The arrow shaft was lacquered black, the arrowhead forged of black iron; held in Zhao Yen’s hand, it seemed as heavy as a thousand catties.

Wenren Lin brushed past and walked to the weapon rack, already having chosen a bow and arrow that suited his hand.

It was a fine bow of two-stone strength, drawn against his left arm; under the corridor, his tall and slender shadow stretched all the way to Zhao Yen’s feet, upright and vigorous as though bearing the stance of one who shoots down the sun.

He was waiting for Zhao Yen to come over.

Thus Zhao Yen, with a calm expression, stepped lightly upon the slanted shadows on the ground and walked slowly forward, arriving at the position beside Wenren Lin.

Only then did Wenren Lin draw a feathered arrow from the quiver, stand sideways, feet slightly apart and level with his shoulders, and clearly demonstrate the essentials of nocking the arrow and drawing the bow one by one.

“The arrow feather rests between the index and middle fingers, three fingers hook the string. When drawing, push forward with the left arm, keep the right arm level. Let the eye guide the hand, take aim.”

Because it was a demonstration in parts, Wenren Lin deliberately slowed each motion, which instead gave rise to an air of unhurried elegance.

His cold-white joints drew the bowstring like a full moon, the chill gleam of the black-iron ring on his index finger reflecting across his profile; that elegance was thus tinged with a trace of icy severity.

At the release of his fingers, the arrow “whistled” from the string, like swift light breaking through the void.

One arrow pierced through the bullseye, the force so great that the straw target split apart, debris flying, the arrow buried three inches into the brick wall of the training ground, cracks spreading like a spiderweb, the arrow feathers still trembling unceasingly.

That arrow—had not even been honed.

Yet even so, in his hand a two-stone bow was no more than a child’s toy, merely a small trial of strength.

With skill such as his, even on horseback he could draw a seven-stone heavy bow, shoot three arrows in succession, and still never miss a single shot. His arm strength and eyesight could no longer be described merely as “fearsome.”

Zhao Yen looked at the distant, shattered straw target, and unconsciously tightened her five fingers.

The bow in her hand was the lightest from the weapon rack, smaller by a circle than the one in Wenren Lin’s hand; even so, it still felt oppressively heavy.

Wenren Lin put down his bow and turned to look at her.

It was now her turn to step up. Zhao Yen pressed her lips together, imitating Wenren Lin’s stance with one leg forward, one leg back, bow bent and arrow nocked.

Zhao Yan was frail, and each year he excused himself from the royal hunts by claiming illness; it must be that he was not skilled in archery. Zhao Yen, living in the Huayang Palace, also had little chance to practice riding and shooting.

Thus there was no need to deliberately conceal clumsiness; what had been effortless in Wenren Lin’s hand, by the time it came to her was full of flaws: either the arrow’s nock failed to catch the string properly, or the arrowhead drooped downward.

At last she managed to draw the bowstring, but her arm, weakened, trembled so much she could not aim at the target.

Heat spread across Zhao Yen’s back; wholly absorbed, she had no mind at all for what expression Wenren Lin might be wearing.

Wenren Lin looked at the wavering little Crown Prince, his gaze dark and cool, faintly suffused with the trace of a smile.

He once more took a blunt arrow, and using the shaft as a measuring rod, lightly lifted the drooping tip of Zhao Yen’s arrow, then guided it upward along the line of her arm.

Though his arrow was unsharpened, Zhao Yen could still feel the chill of the metal seeping through her clothes, sending a shiver all along its path.

The arrow finally stopped at her taut, delicate chin, and tapped lightly.

Zhao Yen involuntarily raised her chin, her throat working as she swallowed with difficulty.

The fox-fur collar covered tightly the slender neck of the little youth; his lips were clean, as though not yet grown, with no trace of the fine down that ought to appear on a young man.

Wenren Lin glanced coldly aside: “Keep the waist and back straight, do not let the neck and head lean forward.”

As he spoke, the hand he had been holding behind his back naturally reached toward the back of her neck, correcting her posture.

Zhao Yen’s fingertips trembled, and the arrow had already shot out crookedly, clanging as it struck the brick ground five zhang away, and fell.

Interrupted thus, Wenren Lin’s hand, suspended behind her neck, paused for a moment.

Zhao Yen let the light bow droop in exhaustion, turned around, and smiled a little awkwardly: “My strength is too small; I do not know when I will be able to catch even one ten-thousandth of Grand Preceptor’s skill in archery.”

Wenren Lin fixed his gaze on her clear eyes, and only after a long pause did he withdraw his hand and once more place it behind his back.

He said: “The bow in the Crown Prince’s hand is used to instruct children of tender years.”

The unspoken meaning was that she was not even equal to a ten-year-old child.

Zhao Yen pretended not to hear the scorn hidden within his words. After all, loosing that one arrow had merely been to avoid bodily contact with him.

She curved her eyes with good temper, and said sincerely: “I will study well.”

Wenren Lin laughed.

He received from the attendant the feathered arrow Zhao Yen had shot, his fingertips stroking along the finely crafted black-lacquered shaft, then flicking the iron tip with a bent finger, producing a cold, clear metallic sound.

