Chapter 122: Scare You to Death

When the arrow flew, the hall held breath. Timid ladies covered their eyes. Ministers knew—however vicious this Qin princess, she could not openly kill a general's daughter in Ming Qi's house on such a night.
Knowing and seeing differ. Even watchers' hearts raced—what of Shen Miao?
Shen Miao watched still. She did not even close her eyes—fixed on the arrow as if to see it clearly. To others—composure, unshaken steadiness.
The arrow whistled—light, clever—by a hair's breadth skimming past the top of her head.
The red apple sat untouched.
Shen Qiu exhaled. Shen Xin and Luo Xueyan's clenched hands loosened slightly. Feng Anning and Luo Tan patted their chests. Luo Ling drank tea to hide worry.
Silence. Huangfu Hao had been smiling—gradually could not.
Ming'an waited—no cheers, no mockery of Shen Miao—bad feeling. She tore off the blindfold. Across the way the apple still sat steady on Shen Miao's head. Her arrow lay nearby. The purple girl—hair neat, dress whole, no panic—only looked at her lightly. "Your Highness—it seems your hand slipped. You did not hit."
Did not hit.
The words were light—yet held the sharpest mockery—Ming'an's cheeks burned.
After a blank instant Ming'an raged. "You moved! You must have moved! I never miss—if you hadn't moved, how could I fail?"
No one expected her outburst. Even Wenhui looked displeased. "Princess—you imply hundreds at this feast shield Miss Shen?"
Shen Miao stood straight—never dodged once. Real or acted—such courage in a woman would win the world. However Wenhui feared the Shen house, they were Ming Qi's people. How let a Qin princess slander Shen Miao before him? Indulge her today—tomorrow imperial credit among ministers would fall.
Ming'an felt wronged, looked at Huangfu Hao—his face dark at her. She started, dared not look again. She turned to Prince Rui, soft voice: "Your Highness saw clear—did Miss Shen dodge?" Eyes on the prince—many in the hall felt embarrassed.
The prince curved his lips. "No."
Ming'an paused. "Your Highness means Shen Miao did not dodge?"
"You question my eyes?" he returned. Splendid, heart-stealing—yet when cold, chill pressed close; hard to meet his gaze.
Ming'an jumped. Shen Miao across the way smiled at her. "Your Highness—accept the wager. Or… does Your Highness cannot bear to lose?"
"You insolent—!" Ming'an shrieked—then saw angry eyes around, remembered this was Ming Qi's ground—screaming at Shen Miao stirred wrath. She looked at Shen Miao and laughed coldly. "What is there I cannot lose? Don't rejoice too soon. I missed—can you hit?"
Ming'an seethed. Her mounted archery was master-level; this bow she had used since childhood; blindfold play in Qin for years without fault. She had meant small trouble for the Shen house—pierce apple, tear open collar, easy humiliation—how miss at the key moment? Before all eyes Shen Miao had not moved—she did not know what failed.
She had proposed the match proudly—ended with no shame to Shen Miao, only her own miss. Qin royals would laugh. Hatred for Shen Miao deepened.
Shen Miao watched Ming'an's motion, heart cold. Five years in Qin in her past life—five years fencing with this princess. She knew Ming'an's nature better than any. Ming'an loved this "game" before crowds—one arrow loosened hair, one tore dress, sometimes "accidentally" grazed flesh. When Ming'an drew, Shen Miao knew the aim, angle, landing—repeated countless times—how could she not know?
She tilted her head slightly—let the arrow "just" skim past.
No one would believe Ming'an—as once no one believed Shen Miao. Let this golden princess taste misunderstanding, shame, loss of face.
But not only that.
Shen Miao held the red apple and smiled. "My turn—please, Your Highness, hold this apple in your mouth."
Murmurs died to nothing.
Ming'an's eyes bulged. "What did you say?" Voice sharper, hoarse with panic.
Shen Miao looked at her, eyes still holding innocent clarity. "Your Highness said this is Qin's play—the archer chooses where the apple goes. You chose my head—I obeyed. Now…" she smiled openly, "if Your Highness fears, another may take your place."
Another—meant Ming'an was coward, could not lose, shamed before Ming Qi, Liang, and Qin alike.
Yi Peilan gasped to Shen Yue. "She's mad—to face a princess of a state?"
At the examination Shen Miao and Cai Lin had faced off—Shen Xin's rank was not below Cai's father. Now the foe was a foreign princess—yet Shen Miao provoked—beyond expectation. Cai father and son exchanged bitter smiles—no longer personal; she feared no princess—what more to say?
Princes murmured. Prince Li smiled with meaning. "This Shen girl holds grudges deep."
Ming'an glared—Shen Miao only smiled shallow. Helpless, she looked to Huangfu Hao.
He coughed, angry at Shen Miao's insolence—Ming'an was Qin's face; he could not leave her shamed. He looked at Wenhui, swept Shen Miao. "A game—why are Ming Qi's young ladies so relentless?"
Wenhui looked at the Shen family.
