Yinsi had always been the fastest learner in the Imperial Study, and horseback riding and archery were no exceptions. Within just over a month, he could effortlessly guide his pony at a steady trot.
“Really?” The little pink dumpling’s face lit up with delight.
As Ashumuergen was about to refuse, a pair of small arms wrapped around his thigh, swaying back and forth. “Anda, I’ve never ridden a horse before. This horse is so short—it can’t be dangerous at all. Please let me ride it, just once, okay?”
With a resigned expression, Ashumuergen personally lifted Yintang onto the horse, then found another horse for himself and rode behind them.
Yinsi took hold of the reins, encircling Yintang’s small body with his arm, before urging the horse forward with a “Giddy-up!”
Considering it was Yintang’s first time riding, he started by letting the horse walk slowly. Once the ninth brother had grown accustomed and no longer felt afraid, he gently shook the reins, allowing the horse to break into a light trot.
Yintang, who had never ridden a horse in modern times, found the experience both novel and fascinating. He stroked the horse’s mane, patted its neck, and exclaimed in awe, “Eighth Brother, you’re amazing! This horse listens to you so well!”
Seeing Yintang’s joy filled Yinsi with immense pride. In the past, it had always been his older brothers who took him along to play. They were all so capable—skilled in horseback riding, archery, reading, and writing—while he was always the one following and learning. Now, he could take his ninth brother along too. He could help Yintang achieve what he couldn’t do on his own. This feeling of being needed filled the emptiness in his young heart, making him feel whole.
Indeed, he must become even stronger, Yinsi thought to himself.
Along the way, Yintang asked Yinsi many questions about horses. Chatting and laughing, the two unknowingly had drawn near the archery range in front of the Archery Hall, where the elder princes practiced their riding and shooting.
“Ninth Brother, let’s go watch their training,” Yinsi suggested, noticing the unmistakable curiosity on Yintang’s little face. “Han Ama is coming today to examine their riding and archery skills. Their practice is bound to be impressive.”
“Sure!” Yintang replied. During his previous visit to select an Anda, he hadn’t paid close attention to how the princes trained. He was already curious and eager to observe, and Yinsi’s suggestion only heightened his interest.
Arriving at the archery range in front of the Archery Hall, they saw that the princes were not training together but had each been assigned a separate section of the range for individual practice. Yinzhen and Yinqi were practicing stationary archery under the guidance of their Andas. Yinzhi was also present today, riding alongside Yinti and Yinreng, weaving through the field and occasionally drawing their bows to shoot arrows—evidently practicing mounted archery.
All the older princes were there except for Yinyou.
Yintang quietly asked Yinsi, “Eighth Brother, why don’t I see Seventh Brother here?”
Yinsi explained in a low voice that Yinyou underwent treatment for his leg ailment every two days, and today was one of those days.
Yintang let out an “Oh.” Now that he thought about it, he had only met Yinyou once or twice and could barely recall his appearance. He only remembered that due to his leg ailment, Yinyou was excluded from the power struggles and ultimately managed to survive after Yinzhen ascended the throne.
Yinsi and Yintang dismounted to watch for a while. Yintang noticed that each prince’s practice area had a large quiver, which appeared to hold at least two hundred arrows. At the moment, the quivers were already more than half empty.
Yintang recalled his first training session. Back then, after Ashumuergen taught him the basic archery movements, he was made to practice drawing and shooting thirty times on the spot.
Just these thirty arrows took him two full hours to complete.
Though he was small in stature, he used a small bow and arrows suited for his age. Even if the elder princes had honed their skills through practice and could draw, nock, and aim faster than him, a rough calculation showed they had also trained for at least two hours. To finish all these arrows without rest would take nearly four hours.
If even young princes like Yinzhen and Yinqi trained this long, the elder princes like Yinti, Yinreng, and Yinzhi, who focused primarily on mounted archery, would undoubtedly train even longer.
Ruthless. Truly ruthless.
Competitive. Excessively competitive.
Yintang remembered his past life, writing academic papers day and night. Having experienced such cutthroat competition once was enough—this lifetime, he was here to be a carefree idler. He couldn’t let this wave of relentless competition sweep him up again.
Yet, beside him, Yinsi sighed with genuine admiration, “How I wish to grow up quickly, to train hard like the Eldest Prince and Crown Prince Gege, and become someone formidable.”
