From the sidelines, Xu Qian sat with her arms crossed, a sneer tugging at her lips as she watched the events unfold.
"Hmph… pathetic," she muttered, her haughty gaze fixed on the Jin Family. "Whoever this newcomer is, he's dragging them straight into the abyss."
Beside her, Zhang Jin burst out laughing, his voice carrying across the hall. "I've never seen someone so eager to be humiliated! Not only does he shame the Jin Family, he's burying them under a mountain of debt they'll never repay. Generations will bleed trying to dig their way out!"
Even among the Jin Family's own ranks, murmurs of doubt began to surface. Some of the soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, wondering if this was a betrayal in disguise—a public suicide wrapped in arrogance.
Jin Zhuo, seated silently, had felt that same doubt gnawing at him. His fingers twitched. His jaw clenched. Had he placed too much faith in this masked youth?
But then he looked at Yun Che, who remained perfectly calm—relaxed, even, like a man enjoying a quiet evening stroll.
And beside him, veiled and serene, sat his daughter Mulan… and Cang Yue, hidden beneath layers of cloth and grace. They had no idea the Imperial Princess was right here among them. And if she trusted him—
Then so would he.
Jin Zhuo exhaled slowly. He silenced the storm within.
Once the final agreement had been passed to Yun Che, the young man glanced through the pages, his expression unreadable… but in his heart, he was already grinning.
"These amounts…" he thought. "Lies stacked on top of lies. Fraud parading as formality. But that doesn't mean they'll like what's coming next."
He rolled the scrolls shut with a snap, and gave the hall a polite smile—one that hid a blade behind its curve.
"Shall we begin?" one of the nobles said with a smug grin. "I'm sure the Jin Family is more than eager to get started."
Yun Che leaned back in his seat, unbothered. "Sure… let's begin the first game. Who's going to be the first one?"
As murmurs filled the banquet hall like a rising tide, a silver-plated box was brought forward — the drawing lot for the next challenge. A faint clink echoed with every name scroll dropped into the container, each slip bearing the insignia of the Nine Noble Houses.
"The rules remain unchanged," the Zhang Family patriarch announced, voice cold and ritualistic. "Each challenge must be answered by a different representative. No repeats."
A subtle smirk flickered across several noble faces. The Jin Family was small. They wouldn't have enough capable fighters or minds to match all nine.
The hall attendant stepped forward and reached into the box. Every noble leaned slightly forward in their seat as the scroll was drawn and unfurled.
"First challenger," the attendant declared, "Gu Family."
"The first game will be a test of intelligence," said the patriarch of the Gu Family, rising to his feet with self-importance. "We have chosen the discipline of Numeric Arts. Our representative will be our esteemed young master—Gu Sheng."
Murmurs spread through the hall. Even among the noble disciples, few had heard of the so-called Numeric Arts.
"Numeric Arts?" Yun Che raised an eyebrow. Pretending not to know what it means. "What is that supposed to be?"
"As expected," Gu Sheng smirked, folding his hands behind his back. "None of you peasants would understand. It is the ancient art of deciphering universal patterns through numbers. A discipline passed down only through select bloodlines."
Yun Che blinked. "...So math."
Gu Sheng stiffened. "What?"
"Math, my guy. Arithmetic. Mathematics. Numbers. Adding, subtracting. You know… basic stuff."
Laughter rippled through the hall—but many were unsure whether to laugh at Yun Che or in shock at how casually he mocked them.
"Mathe...matics?" one of the elders echoed, unfamiliar with the word.
Yun Che leaned forward, smirking. "As expected… none of you knew it." He parroted the Gu Patriarch's earlier words with a sharp twist of mockery. "The same thing, just with fewer robes and less ego."
The crowd went silent. A few disciples covered their mouths to stifle laughter. Others stared at Yun Che as if he had just committed blasphemy.
"I'll go first," Mulan said, rising from her seat.
The entire hall fell into stunned silence. Jin Mulan, the once-famed beauty who had been publicly shamed and suppressed for years, now stepped forward not out of duty… but because Yun Che said he'd help her.
She didn't do it for pride. She didn't do it for reputation.
She did it because of his trust.
Yun Che gave her a nod. "I'll help you out," he said, standing beside her before she descended to the center stage. "If we want to win this, we might as well play all the way."
Her heels clicked softly against the stone floor as she walked into the arena. Dressed in her family robe but carrying a silent strength, she sat with calm precision before the opposing table.
Across from her, a haughty youth in expensive silks plopped himself down with the arrogance of a rooster in a henhouse.
"Lady Mulan," he said with a smirk, folding his hands theatrically. "This humble one is Gu Sheng of the Gu Family. I must say, I admire your bravery… so I'll give you a little handicap to—"
"Not interested." Her words cut clean and cold.
Gu Sheng blinked, the corners of his lips twitching downward. "You—"
Gasps scattered across the noble seats like falling stones. Even Yun Che stifled a chuckle.
Yun Che crossed his arms at the edge of the arena. "If you're going to insult my wife," he called out casually, "you might want to make sure you can do math without counting your fingers first."
Gu Sheng's face reddened with rising fury, while Mulan remained serene—focused. Determined. And finally… free to fight back.
Then, from the side of the hall, an elderly figure approached with calm, measured steps.
His robes were simple yet refined—marked by golden embroidery of flame patterns that fluttered slightly with each step. His hair was silver and tied in a scholar's knot, and his sharp eyes held wisdom earned over decades.
The crowd stirred.
"Old Man Lin!" someone whispered.
"The headmaster of Huo Lian Academy!" another noble gasped.
Even the rowdiest nobles straightened in their seats. Though not a cultivator of note, Old Man Lin was the recognized head of Xuanwu City's foremost scholarly institution, Huo Lian Academy—where the sons of nobles were taught arithmetic, logic, statecraft, and the ancient arts of the mind.
"To think that even Elder Lin graced this banquet," a noblewoman muttered in awe.
"The noble families must've gone far to secure him."
"It's said they hired the academy to draft and validate the Numeric Arts questions this year."
Yun Che narrowed his eyes as the old man arrived and gave a shallow nod to both sides. He could tell this wasn't just a formality—this was a show of force. A message. Even the battlefield of intellect had been rigged against the Jin Family.
Old Man Lin's voice was steady, deep, and commanding:
"As per tradition of the Noble Challenge Games, the Numeric Arts shall be held with questions designed by scholars. Each family—Gu and Jin—shall submit five questions. The participant must answer five out of ten. A draw is allowed only if both parties achieve the same number of correct answers… else, the victor shall be determined by accuracy and completion."
He turned to Mulan and Gu Sheng with a nod.
"Both contestants—are you prepared?"
Mulan calmly nodded, her expression stoic but determined. She did not fidget, she did not waver. She simply looked at Yun Che, who gave her a smile and a subtle thumbs up.
