Courtyard House: Drunk and tipsy, the whole courtyard exposed at the start.

[Full acquisition price: HK$120,000]

[Includes ISSN, Southeast Asian distribution network, 18,000 subscribers, the entire editorial team, office equipment, and inventory]

[Former editor-in-chief Luo Bing remains as editor-in-chief, holding a 12% stake and participating in major decision-making.]

Luo Bing put the paper down.

He stared at Zhang Dabiao, the cigarette burning down to the filter, scalding his fingers before he jerked it out and stubbed it out in the enamel mug.

"120,000." He repeated the number, his voice dry. "Young man, do you know what 120,000 can buy in Nangang?"

"A two-story tenement building in Wan Chai," Zhang Dabiao replied, "or a shop in Causeway Bay."

The property prices in this area are much higher than those at his Mixue Ice Cream headquarters in Shau Kei Wan.

"Then why don't you buy an apartment?" Luo Bing stared at him. "Buy a shop and collect rent, and you'll never have to worry about food or clothing. What's the point of buying this lousy newspaper of mine?"

Zhang Dabiao didn't answer, but instead asked him:

"Mr. Luo, what do you think martial arts is?"

Luo Bing was taken aback.

He ran "Wuxia World" for three years and wrote novels for twenty years, from Guangzhou to Nangang, from handwritten manuscripts to printed books. He thought he had long since thoroughly understood and resolved this issue.

"Martial arts is..." He paused, "the world of martial arts, grudges, swords, love and hate."

"Anything else?"

"There is more?" Luo Bing frowned. "There is also the greatest of heroes, who serve their country and its people. Mr. Liang Qichao wrote about this in 'The Way of the Chinese Warriors'."

"The greatest heroes are those who serve their country and its people." Zhang Dabiao nodded. "And what about the ultimate heroes?"

Luo Bing didn't respond.

"If you practice swordsmanship to its peak, can you split a mountain in two?" Zhang Dabiao asked, enunciating each word clearly. "If you practice lightness skill to its peak, can you fly on the wind, the kind that lets you soar directly through the air? Above the martial world, are there even higher realms—immortals, demons, gods, and monsters?"

"Celestial Immortal, True Immortal, Mysterious Immortal, Golden Immortal, Taiyi, Daluo, Quasi-Saint?"

"And beyond that, sages, the Heavenly Way, the Great Way, chaos?"

This startled Luo Bing.

Having ideas is fine, but having a systematic set of ideas is terrifying.

At least in this day and age, nobody would standardize these things, right?

Isn't this just something to do when you have nothing better to do?

Do you want to create a novel genre with a complete hierarchy all by yourself?

When everyone is watching martial arts movies?

Luo Bing rested her fingers on the edge of the table, motionless.

"What you're saying..." His Adam's apple bobbed, "isn't martial arts fiction, it's fantasy novels."

"Call it Xianxia, ​​or Xuanhuan, or cultivation, or immortal cultivation, you can call it that," Zhang Dabiao said. "Martial arts are just the basics. Beyond that, you cultivate the Dao, fight for the Three Realms, and live not for decades, but for thousands or tens of thousands of years. In the primordial era, years were not recorded; they were all calculated according to the Huiyuan."

"What you've written here is all about low-level martial arts. Above low-level martial arts is high-level martial arts, then immortal martial arts, and after martial arts breaks through the void, one enters the immortal path."

silence.

Luo Bing couldn't understand at all.

Outside the office, the three editors who had been revising the manuscript stopped writing at some point and turned to look at the half-closed door of the editor-in-chief's office.

Luo Bing slowly took out the cigarette pack, pulled out a cigarette, but didn't light it.

"What is high-level martial arts?" he suddenly asked. You said we're writing about low-level martial arts, so let's leave aside things like immortals and gods for now and talk about high-level martial arts, which is the closest thing to us.

I'd like to see what kind of nonsense you can come up with.

A hint of a smile flashed in Zhang Yaoyang's eyes. He knew that people like this weren't necessarily easy to understand when it came to capital.

Anyway, even Zhang Yaoyang himself doesn't really understand it, but if you're talking about the novel's setting...

