*Whoosh.*
A black-feathered arrow streaked through the air, striking a jagged rock before clattering to the ground with a sharp *thwack*.
The sound of the arrow landing was accompanied by a derisive snort.
Bailao leaned lazily against the rockery, a peach in one hand and two apricots tucked into her robes, looking for all the world like a mischievous monkey.
“If you keep shooting like that, you’ll grind the arrowhead flat against the stone.”
Xiao Nanhui lowered her longbow, frowning as she adjusted the new archer’s ring on her thumb. “I’m just not used to it yet. The draw feels awkward. A few more rounds of practice should do it.”
Looking as though she couldn't bear to watch any longer, Bailao vaulted down from the rocks. She plucked a stray arrow from the ground and turned back toward the rockery.
The rockery was a gnarled, grotesque formation. In its center was a tiny, narrow crevice, barely an inch long and extremely thin, resembling a keyhole carved into the stone.
Bailao tried to shove the arrow into the hole. The tip barely went halfway in before it jammed tight.
“Look for yourself. You can’t even push it in by hand, and you expect to shoot it in with a bow?” She tossed the arrow aside and took a large bite of her peach. “The Marquis only set this task to make you give up. Why are you so stubborn?”
Xiao Nanhui shot her a sideways glance. “You weren't there when my foster father told me about this. How would you know what he was thinking?”
*Did I need to be there? The facts are right in front of us!* Bailao grumbled inwardly, though she kept the thought to herself. Xiao Nanhui was a stubborn soul; talking to her was like talking to a wall.
Xiao Nanhui ignored her, busying herself with gathering the scattered arrows.
This was a pact between her and Xiao Zhun. No matter what others said, she had always held it close to her heart.
When she was a child, Xiao Zhun had hired instructors to teach her riding and archery. But she was small then, her frame not yet grown, and she couldn't draw a full bow. She couldn't hit a target even at a hundred paces, and she had been punished frequently for it.
Once, she had seen an exquisite bow in Xiao Zhun’s room. It looked delicate and slender, and she had wanted to use it for practice, but Xiao Zhun had refused.
He told her it was not a bow meant for the battlefield. Practicing with it would only sap her strength, doing her more harm than good.
Seeing her disappointment, Xiao Zhun had brought her to this rockery. He told her that if she could shoot an arrow into this tiny hole from a hundred paces away, he would give her that bow as a gift.
Ten years had passed since that promise. She still came to this rockery in the backyard to practice from time to time, yet in all those years, she had never once succeeded.
She tucked the arrows into her quiver and approached the small hole, inspecting it closely. The stone around it was riddled with pits and scars from countless arrow strikes, a dense map of her failures.
For a fleeting moment, a voice whispered in the corner of her mind: *Has Xiao Zhun ever seen these efforts?*
“Given up? Want me to help you chisel that hole a bit wider? I bet the Marquis wouldn't even notice...”
Bailao’s suggestion was cut short as a round apricot was stuffed into her mouth.
Xiao Nanhui brushed her hands together and gave her a languid look. “I refuse to believe an apricot this size can’t keep you quiet.” She tossed her bow and quiver to the other girl. “I’m going to see Aunt Dai. Put these back in my room.”
Bailao spat the apricot out, glaring indignantly at Nanhui’s retreating back. “I was trying to help, and you call me noisy? I see how it is! You’d better not come asking me for anything later! If you do, I won't help you!”
The other girl didn't even turn her head as she walked away. Bailao let out a few more frustrated huffs before finally pouting and flopping back onto the rocks.
***
The Marquis of Qinghuai’s estate was vast, but most of its courtyards sat empty. Some had remained unused since the manor was built, receiving only periodic clearings of fallen leaves and weeds. Because no one lived in them, Xiao Nanhui often preferred to scale the walls when moving from one place to another; the manor’s paths were winding, and jumping walls saved a great deal of time.
However, when visiting Aunt Dai, she always entered through the main gate, as the walls of the secluded side courtyard were built much higher than the others.
A bronze lock hung on the gate of the side courtyard. When Xiao Nanhui knocked, there was only silence from within.
After a moment, she pulled out a key, unlocked the gate, and stepped inside, carefully closing it behind her.
A woman with long hair sat on a swing in the courtyard. From behind, she looked exceptionally graceful. Her raven-black hair was loosely braided and hung down to her waist, swaying gently with the motion of the swing.
“Aunt Dai.”
The woman didn't seem to hear her, continuing to hum a tune as she swung.
Nanhui stepped forward and called again.
Only then did the woman stop and slowly turn around. She possessed a face with the same sharp, defined features as Xiao Zhun. Though the years had left their mark, her brows were still dark, her eyes deep and gentle. However, a deep, jagged scar marred her pale face, running from her left temple all the way down to the right corner of her mouth. Her once-full lips had been torn apart by the wound, stripping away any trace of delicate beauty.
“Are we finally leaving? I’ve waited so long, but no one came to call for me.”
