Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Pitch-Pot Game!

The competition began with Xue Song taking the first turn. He held an arrow in each hand and, like lightning, sent them flying; both landed squarely in the bronze pot.

"Young Master Xue—double hit—four points!"

"Bravo!"

According to the rules, landing one arrow in the pot earned one point, two arrows meant two points. However, the difficulty of releasing two arrows simultaneously with both hands was so great that the score doubled, for a total of four points.

Right at the start, Xue Song managed a double hit—truly deserving his reputation as the finest arrow pitcher in Chang’an. The crowd erupted in applause.

Li Zhao was next. Calm and unhurried, steady as a mountain, he too grasped an arrow in each hand and swiftly threw them...

"Young Master Zhao—double hit—four points!"

"Bravo!"

Another round of cheers—this round was a tie!

In the second round, Xue Song again took an arrow in each hand and launched them with lightning speed... both arrows landed in the pot’s handles on either side.

"Young Master Xue—double handle—eight points!"

"Bravo! Bravo!"

The pot's handles were much smaller than the mouth, making them far harder to hit and worth more points. This time, the crowd cheered even more enthusiastically.

But before the applause had died down, Li Zhao’s arrows flew simultaneously, finding their mark in the two handles as well.

Again, a double handle—eight points; another tie!

The guests erupted with excitement, and the looks they cast at Li Zhao changed—what a remarkable young man! To have tied twice with Chang’an’s foremost master was no simple feat.

On the other side, the Tiger Prince, Xue Song, showed a glint of approval in his eyes. He picked up a single arrow, aimed briefly, and threw it lightly... it traced a beautiful arc towards the pot’s mouth, but instead of falling in, it came to rest slantwise on the rim.

A leaning shaft—fifteen points!

"Bravo!"

The audience cheered, their eyes now fixed on Li Zhao—could he match this feat?

Of course, there was no doubt. Li Zhao picked up an arrow, and with an unusual technique, sent it spinning... it hovered above the pot’s mouth, suddenly turned over in mid-air, point up, tail down, and landed firmly inside.

An inverted hit—also fifteen points!

The sixth arrow saw Xue Song deliver a left inverted handle (the arrowpoint up, the tail lodged in the left handle): twenty points.

Li Zhao, with his sixth, performed a right inverted handle—also twenty points!

At this point, four rounds had passed, each contestant had thrown six arrows, and still, no winner had emerged.

...

"Young Master Song will surely win!"

"Young Master Song, we’re behind you!"

The crowd no longer merely applauded—they shouted and cheered in waves that echoed across every corner of Qujiang Pool.

Most of the supporters were men—Xue Song, known for his boldness and charm, had many friends.

"Young Master Zhao will win!"

"Young Master Zhao, look over here! I like you!"

At the same time, Li Zhao’s supporters, mostly the young ladies of noble families, cheered in melodious, enchanting voices that could soften the heart.

Since ancient times, beauties have loved handsome men. Though Xue Song was striking, his demeanor was a touch too forbidding. In contrast, Li Zhao’s handsome and sunny disposition won their favor.

...

Yet, their flirtatious glances and swaying waists seemed to distract rather than help Li Zhao.

Let us return to the main story!

The game consisted of eight arrows in total—each had thrown six, with only two remaining.

In other words, whoever performed the most difficult, highest-scoring maneuvers with these last two arrows would be the victor. Everyone watched with bated breath—who would claim the glory?

"Heh, I have played this game since childhood," Xue Song said, "for over ten years now, yet the more I play, the less I find it interesting. Do you know why, Young Master Zhao?"

"Because it’s hard to find a worthy opponent—lonely at the top!"

"Exactly. I haven’t met a challenger in a long time, and it has weighed on me. But tonight, meeting you is a great joy. It’s worth giving my all."

"Use whatever secret techniques you have! Let’s each show our best and settle this!"

"Agreed! Let’s decide it!"

Xue Song, his fighting spirit ignited, took a deep breath to steady himself, then grasped an arrow in each hand and threw them...

The left arrow landed perfectly flat atop the pot’s mouth, tail pointing back.

The right arrow flipped over in the air, then landed flat on the mouth, tip pointing back.

The two arrows lay side by side, perfectly aligned.

"The Divine Dragon... It’s truly the Divine Dragon! Heavens, we are witnessing a miracle—what a technique!"

"More than a technique—this is mastery beyond compare! In all the world, perhaps only Young Master Xue could accomplish such a feat!"

"Indeed—the Xue family boasts generations of master archers, capable of splitting the willow at a hundred paces. Wasn’t it the Duke of Pingyang, Xue Rengui, who once won the Tianshan with three arrows and sang his way into the Han Pass? Who does not know this?"

...

A hush fell over the guests, then the hall erupted in wild praise, waves of admiration crashing over Xue Song.

The mouth of the bronze pot was smooth and the arrows were just as slick. For two arrows to fly twenty paces and come to rest perfectly on the mouth required extraordinary strength and technique—any slight misstep, and the attempt would fail.

