Deliberate or not—how much did it really matter to Ziqing?
Xuanyuan Lige couldn’t quite read her this time. She hadn’t shut him out entirely as she usually did—unlike before, when she’d only answer if he asked first, this time she’d spoken up directly. He liked this directness in her, without the usual distance.
“You’ve played through to the Lishang section?” Ziqing asked again.
“Four hundred fifty scrolls—that’s the end of Qinse Valley’s fingering techniques,” Xuanyuan Lige answered honestly, then added with a smile, “And you?”
He’d come, as always, to ask about the music.
“Why don’t you keep playing?” Ziqing asked again—this was what truly concerned her.
This time, however, Xuanyuan Lige didn’t answer right away. A complicated look flickered through his eyes before he said flatly, “My talent has its limits. Lishang requires a gift beyond what I possess.”
Ziqing rose and stepped closer, her slender hand resting lightly on the strings. “You once told me this fingering technique makes the hands ache with prolonged use. You also said that the deeper Lishang cuts, the more it wounds the musician himself. What secret does this piece truly hold, that you insist I be the one to play it?”
Ziqing was only suspicious—only testing him.
But Xuanyuan Lige’s hand on the strings suddenly stilled. “You still don’t trust me.”
She still didn’t believe that his gift of the instrument and the score hadn’t been deliberate after all.
“You want Beiyue’s life, you want Da Zhou’s land, you can even hand Gu Suying over to Prince Baxian—should I trust you?” Ziqing demanded coldly.
Xuanyuan Lige claimed time and again that he could keep matters between them clearly separated from the conflict between their two nations—that they could simply discuss music together, without it touching on the rivalry between their countries.
But she couldn’t do it—couldn’t bring herself to treat as a friend a man who opposed her own husband at every turn, to study musical artistry together with him as though nothing else mattered!
Xuanyuan Lige’s way of thinking was, perhaps, more than a little naive.
A trace of bitterness flickered through Xuanyuan Lige’s eyes, as though he wanted to explain something, but he hesitated, the words dying unspoken. Gone was the warm smile he reserved only for her; he merely said flatly, “If you don’t trust me, then return Lishang to me. I’ll find my own way to continue playing it.”
But Ziqing’s tone remained just as unyielding. “Lishang belonged to my mother—why would I give it back to you? I’ll master it myself. No need for you to concern yourself.”
Having said this much, her words had already become utterly final and unyielding.
Xuanyuan Lige’s heart ached as though it might shatter. So she wasn’t merely suspicious—she was firmly, resolutely rejecting him, telling him not to come again.
“Don’t come here anymore. I know this score isn’t as simple as it seems, and that you have other motives too. I’ll only tell you this once—once something is given away, there’s no day it can ever be taken back,” Ziqing said, rising to leave.
But Xuanyuan Lige reached out to block her path. Ziqing sidestepped away, still intent on leaving, but Xuanyuan Lige blocked her again, standing directly before her, his voice as cold and thin as his own composed demeanor. “Do you believe I could take you away with me right now, so that Jun Beiyue could never find you again?”
Ziqing wasn’t startled—she had always known of his feelings for her, which was exactly why she’d been all the more deliberate about cutting things off cleanly, refusing to leave any ambiguity between them.
“I don’t believe it. You don’t belong to anyone—not even to yourself. You belong to East Qin.”
Ziqing was stating fact. She didn’t know whether, if she said she wanted to run far away, to wander the world without a destination, Jun Beiyue would immediately drop everything to go with her. But she knew for certain that the man standing before her now would not. She’d known it since that cliff at the boundary of the three realms—his entire life was devoted to a single purpose: restoring the glory of Great Qin!
Even the zither he cherished most in the world came second to his dream of Qin’s restoration.
Yet to her surprise, Xuanyuan Lige suddenly seized her hand, truly intending to take her away!
This was entirely beyond anything Ziqing had anticipated. She stood stunned for a long moment before finally coming to her senses, immediately struggling. “Let go of me!”