Gu Sheng, meanwhile, cracked his neck with exaggerated bravado and leaned back in his seat like he already won.
"Ready," he said with a sneer. "Try not to embarrass yourself too quickly, Lady Mulan."
Mulan didn't even spare him a glance.
Old Man Lin stepped to the center, hands tucked behind his back as his scholarly gaze swept across the hall. His voice carried with the steady cadence of a bell tolling in a quiet temple.
"Let the first test of minds begin — the Numeric Arts. The questions that follow were forged not with ink alone, but with the breath of philosophy and the edge of reason."
The room quieted. Quills were ready. Eyes sharpened.
He lifted a finger.
--------------
"First Question
Before you lies the Path of Dual Unity.
One path bears the mark of Ten Strikes — firm, unwavering, forged through years of battle.
The other is the Twin Echoes — two hidden blades that strike swift and true.
Should one wish to unite these paths into a single harmonious technique…
How many forms shall it take?"
--------------
Yun Che internally slapped his forehead.
"The heck? You call this a question?! It's just basic math with extra steps."
But he stayed quiet, watching Mulan's expression — calm and focused.
Old Man Lin continued.
---------------------
"Second Question
If a warrior wields four strikes,
But with restraint, withdraws two in mercy…
How many blades still echo in the wind?"
---------------------
A few scholars in the crowd nodded solemnly, as if the metaphor held deep meaning.
Nemu had a deadpanned expression. This is really an insult for someone who is extremely intelligent like her.
--------------------
"Third Question
Tell me this,
When twenty-two dragon breaths are joined by two sacred embers,
How many forces ignite the heavenly cauldron?"
-------------------------
Gu Sheng smirked at Mulan, clearly thinking these questions were too poetic for her mind. But she remained unmoved.
-------------------------
"Fourth Question
Fifteen monks gather in silent meditation.
Eight warriors arrive bearing questions, not blades.
When minds and strength unite beneath the same temple roof…
How many stand in harmony?"
----------------------------
Even Yun Che had to admit — that one had a bit more flair but it's still lower in terms of difficulty.
"I guess knowing basic math is still an honor to these guys."
----------------------------
"Fifth Question
A sect sends nineteen shadow guards to protect the sacred relic.
Nine have fallen in battle against the Wind Reapers.
How many still stand beneath the moonlight, awaiting their fate?"
----------------------------
The hall was silent. The imagery had captured their imagination. Some even leaned forward, trying to glimpse whether Mulan faltered.
She didn't. Not once.
Old Man Lin unfurled the ceremonial scroll, voice clear and measured:
"You have ten long incense of time to complete the test. Begin!"
Just as the attendants lit the long incense sticks, Mulan gracefully picked up her brush — and without hesitation, began to write.
She answered each question the moment it was read, her quill dancing across the parchment in confident strokes.
---------------------
"Before you lies the Path of Dual Unity. One path bears the mark of Ten Strikes — firm, unwavering, forged through years of battle. The other is the Twin Echoes — two hidden blades that strike swift and true. Should one wish to unite these paths into a single harmonious technique, how many forms shall it take?"
Answer: 10 + 2 = 12
"If the warrior wields four strikes, but with restraint withdraws two in mercy… How many blades still echo in the wind?"
Answer: 4 - 2 = 2
"Tell me, when twenty-two dragon breaths are joined by two sacred embers, how many forces ignite the heavenly cauldron?"
Answer: 22 + 2 = 24
"Fifteen monks gather in silent meditation. Eight warriors arrive bearing questions, not blades. When minds and strength are united under the same temple roof, how many stand in harmony?"
Answer: 15 + 8 = 23
"A sect sent nineteen shadow guards to guard the sacred relic. Nine have fallen in battle against the Wind Reapers. How many still stand beneath the moonlight, awaiting their fate?"
Answer: 19 - 9 = 10
---------------------
The moment Mulan finished her last stroke, she set the brush down with composed grace — before the incense had even burned a quarter-length.
A stunned silence fell over the great hall.
Gu Sheng's mouth hung open. He barely begin to answer his own questions. The question he secretly practiced just for this night.
Old Man Lin approached, brows arched high as he reviewed her parchment.
"...Correct… correct… flawless…" he muttered under his breath.
Then he turned to the hall, voice projecting with clarity:
"All five answers are correct. Round One: Victory goes to the Jin Family!"
Gasps echoed from the noble families.
Several murmured in disbelief. Even Elder scholars were whispering to one another.
"She solved them in less than half an incense stick…"
"Wasn't she the one who stayed quiet all these years?"
"Unbelievable…"
Yun Che leaned back with a smirk, folding his arms.
"See? We're just getting started."
Gu Sheng looked like he'd swallowed a fly.
And for the first time in years, the Jin Family sat a little straighter.
The Gu Family was frozen in disbelief.
Jin Mulan had answered every question — every cryptic riddle and poetic trap they had designed — without hesitation.
Gu Sheng stared at her as though he'd just witnessed sorcery.
"T-This is not fair!" Gu Sheng shouted, standing up and slamming the table.
Old Man Lin didn't even flinch. "The questions were publicly reviewed and recited. She answered them all correctly."
"She must've cheated!"
Yun Che tilted his head and lazily responded, "You sound awfully bitter for someone whose riddles got solved in record time."
"She answered too fast!"
Yun Che's smile didn't waver. "Maybe your questions were just slow."
The entire hall murmured in amusement.
Gu Sheng's father stood up next, trying to keep composure. "Jing'er, sit down! It's only one round. Their turn to present questions will be nothing compared to ours. Last year's were laughably simple."
But the patriarch's voice cracked, and his eyes betrayed his panic.
He wasn't worried about honor — he was worried about debt.
Enormous debt.
He remembered the numbers they had arrogantly penned down when signing the agreement. If they lost… not only would the Jin Family's years of debt be wiped clean — that entire sum, doubled, would now fall onto the Gu Family.
"This can't be happening…"
"Jin Family," Old Man Lin announced, "present your five questions."
Yun Che gave a small bow of respect — more mockery than courtesy — and handed two crisp sheets to the hall attendant. The man carried them to the stage and presented them to Old Man Lin.
The old master adjusted his spectacles and examined the first page.
Then his brows rose.
And kept rising.
"These questions… they're not complex. They're simple. But this method… this structure…" His hand trembled slightly.
He passed one of the pages to the Gu Family elder.
Their expressions twisted in disbelief.
"What is this? What is this symbol?"
"What does this 'x' mean? What are we even solving for?"
The Gu Family's representative stared at the equations like they were written in an alien tongue.
Their scholar leaned in, then quickly leaned back, flustered.
"These are not riddles. They are... some kind of alchemy cipher!"
Old Man Lin took a step forward. "These are expressions from a form of numeric logic I have never seen. They use symbols to represent unknown values and solve through rational deduction rather than metaphor."