Yintang: …
Ashumuergen stroked his beard and nodded in agreement, “As the saying goes, the fragrance of plum blossoms comes from enduring bitter cold…”
Halfway through his remark, he noticed the little pink-cheeked boy shooting him an accusatory glare and immediately changed his tone, “Ahem, though some flowers are naturally fragrant without enduring hardship, haha, no need for bitter cold.”
As the group stood observing, a sudden commotion arose ahead—Kangxi had arrived.
Kangxi had come to examine the elder princes. Yinsi and Yintang quickly mounted their horses and were about to turn back when a eunuch rushed up to them, panting heavily, and said, “Eighth Prince, Ninth Prince, His Majesty requests your presence.”
Ah? The two young princes, caught red-handed, obediently trailed behind the eunuch like kittens carried by the scruff of their necks, heading toward the front hall.
A moment later.
The seven princes stood lined up in a row, with Yinsi and Yintang at the very end.
“Eighth Brother, why are we in the lineup too?” Yintang whispered, “Are we also being tested?”
Yinsi replied softly, “It seems so. But don’t worry—you’ve only just started training. Han Ama won’t make it difficult for you.”
Noticing the two whispering, Kangxi shot them a glance, and Yinsi and Yintang immediately fell silent and stood properly.
Seeing Yintang so uncharacteristically well-behaved, Kangxi couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly. According to Ashumuergen, the boy had trained for three hours on his very first day—surely the little fellow could barely lift his arms by now? Very well, he’d let him off easy today.
Today, Kangxi’s test was fixed-position archery.
Although the elder princes had long practiced mounted archery, fixed-position shooting tested the most fundamental skills—the kind that required solid, diligent practice. Last time, Kangxi had set a goal for the three elder princes, Yinti, Yinreng, and Yinzhi: to practice multiple arrows piercing the bullseye in succession. Not only did each arrow have to hit the center, but the subsequent arrow had to split the previous one and strike the bullseye again. This tested not only accuracy but also the strength required to draw the bow.
The target distances followed the usual rules. For the three princes aged ten and above—Yinti, Yinreng, and Yinzhi—the targets were placed at two-thirds the adult distance. For the younger princes, Yinzhen, Yinqi, and Yinsi, the targets were set at half the adult distance.
As for Yintang…
Kangxi glanced at the little bun’s short arms and stubby legs, then ordered someone to place a larger target three feet ahead.
It was a distance where one could simply bend over from the standing position to stick an arrow into the target.
Well, not particularly harmful, but thoroughly humiliating.
“Pfft—” Yinti couldn’t suppress a snicker.
Immediately, he received disdainful looks from Yinzhen, Yinqi, and Yinsi, along with a warning glare from Ashumuergen.
Yinti silently closed his mouth.
The competition order followed the princes’ ages from eldest to youngest.
Yinti was first to take the field.
Mounted archery had always been his forte, especially since he’d been training diligently every day lately—he’d already mastered shooting ten arrows through the same bullseye. Raising an eyebrow, he shot a glance at Yinreng, a confident smirk curling his lips as he strode forward gripping his longbow.
Yintang marveled inwardly at how Yinti’s bearing already carried traces of the future Prince Zhi’s majestic battlefield presence. Though many of Kangxi’s sons had seen combat, most remained in the central command tent rather than charging into battle alongside soldiers. Yinti had gone to war at nineteen, distinguishing himself with outstanding military achievements during Kangxi’s personal expedition against Galdan. These honors were earned through genuine bloodshed and valor.
Yintang couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret. Had it not been for the succession struggle, Yinti would undoubtedly have become a sharp blade of the Qing Empire.
His eyes followed Yinti as the prince drew and released ten arrows in rapid succession, the movements crisp and efficient. Each arrow split its predecessor to embed itself in the bullseye—a perfect demonstration of ten consecutive bullseye shots.
“Excellent!” The field erupted in enthusiastic applause. Even Kangxi showed approval, nodding affirmatively in Yinti’s direction.
Meeting his father’s gaze and receiving this praise, Yinti’s entire face flushed with excitement. Returning to the lineup with his bow, he deliberately bumped shoulders with Yinreng while passing, emitting a contemptuous “hmph” audible only to the princes.
