In every royal hunting event throughout history, the “first shot” was always taken by the reigning Sovereign. This act served as a grand symbol of imperial majesty and the unshakeable power of the throne.
In a lush hunting forest like this, rare and exotic beasts were no strange sight. One would expect the Son of Heaven’s first arrow to fell—if not a great eagle of the nine heavens or a swift tiger or leopard—at least something substantial enough to allow the assembled officials to offer a few words of praise.
Ruan Jinyu stood at the edge of the grounds, his eyelids heavy and his body still. When he finally looked up, he was so shocked he nearly fainted.
He watched as the Emperor, who had ridden out with such majestic flair to take the first shot, now returned with equal majesty… while dangling a small wild rabbit in his hand.
…A small wild rabbit?
Ruan Jinyu was utterly flabbergasted. He had taken Yan Yan’s earlier words as a mere joke, but who could have known that Yan Yan would actually return with a bunny!
His lips parted and closed several times, words failing him. He remained speechless.
There was no question about it: it wasn’t just Ruan Jinyu. Everyone surrounding the Hawk-Training Platform—ministers, members of the royal family, and noble scions alike—was stunned into silence at the sight of the Sovereign of Nanyu holding a rabbit.
This was unprecedented! Nothing of the sort had ever happened before!
The first shot was intended to set an auspicious tone for the event. Yan Yan was the Son of Heaven; now that he had hunted a tiny rabbit, what would the world say? How would they view him?
“What an outrage! This is improper! What kind of decorum is this—!?”
Ruan Jinyu’s tent was some distance from the primary platform, so the elder officials nearby felt less constrained by protocol. They stroked their beards and muttered their grievances, though they kept their voices low. But for Ruan Jinyu and Shen Changlang, who were standing right there, every word was audible.
Ruan Jinyu did not turn around, but beside him, Shen Changlang suddenly burst into laughter.
Ruan Jinyu glanced sideways, only to find Shen’s gaze fixed not on the field, but on him. The laughter was far from mysterious.
“Worried? Irritated?” Shen Changlang was standing straight for once, having dropped his usual slouching, irreverent posture, but his tongue remained sharp. “Hah, it’s fine. The Imperial Preceptor is a man of wide experience, after all.”
While his words seemed to address the muttering of the elders behind them, the true target was clear.
“Why are you here?” Ruan Jinyu turned, his tone characteristically flat. “Prince Wu’an’s seat is currently unattended.”
It was common knowledge that Shen Changlang owed his current position as Commander to the patronage of Prince Wu’an. Shen never hid this fact from others; even though the former Second Prince was now a Prince with less power than others, Shen remained unashamedly loyal, content to serve his interests.
Shen Changlang only smiled. “His Highness is considerate of me. He knows the burden of this hunting competition falls on my shoulders. Formalities can be waived. My Prince has always been thus.”
Ruan Jinyu simply nodded, offering no further comment, and returned his gaze to the field.
Regarding the Emperor hunting a rabbit for the first shot, the matter could be viewed as either monumental or trivial.
Viewed as monumental, the omen of the first shot was vital to the face of the monarch and the imperial family. Viewed as trivial, no matter how dissatisfied the ministers were, no one would dare criticize the Sovereign to his face.
If someone were to speak up now and say, “Your Majesty, a rabbit lacks the ferocity of a wild beast and fails to manifest the imperial majesty,” that person would be guilty of disrespecting the Sovereign and the Heavenly Way. If someone said, “Your Majesty, hunting a rabbit is a poor omen,” that person would be accused of harboring a treacherous heart.
There was no rigid rule specifying what must be hunted for the first shot. As for “auspicious omens,” they only existed if one chose to believe in them. Whether an omen was good or bad depended entirely on the tongues of men—what they chose to say and what they chose to believe.
However, while people were currently fawning over Yan Yan in person, the whispers behind closed doors would undoubtedly grow. This was unavoidable. Ruan Jinyu realized this, but he didn’t particularly care. Yan Yan’s reputation had been poor since the day he took the throne; it could only get a bit worse from here.
If the Emperor didn’t care, why should the Preceptor worry?
With the first shot concluded, the Emperor granted the signal for the hunt to truly begin. The tall, sturdy men on horseback, who had been waiting with bated breath, surged forward in a roar of activity, each competing to claim the top prize. The competitive spirit of the other participants remained untouched by the rabbit incident. Their own strength and rewards were, after all, their own.
