Cui Jingyu said nothing. He simply raised one hand, and a young attendant beside him promptly offered up the quiver. He selected three arrows, nocked them to the string in a single motion, took no time to aim, and released — one after another in rapid succession, like beads on a string. At a distance of one hundred and fifty paces, three arrows struck the center of the target in quick succession, casual and effortless as a man strolling through his own garden.
The onlookers first went still — then erupted in a sudden clamor of cheers. The generals surged forward, praising Cui’s skill, and though the ladies did not know enough to judge, they called out in admiration along with everyone else. The young women, many of whom had never before witnessed a military commander of such presence, felt their hearts quicken. Especially as he stood surrounded by the crowd, and as though searching for someone, swept a glance up toward the watchtower — his handsome face, his brooding expression, his position at the center of the gathering, his rank of incomparable eminence. For girls of only seventeen or eighteen, who among them was not moved by such a sight?
Lingbo stood in a corner of the railing, seething with irritation.
“Just look at you, Cui Jingyu — showing off like this, a preening peacock…” she muttered through clenched teeth. Up on the watchtower, a decorative curtain was hung in a token gesture; she grabbed the tasseled fringe at the edge and twisted it, the fire in her chest rising higher. She turned to take out her vexation on someone else: “Pei Zhao is utterly useless too — said he’d come and not a trace of him. If he were here, he could at least steal some of the attention!”
In this world there are sometimes such convenient coincidences: no sooner had she said the name than the man appeared. Down below, the generals were already raising a cheerful commotion — “This is the Mountain Character Camp’s skill!” “Does anyone still say our Mountain Character Camp’s marquis title was handed to us by luck?” Clearly a great number of Mountain Character Camp soldiers were in the crowd, fully swept up in the excitement — and at that very moment, someone laughed lightly and said: “The Mountain Character Camp is all that formidable? Strange — I hadn’t noticed.”
It was snowing, and he rode in on horseback, wearing a cape of young fox flank fur. The ladies knew that “young fox” and “dark fox” were not the same thing, but both looked black, so they often confused the two.
So this was the true color of young fox flank fur — in the bright glare of daylight and snow-light, it took on this deep, living blue-green, enveloping his face in its darkness. When a person was beautiful to the point of extremity, others ceased to notice what they were wearing; the eye was drawn irresistibly to their face. A Record of the World’s Sayings had described beautiful men as possessing a refined bearing and radiant appearance, an arresting physical beauty — and those had not been empty words.
No wonder the men of this world were drawn to beautiful women — as it turned out, such longing was universal. Even glimpsed from afar, one lost one’s breath for an instant. How much more so when his gaze settled on you directly and he smiled.
The young misses at the flower-season banquets felt, at that moment, a sudden and involuntary layer of awe toward A’Cuo — what did it matter that she was an orphan with no backing? If some young nobleman happened to cross paths with her head-on, there would likely be a story of reckless devotion to follow.
The daughters of noble houses, of course, did not have the freedom of a young nobleman. Their marriages were to be chosen from the noblemen attending the flower-season banquets — with good family standing, proper conduct, preferably devoted to scholarship or holding an inherited position — requiring the approval of both sets of parents, and the willingness of both parties, before the three intermediaries and six rites could proceed, and the marriage be properly and respectably made.
Such beauty, exceeding all measure — eyebrows and eyes that carried their own allure, a military man at that, without even a title or rank — by no means a suitable match…
And yet not one of the young misses could prevent herself, in the very first moment of seeing him, from being seized by thoughts of her own marriage. As for talking herself out of it, drawing her gaze away — that all came later.
Even Lu Wanyang had a moment of distraction. A radiant beauty, the flowing passage of the best years — matched to a man of talent and grace, bound in a union that would last — this was the dream every girl had once harbored.
