Chapter Fifty-Two: Spring Comes for Xiaobao

He wasn’t dreaming—it was real!

The Goddess of Archery had aimed at him, unleashing three lethal arrows his way.

Feng Xiaobao let out a startled cry, twirling his bright silver spear to knock down the incoming shafts.

Another three arrows followed!

Their force was terrifying, the whistling sound alone enough to unsettle the soul and shake one's resolve, making them even harder to fend off. If not for Feng Xiaobao’s unwavering will, immense strength, and exceptional reflexes, it would have been nigh impossible to withstand the assault—and yet, he seemed to do so with surprising ease.

The final three arrows came.

Like the earlier trio that nearly claimed Sima Wang’s life, this last set carried a deadly intent—the final arrow abruptly accelerated, its momentum enough to pierce a wall. Where Sima Wang could barely defend himself, Feng Xiaobao handled the attack with a degree of composure.

He struck down the soul-crushing last arrow with his bright silver spear, then, with one hand holding the spear, caught the second arrow with his other hand, and, with a powerful swing, returned it to the fray.

Arrow against arrow!

Though his arm was no match for the power of a bow, he managed to deflect the third arrow off course—it landed askew in the earth nearby.

Nine arrows, all deadly, shot at him without warning. An ordinary man would have long since perished; even the skilled archer Sima Wang was slain by them. Feng Xiaobao, however, was left deeply vexed!

Yet, like a bucket of cold water quenching his anger, all his fury was instantly extinguished—for a beautiful woman is ever at an advantage.

The Goddess of Archery removed her pheasant-feather cap, revealing a face of breathtaking beauty. She was not yet twenty; her delicate oval face was graced with exquisite features, brows swept lightly, and eyes as clear as spring water, tinged with a rare shade of sea blue. Her nose was slender and elegant, and her lips blushed with a roseate hue—each feature remarkable, and together, with skin fair as snow, dazzling.

She wore a rider’s outfit, its close fit accentuating her shapely figure, the curves both graceful and bold—her proud bosom alone could enthrall countless hearts. Such a goddess of the bow was rare indeed, and who could have imagined such a delicate form could wield such power—it was truly astonishing.

Feng Xiaobao had encountered many lovely girls before, but never one both so fair and so formidable. Girls who trained in martial arts were usually tanned by the sun, their skin healthy but lacking in porcelain whiteness; those with fair complexions were often too delicate. This girl, however, was both radiant and strong—a rarity indeed!

How did she maintain herself so well?

She leaped down from her horse and, waiting for Feng Xiaobao to approach, greeted him with poise, “Are you the eldest son of the Feng family? Hello, my name is Tang Tian, the eleventh in my family.”

Tang—archery—Feng Xiaobao’s intuition sparked, and he exclaimed, “You must be Tang Zhiyu’s sister!”

Tang Zhiyu was a wandering knight along the Silk Road, his ancestral home in Chang’an. He had once escorted a Sogdian caravan and befriended Feng Xiaobao, even teaching him the basics of archery.

Tang Tian smiled approvingly, “That’s right.”

She revealed a dazzling smile, teeth so white they could serve as a model in themselves.

Up close, she was even more extraordinary—a full meter seventy in height, her build tall and willowy, curves elegant, fair skin, a beautiful face, generous bosom, a slender waist, and long legs!

Her voice was melodious and sweet, her demeanor spirited; with her stature, she exuded a presence that left ordinary men feeling overawed. Heavens, how could anyone resist?

Such a girl, in a later era, would surely be an internet celebrity or supermodel—her worth beyond reckoning.

Feng Xiaobao had known mature women, but now, faced with a stunning girl his own age, his heart pounded wildly.

Tang Tian’s soft, honeyed voice asked, “What about him—Sima Wang?”

Steadying himself, he replied with a cupped fist, “Since he was slain by Lady Tang the Eleventh, the merit is rightfully yours.”

“Good!” Tang Tian replied briskly. “Then would you do me the favor of severing his head?”

She produced a cloth pouch filled with lime, clearly prepared in advance—she had no wish to sully her hands.

Feng Xiaobao took Sima Wang’s dagger, beheaded him, and placed the head in the lime pouch.

“As for his possessions,” Tang Tian said tactfully, “they’re all yours.” She helped Feng Xiaobao inventory the spoils:

A great bow—the making of such a weapon was an ordeal: gathering wood in winter, boiling horn in spring, treating sinew in summer, assembling the parts with glue, lacquer, and silk in autumn, fixing the bow in winter again, inspecting for flaws, and, if all was well, stringing it the following spring. Completing a bow was no small feat.

Sima Wang’s two-stone bow was even more remarkable—crafted with exceptional care and materials, not something money could easily buy.

It was, however, a stiff bow; Feng Xiaobao might manage to draw it, but without mastery of the bow, it would be unfamiliar in his hands.

He also found ten gold ingots, a jade belt from Khotan, and a small box of pearls—Sima Wang had carried little, prepared to flee.

Feng Xiaobao gleefully gathered them up and tossed the box of pearls to Tang Tian, saying, “Finders keepers!”

It was, in truth, the most valuable item; he wished to win her favor.

Tang Tian smiled and accepted it. Her gratitude was soon evident—when they set off, she did not remount and leave him behind to eat her dust. Instead, they walked side by side.

She was clearly ready to converse with him.

“You’re impressive indeed—Sima Wang couldn’t withstand my nine arrows, yet you did. How do you usually train?”

“This is just how I practice!” Feng Xiaobao animatedly recounted his rigorous summer and winter regimen, both strength training and endurance running, describing a series of exercises he himself had devised.

