Chapter 52: When the Wolf Strikes Back

Beauty and brutality were never meant to coexist.

At least, that was what the elders always said—flowery fists, embroidered legs. The prettier the move, the weaker it was. True strength had no patience for elegance.

And yet, Xie Jingxing shattered that belief without effort.

He sat low on his horse, lance steady, posture relaxed—as if the battlefield itself bent to his will. Handsome, yes. But in that moment, there was something far more dangerous about him. Like a war god carved from flesh and blood. A presence forged in iron and fire. Impossible to ignore.

His purple robes snapped like lightning in motion. His steed surged forward, each stride pounding against the earth, stirring something restless in the crowd. It wasn’t just speed—it was control. A quiet command that pulled every gaze toward him.

A beautiful wolf, someone thought. Noble. Untouchable. Deadly.

Not far behind, Xie Changchao and Xie Changwu exchanged a glance.

Then they split.

Left and right, they moved to close in on him—an obvious pincer. Two against one. No attempt to hide it.

A ripple of surprise swept through the crowd.

“Xie Jingxing is quite the talent,” Fu Xiuyi remarked lightly.

The Prince of Zhou scoffed. “Talent? He’s nothing but unruly. Even Xie Ding can’t manage him. Sounds more like trouble than promise.”

Fu Xiuyi only smiled.

Unruly? Perhaps.

But not weak.

Men who feared nothing rarely needed to scheme. And Xie Jingxing… clearly had nothing to fear.

That kind of confidence didn’t come from arrogance. It came from certainty.

A pity, really.

Fu Xiuyi’s gaze lingered on the young man below. Someone like that—how useful he would have been.

If only he hadn’t been born into the Lin’an Marquis’s household.

Some things were destined to be removed.

On the field, the trap tightened.

The two brothers advanced with precision, their twin lances flashing in practiced coordination. From a distance, it looked flawless—a perfect net closing in.

But Xie Jingxing moved.

Effortlessly.

He slipped through their attacks like water through fingers. A tilt here, a turn there—each movement precise, economical. What should have been airtight became laughably fragile.

Again and again, he broke their rhythm.

Again and again, he escaped.

It didn’t look like a fight.

It looked like a performance.

“Heavens…” Bai Wei gasped, covering her mouth. “He’s playing with them.”

Yi Peilan nodded slowly. “Compared to him… their skill feels like nothing more than show.”

Even the men could see it now.

Xie Jingxing could have ended it already.

Instead, he didn’t.

He dragged it out.

Like a predator that had already caught its prey—but wasn’t done enjoying the hunt.

“Young Marquis Xie is terrifying,” Feng Anning whispered. “The Xie brothers… they won’t recover from this.”

Shen Miao lowered her gaze.

Her fingers hovered over the Go board.

Recover?

No.

This was only the opening move.

A white stone clicked softly into place.

Two black stones vanished.

On the board, a space opened.

On the field, something else did too.

Rage.

Xie Changwu’s expression twisted. Humiliation burned hot in his chest, sharper with every passing second. They weren’t losing—they were being toyed with. Stripped of dignity in front of everyone.

And Xie Jingxing knew it.

That half-smile on his lips—mocking, effortless—was unbearable.

Why?

Why did he get everything?

The heir’s title. The Marquis’s favor. That unshakable presence. As if he stood above them all, like a tiger guarding its territory, leaving no room for others to breathe.

Hatred surged.

The mask cracked.

With a roar, Xie Changwu lunged.

His lance drove forward—fast, ruthless.

But not at Xie Jingxing.

At the horse.

The strike landed.

A collective gasp tore through the crowd.

Unspoken rules shattered in an instant.

No one attacked the mount.

No one.

Because everyone knew what followed—falls, broken bones, snapped necks. Death.

This wasn’t a competition anymore.

It was something else.

Xie Changchao understood immediately.

And he didn’t hesitate.

His horse surged forward, aiming straight for Xie Jingxing.

If he fell—

They would trample him.

The audience erupted. Screams, shouts, disbelief. Some covered their eyes. Others froze where they stood.

Even Feng Anning cried out.

Shen Miao’s hand stilled.

Her gaze lifted.

Calm. Unshaken.

This… was the move she had been waiting for.

On the field, the black stallion reared, a sharp neigh cutting through the chaos. Its front legs kicked into the air, body twisting violently.

In that instant—

Xie Jingxing moved.

The lance spun in his hand, fluid, almost beautiful. Then—

A strike.

Clean. Precise.

The charging horses stumbled, legs tangling as if caught by an unseen snare. They crashed to the ground in a heavy, jarring fall.

Before anyone could even react—

He was already in the air.

Light. Effortless.

Like something not bound to the earth at all.

His lance turned—

Xie Changwu was thrown off his horse.

A flick of his wrist—

A pebble shot through the air, striking the joint of Xie Changchao’s mount.

Another fall.

In the blink of an eye, both brothers lay sprawled on the ground.

Silence followed.

Then—

Xie Jingxing landed.

One foot came down on Xie Changchao’s shoulder, pinning him in place. The lance hovered just above Xie Changwu’s head.

His lips curved.

That same half-smile.

“You even dare to sneak attack your brother?” he said lazily. “Truly… overestimating yourselves.”