“This feathered arrow of the Crown Prince has been sharpened. With but a small force, it can pierce through the hardest breastbone.”

He lowered his gaze, speaking slowly: “A pity that such a fine opportunity, the Crown Prince has missed.”

Missed what?

Realizing, Zhao Yen’s eyes widened slightly.

She studied Wenren Lin’s expression, but there was not the least trace of jest upon his face.

To kill Wenren Lin? Indeed, it was an excellent opportunity.

If Zhao Yen were like He Hu, reckless and impulsive, at this moment she might already have been provoked to murderous intent. But she was very clear: this sharp arrow might not necessarily reach Wenren Lin’s body, yet Wenren Lin’s hand could easily crush her neck.

She could not determine whether Wenren Lin’s madly suggestive words came from malicious teasing born of amusement, or whether he had another purpose…

Instinct told her: do not attempt to lie before Wenren Lin; to strike stone with an egg would only bring humiliation.

“I can never guess Grand Preceptor’s thoughts; therefore at times… I am indeed fearful of Grand Preceptor.”

Zhao Yen reached out to take back the arrow in his hand, striving to make her voice sound natural and sincere: “But to harm others with a hidden arrow is not the conduct of a gentleman, and I too despise it. Riding and archery are for strengthening the body; that His Highness the Prince Su should say such words, is truly terrifying.”

Some word struck Wenren Lin’s amusement, and suddenly he raised his hand to his nose, turning his head aside to laugh low.

“Strengthening the body?”

He laughed until his shoulders quivered slightly, and only after a long while did he calm, lowering his gaze to look down upon the Crown Prince before him, who seemed innocent and naïve: “First train the arm strength. Perhaps within this lifetime, the Crown Prince may be able to draw this… light bow? Who can say.”

This time, Zhao Yen could clearly see the mockery in his eyes.

She could not help but secretly gnash her teeth. To teach the heir apparent riding and archery was not for strengthening the body—was it then for going to war and killing enemies?

What was so laughable!

Enough, enough. At any rate, she was speaking in Zhao Yan’s manner of speech; let it be that this man was mocking Zhao Yan.

Yet it was still infuriating! On what grounds did he ridicule her own elder brother!

Stifling a bellyful of anger, Zhao Yen drew the bow, and spent the entire morning training her arm strength.

Returning to the Eastern Palace, both arms felt as though filled with lead, unbearably sore and aching.

Zhao Yen stiffened her slender arms, baring her teeth in pain as she let Liuying massage and loosen them, already cursing that black-hearted Wenren Lin hundreds of times in her heart.

Yet once calmed, she tasted something amiss.

In Wenren Lin’s words, there had seemed to be a measure of admonition and warning.

A man of Prince Su’s status and power never spoke idle words. Only, she did not know whether his warning was aimed at the true Zhao Yan, or whether suspicion had already risen toward her, the counterfeit…

Her heart sank; Zhao Yen furrowed her brows and shivered.

—

The Prince Su Residence carriage rolled along the long street.

Inside the swaying carriage, Wenren Lin sat steady and upright, slowly loosening the wristguard hidden beneath his wide sleeves, revealing the forearm wrapped in bandages.

The wound had clearly split open again, and a trace of blood seeped through the bandages.

At his side, Zhang Cang offered golden wound salve, unable to keep from muttering once more: “Those curs struck a treacherous blow in their assassination attempt; Your Highness’s hand still bears injury, yet you rushed back to give the little Crown Prince lessons. If you ask this humble one, that’s nothing more than a Liu Adou¹Liu Adou: Derogatory term referring to Liu Shan, son of Liu Bei of Shu Han, known as an incompetent ruler; figuratively, “a hopeless case who cannot be helped.” who cannot be supported…”

“Go and fetch that sleeve-arrow from the storeroom.”

Wenren Lin re-applied medicine and re-bandaged, cutting off Zhang Cang’s words.

“Yes… ah?”

Zhang Cang started: that thing was all effeminate, why would His Highness want it?

—

After two consecutive days of bow practice, Zhao Yen’s hands trembled for several days, to the point she could scarcely lift a brush.

Even Liuying, seeing this, felt pity and quickly had Zhang Xu send over medicated oil for loosening sinews and activating blood, persuading: “It is no great fault if Your Highness is not skilled at riding and archery, why work so desperately?”

Zhao Yen pressed down on the medicine bottle in Liuying’s hand, the touch pulling at the sore place so that she drew in a sharp breath.

“You think I’ve changed, suddenly striving with diligence?”

Disguised in the manner of the Crown Prince, her faint smile shone somewhere between boy and girl: “I am doing this deliberately. Once the medicine is applied, recovery is quick—then this ruse of hardship will no longer work.”

It was not until the next day that Liuying understood the meaning of her words.

That day Wenren Lin had said, “Military strategy, chess, and archery shall rotate in turn.” Zhao Yen had thus reckoned that these next few days it would be time for lectures on the military classics, with much of text and writing.