After Mulan's flawless performance, the next round was declared. As agreed, the Jin Family would now submit five questions of their own.
Yun Che casually stepped forward, taking the brush from Mulan's hand and flashing the Gu Family a crooked smile.
"You've had your fun with poetic numbers and monk riddles. Now, let's see how good you are with unknowns."
The hall murmured in confusion.
"Unknowns?"
"What is this nonsense?"
"Is this some cheap trick again?"
Dozens of voices rose in a mixture of confusion and scorn, nobles craning their necks to glimpse the unfamiliar symbols on the paper.
Gu Sheng stared down at the Jin Family's questions, and for the first time in his life, he felt cold sweat trail down his back. His fingers trembled as he gripped the brush.
These… these aren't tricks. They aren't riddles. They're impossible.
What lay before him wasn't wrapped in metaphors or poetic clues. There were no hints to guess at — just brutal, unforgiving logic. Symbols. Unknowns. Equations that demanded actual thinking, not rehearsed answers.
And across from him, Jin Mulan was calm — even serene. She sat upright, posture relaxed, eyes unmoving.
She's not even struggling…
Old Man Lin tapped his staff once. "Begin."
Not even a full breath passed before Mulan dipped her brush in ink and began writing. Clean, swift strokes. Not hesitant. Not uncertain.
Gu Sheng could only gape.
She's… answering already?!
He hadn't even deciphered the first line.
His father, standing in the background, tried to hide his own panic — but his clenched jaw and ghost-white knuckles gave him away. These questions weren't just difficult.
They were devastating.
Old Man Lin glanced over Mulan's shoulder and lifted a brow in visible surprise. She had already finished the first answer… and was halfway through the second.
Gu Sheng hadn't moved.
What… what kind of monster is this woman?
The murmurs returned.
"She's already answering?"
"No way… she didn't even think…"
"Are these truly Jin Family's questions?"
"Just what kind of education did they receive?!"
Yun Che leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, an amused glint in his eyes.
"This is what happens when you train your minds to think, not just recite."
--------------------------------
"In the Scroll of Hidden Shadows, it is written:
'If a warrior has x blades, and receives 3 more from the forge, his total becomes 7.'
Tell me, disciple: What is the value of x?"
----------------------------------
Mulan remembered that Yun Che taught her these moments before. When she used equations, the questions became much simpler. If Nemu were to answer these questions, she might need less than 20 seconds.
=
Equation: x + 3 = 7
Answer: x = 4
------------------------------
"A healer used y leaves of soul grass.
After using 4 for the wounded, 6 remain.
What was the healer's original supply?"
=
Equation: y - 4 = 6
Answer: y = 10
--------------------------------
"A monk divides his qi equally among 5 scrolls,
each scroll holding 2 units of power.
What is the total amount of qi, marked by the symbol z?"
=
Equation: z ÷ 5 = 2
Answer: z = 10
--------------------------------
"The Dragon Clan triples their guards for the sacred gate.
If thrice the number becomes 18,
what is the number w they had at first?"
=
Equation: 3w = 18
Answer: w = 6
----------------------------------
"A sage wrote this on the temple wall:
'If 9 is subtracted from the number of falling stars,
the stars become equal to k times 2.'
What is the number of stars if k is 3?"
=
Equation: (stars - 9) = 2 × 3 → stars - 9 = 6
Answer: stars = 15
---------------------------------------------------
Yun Che's smirk widened.
"No. It's called algebra, 'the language of logic.'"
Old Man Lin slowly approached the scroll, reading the questions with a mixture of awe and confusion.
"These… these are numerics beyond the traditional method. A system based on variables to express unknown values…" He turned to Yun Che. "Where did you learn this technique?"
Yun Che gave him a lopsided smile.
"Let's just say… I had a good teacher back in school."
The Gu Family couldn't answer a single question.
Old Man Lin declared the second round:
"Victory… once again, to the Jin Family."
This time, silence didn't follow — panic did. Whispers erupted like wildfire.
"Two rounds… they actually won two rounds!"
"This isn't a fluke…"
"They came prepared…"
Jin Zhuo and his wife sat frozen in their seats, eyes wide as the truth sank in.
Their daughter—Mulan—was knowledgeable in numerics?
They had never seen her attend a single scholarly class, never heard her speak of arithmetic or equations. And yet… she had not only faced the challenge head-on, she had wielded profound mathematical knowledge with the grace of a seasoned master.
"Lan'er…" Jin Zhuo whispered, a single tear slipping down his cheek.
His wife trembled, overwhelmed by emotion. Cang Yue gently supported her, a soft smile on her lips as the weight of years quietly unraveled.
After two long years of humiliation, pressure, and a mounting sea of debt—they had finally won.
One decisive victory. And just like that, a crushing burden was lifted.
The debt that shackled the Jin Family had been struck away—paid not with coin, but with brilliance. And not only that—by the Gu Family's own agreement, the debt had reversed and doubled, now resting squarely on their shoulders.
It was poetic justice.
The banquet hall, once buzzing with confidence and condescension, had fallen into a heavy, uncomfortable silence. The Gu Family sat like statues, unable to even lift their chopsticks. The weight of their new reality left no room for appetite.
That, however, didn't apply to everyone.
"Ara… if no one's eating this," Retsu said cheerfully, picking up a platter of sweet lotus buns. "Then don't mind if we do."
She passed it down the table where Mio, Nemu, and the others happily began helping themselves.
"More food for us," Mio chimed, her eyes sparkling as she took a generous helping of glazed spiritfruit.
While the noble families sat paralyzed with shock and shame, Yun Che's table was already clinking with teacups and small laughter.
Even in the midst of political chaos and mental duels, the Jin Family's side was beginning to enjoy the evening—on their own terms.
And for once… victory actually tasted sweet.
The noble heads started shifting uncomfortably. What was supposed to be another year of humiliation had turned into something none of them expected.
"With this, our debts to the Gu Family is cleared according to the agreement you all agree with. Our former debts with them will be the Gu Family's and it will be doubled."
"We… we never agreed to this!!" the Gu Family head barked, his voice echoing across the silent hall like a dying beast's last roar.
But no one answered him.
All eyes were already shifting away—some in fear, others in dawning horror. One by one, the faces of the noble patriarchs hardened. Doubt spread like wildfire. This was not how the annual games were supposed to go.
Not only had Yun Che tricked them into inflating the Jin Family's debt… but he'd turned that very trap back onto them, and doubled it. Legally. And now the Gu Family had lost, their defeat carved in ink and sealed in front of hundreds.
A ripple of panic followed.
"We signed that agreement..."
"The clause said no withdrawals…"
"If we back out, we forfeit the debt…"
"We could lose everything—"
Yun Che rose from his seat, wearing a lazy smile, the signed agreement in his hand like a divine edict.
"See?" he said, tapping the parchment with his finger. "That's why I wrote it all down. If we went by words, none of you would pay even if we won. But now?"
