Chapter 34: Win

Judges argued on the stage. Students murmured below.
Shen Miao had not disgraced herself—dull for spectacle, interesting for anyone who never looked at her before. People are strange: one decent hour and the wretch might "turn."
Feng Anning was nervous, glancing up again and again. On the platform the elders seemed to be fighting in whispers.
"Fierce today," Prince Zhou laughed. "Girls needn't fight so hard—they won't enter office." He was proud enough to speak with ministers beside him whose daughters had just performed.
"Review is rare," Prince Ding said. "Of course they seize it."
"Ninth Brother is right." Prince Jing sipped tea, calm surface, needle underneath. "If some girl shines unusually—Ninth Brother might note her." Open probe: would Ding marry power?
"Fifth Brother jests." Ding shook his head. "My marriage is Father's to decide. Not mine to speak."
True on the surface—Ding did as the emperor arranged, little initiative, tame as Consort Dong. Jing always sensed something else under the mask.
"Life asks a wager. Wives too. Who knows the end?" Jing said, layered.
Zhou heard the test on his brother and rolled his eyes silent.
Soon an examiner stepped forward to read results.
**Zither**—as expected, Feng Anning took first. The group had no monsters; her recent work stood out. She ran up for the laurel slip, glowing, showed her mother. Lady Feng beamed. Glory on a girl does not buy office, but it sorts rank among the golden children.
Feng Anning climbed a step today.
**Chess**—Bai Wei first. A recorder displayed the boards for fairness. Shen Miao skimmed the lines—Bai Wei's play was meticulous, survived late rounds, but obsessed with twigs not whole field, slow, heavy.
**Books**—Shen Qing second. Yi Peilan first—a chrysanthemum boudoir lament, delicate, slightly bold for an unmarried girl, but Guangwen Hall prized breaking small rules. Not mere flower praise—longing through the flower—layer added.
Qing's face soured. Verse was never her best weapon.
Last—the **painting** group.
Judges' faces were mixed; the loudest fight had been here. Women guessed Yue versus Qin, beauty against beauty, the school's eternal duel. Qin sat proud, pretending not to care—yet her fingers on the cup were stiff.
Yue looked calmer beside Chen Ruoqiu, shy-upward eyes, mother's soft gaze. Clever daughter, gifted like her, four arts mastered, review queen every year—today should be sealed.
Yue was sure. Technique, mood, theme—all aligned to what examiners loved. Qin could be pretty; useless pretty. *Useless* pulled her eyes to Shen Miao. Fifth Sister had humiliated her earlier; she had hoped the stage would finish the job. The girl had survived the brush. Unveiling the scroll would bring laughter yet.
*Laugh she will,* Yue thought, and felt better.
The announcer's voice rang: "Painting—First Grade—Shen Miao—"
Shen Miao? First grade?
One stone, a sea of noise—names after drowned.
Yue's smile died. She clutched Chen's arm, voice shaking. "Mother—who was first? I heard wrong."
Chen pinched her hard. Shock and rage inside—but decades in inner yards taught her: crowds watch the loser. Drama already looked small.
Shen Qing and Ren Wanyun had enjoyed Yue's stumble; hearing *Shen Miao* stunned them too. Someone must have swapped names.
Women buzzed. Men exploded.
"What—why not Yue?" Cai Lin shot up, turned to classmates. "Did that old fool misread?"
Many thought the same—especially boys who sat with Shen Miao daily, eyes wide, disbelief traded hand to hand.
"See, Brother? I knew she'd win!" Minglang bounced, fat cheeks shaking—the happiest soul in the hall.
Mingfeng's head ached. Who would have bet Shen Miao? Private bookies before every review—he had put a thousand taels on Yue.
A thousand taels gone. Father would flay him. He looked at his cheering brother and wanted to weep.
Pei Lang frowned—not at the stage, at the purple girl in the women's seats.
Her face was flat. She watched surprise and doubt as if weather she had forecast.
She had known she would win.