The backyard of the Princess’s residence was a small training ground, originally used daily by Xia Hongying for exercises. These days, Qiu Xinran came here every day to practice, and she noticed that her arm strength had indeed improved considerably.
She stood before the target, drew her bow with a straight back and extended arms, eyes focused, expression serious. At first glance, she looked impressively competent. After ten arrows, four missed the target completely, four hit the outer rings, and only two landed near the bullseye.
She happily lowered her bow, ran to pick up the fallen arrows, and turned to see Xia Xiuyan sitting in the shade, looking as if he couldn’t bear to watch.
“Patience is a virtue,” Qiu Xinran said, hugging the arrows. “I’ve only been practicing for a few days. To achieve this already is not easy.”
“You’re very optimistic,” Xia Xiuyan mocked. “Tell me—when you were originally teamed with Zheng Yuanwu, what were you planning to say to him?”
Qiu Xinran, parched after practicing all afternoon, grabbed a cup of tea and drank deeply before answering thoughtfully, “I would have said that day on the mountain, the shot was accidental—pure luck.”
Xia Xiuyan snorted, eyes mocking. “Do you think the Imperial Guards are amateurs? You hit him by accident? Then his death would have been deserved.”
“What could I do?” Qiu Xinran sighed. “Isn’t this all because of what you said before the Emperor?”
He squinted. “Who barged into Jinhe Palace that night and ruined the setup I arranged?”
Fearing he might dredge up old grievances, Qiu Xinran quickly conceded, “You’re right. Cause and effect… It’s most appropriate that I resolve this matter.”
“Hmph,” the boy snorted. Qiu Xinran continued cautiously: “But as you just said, the Imperial Guard wasn’t ordinary. That you could pin his robe with a single arrow shows your archery skill must be far superior.”
She observed his expression while speaking. Though still cold, his demeanor had softened slightly, which made her inwardly smile. Seizing the moment, she asked, “But I don’t understand why you’re willing to get involved in this mess now?”
Xia Xiuyan glanced at her. “If I don’t get involved, will you expose the lie during the autumn hunt and drag me into it too?”
Qiu Xinran’s heart steadied. She stopped dodging and spoke frankly: “You’re right. But even with my current progress, it’s impossible for me to shoot a perfect bullseye by the autumn hunt. You must already have a plan.”
He looked at her with a half-smile. “What plan did you have in mind?”
Qiu Xinran boldly analyzed: “You, the Second Prince, are proud and competitive. If I beat you, you’d be unhappy at losing face. If I lose too easily, you’d find it boring, and might stir trouble later. So the best outcome is to lose narrowly, letting you win just barely.”
“You think a lot,” he snorted. “Go on.”
“That’s it,” she admitted. “Honestly, I can’t match you. And you shouldn’t shoot in front of everyone. So, maybe some cleverness in how the contest is conducted would help.” She added quickly, “That would depend on your intelligence.”
Xia Xiuyan studied her silently, then said, “Qiu Sichen does have some cleverness—” Qiu Xinran waited for a “but,” but he paused and didn’t continue. Instead, he said, “I have my method for the autumn hunt. For now, just focus on practicing.”
Although curious about his plan, Qiu Xinran breathed a sigh of relief, smiling with a dimple and cupping her hands politely. “Then I thank you in advance, Your Highness.”
Her gesture might have seemed overly flattering, but perhaps because of her youth, it came across as charmingly playful. Xia Xiuyan said nothing, picked up the thin bamboo rod he’d been using to correct her stance, and tapped her hand lightly. “If you understand, why are you still sitting here?”
Qiu Xinran jumped up immediately. After several days enduring the bamboo rod, she was eager to practice. Frowning, she picked up her bow, sighing, “Your Highness is truly a strict teacher.” The look of suppressed frustration on her face was amusing. Xia Xiuyan, in a fairly good mood, rose as well.
“Is this what you call strict?”
“Who taught you archery and mounted combat as a child?” she asked.
He hesitated, then picked up a bow from nearby and said quietly, “A hundred times stricter than I am today.”
Qiu Xinran sincerely remarked, “Then you really had a good teacher!”
He looked back at her. “Didn’t you just say I was strict?”
Qiu Xinran drew her bow and aimed at the target, casually remarking, “You and I are the same. I only learned archery today to handle temporary difficulties. You’re the son of a general—your teacher surely trained you as a future military leader. That would have been a hundred times stricter than what you demand of me today.”
She released her arrow—it whistled and landed just outside the third ring.
She shook her head in mild disappointment. It was one of her better shots in the past two days.
Xia Xiuyan said nothing. He drew his bow, and the difference was stark—no longer the frail boy he appeared. As he pulled the string, the arrow aimed at the bullseye, it was as if he were truly on a battlefield, targeting the heart of an enemy general. In an instant, the arrow pierced the center of the target with a faint metallic twang.
At times like this, Qiu Xinran felt she could see past his frail exterior, glimpsing the sixteen-year-old Xia Xiuyan beneath.
The boy studied the arrow in the bullseye, expression calm. After a long moment, he lowered his bow. “You’re mistaken. He never intended for me to fight in real battle.”
Soon, the autumn hunt arrived. Each year, Emperor Xuande would take officials and nobles to the city outskirts for hunting.
Qiu Xinran dressed in male garb, her hair tied, looking like a lively young boy. Yuan Zhou jumped from the carriage beside her; they were similar in height and dress, looking like brothers from a distance.
The entourage was large, with busy activity all around, but the two of them seemed relatively idle. Yuan Zhou, slightly car-sick from the bumpy ride, sat under a tree with her. Feeling better, he asked the bored Qiu Xinran, “Are you confident about the contest with the Second Prince today?”
“Confident to win or lose?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Did you cast a fortune this morning?”
“Yes, I did.”
“What was the result?”
Qiu Xinran hesitated. “Bad luck.”
Yuan Zhou shook his head. “Then never mind. Your readings are always unreliable anyway.”
“….” Qiu Xinran had no reply.
Suddenly, the sound of galloping hooves reached them. A group of young men rode up—it was Li Hanyi and his friends. They stood and saluted; Li Hanyi circled them on horseback, taunting: “You learned from Yuanwu, yet you still came by carriage?”
Qiu Xinran looked up. Several academy students were riding, including the Seventh Princess Li Hanru. Only young Li Hanyu, too little, rode in the Empress’s carriage.
She smiled. “It’s my first visit; I don’t know the way. Riding might make me get lost and delay the contest with the Second Prince.”
Li Hanyi snorted. “Then hurry up! I’ll wait for you in the hunting ground!” He cracked his whip and rode off. The others followed quickly.
Xia Xiuyan brought up the rear, riding slowly, one hand on the reins, the other fist near his lips as if to shield from dust. He coughed violently on horseback, staggering, alarming the nearby guards.
He didn’t rush. Passing Qiu Xinran, he glanced down at her. She bowed politely as usual, then finally looked up to meet his gaze.
“You’re not wearing your hairpin today?” he asked suddenly. Qiu Xinran instinctively touched her small hair bun. “Why do you ask?”
“In case it’s needed.”
Qiu Xinran stared, incredulous. The gesture seemed to amuse him; he twitched his fist at his lips to hide a fleeting smile, then rode on.
Yuan Zhou looked puzzled. “What’s the Second Prince talking about?”
Qiu Xinran herself couldn’t tell if Xia Xiuyan was joking. With his usual demeanor, it hardly seemed like a joke.
After a while, she solemnly counted on her fingers, muttering: “Today—he must have run into a ghost.”