Xue Qingzhi stood there stunned for a long moment before she finally understood that the “he” her imperial sister had mentioned was none other than Wu Lang—the very one she had just used as a footstool.
A mocking smile tugged at the corner of her lips, though her grip tightened on the bow. “Eldest Sister truly hasn’t changed; your heart is as compassionate as a bodhisattva’s, as always.”
Xue Yunyi calmly extended her hand toward Mo Ying. In the next instant, a hefty bow was placed into her palm—the Startling Moon, her favored weapon.
“Shall we compete?”
Her tone was utterly even, but to Xue Qingzhi’s ears, it rang with the calm assurance of someone who already held the upper hand.
Xue Qingzhi’s mood soured.
Her gaze darkened as she stared at Wu Lang in the corner, fixing on that clear, handsome face of his youthful features. Only after a long pause did she turn back to Xue Yunyi. “Since Eldest Sister has spoken up for once, how could Little Sister refuse? But if Eldest Sister loses, shouldn’t she offer Little Sister something in return to make things fair?”
“Naturally.”
“Does Eldest Sister still remember that Step-Shake Hairpin she asked me for? For my wager, I want those sixteen Moon Pearls embedded in it.”
Xue Qingzhi paused, adopting an expression of deep reluctance. “Since I’ve already given the Step-Shake Hairpin to Eldest Sister, propriety forbids me from asking it back. But those Moon Pearls are far too precious—they were a gift from Father Emperor. If he inquires later and learns I’ve given them away to just anyone, he might hold it against me. Eldest Sister has always been so understanding of others; I hope you’ll forgive Little Sister’s position.”
Just anyone?
She was the Emperor’s own flesh and blood too—how had she become “just anyone” in Xue Qingzhi’s mouth?
Xue Yunyi merely smiled, too indolent to bicker over such petty wordplay. “Very well.”
She had never cared for such extravagant trinkets in the first place. She had only requested it that day out of pity for Wu Lang’s suffering.
But to demand she return those sixteen Moon Pearls? That was underestimating her sorely.
No daughter of the Jiang Family would ever lose on horseback.
Xue Qingzhi raised a hand and beckoned two attendants close, murmuring a few words in their ears. They bowed respectfully and withdrew, soon returning with the live target she had requested.
Inside a crystal-clear, bulbous glass vial, a fragile white butterfly fluttered desperately against the walls, battering its delicate wings again and again, yet unable to escape through the narrow opening.
Xue Qingzhi glanced sidelong at her side and drawled, “Startling Butterfly Fall was Eldest Sister’s signature move back in the day. What an honor it is to witness your skill with my own eyes once more.”
Xue Yunyi had been just fourteen then. That year, the wutong leaves had fallen early, and the Chongyang Autumn Banquet had been held with particular splendor. After the consorts had each displayed their talents, it was the turn of the two princesses. Xue Qingzhi had played a piece called Pear Blossom Clear Dream on the qin, her notes faltering and disjointed, scarcely forming a proper melody. Yet the Emperor had clapped in approval, praising her exquisite technique and exceptional talent.
The ministers, of course, dared not contradict the sovereign. They offered vague affirmations before turning their eyes, as if by common accord, toward Xue Yunyi.
The sun sank in the west, its gorgeous rosy glow streaming into the glass vial and gilding the gemlike butterfly wings with a faint layer of gold. She had mounted Flowing Snow, starting slow at first, then picking up speed with exhilaration. She galloped across the vast palace avenue and, from a hundred paces away without the slightest deviation, shot down the butterfly inside the bottle.
Only then did the court officials realize that this princess, raised deep in the palace, possessed skills rivaling any man’s. A poet among them named the feat “Startling Butterfly Fall,” and it even found its way into storytellers’ tales, sung through the streets and alleys.
The courtiers rejoiced. With no sons from the Emperor and his advancing years, coupled with his sole favoritism toward Consort Jiang, hopes for heirs seemed dashed. If the Eldest Princess could shoulder the weight of the realm, they could rest easy.
But the Emperor had not been pleased. His face had darkened on the spot, the meticulously prepared feast dismissed in haste, and the gathering ended on a sour note.
From that day forward, Xue Yunyi never practiced the technique again. Not even after all those grueling sessions, when the bow had blistered her tender palms raw and calluses—rough and unfit for a young lady—had formed on her fingertips.
She had only wanted Father Emperor to look at her.
Just once, with approval and affection, the way he looked at Xue Qingzhi. One glance would have been enough; she would have been content.
But in the end, she had never gotten it.
Last winter, while seeking medical texts from the Hidden Scripture Pavilion to treat Empress Jiang’s illness, Xue Yunyi had pored over them late into the night by lamplight, straining her eyes until even a sparrow flitting past the window appeared blurry.
She narrowed her eyes slightly now, tracking the snow-mist-like flutters of the white butterfly within the glass vial. An attendant carefully carried it forward, preparing to place it on the wooden stand beneath the straw target.
Xue Qingzhi spoke up suddenly. “Wait.”
She pointed casually at Wu Lang, who knelt nearby. “Have him hold it.”
The attendants obeyed, hauling the youth over half by force to the spot under the straw target. The heavy glass vial was thrust into his hands. Wu Lang looked up in flustered confusion, his eyes meeting Xue Qingzhi’s.
Exhaustion weighed on him; his overfull belly made his legs tremble uncontrollably, his knees quaking all the more. The sharp pebbles on the ground dug deep into the bruised and purpled flesh of his kneecaps, the pain stabbing like into his bones.
