Chapter 196: Lost Face

Fang Fengyi’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he stepped aside; he loved watching women fight.

When he visited brothels, he most enjoyed using money to make two courtesans quarrel and brawl.

In his view, women’s squabbles gave him the sensation of watching a spectacle or a joke.

Now, seeing the two women assume martial stances, he nearly laughed out loud.

To him, it was all just pretense.

Fortunately, his facial control was impeccable—he only slightly curled his lips, and no one noticed.

At that moment, Hong Luan also raised her palms into the shape of tiger claws.

Fang Yongwei raised a delicate eyebrow: “White Tiger Turnover Stance?”

It was a very ‘common’ martial art, so common that even minor sects with slight lineage would learn it.

Her expression relaxed considerably after that.

After all, she was quite familiar with this ‘ordinary’ fist technique.

This further boosted her confidence.

But the next second, her face changed.

Huh!

Hong Luan swung one palm down in a swift strike, like a cat’s paw swatting.

Fang Yongwei instinctively dodged, then her eyes widened—Hong Luan’s hand had looked slow when lifting, yet the strike came down with impossible speed.

Though she retreated, the tender fingertip nearly brushed her forehead hairs as it swept past.

Fang Yongwei felt a sharp, claw-like force descending before her.

Her body hairs stood on end; she stepped back two paces, preparing to retreat further and counterattack.

But Hong Luan’s speed was equally swift, closing the distance almost instantly.

Another palm strike came down.

Fang Yongwei raised her arms to block; they clashed repeatedly—ba-ba-ba—and she was forced back step by step.

She felt as if iron hammers were striking her arms, and her heart lurched in shock.

How could such soft hands be so hard?

After blocking a few more blows, she retreated further, her arms now numb and weak.

Then Hong Luan brought down one final palm strike—Fang Yongwei could no longer defend herself; as the blow descended, she instinctively shut her eyes.

A pale palm halted above her head, the wind from it scattering her hair wildly.

She instinctively stepped back again, lost her balance, and plopped onto the ground.

Hong Luan stared at her, eyes wide.

How… weak!

Then she snapped to attention and rushed forward to help Fang Yongwei up: “Miss Fang, are you alright?”

Fang Yongwei stood, staring at Hong Luan in astonishment: “How long have you trained this fist technique?”

“About four months, I think.”

“You never trained before?”

“I was just a maid—how could I have practiced martial arts?” Hong Luan smiled. “Only after becoming my mistress’s chambermaid and being given to my husband did he begin teaching me.”

“Four months…” Fang Yongwei stared blankly. “I entered Tianyi Sect at five—I’ve trained for ten years!”

Others also looked astonished, especially Huang Ying, who stood nearby, visibly excited, lost in thought.

Huang Qing smiled: “Miss Fang trains with weapons, right? We’re only better at fist techniques—we’ve barely touched swordplay.”

Fang Yongwei forced a weak smile.

She understood now: she had truly lost—not because of technique, but because of sheer physical superiority.

Her opponent’s overall physical condition far surpassed hers.

With less than half a year of fist training, Hong Luan had already beaten her to this state—if she wielded a sword, Fang Yongwei stood no chance at all.

“How did you cultivate such blood qi?” Fang Yongwei, not one to sulk over defeat, straightened and asked curiously. “I’ve trained for ten years, yet my blood qi seems weaker than yours.”

Huang Qing and Hong Luan both looked awkward.

How to explain this?

There were two men present—how could they say it?

Huang Qing’s gaze subtly swept over the two men in the room.

The move was noticed by Huang Dama.

She immediately said: “Ying, take Master Fang outside for a walk.”

Huang Ying didn’t want to leave, but he couldn’t disobey his mother—he could only escort Fang Fengyi out.

Once the two men had passed through the moon gate, Huang Dama smiled: “Now you can speak—when did Hong Luan become so skilled?”

She had watched Hong Luan grow up—knew her origins inside out.

“My husband taught her,” Hong Luan replied with a smile.

“Techniques can be learned quickly, but blood qi isn’t so easily cultivated,” Fang Yongwei pressed, eyes sharp. “Even among my peers, I’m at the bottom—but I’ve trained for ten years, yet I still lost to you in months. How?”

Hong Luan turned her gaze to Huang Qing, asking silently.

Huang Qing’s face flushed slightly.

Huang Dama laughed: “We’re all family—speak up, no need to be shy.”

After a long pause, Huang Qing said: “Dual-cultivation art.”

The air fell silent.

Huang Ling was the first to react—she sprang to her feet, snorted: “Disgraceful,” and walked out.

Huang Dama, having lived through it all, nodded and smiled: “I’ve heard of this secret art. I never imagined your husband knew it. No wonder your skin is so smooth and radiant—it must be the dual-cultivation art’s doing.”

Lady Huang, having been through it herself, nodded and smiled: “I’ve heard of this supreme art—never expected your husband knew it. No doubt your skin’s smoothness and beauty come from the dual-cultivation technique.”

Fang Yongwei exclaimed: “I thought this was just legend… This is the secret art of the Ding family of Guizhou—how did your husband learn it?”

“He exchanged it for another secret art.”

Fang Yongwei nodded slowly, then said wistfully: “Then I suppose I’ll need to marry a man who knows dual-cultivation art.”

Huang Dama chuckled: “Miss Fang, your marriage isn’t yours to decide.”

Fang Yongwei’s expression dimmed; she sighed softly.

Though she was only a concubine-born daughter of the Fang family, she still had value.

Her greatest purpose was to be married off to promising sons from poor scholarly families.

This trip to the Huang family with her brother was meant to signal: my sister has come of age—do you have any eligible young men in your clan?

Coming to the Huang family with my brother was really to convey one message: the Fang family has a daughter come of age—does the Huang family have any young relatives ready for marriage? We could arrange an introduction.

Huang Qing looked at Fang Yongwei, her eyes holding a touch of sympathy.

She too was a concubine-born daughter, but she was favored and had found her true love.

Even that had involved some luck.

After all, her father had originally planned to marry her off to Li Lin.

But she hadn’t liked Li Lin—and Li Lin preferred women with her build.

Now, thinking back, she felt a chill of relief.

If either of them had so much as glanced the right way, she would never have married her current husband.

Huang Qing adored her sister Huang Ling—but Li Lin, she would never give up to her.

At that moment, Huang Dama rose and smiled: “You three chat while I go fetch something.”

She returned to the main chamber and found her husband, Huang Yan, just arriving.

She walked over and asked: “Why are you home so early today?”

“I heard Xin’er had returned, so I came home sooner.”

“You met your son-in-law, didn’t you? Where is he now?”

“In the front hall, chatting with Ying and the others,” Huang Yan said, puzzled. “Shouldn’t you all be discussing matters? Why did you split up? Did Ling and the Fang boy not hit it off?”

“No—it’s Miss Fang who lost face to Hong Luan.”

“What happened?”

Huang Dama then recounted the entire incident.

After listening, Huang Yan said: “I’ve studied dual-cultivation art—it can only slightly accelerate cultivation speed. It cannot make someone with no foundation achieve such results in under half a year.”

Huang Dama’s eyes widened slightly: “You mean?”

“Your son-in-law’s cultivation art is flawed… likely a family heirloom. After all, he’s from the former Li family of Jincheng—deeply rooted.”

Huang Dama slapped her palm hard: “What a pity—I should have insisted harder back then and made Ling marry Li Lin.”

Huang Yan gave her a look: “Don’t you dare say that in front of Qing.”

“I’m not stupid.”

(End of Chapter)

(End of Chapter)