Vanity and pride are two completely different things. Pride is about how you see yourself; vanity is about caring how others see you.
Serena Feng wasn’t sure whether Wendy Summers was the former or the latter. All she knew was that, while she had a touch of vanity herself, she ultimately cared more about how she viewed herself.
So when the Crown Prince asked, "Should I send someone to find Ninth Royal Uncle?" Serena Feng shook her head and refused: "No need. There’s no reason to trouble Ninth Royal Uncle over the outcome of a mere contest."
She knew perfectly well that her anatomical skeletal diagram was accurate and flawless. It’s not that she didn’t care about winning or losing—it’s just not worth it.
Ninth Royal Uncle’s illness was difficult enough to manage; she had no intention of disrupting his chessboard for her own sake. If she did, the price she’d have to pay might be even steeper.
As she always said, the one who can’t afford to lose at this point is Wendy Summers—not Serena Feng. Losing a round wouldn’t change the bigger picture for her.
What Serena couldn’t figure out was why the Emperor insisted on summoning her and Wendy Summers to the palace. If it was really about the skeletal chart, the Emperor could have just taken it after the contest ended.
After all, her contest with Wendy was just a rivalry between two young ladies. The Emperor’s attention on the first day was already more than generous—he hardly had time to bother with such trivial matters.
Sweat… Serena really didn’t know that the Emperor’s intervention was, in fact, entirely because of her skeletal chart.
Prince Damien of Southlyn got word from the Royal Academy and rushed to the palace, hoping the Emperor would summon both Wendy Summers and Serena Feng for a face-to-face judgment.
Prince Damien of Southlyn didn’t believe Serena Feng could really draw a human skeletal diagram. Of course, if it turned out to be true, he wouldn’t lose anything—in fact, such a chart would benefit him. On the battlefield, the greatest loss of soldiers isn’t from instant death, but from improper treatment: dying or being crippled from injuries.
If this skeletal chart was real, he would do whatever it took to get a copy—preferably more than one—and extract as much useful knowledge as possible. Passing it to his army surgeons could reduce the number of veterans forced into retirement by disability.
You had to admit, Prince Damien was clever. The Emperor only realized the significance after issuing the order. But the Emperor wasn’t angry at Damien—he was annoyed with Serena Feng. Why couldn’t she have quietly presented such a valuable thing? By making such a spectacle, she had ruined his advantage.
But now that things had reached this point, there was nothing the Emperor could do but prepare ahead.
The eunuch delivering the imperial edict brought along Imperial Physician Liu, who was renowned for trauma care and bone-setting—unquestionably the national expert.
As soon as Imperial Physician Liu arrived, he took Serena Feng’s painting. The Emperor had ordered him to verify the accuracy and completeness of every bone before entering the palace—and to copy the diagram as well.
Serena Feng understood perfectly well what a complete skeletal chart meant. She saw through Imperial Physician Liu’s intentions, but didn’t object—if the chart could help patients, so much the better. It wasn’t really hers to begin with, so what was there to feel possessive about?
Because Imperial Physician Liu had to copy the painting in the carriage and verify its authenticity, their whole group traveled especially slowly—and drew plenty of attention.
By now, the rumors had twisted into: the imperial physician arrived too late, they were already out in the wilderness, Serena Feng beat Wendy Summers to death, and now the Emperor was about to punish Serena—one wrong move and Eastlyn and Southlyn would go to war.
Why did nobody say that it was Serena Feng who got beaten to death by Wendy Summers?
It’s simple: at the city gate, Serena Feng single-handedly took on Gareth Yan’s retainers and famously crippled Gareth Yan himself—plenty of people witnessed it. No one would ever believe that, in a fight with Wendy Summers, Serena could come out the loser.
At the palace, the Emperor left Wendy Summers and Serena Feng to the side, took the painting, and summoned the Crown Prince, Prince Terrence Valen of Lyndaria, Old Master Yan, Master Marcus Wynn, and three renowned painters for an audience.
Both Wendy Summers and Serena Feng understood: this was a discussion about who would win, but also about the value of Serena’s skeletal chart. At this stage, the judgment was no longer about artistic skill—it was about interests.
Whatever Prince Damien and the Emperor could think of, Prince Terrence Valen realized too. Even if he hadn’t, seeing the imperial physician take Serena Feng’s painting away made it clear.
Serena Feng didn’t know what the Emperor and his group were discussing behind closed doors, but she did know that the longer the debate went on, the worse it would be for Wendy Summers.
Time slipped quietly by. Serena Feng wasn’t anxious at all—just a little guilty for making Old Master Yan and the others miss their lunch.
Wendy Summers, on the other hand, grew more and more uneasy. She wanted to stay calm, but couldn’t. Serena Feng could act lofty and claim she didn’t care about winning or losing—but Wendy couldn’t do that.
Every time Wendy saw that serene, faint smile on Serena Feng’s lips, she felt the urge to go over and slap it off her face. Serena’s smile was just too infuriating.
“Serena Feng, you really are more impressive every time. Today’s painting contest truly opened my eyes.” Wendy hadn’t meant to sound so harsh—she just wanted to chat with someone to ease the tension of waiting. But as soon as she spoke, it came out like this.
Wendy knew she’d never be able to speak calmly to Serena Feng in this lifetime. Serena was just too aggravating—Wendy would never like her, ever.
She was clearly a little ugly duckling, yet she had no self-awareness at all— barging into the swan’s circle, refusing to flatter or be humble, even acting arrogant and competitive, stealing their spotlight. People like that deserved to be crushed.
“If only Miss Su Wan thought well of it. Serena said she wouldn’t disappoint you, and she meant it.” If she had the choice, Serena Feng would rather stand at the palace gate watching the scenery than sit here staring daggers at Wendy Summers.
Too bad she couldn’t—this was the palace, and she couldn’t act on her own whims.
“Hmph, Serena Feng, don’t think that just because you pulled a trick and beat me, you’re some kind of genius. Old Master Yan and Master Marcus Wynn only look at you differently because they think you’re talented. But you know perfectly well whether you really are or not—this act won’t last, and one day people will see through you. I wonder how you’ll face the world then.”
What infuriated Wendy Summers most was this: Serena Feng, a nobody, could pretend to be a genius and even trick great scholars like Old Master Yan and Master Marcus Wynn.
“So what if I’m just pretending? You couldn’t even beat a fake genius like me.” Serena Feng really found this funny. Wendy and the Summers clan cared so much about the reputation of a ‘talented lady’—but Serena herself didn’t.
So what if she was just pretending? Sure, she’d used a few tricks, but don’t forget—she’d won against Wendy Summers with real skill. If she hadn’t pulled out those moves, Wendy would never have admitted defeat.
Did it matter what the world thought of her? People had never looked at her fairly anyway. She’d heard enough gossip— a few more rumors wouldn’t kill her.
“You…” Wendy slammed the table and stood up.
As if to prove Serena’s point, the eunuch happened to walk in at that moment. Seeing the tension between Serena Feng and Wendy Summers, he calmly pretended not to notice and announced in a flat voice, “Miss Feng, congratulations—you’ve won.”
Serena Feng burst out laughing, swept an arrogant glance at the stunned Wendy Summers, and twisted the knife: “Miss Su Wan, it’s official now.”