“Ye Chen, you trash! Even if you train for another ten years, you still won't be my match.”
Before the voice even faded, a youth in green was already sent flying, crashing heavily onto the bluestone floor of the martial arts arena.
The youth, with clean and delicate features, had his green clothes covered in dust, a trace of blood hanging from the corner of his mouth.
He propped himself up from the ground and slowly stood up, his expression calm.
Ye Long withdrew his fist and stood tall, dressed in red, his laughter arrogant and wild.
On the martial arts arena, the onlookers whispered among themselves.
“Which time is this already?”
“The ninth time this year, right?”
“Ye Chen is still stuck at the Houtian Third Layer, while Ye Long is already at the Houtian Fifth Layer, yet he still seeks Ye Chen out for spars.”
“He used to be so glorious, but now...”
Ye Ling stood at the edge of the crowd, her face slightly pale, her temples glistening with fine sweat.
Deep in her sea of consciousness, something was churning—an unspeakable feeling of fullness.
It was as if water was constantly being poured into a vessel that was about to overflow, its walls trembling, on the verge of cracking.
She noticed Ye Chen's posture when he stood up: his left hand pushed off the ground first, his center of gravity shifted, and he stood up lopsided.
“Standing up like that leaves too big of an opening. If it were me, I would never do that.”
Just as this thought popped up, memories flooded in.
She saw a small room, curtains half-drawn, the afternoon sunlight filtering through the gaps and falling onto a computer screen.
She saw herself sitting cross-legged on a chair, holding a takeout box, eyes glued to the snow-white-clothed swordsman on the screen.
The scene was as ordinary as could be.
But she knew it was real.
That was her past life.
A person who didn't like going out and had few friends.
Someone who did things quite seriously but spent most of her time just passing the days.
Someone who had dreamed of being a swordsman since elementary school.
Unfortunately, she had never picked up a real sword.
She stood by the edge of the martial arts arena, motionless.
She was still the same person, but her entire aura had deepened.
The surrounding voices gradually became clear. Ye Long was still saying something, but she didn't hear it.
Ye Chen had already turned and left, his back disappearing at the end of the corridor, alone and a bit desolate.
She looked down at her hands.
The hands of a fourteen-year-old girl, with long, slender fingers and distinct joints.
There were thin calluses on her palms, worn from practicing the sword.
In this life, she had been practicing the sword since she was twelve.
No one forced her; she just wanted to.
Every day, she would crawl out of bed before dawn and practice until she was the only one left on the arena.
The clan members called her a cultivation maniac. She was too lazy to explain, nor did she feel there was anything to explain.
She just wanted to master the sword.
As for why she wanted to practice so badly, she couldn't say before.
But now she knew.
She slowly let out a breath and turned to walk back.
Returning to her room, she changed out of her sweat-drenched clothes and sat down on the edge of the bed.
The room wasn't large, containing only a bed, a table, and a chair.
An iron sword lay across the table, its hilt polished bright from being held so often.
She went over the memories of this life in her mind.
This world was called the Xuantian Continent. It was vast, ridiculously so.
In any case, it was the kind of vastness where a person could spend their entire life walking and never finish.
Here, everyone could cultivate, regardless of gender.
Once a woman cultivated to the Xiantian Realm, she could sever the red dragon, breaking through innate limitations.
No one cared if you were male or female; a strong fist was the only hard truth.
The Xuantian Continent was filled with numerous nations.
The place she resided in was merely a small country called the Qingyun Kingdom, located in the Eastern Region of the continent.
The Qingyun Kingdom was divided into commanderies, and commanderies were divided into cities.
Baiyun City, where she lived, was under the jurisdiction of Heishui Commandery, one of the hundreds of cities within it.
Baiyun City wasn't particularly large, but it was considered prosperous within a hundred-mile radius.
There were four major families in the city: the Ye, Wang, Li, and Jiang families.
Each family had a Xiantian ancestor backing them, jointly controlling the city's weapons, pills, ores, and other resources.
