The arrow had a black-lacquered shaft with a dark iron arrowhead, feeling like a thousand pounds in Zhao Yān’s hand.
Wenren Lin walked past her to the weapons rack, having already selected a suitable bow and arrow.
It was a fine bow of two-stone strength. When drawn on his left arm, his tall shadow extended to Zhao Yān’s feet, his imposing figure resembling that of a sun-shooting hero.
Zhao Yān calmed her expression and slowly stepped forward along the slanted shadow on the ground, taking position beside Wenren Lin.
Only then did Wenren Lin take an arrow from the quiver. Standing sideways with his feet slightly apart at shoulder width, he demonstrated each essential movement of nocking and drawing the bow.
“Arrow feathers between the middle and index fingers, three fingers hooked on the string. When drawing, push forward with the left arm while keeping the right arm level. Aim with your eyes, guiding your hands.”
As he was breaking down the demonstration, Wenren Lin deliberately slowed each movement, creating an air of unhurried elegance.
His frost-white knuckles drew the bowstring into a full moon. The cold light from the dark iron ring on his index finger reflected on his profile, adding a chilling quality to his elegance.
His knuckles released, and the arrow departed with a “swoosh,” cutting through the air like a flash of light.
The arrow pierced the bullseye with such force that the straw target shattered, sending debris flying. The arrow embedded three inches into the brick wall of the training ground, creating a spreading web of cracks, while the feathers still quivered continuously.
…
…
Yet even so, the two-stone bow in his hands was merely a child’s toy, a small display of his skill.
With his abilities, he could shoot a seven-stone heavy bow from horseback, releasing three arrows simultaneously without missing. His arm strength and eyesight were beyond “terrifying.”
Zhao Yān stared at the shattered target in the distance, unconsciously clenching her five fingers.
The bow in her hand was the lightest one from the weapons rack, a full size smaller than the one in Wenren Lin’s hand, yet it still felt impossibly heavy.
Now it was her turn. Zhao Yān pressed her lips together and imitated Wenren Lin’s stance, placing one foot forward and one back, bending the bow and nocking an arrow.
Zhao Yǎn had been physically weak and had claimed illness to avoid the annual royal hunts, so he was likely unskilled in archery. Zhao Yān had few opportunities to practice riding and archery at Huayang Palace.
Thus, she didn’t need to deliberately hide her skill. The techniques that seemed effortless in Wenren Lin’s hands became full of flaws in hers—either the notch at the arrow’s end couldn’t properly catch the string, or the arrowhead drooped downward.
Finally managing to draw the bowstring, her arms shook from weakness, making it impossible to aim at the target center.
Zhao Yān’s back grew hot with concentration, completely unaware of Wenren Lin’s expression.
Wenren Lin watched the wobbling little Crown Prince, his eyes cool but with a faint smile emerging.
He took another blunt arrow and used its shaft like a ruler, gently lifting Zhao Yān’s drooping arrowhead, then gradually moving along her arm.
His arrow hadn’t been sharpened, but Zhao Yān could still feel the cold metallic sensation transmitted through her clothing, causing a trail of shivers.
The arrow finally stopped at her tense, small chin, giving it a gentle tap.
Zhao Yān instinctively raised her chin, swallowing with difficulty.
The fox fur collar completely covered the young boy’s slender neck. His lips were clean, as if before development, without the downy fluff that adolescent boys should have.
Wenren Lin looked at her coldly: “Keep your back straight, don’t lean your neck forward.”
As he spoke, his hand that had been behind his back naturally moved toward the back of her neck to correct her posture.
Zhao Yān’s fingertip trembled, and the arrow shot out crookedly, hitting the brick ground fifty feet away with a “ding” sound before falling.
Distracted by this, Wenren Lin’s hand, hovering behind her neck, paused.
Zhao Yān lowered the light bow in exhaustion, turning around with an embarrassed smile: “My strength is too small. I wonder when I can achieve even a fraction of the Grand Tutor’s archery skill.”
Wenren Lin stared at her transparent eyes for a long while before withdrawing his hand and placing it behind his back again.
He said: “The bow in the Crown Prince’s hand is used to teach beginners with hair still in childish knots.”
The implication was that she couldn’t even match a ten-year-old child.
Zhao Yān pretended not to hear the mockery hidden in his words. After all, she had shot that arrow only to avoid physical contact with him.
She good-naturedly curved her eyes and said sincerely, “I will study diligently.”
He took the arrow Zhao Yān had shot from an attendant, his fingertip tracing along the finely crafted black-lacquered shaft, then flicked the arrowhead with his bent finger, producing a clear, cold metallic sound.