Nanhui offered a regretful smile and gestured for her to stay seated. “The carriage we were to use broke down. The steward went to fix it.”
A look of disappointment clouded the woman’s face. “How could such a thing happen? That driver must have grown lazy. How long will it take to fix? Half a day? A full day?”
“Perhaps half a day, perhaps a full day.”
“Then maybe we can leave tomorrow? That shouldn't be too late. Huan-ge’er is waiting for me.”
Though she had witnessed this scene countless times, Xiao Nanhui still felt a pang of bitterness in her heart. She spoke as softly as possible, as if coaxing a child who refused to sleep. “Huan-ge’er has grown up; he is sensible now. He won't cry over such a small thing.”
A look of relief appeared on Aunt Dai’s face. She stood and walked to a corner of the wall, pointing to marks carved into the brick. “I only measured his height last month. He’s still just a child, after all. You mustn't be too hard on him.”
Nanhui stared at the marks on the wall—marks that had never moved higher—and nodded seriously. “You’re right. Perhaps Huan-ge’er is just growing so fast that I keep thinking of him as half an adult.”
Aunt Dai finally smiled. Then, remembering something, she pulled Xiao Nanhui toward the house.
The small cottage in the side courtyard was elegant and refined, but its windows were all sealed shut, and the door had been specially modified to be locked from the outside at night. Aunt Dai knew nothing of this; by the time the locks were turned, she was always fast asleep.
“Look, I just finished weaving this ribbon today. I’m not entirely satisfied with it yet, but it’s starting to take shape.” The woman took a silk ribbon from the loom. The pattern was intricate and beautiful, clearly the result of great effort.
“It’s truly lovely,” Nanhui praised sincerely.
“Of course it is. I tried several different weaving techniques.” The woman looked a bit proud, a youthful, girlish charm appearing on her face that belied her age. “Once I settle on a pattern, I can weave a few more for A-Heng and the others. Jin-ge’er is still too small to use one. But A-Zhun can use it; he’ll be having his capping ceremony in two years. It will make a perfect waist sash. Do you think he’ll be much sturdier by then? I can weave it a bit longer; if it’s too long, I can always trim it...”
The woman drifted into her own thoughts, her slender fingers tracing the colorful silk threads as if she had already decided how to craft the next ribbon.
Xiao Nanhui listened in silence, quietly tucking the finished ribbon into her sleeve.
Aunt Dai’s given name was Xiao Dai. She was Xiao Zhun’s aunt, the younger sister of the late Prince Shuo, Xiao Qing. She was also Xiao Zhun’s only living relative.
Fifteen years ago, during the Yu’an Incident, dozens of people at the Xiao family’s secondary residence were slaughtered. Only two survived. When Xiao Zhun found Aunt Dai, she had been thrown into a dry well in the courtyard, barely clinging to life. She lay unconscious for a month, and when she finally woke, her memory was frozen on the day before the massacre. She had never left that day behind.
Xiao Zhun knew that Aunt Dai’s survival must have been an oversight by their enemies. If word got out that she was alive, those seeking to silence the family would surely return. After careful consideration, he ensured that from the moment he established his own manor, Aunt Dai never stepped foot outside this courtyard.
Aside from Xiao Zhun and Nanhui, only Chen Si, Duquan, and Bailao knew of Aunt Dai’s existence. They took turns visiting the side courtyard to tend to her needs and talk with her, year after year, without fail.
These tasks didn't necessarily fall to Xiao Nanhui, but in the past, she had harbored a flicker of hope and would often sneak in on her own. She felt that if they talked enough, Aunt Dai might one day remember something.
Yet as the years passed, Aunt Dai spoke only of the same things, her emotions never wavering. If not for the scar on her face, Nanhui would often forget the tragedy that had befallen her.
But she knew there was one person who would never forget. That person was Xiao Zhun.
Xiao Zhun provided Aunt Dai with the very best of everything, yet he rarely visited the side courtyard himself. Xiao Nanhui suspected he couldn't bear to look at Aunt Dai’s face and feel the weight of his own guilt. In truth, that guilt was misplaced; when the bloodbath occurred, he was merely a youth himself. It was a miracle he had escaped with his own life; he could not have undone the tragedy that had already unfolded.
Of course, he couldn't undo it now, either.
And in the future, it would be even more impossible.
This was Xiao Zhun’s eternal pain.
She often thought that if the Xiao family hadn't suffered such a violent upheaval, Xiao Zhun would be more carefree and spirited today, more prone to laughter. Though he still wore a gentle smile, Nanhui felt that his expression was often tinged with loneliness and restraint, like something that might scatter in the wind. Since the age of sixteen, Xiao Zhun’s happiness had always been fleeting.
If there was any way to lead him out of that shadow, she was willing to try. What he could not do himself, she would do for him.
Xiao Nanhui gripped the ribbon in her sleeve, her resolve hardening once more.
Xiao Zhun had once vowed to spend his life on the battlefield for the Sovereign’s heart.
So would she.
But her "Sovereign" was not the same as his; she had only ever sought the heart of one man.
***
