Chapter 026: Extraordinary Skill

Pitch-pot: Each person has twelve arrows. Hitting the mouth of the pot scores ten points; striking the side handle earns twenty points. If a second arrow lands in the same spot, it adds half the points again. If an arrow lands slantwise or sideways in the mouth, that's fifty points. However, the pot's walls are smooth, making it extremely difficult for the arrow to stay in place just right.

To score a hundred points with twelve arrows is already a challenge, let alone surpassing an opponent by a hundred points—it is nearly impossible. It would require extraordinary skill, and the opponent would need to be so inept as to barely score at all for there to be even the slightest chance.

Wang Zhun dared to accept the wager because he knew this was Li Zaixing’s first time playing—he had just been taught the rules by Shiyi Lang, and Wang Zhun had witnessed Li Zaixing miss with an arrow earlier. With this advantage, even if he couldn't win by a hundred points, he might still win by sixty. At worst, he would not lose.

All he wanted was to make Li Zaixing bark like a dog to amuse the beauty—his goal for the day would be achieved. If he could then enter her chambers, or even share her bed, his heart's desire would be more than fulfilled.

The terms agreed upon, Miaor immediately had another pitch-pot brought, so both sides could play separately and not interfere with one another.

When all was ready, Wang Zhun went first. He picked up an arrow and, with great care, threw it—there was a swish, and the arrow landed precisely in the pot's mouth. He raised his eyebrows with pride and threw his second arrow.

With a beauty at his side, Wang Zhun outdid himself. Of his twelve arrows, seven found their mark, and one even hung from the mouth of the pot. In total, he scored one hundred and ten points. Normally, a score of one hundred and twenty would secure victory, and a hundred and ten was already a formidable result. Considering Li Zaixing was a novice, unlikely to get more than fifty points, Wang Zhun’s delight was plain—he could scarcely wait to embrace the beauty.

The young woman’s face darkened. She bit her lip and watched Li Zaixing intently.

At that moment, Wei Yingwu arrived, grinning mischievously. "Li, it's your turn to compose a poem."

"I can't write poetry," Li Zaixing replied bluntly. "I've never studied, don't even know about rhyme schemes. How am I supposed to compose a poem?"

Wei Yingwu laughed even harder, his expression unconcerned. "It's just for fun. If you really can't, don't worry about rhyme—just make something up."

"That won't do either—I really can't." Li Zaixing turned to Du Fu. "Du, are you ready?"

Du Fu nodded slightly, sweat on his forehead but a relaxed look on his face. Relieved, Li Zaixing pushed him forward, laughing. "Ha! Du is a master of verse—let him do it for me. I have a pitch-pot contest with this Thirteenth Young Master; the winner gets to share the lady’s bed."

"What?" Wei Yingwu cried, instantly forgetting about poetry. He glared at the young woman. "Miaor! You know my feelings for you—how could such a thing happen without telling me? Infuriating!"

Watching Wei Yingwu stamp his feet and pound his chest, Li Zaixing was speechless. You’re barely fourteen or fifteen, still a child, and already thinking about brothels? Then again, Miaor was about the same age and already working—he supposed Tang people married early and couldn't be judged by later standards.

Wang Zhun laughed boisterously. "Wei, tonight I’ll win the first taste of this young lady. You’d best go home after your drink—you’ll only be tormented watching."

"Thirteenth, you go too far!" Wei Yingwu fumed. "No! I want in on this wager!"

Wang Zhun arched an eyebrow, his gaze fierce. "Wei, are you looking for a fight? If you want to gamble, wait until I win this round and spend the night with the lady. You can try your luck tomorrow—I'll oblige you then."

Wei Yingwu was desperate. He turned to Li Zaixing, pulled him aside, clasped his hands, and pleaded in a low voice, "Li, you cannot lose to that dog Thirteenth! Miaor is the one I fancy—I can't let that scoundrel have her. If you help me, I’ll write off all past grievances. What do you say?"

Though Wang Zhun could not hear what Wei Yingwu whispered, he could guess. He laughed loudly, "Wei, you’re praying to the wrong god. He only just learned the game today, barely understands the rules. If he beats me, how could I ever show my face in Pingkang Ward again?"

Wei Yingwu gaped. "You just learned?"

Li Zaixing smiled and nodded. "He’s right. I just learned—he taught me."

Wei Yingwu glanced at the young man Li Zaixing pointed to, then, dejected as a defeated rooster, walked away. "I’ll go listen to poetry."

Li Zaixing paid him no mind and returned to the contest. He ignored Wang Zhun’s smug look, glancing instead at the young lady, who watched with a mocking smile at the corner of her lips. "Don’t worry, miss, I’ll be ready soon."

