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Copywriting:

This story aims to torture handsome men.

The handsome man in this story is rather arrogant, rather gloomy, rather childish, rather exaggerated, rather high-profile, rather deserving of a beating, rather deserving of masochism, rather... in short, rather difficult to deal with.

This is a romance novel, not a BL novel. The female protagonist, Hua Chongyang, is not very successful and tends to cause trouble, but her greatest advantage is that she is tall.

This story revolves around the female protagonist's journey of struggle in the martial arts world, while also interweaving the male protagonist's twisted and dark acts of revenge.

Thank you for watching.

This is a romance novel, not a BL (Boys' Love) novel. I'll emphasize that again!!!

1. Double Ninth Festival

On the ninth day of the first lunar month, at the World's Number One Martial Arts Tournament in Hangzhou, Prince Ningjing, who had held absolute power for more than ten years, made his first public appearance before the world.

It was still early in the season, and the chill was still strong; the heavy snow from the first day of the Lunar New Year had not yet melted. The dawn had broken, and the sun shone brightly on the treetops, reflecting off the white snow. The martial arts tournament was to be held on a specially built arena near West Lake in Hangzhou. Across from the arena, more than ten zhang away, was an even higher vermilion-lacquered pavilion, suspended above West Lake, with crimson gauze hanging high above it.

Between the grandstand and the dueling platform was a wide open space, crowded with onlookers and disciples from various sects.

A small sedan chair approached quietly and stopped below the viewing platform, with only two or three attendants behind it. Prince Ningjing, Situ Yebai, dressed in a light fur coat and loose belt, personally lifted the sedan chair curtain, stepped down, and walked along the covered bridge to the open pavilion.

Silence reigned all around, and the eyes of thousands were fixed on the scene.

No one knew why Prince Ningjing, who had resided in his palace for over a decade, suddenly felt the urge to personally come to Hangzhou to "observe" the martial arts tournament—and even generously donated ten thousand taels of gold. On the West Lake, behind a swaying crimson gauze curtain beneath the open eaves, Situ Yebai, wrapped in a fur robe, slowly sat down, accepted the tea offered by his attendant, and waved his hand with a slight upward glance:

"Let's begin."

With a gong sound, a golden banner descended from the opposite arena, bearing a line of ink writing:

The grandest martial arts gathering in the world.

Not far from the dueling platform, behind a row of armchairs arranged alone, a casual hawking voice could be heard:

"Freshly baked fried cakes, eat them while they're hot. Three coins each, five coins for a pair!"

The vendor selling fried cakes was a tall, thin boy. His hairy head, wearing a leather hat, was visible in the crowd. A fried cake vendor mixed in with the crowd of martial arts practitioners looked somewhat out of place. So, a young man in a white robe, sitting in a grand chair in the front row, slowly turned around and glanced at the fried cake vendor who was grabbing someone's sleeve.

The young man selling fried cakes was focused on collecting money, while the middle-aged man whose sleeve had been grabbed blushed suddenly when he saw the young man in white glance back. He quickly pulled his sleeve away, his expression changing slightly.

"You little brat, trying to renege on your debt?! How could I, a dignified disciple of Mount Hua, owe you a single penny!"

The fried cake vendor was quick-witted and didn't get angry. He simply opened his palm and counted out the seven coins inside:

"Two fried cakes cost five coins, plus one more cost three coins, for a total of eight coins."

"Two fried cakes should cost five coins, but I bought three, so the third one should naturally cost two coins!"

After saying this, the Huashan disciple was about to leave, but was grabbed again by the fried cake boy behind him:

"Pay before you leave."

In the ensuing tug-of-war, the Huashan disciple stumbled, drawing the attention of the white-robed youth on the armchair ahead—the Huashan disciple, suddenly enraged, dropped the fried cakes and grabbed the fried cake vendor by the collar:

"Are you ever going to shut up, you brat?!"

If the vendor had smiled and begged for mercy, the matter would probably have been settled. But the young man, with his delicate-looking face, furrowed his brow and raised an eyebrow, calmly retorted:

"You were the one who cheated first."

Before he could finish speaking, the rice cake vendor deftly raised his knee and pushed with his palm, causing the Huashan disciple to stagger back three steps, clutching his stomach—thump, he landed hard on his buttocks.

The hero of Mount Hua looked around, his face flushing red.