He held the document up for all to see, his voice cutting through the tension like steel. "Read the agreement. Next time, maybe try reading before signing."
A noble clenched his fists. Another visibly gulped.
"This... this Jin Family isn't the same as before…"
"Who is this man they brought in?!"
Yun Che clapped his hands together with mock excitement. "Now then… shall we move on to the next challenge?"
A chill passed over the hall.
Even the boldest families felt the creeping dread. Their advantage had slipped away, and the ground beneath them was now shifting sand.
Meanwhile, Mulan returned to her seat beside Yun Che, her heart pounding in her chest. Before she could even speak, his calm voice rang through her mind.
"Nice work, Mulan. You really made a grand opening."
She bit her lower lip, exhaling softly.
"Pff... I couldn't have done it without your help. Still… it feels kind of wrong. We technically cheated."
Yun Che chuckled.
"No we didn't. I just simplified the questions for you. You're the one who gave the correct answers."
She looked at him and for a moment, despite the chaos and pressure, smiled.
"Then let's keep going. Let's make sure they regret ever mocking us."
Yun Che leaned back, eyes narrowing at the remaining families.
"Oh, they will."
---------------------------
The Gu Family began to keep quiet as they were the first ones to draw lots against the Jin Family. The second was the Fang Family.
"Fang Family Patriarch, please issue your challenge."
For a moment, the entire hall fell into an eerie silence.
Then, as if on cue, the remaining noble families began to speak—one after another—issuing their challenge. It was the same as the previous years, deliberately unchanged.
"The next trial," the Gu Patriarch declared with a sly grin, "will be exactly as it was last year. Let's see how long they can keep up this act."
Their confidence surged again.
Jin Mulan might've astonished everyone with her mastery of that strange numeric language, but she'd already taken her turn. According to the rules, she couldn't be fielded again. And the other members of the Jin Family? Especially those veiled women standing quietly behind Jin Zhuo—who were they? Some inner court maids? Cultivation attendants?
"Hmph," one noble sneered under his breath. "They think we'll be cowed just because that girl had one good round? Those veiled ladies behind her look like they've never even drawn a sword."
Another chuckled. "Total amateurs. Probably don't even have any real cultivation. They're just trying to bluff with numbers."
The arrogance began to return to their faces.
Their smirks widened. The hall slowly regained its usual swagger, like vultures circling prey they were sure couldn't escape a second time.
But at the center of it all, Yun Che simply leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping the table in rhythm. He exchanged a look with Mulan, who offered a small smile.
"They really think that was our strongest move?" Yun Che whispered under his breath.
A shadow of dread lingered behind the nobles' laughter—none of them willing to admit that what unnerved them wasn't just Mulan's skill…
…it was how calm the Jin Family still looked.
Especially him.
"We challenge the Jin Family," announced the Fang Family Patriarch with a proud flourish, "to a reading challenge."
Gasps and murmurs rippled across the hall.
"Ah, reading." Yun Che leaned forward, chin resting on his palm with a casual smirk. "Let me guess… you'll throw out some obscure classical script, written in twisted, archaic characters, and expect us to stumble through it?"
"Spot on!" Fang Patriarch grinned. "The Fang Family has never lost a reading challenge in generations. It should be considered an honor to be defeated by us. But do yourselves a favor—bow out while you still can."
"Who said anything about giving up?" Yun Che replied coolly. "We're not here to play safe."
"Jin Mulan already took the first round. She's disqualified from entering again," another noble sneered.
"Who said I'm sending her?" Yun Che replied, as his gaze flicked toward one of the veiled figures beside him. "Nemu. You're up."
"Hai," came a soft, doll-like voice. Nemu gently placed her chopsticks down, wiped the corners of her mouth with a silk cloth, and stood. Even veiled, the elegance in her movement was eerie—unnaturally calm.
"Ganbarre, Nemu-chan," chirped a playful voice nearby. "Make Onee-chan proud~!"
Several nobles turned pale at the childish yet unsettling tone.
But before Nemu could take a step, a soft hand reached out and gently held hers.
"Wait."
The hall stirred as another veiled woman rose—graceful and poised, her aura cool and composed like snow under moonlight.
"Qingyue?" Yun Che blinked, surprised. "You want this one?"
"I do," Xia Qingyue answered softly. "May I? I'm… confident in my reading skills."
"You sure?" he asked, though already sensing her answer.
"I am." Her voice was resolute.
Yun Che nodded. The real Xia Qingyue won't even bother with this kind of competition. To think that she suddenly stood up and took the challenge.
Nemu looked at Qingyue and nodded, silently stepping back with not a hint of protest, like a doll returning to its shelf.
From across the hall, the Fang Family's confidence faltered for just a heartbeat.
The elegance in Qingyue's poise, the faint ethereal chill that followed her every step—it didn't feel like they were about to face a common noblewoman.
No, it felt like the scrolls would fear her gaze.
"I won't underestimate her, rascal," Little Fairy's voice echoed calmly through their spiritual link. "You'd be surprised by what that girl does in her free time."
"Oh?" Yun Che leaned back slightly, mentally smirking. "Something spectacular, I assume?"
"Spectacular isn't even close," she replied. "That girl—Xia Qingyue—knows more about reading than any Asgardian in the entire Frozen Cloud Asgard."
"As if she read a thousand books?"
"No," Little Fairy said, with a tone that even carried a hint of awe. "She literally read thousands. Every single book in the Library of Frost—all of them. Not one skipped. Not one unread."
"...Wow." Yun Che was genuinely stunned.
"She confessed it to me once. Her cultivation was already peerless, but her heart... her heart sought wisdom on the Realm of the Gods. She read them all—histories, spiritual texts, secret arts, even mundane literature just to find a splinter of knowledge of that part. Even if she had to go through thousands of books just to find it."
Yun Che fell silent for a moment before replying with a sigh. "That's… insane dedication."
"Still," Little Fairy added, her tone shifting, "she told me something else just now. That despite all she'd read, compared to Nemu, she's still years behind."
Yun Che chuckled mentally. "Well, Nemu is more… modernized intelligence, I suppose."
Unbeknownst to even him, Nemu's mental faculties were far beyond human comprehension. She could scan, store, and categorize the contents of entire libraries in seconds. But for Qingyue to have achieved her feat manually, reading each book cover to cover with sheer will and focus—it was the kind of brilliance that transcended genius.
Yun Che shook his head in quiet amazement. The Heart of Snow Glazed Glass… truly absurd. Who else could read like that without crumbling under the sheer mental strain?
Then, silence fell across the hall as Xia Qingyue rose.
She didn't say a word.
Her every movement was like snow falling on a still lake—graceful, elegant, without sound, without arrogance. Veiled from head to toe, her figure was little more than a silhouette cloaked in mystery. Yet her presence alone sent a ripple of unease through the noble families.
