📖 Moon Slasher Dream Chronicles

...Su Zhenyi, a man of Southern Tang, his birth and death unknown. Orphaned young, he served under Yuan Zong and the Last Ruler, yet never found glory. In time, he left Wu, wandering the lands south of the Yangtze. His deeds of chivalry soon spread far and wide. Master Su was unmatched with the blade, famed for his signature technique: Moon Slash. The shadow of his blade swept through the provinces, striking fear into officials, nobles, and powerful clans alike; even bandits blanched at the mention of his name. In the spring of the eighth year of Kaibao, he was caught in a trap laid by the Nie clan of the southeast. Unwilling to see Su implicated, the Nie clan took their own lives. Fighting through the siege with great effort, Su escaped, wounded, and vanished toward the Eastern Sea. That winter, he was briefly sighted in Bianzhou. After that, his fame faded, and his trail went cold. Eastern Sea Chronicles: Moon Slasher Dream Records

Year of Wu Wu, spring, second lunar month. Full moon's eve. A light rain fell. Just another ordinary day. Su Zhenyi wiped the blood from his blade with meticulous care. His movements were slow, delicate like brushing frost off silk. As the blade cleared, its edge gleamed, reflecting a pair of wide, furious eyes. A flash of cold light. The final cry for help died in the man's throat before it could escape. Su Zhenyi sealed his prize carefully wrapped and stored in a specially crafted jade box. By dawn tomorrow, the box would be served alongside breakfast at Chai Rong's table. A gift from the Tang sovereign, in return for Chai Rong's troops pressing into the Jianghuai region. And Su Zhenyi he was the messenger of ill omen. Because he was a blade raised by Southern Tang. It should have been just another day. He sheathed his weapon, picked up the box, and turned to leave But the door shifted. A slender figure stepped in, her robes trailing like water. She held a wind lantern in one hand. When she lifted her eyes to meet his, Su Zhenyi's blade was already at her throat. Years later, Su Zhenyi would often think of that moment. If he had been just a heartbeat faster Perhaps so many things would've turned out differently. But on that day, his blade was just slow enough... to let her speak. She said: "What a beautiful blade. Like the moon." For the first time, Su Zhenyi hesitated with blood on his hands. He thought she was about to die beneath this blade, and yet she praised it. Said it looked like the moon. ... ...

Jiwei year, summer, 7th day, sunny. Su Zhenyi said he was a Bladesman. A Bladesman's blade is always cleaner than an Assassin's blade. Nie Chenxiang asked him the name of his blade. Su Zhenyi had never thought this blade would have a name. Assassins should not have names, nor should their blades. Yet, it seems assassins also shouldn't traverse mountains and waters, nor linger in brothels, just to hear Nie Chenxiang say, "The wind lotus is perfect." His right shoulder suddenly relaxed. Nie Chenxiang rubbed her eyes and rose, murmuring, "I just dreamed of a poem: 'A blade cannot settle matters, the moon crosses but does not return.' How about naming this blade 'Moon Slash'?" Su Zhenyi lowered his gaze, meeting a pair of smiling eyes. The songstress at Spring Breeze Pavilion sang a tune, melodious and hazy, like admiration and lament: "I have fine wine, accompanied by clear melodies, wishing to reward confidants, wishing to celebrate good times..." Nie Chenxiang continued the lyrics, humming: " Leisurely drinking new brew, frequently dreaming of old friends, seeing flowers and the moon, yet not seeing you." Su Zhenyi gazed afar, seeing only endless skies and half a lake of bright moonlight.

Winter solstice, year of Xin You. Snowfall blanketed the land. "In a camp of three thousand children, you were the only one who survived. You are the sharpest blade of Southern Tang." I am... a blade? "The ultimate blade is one that is fast so fast it becomes desireless, heartless." ...But if a blade has no heart... why would it ever be drawn? "You've wavered." Blood mist clouded Su Zhenyi's vision as he lifted his head. All he could see was the man's shadowy figure, blurred by red. "From the moment feeling stirs, sorrow follows. One step into the mortal world, and you're mired in grief. Why not turn back?" His voice was hoarse, dry as wind-scoured stone. "Not even death, a hundred times over, would make me turn back." There was only a sigh in response. "Another fool. So be it. Go." Su Zhenyi forced himself to his feet. At the threshold, he glanced back. The man stood in a hall of splendor, yet looked as if trapped in a cage. "Zhenyi, the world is a prison. To live as a human... may be far less free than to live as a blade." Snow swirled down as Su Zhenyi descended the steps, his figure soon swallowed in the storm. He walked until he reached the crossroads, where he stood still, hand on his blade. The world was vast, yet he no longer knew where to go. Then came a figure through the snow, a parasol in hand, and she reached for him. Blood still stained his fingers. He tried to pull away, but Nie Chenxiang held on tight. "...I'm an assassin." "So?" "I've killed many." "Sometimes, killing is saving." "How?" "With blade against blade. With death to end death. With the Mooncleave Blade, carve out a world of white." Snowflakes clung to his lashes. Ice melted into water, and fell quietly into his eyes. He had always been alone. But now he had somewhere to go. And someone to return to.