Xuanyuan Lige gripped her tightly, yearning to embrace her, to hold her close and carry her away from this place—but he didn’t. Even this most intimate contact remained confined to just her hand.
“Know your limits—let go!” Ziqing said coldly.
But Xuanyuan Lige refused to release her, refused to move, refused to speak, simply staring at her coldly. That gaze filled Ziqing with an inexplicable fear—this felt like such a stranger before her now, no longer the gentle Ali who, no matter how coldly she treated him, would always give her that helpless, warm smile.
What had happened to this man tonight? What was he trying to do?
Though frightened, Ziqing bravely met his gaze, holding his stare. But for a long while, Xuanyuan Lige said nothing, refused to let go.
Ziqing’s heart quailed, aching all the more. She truly hadn’t expected he would actually seize her hand, truly intend to take her away.
This Xuanyuan Lige had let his dream of restoring Great Qin waver—and yet, he couldn’t abandon it either!
The thing she had always tried to avoid, in the end, proved unavoidable!
For a person to be bound their whole life to a single cause was, in some ways, tragic. But if one could pursue that single cause with an undivided heart, willingly and even passionately, that too was undoubtedly a profound kind of happiness!
Just like Xuanyuan Lige—beneath his cold, composed exterior burned an unquenchable passion for restoring his nation, something nothing could stop, a purpose that had defined his entire life.
But her presence had, in the end, still managed to affect him.
Choice was painful—wanting to choose but being unable to was even more so!
If only one thing were different—if he weren’t the crown prince of East Qin, or she weren’t the Princess Yao of Da Zhou, or if her heart didn’t belong to Jun Beiyue—perhaps everything would be different.
But, as fate would have it, everything about them stood in direct opposition.
Ziqing gritted her teeth and suddenly shouted, “Guards! There’s an assassin! Someone, come quickly!”
The Prince Yao estate was heavily guarded—once his presence was exposed, he might not be able to escape at all. Xuanyuan Lige immediately released her, and in that instant, Ziqing clearly saw the shock in his eyes.
He surely hadn’t expected that she would one day be so ruthless as to call the guards on him like this.
He turned and left at once. Within moments, Yingzi arrived with a group of men, immediately conducting a thorough search of the entire premises, while wave after wave of shadow guards emerged, filling the entire Prince Yao estate.
“He’s escaped!” Yingzi said with regret. “Your Highness, do you know who it was?”
Ziqing casually pointed in a direction, and Yingzi rushed off in pursuit at once.
“Ali, please, don’t come here again,” Ziqing murmured to herself.
She would rather face him as an enemy, would rather he treated her with ruthless cruelty, keeping whatever pure feelings they once shared buried deep in his heart, than have him unable to let go like this while being unable to act on it either!
Better a short, sharp pain than a long, drawn-out one.
He had his dream of Great Qin; she had her Jun Beiyue. If they couldn’t be friends, then let them simply, cleanly, be enemies!
Yingzi had arrived so quickly that Ziqing knew he couldn’t have gotten far—he’d have to be hiding somewhere in the house. Having said her piece, she turned to head out the door, but the moment she reached it, she saw a man rushing toward her at great speed, clad in mysterious black, sword-like brows knitted tight, eyes as deep as the sea!
It was him—Jun Beiyue, rushing back through the night.
Ziqing was startled. Jun Beiyue was back—everything was different now. The entire estate was searching for an assassin—how could anyone possibly escape now?
But the moment Jun Beiyue laid eyes on her, he didn’t ask about the assassin at all, instead looking urgently at the wound on her forehead. “Does it still hurt?”
Ziqing secretly let out a breath of relief, saying flatly, “It doesn’t hurt, nothing serious.”
“Come with me!” Jun Beiyue said, asking nothing further, paying no mind to the late hour, taking Ziqing’s hand and leading her away.
At the gate, Ziqing spotted the poison physician who’d been brought back, left waiting there. Her heart couldn’t help but race, but she asked nothing, simply letting him lead her toward the envoy’s residence!