Her face grew colder. "Don’t boast. Throw and let’s settle this. The loser has to bark like a dog, you know."

"Of course." Li Zaixing calmly seated himself, picked up the twelve wooden arrows, selected one and examined it, flicked his wrist, the arrow flew, struck the mouth of the pot with a crisp "ding," and fell in.

Wang Zhun clapped. "Not bad! You got one in."

Shiyi Lang came over and whispered, "Don’t be nervous, just relax. If you can get three or four in, you might not lose by too many points."

Li Zaixing smiled and threw another arrow. It arced lightly through the air and struck the side handle.

Wang Zhun’s expression changed. With those two arrows, Li Zaixing had already scored thirty points. Ten arrows remained; if he scored twenty more, Wang Zhun would get nothing but to hear Li Zaixing bark twice.

Li Zaixing threw a third arrow, again hitting the mouth of the pot. This shot was more accurate than the first, almost soundlessly entering the pot.

Another fifteen points.

Wang Zhun’s brows furrowed, his expression shifting. He looked at Li Zaixing, then at Shiyi Lang, suspicion growing. This boy had hit three in a row—he didn’t look like a novice at all. Was this a setup?

Li Zaixing, after three arrows, found his rhythm and his confidence soared. He was new to pitch-pot, but after eight years of martial training, his control over strength was far beyond the ordinary. With each arrow, he grasped more of the key elements. Even if he competed with Shiyi Lang, he might not lose, much less to the likes of Wang Zhun.

He continued, arrow after arrow, each one landing as if guided by an unseen hand, perfectly placed. After seven arrows, he had scored one hundred and ten points—tied with Wang Zhun.

"Looks like I won’t have to bark," Li Zaixing grinned, glancing at Wang Zhun, then at Miaor.

Wang Zhun’s face was as dark as a thundercloud. He was now certain this was a setup to humiliate him. He had outdone himself, hitting with seven out of twelve arrows for one hundred and ten points. Yet Li Zaixing, with only seven arrows, matched his score, and with five arrows still in hand, it would be easy not only to win but to win by a wide margin.

Not a single miss—was this a novice? Wang Zhun clenched his teeth so hard they nearly cracked, glaring murderously at Shiyi Lang. He hated Li Zaixing, but hated Shiyi Lang even more—it was obvious Shiyi Lang had orchestrated this.

Shiyi Lang, however, paid no attention to Wang Zhun’s venomous look—he too was astonished by Li Zaixing’s uncanny skill. Unlike Wang Zhun, he could see that, except for the first few probing shots, every arrow had been placed with optimal effect—precisely where Li Zaixing intended.

Of course, it was possible Li Zaixing was toying with Wang Zhun; otherwise, it was too much of a coincidence to have identical arrow counts and scores.

He regarded Li Zaixing with increasing curiosity.

Li Zaixing, meanwhile, was looking at Miaor, holding his remaining arrows and not throwing them, as if pondering something.

She felt uneasy under his gaze, her cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment. Her eyebrows were not the thick, bushy kind, but slender and arching like willow leaves. Her face was adorned with a yellow forehead patch, rouge on her cheeks, and crimson on her lips; now, with her cheeks reddened, she looked even more alluring.

"What are you staring at? Hurry and finish your throws," she huffed, both shy and angry. "You’re only tied for now—you might not win at all."

Li Zaixing straightened. "Does the lady wish for my victory, or not?"

"I…" Miaor was caught off guard by this question, unable to reply for a long time.

If she wished for Li Zaixing to win, it meant she favored him and wanted to see Wang Zhun humiliated. That would never do—Wang Zhun was already on the verge of losing his mind, and provoking him further might lead to a violent outburst. She couldn't afford to offend such a scion. Flirting and playing coy were simply professional skills for a courtesan, but truly shaming Wang Zhun in public could have dire consequences.

If she wished against Li Zaixing, it would show preference for Wang Zhun. That would please him, but what about the others present? If she openly declared for Wang Zhun before he had succeeded, she would drive away all other prospects. Once Wang Zhun had his way, she would become his exclusive possession.

But she had no desire to be Wang Zhun’s exclusive plaything.

Miaor was speechless, her face alternating red and white. In a huff, she rose and snapped, "Why ask my opinion? Win if you can, but don’t pretend your success or failure rests on me!"

At that moment, Wei Yingwu and Du Fu approached. Seeing the scoreboard and the arrows in Li Zaixing’s hand, Wei was struck dumb. He stared at Li Zaixing, wanting to speak but hesitated. Licking his lips, he croaked, "How… how did you do that?"