But Xue Qingzhi merely commanded from on high, “Hold it higher. If it damages that pretty face of yours, that’s on you—not This Palace.”
The pitiful youth had no choice but to raise his arms obediently. Layers of Snow Gauze slipped down, baring the sleek lines of his forearm and the crisscrossing whip scars crusted with blood atop it.
Xue Yunyi couldn’t bear to look any longer. She turned her face away and said to Xue Qingzhi, “Little Sister, you go first.”
Xue Qingzhi didn’t demur. “My skills are lacking; please don’t laugh, Eldest Sister.”
With that, she wheeled her mount to the far side of the Training Grounds, nocked a feathered arrow to her bowstring, and took aim in Wu Lang’s direction.
The black horse broke into a run, hooves kicking up dust. Xue Qingzhi loosed at the perfect moment. With a whistle, the arrow streaked past Wu Lang’s ear, veering crookedly to embed itself in the straw target behind him.
Xue Qingzhi lowered her bow, her eyes dull with disappointment. In private practice, she had hit the mark nearly every time, and the palace servants had showered her with praise for her innate genius—no need for endless toil to reach such heights. Pleased, she had rewarded them handsomely with silver.
So why had she missed today?
She knew Lin Yi was reluctant to invest effort in teaching her, fobbing her off with this “Startling Butterfly Fall” and promising more only once she mastered it.
If Lin Yi wouldn’t teach her properly, she had no interest in learning.
She had half a mind to let it drop, but pride wouldn’t allow her to be outdone by Xue Yunyi so easily.
The last time she had ventured out of the palace, she had passed a teahouse and overheard a white-haired storyteller rhapsodizing about the Eldest Princess’s dashing display at the Chongyang Autumn Banquet.
She had ordered that storyteller’s tongue pulled out, but the grudge still festered in her heart. That was why she had proposed this contest today—only to botch it.
The nearby palace servants kept their heads bowed, holding their breath in silence, not daring to speak. How could they tell Second Princess the truth: that she had never truly hit the mark? Fearing her temper tantrums, the servants had secretly tampered with the glass vial to ensure her “successes.”
This Second Princess, spoiled rotten since childhood, would even berate Commander Lin in her rages. None of them wanted to suffer innocently or lose their lives over it.
“Eldest Princess, your turn.” An attendant stepped forward, offering the quiver of arrows with utmost respect.
Xue Yunyi glanced at the youth, whose face had gone deathly pale from the near-miss. The arrow had grazed perilously close to his cheek, severing a few strands of his dark hair, which now lay scattered on the ground. A fraction more off, and that face would have been ruined.
She steadied her breathing and took an arrow from the attendant, then tugged the reins to wheel her horse around. Mo Ying hurried after her on horseback, concern lacing her voice. “Your Highness, please be careful.”
With legs crippled and useless, she couldn’t properly grip the horse’s flanks to control it. Should the mount bolt, the consequences would be dire.
Xue Yunyi nodded. “It’s fine.”
Flowing Snow understood her intentions best; it wouldn’t let her come to harm.
Xue Qingzhi was already waiting.
“Looks like those sixteen Moon Pearls will stay with Eldest Sister after all.” She tossed her bow carelessly to a nearby eunuch, nearly smashing the youth’s fair face in her irritation.
Xue Yunyi said nothing, gripping the reins tightly. Flowing Snow understood the cue and began to trot forward, gathering speed until, in Xue Qingzhi’s eyes, it blurred into a streak like flowing cloud.
Her numb, useless legs gave Xue Yunyi a moment’s vertigo, as if she floated adrift in hazy mists, bereft of any anchor.
She drew a deep breath, forcing herself to ignore the relentless jolting beneath her. She nocked the arrow, drew the bow, and locked her gaze on the frantic, fluttering butterfly in the vial.
Her eyesight truly wasn’t what it used to be.
But Xue Yunyi refused to believe she would fail.
Ah Xiao stood beside Wu Lang, his eyes glinting with malice as he glared at the errant arrow in the straw target. If only it had veered a little more… a little lower… How perfect that would have been. The sharp arrowhead would pierce Wu Lang’s throat, and this wretch—this cheap thing the Second Princess obsessed over daily—would crumple to the ground with eyes wide in terror, never to vie for her favor again.
The hoofbeats drew nearer. Ah Xiao eyed Wu Lang’s quivering back, then acted on impulse. He kicked a pebble hard at the youth’s calf.
Wu Lang yelped in sudden agony and buckled, collapsing in a heap.
The arrow was already drawn and ready. The unexpected mishap shattered Xue Yunyi’s focus. She wrenched her wrist in haste, and the shaft whistled through the cold air to bury itself low in the sandy ground nearby.
Xue Yunyi yanked on the reins, bringing her horse to a halt right in front of Wu Lang. In that split second just moments ago, her heart had pounded with terror. Her hand shook, sending the arrowhead veering off by a mere inch—a tiny deviation that could have meant the difference between life and death. Fortunately, she had let go in the nick of time, sparing her from causing a tragedy.
Shards of crystal littered the ground.
The white butterfly broke free from its shattered cage, clinging for a moment to the youth’s pale fingertips before fluttering gracefully away.
Wu Lang alone remained in place.
With great effort, he pushed himself up onto his knees. Panic filled his eyes as he stared at the fragments scattered before him, dreading the brutal punishment that surely awaited—until a clear voice rang out, pure and resonant like the sacred chants of a god.
“Did I hurt you?”