The lake in the Bai Mansion remained unfrozen, kept alive by the warmth of an underground spring that sent tendrils of mist curling around lotus-shaped bronze pots. These vessels drifted lazily upon the dark, moving water, their metallic glint catching the pale winter sunlight that fell across the silk sleeves of the gathered nobility.
“Good! Feng Er, you are truly something! Even blindfolded, you strike the heart of the pot!”
The shout rang clear and bold, drawing a wave of laughter and applause that rippled across the gardens. Feng Jinyao’s heart tightened at the sound. Second Brother? A cold prickle of unease moved beneath her skin. Was he showing off again?
She looked toward the commotion, her mind racing. This was the game of pitch-pot—a refined courtly diversion where arrows were tossed into the narrow necks of bronze vessels—but to perform it blindfolded was an act of extreme ostentation. Had he forgotten how pride could become a blade? Was he not afraid that such a display might once more draw the wrong eyes upon him, just as it had in her previous life?
Before she could decide how to intervene and pull him from the spotlight, Bai Siruo seized her wrist with eager strength. “Come quickly! You must see this!”
They hurried toward the pitch-pot grounds, arranged just beyond the warmth of the pavilion. Today’s banquet was a rare occasion where the traditional walls between the sexes were lowered, allowing men and women to sit within the same grounds. Propriety still held its subtle boundaries, but the air was thick with the scent of plum blossoms and the hushed excitement of the younger generation.
Married matrons appraised the scene with practiced, discreet gazes, silently measuring the talent and bearing of the young men. Unmarried daughters peeked through embroidered sleeves, their eyes bright with interest, while the boldest among them dared to cheer.
At the center of the clearing stood Feng Jinling, the Second Young Master of the Feng family. Dressed in a sapphire-blue riding robe with narrow, practical sleeves, his posture was a deceptive mix of relaxation and predatory sharpness. He seemed less a scholar and more a marksman, his arrows guided by some invisible spirit. One throw, then another—each struck the copper pot with unerring, rhythmic precision.
Praise followed him like a rising wind. However, in the shadows of that praise, the young master who had just lost to him retreated into a dark, in bitter silence, his face twisted with resentment.
“How tedious,” Feng Jinling declared lightly, his dazzling smile cutting through the winter air. “Is there no worthy opponent in all of Dongdu for me?”
From behind him, a cool, feminine voice rose to meet the challenge. “Oh? Second Cousin, I cannot agree with that.”
Bai Siruo slipped forward, flanked by the composed Feng Jinyao and the elegant Xu Mingyue. As Feng Jinling turned to face them, his gaze met his sister’s. Jinyao’s eyes were widened in an unmistakable warning. He faltered for a fraction of a second, the bravado in his shoulders dipping.
“Hehe, Cousin,” he recovered with a playful lilt. “Would you care to try?”
“Of course,” Bai Siruo answered without a moment’s hesitation. “But not blindfolded. If we are to play, let us make it interesting.” She gestured toward the mist-covered lake. “I have prepared lotus-shaped pitch-pots to float upon the water. The lake is fed by a warm spring and has not yet turned to ice. If Cousin dares, let us attempt water pitch-pot.”[water pitch-pot was a far more punishing variation of the game; the vessel moved with the current, demanding a level of calculation and steady-handedness that few possessed]
A murmur of excitement broke out at her suggestion. Su Cheng, a lively young master and companion to Feng Jinling, clapped his hands in delight. “Excellent! I have long heard that Princess Bai’s skill rivals Feng Er’s. Today we are fortunate indeed to witness this!”
Bai Siruo’s smile widened at her praise , her competitive spirit fully ignited. Riddles were not her strength, but pitch-pot was her domain. She would show certain people precisely what she was capable of.
“Second Brother!”
Feng Jinyao stepped forward sharply before the match could begin. With so many eyes watching, she could not speak of omens or past lives, so she smoothed her voice into a mask of sisterly concern. “You injured your hand during the hunt,” she lied fluently. “Should you not rest? If Cousin insists, I shall compete in your stead.”
Her gaze cut to him with such intensity that even a blind man would have felt the weight of it. Feng Jinling blinked in confusion. When had he injured his hand? Su Cheng looked equally baffled, but Feng Jinling was quick-witted. He caught the sharp edge of his sister’s meaning and immediately pivoted.
“My sister is thoughtful indeed,” he sighed theatrically, clutching his right wrist as if in sudden, agonizing pain. “It pains me terribly.”
To anyone unaware of the subtext, the injury appeared grave. Bai Siruo also stared in astonishment, wondering if she had missed some news of a hunting accident. Yet, the preparations were already complete; to withdraw now would bring shame upon the hosts. She grasped Jinyao’s hand.
