Chapter 10: Young Marquis Xie

Guangwen Hall held its annual review every October.
The review tested every student. Outstanding pupils could join the talent display. More important—great scholars and court ministers watched; princes looked on too. A strong showing might open the door to office.
In any case, showing your learning to others was a chance to shine. Each year everyone fought for a name.
In the second year Shen Yue's talent stood tallest; each review she outshone the rest. Shen Qing couldn't match her in verse and song, but her reckoning ranked high—she always placed in that event.
As for useless bottom—Shen Miao. No music, chess, brush, or blade. Reckoning and policy—blank. Every review day she disgraced herself. No talent stage; passing the test alone was hard. In her last life she had dreaded the review most—watching Shen Yue and Shen Qing bloom on the platform, envy she couldn't deny.
Now it all looked like children's jealousy. What scene hadn't she seen? A school review truly didn't weigh on her.
She glanced at Feng Anning. "The review? I never thought to fight for rank. What's there to fight for at the bottom?"
Feng Anning blinked. She hadn't expected Shen Miao to admit tail-ending so openly. She studied her carefully. "Were you hurt that badly—so your whole temper changed overnight?"
Overnight Shen Miao had turned level, open, unembarrassed—with a steadiness no age should own. Desk-mates felt the shift most.
"Yes." Shen Miao smiled and said no more.
Perhaps at that age boys and girls instinctively respected—or envied—anyone more mature. Feng Anning's manner toward her softened without her noticing.
After reckoning, students rested in the garden outside Guangwen Hall. Girls stayed in the hall playing chess or trading new poems. Outside, something like a startled horse swept past.
"What was that?" Yi Peilan turned.
"Let's look," Jiang Caixuan said, pulling Shen Yue. "Come see."
Shen Miao had no wish to gawk. Feng Anning took two steps, looked back, seized Shen Miao's hand. "Come with me!"
Shen Miao was surprised. Feng Anning had always looked down on her—never such closeness. Before she understood, Feng had dragged her out.
Many students already crowded the door. Seeing Feng Anning pull Shen Miao along, eyes went wide. Shen Yue's gaze flickered; she said nothing. Shen Qing snorted from her nose. Since learning Shen Miao also loved Prince Ding, she wouldn't even fake courtesy.
But that wasn't the real shock.
Cai Lin squeezed out of the crowd and cried in delight, "Young Marquis Xie!"
Young Marquis Xie? Shen Miao looked out.
Before Guangwen Hall's vermilion gates stood a blood-bay stallion—coat bright and smooth, a mount money couldn't buy. The horse tossed its forehoof with slight arrogance; its lines drew every eye.
Still, the rider outshone the horse.
The youth sat straight in black narrow-cut brocade embroidered with clouds, deep purple sable over it. His right hand toyed lazily with the crop. Sword brows, star eyes—features fiercely handsome. Mouth curved half a smile; eyes ice-cold.
At once girls blushed. Forget the place—they folded handkerchiefs into flowers and threw them into the youth's arms. Ming Qi was open in custom, especially lenient with young men and women.
The flower fell into his lap. He caught it, pinched it, smiled. The girl who threw it pressed her chest, face red—already lost.
Next moment the playful smile vanished. The flower drifted down, down, under the bay's hoof—crushed to pulp.
He sat up lazily, born with crushing force of presence—yet the handsome face magnified the pull. A man you couldn't look away from.
Cold and cruel, truly.
Yi Peilan murmured, "The Xie family's young marquis."
Shen Miao raised a brow. Young Marquis Xie—Xie Jingxing.
Among Ming Qi's great houses today, many won merit beside the founding emperor. Generation after generation, some kept only the name, hollow inside. Others flourished like gardens in bloom.
There were civil clans like the Fengs; military houses like the Shens. If the Shen line for generations had marched honestly, blunt soldiers everyone called straight—then the Xies held heavy troops and were rogues inside and out. The throne could do little with them.
Perhaps rebellion ran in Xie bones. They did outrageous things—ignored orders from the capital a thousand li away to hold a line and instead chased a risky victory. Later they quoted the old line: the general abroad may obey or refuse command. The imperial house could only swallow it—because the Xies never lost a war.
Shen and Xie were set against each other—partly the late emperor's deliberate wedge for balance. Shen Xin and Marquis Xie never agreed. Shen Xin despised Xie Ding's radical, devious battlefield ways. Xie Ding despised Shen Xin reading manuals in battle—old-fashioned, stiff, no adaption. The two houses quarreled at court and met nowhere else. The late emperor was pleased.
After Marquis Xie's wife died he took no principal wife—only one concubine who bore two sons. So Xie Jingxing had two younger half-brothers from the same woman. Perhaps Xie Ding pitied the early loss of the legitimate mother and indulged the heir—until Xie Jingxing grew lawless.
Even so he was a dazzling man. Apart from his wild, cold nature, learning, wit, face, and birth all ranked among Ming Qi's finest—no wonder so many girls secretly adored him.
Pity, Shen Miao sighed inwardly. Such an outstanding youth would end pierced by ten thousand arrows, skinned and wind-dried—a fate too brutal to speak.
Perhaps her pity showed too plainly. The youth suddenly looked her way. Eyes deep as stars flickered—an unreadable glance at her.