Shen Xin and Luo Xueyan drank tea as if deaf. Shen Qiu and Luo Ling watched calmly, silent. Feng Anning and Luo Tan stared at Ming'an, furious.
The Shen attitude was plain—they would not let it drop—open war with the princess. Shen Xin had his own bile—Ming'an had left Shen Miao no retreat; now let Ming'an taste the same. Do not do to others what you hate. Schemers should know being schemed. Shen house already on the blade's edge; Qin had targeted them from the start—what left to fear? Shen Xin's temper rose—barefoot fears not shod—even if he killed Ming'an today, so be it.
Wenhui read Shen Xin and was clear—protective, especially of Shen Miao. If Shen Xin wished to be the target, Wenhui welcomed it. He disliked Ming'an's pride toward Ming Qi—meant to cut her pride—and smiled at Huangfu Hao. "Children's games, Highness—why worry. If they enjoy themselves, I will not stop them."
Huangfu Hao had not expected hard Shen bone nor Wenhui's old fox watching mountains fight—no move left. Ming Qi ministers grew bolder, whispering—refuse now and Qin loses face inside and out. He glared warning at Ming'an. "Ming'an—you proposed it—play to the end with Miss Shen." He swept Shen Miao, meaning deep. "Miss Shen plays—she will not hurt you."
Implied—if harm came to Ming'an, Shen Miao would pay.
Shen Miao only smiled. "Rest easy, Your Highness—we signed no death pact—your servant will not injure you."
The more she said it, the more uneasy Ming'an grew. Caught on the tiger's back, she walked to the other end, eyes like knives carving Shen Miao. Then light sparked—she sneered. "But my bow—not everyone can draw. I'm afraid you…"
Before "cannot draw" left her mouth, Shen Miao lifted the bow with ease.
Unlike Ming'an's strain, Shen Miao's form was beautiful, draw easy—as if the bow had been hers decades, hands skilled. She smiled at Ming'an's disbelief. "Fine bow. Your Highness's bow suits me well. Thank you."
She beckoned a maid to bind black cloth over her eyes. The maid moved—the prince took the cloth from the tray, turned it on his fingertips. Surprise—he walked behind Shen Miao, one hand from behind cupped her chin lifting her face slightly, the other winding cloth over her eyes.
Luo Tan stared, pulled Feng Anning. "What… what does that mean?"
Not only Luo Tan wondered. Wenhui's brow knit slightly. Ming'an's eyes jealous, killing intent toward Shen Miao.
Blindfolded, Shen Miao saw nothing—only felt gentle motion behind. Fingertips cold—when they brushed her cheek, like snow on collar—light chill. Yet where touched, faint heat rose.
When he finished, she faced Ming'an's direction, nocked arrow.
All watched, breath held, tense. Some blamed Shen Miao inwardly—apple in mouth shamed Ming'an—but one slip could wound or kill the princess. A Qin princess dead in Ming Qi—Qin would not forgive; Shen Miao's life insufficient, whole realm dragged. To keep Ming'an safe she must shoot wide—Ming Qi still loses face.
Unless one arrow pierced the apple in Ming'an's mouth—clean victory. Nearly impossible.
Huangfu Hao stared hard. Others might not know—he knew his sister's bow weight. Ordinary women could not draw it; even skilled men needed time to tame it. Yet Shen Miao's casual draw—pure posture, skilled hands, easy face—suggested she had handled this bow countless times before.
Impossible. Ming'an's first visit to Ming Qi; Shen Miao's first touch of this bow. Huangfu Hao's interest sharpened—look at Shen Miao as at a fresh toy, gaze deepening.
Shen Miao felt nothing. Eyes closed, fingers traced arrow patterns, every fine scratch on the heavy bow.
Same as her past life.
She had touched this bow countless times. Ming'an always gave it after shooting her wretched, saying "Your turn." In secret she had practiced—she could hit—yet each time she shot wide on purpose, laughed at by Ming Qi princes and princesses.
Hostage—must yield, lodge meekly, not proud—even winning must lose, lose to please Ming'an, chance to live and see Fu Ming and Wanyu again.
Hardest years—like ancient patterns on the bow—carved in the heart. Past life's patience could now be spent openly. No longer Ming Qi's empress—free to strike Ming'an as Ming'an had struck her.
She said: "Please, Your Highness—do not dodge."
Hand released—the near-full bow snapped; arrow flew like a star at Ming'an!
Ming'an's vision whited—the arrow too fast—she meant to dodge—no time—mouth pain—the arrow before her eyes. She meant to scream—apple in mouth—body soft, collapsed.
Maids caught her. Huangfu Hao stood, face black. Murmurs rose. Shen Miao calmly removed the blindfold, walked to the fallen princess, took the apple from her mouth.
On the red apple the arrowhead sank halfway—long fletching clear outside—would not pierce her throat, yet all saw plain.
Full hit!
"Seems your servant's luck is good—by chance, hit entirely." She smiled.
A wave—then applause. Ming Qi ministers first stunned, then faces red with joy, clapping. "Tiger sires no dog!"
