Imperial Edict Arrives, Each Scheme More Insidious Than the Last

Master Marcus Wynn wasn’t wrong—using a human skeletal chart for the contest was a huge risk. If not for Old Master Yan’s discerning eye, her diagram would almost certainly have been overlooked.

But did she have a choice? She’d love to be like Tang Bohu, casually painting a few strokes and producing a masterpiece that stunned everyone. The problem was, she didn’t have that kind of talent.

Serena Feng secretly rolled her eyes and lowered her head, making sure Master Marcus Wynn couldn’t see her look of disdain.

Did Master Marcus Wynn really think everyone was as skilled as he was in qin, chess, calligraphy, and painting? Didn’t he know there were people in this world who couldn’t even afford to eat, let alone have the leisure to study the refined arts or enjoy poetic pleasures?

Qin, chess, calligraphy, and painting were privileges reserved for wealthy and powerful families’ daughters. What did Serena Feng have? Even though she was now the Emperor’s personally appointed daughter of the Marquis of Loyalty, that only happened this year. What could she have possibly learned in a single year?

Serena Feng honestly didn’t know if Master Marcus Wynn was just too naïve, or if her act as a cultured young lady was simply too convincing. He actually believed she was talented, believed she could paint.

If not for the setting, Serena Feng would’ve loved to snap and tell Master Marcus Wynn: to compete against Wendy Summers, she’d already pulled out every trick she had. The only thing she could draw was a human skeletal chart and anatomical diagrams—she didn’t know how to paint anything else.

But she couldn’t say that—if she did, she’d lose immediately.

Act, act, act—she had to keep up the image of someone indifferent to fame and fortune, just to win the favor of these famous scholars and great literati.

Serena Feng steadied her breath, lifted her radiant smile, and spoke serenely: "Master Marcus Wynn, in today’s painting contest, I just want to enjoy the process. Winning or losing doesn’t matter to me. Qin, chess, calligraphy, and painting are elegant pursuits—if you add ambition and greed, you only sully their true spirit."

"Well said, young Serena. The qin can soothe the heart, chess sharpens the mind, calligraphy calms the spirit, and painting lifts away worries. Even in a contest, we mustn’t let ambition taint music or art." Old Master Yan echoed her, subtly making it clear he admired Serena Feng’s skeletal chart. If made public, its significance would far surpass any ‘Butterflies in Love with Flowers.’

"Old Master Yan is right. Creating a painting that’s useful, a painting that lifts your own mood, is more satisfying than simply winning." Serena didn’t agree in her heart, but outwardly she was all respect.

Only someone like Old Master Yan could say things like that. Anyone actually competing cared about winning—just like the great scholars cared about their reputations, every contestant wanted a good name.

Ambition—who in this world can truly escape it? The scholars and literati chasing virtue and fame are still driven by ambition; nobody’s really above it. How many ordinary people can truly step outside the game of name and gain, away from all this worldly glitter?

Serena Feng didn’t think ambition was a bad thing. As long as you kept it in check and didn’t hurt others, what was the problem? Without ambition, corrupt officials wouldn’t steal, honest ones wouldn’t care about their reputations—wouldn’t the world fall into chaos?

Of course, Serena was smart enough to keep these thoughts to herself. She had no intention of trying to convince Old Master Yan and the others—saying it out loud would just offend a whole crowd of people. She didn’t want trouble; right now, her priority was clinging to Old Master Yan’s support and winning the painting contest.

Old Master Yan’s smile deepened, his gaze growing more and more satisfied with Serena Feng. Of course, after living more than fifty years, he could easily tell that Serena wasn’t really as indifferent as she acted. But for someone so young to play the part so well—to feign not caring about fame or gain—was impressive.

When it comes to the young, to children, we should be generous.

Old Master Yan smiled like a sly old fox. Thinking of that jar of snow wine from the previous dynasty at home, his smile grew even warmer. Fine, everyone has their hobbies and weaknesses—even he couldn’t escape the arena of fame and gain, so how could he expect a fifteen-year-old girl to see through it all?

