Placing Bets and Serena Feng’s Aura of a King

Storm Cloud Bu is in charge of the Heaven’s First Consortium’s operations, and lately, quite a few problems have cropped up. While they’re not enough to shake the foundation, the accumulation shouldn’t be underestimated.

Lance Quinn, mindful of Storm Cloud Bu’s pride, didn’t say much at first. But seeing that Storm Cloud had his mind nowhere near his proper duties, Lance decided it was time for a warning—better to nip things in the bud than let a major mistake happen.

"Storm Cloud, keep a closer eye on the Heaven’s First Consortium. Has the batch of silk and tea that was stolen been recovered yet? Have you found out who was behind it?"

"Ah..." Storm Cloud Bu jumped up in a panic, scratched his head, and said, a bit embarrassed, "About that matter, I..."

Before he could finish, Lance Quinn interrupted him: "Seven days. It’s been seven days since the incident, and you still don’t have a single lead. Storm Cloud, if you can’t handle the Consortium’s affairs while you’re in the Capital, then go back early. We can arrange someone else to take over your duties here."

It’s not that Lance Quinn is being ruthless toward Storm Cloud Bu—it’s just that people like them have no right to indulge in personal feelings. Storm Cloud can have things and people he likes, but he absolutely can’t let that affect his work. One mistake from Storm Cloud could mean hundreds, even thousands of casualties.

They carry the hopes and lives of countless people on their shoulders. They don’t have the luxury of being willful or self-indulgent.

"Three days. I’ll get to the bottom of this within three days," Storm Cloud Bu promised, knowing he’d been far too careless lately. Of course, the truth was he had no desire to leave the Capital.

"Fine. If you haven’t solved it in three days, go report to the Discipline Hall for punishment, then head back to Heaven’s First Consortium." Lance Quinn dropped these words and turned to leave...

Storm Cloud Bu stood frozen for a long time before snapping out of it. Pointing in the direction Lance Quinn had left, he asked in a trembling voice, "Vincent, is Lance... is he actually serious?"

Vincent Su clapped Storm Cloud Bu on the shoulder, his face full of sympathy. "Brother, take care of yourself."

Lance Quinn has wanted to discipline Storm Cloud for a long time, and now he has a perfect opportunity—he won’t let it pass. Of course, Vincent Su understands that Lance is doing this for Storm Cloud’s own good. If Storm Cloud doesn’t shape up, they could all end up dead because of his mistakes…

Serena Feng carefully inspected every item the Empress had rewarded her with, but found nothing unusual. Even so, she didn’t dare use any of the Empress’s gifts.

She had Vincent Su buy her a new set of brush, ink, paper, and inkstone, plus a zither that wasn’t famous. When Serena saw the items Vincent delivered, she nodded in satisfaction. As expected of the top merchant in Eastlyn—these were just as good as the imperial gifts.

But Serena underestimated the Empress’s methods. That morning, news came from the Imperial Palace: tomorrow at noon, Serena Feng must play the Ice-String Zither against Wendy Summers’s Scorched-Tail Zither.

"Looks like I have no choice," Serena said, casually plucking the strings. High and low notes spilled out—not a melody, but at least not unpleasant to the ear.

Jada Tang and Mira Tang heard the zither from afar and felt deeply comforted.

Their young mistress was finally practicing the zither. But to their disappointment, Serena Feng played only that one note.

The two maids looked at each other, hesitating to go in and ask. In the end, they gave up—if their mistress didn’t call them, there was no point. She wouldn’t listen to their advice anyway.

Of course, it was normal for their mistress not to listen to them. She was the master, they were the servants—when did the master ever heed the servant? Still, Jada Tang and Mira Tang couldn’t help feeling a bit wronged.

The day before the contest, the Capital was abuzz. Everyone was pulling out all the stops, trying to find out what Serena Feng and Wendy Summers were up to.

Wendy Summers also sent people to investigate Serena Feng, only to learn that, just like the past few days, Serena was calmly eating, drinking, and reading in her West District courtyard—as if tomorrow’s contest didn’t concern her at all.

Most importantly, Serena Feng hadn’t sent anyone to investigate Wendy Summers. She still didn’t know what pieces Wendy played, her chess style, her calligraphy, or what she liked to paint.

Jada Tang and Mira Tang had also reminded Serena Feng that she should at least inquire about Wendy Summers, so they could prepare a strategy. But Serena simply said there was no need.

Investigate? What’s the point? Like Ninth Royal Uncle says, in the face of absolute power, no scheme matters. Even if she understood Wendy’s style, it wouldn’t help—Serena Feng didn’t know any of it.

All she needed to do now was wait for Lance Quinn to return the zither. As for everything else, she’d deal with it later—soldiers block soldiers, water floods to cover water. First, she’d see what move Wendy Summers made.

Serena Feng’s composure drew both admiration and scorn. Some praised her steadiness and regal bearing; others mocked her, saying she knew she was outmatched and was just giving up.

Caleb Wang and Ethan Hsieh were the type to believe in Serena Feng unconditionally. After checking on Feng Manor, the two looked smug.

See that? Know what it means to have the bearing of a true general, to stay calm even if Mount Tai collapses? That’s Serena Feng—she has the bearing of a true general. She doesn’t care about the Summers family’s provocation.

I can guarantee it—Serena Feng is sure to win. Otherwise, how could she be so calm? Go… place four bets for me on Serena Feng beating Wendy Summers, one for each of the first four rounds." Caleb Wang, ever the big spender, handed over four thousand taels of silver.

He believed in Serena Feng, but he wasn’t about to bet blindly. He didn’t think Serena could win the fifth, sixth, seventh, or eighth rounds against Wendy Summers.

“Caleb Wang, you stole my line,” Ethan Hsieh grumbled, then scoffed at Caleb’s betting: “You only placed your bets today? I bet on the first day! Serena Feng isn’t someone who loses—I’ve never seen her lose. Hmph… Anyone who underestimates her is in for a rude awakening.”

Led by Caleb Wang and Ethan Hsieh, a group of young men, ladies, and noblewomen gathered, all unconditionally believing Serena Feng could beat Wendy Summers. Small in number, but influential—this was the first grassroots group supporting Serena, led by sons of the prestigious Wang and Hsieh families.

Unfortunately, Serena Feng was shut away at home, completely unaware of what was happening outside. If she knew about the group, she’d be smug: Who would’ve thought, after coming to ancient times, she’d have a fan club?

Caleb Wang and Ethan Hsieh made a big splash, but Wendy Summers wasn’t like Serena Feng, who ignored the outside world. Hearing Caleb and Ethan’s comments, Wendy smashed her teacups in fury.

“Serena Feng, you’re still playing tricks even with death at your door. Win against me? Hmph. I’d like to see how you plan to do that. This time, I’ll crush you under my feet—you’ll never rise again.”

“Talk is cheap, Wendy Summers. How many rounds do you think you’ll win against Serena Feng?” Prince Damien of Southlyn entered, standing at the doorway and shaking his head at the shattered teaware.

Compared to Serena Feng, Wendy Summers was far less composed. Just a few rumors could send her into a rage, while Serena could laugh off public humiliation and respond calmly to even the nastiest insults.

Truth be told, he admired Serena Feng. But because of Prince Nathan of Southlyn and Ninth Royal Uncle, they were destined to be enemies—never friends.