Even the smallest matter becomes significant when it concerns one's reputation. Thus, a moment later, a tangled mess on the ground drew the attention of the crowd who had been intently watching the duel on the stage.

The young man in white, who had been sitting on the armchair and had witnessed the entire incident with great interest, gently beckoned to the blue-clad guard standing nearby:

"velvet."

"exist."

"Tell the two masters on the stage to take a break."

"yes."

A crowd gathered around, occasionally shouting "Fight! Fight!" as the fried cake boy and the Huashan disciple rolled around on the ground, exchanging blows. Just as the excitement reached its peak, a sharp shout rang out from the side:

"Stop it, all of you!"

The boy's hand was gripping the Huashan disciple's neck, while the disciple's hands held the boy's wrists. Hearing the shout, they all stopped and looked up at the blue-clad youth, who appeared to be a guard, who had given the order. The blue-clad youth cleared his throat and clasped his hands in a fist salute:

"Gentlemen, instead of sparring here, why don't you go up on stage and test your skills?"

A hush fell over the crowd. The fried cake boy and the Huashan disciple stared blankly at the young man in blue, listening as he continued:

"Please, gentlemen. Young Master Situ has already asked the martial arts masters who were just competing to take a break, and is now waiting for you two to come up on stage."

The Huashan disciple who refused to pay was quite decisive; he let go, got up, dusted himself off, and spat.

"Let's compete then. Do you think I'm afraid of a mere brat?"

The young man selling fried cakes squinted and stood up with a smile:

"Never mind, it's just the price of a fried cake."

He turned to turn around after speaking, but was grabbed by the persistent Huashan disciples:

"Wait! Trying to run? Finish the race first!"

The two stepped onto the stage, and the difference in their physiques was immediately apparent. The Huashan disciple was robust and burly, while the young man was tall, slender, and delicate—he was likely no match for the Huashan disciple; no wonder he had retreated earlier. However, the young man, though defeated, refused to lose face and stepped forward, clasping his hands in a respectful gesture and nodding politely to the Huashan disciple.

"Stop when you've made your point."

A gong is sounded.

The Huashan disciples unleashed a barrage of vicious attacks, assaulting the youth relentlessly. Fortunately, the youth was agile and managed to dodge each blow. However, he was caught off guard and struck in the face, staggering back two steps.

He covered his eye, stunned for a moment, then looked up, revealing a bruised eye socket, and his voice held a hint of ruthlessness:

"You really want to fight?"

The Huashan disciples were taken aback.

Behind the boy, there was a weapon rack on the side of the arena, displaying eighteen kinds of weapons. He sneered, turned around, drew a sword from it, assumed a fighting stance, and thrust it forward. The tip of the sword pierced half an inch into his front, right in the center of his chest.

The field fell silent for a moment.

Instantly, an uproar erupted from the audience, followed by shouts of alarm:

"...Flying Flowers and Shattered Jade! That kid is using the Flower Sword Technique! The second move, Flying Flowers and Shattered Jade!"

Upon hearing this shout, Ji Chong, the Wudang Sect Leader who was sitting in a grand chair below the stage, paused in his teacup. He looked up and saw Hua Chongyang, who had just won, raise his eyebrows, give his opponent a cold look, throw his sword to the ground, and turn to stride off the stage.

Ji Chongmeng stood up abruptly, spilling the tea in his hand.

Twenty years had passed, and besides, the young man on stage was using his fists and feet, so it was understandable that he didn't recognize the Flower Sword Technique at first glance. However, the face on the stage carried a shadow that he would never forget. Ji Chong stood up, subconsciously took a few steps forward, waved away the crowd blocking the stage, looked at the young man on stage carefully for a few more moments, and called out in a trembling voice:

"...Chongyang? You are...Hua Chongyang?"

The boy's expression froze.

As the surrounding noise subsided, everyone's gaze shifted to Ji Chong, who leaped onto the high platform, grabbed the boy's arm, and looked excited:

"It's Chongyang... Chongyang? Your mother is Hua Chuxue?! Chongyang! I'm your Uncle Ji!"

Suddenly, the crowd fell silent.

Among the influential figures in the martial arts world, besides the venerable Abbot Deyun of Shaolin, there is Ji Chong, the highly skilled, upright, and popular leader of Wudang. It is no wonder that everyone knows Ji Chong.

But when it comes to Hua Chuxue, it's not that simple.