She walked forward with the bearing of a queen—no, a celestial maiden descending from an immortal palace.
The laughter in the crowd stopped.
The Fang Family, once brimming with smugness, now felt something unfamiliar tightening in their chests.
Doubt.
And they hadn't even heard her voice yet.
As Xia Qingyue stepped onto the central stage, the grand hall grew still. With each graceful stride, the veiled fairy carried the dignity of the heavens. Her presence, though silent, weighed heavily—mystifying and regal.
She lowered herself onto the seat with elegance, her robes flowing like moonlight over water.
Across from her sat Fang Wong, the self-assured young master of the Fang Family. Dressed in elaborate robes, he wore a confident smile, as if the outcome had already been sealed. His eyes gleamed as they tried to pierce the veil that concealed her face.
He leaned forward slightly, smirking. "Fairy… this one has but a humble request."
Qingyue offered no response.
"If we win," he continued, his tone playful, "will the fairy honor us by unveiling her face and grace us with her name? Such divine beauty should not remain hidden. Surely you won't mind?"
There was a pause. Then her voice drifted forth—soft and cold like falling snow, yet noble and resolute.
"I have no obligation to comply. My face is reserved only for those I call family and my beloved."
Her tone alone caused many to shiver—Old Man Lin included. Her voice was like a melody untouched by mortal hands, carrying majesty and clarity few had ever heard.
Even Fang Wong faltered for a breath, visibly entranced. But then he chuckled and declared boldly, "Then I will defeat you and claim the honor of becoming your beloved!"
Gasps echoed around the hall. The other noble families looked at each other with incredulous faces. Did he just propose to the veiled fairy in front of everyone?
Xia Qingyue said nothing more. There was no need.
Yun Che's eye twitched.
Did this arrogant bastard just flirt with Qingyue? In front of everyone?
Not only that—he proposed to her?!
His jaw tightened as he glared at Fang Wong. He'd expected arrogance. He didn't expect a full-blown public marriage declaration aimed at his wife.
Xia Qingyue, seated on the stage, felt that sharp flicker of emotion from him—through their bond, through the glances exchanged across the crowd. Her amethyst eyes, hidden beneath the silken veil and wide-rimmed hat he'd personally chosen for her, softened.
A quiet, knowing smile curved her lips.
So, you're still conscious of me after all…
For all Yun Che's usual composure—his strategies, his clever tricks, his calm demeanor—he was still her husband. Still a man who cared. Even if he'd never admit it aloud.
She glanced briefly toward him again, then toward her opponent.
Fang Wong sat there with smug confidence, completely unaware of the storm he'd just stirred. He thought her silence was fear. He thought her veil meant mystery. He thought this was his stage.
Qingyue, however, only thought one thing:
How amusing.
She lightly adjusted the brim of her hat—his hat, the one he had personally selected to shield her divine beauty, because even her veil wasn't enough. Her smile lingered under the shadows.
At least you try to protect me, even if you're stubborn.
She turned her attention fully to Fang Wong now—her expression unreadable, her poise unshaken.
Old Man Lin cleared his throat, shaking off the daze that had overtaken him upon hearing her speak.
"Ahem. As per the rules, both contestants will draft a text. The challenge will be to read each other's script aloud. Victory will go to the one who can comprehend and recite the characters correctly—a test of literary mastery and ancient knowledge."
Fang Wong's smirk widened.
He dipped his brush in ink, beginning to draft with practiced flair. His hand danced across the scroll, weaving characters of such obscurity and difficulty that even seasoned scholars would struggle to recognize them. He poured every bit of complexity he had learned into the text—not to test Qingyue's skill, but to overwhelm her.
His eyes gleamed with pride. He wasn't just going to win. He was going to humiliate her—corner her into lifting her veil before the whole hall.
All the while, Qingyue sat still.
She didn't even pick up her brush yet.
She merely waited—like an ancient lotus unmoved by the ripples of the world.
"What's wrong, fairy? Giving up before even trying?" Fang Wong taunted, leaning slightly forward, his voice dripping with smugness. "Show me your face and become mine, and I might reduce the Jin Family's debt by a fraction. Generosity suits the strong, after all."
Qingyue said nothing.
Her silence wasn't hesitation—but composure. Her veil hid her expression, but a subtle shift in her posture betrayed no fear, no pressure. She was utterly calm, like moonlight reflecting on still water.
Fang Wong mistook her silence for intimidation. His grin widened.
"Ah, I see. The little ice fairy is speechless," he sneered, turning to his scroll and dipping his brush in ink. "Don't worry. I'll make it quick. After all, I specialize in calligraphy formed with the most exclusive and ancient characters—used only by master scholars. Not something a backwater nobody would ever have seen."
Stroke after stroke, he meticulously crafted his text—elegant and sharp, the characters flowing like wind-carved stone. The entire hall watched in silence as he wrote, each stroke building toward what he believed would be an impenetrable wall of complexity.
When he finally placed the brush down, he exhaled dramatically and handed the scroll across the stage to Qingyue.
"There," he said smugly. "I look forward to your attempts… or your surrender."
Still without a word, Qingyue reached for the scroll.
The moment her slender fingers touched the parchment, her eyes scanned it—not with confusion or fear—but with quiet scrutiny.
One breath. Two. Her gaze flickered once across the entire text.
-----------------------
松風入袖 , 月落雲低.
孤劍照影 , 客行千里.
霜重露寒 , 心靜如溪
------------------------
The hall fell into stunned silence as they laid eyes on the scroll Fang Wong had presented.
The characters were intricate—ancient, stylized strokes reserved for high-level scholars and cultivators of linguistic arts. Their complexity wasn't just scholarly… they carried weight, as though each word had been carved from the bones of forgotten dynasties.
The crowd broke into whispers.
"Is that… from the Twelve Seals of Antiquity?"
"Even I can't recognize some of those characters…"
"So this is the Fang Family's level… the Jin Family's finished!"
Mocking laughter followed soon after. Despite Jin Mulan's earlier victory, the crowd's confidence quickly turned once more. Their eyes turned to the veiled women seated behind Jin Zhuo.
"Jin Mulan might've pulled off a miracle, but the rest? Amateurs."
"They'll crumble like dust under this challenge!"
Old Man Lin furrowed his brows as he examined the scroll. Even he—Headmaster of Huo Lian Academy—had only seen some of these characters in ancient texts. To see them wielded so casually in a competition…
They're not playing fair. They want to bury the Jin Family with this match.
On stage, Fang Wong's smirk widened as he observed the growing unease. His confidence bloomed under the spotlight, fanned by the envious stares from rival families.
The Gu Family patriarch clenched his fists beneath his robes. His son had failed miserably. But Fang Wong? He was shining—everything his son wasn't. With this performance, he would single-handedly elevate the Fang Family's name.
"Haha!" Fang Wong laughed aloud, directing his voice to Qingyue. "What's the matter, fairy? You can't read it, can you?"
