Oops! The Black Lotus Can’t Be a Female Supporting Character

CHAPTER 42

Little Xiao Ye glanced between Xiao Yanfei and Xiao Shuo, finally realizing something wasn’t right.

The child furrowed his brow, took a step forward, and stretched out his arms protectively in front of Xiao Yanfei. In a questioning tone, he demanded:

“Second Brother, what are you doing?”

Xiao Yanfei gently patted the top of his soft little head to soothe him, then turned her eyes to Xiao Shuo, who stood just half a head shorter than her. She repeated his words back to him slowly:

“‘Mother has loved you dearly since you were little. She cares most about you…’”

“Who told you that?”

Xiao Shuo’s lips curled into a faint smile, soft and warm, but his eyes were dark and unreadable. “Everyone in the household says so.”

“They all say Mother dotes on you. That it’s no secret.”

The last time Mother fell ill, Second Sister angered their father. He almost made her kneel in the ancestral hall, but it was Mother who begged Father again and again on her behalf—Xiao Shuo had heard that with his own ears.

Xiao Yanfei stepped over to the weapons rack and picked up a bamboo bow—one used by the women of the household. It was more delicate and lightweight than the one-stone bows used by men.

She took out a handkerchief and began slowly wiping down the bow with calm precision. As she worked, she called Xiao Shuo by his full name:

“Xiao Shuo, did they also say that I’m useless at everything? But Mother didn’t mind. She still pampered me, looked after me, even cared more for me than you, the Second Young Master?”

As she spoke, Xiao Yanfei pulled an arrow from the quiver, casually spun it between her fingers, and nocked it onto the bowstring.

Xiao Shuo fixed his gaze on her, his eyes growing a few degrees colder. His voice, though, remained clear and gentle:

“Since you know all this, then why would you hurt—”

Before he could finish, he watched as Xiao Yanfei fully drew the bamboo bow. The curve of the bow looked like an autumn moon rising into the sky.

The next moment, the arrow flew straight through the air and struck the target dead center.

A perfect bullseye.

“—Mother’s heart,” Xiao Shuo finished weakly. His final four words were so soft they were almost swept away by the breeze, leaving only the sound of the arrow humming in the wind, still quivering in the target.

“I’m useless at everything?” Xiao Yanfei asked casually as she drew the bow again with ease.

Xiao Shuo: “…”

His eyes widened slightly, fixed on the arrow that still trembled in the bullseye.

Both his father and their martial instructor had praised him for his natural talent, yet he had never once managed to hit the center of the target from a hundred paces.

Xiao Yanfei smiled. “So the Second Young Master, the one the whole household places their hopes on, turns out to be no better than someone like me—who’s supposedly good at nothing.”

The original Yanfei had learned horseback riding and archery as a child.

She was talented, and despite often missing lessons because of Concubine Cui, she still did well in her studies. It wasn’t until Concubine Cui sent her away to the estate in Jizhou that all of it had been abandoned.

But riding and archery relied on muscle memory. Once you learned them, you never really forgot. She’d just been practicing quietly over the past few days and had already regained her feel for it.

Clap clap clap!

Little Xiao Ye clapped enthusiastically again, his soft little palms turning pink from the effort. “Second Sister is amazing! She’s definitely not useless!”

His large eyes sparkled brightly—Second Sister even knew medicine. She was so skilled she had saved his life once.

That was their little secret.

Xiao Shuo’s smile froze slightly. For all his composure, he was still a young boy, and couldn’t fully hide the gloom clouding his eyes. He muttered stiffly, “It was just a coincidence.”

Little Xiao Ye clasped his hands behind his back and shook his head with a sigh, looking like a miniature adult.

Xiao Yanfei lazily pulled another arrow from the quiver, spun it nonchalantly between her fingers, and nocked it onto the string once more.

“They say I’m mediocre at music, chess, calligraphy, embroidery—everything.”

“They say every daughter in the marquis household can ride, shoot, and play polo—except for me. I’m weak, useless, always crying and complaining.”

“They say, aside from this face, I’m good for nothing.”

As the final word left her lips, she suddenly pulled the bowstring taut again and turned her head, as if unintentionally aiming the arrow straight at Xiao Shuo—just as he had done to her earlier.

“So, what do you think? Are they right?” she asked with a smile.