“Cousin, you can play? Why have I never heard of this? Are you certain you wish to compete with me?”
Jinyao exhaled softly, as the weight of the moment pressing down on her. She had no desire to display herself so openly to the capital’s elite. But if she did not restrain her brother’s flamboyance, he might truly walk into the jaws of misfortune once again. “I know a little,” she answered gently. “But I am far inferior to you.”
“Do not speak such nonsense before the result,” Bai Siruo retorted with a playful glint. “And do not dare lose to me on purpose. I have sharp eyes. If you yield deliberately, I shall not forgive you.”
“I will give my all,” Jinyao promised, a small, somber smile touching her lips.
The rules were set: ten arrows per person. Hitting the mouth of the pot earned a single point. Striking the “ear”[the handle on the side] earned two. To pierce cleanly through the ear was worth five points, though such a feat was considered legendary and was rarely seen in formal scoring.
The lotus pots drifted slowly, dancing on the dark ripples. “Cousin, begin!”
Bai Siruo cast the first arrow. Clang. It hit the direct center of the pot. Cheers erupted from the onlookers, and even Feng Jinling’s admiration deepened. “You little rogue,” he laughed. He stepped near his sister, his voice dropping to a protective murmur. “Calm your mind. Focus the strength at your fingertip. Align eye, arrow, and heart as one.”
Feng Jinyao rubbed the smooth shaft of the arrow slowly. Memories, unbidden and cold, stirred in the back of her mind. In her previous life, Wen Mengsheng had been no less skilled than her brother. In the early, deceptive days of their marriage, he had patiently taught her—a complete novice—to play, all to display an image of conjugal harmony before their guests. Within the quiet, suffocating monotony of the inner chambers, pitch-pot had become her only diversion. Over the years, her skill had surpassed ordinary players; she had simply never found a reason to reveal it.
Bang! Bai Siruo struck again—her fifth success. The whispers among the ladies and young masters began to spread; Jinyao had yet to throw a single arrow.
“Miss Feng,” a mocking voice called out from the crowd. “Are you blind? Or merely weak? You are nearly crushing the arrowheads in your grasp—why not release them?”
Feng Jinyao turned and recognized the speaker. It was the young master who had lost earlier to her brother. His eyes burned with the petty desire for vengeance. She remembered him as an old associate of Wen Mengsheng—a man who had flattered her to her face while slandering her character behind closed doors. Birds of a feather, she thought, a flicker of disgust crossing her heart.
Without a word of reply, she lifted her arm. One arrow. Two. Three. Each landed squarely within the drifting pot.
Gasps rippled through the clearing. Feng Jinling also stared, his jaw nearly unhinged. When had his sister acquired such mastery? But before he could exclaim, Bai Siruo struck three handles in succession, the metallic chink of the ear-hits doubling her points and widening the gap.
“Cousin,” Bai Siruo laughed, her eyes bright with the thrill of a real challenge, “how was that?”
Faced with such a spirited opponent, Jinyao knew she could never insult her by feigning defeat. She steadied her breathing, aligning her heart with the moving target. She prepared to throw—
And then, a voice drifted through the air.
“Is this the Third Miss Feng ?”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Thud. Jinyao’s grip faltered, and both her arrows fell harmlessly into the water, swallowed by the dark lake. Her heart began to thunder violently against her ribs, a deafening sound in the sudden silence of her mind.
That voice. Even if she died a hundred times, a thousand times, she would never forget the cadence of it.
Wen. Meng. Sheng.
Struggling to steady the hatred surging through her chest, Feng Jinyao kept her gaze fixed ahead. She knew she absolutely must not turn around. If she so much as caught sight of that face, she feared she would lose all reason and snatch an arrow to pierce straight through him.
And today was meant to be a joyful gathering, a refined spring banquet hosted by the Bai family. She could not allow her private fury to ruin the mood here.
Behind her, Wen Mengsheng watched her retreating figure with a gaze that lingered longer than propriety allowed. The curve of her posture beneath her light peony-pink ruqun (a traditional two-piece Han dress with a high-waisted skirt) was elegant without ostentation. Her hair, arranged in a simple cloud bun adorned only with a jade hairpin, swayed gently in the breeze.
She truly was a charming and lovely young lady.
Then, recalling his father’s instructions, the faint admiration in his eyes gradually cooled, replaced by measured calculation.
Feng Jinyao… was it?A slight smile tugged at his lips.He was determined to have her.