The four families kept each other in check. None could suppress the others, maintaining this balance for decades.
The Ye family was one of them.
Above the four families, there was also a transcendent power: the City Lord's Mansion.
The City Lord's Mansion belonged to the imperial court. They did not participate in the city's businesses, nor did they interfere in the affairs of the families.
Their existence was solely to maintain order in Baiyun City.
The City Lord himself was a mid stage Xiantian Realm expert, one minor realm higher than the ancestors of the four families.
Ye Ling would turn fifteen this year, and her cultivation was at the Houtian Fifth Layer, making her one of the best among her peers.
She practiced her sword every day, rain or shine.
Others thought she was hardworking, but she didn't think much of it.
She was just used to it. Just like how some people ran every day in her past life, and others drank coffee every day, she just practiced her sword every day.
She suddenly thought of something.
The family competition was in half a year.
The protagonist of today's scene, Ye Chen, was fifteen this year, a few months older than her.
He was once the most dazzling genius of the Ye family. He began cultivating at twelve, breaking through three levels in a single year to reach the Houtian Third Layer, a first for the Ye family in hundreds of years.
After that, his cultivation suddenly stalled, remaining completely stagnant for two whole years.
Some said he was ruined.
Those who envied him began to challenge him to fights, clearly bullying him.
He never refused, going every time, losing every time, and coming back for more the next time.
Someone asked him why.
He said, “I don't want to run away, even if I lose.”
Later on, most people stopped making things difficult for him, leaving only Ye Long still pursuing him relentlessly.
Ye Long liked Jiang Xue, Ye Chen's former fiancée.
This was no secret in the Ye family.
Not long ago, Jiang Xue came to the Ye family with her father and publicly dissolved the engagement, even offering pills to Ye Chen as compensation.
Ye Chen agreed to dissolve the marriage but returned all the pills.
He didn't say a single redundant word.
There was no classic “thirty years east of the river, thirty years west of the river” line, nor “do not look down on a poor youth.”
Just a simple “I agree,” and then he left.
Ye Ling thought about it.
This script felt incredibly familiar.
Of the male-protagonist web novels she scrolled through on her phone in her past life, eight out of ten started like this.
The fallen genius, the broken engagement, the three-year agreement, the return of the king.
Could she have transmigrated into a book?
However, she didn't take it too much to heart.
Whether she transmigrated into a book or a novel world didn't matter.
What mattered was that she hadn't finished practicing her sword for today.
She stood up, gripped the sword on the table, and pushed open the door.
A cool breeze brushed against her face, carrying the scent of grass and earth.
There was a small forest on the back mountain, not far from the Ye family estate, only a cup of tea's time away on foot.
The woods weren't large, but the trees grew densely, blocking out most of the light even during the day.
She had trodden a small path on the ground, and several trees bore sword marks of varying depths.
She stabbed her sword into the ground and loosened her wrists.
Channeling strength into her right arm, she threw a punch.
Bang.
A tree as thick as a bowl shook violently. Its bark split, and wood chips flew.
Crack.
The tree snapped, its upper half crashing to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.
She withdrew her fist and looked down.
Her knuckles were slightly red but not broken.
She had only used thirty percent of her strength.
In her past life, she had struggled even to unscrew a bottle cap.
She recalled the first wuxia drama she watched as a child. A white-clothed swordsman stood at the peak of a mountain, the wind blowing his hem. With a flash of sword light, all the opponents fell.
Back then, she thought, that was so cool.
If only she could be like that one day.
This thought had followed her for many years. From elementary school to college, and from college to work, it had never been realized.
No time, no conditions—in the end, she was just lazy.
An ordinary homebody who yearned for the martial world but had never actually taken a step.
Now, she had come to a fantasy world.
She had a sword in her hand, strength in her body, and a path ahead.
She pulled the sword out of the ground and held it.
The blade glinted with a cold light. It wasn't some legendary sword, just the most ordinary iron sword.
But she wiped it clean every day.
She thought, she liked it here.
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