A ripple of whispers ran through the courtyard the moment the other girls saw Yunxi. Their eyes snapped to her all at once—some green with envy, some laced with scorn, others eager for her to make a mistake. The consensus was clear: Yunxi had only risen because of her father, lucky and undeserving.
Zhenbao, however, beamed as she squeezed through the press and hooked an arm into Yunxi’s sleeve. She buried her face against Yunxi’s collar and took a long, satisfied sniff. “Ugh, the perfume over there is choking me. It took all my courage to shove through the crowd—nearly ruined my nose!”
“You’re almost up. What did you bring?” she asked expectantly.
Yunxi laughed and pried her off, amused and a little exasperated at Zhenbao’s familiarity. “Can you not act like some louche man?”
“Why worry? This is an emergency rescue—I'm just doing my civic duty!” Zhenbao leaned against Yunxi’s shoulder, her face all earnestness. She liked how Yunxi wore no makeup yet smelled faintly of something clean and natural; it made her relax.
“What did you actually bring?”
Yunxi’s eyes glinted with mischief. “I brought a hoe.”
“A hoe? Why a hoe?” Zhenbao blinked, puzzled.
Yunxi adopted a mock-serious tone. “Think about it—hoes till the earth, they’re great exercise in spare moments, and in a pinch they make excellent weapons. Three purposes, one tool.”
Zhenbao’s eyes lit up. “Of course! Why didn't I think of that? That’s why they say—being the traitor’s daughter, your mind’s dangerous clever!”
Accustomed to Zhenbao’s odd compliments, Yunxi shrugged. Yuzhu’s face darkened; this was no time for jokes. Her mistress had to go on stage soon—would she still be able to smile then?
Before she could dwell on it, Yunxi’s name was called. Zhenbao shoved her forward and flashed a wrist in encouragement. “Show them what cleverness looks like!”
Yunxi shot Yuzhu a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t worry. I promised you I wouldn’t make a spectacle.”
She moved to the center with light, measured steps; her robes floated around her and the hush that followed was as immediate as it was audible.
“This is the newly titled Princess of Yongning? She’s stunning.”
“Aren’t they always saying Wei Xueming is the capital’s fairest? I swear this one’s even more striking—maybe Wei has the talent, but Yunxi has the looks.”
“Don’t be fooled by her face—her father is the empire’s greatest traitor. Don’t let her beauty fool you. If anyone’s pure and kind, it’s Miss Wei.”
“You’re wrong. This princess saved so many people in the southern floods. Wei Xueming can’t compare.”
Voices split and argued, and both Yunxi and Wei Xueming felt the pressure. Yunxi hated being labeled as the traitor’s daughter; Wei Xueming wouldn’t stand someone else stealing her shine—her two-year hold on the title of the capital’s loveliest had only just settled. Their gazes met across the crowd: Wei’s smile was smooth, but it barely hid the currents of rivalry beneath. Yunxi looked away as if nothing were happening; she had no intention of picking up any gauntlet.
“Yunxi—what did you purchase?” the Princess asked, glancing at the empty space where Yunxi had stood and then at the ledger used for recording donations.
“I have not bought anything,” Yunxi answered.
The murmurs swelled, predictably. Some students, already eager to seize on any perceived failing, began to spin narratives: she didn’t care for the refugees; she ignored the Princess’s orders—her true colors, laid bare!
Zhenbao could not stand it. “Yunxi, didn’t you say you’d brought tools? Show them!”
Yuzhu tugged Zhenbao’s sleeve and mouthed a sheepish explanation. “Miss was teasing you just now. She brought nothing.”
Zhenbao stared at Yunxi, bewildered, then grew anxious. “Did she miscount? If it’s about weapons, I have plenty—shall I send for them?”
“No time,” Yuzhu said quietly, shaking her head. Her mistress had always been self-reliant, careful not to trouble others; she trusted Yunxi’s judgment even when she didn’t know what it was.
The Princess arched an eyebrow, intrigued rather than accusatory. “Then how do you plan to help the victims?”
Yunxi smiled and produced a small leather purse. “This is the silver that was allocated to me by the academy. I intend to distribute it among the refugees.”
“Give them money directly?” the Princess repeated, amusement in her voice.
“Yes,” Yunxi said simply, standing straighter.
A chorus of scoffs rose from the students. To them, Yunxi’s method sounded mercenary and unfeeling. But Yunxi ignored the ridicule and pointed toward the great piles of goods not far off—stacked blankets, bundles of grain and clothing.
“The immediate panic has been contained. People are starting to head back to their fields and homes. But the roads ahead are long, and many will be traveling with children and the elderly. They can’t carry heavy loads for a thousand miles. Of the three hundred or so refugees outside the city, after dividing the goods and the well-meaning donations from the capital, the burden of those supplies is already substantial. The court won’t be sending enough carts.”
She paused and let that sink in. “Cash is light to carry and can be used for what each family needs most. Often it isn’t hunger alone that kills—it’s disease. With money, people can buy medicines, pay for transport, and secure food as they make their way home. It gives them a chance.”
Her words struck a chord among the refugees gathered nearby; a cheer rose up, genuine and grateful. Yuzhu clapped so hard her palms stung, admiration plain on her face.
Not everyone was pleased. A sharp, derisive voice cut through the approval. “With so many people, who do you think your coins will reach?” a girl sneered loudly, looking pointedly at Wei Xueming as if to say: see, Yunxi’s silver is hardly enough.
“Why should we let Yunxi hog the spotlight?” another piped up. If not for Wei Xueming’s mention earlier, she’d never have noticed the loophole—and she wasn’t about to let the newcomer have all the praise.