Not far away, Bai Siruo frowned at the result. As the Bai family’s direct granddaughter—raised with both indulgence and discipline befitting a prestigious household—she prided herself on her sharp perception. Just now, she had clearly seen that Feng Jinyao’s final throw before had faltered. Something must have disturbed her.
That was why she missed.
Unfortunately, the arrows had already been tallied. Bai Siruo had thrown ten in total—seven landing cleanly in the mouth of the pot, three striking the handles. Feng Jinyao had five into the center and two fallen into the water below the terrace. Even if her remaining three arrows struck the handles, she still could not surpass Bai Siruo’s count.
The outcome, it seemed, had already been decided.
What a pity.
If Feng Jinyao had fought with her full strength and still lost, Bai Siruo would have admired her openly. But winning under such circumstances felt hollow.
Xu Mingyue, ever the gentle mediator, stepped forward. As the daughter of a high-ranking official, she carried herself with polished grace.
“It is only a friendly contest between sisters,” she said warmly. “Neither of you should take it to heart. Another day, I shall treat you both to tea at Changchun Restaurant (a renowned teahouse in the capital, favored by noble families). Let us laugh this matter off than.”
Her tone was light, but her eyes were cautious. She feared rivalry might sour into resentment between them.
The guests present were aslo no fools. They praised Bai Siruo’s superb skill in touhu (pitch-pot, a traditional aristocratic throwing game played at banquets) while offering encouraging words to Feng Jinyao, remarking how remarkable her talent was at such a young age and predicting that she would surely astonish the capital in years to come.
Yet Feng Jinyao noticed the faint shadow of disappointment in Bai Siruo’s expression.
A quiet guilt rose in her chest.
“Cousin,” she said softly, addressing Bai Siruo with familial warmth befitting their kinship through the Bai family’s maternal line, “I still have three arrows left. May I throw them all? Even if I lose, I wish to lose with clarity.”
Bai Siruo’s eyes lit up at once. Though the result seemed certain, she admired that spirit.
Feng Jinling after hearing the suggestion thought as expected of his sister. That was precisely how it should be.
“Of course!” Bai Siruo laughed. “As expected of someone from the Bai family’s bloodline. This is the kind of spirit we should uphold.”
The breeze stirred the silk ribbons tied around the bronze pot’s handles. As the lotus-shaped vessel (a ceremonial touhu pot crafted in the shape of a blooming lotus, symbolizing purity) gleamed beneath the afternoon sun.
Feng Jinyao exhaled slowly.She drew two arrows at once and with a fluid motion, she released them together.
Both arrows flew side by side—straight and unwavering—and struck the handles simultaneously.
Gasps erupted into cheers at scene.
Bai Siruo clapped first, her earlier disappointment vanishing. Feng Jinling also nearly leapt forward in delight. Even Su Cheng, a young nobleman from a military household, and Xu Mingyue offered sincere praise.
Only one arrow remained.
If it entered the mouth of the pot, she would still fall short by three points. If it struck a single handle, she would trail by two.
Unless—
Feng Jinyao closed her eyes.
The world quieted around her .
She gathered her breath deep into her dantian (the lower abdomen center believed in traditional cultivation to store inner energy), allowing all resentment, all distraction, to dissolve.She listened.
The rustle of silk sleeves.
The distant murmur of admiration.
The wind brushing past the lotus pot.
Using her ears as her eyes, and her heart as her aim, she lifted the final arrow.For a suspended heartbeat, she held her breath.
Then she released.When she opened her eyes, time seemed to fracture.
The arrow lay flat across the lotus pot, piercing cleanly through both handles at once.
It had passed through one ring and continued into the other, locking them together as if forged that way.
Silence.
Then an eruption of astonished cries.Such a feat had not been witnessed in years.
The outcome—so confidently declared—was overturned in a single breath.
Feng Jinling and Bai Siruo rushed forward together.
“How did you do that?!” they demanded in unison, tugging at her sleeves without ceremony.
Feng Jinyao blinked, honestly bewildered. She had not truly expected to succeed. She had merely hoped not to lose too miserably.
“It was an accident,” she insisted with a helpless smile. “Truly. I have never struck it that way before.”
But neither believed her.
“You must teach me later,” Bai Siruo whispered fiercely, her competitive spirit ignited like a defeated fighting rooster unwilling to yield. “Or I won’t let you leave.”
Feng Jinling echoed her threat enthusiastically.
Feng Jinyao could only sigh inwardly upon there spirit . She had wished to remain inconspicuous, yet instead she had drawn every gaze upon herself.
“Enough,” Xu Mingyue announced at last, her voice carrying the authority of a hostess accustomed to command. “The result is clear. Miss Feng San (third young lady of the Feng family) is the victor of today’s match.”
Applause rippled through the terrace after the announcement.