“This arrow of the Crown Prince’s has been sharpened. It needs only a small force to penetrate even the hardest breastbone.”
He lowered his eyes and said slowly, “Pity that such a good opportunity was missed by the Crown Prince.”
She observed Wenren Lin’s expression, but there wasn’t the slightest hint of joking on his face.
Kill Wenren Lin? This was indeed a good opportunity.
If Zhao Yān were as rash and impulsive as He Hu, she might have been provoked to murderous intent by now. But she knew clearly that this sharp arrow might not get close to Wenren Lin’s body, while Wenren Lin’s hand could easily crush her neck bones.
She wasn’t sure whether Wenren Lin’s insane suggestion stemmed from malicious teasing born of a whim or if he had other intentions…
Instinct told her not to attempt lying before Wenren Lin—it would be like an egg striking stone, only inviting humiliation.
“I can never fathom the Grand Tutor’s thoughts, which is why sometimes… I truly fear the Grand Tutor.”
Zhao Yān reached out to take the arrow from his hand, striving to make her voice sound natural and sincere. “But ambushing with hidden arrows is not what a gentleman would do, and I would not stoop so low. Archery is for strengthening the body. Prince Su’s words are truly frightening.”
Some words must have struck Wenren Lin’s humorous point. He suddenly raised his hand to cover his nose, turning his head to laugh softly.
His laughter made both shoulders tremble slightly. After a long while, he calmed down and looked down at the seemingly innocent and naive Crown Prince before him: “Practice your arm strength for now. Perhaps in your lifetime, the Crown Prince might be able to draw this… light bow? Who knows.”
This time, Zhao Yān saw mockery in his eyes.
She secretly gritted her teeth. Wasn’t teaching the heir apparent archery meant for physical strengthening? Was it for battlefield killing instead?
Fine, fine. She was just imitating Zhao Yǎn’s tone anyway. Let’s just say this man was mocking Zhao Yǎn.
Yet it was still infuriating! On what grounds did he mock her twin brother?
Zhao Yān practiced drawing the bow with a belly full of anger, training her arm strength all morning.
Back at the Eastern Palace, her arms felt like they were filled with lead, unbearably sore.
With stiff, slender arms, Zhao Yān grimaced as she allowed Liu Ying to massage and relax her muscles, inwardly cursing the black-hearted Wenren Lin a hundred times.
But as she calmed down, she sensed something amiss.
In Wenren Lin’s words, there seemed to be a warning, a reminder for her.
Someone of Prince Su’s high position and authority never spoke empty words. But she didn’t know if his warning was meant for the real Zhao Yǎn or if he had grown suspicious of her, the impostor…
Her heart sank, and Zhao Yān couldn’t help but frown and shiver.
Prince Su’s carriage rolled through the long street.
In the swaying carriage, Wenren Lin sat perfectly balanced, unhurriedly removing the wrist guard hidden by his wide scholarly sleeve, revealing a bandaged forearm.
The wound had reopened, with traces of blood seeping through the bandage.
Zhang Cang, at his side, brought over wound medicine, unable to hold back his rambling: “Those dog thieves ambushed and tried to assassinate you, yet with Your Highness’s hand still injured, you rushed back to teach the little Crown Prince. In my humble opinion, he’s like an irredeemable Liu Adou…”
“Go find that sleeve calamus from the storehouse.”
Wenren Lin reapplied medicine and rebandaged his arm, interrupting Zhang Cang’s words.
“Yes… huh?”
Zhang Cang was stunned: That effeminate thing—what did the Prince want it for?
…
After practicing drawing the bow for two consecutive days, Zhao Yān’s hands shook so badly that even lifting a brush was difficult for several days.
Even Liu Ying felt pity seeing this and hastily had Zhang Xu send over medicinal oil for relaxing tendons and muscles, advising: “It’s no great error that Your Highness is not skilled in archery. Why push yourself so hard?”
Zhao Yān pressed down on the medicine bottle in Liu Ying’s hand, pulling at her injury and causing her to inhale sharply.
“You think I’ve changed my nature and suddenly become ambitious?”
Disguised as the Crown Prince, her light smile was bright, somewhere between that of a boy and a girl. “I’m doing this deliberately. If I take medicine and recover quickly, this plan of suffering won’t work.”
Liu Ying only understood her meaning the next day.
That day, Wenren Lin had said “military strategy, chess, and archery in rotation,” and Zhao Yān had calculated that it would soon be time to study military texts, which would involve more writing.
Although since entering the Eastern Palace she had been imitating Zhao Yǎn’s handwriting and had achieved about eighty to ninety percent similarity, it was clearly not enough to deal with a dangerous person like Prince Su. Better to delay one day if possible.
