Situ Haonan didn’t look back. He walked in silence, not even realizing himself just how slowly he was moving.

Tall as he was, with such long legs, he could have covered the distance in just a few strides. And yet, a long, long while later, he still seemed to be in the same spot.

His hand remained pressed against the pendant on his chest.

He remembered what that girl had said—that without this pendant, she wouldn’t marry.

He hadn’t even bothered to ask her properly why, what significance this thing really held.

Originally, coming to see her today, he had expected the girl to cling to him as before, pestering him, making this demand and that.

But instead, she had asked nothing of him—hadn’t even threatened him with a single tear, not a single sniffle. Aside from being a bit fierce, she had been unexpectedly, uncharacteristically obedient—nothing like Yelu Qianqian at all!

Step by step, however slow, it was still the rhythm of leaving, the direction of leaving.

Yelu Qianqian hadn’t moved an inch. She told herself not to cry—she had already given herself far too much time to accept this. In Nanzhao, despite a small mishap, they had actually gotten along quite happily; at least he hadn’t kept calling her a “little tagalong” the whole time.

She had always told herself that as a princess, she bore the responsibility and duty to end this war.

She had always told herself: before she married, forget this man.

As a child, she used to always ask her mother, “Mother, Mother, when will Qian’er grow up? When can I wear pretty clothes like you do?”

Her mother would say, “When Qian’er marries, has her own man to look after, has children of her own—that’s when you’ll naturally grow up. And once you’ve grown up, you won’t be allowed to cry anymore.”

She pressed her lips tightly together, fighting with everything she had not to let a sound escape. She clamped her hand over her mouth, so the man walking further and further away wouldn’t notice.

But Mother, Qian’er is almost grown up now—so why does Qian’er keep crying?

The tears wouldn’t stop.

Suddenly, Situ Haonan came to an abrupt halt—he’d been so caught up in their bickering he hadn’t even finished asking what he’d meant to ask!

“Oh right, about your brother just coming back…”

As he spoke, he turned around—but before he could finish the sentence, he caught sight of the person before him and froze instantly.

She had her hand clamped over her mouth, both eyes swollen from crying—not pitifully delicate, but like a child abandoned, standing behind him, helpless, watching him leave through her tears.

Situ Haonan’s heart clenched with grief. He shouldn’t have turned around. He should have known this girl wasn’t that strong, that she wouldn’t truly be fine with it, truly be so open-minded, truly able to let go so easily.

He shouldn’t have turned to find those tear-filled eyes waiting for him. He couldn’t give her happiness—whatever they’d once had, whatever they had now, however briefly, it had all been selfish of him.

“Qianqian…” he said, his voice low and hoarse, genuinely serious now, nothing like the usual carefree, careless Situ Haonan.

He wanted desperately to close the distance in a single stride and pull the sobbing girl into his arms, but he didn’t move a single step. He stood frozen in place, unnervingly composed. “Qianqian, be good, stop crying. You’re about to be married—don’t cry anymore.”

Yelu Qianqian just looked at him, unmoving, saying nothing, not even making a sound as she cried—only the tears kept falling, again and again.

“There, there, don’t cry. I’ll take good care of this. Be good.”

Situ Haonan took a deep breath, touched the wolf fang pendant hanging on his chest, and resolutely turned to leave.

This time, he didn’t hesitate again, walking step by step toward the cave entrance.

But just as he was about to step out, he still hadn’t heard Yelu Qianqian cry aloud.

Why wouldn’t she just cry out loud?

Would it kill her to cry?!

Stupid girl!

In the end, he still stopped, waiting, telling himself it would only be a moment.

Yet no matter how long he waited, not a single sound came from her, not even one!

He had told her not to cry, told her clearly not to cry—yet here he was, stopped in his tracks, wanting to hear her cry.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, he slowly turned back, his handsome face full of helpless resignation, resignation at himself. “Yelu Qianqian, if you want to cry… then cry.”

Yelu Qianqian wasn’t crying—she was only shedding tears, that didn’t count as crying!

She didn’t want to cry. She was about to get married, about to become an adult—she refused to cry. As long as she made no sound, it didn’t count as crying!

The tears kept falling and falling, the figure before her blurring. She shook her head. “I’m not crying at all, I’m getting married…”

So resolute, that even as she spoke, her voice hoarse, there wasn’t a single catch in it.

“You should go. I’m going to become the crown princess, the future empress of Xiliang. I’ll be happy. The crown prince of Xiliang likes me so much, he’s sure to treasure me.” She said it with great seriousness.

“Fine.” Situ Haonan took a deep breath and turned once more to leave. But who could have known—in that very instant, he abruptly spun back around, and without warning, rushed straight at Yelu Qianqian, scooping her up in one motion and pulling her hard against his chest. “Stop crying, please…”

Her weeping had shattered something deep inside him. Please, just stop crying.

The grotto fell utterly silent, the small, delicate girl held tight in his broad embrace, her face hidden from view, no telling whether the tears still fell…

Outside the cave, the wind sweeping overhead was growing noticeably stronger, and the singing of the sands grew louder too, rising and falling, sometimes roaring like ten thousand galloping horses, sometimes soft and delicate as a zither or flute, occasionally rumbling like thunder, carrying an air of tremendous, world-shaking force.

Before long, the Grand Sand Sacrifice Ceremony would begin.

By now, Yanzi should have been hurrying Yelu Qianqian along—if she didn’t return soon, Yelu Chenyi would surely notice her absence.

And yet, for the first time in her life, Yanzi had completely lost track of time.

At that moment, she stood respectfully to the right of the cave entrance, while Jun Beiyue leaned against the left side, arms crossed over his chest, one leg bent and braced against the stone door, his cold eyes lowered in thought, listening intently to the sound of the wind and sand.

This was the first time—truly, genuinely the first time—she had been alone with this man, close enough to study him. Even in profile, he was so devastatingly handsome it seemed almost an offense to gods and men alike!

And yet this man’s allure went far beyond that face—masculine yet undeniably beautiful—it was in the aura of raw manhood and commanding presence that radiated from him, invisible yet unmistakable.

Beside him, Yanzi was more than willing to be nothing but a small, doting woman. She watched him quietly, wishing with everything in her that this moment could last forever!

She had even forgotten she had more important business to attend to—that she still needed to make sure this man truly stayed here.

A calculating glint flickered across Yanzi’s eyes. With a light flick of her fingers, a scorpion suddenly emerged from the sand.

“Ah—!” She let out a sharp cry, backing away several steps toward Jun Beiyue. “A scorpion! A poisonous scorpion!”

Jun Beiyue paid her no mind, his eyes lowered, absorbed in some thought.

Yanzi sneered inwardly and summoned several more scorpions, forming an encircling swarm against them.