Why must one remain seated?

The scorching sun hung high, the blinding white light making one’s head reel. Before the Ink Duel began, the Little Mo family had prepared well in advance—a canopy had been erected over the center of the competition grounds, casting a broad shadow so that neither judges nor contestants would be exposed to the sun.

Gu Fei sat shrouded entirely in black gauze drapes, so long that even her feet were covered as she sat on her chair. The oppressive heat left her feeling stifled, and a faint irritability rose in her heart.

Feng Puyu was a straightforward man, saying little. After introducing the judges, he motioned to the attendants, who struck the brass gongs and drums with force. When the resounding note faded, he called out in a loud, clear voice, “Will the master ink makers from each family please take the stage!”

No sooner had his words fallen than Mo Yuhua of the Little Mo family stepped forward as the first. He handed his folding fan to a servant to keep, flicked his robe, and strode ahead with long steps.

The other masters followed in turn. When it came to Gu Fei’s turn, Huang Pinyuan bowed his head and murmured softly, “Today, all depends on your skill, miss. But do not resort to tricks—since I dared let you appear before the public, I am confident no one will recognize you.”

The black gauze drapes shifted slowly as Gu Fei cast a cold glance at Huang Pinyuan. No one could see the mocking curl of her lips. “You worry too much, Master Huang.”

With that, she waved her hand. Immediately, two burly men in short jackets stepped forward, lifting her chair and carrying her onto the stage.

This unusual action drew everyone’s attention. Mo Yuhua’s gaze darkened instantly, his eyes fixed unblinking on the black veil, as if trying to pierce it and see the person beneath.

The competition platform was raised, not particularly high, but enough so that those below could see everything clearly.

Gu Fei had never cared for the gaze of others. The black gauze was thin, allowing her a clear view. Her eyes drifted to a distant pavilion outside the field, where at the open wooden window, a dazzling white figure caught her sight so suddenly that her knuckles whitened on the armrest, and even her breath stalled.

As if sensing her gaze, that white shadow stirred. A cascade of black hair flowed down past the window, mingling with fluttering robes, and a faint glimmer of silver flickered.

Gu Fei’s sharp eyes recognized him at once—Mister Nine. He was too far for her to discern his expression, so she could only take several deep breaths, forcing down the turmoil in her heart.

Mister Nine’s words from that day still echoed in her ears, leaving her with a sense of helplessness. She had always believed that so long as she never despaired, never abandoned her conviction, and carefully plotted each step, she would inevitably achieve results no matter the predicament.

But Mister Nine had wielded the so-called authority like a hammer, crushing her fragile persistence; even with her meticulous planning, her genius skill, her fearlessness in the face of death—

“If you win, the Liulang Pavilion in Yizhou will be at your command from this day forth. If you lose, your identity will become known to all under heaven…”

It was not a bloody threat, yet it had struck precisely at her fatal weakness. No matter how deep her schemes ran, before Mister Nine they were but illusions. With but a gentle prod of his finger, all her claws were broken. Even a trapped beast will fight back, but she had not even that chance to struggle at death’s door.

Never before had Gu Fei so clearly recognized her own predicament. If even Mister Nine and the Liulang Pavilion could easily destroy her, how could she possibly overturn and resist the mighty Mo family of the capital?

“The competition will last half a day, followed by three days’ drying time for the ink pellets. On the fifth day, the victor of this Ink Duel will be determined. Now—” Feng Puyu’s voice was vigorous and sonorous, his eyes bright beneath his long, aged brows. He looked at each contestant. When the maids, entering in line, set the tables in place and arranged equal portions of pine soot and other ink-making materials on each, he finally declared, “Let the Ink Duel begin!”

Gu Fei came to herself, withdrawing her gaze. She looked at the small pile of soot on the white paper before her and calmed her mind, setting aside all thoughts that might disrupt her focus.

She did not move at once, but instead looked diagonally across at Mo Yuhua. His movements were practiced; after inspecting the soot and confirming its quality, he began to carefully remove impurities.

Today, he wore a honey-colored long robe, the wide sleeves rolled high to reveal well-proportioned arms, the skin tinged with a wheat hue. Combined with his handsome features and the graceful manner of a brush painting, he had, from the outset, set many a young lady’s heart across the crowd fluttering.