This was, in fact, his secret method, which he was constantly perfecting—he had even written a booklet, intending to use it to train soldiers in the future.

He had told no one else; Tang Tian was the first to hear it!

He was showing off, of course—one should always show off to a potential sweetheart.

Fortunately, Tang Tian understood and appreciated his methods. “Your system is very comprehensive and practical—a lot of potential!”

“There’s still much to improve,” Feng Xiaobao replied, a hint of pride in his tone. “But it works well enough for me.”

He then asked how Tang Tian had honed such remarkable archery skills—though, truthfully, he was more curious about her beauty regimen, but that was too personal for now.

Tang Tian answered candidly: genius is born of hard work. Her family was one of archers, and the tradition had been passed down for generations. Her father, brothers, and uncles were all experts with the bow. In fact, her family had Hu (Central Asian) blood, and because of this, the Han Chinese tradition of “teaching sons but not daughters” did not apply. Tang Tian was taught by her father and brothers, and so developed her formidable skills.

“Training is one thing, but you must have real combat experience, right?” Feng Xiaobao asked. He could tell from her style that her archery was meant for battle—swift and deadly, not the work of a sheltered flower.

He was right. Tang Tian had started roaming the Silk Road at fourteen, only returning three years later—she must be around seventeen now.

“She’s about my age!” Feng Xiaobao mused.

“I escorted caravans in the Western Regions with my great-uncle,” said Tang Tian. “We fought wolves, desert bandits, nomads—sometimes even government troops.”

“Government troops?”

“Yes, the armies of the various states along the road. In remote areas, the officials were often no better than bandits—or rather, the bandits were the officials.” Tang Tian spoke with a calm detachment.

“Uh—” Clearly, Tang Tian had seen the world; she was not one to be easily fooled. Feng Xiaobao grinned sheepishly.

The two talked cheerfully, growing ever more familiar with one another.

As her name implied, Tang Tian was as sweet as springtime, her voice charming and gentle. With her at his side, Feng Xiaobao felt as if he were walking on springs.

While his mind was spinning with secret, unspoken hopes, Tang Tian, too, was quietly reflecting.

Long before, Feng Xiaobao had not known her—but she had known him.

She knew Feng Xiaobao because her brother, Tang Zhiyu, had highly recommended him—as a candidate for her husband!

At fourteen, Tang Tian was already stunning, especially remarkable for her height and her skill with the bow. Even in a later era of abundant nutrition, a girl standing one meter seventy would command respect and intimidate most boys; in the Tang dynasty, she was extraordinary indeed.

Her archery was even more astonishing—deadly accurate since the age of six, when she first showed talent with a bow. The family poured all their resources into her training, and her skill grew by leaps and bounds. Her uncles and brothers praised her, teaching her with ever more dedication. Yet, as she excelled, she became all the harder to marry off.

Tall, beautiful, with both charm and prowess—few men dared believe they could “handle” her.

In later times, even highly educated women found it hard to marry; in this era, Tang Tian, a master of a deadly art, was even more daunting.

If she were only pretty, perhaps some family would have wanted her. But she could shoot through walls, and her hands were stained with blood—who would dare pursue her? Who was not afraid?

What’s more, she herself was unbothered, saying that any man who wished to marry her must first withstand her nine arrows in succession!

Just look—even Sima Wang, skilled as he was, had been defeated by her; her requirement was all but impossible.

Did she even want to marry?

Upon her return to Chang’an, her family immediately saw the problem: ordinary families feared her, while noble houses were out of reach—the Tang family was not of the great clans.

But Heaven does not close all doors. Tang Tian had a good brother who thought ahead. He recommended Feng Xiaobao, saying he knew the young man and saw great promise in him.

However, his achievements then were unremarkable—a “rising star,” perhaps, but not yet someone to catch Tang Tian’s eye. Still, she kept him in mind.

Fate brings those meant to meet, no matter the distance. When the court issued a call for heroes to suppress the bandits at Xindu Mountain, Tang Tian came with her cousins. On the battlefield, Feng Xiaobao distinguished himself.

The Tang family’s opinion of him changed instantly—Tang Zhiyu’s judgment was truly keen.

“Brother truly did not misjudge him,” Tang Tian thought, her heart stirring for the first time.

While Feng Xiaobao and his companions did not join in the assault on the mountain, Tang Tian followed their movements and then made her move.

At last, Feng Xiaobao withstood her nine arrows in succession. With her Hu heritage, Tang Tian was not one for false modesty—she removed her pheasant cap and met him face to face.

Feng Xiaobao, unaware of all this, was instantly smitten, his appetite thoroughly whetted.

Ordinary men dared not pursue such a formidable beauty, but Feng Xiaobao, used to modern models and celebrities, recognized her worth at a glance—how could he not want to seize this opportunity?

As for her archery, well, he had strength and skill to match—no need to fear. The rest could be left for another day.

Thus, with affection on both sides, the two conversed intimately. When they rejoined Yang Chengxian and Cheng Boxi, Tang Tian, following Feng Xiaobao’s introduction, greeted them with a dazzling smile, leaving everyone stunned.

Who would have thought that chasing after Sima Wang would lead to the appearance of such a peerless beauty?

“Heavens above, Feng Xiaobao is the greatest prize of all!” Cheng Boxi muttered.

But when they learned it was Tang Tian who had slain Sima Wang, drawing a two-stone bow, everyone looked at Feng Xiaobao with newfound respect. Let him enjoy such a beauty—she was his to cherish.