Though since entering the Eastern Palace she had always imitated Zhao Yan’s calligraphy, now having achieved an eight or nine-tenths resemblance, in facing a dangerous figure like Prince Su it was still not enough. To delay even a single day was a gain.

At present, with arms and legs aching so severely, even with the utmost effort her brushstrokes resembled worms crawling and snakes slithering. This way she no longer needed to feign Zhao Yan’s hand; even an immortal could not write that once-elegant script.

Wenren Lin propped his temple with one hand, calmly sweeping his gaze across her unrefined copy. After a long pause, he set it aside.

“Go and bring what this prince has prepared.” He instructed the attendant behind him.

The attendant received the order, and soon brought a lacquered box slightly longer than a palm.

Zhao Yen sat upright behind the desk, secretly observing his movements.

What was this? Could Wenren Lin be devising yet another scheme of testing and torment?

Just as she concentrated, the man seated above had already clicked open the box, taking out an exquisite piece of brass gilt, similar to a wristguard.

Wenren Lin tapped the desk lightly with a finger, signaling her: “Hand.”

Zhao Yen did not understand, and after a moment’s hesitation placed her hand upon the desk.

Her nails were trimmed neat and rounded; her palm was not like a woman’s—ten fingers slender and soft as boneless—yet neither did it bear the hardness and length that a man’s should. It was delicate and fair, refined in form.

Wenren Lin showed no expression. He reached out, lifted her sleeve, and revealed the thin, slender wrist beneath.

Zhao Yen instantly curled her fingers tight, as if facing a mortal enemy.

Sensing her tension, Wenren Lin held the gilt wristguard in one hand, pinched the fabric of her inner sleeve with the other, and raised his eyes to look at her.

Zhao Yen could only suppress the panic of wanting to withdraw her hand, and replied meekly, “My arm still hurts…”

The pulse could be disguised, but a woman’s bone structure could not be concealed; she feared Wenren Lin might discover something.

Yet Wenren Lin merely turned his attention back to her wrist, fastening the cold metal piece in place with a seamless snap.

The size was just right, the three-petaled calamus-flower design gleaming with a chill luster.

“What is… this?” Zhao Yen asked softly.

“Sleeve Calamus.”

Seeing her confusion, Wenren Lin changed to plain words: “A sleeve-arrow. A hidden weapon.”

A… hidden weapon?

Startled, Zhao Yen raised her left arm to examine it closely, and discovered that indeed this was no ordinary wristguard—beneath it was a delicate mechanism, connected to a hole as wide as a little finger.

“If the Crown Prince does not wish to have his own head pierced on the spot, then do not fumble with it blindly.”

Wenren Lin’s chilly voice came, frightening Zhao Yen into pulling it away at once. Her sore arm went rigid, no longer daring to touch it casually.

Wenren Lin gave a low laugh, leaned forward, and pointed to a raised trigger beneath her wrist. “This device is hidden, not easily detected, and requires no strength of arm. Merely aim at the target, press this trigger here, and the hidden arrow can wound anything within a hundred paces. But there are only three arrows—Crown Prince, use them sparingly.”

Zhao Yen felt as though she were holding a burning coal, unable to fathom Wenren Lin’s intent.

One cannot lightly accept what an opponent offers, lest disaster arise.

After weighing for a moment, Zhao Yen tentatively said: “There are guards protecting me in the Eastern Palace; perhaps this will not be needed.”

Wenren Lin lifted his gaze, and said leisurely: “Emperor Zhi died at the hand of a dancing girl’s assassination, Emperor Yuan perished on his return to the palace, Prince An collapsed in his bath. At the time of their deaths, which of them did not have guards by their side?”

Zhao Yen blinked, without words to rebut.

She quietly drew back her hand, hiding the cold weapon deep within her sleeve, pressing it close. Only after a long time did she muster the courage to ask: “Then Grand Preceptor, why think to bestow this upon me?”

She could not believe that Wenren Lin had chosen such a fitting ‘gift’ merely out of regard for her weak strength.

Wenren Lin looked at her for a long time, his pitch-dark eyes reflecting the dim cold light by the window, like an unfathomable frozen pool.

He gave a short laugh, leaned back against the armrest of the grand teacher’s chair, and said blandly: “Take it as repayment for the Crown Prince’s fine words of praise in the Yonglin Hall.”

Yonglin Hall? That undercurrent-laden winter banquet of surrender.

Zhao Yen could not recall ever speaking words of praise for Wenren Lin; she only felt that at this moment his expression was profound and unfathomable, as though if they locked eyes for even a moment longer, he could see through her from head to toe.

Zhao Yen clenched her fist and coughed lightly, turning her head aside to avoid his gaze.

Cold wind seeped through the window cracks, dispersing the curling warmth of the incense smoke upon the desk.

The year’s final winter snow began then, falling silently in swirls, settling into the shadowed, indiscernible depths of Wenren Lin’s eyes.

Footnotes

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  Liu Adou: Derogatory term referring to Liu Shan, son of Liu Bei of Shu Han, known as an incompetent ruler; figuratively, “a hopeless case who cannot be helped.”