Yihai year, third month, cold spring, swallows do not return. Su Zhenyi has killed many people. Many people also want to kill him. Entering the Martial World begins with killing, must end with killing. To those who appear virtuous, he is the sharp blade hanging at their neck, If he does not die, people's hearts cannot be at peace. Death to him is like a shadow by his side, always accompanying him. But for the first time, Su Zhenyi found death so unfamiliar. And so hasty. So hasty that it didn't even leave him a chance to draw his blade. He could only watch helplessly as Nie Chenxiang's neck met the blade, her body heading to the netherworld. Nie Chenxiang leaned on his shoulder. Su Zhenyi walked slowly. The room filled with blood, like a wedding hall. For a long time afterward, Su Zhenyi did not know where he was. Perhaps he was still alive, perhaps already dead. Perhaps everything was just a dream. At the end of the dream, someone should be waiting for him. To take him home.

The tenth lunar month, year of Yihai. A moonless night. "Not sure if the wind rises from the north tonight... or the south?" Su Zhenyi lay motionless on the beam, silent as a dead leaf. No one answered. The tea bubbled in the brazier. The man poured two cups, his voice drifting lazily: "New leaves from the Southern Tang's palace worth a hundred gold per ounce. The scent truly lives up to the price." Still, Su Zhenyi did not move. He was waiting. For an opportunity. Within this tent, there were five men he could match in a hundred moves, Three he could handle in ten, And only one with whom he had but one chance. And he had only one chance. One strike. Live or die, succeed or fail All would be decided in that single breath. The man lifted his cup. His guard was down. Now! There was no sound, no shadow Only a gust of falling leaves, And then, a flash of cold light. Su Zhenyi was already upon him. Like wind upon the reeds, the blade Moon Slash had found its mark, crossing the man's throat, edge poised for the final stroke. One slash, and he would fulfill his old lord's dying wish carve out a corner of peace for the remnants of Southern Tang. But the blade slowed, again. He heard the man ask, "What draws your sword?" "...What?" "For loyalty? For brotherhood? Or... for the world?" Silence swept through the tent like a falling snow. Then a steely clang. The blade returned to its sheath. Sometimes, to not kill is a kind of killing. And to kill... is not always to end. Life and death are not in the sword, but in the heart that wields it. "The sun will rise," the man said calmly. "Dust will settle. Why must you slash the moon in darkness?" "I have a blade. Its name is Ghostspirit. Tonight, I give it to you. Take it, and guard peace for the Song." "Far to the east lies an isle called Fallen Deities a sanctuary of martial arts. Why not seek the truth of the sword there?" Su Zhenyi remained silent. From the south, a wind stirred, lifting the curtain. He felt as if waking from a long, long dream. The fall of Southern Tang was no longer in question. And now, in this vast world, alone and unbound, he looked around him. Only silence remained.

Friends wither away, long forgotten; the homeland fades, years unknown. East of Isle of Fallen Deities, the Radiant Shore blooms with wildflowers. Su Zhenyi settled here, thinking she would surely delight in the scenery. On a clear night, dustless, the moonlight like silver, the wine brimming. In a daze, Su Zhenyi heard someone singing, the melody melodious, in the old tongue. "I have fine wine, accompanied by clear melodies, wishing to reward confidants, wishing to celebrate good times..." His shoulder slightly sank; he lowered his head to meet a pair of gentle eyes. "It's been a long time. Could you dance with the blade for me?" Su Zhenyi drew his blade and danced, the blade edge sweeping through, scattering flowing light. The sea and sky merged, the bright moon hung high. Su Zhenyi danced with all his life's blade intent. Moon Slash had never been so exhilarating. All that hindered, trapped, disturbed, and misled him was severed. No one could unsettle his heart; no matter could disturb his resolve. Destiny forged him into a blade. With the final slash, the blade light exploded, Radiant Shore shone like daylight. All illusions, all dreams, vanished like smoke and clouds. This is Moon Slash. The blade cuts unresolved matters; the moon crosses paths with those who never return. Su Zhenyi calmed his breath, sheathed his blade, facing the vast sea alone. The pinnacle achieved, at the height, solitude enveloped him. As the water flowed away, amidst the rolling waves, Su Zhenyi recalled the latter part of the song: Leisurely drinking new brew, frequently dreaming of old friends, seeing flowers and the moon, yet not seeing you.

All disciples of Nightwaker know that Su Zhenyi's blade is the swiftest in the land. Foes scarcely have time to blink before they fall, becoming yet another soul beneath his blade. It is said that when Su Zhenyi draws his sword, even villains tremble, and spirits flee in fear. Yet within the halls of Nightwaker, an old rumor lingers There were three times in his life when Su Zhenyi's blade... was slow. The first time, he lost his heart. A cold blade moved by a single glance. Desire stirred, sorrow followed, and he fell into the mortal world he was never meant to touch. The second time, he lost his love. She fell like a wounded bird from the skies, too far for him to reach. From then on, his nights were silent, His dreams void, his path lonelier than ever before. The third time, he lost his name. Buried his chivalry in the shadows. And from that night on, the martial world never spoke his name again.