Victory

In his more than fifty years of life, Huang Pinyuan had never felt making a choice so agonizing, as if scorching irons were pressed beneath his feet, making it impossible to stand still. Yet, before Mo Cheng could stride over, his body reacted on instinct, stepping aside to block the way, his sleeve flicking to brush away Mo Cheng’s hand that was about to lift the black veil before Gu Fei.

The two men stood at an impasse, and for a moment, silence reigned across the entire ground—a silence so uncanny that one could hear a pin drop.

Gu Fei curled her lips in a faint smile, lowered her voice to a coarse timbre, and looked at Wei the Fatty, saying gruffly, “As Envoy Mo has said, since everyone is so curious about me, I have no objection to satisfying your wish for a glimpse. But tell me, on what grounds should I unveil myself for you, as if I were some performer in a sideshow? Is that not so, Envoy Mo?”

Fortunately, few at the Ink Competition were familiar with her. Despite her efforts to disguise her voice, suspicion was still aroused as soon as she spoke. At the very least, those nearby—Mo Cheng, Mo Yuhua, and the ever-watchful Feng Lizhi—frowned simultaneously. As for the members of the Gu family, gathered with the lesser Mo family and positioned far from the Huangs, they didn’t quite catch her words.

Gu Fei took a steadying breath and adjusted her tone. At this point, taking the initiative to speak had become her only option. “Four of the five adjudicators have made their decisions; only Envoy Mo’s intentions remain unclear. So, Envoy, if you wish to see my true face, let’s first appraise the ink balls and determine the ultimate winner of this competition. Then, I shall surely satisfy everyone’s curiosity.”

Gu Fei was not one to be trifled with; even now, when all believed her situation precarious, she remained utterly composed, paying no mind to the pressure from those around her.

A chill ran through Huang Pinyuan’s heart. He turned and shot Gu Fei a venomous look.

Gu Fei reached out, softly patting the armrest in a gesture of reassurance, signaling to Huang Pinyuan not to do anything foolish.

Truly, the old saying was right: a formidable opponent is nothing to fear—what’s terrifying is a foolish ally. At the very least, Gu Fei hoped Huang Pinyuan could recover some sense and not repeat the kind of words that would offend everyone present.

A gleam lit up Wei the Fatty’s beady eyes, his plump face quivering with laughter. He seemed about to say more, but Feng Puyu suddenly stepped forward, his expression displeased. “Enough, Fatty. Today is the Ink Competition; the contest is what matters. Everyone has their own quirks—perhaps this master has reasons for not showing herself. Why press the matter? Let’s hear your thoughts instead.”

Gu Fei’s opinion of Feng Puyu rose another notch. He was truly a man of virtue, wholly devoted to the art of ink-making. Such a person could go far in his field, though he might lack finesse in worldly affairs and the pursuit of advantage. Yet, it was this very imperfection that made him all the more admirable and trustworthy.

Wei the Fatty chuckled awkwardly and stroked his chin. With Feng Puyu having spoken, he could hardly insist further. He turned to the ink balls before him. “Very well, let’s begin the appraisal.”

A storm had come and gone as swiftly as it had arrived. Most of the bystanders outside the arena had yet to recover, unable to fathom what schemes the great families were plotting—why was this year’s Ink Competition so different from previous years?

Once Wei the Fatty began his appraisal, he was completely absorbed. His method was much like Feng Puyu’s, except he used a sharp knife to gently scrape a fine layer of ink powder from the surface of each ball, then compared the two samples side by side.

After about fifteen minutes, he shook his head in admiration. “Indeed, each generation brings forth its talents. The Huang family’s ink ball is of exceptional fineness—rare indeed, finer than dust, thinner than a cow’s hair. Its color holds a subtle purple sheen. I dare say, with this ink, one could write calligraphy that would not fade for a hundred years.”

Mo Yuhua pressed his lips together at these words, but only for a moment before his expression returned to its usual impassivity.

Wei the Fatty turned his gaze to Mo Yuhua’s ink ball, examined it, and declared, “While the small Mo family’s ink ball isn’t as delicate, its craftsmanship is exquisite. It carries a scent of sandalwood and musk; calligraphy created with this ink, when hung for long periods, would foster concentration and tranquility—a most outstanding feature.”