He works in animation, so these are essential basic knowledge he needs to know.

He's a serious fan of setting up systems, unbeatable when it comes to creating them, but his actual narrative is a complete mess.

"When martial arts masters duel, there's no need to write down thirty moves to fight back and forth; three moves decide life and death. Lightness skill that allows one to walk on water is just the beginning. True masters can walk on air and with a single slap, the entire building will be reduced to dust."

He paused.

"In your opinion, these are not suitable for modern martial arts, those conventional routines with hard-hitting, bloody sword fights."

"Is it too exaggerated? Will readers not accept it?"

"It's not that readers can't accept it, but that writers can't step out of their comfort zones; it's the writers who can't accept it."

"What readers want is not reality, but the kind of pleasure they can't get in reality."

Luo Bing crumpled the cigarette in half.

Cigarette smoke leaked through his fingers and spilled onto the acquisition agreement on the table.

"Young man," he began, his voice hoarse, "do you know, I've been writing martial arts novels for twenty years, and no one has ever talked to me about high-level martial arts or fantasy novels..."

Zhang Yaoyang remained silent.

Luo Bing stared out the window, lost in thought.

Outside the window, the horizon was a drab gray, fishing boats were moored at the dock, and the sea breeze carried a salty stench. He suddenly recalled 1949, when he had gone south to Hong Kong to escape the war, carrying with him two gold bars and a box of old manuscripts and magazines. He continued his publishing work in Hong Kong afterward. He was twenty-six years old then, and had only one thought in his mind: to keep writing martial arts novels.

I've been writing for twelve years, almost killing myself with it a few times. I finally achieved some success, and now suddenly someone comes along and says they want to do high-level martial arts? Or fantasy?

This is a complete joke!

Why should I listen to you?

"Two percent of dry stock," Luo Bing lowered his head and pushed aside the scattered tobacco, "Aren't you afraid that I will eat your money?"

But, somehow, it seems like there's potential.

Zhang Yaoyang smiled.

"Mr. Luo," he said, "I'm not just buying a newspaper, I'm buying the insight and connections you've built up over the decades. You're worth the price."

Luo Bing didn't look up.

"120,000, how will you pay?"

"The down payment is the deposit of 5 small yellow croakers. You will pay HK$6 within 3 days after signing the contract. The remaining HK$5.875 will be paid in 12 installments, which will come from the magazine's subsequent operating profits. Of course, you will still receive your salary." Zhang Dabiao took out a velvet bag from his backpack, placed it on the table, and untied the drawstring.

Five small yellow croakers.

Fineness 98%, minted during the Republic of China era, neatly stacked.

Luo Bing stared at the five small gold bars and remained silent for a long time.

So you don't have 12?

Five yellow croakers would cost only HK$1250, which is a reasonable deposit and a sign of good faith. Besides, who doesn't love yellow croakers?

This kind of boldness... really startled Luo Bing.

"Of course, if Mr. Luo is unwilling, this little yellow croaker can be considered my admission fee, just to make friends."

"I need to buy a supplement from your publication, and all profits and copyrights will belong to me. Mr. Luo, please name your price."

This is to have a backup plan in case things don't work out.

It would be nice to use their platform to create a separate supplement, but the revenue sharing and copyright issues need to be clarified beforehand.

But Roy Cheung was confident that within a few issues, the supplement's sales would surpass the main publication's. However, things would get a bit complicated then, and it would be awkward for everyone to save face.

"Young man," he finally said, "what's your name?"

"Roy Cheung".

Luo Bing nodded.

"Mr. Zhang," he said, stretching his hand across the table, "give me some time, let me think about it first."

"Also, I want to see what exactly you wrote?"

The two hands are clasped together.

------------

Three days later, Zhang Yaoyang handed Luo Bing a portion of the handwritten copies of "A Deadly Secret" and "Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils". Regarding the high-martial arts fantasy genre, Zhang Yaoyang said that it was not suitable for this era and that they should proceed cautiously.

But after reading the first 100 chapters of "A Deadly Secret" and "Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils," Luo Bing made a decision on the spot—

Signed!

The Wuxia World magazine publishing house has been sold!