After surveying everyone’s reactions, Han Yan maintained her smile as the Emperor asked without revealing pleasure or anger: “Oh? Why not?”
Han Yan smiled gently, tilting her head with childlike innocence: “I don’t know where Miss Li heard such things, but Han Yan has never had formal instruction in the zither. I’m quite ordinary and wouldn’t dare embarrass myself. If I were to play today, Your Majesty’s discerning ear would immediately recognize my poor skills.”
She blushed and lowered her head in apparent shame: “With so many distinguished guests present, Han Yan feels truly inadequate.”
Already naturally adorable and dressed with crystalline elegance, her soft-spoken words carried a childlike innocence. Among these calculating, precociously mature young ladies, Han Yan appeared like a completely harmless child. This unaffected naturalness was refreshing to see.
The Emperor’s expression softened: “I see.” But he showed no intention of continuing.
Li Jiaqi smiled gently: “Perhaps it was a misunderstanding in the capital. But surely Miss Zhuang, being so clever and quick-witted, must have other talents she could demonstrate?”
After such a challenge, what could Han Yan do? Otherwise, admitting she had no presentable talents would end her future in the capital’s noble circles.
This was a good opportunity—the first step in deciding victory or defeat. Originally, Han Yan had no interest in showing off at palace banquets, but since Li Jiaqi was being so aggressive, she learned what it meant to lift a stone only to drop it on one’s own feet.
The red-robed man in the men’s section remarked with interest: “So this is the Fourth Miss of the Zhuang family. She doesn’t look like a proper young lady at all—how bold and amusing!”
The handsome youth beside him did not comment, merely glancing coolly at the petite girl standing in the golden hall. Calling her a young lady seemed excessive—she looked more like a delicately carved doll from a New Year’s painting. As he watched, Fu Yunxi’s face showed a slight smile.
He Lian Yu hadn’t noticed his expression change—otherwise, he would have been shocked. The legendary “Ice Prince” showing human warmth, smiling at a barely grown girl?
“Why do I feel that Miss Li is deliberately making things difficult for the little one?” He Lian Yu spoke up, his noble upbringing giving him a natural intuition for such scheming.
Fu Yunxi raised an eyebrow without speaking. Making things difficult? Who knew who was making things difficult for whom?
Hearing Li Jiaqi’s words, Han Yan broke into a sweet smile: “Han Yan has been slow-witted since childhood and can’t claim any real talents. But since it’s to add joy to the palace banquet, I’ll humbly offer a small entertainment.”
At these words, both Li Jiaqi and Zhuang Yushan froze, staring at Han Yan in disbelief. Could she have some backup plan? But her right hand couldn’t play the zither now—perhaps she would dance? But after Princess Yunni’s performance, even if she danced well, the Emperor wouldn’t favor an outsider.
Han Yan met Zhuang Yushan’s suspicious gaze with a slight smile. Did they think she couldn’t demonstrate any talents, allowing Zhuang Yushan to step in? Ridiculous—there wouldn’t be a second instance of such usurpation in this life!
The assembled guests didn’t know what trick she had planned, their gazes growing increasingly complex. Several particularly penetrating stares made Han Yan feel like thorns were pricking her back.
One was undoubtedly from the Empress Dowager, and among the others, perhaps the Seventh Prince?
“Tell me, what do you plan to demonstrate?” the Emperor asked.
Han Yan tilted her head: “I request Your Majesty provide paper, brush, and ink.”
The Empress started: “Are you going to write or paint?”
Han Yan nodded: “Yes.”
“Bring paper, brush, and ink!” The Emperor waved his hand, and several palace maids brought the materials to Han Yan.
The snow-white paper was spread out, the ink giving off a subtle fragrance. Han Yan placed one hand behind her back and held the brush in the other, saturating it with ink.
The hall suddenly buzzed with excitement because everyone could see—Han Yan was holding the brush in her left hand!
Han Yan remained perfectly composed, smiling as if she had done something completely ordinary. Her voice was clear as morning dew: “Your Majesty, your subject injured her right hand recently, and it hasn’t healed. Unable to use my right hand, I shall… write with my left-hand today!”
If the previous gazes had been curious, now they were shocked.
Writing with the left hand would be difficult even for an ordinary person, let alone an eleven or twelve-year-old girl. Her movements showed she wasn’t naturally left-handed—how had she thought of this?
Li Jiaqi hadn’t expected this from Han Yan. Now back at her seat, Zhuang Yushan whispered beside her: “Such boasting—let’s hope she doesn’t embarrass herself.”
Li Jiaqi hesitated, looking at Han Yan’s confident eyes, wondering—would she make a fool of herself?
Zhuang Yushan seemed to read her thoughts and reassured her: “Don’t worry, I’ve never heard of her having any skill in writing or painting. She’s probably just making do.”
Deng Chan was worried—Han Yan’s calligraphy and painting were merely average, let alone using her left hand. If she had agreed impulsively to preserve the Zhuang family’s face but then lost face, it might have angered the Emperor.
He Lian Yu stroked his chin thoughtfully: “Writing with the left hand—how novel. The little girl becomes more interesting by the moment.”
Fu Yunxi remained silent, his gaze sweeping coldly over the small figure before the paper, his eyes dark as ink.
Unaware of others’ thoughts, Han Yan quietly contemplated the paper. Princess Yunni’s Victory Dance had been lively and spirited, passionate as fire; Li Jiaqi’s chamber music had been gentle and melodious, quiet as a maiden. This contrast of movement and stillness created perfect harmony, beautifully interpreting two aspects of feminine character. Adding another performance would disrupt this balance, becoming excessive. So song and dance were out—she needed another path.
Those who knew her probably hadn’t expected her to write.
As everyone wondered what Han Yan would do, even the Emperor watched her inquiringly. They saw her raise her white wrist, the ink-saturated brush in hand, and suddenly close her eyes.
The brush seemed alive in her hand, flowing freely with graceful movements. Wherever it touched, ink fragrance wafted up, like clouds spreading. The small girl in the center stood straight with closed eyes, yet seemed to see through everything, naturally emanating an air of intelligence. Her slight smile was dignified—she appeared to be painting quickly and urgently. In the blink of an eye, the white paper was crossed with ink. The hall’s occupants couldn’t make out what she was drawing, but experts could see at a glance that her bearing and technique couldn’t have been achieved without ten years of dedicated practice!
With ink fragrance surrounding her, as she worked with closed eyes, Han Yan flicked her wrist, reloaded the brush with ink, and moved like a dragon and snake across the blank spaces. Though small and adorable, her silhouette as she wielded the brush freely showed countless flowing glories—floating like drifting clouds, vigorous as a startled dragon, like wild geese playing over the sea or dancing cranes in the sky. The assembled elderly ministers saw in this young girl a kind of wisdom—the kind that comes from years of experiencing life’s myriad emotions, like standing outside worldly affairs with a quiet dignity free of superficial ornament.