Gu Fei smiled soundlessly and glanced at the other contestants. From their handling of the materials alone, she could judge their skill. After a survey, she was certain—unless something unforeseen occurred, only Mo Yuhua could rival her in this Ink Duel. The others posed no real threat.

What she did not know was that while she observed others, Mo Yuhua was likewise watching her from the corner of his eye. Seeing that she had not moved for some time, his brows knit and his own hands slowed.

He had just finished removing the impurities from his soot when Gu Fei finally began to act—

A pair of hands emerged from the black gauze: slender, fair, almost transparent, with faint blue veins visible beneath the skin, nails trimmed smoothly and neatly—a pair of hands unmistakably belonging to a woman.

Mo Yuhua was momentarily stunned, his hand stilling as he spread out his fine silk cloth. In the ink-making trade, men dominated. Women avoided black stains, and pounding the initial paste required considerable strength—how could a woman endure such hardship? So far, the number of women he’d seen skilled in ink-making could be counted on one hand.

And in Yizhou, he was certain—absolutely certain—that until now, no woman had been versed in ink-making. There was one he knew who understood ink, though.

At that thought, an image flashed through his mind—a figure in a wheelchair with strikingly clear eyes, unforgettable in their darkness despite a delicate face. He shook his head with a quiet sigh, thinking himself fanciful, and turned back to filtering his soot with the silk, removing the grassy debris.

Gu Fei’s approach to ink-making placed great emphasis on the earliest stages. Her standards for the soot’s fineness were exacting, and her own nature demanded perfection. If the soot was not fine enough, she would grind it repeatedly until satisfied before moving on to the next step.

As a result, among the dozens of ink masters standing in two facing rows at the Ink Duel, her movements were the slowest. While others had already begun mixing in iron mortars, she was still grinding her soot.

Feng Puyu stroked his beard, whispering now and then to the other judges, yet most of his attention remained on Gu Fei. Since noticing her repeated handling of the soot, his interest had been piqued.

Blending inconspicuously among the crowd, Feng Lizhi seized a moment when no one was watching to sidle up behind Feng Puyu.

Feng Puyu glared at him but let him be so long as he did not interfere with the Ink Duel.

At first, Feng Lizhi watched Mo Yuhua at work, his face solemn, his eyes unblinking.

Both Mo Yuhua and the Gu family’s Gu Fei—he did not know which troublemaker had bestowed the title of “Jade Gentleman” on all three of them. In truth, he disliked Gu Fei most, but since Gu Fei was close with Mo Yuhua, due to some old grievances, he extended his dislike to Mo Yuhua as well.

Yet, in his heart, there was still a spirit of competition. Coming from a renowned ink-making family, he did not want to be outdone by Mo Yuhua. As for Gu Fei, skilled in commerce, he looked down on that.

But soon, he noticed Gu Fei—a figure shrouded head to toe in black gauze, slender white hands repeating the grinding motion. He let out a soft “hmm,” inexplicably finding something strangely familiar about the black veils.

At last, when the soot was as fine as she wished, Gu Fei looked up to wipe the light sweat from her brow. But as soon as she raised her hand, it caught on the annoying drapery. Irritated, she flicked the black gauze aside, steadied herself, and began to process the deer horn glue, musk, and pearl powder.

Her movements quickened. In a few swift motions, she prepared all the auxiliary ingredients, soaked the soot and processed glue in water from sandalwood bark, and further ground the pearl and musk to powder, sprinkling them into the iron mortar.

The order of adding these ingredients was crucial. Others could only see her hands flying, sleeves fluttering like drifting clouds—so deft and graceful that just watching those hands was a delight.

Feng Lizhi watched for a while, then bent and whispered in Feng Puyu’s ear, “Grandfather, who is the one in the black veil?”

Feng Puyu shook his head to show he did not know either. “She’s a master from the Huang family—which one, nobody knows.”

Feng Lizhi replied indifferently but looked her up and down, muttering, “Why do I feel as if I’ve seen her somewhere before? And most everyone else is standing while making ink—why is she sitting?”

Why is she sitting?

That question struck him like lightning, tearing open a suspicion in his mind. He felt as if he had guessed the truth, but when he thought harder, it seemed off.

He shook his head repeatedly and glanced toward the Little Mo family’s section. The Gu family members were all seated as usual, and as for the Huang family—how could they possibly be connected to the Gu family?