The bow was fully drawn. The string tight. The arrow ready to fly.

Xiao Yanfei smiled sweetly. Her eyes curved like crescent moons, her fair skin glowing like snow, and she looked at Xiao Shuo with a calm, unblinking gaze—clear and bright.

It was as if she were asking him: Do you think I would? Could I dare?

“You wouldn’t dare,” Xiao Shuo said with a short laugh, confident. “They say you’re timid. If not for Mother—”

Before he could finish, the arrow flew without warning, straight at him.

And his body froze.

The icy arrow shot past him at blinding speed, grazing his hair. A sharp sting bloomed across his left cheek, as though a blade of wind had sliced it.

Woosh!

The arrow struck a camphor tree branch behind him with deadly precision.

The branch trembled violently, scattering a flurry of leaves. They swirled in the air, dancing as they drifted down with the breeze…

One of the camphor leaves happened to land right on top of Xiao Shuo’s head.

Xiao Shuo: “…”

Xiao Yanfei slowly drew out her words and repeated her question:

“Xiao Shuo, tell me—do you think what they said is true?”

She was smiling. The smile was soft. So soft, it made one’s skin crawl.

Xiao Shuo’s pupils contracted.

He stiffly shook his head.

No.

None of it was true.

Xiao Shuo’s face, fair and elegant like carved jade, lifted into a faint smile. But the light in his eyes was cold. The slim, still-immature boy now stood like an ice sculpture caught in the wind.

Xiao Yanfei smiled again. “Good boy.”

“If you have eyes, then use them to see. Otherwise, what’s the point in having them at all?”

“Don’t you think so, little brother?”

As she spoke, she raised her hand and lightly pointed to his eyes.

It was the first time today she had called him little brother. Her smile, her demeanor—everything about her was gentle, just like the sister in his memories.

But her words and actions now… were terrifying. Unfamiliar.

Xiao Shuo: “…”

Even his eyes were starting to ache now.

Clap clap clap!

Xiao Ye clapped enthusiastically again, his little face flushed with excitement as he gazed up at the arrow embedded in the camphor tree. With pride, he declared:

“Second Brother, I told you Second Sister is amazing!”

You don’t listen to Xiao Ye? Suffer the consequences!

Xiao Shuo continued staring at Xiao Yanfei’s calm, smiling face. His left ear was burning, and his hand clenched tightly around the horn bow he held.

Beneath his composed exterior, his heart was a storm of turmoil.

It felt as if a cherished painting he had carefully preserved had suddenly been torn open.

He realized, perhaps for the first time, that he had never truly known his own sister.

Then a question crept into his mind—Did Mother know?

As the thought surfaced, Xiao Shuo abruptly turned and strode toward the edge of the training grounds.

He had only taken a few steps when Xiao Ye’s excited voice rang out again from behind:

“She hit it! Second Sister hit the target again—she’s incredible!”

“That’s the second arrow!”

Xiao Shuo halted mid-step and turned his head.

What he saw was an arrow, fast as lightning, flying from Xiao Yanfei’s bow—and once again striking dead center on the target.

Three arrows were embedded in the bullseye. Only one—his—had barely grazed the edge of the red circle, clearly inferior in comparison.

If the first bullseye had been luck, then the second and third—three consecutive perfect shots—could only be attributed to true skill.

Xiao Shuo stared at the three arrows lodged in the heart of the target, lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes dark as night.

Until today, he had truly believed his elder sister was useless. That was what everyone in the household had always said.

But now, at this moment, he realized—

He had been completely, utterly wrong.

Xiao Shuo stared blankly at the girl in crimson several yards away. She stood with a bow in one hand, poised and unhurried. The breeze lifted her long black hair, letting it dance in the wind. Without a trace of makeup, her face shimmered under the sunlight, radiant as spring. Her dark eyes sparkled with brilliance.

She wasn’t far, and yet—she felt so distant.

Every smile, every subtle movement was dazzling—familiar, and yet completely unfamiliar.

A dull ache throbbed at the spot where the arrow had grazed his left ear, but he turned and continued walking.

Behind him, Xiao Ye called out excitedly, “Second Sister, teach me! Teach me how to shoot like you!”

“What’s so hard about that?” Xiao Yanfei responded readily. “But only if you behave.”

