Sixth month, Day of the Lute-Star
The palace lake shimmered like polished brass. Every year the Empress Dowager opened the gardens to noble sons and guard cadets for an archery fair—half pageant, half audition for future posts.
This time the victor's prize was no silver cup: a purple jade plaque bearing the imperial swan, entitling the bearer to enter any royal arsenal in the realm.
Lan Yue, still thirteen and newly white-robed, had no intention of competing—until the Commandant announced that every senior cadet must shoot, "to honour the throne and test their progress."
Morning – Pavilion of Five Willows
Target lanes stretched along the water. Silk awnings rippled; perfume and lacquer dazzled.
Zhao Shen, nineteen today, presided in formal indigo—judge, not contestant.
Zhao Yuan, seventeen, lounged beside him, twanging his bow-string like a lute.
He caught Yue's eye and mouthed: Win me pocket money.
Cadets drew lots for order. Yue pulled twelfth of thirty—middle pressure.
Beside her, Commander's daughter Lady Qin—sixteen, ivory armour, smile sharp as bodkin—whispered, "Hope grey-robe luck holds, country girl."
Yue smiled back. "Hope your armour strings hold, city doll."
First Rounds – 60 paces
Arrows thudded; nobles clapped.
Lady Qin shot clean nines.
Yuan took the line, released three shafts in four heartbeats—all tens, one splitting the previous arrow.
Crowds gasped; coins changed hands.
When Yue stepped up, whispers drifted: "That's the girl the Crown Prince favoured."
She breathed once, loosed: two tens, a nine. Respectful applause, nothing like Yuan's roar.
She told herself she didn't care—until she saw Shen's slight nod: approval, not surprise. Something warm unfolded inside her.
Second Round – 80 paces, moving target
A painted deer slid on rails across the lakebank.
Lady Qin's first arrow grazed haunch—eight.
Her second flew wide—six. She bit her lip, furious.
Yuan shot next: tens again, deer painted eye gone.
Yue waited until the deer reached full speed, aimed a hand-span ahead, released—ten.
Second shaft—ten.
Gasps; even Lady Qin stared.
Yue felt her ears burn but kept her gaze forward.
From the dais Shen's voice rang: "Cadet Lan, borrow my bow for the final."
He held out his own recurve—laminated horn and gold, draw weight heavier than hers.
A public honour, impossible to refuse.
She stepped forward, accepted it; fingers brushed his—warm, steady.
He spoke low: "Trust the bow; it knows the wind."
Final Round – 100 paces, triple target
Three discs released simultaneously—left, centre, right.
Contestants had one breath to nock thrice.
Lady Qin managed two arrows: seven and eight, missed third.
Yuan cleared all—tens, crowd roaring.
Yue exhaled, raised Shen's bow.
Time slowed: first shaft away before the discs peaked, second loosed while first still flew, third drawn as second left string.
Thud-thud-thud—three centres.
Silence, then thunderous cheers.
Shen's bow had not lied; the wind had carried her aim true.
She lowered the weapon, pulse hammering ears.
Shen stood, expression unreadable except for a tiny curve at corner of mouth.
He raised the purple jade plaque. "Victor—Cadet Lan Yue."
Aftermath – Willow Shade
Noble youths surrounded her—congratulations, invitations, requests to view the famous bow.
She answered automatically, feeling adrift.
Yuan appeared first, eyes bright. "Told you—pocket money doubled. You owe me a drink."
Before she could reply Shen approached; crowd parted like reeds.
He held the plaque. "A moment, please."
He drew her aside beneath drooping willow, out of earshot but still in sight of every curious eye.
Voice quiet: "You shot well. The bow is yours, if you wish."
Her eyes widened. "Too fine for a cadet."
"Steel serves best in the right hand. Keep it—consider it… incentive to stay on rooftops when I ask."
He placed the plaque in her palm; jade warm from sun, heavier than expected.
Their hands lingered a breath too long.
He released first, stepped back, regal mask sliding into place. "Dismissed, Cadet."
Evening – Academy Barracks
White-robed girls buzzed around her cot—touching the plaque, the bow, giggling about princes.
Lady Qin passed, eyes icy. "Enjoy borrowed feathers, country girl."
Yue said nothing; she understood envy now tasted like rust.
When lamps dimmed she lay awake, fingers tracing the carved swan on jade.
Two faces hovered behind her eyelids:
Yuan—laughing, easy, pulling her toward moonlight and music.
Shen—quiet storm, handing her the world wrapped in responsibility.
She told herself swords and arrows were simpler than hearts, but the bow beside her whispered otherwise.
Late Night – Empty Drill Yard
Unable to sleep, she slipped outside, practiced draw until moon climbed high.
A shadow watched from colonnade—Shen, cloak over night-robe, come to ensure the arsenal gift was not misused.
He remained unseen, but his gaze followed every arrow that split moonlight.
When she finally lowered the bow, satisfied, he smiled faintly in the dark and left without sound—
carrying an image of a girl in white, outlined in silver, standing at the center of two converging storms.