"Impossible!"
Rong Lan exclaimed with agitation—this simply couldn't be true!
She had specifically sent someone to investigate, and Prince Qin was nothing but an incorrigible wastrel.
"You people of Dayue have no sense of reason." Before Song Shihuan could even speak, her delicate face already showed a hint of grievance. "I merely wanted to ask my father quietly whether we could have stewed chicken tonight, yet I was falsely accused of helping him deceive everyone."
The doll-like girl scrunched up her face, her teary-eyed expression instantly stirring indignation among the scholars and ladies of Daqi. How dare they bully Daqi’s princess on Daqi’s own soil?
"Prince Qin’s two poems are divine masterpieces—today’s top prize undoubtedly belongs to His Highness."
"A true gentleman is magnanimous. If one cannot even appreciate another’s talent, how could one understand the noble spirit of chrysanthemums?"
Praise for Song Yu and mockery of Rong Lan intertwined, until Rong Lan’s eyes reddened completely. She had never suffered such humiliation back in Dayue.
"Prince Qin, my younger sister was just now impolite." A shadow flickered in Rong Sheng’s eyes. "The grandeur of Your Highness’s poetry is unmatched—it deserves the top prize."
"An apology alone suffices?" Song Yu didn’t even bother lifting his eyelids. "Make Rong Lan apologize to me properly."
Anyone accused point-blank of being a wastrel would feel some temper flare up.
"To correct a mistake is a great virtue," Song Shihuan chimed in. "If the princess sincerely apologizes, Daqi is not unreasonable."
Her words elevated Rong Lan’s rudeness into an outright insult to Daqi itself.
Rong Sheng’s expression darkened further. He turned to Rong Lan and commanded, "Little sister, apologize to Prince Qin."
Rong Lan’s face was a picture of shock, but under Rong Sheng’s unyielding gaze, she reluctantly lowered her head and muttered in a voice barely louder than a mosquito’s, "Prince Qin, I was in the wrong earlier."
"Louder. The wind’s too strong—I can’t hear you."
At Song Yu’s words, the refined scholars and ladies, who usually upheld gentility, felt an unexpected surge of satisfaction—before catching themselves and exchanging odd glances.
"I was wrong, alright?"
Rong Lan flung her sleeves and stormed off with the Lingxiao Sword in hand, thoroughly humiliated before the crowd.
"Ah, my prize was taken away," Song Yu quickly interjected. He wasn’t about to let go of a prize already in his grasp.
Rong Sheng turned to him. "At tonight’s banquet, I will personally present the Lingxiao Sword to Your Highness."
......
Compared to the earlier banquet, the evening gathering felt more like a family affair, with only a few princes and their households in attendance.
This was also the first time Prince Chu and Prince Qi had entered the palace since recovering from their injuries, while Ping Prince’s Mansion was represented only by Shen Hua'er and a few imperial grandsons.
"I heard Prince Qin won the top prize at today’s Chrysanthemum Banquet," Emperor Yuanyou remarked cheerfully, the table before him bearing a transcribed copy of the two poems.
The emperor was thoroughly pleased.
That scoundrel could actually compose such fine poetry—perhaps there was hope for the imperial exams after all.
"Prince Qin’s literary talent is truly admirable."
Rong Sheng’s words froze the smiles of Prince Chu and Prince Qi, who had been completely unaware. Whose talent, now?
While they had been dutifully recuperating in their mansions, it seemed they’d missed something significant.
Yet the next moment, Emperor Yuanyou’s face hardened. "You rascal, I also heard you forced the Dayue princess to apologize on the spot?"
Song Yu nodded. "Yes, that was me."
He was utterly unrepentant.
The emperor’s eyes crinkled with suppressed amusement. "You are my eldest legitimate son, Daqi’s Prince Qin. Your every word and action represents Daqi’s dignity. Such trivial matters need not be dwelled upon."
Reading between the lines, Rong Sheng, Rong Lan, and the Dayue envoys all stiffened.
A wastrel prince—representing Daqi’s dignity?
Rong Sheng seemed to realize something, his gaze sharpening as he reassessed Song Yu. They might have gravely underestimated Prince Qin.
Daqi had only recently deposed its crown prince. If Prince Qin were to become the heir apparent in the future...
"I understand, Father." For once, Song Yu gave the emperor face, though his tone lacked sincerity. Then he turned to Rong Sheng. "Where’s my Lingxiao Sword?"
Before Rong Sheng could reply, Rong Lan hurled the sword onto Song Yu’s table.
"Dayue has a tradition—to truly claim the Lingxiao Sword, one must be able to unsheathe it."
Unsheathe it?
Song Yu arched a brow. "At the Chrysanthemum Banquet, you never mentioned this tradition."
A cold smile curled Rong Lan’s lips. "This sword has remained in Dayue for years, yet no one has ever drawn it. If you fail, the Lingxiao Sword is nothing but scrap metal to you."
As Emperor Yuanyou’s expression darkened, Rong Sheng sensed trouble.
Petty squabbles were one thing, but this diplomatic mission couldn’t afford to thoroughly alienate Daqi, even if the marriage alliance fell through.
"What kind of sword could remain sheathed in Dayue for so long?"
Song Shihuan, who had been silent until now, rose and strode to Song Yu’s side under everyone’s gaze. She picked up the Lingxiao Sword without hesitation.
"What does a ten-year-old child know?"
Yet Song Shihuan didn’t so much as glance at Rong Lan. Instead, she studied the sword’s scabbard intently, her fingers tracing its engraved patterns with deliberate care.
What sword couldn’t be drawn?
There must be a hidden mechanism—one that had gone unnoticed.
To the onlookers, however, she seemed to be merely caressing the blade aimlessly.
"Princess Fu'an is young. She likely doesn’t grasp the Lingxiao Sword’s significance to martial artists," Rong Lan sneered. "No matter how much she strokes it, the sword won’t leap free on its own."
The moment Rong Lan finished speaking—
Song Shihuan pressed a specific point on the scabbard. The blade slid free with a metallic whisper, its edge gleaming coldly in the light.
"Now this is a fine sword!"
Song Shihuan gripped the hilt, leveling the tip at Rong Lan until it hovered a hair’s breadth from her nose.
"Princess of Dayue, if even a ten-year-old can unsheathe the Lingxiao Sword, it seems Dayue lacks capable hands." Song Shihuan smiled sweetly. "How fortunate Daqi abounds with talent."
Her words ground Dayue’s pride into the dust—and left the envoys speechless.
She returned the sword to its scabbard and handed it to Song Yu. "Father, I like this sword. May I have it?"
"Of course. From now on, the Lingxiao Sword is yours."
Song Yu threw his head back with a booming laugh, pointing at the Dayue envoys. "You lot—you’re no match for my daughter!"
Rong Lan stood frozen, tears slipping unbidden down her cheeks, still shaken by the blade’s sudden approach.
Only Rong Sheng stared at Song Shihuan with blazing intensity—as though beholding a priceless treasure.
So the one who drew the Lingxiao Sword was none other than Daqi’s Princess Fu'an.