“I’ll behave! Little brother Ye always listens to Second Sister!”

“…”

The siblings bantered and laughed behind him.

Xiao Shuo’s steps quickened as he reached the edge of the training grounds, as if he hadn’t heard the cheers and laughter behind him. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable.

They were both her younger brothers—him and Xiao Ye—yet she had pointed an arrow at him. Wasn’t that a little too unfair?

A strange, sour feeling welled up in his chest. Suppressing the bitterness, he walked faster and faster.

Hmph. Like I even care about her.

After leaving the training grounds, Xiao Shuo headed straight for Tingyu Pavilion.

“Greetings, Second Young Master.”

“Second Young Master, Madam is in the resting chamber.”

Xiao Shuo didn’t need anyone to announce him in Tingyu Pavilion. Along the way, every servant he passed greeted him respectfully and guided him forward.

He stepped through a beaded curtain into the resting chamber, where a faint, elegant scent of incense lingered in the air.

As he entered, a soft, polite smile appeared on his lips—refined and composed as always.

Just then, a rough female voice from inside was reporting, “…this servant saw Second Young Miss’s arrow—”

“Shuo’er!” Concubine Cui cut her off with barely concealed agitation. Her eyes filled with worry as she looked toward Xiao Shuo. “Come here quickly!”

Xiao Shuo walked over to the luohan couch where Concubine Cui was seated. He offered a respectful bow to the other man present. “Father. Mother.”

Concubine Cui immediately grabbed his wrist, her eyes scanning him up and down. When her gaze landed on his left ear, her face paled, and she said in a trembling voice:

“Shuo’er—your ear’s injured!”

There, on the pale curve of his ear, was a half-inch-long scrape, a thin line of blood welling at the edge.

“It’s nothing,” Xiao Shuo said calmly. He reached up and touched the spot—there was a sting, like a needle prick. When he lowered his hand, he saw a bead of blood no bigger than a mung bean on his fingertip.

He remained composed, not the slightest twitch of his brow or lips.

He was going to the battlefield one day—what was a little scratch? If he couldn’t handle a few drops of blood, how could he dream of mastering archery or horseback riding?

“How can you say it’s nothing!” Concubine Cui looked at the bloody scrape, her heart aching.

Those usually gentle, watery eyes now churned with intense emotions—resentment, rage, disbelief… all tangled together.

“…Mother?” Xiao Shuo called softly, startled by her expression.

Her lashes trembled. The next moment, the hatred in her eyes vanished, replaced by a mist of tears.

She lowered her gaze, and a single tear slid down her jade-like cheek. Her lashes caught a few glittering droplets, delicate and sorrowful.

“Mother, it’s just a scratch. Really, it’s nothing,” Xiao Shuo said gently, trying to reassure her. His gaze remained fixed on Concubine Cui, unable to shake the feeling that what he saw in her just moments ago—might not have been a trick of the light after all.

“Shuo-’er…” Concubine Cui’s tears fell like rain. She didn’t sob or wail—just sat there silently weeping. Her eyes, filled with sorrow, were soft and lovely, her expression a picture of subdued grief.

Watching her, Marquis Xiao felt a sharp pang in his heart. He quickly offered her a handkerchief. “Ru’er, don’t cry.”

But the moment he thought of the one responsible for harming Xiao Shuo, fury surged within him. He slammed the table and barked, “Someone go summon Second Miss, now!”

That rebellious girl had already made Ru’er ill once. And now she dared injure her own younger brother? Outrageous! Unfilial and unkind!

“No!” Concubine Cui suddenly reached out, pressing down on the Marquis’s hand where it rested on the tea table. Her sleeve slipped slightly, revealing a faint burn scar on her wrist.

She instinctively applied a bit of pressure to his hand and softened her voice, pleading gently, “My lord, I’m sure Yan’er didn’t do it on purpose. It must have been… an accident. Yes, a momentary lapse.”

“They’re both my children. If they fall out as siblings, what then?”

“It’s all my fault.”

The more she said, the darker the Marquis’s expression became. The edges of his brows and cheekbones grew sharp with cold severity.

Xiao Shuo: “…”

He had been watching her the entire time. His eyes were deep and unreadable.

Strangely, her words grated on his ears.

It felt as if the tear in that perfect image he’d always held in his heart had just been ripped even wider—by an unseen hand.