These were people who had traveled widely and witnessed countless banquets, yet such refined skill in touhu [pitch pot] was rare even in the capital. Miss Feng Jinyao had astonished them all.
Even the young gentlemen who usually orbited around Feng Jinling now looked at Feng Jinyao with newfound admiration.
Had the setting been less formal, they might truly have begged her to accept them as students.
Under a covered corridor not far away, the wind blew sharply through the carved lattice screens.
Yang Zhao, a trusted guard clad in dark martial attire (indicating his status as a personal protector), stood supporting Xiao Tingyi—Prince Ding (a first-rank imperial prince granted a princely title by the Emperor). Behind them were Feng Jinxu, the eldest son of the Feng family, and the Sixth Prince (an imperial prince ranked below the Crown Prince but still of exalted status).
Feng Jinxu’s face was resolute, his gaze deep and severe. As the Feng family’s eldest son, he bore himself with rigid propriety. Watching his younger siblings revel so openly, his brows knit with displeasure.
He was already considering how to discipline these two show-offs.
The Sixth Prince, by contrast, was refined and amiable, his smile perpetually gentle.
“The three siblings of the Feng family truly differ in temperament,” he remarked lightly to Feng Jinxu. “But that is a blessing. If your younger brother and sister were as solemn as you, Madam Feng would surely suffer headaches daily.”Feng Jinxu gave a cold snort at his remarks.
“Your Highness flatters them too much. At such an hour, they still seek attention.”
The Sixth Prince chuckled. Feng Jinxu was the very image of his father—yet even more rigid. Perhaps Lord Feng himself did not realize his eldest son surpassed him in sternness.
Xiao Tingyi, Prince Ding, had remained silent .
He was dressed in a dark ink-colored cloak embroidered with subtle dragon-cloud motifs (symbol reserved for imperial princes), his complexion pale from chronic illness. His features were sharp, almost cold, yet his eyes were piercingly perceptive.
He had not expected much from a young lady at a spring banquet.
Yet this quiet girl had surprised him.
Interesting.
A sudden fit of coughing overtook him.
Feng Jinxu immediately stepped forward, lifting one side of his cloak to shield Prince Ding from the wind with careful respect.
“It is windy here, Prince Ding. Please move to the warm pavilion.”
“Yes, Imperial Uncle,” the Sixth Prince added obediently.Prince Ding gave a brief nod to them. His expression did not change, yet his gaze flicked once more toward Feng Jinyao before he turned away.
The group withdrew toward the heated pavilion (a glass-enclosed structure warmed with charcoal braziers during early spring gatherings).
On another side of the terrace, Wei Lanxuan watched Bai Siruo and Feng Jinyao bask in applause.
Since childhood, she had always stood at the center of admiration. As the cherished daughter of a prominent Wei household, she was accustomed to servants bowing and peers flatteringto her .
Today, even if this was the Bai family’s estate, she felt something prick unpleasantly at her pride as she was not the center of the attention here.
Her status had been overshadowed.
Wen Yuwei’s displeasure ran even deeper. She had personally delivered the jade token to Feng Jinyao before, intending goodwill, yet had been treated coolly in return. She had once considered leveraging the Wei family’s influence to suppress her.
Now Feng Jinyao stood radiant in victory alone .Wen Yuwei’s nails bit into her palm.
Liang Luo, meanwhile, cared little for Feng Jinyao herself. It was Bai Siruo’s boldness and Xu Mingyue’s composure she resented. Their statuses far exceeded hers. As someone who thrived on attention, Liang Luo found their effortless superiority intolerable.
Among them, Bai Sihan alone remained quiet.
Raised primarily by her mother but inheriting her father’s caution and sharp mind, Bai Sihan observed everything with clear eyes.
These three young ladies, accustomed to flattery, could not conceal their envy. Their thoughts were almost written across their faces.
Beautiful, yet empty-headed.
Her gaze drifted toward Feng Jinyao.
Compared to Bai Siruo’s flamboyance, Cousin Feng seemed low-key, even innocent.
Yet Bai Sihan sensed something beneath that gentleness—something far harder to grasp.
More difficult to handle than Bai Siruo, certainly.
After a moment, Bai Sihan stepped forward with a smile that shimmered with polite envy.
“I hear Cousin Feng will complete her studies next year,” she said sweetly. “I wonder which fortunate gentleman will win such a beauty’s heart.”
Her tone was admiring, but her eyes were sharp.
Liang Luo let out a faint, disdainful sneer.
What an ignorant girl.
The spring breeze carried the scent of blossoming pear trees across the terrace, but beneath the fragrance, the air had already begun to shift.
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