When balanced, the tail-back position was called "Dragon’s Tail," the tip-back "Dragon’s Head." Together, they formed "Divine Dragon"—the most difficult and highest-scoring move in the game, worth fifty points.

In other words, Li Zhao had nearly no chance of winning. Even if he matched the Divine Dragon, it would only be a tie.

All eyes were now on Li Zhao. Would he risk everything for a chance, or would he simply concede?

In this situation, even conceding would carry no shame—after all, to have battled the Tiger Prince to this point was an achievement in itself.

As expected, Li Zhao picked up his last two arrows, paused in thought, and quietly turned away from the pot—seemingly ready to admit defeat.

No one mocked him; rather, some prepared to offer words of comfort. But before they could speak, Li Zhao suddenly straightened, and, with both arms, sent the arrows over his shoulder...

One arrow landed perfectly atop the pot, tail pointing back.

The other flipped in mid-air, coming to rest tip back.

The Divine Dragon!

And he had done it with his back to the bronze pot, relying solely on instinct—making it even more difficult than the conventional technique!

The viewing platform fell silent. Some guests rubbed their eyes furiously, fearing they had seen wrong. Others pinched their thighs, certain they were dreaming. Some opened their mouths to speak, but not a word escaped...

What was mastery beyond compare? What was a miracle? This was it.

But a new problem arose—the highest possible score in the game was fifty points. Even though Li Zhao’s back-throw Divine Dragon was far harder, it still only counted for fifty. Once again, the scores were tied. The judge was about to announce the result when someone intervened.

"Wait a moment. Tonight’s match—I concede."

"But Young Master Xue, the scores are tied. You haven’t lost—you could play another round."

"No, a loss is a loss. Young Master Zhao’s skill surpasses mine. I admit defeat. But given the chance, I hope to challenge him again in the future!"

No one expected Xue Song to concede so readily. He returned to his seat, drinking and eating with gusto, showing no sign of disappointment—if anything, his spirits rose higher.

Witnessing this, people secretly gave him their highest praise. Worthy indeed of his Tiger Prince reputation—bold, indomitable, and never discouraged!

Such a man—you might defeat him, but you could never conquer him.

Li Zhao had beaten Xue Song and earned the right to advance. Meanwhile, Wang Changshou had defeated Luo Jin Feng and also advanced.

Next, the two would face off—the winner would receive a toast from Fairy Mei herself.

Although Wang Changshou was skilled, having seen Li Zhao’s prowess, nearly everyone believed he would win—the two were in different leagues entirely.

"That boy’s luck is something else. Fairy Mei’s toast is as good as his."

"Indeed, I envy him to death!"

"Hmph!"

The male guests whispered among themselves, eyes full of envy, some tinged with jealousy, even resentment.

It couldn’t be helped—when a tree stands out from the forest, the wind must break it; when one excels, others will scorn him. Tonight, Li Zhao had outshone the finest of Chang’an, besting three of its Four Talents—how could resentment not follow?

But what happened next stunned everyone.

The final match began. Wang Changshou went first, and with eight arrows, scored sixty-six points—a respectable performance.

Li Zhao, naturally, did even better. With seven arrows, he had already accumulated sixty-five points—just one point shy—with one arrow left.

In other words, with his last arrow, he needed only two points to win—a feat almost trivial for someone of his skill.

Confident, Li Zhao smiled, then launched his final arrow like lightning. It shifted direction mid-air, point up, tail down, landing precisely in the pot’s mouth—an inverted hit, twenty points.

He had won... or had he?

Just as the judge was about to announce his victory, something incredible happened—the arrow, already in the pot, bounced out and landed on the stage!

No arrow in the pot—zero points!

"Unlucky hand, truly unlucky! Such a perfect opportunity, and you managed to squander it... Serves you right!" Li Zhao gritted his teeth, slapped his right hand several times, then returned to his seat in dejection, nursing his sorrows with wine.

As for the guests, they were stunned for a moment, then burst out laughing, some with schadenfreude. What use was a handsome face or exceptional skill, if luck did not favor you? He had lost the toast from Fairy Mei—serves him right.

Yet, amid the laughter, much of the envy toward Li Zhao dissipated.

Afterward, Wang Changshou stepped forward to claim Fairy Mei’s toast.

But as she offered the cup, Fairy Mei cast Li Zhao a meaningful glance; he made a face in return, holding a finger to his lips—a gesture for secrecy.

Indeed, Li Zhao had purposely lost the final arrow.

After the banquet began, he had already outdone the peerless Young Master Dugu Junchen in presenting gifts, unraveled the sixteen-piece Luban lock from the Wise Young Master Yang Yan, and defeated the Tiger Prince Xue Song in the arrow game—he had drawn enough attention.

To have added Fairy Mei’s toast to his triumphs would only invite more envy, and with it, more trouble.

Sometimes, it is wiser to retreat than to press forward.

So Li Zhao deliberately missed his last arrow, letting all jealousy dissipate into the air.

As for Wang Changshou, he was only eleven—a child. No one would begrudge him Fairy Mei’s toast, let alone worry about him becoming her companion.

As a scapegoat, he was perfect for the role.