He hesitated between the two ink balls. “It’s truly difficult to choose; both are excellent…”

Feng Puyu, growing impatient with Wei the Fatty’s theatrics, stroked his silver beard and said, “Enough, just tell us whose you prefer.”

Wei the Fatty grinned, his gaze circling between the Huang and small Mo families.

Mo Yuhua’s heart sank.

Sure enough, Wei the Fatty announced, “I choose—”

“The Huang family!”

With the last word barely spoken, a wave of cheers erupted outside. Huang Pinyuan stood frozen, almost unable to believe that the title of champion had so solidly landed upon him. For a moment, it felt unreal, as if he were dreaming.

Gu Fei was not at all surprised by this outcome. Days earlier, upon learning the identities of the five adjudicators, she had already boldly analyzed each of their dispositions.

Feng Puyu was impartial—no need to worry there. Luo Song was surely aligned with the small Mo family. Dong Shi was stubborn and inflexible, impossible to sway. Wei the Fatty belonged to the Wei family, who, like the Huangs, had been suppressed by the small Mo family for years. Now, with a chance to topple them, the Wei family would gladly seize the opportunity to kick them while they were down.

After all, bringing down the dominant family in Yizhou was no easy feat. But once that stumbling block was removed, what threat could the newly ascendant Huang family pose? After all, when it came to family heritage, the Huangs and Weis were nearly equal.

So, with this opportunity, the Wei family would surely side with the Huangs against the small Mo family.

Thus, four of the five had clear positions. As for the mysterious Moonlit Gentleman, he was an unpredictable factor, but not enough to change the overall outcome. So long as her ink surpassed Mo Yuhua’s, she could count on three votes in her favor.

As for Mo Yuhua’s skills, Gu Fei had long known: though his talent exceeded that of most, what he excelled at was business, not the art of ink itself.

Now that the dust had settled—even though she had foreseen this outcome—Gu Fei couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. She glanced up at the second floor’s wooden window, where a white silhouette had once lingered; today, not a trace remained.

This feeling of pinning one’s hopes on another was not something Gu Fei liked. She preferred to take the reins herself, not be at the mercy of others. So, regarding Mr. Nine’s threat that day, she could only hope he was a man of his word, and would not go back on his promise.

Huang Pinyuan went up to accept the five adjudicators’ congratulations, still dazed.

Seeing that her part was done, Gu Fei took advantage of the commotion to signal her servant to carry her away.

Wei the Fatty, sharp-eyed, caught sight of Gu Fei trying to slip away. His hefty form spun around, ready to call out to her.

Unexpectedly, Feng Lizhi, always at Feng Puyu’s side, moved to block his view and smiled, “Uncle Wei, your skills are impressive indeed. How did you determine that the Huang family’s ink ball would not fade for a hundred years?”

Wei the Fatty glared sidelong at Feng Puyu, annoyed. By the time he got past Feng Lizhi, Gu Fei was nowhere to be seen.

Mo Yuhua had watched Gu Fei depart, his eyes contemplative. There was something familiar about the person beneath that black veil.

“You lost,” Mo Cheng said, his face ashen, his eyes tinged with a crazed red, as if he could not accept the outcome of the competition.

Mo Yuhua seemed unconcerned. He straightened his sleeves without so much as lifting his gaze. “Uncle, I’ve always wanted to ask: where did you get your news about the capital’s Mo family?”

“Where did I get it?” Mo Cheng nearly roared, but had to suppress his voice. “Now that we’ve lost to the Huangs, the small Mo family’s best opportunity is gone. What good will it do you to know?”

Mo Yuhua’s expression grew grave as he glanced around to make sure no one was listening. He, too, spoke in a low voice. “Uncle, why are you so certain?”

Mo Cheng took several deep breaths, his gaze lingering on Huang Pinyuan, resentment clear in his eyes. “Haven’t you always wanted to know? My source—”

“It’s naturally Mo Fei. You don’t know, do you? Ah Fei has returned—as the future chief ink-maker of the capital’s Mo family!”