Now, with her arms and legs so sore, even with maximum control, her writing looked like worms crawling or snakes slithering. This saved her the effort of imitating Zhao Yǎn’s handwriting—even an immortal couldn’t produce the original elegant script in this condition.
Wenren Lin rested one hand against his temple, calmly scanning her less-than-elegant copy, and after a while, set it aside.
“Go fetch what I have prepared,” he instructed the attendant behind him.
The attendant obeyed and quickly brought a lacquer box slightly longer than a palm.
Zhao Yān sat upright behind the desk, secretly observing his movements.
What was this now? Had Wenren Lin devised another trick to test and torment her?
Just as she focused, the seated man had already opened the box with a click, taking out a delicate, bracelet-like object made of gilt brass.
Wenren Lin tapped the desk with his bent finger, gesturing to her: “Hand.”
Zhao Yān didn’t understand but hesitantly placed her hand on the desk.
Her nails were trimmed neatly and rounded. Her palm wasn’t like a woman’s—slender-fingered and soft as boneless—but neither did it have a man’s rugged length. It was fair and delicate.
Wenren Lin showed no particular expression as he reached out to lift her sleeve, revealing a thin, slender wrist.
Zhao Yān suddenly curled her fingers, as if facing a great enemy.
Noticing her tension, Wenren Lin held the gilt wrist guard in one hand while pinching her undergarment sleeve with the other, raising his eyes to look at her.
Zhao Yān could only resist the panic of wanting to withdraw her hand, honestly and mildly saying: “My arm still hurts…”
Pulse patterns could be altered, but a woman’s bone density couldn’t be concealed. She feared Wenren Lin would discover something.
However, Wenren Lin simply returned his attention to her wrist, slipping the cold metal object over it and fastening it snugly.
It fit perfectly, with three-petaled calamus flower openwork patterns creating a cold gleam.
“What… is this?” Zhao Yān asked softly.
“Sleeve calamus.”
Seeing her confusion, Wenren Lin used a more common term: “Sleeve arrow, a concealed weapon.”
Con… concealed weapon?
Zhao Yān was inwardly surprised. She raised her left wrist for a careful examination and discovered this was indeed no ordinary wrist guard. There was an intricate mechanism underneath, connected to a hole the thickness of a little finger.
“If the Crown Prince doesn’t want his brain pierced on the spot, don’t fiddle with it while pointing at yourself.”
Wenren Lin’s chilling voice made Zhao Yān immediately move the object away, holding her sore arm stiffly, no longer daring to touch it carelessly.
Wenren Lin laughed and leaned forward to point at a protruding trigger under her wrist. “This item is concealed, not easily detected, and doesn’t require arm strength. Just aim at your target, press this trigger, and the hidden arrow can injure a target within a hundred paces. But there are only three arrows, so use them sparingly, Crown Prince.”
Zhao Yān felt as if she were holding a hot potato, not understanding Wenren Lin’s intention.
One shouldn’t casually accept things from an opponent—it could lead to disaster.
After deliberating briefly, she tentatively said, “I have the Eastern Palace guards protecting me. I may not need this item.”
Wenren Lin raised his eyes and said casually: “Emperor Zhi died from a dancing girl’s assassination, Emperor Yuan died on his way back to the palace, Prince An perished in the bath. When they died, which one didn’t have guards protecting them?”
Zhao Yān blinked, unable to argue.
She quietly withdrew her hand, hiding the cold concealed weapon in her sleeve and holding it tightly. After a while, she gathered the courage to ask: “Then, Grand Tutor, why did you think of giving this to me?”
She certainly didn’t believe Wenren Lin was accommodating her weak strength by selecting such a suitable “gift.”
Wenren Lin looked at her for a long time, his lacquer-black eyes reflecting the dim, cold light from the window, like an unfathomable cold pond.
He gave a snort of laughter, rested his hand on the armrest, and leaned back in the master’s chair, saying indifferently: “Consider it a return for the Crown Prince’s kind praise in Yonglin Hall.”
Yonglin Hall? That pacification banquet is seething with undercurrents.
Zhao Yān couldn’t remember having said anything praising Wenren Lin. She only felt his current expression was inscrutable, as if just two more moments of eye contact would allow him to see through her completely.
Zhao Yān clenched her fist, gave a dry cough, and turned her head to avoid his gaze.
The cold wind crept through the window cracks, dispersing the warm smoke rising from the table.
This year’s final winter snow quietly arrived at that moment, falling gently and settling in Wenren Lin’s eyes, where clarity and obscurity were hard to distinguish.