"A sword flies like flowers, and the first snow falls," this describes Hua Chuxue, the most beautiful woman in the martial arts world twenty years ago and the successor of the Flower Sword. Who in the martial arts world doesn't know her, and which man hasn't fallen for her? Moreover, twenty years ago, Ji Chong, who was then a disciple of Wudang, and Hua Chuxue were known as the "Golden Boy and Jade Girl" of the martial arts world.

However, compared to Hua Chongyang's slightly stunned expression, Ji Chong seemed overly excited, standing on the stage for a long time without any intention of ending the family reunion, drawing whispers from the crowd. Immediately, Rong Zaishen, the acting leader of the martial arts alliance sitting next to Ji Chong, stepped onto the stage to ease the awkwardness and said with a smile:

"It's a rare occasion for Sect Leader Ji to meet an old friend in a foreign land. Why don't you join this young hero and take a seat below the stage?"

Ji Chong suddenly came to his senses, but then turned around, looked at the elder, took Hua Chongyang's arm, and solemnly declared:

"Alliance Leader, Chongyang is not a boy; she is a girl."

In the renowned Lake Moon Villa in Hangzhou, Ji Chong looked at the handsome tomboy in front of him.

Tall and slender, clad in a grey robe, her long, thick black hair cascading loosely over her shoulders, her skin snow-white, with a faint bruise around her left eye. A maid from Lake Moon Manor soon brought tea, first handing it to Ji Chong, then to Hua Chongyang. Hua Chongyang removed his hand from his eye to take the teacup, then looked up and smiled slightly at the maid:

Thank you.

Two blushes instantly rose on the maid's face.

Along with that, Ji Chong looked at Hua Chongyang and was slightly taken aback—he was too tall, his shoulders too broad, and his smile lacked dimples and was too shallow. If Hua Chongyang resembled Hua Chuxue, he would at most be three-tenths similar. But that three-tenths was enough; when he smiled, the slightly upturned corners of his lips and his pointed chin were so much like Hua Chuxue that Ji Chong felt as if he were in another world.

Slowly setting down his teacup and regaining his composure, Ji Chongcai cautiously began to speak:

"Double Ninth Festival—How have you been these past few years?"

"Alright." Hua Chongyang put down his teacup, smiled at Ji Chong again, and said, "Uncle Ji, I really didn't expect to run into you here."

"Did you not expect to run into me, or did you not expect me to recognize you?" Ji Chong smiled, a hint of reproach in his tone. "The martial arts tournament is held annually. If you had stayed in Hangzhou, you would have known we come every year. Why didn't you come looking for me?"

Hua Chongyang chuckled lightly and politely cupped his hands in greeting:

"It was wrong of me not to visit you often, Uncle Ji, please don't hold it against me. But I haven't been in Hangzhou all these years; besides—you know, my master's wife and Fei Xiang don't like me, so why should I—go and upset them?"

"Your master's wife and Fei Xiang—" Ji Chong couldn't help but sigh at this point, then looked up at Hua Chongyang and changed the subject to something less awkward, "Chongyang, now that you're older, you look more like your mother."

If it weren't for that bruise around his eye, it would probably look even more like it.

"Is that so?" Hua Chongyang took another sip of tea and smiled again. "So many years have passed, I've almost forgotten what my mother looks like."

"Your mother—" Ji Chong hesitated, then spoke again, his voice filled with undisguised sorrow, "Your mother was exceptionally intelligent, with exquisite swordsmanship, and she loved wearing white dresses and green shirts in her youth—"

He stopped talking.

"Master." A young man in white robes entered through the door, first looking at Hua Chongyang, then at Ji Chong, "The medicine has been fetched."

Hua Chongyang turned his head and glanced at him, his eyes widening slightly in surprise.

Wearing a pure white silk satin robe and a jade and black silk belt, Hua Chongyang suddenly felt that there was probably no one else in the world who could wear white clothes so beautifully. Back when he first met Rong Chenfei at Wudang, Rong Chenfei was also wearing white, while she wore a gray-blue monk's robe with only half an inch of hair on her head. She looked incredibly ugly. No wonder Ji Feixiang was surrounded by a group of Wudang disciples who loudly mocked her in front of Ji Chong.

"Father, where did this stinking beggar come from! Why did you let her come to our Wudang Mountain!"

That year, Hua Chongyang was nine years old, Ji Feixiang was eight years old, and Rong Chenfei was already twelve years old.