He leaned forward, radiating smugness like a foul perfume.
"I don't blame you. This text… is the result of years of cultivation in ancient calligraphy! You wouldn't understand even a splinter of it. But don't worry—when you admit defeat, I'll still accept you as my bride."
The arrogance dripped from every word.
But Qingyue made no reply.
No retort. No visible shift of emotion.
Only silence.
Then, slowly, she reached for the scroll.
Fang Wong leaned back, arms crossed confidently as Xia Qingyue studied the scroll in silence. Her gaze moved calmly from one character to the next, her veil hiding the flicker of disappointment in her eyes.
"If you can't read it, just admit defeat," he said with a smug grin. "But I'll still honor you with a place beside me—as my beloved. That much I can forgive."
She let out a faint sigh. The kind of sigh that silenced the heart.
This? she thought. These are what they call high-level characters? Compared to the ancient scripture lining every shelf of the Library of Frost, this is no more difficult than a child's poem.
She inhaled gently, her voice rising like a breath of snow drifting over still waters.
---------
"Pine winds enter the sleeves,
The moon sinks low beneath the clouds.
A lone sword reflects its shadow,
As the traveler journeys a thousand miles.
Frost thickens and dew chills,
Yet the heart remains still like a stream."
----------
Her tone was pure and clear, like a jade bell in a sacred temple. Each word was enunciated with effortless grace, her cadence flowing like a mountain spring.
When she finished, she raised her gaze slightly.
"…Was that it?"
The hall fell into stunned silence. No one moved. No one breathed.
Fang Wong's smirk froze—lips parted, eyes wide. He hadn't even processed her reading before the crowd began whispering.
"She read it… like it was nothing…"
His difficult text that gave the academy teachers headache was easily read.
"Not just read. She recited it with emotion—like she understood every hidden layer."
"Who is she…?"
Even Old Man Lin blinked, deeply shaken. Such poise… such clarity. She not only read it—she elevated it.
Yun Che, from his seat, narrowed his eyes and smirked inwardly. That's my wife.
"You! Who are you?!"
Qingyue only shook her head. Maybe she overestimated the outer lands.
Fang Wong tried to salvage his pride. "Th-then… then show me what you can write!"
Qingyue eyes her blank scroll gently on the desk.
"Very well," she said. "I'll keep it simple."
Xia Qingyue silently reached for the brush.
Her movements were fluid—unhurried, yet filled with quiet purpose. The soft bristles dipped into the ink, and with a breath like falling snow, she began to write.
Each stroke was swift, precise, and impossibly elegant. Her hand glided across the scroll with such ease that even the sound of ink meeting paper seemed musical.
Old Man Lin leaned forward unconsciously, eyes wide.
In less than a minute, she set the brush down.
What followed was absolute silence.
The hall stared, stunned—not at her veil, not at her posture—but at what she had written.
The calligraphy flowed like water yet struck like thunder. Each character was refined to perfection, each line a masterwork that even seasoned scholars could only aspire to imitate. The strokes carried not just beauty but soul—history etched into every motion.
Even the Jin Family, confident as they were in Qingyue's abilities, found themselves blinking in disbelief.
-------------------------------
𠔉齉龖龘 , 籱麤灥靐
癵鱻齾爩 , 驫鸞爨饕
蓪蠼蘟躨 , 齉齉齉
我愚如石 , 鈍似磐.
-------------------------------
Fang Wong was frozen.
He stared at the scroll before him, eyes darting across the intricate, unfamiliar characters. His fingers trembled slightly as he pointed at them, unable to recognize a single one. It was too complex.
"What… what is this?!"
His voice cracked with disbelief. Behind him, the Fang Family, a lineage renowned for scholarly excellence, leaned forward to see. One by one, their faces paled.
"These characters…" one elder whispered, "we've never seen them before."
"You!" Fang Wong barked, his composure shattering. "What blasphemy is this?! You made these characters up, didn't you?!"
Xia Qingyue, still seated with serene poise, tilted her head slightly beneath her veil. Her voice, soft yet cutting, echoed clearly across the silent hall.
"You call yourself an elite master of calligraphy, yet cannot read what is merely… advanced literature?"
"Lies!" Fang Wong roared. "You're just—!"
But his words died in his throat as a new voice rang out—deep, authoritative, and laced with ancient wisdom.
"She did not."
The entire hall turned. An elderly figure stepped into view, his long robes embroidered with the crest of Huo Lian Academy—though darker in tone, bearing a weight of deeper power and rank.
A gasp rippled through the crowd.
"Grand Headmaster Ming!" Old Man Lin immediately stepped forward and bowed deeply.
The nobles followed suit.
"I… I didn't know you would attend…" Lin stammered.
"I came not for politics," Grand Headmaster Ming said calmly. "I care little for the power games of noble families. I came to witness the war of minds. And what I witnessed… shook even me."
He stepped toward the scroll Xia Qingyue had written, studying it with intense eyes.
"These characters are real. Ancient. Profound. Complex beyond anything taught in modern script. Not only do they exist—this text is composed with structure, balance, and poetic soul."
He turned his gaze toward Qingyue's veiled figure, voice filled with reverence.
"Dear fairy… how did you come to learn such ancient script?"
Her reply was simple, but the weight behind it echoed like thunder:
"I read."
"…Read?" the Fang Patriarch echoed blankly.
"You… you mean you memorized them?" someone whispered.
"No," Qingyue replied gently. "I understood them by reading a lot of ancient books and scrolls."
Gasps erupted.
"That's… over ten thousand volumes of sacred text!"
"Even if she began at birth, she couldn't—"
"She did," someone else said, voice hushed in awe. "She really did…"
Even Grand Headmaster Ming was momentarily at a loss for words.
"To write like this… it requires not only intellect, but a heart that resonates with history itself." He finally turned toward the stunned Fang Wong. "Compared to this… your 'mastery' is a grain of sand."
Fang Wong's legs gave out slightly, and he collapsed into his seat, defeated.
Yun Che leaned back, hiding his smirk behind a raised teacup.
"Guess I was worried for a moment."
"Can you read it?" Grand Headmaster Ming's voice was calm, unhurried. "I can verify the meaning—if you get it correct."
"I… I…" Fang Wong stammered, panic creeping into his voice as he stared helplessly at the scroll.
"Do you even recognize the characters?" Old Man Lin asked him.
"I…" His words failed him.
Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. His eyes darted to the final line of the poem—some of the characters looked familiar, but the meanings danced just out of reach.
"I only recognize a few…"
"Then read it," Old Man Lin said gently. "Let's hear your interpretation."
His pride flaring, Fang Wong blurted out, reading as if grasping at straws, "I am… foolish… as… a dull stone?"
The hall froze.
Then—
Pfft.
A stifled laugh.
Ha!
Then the entire hall erupted in laughter.