Ming'an had proposed the contest; Shen Miao had no choice. In the end Ming'an missed; Shen Miao hit; Ming'an fainted from fright—strength clear at a glance. However Wenhui suspected the Shen house, Shen Miao had shamed Qin before the court—Wenhui was pleased. To Shen Xin: "General—you raised a fine daughter!"
Shen Xin bowed hands. "Your servant dares not accept such praise."
Shen Miao stood—light wind lifted her skirt like blooming flower. She watched Ming'an helped away, lowered eyes' storm—turned and met the masked prince's gaze on her.
She could not read the face beneath—his look warm-cool, confusing. Laugh or not—one glance—he returned to the guest seat.
Huangfu Hao felt face lost, no recovery. Today's storm began with Ming'an—yet Shen Miao was entangled. He looked at her and snorted cold. "Did not expect Miss Shen such skill."
Shen Miao bowed head and returned to her seat.
Always meek after—though when shooting she had been ruthless, sharp air gone—now stately again, as if blades were not her affair. Noble, stern—want to curse her, yet reason seemed on her side—speech stuck.
"Shen Miao—you were…" Feng Anning seized her hand. "If you were a man, I'd marry you."
"Debt paid—grudge cleared—so satisfying," Luo Tan said. "Little Cousin—I knew you weren't one to bully." In Xiaochun the Luos knew her third—soft and prey? Only the blind thought so.
Shen Miao lowered eyes. They thought she held a grudge for Ming'an's press—paid back in kind. That arrow settled past-life hate. Against Fu Xiuyi's deep schemes one must step by step. Ming'an's humiliation deserved return in this reborn life.
Some you endure; some come hunting you. Careful—but on some matters her temper held. Family behind, chips in hand—why fear Ming'an? Strike her face!
Luo Ling offered hot tea. "Little Cousin—all right?"
"Fine." She smiled slightly. Felt a clear gaze—looked around—no one—thought it illusion.
On the guest seat the masked youth curled a finger, tapped his wine cup. White jade thumb ring gleamed faint.
……
A fine tribute feast—none expected this storm. Yet the nest was Ming'an's own. Shen Xin, restored and hard-backed, Shen Miao's clean arrow—again stole the show at Ming Qi's tribute. However it ended, such high profile bred caution.
At the princes' seats Fu Xiuyi's face had gone from ease to stillness—eyes often on Shen Xin, sometimes sliding to the quiet purple girl seated there.
Not only he—many looked at Shen Miao. Young talent admired her; Huangfu Hao's stare was unpleasant. Even careless Luo Tan noticed at last. "Why stare at Little Cousin—can't a girl eat?"
Luo Ling smiled. "Cousin—swap seats with me."
His seat sat further in. After they changed, Luo Ling's tall frame blocked her somewhat—blocking curious eyes—more comfortable awhile.
The feast ended without further incident.
Huangfu Hao left midway—to see frightened, fainted Ming'an. None stopped him; all knew—soon Ming'an would hate Shen Miao. Shen Xin could shield her—but the princess could find pretext to strike—pity crept into looks at Shen Miao.
Only Shen Yue's party felt glad. Shen Wan had meant to warm ties—Shen Xin restored, invited back by Wenhui—too stiff between brothers harmed none. This time Shen Xin passed Shen Wan without a glance, no greeting. All saw clearly.
When Shen Xin was forced out, the household split was public knowledge. Flattery is easy; courage in cold is rare. Shen Xin rising—Shen Wan's approach—no man with blood would answer. Shen Xin held the moral ground.
Shen Wan did not cling. Shen Xin ignored—Shen Wan stopped begging. Brothers like strangers.
After the feast old colleagues greeted Shen Xin. Luo Xueyan took Shen Miao out first to wait for the carriage.
Luo Tan skipped ahead. Feng Anning had left with her mother. Luo Ling and Shen Qiu behind. Past a palace gate—the carriage Shen Xin arranged waited. Shen Miao turned—at the far end of a palace corridor a tall figure approached slowly.
Before features were clear, half a silver mask glinted dark-bright under lantern light. Gold-thread robe hem sharp in night, pattern flowing, too splendid to read.
Shen Miao watched carefully. The youth stopped some distance off, head slightly turned—perhaps looking this way.
She watched him still.
Night, deep corridor—the man wore clear moonlight, tread swaying tree shadow—expression unclear—like immortal from a painting. Slowly he reached out, fingers slightly curled, tapped the gate pillar three times, light.
Shen Qiu and Luo Ling found Shen Miao lagging. Shen Qiu asked: "Sister—what are you looking at?"
"Nothing." Shen Miao returned. "Nothing."
"Get to the carriage—wind outside—lest you catch cold," Luo Ling said gently.
Shen Miao nodded, stepped toward the carriage—then stopped, glanced back down the long corridor.
Moon on the corridor like water; flower shadows painted drunk shapes on the ground; breeze stirred branches—the corridor empty. As if all had been illusion.
Luo Tan urged softly. Shen Miao turned, lowered eyes, lifted her skirt into the carriage.