Chapter 5 — The Tigress Who Craved Mantou

He walked over to the edge of the courtyard, casting a glance at me, then at my mother. Finally, his gaze settled upon the empty plate of steamed buns. He was silent for a moment.

"You let the girl eat?"

My mother stiffened. "She ate five."

Father nodded. "No wonder she has such spirit."

The crowd fell into a stunned silence. Bui Tri Hanh’s expression soured, but he forced himself to stand straight and offer a formal bow. "General Lam, I meant no offense. It is only that your daughter’s performance just now seemed so contrary to the rumors, and thus—"

"Rumors?"

Father’s gaze swept coldly across the onlookers. "My daughter broke a wooden training post with her bare hands at the age of three, followed me into the military camp at six, and was drawing a three-stone bow by ten. Every veteran in the Northern Frontier knows that if her mother hadn't kept her in the capital to learn proper etiquette, she would be a captain by now."

Mother squeezed her eyes shut, looking as if she had lost the will to live. I whispered, "Father, do captains receive a military salary?"

Father looked at me. "They do."

I felt a pang of deep regret. "Then I have lost out on quite a fortune."

My mother finally lost her restraint and gave me a sharp, painful pinch. High up on the dais, someone finally snapped out of their stupor and muttered, "Can Lady Lam truly draw a three-stone bow?"

Father did not waste words. He gestured to his attendant, who immediately brought forth a large, black-lacquered bow. It was Father’s personal weapon; even a typical man might struggle to draw it fully. He tossed the bow to me. I looked at my mother, whose mouth twitched in silent warning.

"Go ahead," she said.

That was all the permission I needed. I took the bow, nocked an arrow, and pulled. The string let out a sharp, resonant hum. The arrow hissed through the air, piercing the target at the far end of the polo field and embedding itself deep into the ancient pagoda tree behind it. A piece of bark exploded into the air. The entire courtyard went so quiet that even the sound of breathing seemed to fade. I lowered the bow and rubbed my wrist.

"I haven't practiced in a while. I missed by half an inch."

Nobody spoke. Yen Hoai Canh, leaning against the railing, suddenly let out a soft laugh. "If this is what passes for a sickly, frail constitution, then many of the so-called strong men in this capital should be hanging up their swords and returning to their hometowns."

Bui Tri Hanh’s face shifted from green to pale. Ta Ham Yen gripped her reins so hard her knuckles turned white. She quickly forced a smile. "So, Lady Lam has been hiding her true talents all along. Everything just now was merely a misunderstanding—it is I who lack the eyes to see."

She dismounted and bowed low before me. "I apologize to Lady Lam."

The motion was graceful, her tone sincere. If I hadn't just watched her incite the others to mock me, I might have believed her. Before I could respond, a commotion broke out outside. A servant came tumbling in, scrambling to his knees before Steward Van.

"Steward, it is terrible! In the teahouse, people are singing a new song… saying that Lady Ta’s reputation for polo was bought with coin!"

Ta Ham Yen’s head snapped up. "Nonsense!"

The servant trembled in terror. "They also say that Lady Ta once ordered her household staff to lock her half-sister in a woodshed for three days, simply because the girl was a better rider than she was."

The courtyard erupted. All color drained from Ta Ham Yen’s face. Bui Tri Hanh roared in fury, "Who dares spread these lies?"

The servant wept, "It is not just one person. The storytelling house in the east, the taverns in the west, and even the merchants at the spring hunt fair are all saying the same. Someone is circulating a signed testimony from an old servant of the Ta household, and it is full of damning details."

Ta Ham Yen swayed on her feet. Watching her, I suddenly understood. Rumors in the capital always traveled faster than the swiftest horse. A moment ago, she had tried to use such tactics to crush me. Now, it was her turn to face the storm.

Ta Ham Yen was truly a renowned talent of the capital; even as pale as she was, she managed to maintain her composure. "Absurd," she said, her voice trembling but still holding its poise. "My family is one of integrity and honor; how could such filth exist? Someone must have seen how brightly I shone today and decided to frame me out of spite."

With that, she cast a glance in my direction. Her look was subtle, yet precise, immediately shifting the crowd's suspicion toward me. Bui Tri Hanh caught on at once. "Lam Van Duong, was this your father’s doing? After being doubted a moment ago, you suddenly have rumors about Ham Yen flying across the city? How could there be such a coincidence?"

I blinked, bewildered. "I have been right here eating steamed buns the entire time."

Bui Tri Hanh sneered, "You were eating, but your father’s men are surely capable, are they not?"

My father’s gaze grew frigid. The temperature in the courtyard seemed to drop several degrees. Under his stare, Bui Tri Hanh’s bravado faltered, but he refused to hold his tongue. "The General holds great power; surely ruining a young lady’s reputation would be as easy as flicking a finger?"

Father laughed. "Bui boy, did your father never teach you that one needs a functioning brain to speak?"

Bui Tri Hanh’s expression twisted. Ta Ham Yen hurriedly held him back, and finally, tears began to spill from her eyes. "General, please, calm your anger. Young Master Bui is only acting out of a desperate need to protect me."

She wept beautifully, tears trembling on her lashes, poised to fall but never quite doing so. Many in the crowd felt their resolve soften. After all, she had cultivated her image for years; everyone in the capital knew the Ta daughter as a model of gentleness and virtue, gifted in both art and grace. A sudden testimony from an old servant might not be enough to topple her just yet.