Victory and defeat are decided. No matter how dissatisfied or unconvinced Wendy Summers is, no matter how excellent her calligraphy, the winner is always Serena Feng.
Though her win was somewhat clever and not entirely aboveboard, Serena Feng doesn’t care. Even if people gossip that she won through connections, she just laughs it off.
Connections are also a kind of skill. Besides, after Old Master Yan’s remarks, anyone with a bit of sense knows Wendy lost not in calligraphy, but in character.
When one’s character is refined, the writing is elegant; Wendy’s behavior ruined her otherwise excellent calligraphy. Now, her work seems mechanical, lacking any spirit.
Not everyone loves by association, but most people hate by association. Wendy Summers is just unlucky.
The calligraphy contest was short, but for Serena Feng, it was no easier than the chess match. Chess taxed her mind, but engraving on rice grains was true physical labor—her eyes hurt, her fingers ache. She wishes Jada and Mira could massage her fingers, especially since tomorrow’s painting round will be just as hard on her hands.
Thinking this, Serena Feng quickens her pace, but notices the man beside her also speeds up, keeping stride with her.
If the two of them leave together, it will cause a sensation. Just after the duel, if she and Ninth Royal Uncle leave together, it will invite speculation. Serena hesitates, stops, bows respectfully: “Ninth Royal Uncle, our paths diverge.”
Fine, Serena admits she’s burning the bridge after crossing it—Ninth Royal Uncle just helped her, and now she’s pushing him away. But she’s doing it for his own good.
Ninth Royal Uncle—aloof, refined, untouched by women, like an immortal—why should he keep breaking rules for a discarded consort like her? Walking beside her only lowers his status.
Serena Feng unobtrusively steps back, widening the distance between herself and Ninth Royal Uncle. Rumor has it she and Wendy Summers are competing for him.
“I’ll escort you home,” Ninth Royal Uncle says, a flash of hurt in his eyes. Ever since the duel began, Serena keeps distancing herself, as if afraid of being linked to him.
Ninth Royal Uncle truly doesn’t understand Serena’s motives; women’s hearts are hard to fathom. He vows: aside from Serena Feng, he’ll never involve himself with another woman—she alone is exhausting enough.
“That’s not really necessary—I have guards,” Serena replies awkwardly.
It’s the middle of the duel—every move she makes is watched, every detail magnified. If she walks too close to Ninth Royal Uncle, it’ll send the wrong signal. Even if he doesn’t care about himself, he should consider her.
She’s well aware her every move affects the biggest gambling pool in Eastlyn; if she’s too active, someone might lose and retaliate in secret.
Soon enough, Serena finds her worries justified—there really is someone in the capital who can’t accept losing.
Normally, Ninth Royal Uncle wouldn’t force Serena Feng—he knows she’s not pretentious. But today he wants to keep her close. He quickly finds an excuse, saying seriously: “Medicine change.”
Huh?
Serena is startled, then remembers—the wounded soldiers do need their dressings changed at this time. She’s been so busy lately, she forgot.
Health comes before everything. Though Serena is still a bit worried about the impression of leaving together, the soldiers’ injuries take priority. She agrees: “Ninth Royal Uncle, send someone to my house for the medicine chest. Let’s go.”
Duty comes first; everything else can wait.
“Mm, take my carriage,” Ninth Royal Uncle says, satisfied. He strides to his personal carriage; the process doesn’t matter—only the result, and the result is what he wanted.
After giving instructions to a page, Serena jogs after Ninth Royal Uncle, watching his back. She wonders why she’s always chasing after him, always trailing him. Is she destined to follow him?
When he comes to her, they walk side by side; when she chases him, she can only follow behind. Unable to find a reason, Serena blames it on status—his rank means he’s used to walking ahead of others.
During the duel, the crowds are huge; the road to the Royal Academy is closed to carriages—except for Ninth Royal Uncle.
Inside the carriage, Ninth Royal Uncle sits on the left as usual, leaving the right seat for Serena. There’s water and snacks clearly prepared for her—since he only drinks tea.
“Thank you, Ninth Royal Uncle.” Serena doesn’t stand on ceremony—she’s hungry and thirsty, and still needs strength to treat the wounded soldiers.
“Mm.” Ninth Royal Uncle responds, his worries eased a little.
The carriage moves slowly and steadily; the water in the cup ripples but doesn’t spill. Serena assumes Ninth Royal Uncle ordered it so she could eat comfortably, but even after she finishes, the carriage remains just as slow and steady, making her curious.
Serena doesn’t consider herself clever, but she’s not stupid. Ninth Royal Uncle always has his reasons—if he told the driver to go slowly, there must be a purpose.
So even though she’s curious, Serena doesn’t ask. She closes her eyes, massages her fingers, quietly missing Jada’s technique. Lost in thought, when Ninth Royal Uncle says, “Give me your hand,” she automatically complies, and only realizes afterward she can’t pull it back.
Ninth Royal Uncle moves closer, takes Serena’s hand—just as cool, delicate, and silky as he remembers. He can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have those hands caress him.
Suddenly, the carriage feels too small, too warm. Ninth Royal Uncle needs to open the door and let the breeze clear his chaotic thoughts.
“Ninth Royal Uncle? Let go, you’re hurting me,” Serena protests, but he only grips tighter, leaving red marks on her hand.
“Don’t move.” Ninth Royal Uncle exhales, calms himself, loosens his grip, and—ignoring Serena’s displeasure—gently massages her fingers.
Serena tries to pull away, but Ninth Royal Uncle’s grip is too strong—she can’t escape.
Ninth Royal Uncle massages her fingers with gentle, precise movements, never hurting her. Serena is stunned; his technique is even better than Jada’s.
Serena stares at him, dumbfounded. “You know massage?”
“I learned a little from the palace physicians,” Ninth Royal Uncle replies nonchalantly.
Serena is speechless; she never expected Ninth Royal Uncle to have this skill.