Even Old Man Lin had to cover his mouth to stifle a chuckle. Fang Wong's father stormed up onto the stage, red with embarrassment, and smacked him on the back of the head.
"You absolute disgrace!"
Fang Wong's eyes widened as the meaning dawned on him. He had just called himself a fool, and publicly no less.
Xia Qingyue let out a quiet sigh. She had used the simplest possible characters in that line—elegant yet straightforward. And he still failed to grasp their meaning?
I overestimated him.
Old Man Lin raised his voice to declare, "The winner of this round—the Jin Family!"
A wave of murmurs rippled through the audience. First the Gu Family, now the Fang Family—both had fallen to the Jin Family in humiliating fashion.
Jin Zhuo exhaled deeply, a victorious smile spreading across his face. His wife's hands trembled as she clasped them in joy. Mulan's eyes sparkled with pride.
Another heavy chain of debt had been shattered.
And just like the last, it didn't just vanish—it reversed. Thanks to Yun Che's shrewd legal agreement, the Fang Family now owed twice the amount they had hoped to collect. Jin Zhuo's heart stirred with a mix of awe and curiosity.
He turned his eyes toward the calm young man seated at their table.
Just who is this Yun Che…the disappear two years ago retuned as a phoenix? To summon such geniuses and turn a hopeless banquet into a string of miracles?
As Xia Qingyue quietly stood to return to her seat, the deep, composed voice of Grand Headmaster Ming resonated through the hall.
"Dear Fairy," he said, raising a hand gently, "would you be so kind… to illuminate us with the meaning of this profound passage?"
Qingyue paused, veil concealing her face, her graceful posture still as the moonlight on water. After a thoughtful moment, she replied with quiet clarity:
-----------------
"With twisted tongues and thunderous roars, dragons dance beneath ancient rain.
In wild flame and fish of triple freshness, beasts feast in the furnace of chaos.
Deep in the thickets, the vermin skitter— and the nasal snorts echo thrice."
-----------------
The hall fell into a stunned hush.
Then, murmurs began rippling through the crowd.
"Such… vivid imagery…"
"What does it mean?"
"The layers… the depth…!"
Scholars and elders alike leaned forward, eyes wide with wonder.
"A poetic chaos," one elder whispered.
Grand Headmaster Ming's expression turned solemn with reverence. "This… is not mere calligraphy. It is philosophy written in metaphor, a scroll of living insight. Such elegance formed on the spot? Your words are more than ink, dear fairy. They breathe."
He looked at the parchment longingly, as if afraid it might vanish into mist.
"May we… preserve this passage?" he asked with rare humility. "I am willing to offer compensation—a sum fitting its worth."
A collective gasp swept through the hall. The Grand Headmaster offering to buy a text? Unprecedented.
The other scholars under the academy couldn't wait to decipher the text. How many meanings or texts can be derived from it.
But Qingyue simply bowed her head with a gentle grace.
"There is no need," she said softly. "If it brings insight to others, then let it be shared freely."
Silence again—this time, not of shock, but of quiet admiration.
As she turned and glided back to her seat beside Yun Che, not a soul in the room could take their eyes off her.
Yun Che, watching her approach, whispered in their mind-link, "You know you just made every scholar in that room fall in love with your mind, right?"
Qingyue gave the faintest, amused smile beneath her veil.
"Let them admire the words. But I already belong to someone."
That someone—was him.
Yun Che glanced sideways, eyes narrowing with mock suspicion.
"Since when did you learn to play with words like that? You used to barely say a sentence to me."
Her voice came like a soft breeze across still water.
"It only applies to you. I'm still learning… trying to be the best version of myself—for you."
He blinked, momentarily taken aback.
"You really don't want to lose to Retsu, do you?"
Qingyue lowered her eyes slightly, her tone tinged with quiet honesty.
"As much as I admire her… I know I'm far below. But I want to grow. I wish to learn—from her. From her sister, Nemu. From Mio. And maybe… maybe I can become as prim and poised as Yue'er."
Yun Che chuckled softly through their mind link, warmth in his tone.
"You don't need to become anyone else, Qingyue. You already make the sky look dull. The best version of yourself to me? You just be the current Qingyue."
Qingyue's voice was soft, yet laced with quiet vulnerability.
"Am I… that different from the version of me in the Prime Timeline?"
Yun Che paused, his gaze settling on her through the mind link—gentle, but firm.
"Kind of. But I'm not looking for her. I want you. The version of you that chose this path… with me. So don't try to be her. Even if we met her one day and even if we meet countless versions of you across universal timelines, I still choose you."
A silence lingered between them, tender and sacred.
Qingyue smiled faintly beneath her veil, the light catching the curve of her lips.
"Then I will honor that wish. No matter how different I am… I'll walk this path—as your Qingyue."
"Wait!" Fang Wong suddenly shouted, voice trembling with desperation.
Gasps echoed through the hall as he rose to his feet, gripping a parchment tightly.
"I have one last character," he barked, his pride clinging to this final hope.
"If you can read this… and tell me its meaning… then I will admit total defeat! I refuse to believe you've truly read thousands of texts and understood them all!"
He sneered. "Even my grandfather couldn't master this one easily! It took 48 strokes to write—forty-eight! If you falter on this, at least I can lose with dignity."
Jin Zhuo stood up, frowning.
"This wasn't part of the agreement—"
But Qingyue raised a hand, silencing him gently.
Her voice was calm and cool.
"Very well. Show me."
Fang Wong slammed the parchment on the desk, revealing the intricate character:
--------
龘
--------
The hall stirred in hushed awe. The complexity of the symbol was undeniable—an overwhelming tangle of lines and power. It looked less like a character and more like a storm captured on paper.
Qingyue glanced at it only once. Then, her voice rang like chimes through mist.
"Dá."
Gasps erupted.
"Forty-eight strokes," she continued smoothly. "A compound character. A tripling of the word 龍 (lóng), meaning 'dragon.' This character depicts the appearance of a dragon flying—a mythical dragon in motion."
Fang Wong's face went pale. His lips parted but no words came out.
The hall was silent again, but this time with stunned reverence.
Qingyue bowed slightly.
"If your grandfather was proud of it, then let that pride rest in peace. But don't insult others thinking it's unique knowledge."
She turned and walked off the stage.
Fang Wong fell to his knees. The parchment trembled in his hands, his pride crumbling with every breath.
That character—龘—was his secret weapon. A symbol so obscure and ancient. He had thought no one in this backward province would recognize it, let alone understand it.
But she had.
With a single glance…
With flawless pronunciation…
With meaning that echoed deeper than the strokes themselves…
She shattered him.
The hall remained in stunned silence as Xia Qingyue turned from the stage. Her footsteps light, unhurried, veil fluttering softly behind her like snow on a quiet night.
She returned to her seat, eyes calm.
Yet within her, thoughts stirred.
