Chapter 47: One Devastating Answer

 

"A person without credibility cannot stand."

Shen Miao let the words fall into the silence like stones into still water, clear and unhurried. Every syllable landed.

"These rules were proposed by Cai Lin himself. Now he is going back on his word." She let her gaze move briefly to Official Cai, just long enough to be deliberate. "Is this how Official Cai conducts himself in the officialdom as well? Once the tide turns unfavorable — do you simply change the rules?"

The air in the venue had shifted.

Not long ago, Cai Lin's own voice had rung through this same space: The Guangwen Hall has never set a precedent specifically for certain individuals. The challenger sets the rules. What's the matter — is the mighty General's daughter such a coward?

Those words still lived in the ears of everyone present. And now here was Shen Miao, returning them with surgical precision, each one a blade turned back in its owner's direction. Official Cai's mouth opened and closed. Nothing came out. The silence that followed was its own kind of answer, and the cold sweat that broke across his forehead confirmed the rest.

There were colleagues from the officialdom present today — friends, yes, but rivals too. If Shen Miao's words found their way to the wrong ears, who could say what poison might be brewed from them? And worse, members of the royal family were watching. If imperial suspicion were aroused — not just Cai Lin, but the entire Cai family would feel the weight of what happened here today.

"The young lady from the Shen family speaks correctly."

The voice came from the Prince of Yu. He was smiling — a strange, tilted smile directed at Shen Miao — as he continued: "Official Cai, rules established by Young Master Cai should naturally be followed through by himself."

A murmur moved through the crowd. The Prince of Yu extending kindness on someone's behalf was not something any of them had seen before. Every gaze swung toward Shen Miao, loaded with different things — understanding, curiosity, contempt, calculation.

Across the space, the Prince of Zhou and the Prince of Jin exchanged a glance. The Prince of Jin exhaled quietly. "Even the Royal Uncle has spoken up."

The Prince of Zhou considered this, then said lightly, "Perhaps we'll have a young royal aunt?" He seemed to find this amusing in a way he couldn't entirely explain, and shook his head without adding more.

With the Prince of Yu having spoken, there was nothing Official Cai could do with his fury but swallow it. He forced the words out through a locked jaw: "Yes… This official was not thorough in his consideration." He shot Cai Lin a look that was equal parts pity and wrath, then turned and walked away.

---

Cai Lin watched his father's retreating back and felt the ground shift beneath him.

He had assumed Shen Miao was all words — formidable in speech, hollow in substance. But when he turned and found her eyes already on him, something unexpected moved through him. She was not performing composure. She simply possessed it — the absolute stillness of a predator that has already decided. How did a girl barely out of her childhood produce that feeling in a grown man?

He dropped his voice low. "If you harm me, the Cai family will not let you off."

It was a threat, yes — but also a plea dressed as one. If her arrow veered even slightly, his life was forfeit. He had seen arrows go wrong before, hunting with friends — seen them find an eye, a throat, places that brought slow and horrible deaths. He was now standing precisely where that prey had stood.

He pressed further, his voice quieter still. "If you're sensible this time — in the future, I won't trouble you at Guangwen Hall."

He watched her face for any sign of yielding. He needed her to understand: pull the string for show, let the arrow fall soft, and this could end peacefully for both of them.

Shen Miao raised an eyebrow at him.

Just slightly. Just enough.

She had seen this kind before — many times, across a lifetime she was not supposed to remember. The bullies who folded the moment something pushed back. They would yield today, smile prettily, make their promises — and the moment the danger passed, they would resume their old habits, except sharper now, carrying the additional motivation of wounded pride.

A badger cub that had never met anything stronger than itself, swaggering through the forest until a wolf appeared. It would retreat. It would bare its teeth in apology. And given half a chance, given any chance, it would try again.

But she had never been a wolf.

She was a tiger. And the only way to ensure this particular badger never tested her again was to do something a wolf would not — to close her jaws completely, so that it could never again gather the nerve to approach.

She smiled at him. A small, smooth, unhurried smile.

"I asked you before," she said. "I'm standing right here — do you dare to kill me? Your archery skills already gave me that answer."

A pause, measured and deliberate.

"Now the question is before me. Would you like to hear my answer?"

Her face was still a young girl's face — soft lines, traces of youth not yet burned away, the kind of face that in different circumstances might be described as pitiful and sweet, like a spring sprout too tender for this world. But her words landed with the weight of iron, and the smile behind them was something else entirely.

"I dare."

She turned and walked to the shooting platform.

---

Cai Lin stood where she had left him, unable to move, until the examining official called his name and the sound reached him from some distance away. He blinked back into the present. Around him, faces were watching — not him, not really. They were watching the platform, watching her, their expressions bright with the specific anticipation of people who have sensed that something worth witnessing is about to happen.

His gaze drifted to the women's section. Shen Yue was there in her pink robes, speaking to someone beside her, not even turned toward the platform. Not watching. And he felt, in the middle of everything else, a strange small sting — the feeling that what he was doing right now, standing here like this, had made him into something contemptible in his own eyes.

He had started this. He could not retreat from it now. If he lost to a girl — a girl — the Cai family's dignity in this capital would be a thing people whispered about for years. And Shen Yue was right there. He straightened himself inwardly and reached for logic: Shen Miao was terrifying in speech, yes. But speech was one thing. Action was another. Even with a life-and-death agreement in place, killing someone was not a simple matter to explain away afterward. She would not dare. She could not dare.

Understanding this, he rebuilt his composure piece by piece. He walked to the white line three zhang away, placed the fruit on his head, and stood.

---

In the stands, Xie Jingxing spoke without looking up. "Guess — will she hit the target or not?"

"Of course not." Su Mingfeng turned to look at him. "Setting aside whether she has the nerve to wound Cai Lin — does she even have the skill? Young ladies from noble households rarely touch a bow. And Shen Miao, based on everything you know from Jing City — she's not skilled at anything."

Xie Jingxing made a soft sound, something between amusement and certainty. "Not necessarily."

"Are you starting another bet?"

"Why bother? I've already seen the outcome."

Su Mingfeng had long since learned to live with his friend's cryptic certainties. "And what outcome is that?"

Xie Jingxing replied, entirely at ease: "You lose."

---

In the women's section, Shen Yue was watching the platform now, though she had tried not to. Something cold had settled in her chest. She leaned toward Chen Ruoqiu and asked, quietly: "Mother — will she shoot and wound Young Master Cai?"

"Of course not." Chen Ruoqiu had noticed her daughter's distraction all afternoon, the way Shen Miao kept drawing Shen Yue's attention without appearing to try. She was still too young to mask the things she felt, and that worried her. She kept her tone gentle and certain. "How could it be so easy to hit the target? Drawing a bow requires strength. When has your Fifth Sister ever drawn a bow or shot an arrow in this household? She would probably struggle just to fully extend the draw. Don't overthink this. Your Fifth Sister is simply playing around."

Was Shen Miao simply playing around?

She was not.

She raised her hand. Nocked the arrow. Drew the bow.

The movements were unhurried and entirely without performance — the motion of someone who had done this so many thousands of times that the body needed no instruction from the mind. No trembling at the draw. No visible effort to hold steady. No hesitation in the form. She stood the way people stand when what they are doing is simply natural, and every person watching felt the difference between this and what they had expected.

The crowd had gone completely still.

The arrow left the string.

It moved with intention — that was the only word for it — cutting through the silence with the certainty of something that had always known where it was going.

And then it struck.

In the absolute quiet that followed, the sound of the arrowhead meeting its mark was small and crisp and final.

And the arrowhead carried a touch of red.