Xiao Shuo opened his mouth, wanting to speak, but found no words. From the corner of his eye, he saw Concubine Cui let out a quiet sigh and lower her head. Her lips, turned slightly upward, curled into something between a smile and a sneer—hidden just out of Marquis Xiao’s view.

“Enough, enough.” The Marquis waved away the maid who had just entered, his face clouded further with displeasure toward Xiao Yanfei. Coldly, he said, “Ru’er, you’ve always loved that disobedient girl, but she’s shown no regard for your motherly kindness.”

“She’s nothing but an ungrateful wretch.”

He almost slammed the table again, but Concubine Cui’s hand held his still.

Then he turned and beckoned to Xiao Shuo. “Shuo’er, come here.”

Xiao Shuo obeyed, stepping forward.

The Marquis glanced at the injury near his ear. His expression softened, the anger easing slightly into concern. “Shuo’er, I have an excellent wound ointment. I’ll have someone bring it over for you shortly.”

Suppressing the complicated emotions churning in his chest, Xiao Shuo offered a calm, courteous smile. Like spring moonlight brushing a willow, the young man looked graceful and composed—handsome and refined.

“Father, anyone training in martial arts is bound to get hurt now and then.”

He set his horn bow down at his side, then took out a handkerchief from his sleeve and wiped away the blood on his fingertip. A faint red tinge lingered in his eyes, but he carefully avoided looking at Concubine Cui again.

The Marquis let out a hearty laugh, his brows relaxing. He clapped his hands in approval. “Good. Very good!”

“Your instructor was just praising you yesterday—said you’ve got real talent with bow and blade. In time, you’ll become someone extraordinary.”

“Even Master Li says your studies are excellent. You’ve started reading The Records of the Grand Historian, haven’t you?”

“This marquisate’s future will rest on your shoulders.”

The more the Marquis looked at his eldest son, the more pleased he became. Xiao Shuo had inherited Concubine Cui’s handsome features, and from him—his aptitude for both scholarship and combat. This child was destined to soar, to achieve greatness on the battlefield.

Concubine Cui’s eyes lit up, her delicate fingers gently caressing the back of the Marquis’s hand with soft affection.

“Shuo’er,” the Marquis said, resting his free hand on his son’s shoulder, his voice full of earnest expectation, “you’re the rightful heir to the title of heir apparent.”

“In the future, this marquisate will be yours to uphold.”

“Father, what are you saying?” Xiao Shuo frowned slightly, his smile fading. His tone was calm, but the words carried weight: “The heir apparent is Third Brother.”

“…”

The Marquis raised his brows in stunned surprise.

“Shuo’er, don’t talk nonsense,” Concubine Cui blurted out. Her pupils contracted sharply.

Her voice had risen involuntarily—too sharply. Xiao Shuo turned to her, eyes narrowing slightly, as if studying her reaction.

Concubine Cui’s heart gave a jolt. Her gaze flickered briefly before she quickly composed herself, speaking in a soft and delicate voice:

“Shuo’er, ever since your grandfather’s time, this marquisate has weathered many storms. Your father has struggled all these years just to keep it standing.”

“To support the household, someone must bear that burden. But your third brother—he’s still a child. Only six years old.”

Her voice softened even more, gentle and coaxing. The look she gave her son was full of maternal warmth, just like always.

But Xiao Shuo’s heart sank. A chill seeped deep into his bones, though not a trace of it showed on his face. Silently, he crushed the bloodstained handkerchief in his right hand into a small ball and replied calmly, “I can support Third Brother.”

Concubine Cui’s right hand trembled violently, and the faint veins at her temple bulged—clearly visible against her snow-pale skin.

“…” Xiao Shuo suddenly didn’t want to stay any longer.

The room, once filled with warmth, now felt suffocating. It was hard to breathe. In his ears, he could almost hear a faint tearing sound—like the last threads of that once-beautiful painting being ripped apart…

“Father, Mother, I still have work to do. I’ll take my leave now,” he said, bowing respectfully.

“Go on, then.” Marquis Xiao nodded and waved a hand, giving Concubine Cui a look of reassurance.

Shi momo quickly lifted the curtain for him.