Yinreng acted as if nothing had happened. Taking his own bow, he assumed position at the marker, drew the string, and likewise released ten arrows—all hitting the bullseye, with three consecutive bullseye shots among them.
At just thirteen, this performance far surpassed most his age, yet still fell short compared to Yinti’s ten consecutive bullseyes. Kangxi’s initial requirement had been four consecutive bullseyes, and missing by one meant failing to meet the standard.
Yinreng tightened his grip on the bow, pressing his lips together as he looked toward Han Ama.
Though his Han Ama didn’t criticize him aloud, disappointment lingered in his eyes. Yinreng understood this was his father’s way of preserving his dignity before the other princes. But that familiar disappointment remained what he feared most.
“If you won’t work hard, how can you be a proper Crown Prince? If you don’t wish to serve well as Crown Prince, then I’ve no reason to cherish you so. You’ve disappointed me greatly.” When he was six, merely mentioning that studying felt arduous had provoked rare fury from Han Ama. The look in his father’s eyes then had held this same disappointment. That day, Han Ama coldly delivered those words and didn’t visit him for three days.
He’d truly believed then that Han Ama had abandoned him.
And in the vast Forbidden City, he had no family besides Han Ama.
He still remembered curling up in the study chair, his entire being as if adrift in an endless icy sea. Looking around, there was nothing but the gloomy, collapsing horizon and the deep, frigid waters.
That feeling of utter despair and helplessness—Yinreng remembered it vividly even now.
As he grew older, there was more to learn, and Han Ama’s expectations grew increasingly demanding. Whenever he failed to meet those expectations, Han Ama would show the exact same disappointed expression he had worn on that day when Yinreng was six.
Yinreng felt as though a thousand needles were piercing his heart.
He pressed his lips tightly together, his face pale, and returned to his place in line.
Next was Yinzhi, who also managed four or five consecutive bullseyes.
Yinreng’s already fair complexion grew even paler, his crimson-thin lips pressed into a taut line.
Yintang couldn’t help but think, It seems being the Crown Prince comes with immense pressure. Peer pressure truly exists everywhere.
Yinzhen, Yinqi, and Yinsi then stepped forward one by one to complete their archery.
Yinzhen hit eight arrows, but one missed the target. As Yinzhen returned, Yinti let out a whistle. Yinzhen, who had been calm-faced moments before, suddenly darkened his expression, hung his head, and shrank back into the lineup.
Yinqi patted Yinzhen’s shoulder before stepping out to shoot. Among the younger Princes, his archery was the best—every shot hit the mark.
Though Yinsi was the youngest, he was no less impressive, hitting the bullseye with nine out of ten arrows.
While Yinzhen genuinely felt happy for his fifth and eighth brothers, he couldn’t deny his own disappointment over his poor performance. He knew his physical coordination had never been strong since childhood, yet facing this kind of “public execution” always left him feeling dejected.
Taking all this in, Yintang’s grip on his small bow gradually tightened.
Earlier, he had heard from Yinsi that such contests were held regularly to assess their training progress. Since it was a competition, there were naturally rankings, and Kangxi intended it to motivate the Princes to train diligently. Those who performed exceptionally were occasionally rewarded.
But Yintang knew that athletic talent was innate. While less gifted children could improve through practice, that progress was relative only to themselves. After all, under the same intensity of training, those with greater natural talent often advanced faster.
From Yintang’s perspective, which upheld the principle of “teaching students according to their aptitude,” such contests were of little use. Instead, they harmed more than helped—undermining the confidence of those who lagged behind, fostering excessive competitiveness in the advantaged, and hindering the development of teamwork among the children.
Otherwise, why would there be Yinti’s arrogant behavior, Yinzhen’s perpetually bowed head, or Yinreng’s ever-tightened thin lips?
Yintang grew increasingly convinced that the Twice Deposed Crown Prince and the struggle for the throne among the nine princes were closely linked to Kangxi’s intense, competitive educational philosophy.
After all, there was only one throne, and raising contenders required caution.
Of course, there wasn’t much time left for analysis—he was next to step forward.
The moment Yinsi returned to the line, all eyes in the arena turned to this little pink-cheeked child who hadn’t yet reached an adult’s knee height.