Xuewei flickered into the hall like frost sliding over glass. Her gaze skimmed the room like a cold wind, then settled on the jeweled matron like a pin of ice. That had to be his mother.

“Good day, madam,” she said, voice smooth as still water. “What brings you to our home?”

“Miss—” the family maid began, but the matron cut her off like a fan snapping shut.

“You’re Kerlinveil Xuewei, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Xuewei dipped a light curtsey, a snowflake falling and vanishing.

“Good. Then why did you agree and still not come?” the matron’s voice pecked like hard rain. “Do you know my son waited an entire day?” The middle-aged man at her side lifted a hand, but her glare struck like a whip and he wilted.

Trouble, Xuewei thought, a pebble dropping in her chest. Duke Elvis, the famously henpecked one—his shadow curled behind her like an old rumor.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said, tone calm as a winter lake. “Father informed me, but I had my own matters, so I couldn’t make it.”

“Your own matters?” The matron’s temper surged like a summer squall. “You toss a promise aside and put yourself first—why say yes at all?”

Xuewei let the storm break against her like rain on stone. “I didn’t say yes,” she said, voice cool as moonlight. “Father did. I decide whether I go or not.”

“You—” The matron lifted the old weapon of rank like a rusted blade, then remembered Xuewei was the Empire’s youngest Enforcer. The blade dulled. Silence fell like ash.

“So this is how your royal cadet branch treats credit?” she snapped, trying another angle like a hawk circling. “Promise today, ghost tomorrow. Face of a heaven’s favorite, that’s all it is?”

All right, dragging the family’s face into it—fine, let’s play, Xuewei thought, eyes narrowing like a crescent moon.

“Please don’t misunderstand,” she said, sugar over steel. “My father promised you. Not me. You’re aiming at the wrong target, madam.”

“Please. It was you who had an appointment with my son!” Her breath came sharp, like needles in winter.

“Exactly. So take it up with my father,” Xuewei said, smiling thin as a blade. “Weren’t you planning to drag your son into a duel anyway?”

“I—”

“And by the way,” Xuewei added, voice bright as lacquered red, “I’ve been expelled for breaking house rules. I leave tomorrow, boo-hoo.”

“You—”

“So if there’s nothing else, you can go,” she said, wave light as drifting petals. “Even if you squat here, you won’t see me tomorrow. Rest easy.”

The matron’s face turned apple red, steam rising like a kettle, yet no words came.

“Enough.” The red-haired youth finally stepped forward, his voice a clean cut like a drawn blade. “Mother, I decide my own life. Since Miss Xuewei looks down on me, this engagement—let it be void.”

“Oh? Don’t let the door hit you,” Xuewei said, bored as a cat watching dust.

“Wait.” The youth’s eyes sharpened, steel under ember. “There’s something I want to settle. Miss Xuewei, fight me. If I win, give me one more chance. If I lose, my family and I won’t bother you again.”

Xuewei tilted her head, thoughts fluttering like sparrows. Not fair—either way it favors him. But those eyes… they were clear as a mountain spring.

“Fine,” she said, smile a flick of a knife. “Don’t say I’m bullying you with a gun. If you can take one move from me, I’ll call it your win.”

“Agreed,” the red-haired youth answered, voice steady as an anvil.

“Well said! Xiao Zhe, teach this woman a lesson!” the matron crowed, thunder finding a ridge.

With that temper, who’d dare be your daughter-in-law, Xuewei thought, giving her a glance like a flick of cold rain.

“Let’s go. Not here,” she said, turning like a stream finding its bed. “We’ll use the practice arena.”

She led the red-haired boy—Xiao Zhe—down the covered corridor, shadows flowing like ink. The duke’s family trailed behind like a small, noisy flock.

“No wonder,” Xuewei murmured as the mansion unfolded like a painted scroll. “Sister gifted this place. Truth is, I’ve hardly come.” Every visit, the grandeur hit her like a wave against cliffs; this arena could host a formal tournament without blinking.

The duke’s family’s eyes went glassy, astonishment blooming like peonies. The red-haired youth stayed calm, a lone pine in snow. The little maid from Xuewei’s side hid a grin like a crescent moon, pride shining bright.

“Miss Xuewei, are you really leaving?” the maid tugged Xuewei’s sleeve, voice soft as mist. “Xiaoyan can’t bear it.”

“Be good, Xiaoyan,” Xuewei said, palm light on her head like spring sun. “Mother can be… hard to understand, but she’s not all bad. And Sister’s here. She won’t let anyone bully you.”

“Mhm… Xiaoyan knows,” the girl breathed, eyes damp as dew, leaning into the touch like a cat in a sunbeam.

Provocations from the matron sputtered like wet firecrackers. The duke’s kin cheered the boy like a breeze urging a sail. Nothing else mattered.

They walked to the arena’s heart, the floor wide as a lake.

If I’m right, he wants a clean way to cut this engagement and give his mother a step down, Xuewei thought, feeling a knot in her chest like a stone. If I’m wrong, that’s trouble.

Hearing he was from House Elvis had startled her, a chill across the back. But the arrow was loosed; no taking it back.

Just go all out. She drew a long breath, let it sink to her dantian like a stone to deep water, then lifted her guard, eyes fixed like stars.

Fangzhe—Radiant Empire’s mage prodigy. The younger son of Duke Elvis. A lineage of mages like a river running a hundred years. Their house helped Her Majesty rebuild the nation a century ago; true founding pillars. By pedigree, he matched anyone under heaven.

Praise had followed him since childhood, a chorus like larks at dawn. They said his talent might one day break realms and touch godhood. He didn’t care. Fangzhe only cared about what he cared about; magic study was a shield to placate his parents, same as this engagement. He’d heard her name—a heaven’s favorite, adept in both magic and arms, a marksman whose bullets bit like vipers. In short—

A violent girl with a temper, tongue sharp as thorns. Watching her live cemented it.

No one had ever talked his mother into a corner like that. First time. Not someone to provoke.

He liked softer faces, livelier smiles, warmth like a hearth under snow. The girl before him only matched “lively.” He wanted distance, so he chose this road.

“Then let’s begin,” Xuewei said, voice a silver bell.

“Mhm.” Fangzhe’s eyes tightened like a bowstring. He began to chant high-tier magic, syllables rising like ravens.

He set a formation. The air gathered mana like storm clouds fattening above a plain.

Ling Xuewei surged in, a white blade through wind, while Fangzhe held steady like a boulder in a river.

A serious punch.

Whoosh—her fist cut the air like a falling star.

Thump—Fangzhe flew like a rag blown off a roof. He hit the ground and rolled, eyes going white like overturned shells.

Oh my God.

Fangzhe didn’t get back up, silence landing like snow.