Jian Wang 3: Blades Like a Dream

His martial arts are peerless, and he is skilled in every art. Neither righteous nor evil, he has no fixed allegiances.

He can kill someone thousands of miles away over a few careless words, or travel from place to place to honor a single promise.

Time and again, he helps tyrants do evil, then switches sides at the drop of a hat.

Foolish, gullible, and somehow always profiting from whatever he does.

Leaving people to die is the norm; if you don't like it, come at him, that's his daily routine.

Fine clothes are his capital; mastering every trick in the book is his pursuit.

His name is Player.

But this is not a player's story. It's only one player's journey.

This is your story, my jianghu.

New to Yangzhou, he joins the Ming Cult, revered as the Radiant Saint of Non-Existence.

He seeks his way to Chang'an and heads for Cangyun, clad in iron armor and wielding a blood-red blade.

Before Mount Wutai, he recalls the past. A song, light sleeves, half a foot of moonlight.

Daybreak bursts forth, yet the snow is still cold. Alone and drunk, he drinks with the heroes of the jianghu.

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