He had the face from all those girls’ dreams, and the figure to match — as tall as the rest, with a soldier’s build, yet where Cui Jingyu was like a tiger or a leopard, he was like a hawk or a falcon — that lean, nimble elegance that made everyone around him seem heavier and more clumsy. A great number of generals pressed around him, and the young misses found themselves gripped by idle wishes — if only he were a general of great merit, or some prince from an established line. If only he did not come without rank or name, then there might be proper grounds to fight for him.
Yet Cui Jingyu had not called out his name, only folded his arms and said coldly: “You’ve come to challenge me?”
“I would not dare,” he replied, still smiling easily, without even dismounting. “I heard the Mountain Character Camp was something formidable. I came to have a look, that’s all.”
“The Mountain Character Camp is the finest there is!” “Your Fire Character Camp is just a cleanup crew!” The officers called out again, and Pei Zhao took no offense, simply raised an eyebrow, and said again to Cui Jingyu: “Standing still and shooting arrows is too clumsy. Let’s compare mounted archery instead.”
Cui Jingyu wasted no words. A young attendant brought up a horse. He swung into the saddle and said: “Set the rules.”
“Ride past those targets and shoot three — whoever misses first buys the drinks,” Pei Zhao said.
“You’re so impoverished, and you’re still offering to buy drinks?” Cui Jingyu mocked him.
Pei Zhao was in the middle of turning his horse around when he heard this, and glanced back: “Then you’re buying?”
Buying drinks was the same as conceding defeat — Cui Jingyu naturally would not do that. He took the bow and arrows from the young attendant, spurred his horse, and fired three arrows in a continuous run — mounted archery was naturally far more difficult than standing still, yet Cui Jingyu still hit all three targets. The Mountain Character Camp erupted in cheers once more.
Pei Zhao had not even brought his own bow. He merely smiled, looking over the bow someone handed him. Everything he did was beautiful — leaning down from horseback to reach for it, even that was graceful in a way that seemed almost deliberate.
“Competing at archery without even bringing a bow?” Cui Jingyu said, with contempt.
“Your bow and arrows are inferior to mine — I’m giving you a head start,” he said, still smiling, those peach-blossom eyes even more beautiful than a player’s painted ones, the deep crease at each corner sweeping upward like ripples spreading through still water in a smile. Cui Jingyu threw his bow to him; he caught it lightly, tested the draw, and took the arrows.
He spurred his horse as well. His old horse was bony and thin yet ran with tremendous speed, as though weightless, like a shadow. His young fox cape rose in the wind, revealing the brocade robe beneath. He released the reins, and his torso arched back at the waist, fluid and graceful as a willow bough swaying in the wind. And in that posture, suspended in the wind, he drew the bow open and released three arrows in succession.
It was more complex to describe than to witness — in truth, it was over in an instant. Even as the hiss of the arrows died away, he had already wheeled his horse and come galloping back, drawing rein to a stop.
He had not even bothered to wear a cap — only people who were accustomed to being beautiful had this kind of careless ease, with only a hair ribbon to hold everything in place. He was beautiful to the point of bearing an almost noble refinement — perhaps because his features were so perfectly symmetrical. Even with the stray locks at his temples blown loose and falling forward, he still looked like the statue of the Second Prince in the temple.
“It’s a draw,” he said, smiling.
He said it without even glancing at the targets, tossed the bow back to Cui Jingyu, and departed with his Fire Character Camp’s scattered soldiers, completely at ease.
The young misses seated high up in the watchtower could not see the targets on the ground, and would never know the cause of the hush that fell over the crowd below — Cui Jingyu’s three targets each held only a single arrow. Military arrow targets were not as refined as those used by the nobles in the capital, and did not mark inner, middle, and outer rings. But the soldiers had their own way of deciding who came out on top.
Each of Pei Zhao’s arrows had struck Cui Jingyu’s arrow.
He had split open Cui Jingyu’s fletching and lodged in the same spot, using this to tell him: my archery surpasses yours. The Fire Character Camp held no military merit; the one title of marquis they had been given was itself a product of the emperor’s strategy of balance of power.
But the Fire Character Camp was not without its exceptional men.