Nan Fenglan liked Xiang Yang; there was no doubt about it. From that incomparably complicated glance that day, she had fallen for him, and she knew it herself.
Yet that fondness had not surpassed her hatred for another person. And if she wanted revenge on that person, an ordinary martial artist would find it exceedingly difficult to succeed.
Thus, she had another design on Xiang Yang: to make him fall in love with her and avenge her against that other person.
However, Nan Fenglan also knew that her reputation was abysmal. All the absurd things she had done in the past would make any man suited to her shrink back at the sight.
Only someone like Xiang Yang, who lived for martial arts and was crazed by martial arts, would not fuss over trifles or care about her past.
This notion was built upon Xiang Yang's unusual attitude toward her, and it was also a crucial source of Nan Fenglan's confidence that she would succeed. Otherwise, she would not have had the courage to pursue Xiang Yang herself.
Yet Xiang Yang's understanding and insight into feelings today far exceeded her expectations, and Nan Fenglan could not help but feel worried and panicked.
If he was not a martial arts fanatic who cared about nothing, did that mean he was not entirely indifferent to her past either?
What sort of image did she have in his heart? A girl who loved to play around, or a shameless slut?
When she thought of the latter image, Nan Fenglan's heart hurt as though pricked by needles. Even her breathing grew rapid, and she once again suffered that sour, astringent sense of loss, as though it would not matter even if the whole world were destroyed.
She did not care how others viewed him,