She stood there quietly, like a stalk of bamboo right before a storm rolled in.
Even Commandery Princess Luochuan couldn’t help but take notice and smiled as she asked, “Miss Qi, since we’re all just exchanging skills for fun, would you like to give it a try too?”
Qi Yuan shook her head.
Immediately, someone let out a laugh with a soft “pfft.”
By now, Wang Chan and Xiang Rong had also come over. Hearing the laughter, both their faces showed displeasure.
Especially Xiang Rong, who asked directly, “Wei Qingyang, what are you laughing at?”
Just then, Feng Caiwei had finished writing the final character of her piece—she had chosen a passage from the Buddhist sutra The Perfect Penetration Chapter of Mahāsthāmaprāpta’s Mindfulness of the Buddha.
As her brush completed the final stroke, Wei Qingyang raised her brows, a faint mocking tone in her voice: “Nothing. I just thought—there are those who hear the Dao sooner or later, and every field has its master. Maybe Miss Qi is good at horseback riding, but as for calligraphy… perhaps better not to force it.”
The Wei family was from Yunnan and had close ties with the Fengs.
Naturally, she needed a stepping stone to help boost Feng Caiwei’s name.
She had no personal grudge with Qi Yuan.
But that didn’t stop her from using Qi Yuan to show allegiance to Feng Caiwei.
Everyone understood what she was doing.
Commandery Princess Luochuan coughed softly. Although Zhou Wangfei had asked her to be cordial to Feng Caiwei, as a proper princess herself, she wasn’t about to stoop to the likes of Wei Qingyang’s blatant social climbing.
She said mildly, “I myself can’t write nearly as well as Miss Feng. But what’s so funny about that?”
Feng Caiwei quickly smiled and chimed in gently, “Yes, I usually have nothing else to do at home, and I’m not like everyone else who can ride or shoot, so I spend most of my time helping Grandmother transcribe sutras. It’s really nothing praiseworthy. It’s just practice, nothing more.”
Had she acted proud or aloof, the other noble ladies might have felt resentment.
But she was kind, capable, and completely unassuming. With just a few words, she even defused the awkwardness—earning her far more goodwill.
Indeed, anyone could see that handwriting like this wasn’t achieved overnight. It took focus and effort.
Wei Qingyang’s face turned from red to white.
Now that both Commandery Princess Luochuan and Feng Caiwei had spoken, she was left looking like the villain.
If she backed down now, she’d seem spineless—offending both sides.
She stared at Qi Yuan, half-smiling, and asked, “Miss Qi, surely your only skill isn’t just horseback riding? Don’t tell me you can’t do any of the arts—music, chess, calligraphy, painting?”
“Not quite.” Qi Yuan looked at her coldly, then casually picked up a writing brush from the small side table and, in one swift motion, hurled it toward Wei Qingyang.
The brush shot past Wei Qingyang’s face with barely an inch to spare, making her let out a shriek. Then came a soft thud—the brush landed squarely on a pen rack in the distance.
Everyone froze in shock, a chill running down their spines.
It was clear that if Miss Qi decided to play pitch-pot, she’d outclass everyone just as easily.
Qi Yuan glanced at Wei Qingyang and smiled faintly. “It’s not just horseback riding. If Miss Wei is interested, I’d be happy to join you in a few rounds of dart-throwing or archery. Since girls from military households shouldn’t only ride and shoot, then surely girls from scholarly families shouldn’t only excel at the four arts either, right?”
Wei Qingyang clutched her face, too scared to speak.
How could she forget? This woman was crazy.
She’d once caused Miss Liu to fall off a horse and nearly break her neck—what might she do to her?
She immediately bit her lip and shut her mouth.
Commandery Princess Luochuan wisely stepped in. “Miss Qi has a point. How about we set calligraphy aside for now? Miss Feng, do you play the qin? I recently acquired a fine new one…”
She wasn’t joking—she had no intention of letting yet another disaster happen at a Zhou family banquet.
She glanced at Qi Yuan, her gaze mixed and complicated.
This girl really was like a copper pea—hard as a rock, impossible to crush.
Qi Yuan seemed unaffected. Her eyes fell onto the newly finished sutra Feng Caiwei had written, and she asked softly, “Miss Feng, do you believe in Buddhism?”
Feng Caiwei smiled and shook her head as servants carefully rolled up her calligraphy. “I’m not afraid to make Miss Qi laugh, but no—I don’t believe in gods or Buddhas. I only believe that man can triumph over fate.”
Qi Yuan quietly watched her.
Suddenly, she recalled how in her past life, Feng Caiwei had knelt day after day in the shrine beside the Crown Princess, always pious and devout. She chuckled.
The Feng Caiwei of her past life was one thing. The Feng Caiwei of this life… was still the same in essence.
Miss Feng had always been an exceedingly clever girl.
She excelled at revealing whichever side of herself best suited the opponent she faced.
In the previous life, Feng Caiwei had always played the role of a delicate, innocent girl who needed protection and care.
That was because the situation demanded it.
Back then, Cheng Wang had taken an interest in her and made repeated advances, so Empress Feng had the Crown Princess bring her to the Eastern Palace to live for a while, giving a legitimate reason to keep her safe.
In that life, circumstances demanded she become that kind of girl.
But this life was different. Duke Chu’s household was gone. Noble Consort Liu was gone. Even Cheng Wang was dead.
Naturally, Miss Feng now understood what kind of girl would best win Empress Feng’s favor and stand out among the crowd.
She would always be the most unique, most captivating flower in the garden.
That piece of cursive calligraphy brought to mind a letter from her past life.
Now that she thought of it, that letter might not have been written by the Crown Princess after all.
Given what she could now see of Feng Caiwei’s calligraphy skills, it probably wouldn’t take much effort for her to imitate someone else’s handwriting—just like Qi Yuan herself had once done.
Qi Yuan gave a small nod.
Feng Caiwei, too, was watching her. With a curious expression, she asked, “Does Miss Qi believe in Buddhism?”
Qi Yuan looked at her. “I didn’t before. But now… I think I do a little. Heaven really does have eyes.”
Because Heaven had let her live again.
And this time, she could see clearly what she hadn’t seen before.
Feng Caiwei nodded. “Since you believe in that, you must also believe in karma and retribution, right? Buddhism teaches patience and restraint. For instance, some people are destined to live in the dust—how dare they dream of touching the noble moon?”
Her eyes shone brightly, as though she were simply discussing Buddhist doctrine.
Qi Yuan looked back at her. “No—on that point, Miss Feng and I are alike. I also believe man can triumph over fate.”
She would never reach for the moon.
She would make the moon come to her.
Their eyes met.
Feng Caiwei’s brows twitched ever so slightly.
She was surprised. In all those letters from Qi Wang, there had only been talk of how ruthless Qi Yuan was, how many people she had killed in battle. She hadn’t expected Qi Yuan to be so skilled at verbal sparring too.
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