Once Serena Feng’s skeletal chart had made the rounds, Wendy Summers’ painting was finally dry. Her maid carefully presented it to the Crown Prince.

The Crown Prince glanced over the painting, his gaze landing on the butterfly. Smiling, he commented, "The hundred flowers bloom in all their glory—Miss Wendy Summers has truly captured their essence. But this butterfly is a bit too extravagant, which makes the painting lose its realism."

"Your Highness, could you please advise?" Wendy Summers asked, not quite convinced—she felt the Crown Prince was nitpicking on purpose.

The Crown Prince gave a tolerant smile. "Miss Wendy Summers, your butterfly is beautiful, no doubt, but it lacks a touch of reality. Tell me, have you ever seen such a dazzlingly colorful butterfly in real life?"

Most people painted butterflies as bright and gorgeous as possible, caring little for whether such butterflies actually existed. The Crown Prince’s question, however, really stumped Wendy.

She had caught butterflies before, but never seen one as dazzling and multicolored as the one in her painting. It was simply how her teacher taught her to paint, so that’s what she did. Now, with the Crown Prince pointing it out, Wendy truly didn’t know how to respond.

The Crown Prince was perfectly gracious, with no intention of making things difficult for Wendy. Smiling, he handed the painting to Prince Terrence Valen. "Prince Terrence, do take a close look. I recall you said yesterday that my Royal Uncle was biased in favor of Serena Feng."

The Crown Prince was a true smiling tiger—he could turn sly in a heartbeat. Prince Terrence Valen wasn’t Ninth Royal Uncle; he couldn’t openly play favorites. He offered a few polite compliments, then passed the painting to Old Master Yan.

Wendy Summers’ technique was solid, her use of color bold. This ‘Butterflies in Love with Flowers’ might not be a masterpiece, but it was certainly a top-tier work. Compared to Serena Feng’s painting, Wendy received far more praise—Old Master Yan and the three great painters didn’t hold back their compliments.

After making the rounds, apart from the Crown Prince’s one small critique, everyone else was full of praise. Wendy Summers finally relaxed, her anxious heart settling as she calmly waited for the seven judges to announce the winner.

This time, she was sure she’d win!

But when it came to the judging method, the seven judges—really, the Crown Prince and Prince Terrence Valen—started arguing again.

"Painting and calligraphy are one body. Since yesterday’s calligraphy round was judged anonymously, let’s do the same today," the Crown Prince said.

Prince Terrence Valen immediately objected, "No, no. Painting and calligraphy may be related, but each has its own merits. How can we use the same judging method? I say we score based on technique, composition, and conception—whoever gets the highest total wins."

"While painting values artistic conception, don’t forget that it must also be realistic. Miss Wendy Summers’ painting lacks a bit of that truth." The Crown Prince had his reasons for not letting Wendy explain—right now, it was the perfect opening to attack.

"If you cling too tightly to reality, you stifle innovation," Prince Terrence Valen shot back. He’d been tricked by Ninth Royal Uncle yesterday and wasn’t about to fall for it again—who knew what schemes might be lurking behind the scenes?

Just because he hadn’t investigated yesterday’s events didn’t mean he didn’t know what happened.

"So, Prince Terrence, you think innovation matters more than realism? What, should we paint a prosperous age in place of hardship, just to make things look pretty?" With one line, the Crown Prince raised the stakes, turning a simple art contest into a political debate.

Serena Feng was awestruck. Kids raised in elite families really were something else.

The Crown Prince and Prince Terrence Valen went back and forth, never losing their polite veneer, but after a quarter of an hour, there was no progress—neither would yield. Only when the eunuch arrived with the emperor’s decree, summoning Serena Feng and Wendy Summers to the palace with their paintings, did Prince Terrence realize he’d fallen for the Crown Prince’s scheme again. The Crown Prince had been stalling all along…