So this… is the battle of wits. No force. No blades. Only clarity of mind and strength of self.
In the stillness, her gaze shifted briefly to Yun Che—her Yun Che.
If I were the same as the one in the Prime Timeline… I would still be locked within the walls of Frozen Cloud Asgard. Honing strength with the purpose of seeking mother and perfection without ever living…
Her fingers gently brushed the edge of her robe.
But now… now I see the world. I face challenge not just by sword, but by soul. This version of me—this path—is my new fate.
And deep beneath her calm exterior, Qingyue smiled—not because of her victory…
But because she finally felt free.
----------------
Jin Zhuo could hardly believe it.
Two victories. Back-to-back.
Mulan and Xia Qingyue had turned the tide, leading the Jin Family through what many thought was a hopeless endeavor. From the brink of ruin, they now stood tall, their heads no longer bowed beneath the mockery of nobles.
The entire hall began to shift.
The once-confident noble families exchanged uneasy glances. Their smirks had faded, their certainty cracked. They had signed Yun Che's agreement with arrogance—believing they were driving a nail into the Jin Family's coffin. Now, every clause in that contract had become a curse they placed upon themselves.
Backing out meant forfeiting.
Forfeiting meant debt.
And debt meant shame.
Some nobles whispered of retreat, but it was too late. The ink had dried. Their numbers—exaggerated to humiliate—now stood against them like sharpened blades. The game they rigged was turning on them.
In their desperation, they began re-evaluating their next move. They had to choose challenges carefully, precisely—hoping to exploit some unknown weakness in the Jin Family's ranks. But that was the problem.
The Jin Family's "unknowns lead by the masked man" were proving to be anything but weak.
The mysterious veiled fairy, who had so gracefully dismantled Fang Wong's pride…
Jin Mulan, who turned an ancient numeric trial into her stage of triumph…
And all the while, Yun Che sat calmly, as if he had expected everything.
He hadn't.
He watched Qingyue return to her seat, silent as snowfall. His eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke to himself, "I guess I shouldn't underestimate someone who's read thousands of books…"
Qingyue's elegant poise masked something far more terrifying—resolve.
He knew why she had spent years studying ancient languages, consuming libraries of forgotten lore. She had once confessed it was all in search of even a splinter of knowledge about the Realm of the Gods. Her mind, once gentle and curious, was now sharpened by obsession. She had poured herself into her pursuit, just as she now poured herself into this new devotion: him. Now that she poured out and split her familial burdens with him.
Yun Che smirked faintly… then frowned.
That's what made her dangerous, he thought, remembering the Prime Timeline. It was never her power. It was her willingness to go beyond anyone. Her terrifying dedication. Her will to do everything—if she set her mind to it.
Now, that unwavering will was aimed at loving him.
A strange chill danced down his spine.
And yet…
He didn't dislike it.
Moments later, soft footsteps echoed across the polished floor of the central stage.
A young woman stepped forward.
Her gait was poised, calm. Her expression serene. Yet the ripple her presence caused among the nobles was unmistakable.
"The Yang Family…" someone whispered.
"She's their representative?"
All eyes turned to her, dressed in flowing teal robes embroidered with mountain lilies. Her hair was tied back simply, and her gaze held no arrogance—only quiet determination.
Yang Ying'er.
"The third family dares to challenge next?" another voice scoffed—but their words lacked the venom they had just hours ago. The Jin Family was no longer a joke.
"Ying'er! What are you doing?!" her brother's voice rang out sharply from the Yang Family's section.
"I am challenging them," she replied without hesitation, never once turning her head. "I was chosen to represent our house. If we step back now, we may as well tear up our nameplate from the nine families."
"But if we lose—"
"If we lose," she cut in, "it's no different than forfeiting. If anyone wishes to take my place… then come and take it."
Her brother fell silent.
So did most of the hall.
Jin Zhuo stood slowly, surprised by her boldness. "Ying'er, you don't have to do this," he said, his voice softer than before. "Your family… never joined in the lies. You placed your bet fairly. Modestly. Of all the nine, only the Yang Family showed us basic decency."
He meant every word.
Unlike the bloated lies the other noble houses forged into contracts, the Yang Family had kept their terms clean. The debt owed to them was the smallest—mere thousands of purple profound coins, not the millions scrawled by the rest.
"You're not like the others," Jin Zhuo said again.
Ying'er's gaze didn't waver. "That's exactly why I must go through with it."
She looked toward Yun Che, veiled ladies behind him, and added, "I don't know who you truly are, sir. But I believe in fair play. Win or lose, I will uphold our honor."
Jin Zhuo exhaled through his nose, then gave her a solemn nod. "Very well. I respect your courage."
For the first time since the banquet began, the oppressive air shifted.
This wasn't just another noble's attempt to crush the Jin Family. This was someone seeking truth in contest—not conquest.
Yun Che stood quietly at the edge of the stage, arms crossed beneath his robe, observing the young woman now facing the Jin Family.
Yang Ying'er. Calm. Composed. Determined.
He glanced sideways at Mulan, who had been watching intently.
"You said the Yang Family once supported yours?" he asked under his breath.
Mulan nodded slowly. "They did. Back when we were still at the top of the province. They were our strongest ally within the Nine Families. When we fell… they were cornered."
Her voice was tinged with a mix of regret and understanding.
"They had no choice but to support the Zhu Family after that," she added. "If they refused, they would've fallen with us."
Yun Che's gaze returned to Ying'er. "And yet… they never went after your family like the others."
Mulan smiled faintly, a hint of respect in her eyes. "They didn't. Even during these last two years of humiliation, the Yang Family never mocked us. Their challenges were always light. Their debts… lenient."
Yun Che exhaled through his nose.
"I guess not all of them are vultures."
"They're still under pressure," Mulan said. "Forfeiting this match would shame them in front of the Zhu Family and the others. They're not doing this to crush us."
"They're doing it to survive," Yun Che finished for her.
He looked again at Yang Ying'er, now standing proud before the entire hall. A different kind of strength radiated from her. Not born of power or pride, but duty.
"Then I suppose," he muttered, "this match might actually be fair."
For once.
And in the bloodstained halls of political farce and veiled cruelty, fair was a rare thing indeed.
"Very well," Jin Zhuo nodded. "You may state your challenge."
She raised her voice, firm and unwavering. "Painting."
A ripple of murmurs swept through the banquet hall.
"Wow…" Yun Che muttered with a wry smirk. "That's a tough one."
He glanced at the women beside him. "Not exactly the specialty of martial goddesses."
Even Jin Zhuo's expression tensed. He leaned toward Yun Che. "This… might be the one we lose. But if it's to the Yang Family, I can live with that."
Mulan sighed. "Painting isn't in my skill set."
Even Xia Qingyue, who had just dazzled everyone with ancient calligraphy, lowered her eyes and remained silent.
"May I take this one?"