, and he'd practiced listening.

Listening to the wind, to swords, and to the things people left unsaid.

But when he truly began listening to the martial world, he discovered that...

Some sounds had been buried for many years.