Outside, the sun was scorching. Ruan Jinyu watched the light filtering through the swaying tent flaps; a stray beam hit his cheek and blinded him for a moment, causing him to retreat a step.
Their tent was at the very edge. It was smaller and less grand than the primary ones, and to allow those inside to view the entire field, the partitions were made of light gauze that billowed in the wind.
Halfway through the competition, Shen Changlang left the tent. As the lead officer, it was time for him to take his men and get to work. Ruan Jinyu did not follow him.
When that segment of the competition ended, the participants received the imperial word to return to their tents for rest. Ruan Jinyu didn’t leave immediately, intending to wait for Shen Changlang to return and confirm everything was in order. However, the Emperor’s messengers arrived first.
This time, it wasn’t Eunuch Hong En.
Ruan Jinyu rose before he even had time to see who was lifting the tent flap. Yan Yan entered with his usual lack of formality and sat down. “Teacher, sit.”
Ruan Jinyu sat, noticing a person following behind the Sovereign. It was a young eunuch he didn’t recognize. What caught his eye, however, was what the boy was cradling in his arms: a grey-and-white rabbit.
The rabbit. The same “great” rabbit that the Son of Heaven had just hunted for his first shot. The eunuch scurried forward, stopping right in front of Ruan Jinyu.
“Does Teacher like it?”
Ruan Jinyu stared at the rabbit for a long time. Facing the Emperor’s unreadable question, he could only offer a dazed, hollow laugh. He truly didn’t know how to respond.
The young eunuch bent his knees and lowered himself so the seated Preceptor could get a better look. Ruan Jinyu glanced at him; the boy’s head was bowed so low he was practically buried in the rabbit’s fur, his expression invisible. Ruan Jinyu didn’t dwell on it and reached out to take the animal.
As he did, he realized the rabbit was uninjured.
This meant the Emperor hadn’t even fired an arrow; he had caught the rabbit alive. When he had returned earlier, the distance had been too great for Ruan Jinyu to see its condition clearly.
Why go to such lengths?
Ruan Jinyu lowered his eyes and said, “Your Majesty overwhelms this servant. I truly thought it was mere playfulness.”
Yan Yan’s face remained devoid of much emotion. “The Sovereign speaks no idle words. Teacher should know this.”
Then it is my fault, Ruan Jinyu thought. He bowed slightly. “This servant was narrow-minded.”
“You may go,” Yan Yan said. “My words were not meant to trouble Teacher, as you should know.” The Emperor’s expression today held a certain depth—profound and cold—and as he spoke, a rare touch of unbridled freedom seemed to ripple through him. “My words were not a jest. I hope Teacher likes this rabbit.”
Without waiting for Ruan Jinyu to recover or respond, the Emperor turned and left, saying Consort Qin was looking for him.
Only when the figure had completely disappeared did Ruan Jinyu snap out of it. He jerked his left hand; in that split second, the rabbit had bitten his index finger.
There was no blood, only a small, two-lined tooth mark surrounded by redness. It stung. Ruan Jinyu instinctively hissed and pulled his hand back, barely managing to keep from dropping the animal.
He ignored the pain, gathered the rabbit in his arms, and rose to leave. He didn’t wait for Shen Changlang. He took a shortcut back toward the sleeping tents. A rabbit was difficult to manage and shouldn’t be seen by others, lest more rumors began to fly. This wasn’t just about his reputation; it was about the integrity of the recruitment hunt. He had to be careful.
He brought the rabbit back to his own tent, fed it, and secured it properly. Only then did he leave the tent.
Shen Changlang finished his duties and came to find him for a drink. As the Commander had noted, he was a rough soldier at heart. Though he had studied and possessed some talent, he refused to act like a refined scholar. His speech was often blunt and lacked filter.
Now, having consumed some wine, he began to ramble. “I really don’t understand. I don’t understand any of it anymore.”
Ruan Jinyu knew nothing good followed such a beginning. He immediately tried to cut him off. “Not understanding is good! It’s good, truly!”
Even though they were alone, Ruan Jinyu felt it was unwise to let such thoughts be voiced. Regardless of whom they concerned.
Shen Changlang ignored him, drained another cup, and grinned. “You… you’re a funny one. I don’t like you, do you know why? You, Ruan Jinyu… you’re full of pretension, always posing, always affected!”
“…”
Ruan Jinyu fell silent and simply watched him speak.