"Xian-er, you don't have to fight," a calm, gentle voice said.

  I looked up. It was my 5th brother, Lu Mingyuan. He looked every bit the scholar, holding a fan and smiling kindly. He was my favorite because he never tried to shove swords in my hand.

  "Thank you, Brother," I said, relieved. "At least you understand—"

  "However," Mingyuan continued, his eyes glinting like a fox, "I accidentally told the announcer that you find the martial arts of the Six Sects to be 'uninspired' and 'boring.' The disciples are... quite offended. They’re calling for a demonstration."

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  My jaw dropped. You traitor! You scholarly, backstabbing fox!

  "Seven Prince Lu Xian to the stage!" the announcer bellowed.

  The crowd of thousands turned toward our table. The pressure was immense. If I didn't go up, I’d look like a coward, shaming the Imperial family. If I did go up and "accidentally" won, I was the next Emperor.

  I looked at my 4th brother and 6th sister. They were holding up "Go Xian-er!" banners that they definitely hadn't made in the last five minutes.

  "I hate this family," I whispered, walking toward the stage.