Xiao Shuo walked out of the sitting room at an unhurried pace. As he reached the doorway, he heard his father’s voice behind him, low and meaningful: “Ru’er, don’t worry.”

“Marquis…” Concubine Cui leaned gently against his shoulder, speaking softly. “Shuo’er is far too sensible. The more he acts like this, the more my heart aches.”

The Marquis frowned deeply. “That poor child has been wronged. His second sister’s behavior is becoming more disgraceful by the day—completely out of control.”

“Yan’er wasn’t always like this,” Concubine Cui said hesitantly. “She used to be such a good girl, if not for…”

The mere mention of Xiao Yanfei darkened Marquis Xiao’s expression further.

It was obvious to him now—this girl had become arrogant because she thought marrying into the Duke’s household had elevated her above others.

But really, she was just a concubine’s daughter! If the match were truly that desirable, would it have landed on her?

From the corner of her eye, Concubine Cui had been closely watching his expression. She bit her lip ever so slightly, then sighed with perfect timing.

“She’s only being treated this way because of her looks. If she hadn’t been born with that face, His Majesty would never have granted that marriage…”

“And you wouldn’t have been put in such a difficult position, either. Sigh—”

The Marquis let out a cold snort. “That face of hers will be the cause of ruin.”

Every word of that conversation reached Xiao Shuo’s ears as he paused just outside the doorway.

He couldn’t help turning his head slightly. From the corner of his eye, he saw his father’s face—cold and dark as a brewing storm.

“If you have eyes, then use them to see. Otherwise, what’s the point in having them?”

At that moment, Xiao Yanfei’s voice echoed once again in Xiao Shuo’s mind—gentler than spring wind, yet sharper than any blade.

A strange emotion stirred in his chest—something he couldn’t quite name. It felt like realization, and at the same time, grief. In his eyes, the darkness seemed to ripple like ink diluted with water.

He hadn’t just failed to truly know his sister.

He hadn’t truly seen his Mother either.

Without hesitation, Xiao Shuo quickened his pace and left Tingyu Pavilion without looking back.

In the days that followed, Xiao Shuo went straight to the main courtyard after every lesson, often bringing Xiao Ye along. His eyes never left Xiao Yanfei.

He watched her calculating accounts—fast, all mental math.

He watched her casually write a prescription and cure Mama Tao’s eye disease.

He watched her ride and shoot arrows with Xiao Ye in the training yard—saw her hit the target even while shooting from horseback at full gallop. Not a single arrow missed.

Later, he made some discreet inquiries and found out that Xiao Yanfei spent hours there nearly every day. Rain or shine, she practiced for at least one hour—often two.

So Xiao Shuo began going too, matching her schedule every morning and evening.

She practiced archery, so he practiced archery.

She practiced riding, so he practiced riding.

But the two of them always stayed on opposite ends of the training ground. They never greeted each other, never trained together. They barely exchanged glances—like strangers who had never met.

One day, Xiao Shuo galloped across the arena, drawing his bow with ease atop the speeding horse, loosing an arrow with a sharp whoosh.

It struck the bullseye.

His first ever bullseye from horseback.

Xiao Shuo’s eyes lit up. He told himself silently: Hard work makes up for lack of talent. If I keep this up, I’ll catch up to Second Sister.

She wasn’t born knowing everything either.

Encouraged, he began scanning the yard for her. Sure enough, over by the weapons rack in the southwest corner, she was speaking with a maid in jade-colored clothing.

He tugged at the reins, ready to continue practicing, but something caught his eye—something off about the bow in her hands.

The bowstring glinted oddly in the sunlight.

Xiao Shuo’s pupils shrank. Alarm surged through him.

Without thinking, he squeezed his heels into the horse’s sides and raced toward her, calling out—uncharacteristically loud—“Second Sister!”

From high on horseback, he leaned down and reached for the bow in her hands, urgently warning her, “This bow—there’s something wrong with it!”

His clear young voice carried a faint tremor—tinged with a fear he couldn’t quite conceal.

But before he could say more, Xiao Yanfei smiled.

It was that same warm, gentle smile she’d given him before—yet now, to Xiao Shuo, it felt like a soft breeze brushing over his startled heart.

She tilted her head and looked up at the bright-eyed boy on horseback, her gaze luminous.

Of course she knew the bow was faulty.

She’d been waiting for this moment for a long, long time.

***