At the foot of the snow mountain, the courtyard lay blanketed in snow. In the past, every morning the master of the house would come out to clear the snow and admire the red plum blossoms in the yard.

But these past days, that slender, purple-robed figure had been nowhere in sight.

Since that night, he had stayed inside, keeping watch by the bedside. Aside from adding wood to the fire, he hadn’t left her side once.

On the bed, Ziqing’s color had recovered considerably, but she still hadn’t woken.

She lay perfectly still, and beautiful beyond words — her eyes were eyes, her nose a nose, her long lashes casting shadows in the firelight, making her look, at that moment, like a porcelain doll.

Only, she wouldn’t wake.

If she didn’t wake, none of it meant anything.

Xuanyuan Lige had sat by the bed so long his legs had gone numb, almost turned to wood. These past days, aside from taking his medicine, he’d barely touched a drop of water.

These past days, he had said so much to her — things he’d never said before, things he’d never had the time to say. He’d said it all.

And still, she wouldn’t wake.

He had no zither with him here, or he would surely have played for her — every song she’d ever heard, every song he’d taught her, over and over, until she woke.

The sky grew hazily bright once more — another new day.

“Ziqing, look, the sun’s up. Do you remember the sunrise we watched from the cliffs at Wuxie Ravine, rising up from Dong Qin’s sea? You always used to tell me — a new day has begun again.”

“Ziqing, a new day has begun. Won’t you stop sleeping now?”

“Don’t you still have so much left to do? Da Zhou’s western border would fall apart without you.”

“Ziqing, if you don’t wake up soon, I really will have to see what you truly look like.”

As he spoke, he actually reached out, gently brushing his fingertips along the side of her face, over her cheekbone, where a thin human-skin mask concealed the poison scar beneath.

But he made no move to actually lift it. He was the first person to have ever seen that scar — back then, it had been an accident, an unintended discovery that had led him to the secret of her origins.

Later, when Yanzi had hurt her, he’d sworn that unless Ziqing herself was willing, he would never look again, even if it meant gouging out his own eyes.

How could he so casually lift the mask now?

Watching her lie there, still as peacefully as someone merely asleep, Xuanyuan Lige couldn’t help but smile bitterly. “You — are you certain I won’t dare, and that’s why you won’t wake?”

Perhaps, in this life, he truly had been read like an open book by her.

Meeting her, he was fated to compromise on everything — even his ambitions for Dong Qin. The moment he chose to betray Yanzi, chose to betray Xuanyuan Zhaoxi, he had already made his choice clear.

“Ziqing, maybe now, we can finally be friends. You — just you, alone. No Jun Beiyue, no Da Zhou.” Xuanyuan Lige suddenly smiled, and as he smiled, his long fingers tapped out a soft rhythm on the table — tap, tap, tap. Slow, but the rhythm gradually became clear: it was “Parting Sorrow.”

Friends — in truth, he didn’t reject the idea of being her friend. He could bury all his love deep in his heart, be nothing more than a kindred spirit to her, a confidant, a brother, an embrace she could retreat into when she was hurt.

He could give, simply and freely, without letting it touch her relationship with Jun Beiyue in the slightest.

But the friend he wanted was like the woman before him now — just her alone, without so many others around her, without Jun Beiyue, without Da Zhou, without ambition.

But she could never be that simple a person.

She represented Jun Beiyue. She stood by his side at every moment.

And he — Xuanyuan Lige, crown prince of Dong Qin, and the Prince Yao who guarded the Three Realms Territory of Da Zhou — would forever be sworn enemies.

Even if he abandoned Dong Qin entirely, he could never, ever count Jun Beiyue as a friend.

In truth, the two of them couldn’t even be friends.

She understood this better than he did.

Which was why she was harsher than he was, more resolute.

She had always told him this cruel truth: she would never treat her husband’s enemy as a friend, and he would never treat his enemy’s wife as one either.

They could admire each other, respect each other — but they were destined never to bare their hearts to one another completely.

“Silly girl. Honestly… I rather hope you sleep a few more days,” Xuanyuan Lige said softly, leaning in slowly. His lips brushed just above her forehead, never quite touching down.

He wasn’t a good man — but he was, in his way, still enough of a gentleman.

“Your birthday’s in a few days. Silly girl, let me spend it with you this year.” Xuanyuan Lige smiled and smiled, one hand propping up his head, the other tapping gently along the edge of the bed — tap, tap, tap… tap, tap, tap. The rhythm of “Parting Sorrow,” growing more mournful, more sorrowful by the moment, slowly filling the warm, bright room.

Her peaceful sleeping face, his silent figure — if only time could pause here forever, how wonderful that would be.

He didn’t know whether this counted as a good moment. Good moments, after all, never lasted.

Yingzi and his fellow shadow guards were racing day and night toward the small northern town — and things at Nangong City were stirring in a big way too.

Nangong Mei hadn’t gone to the western border at all — she’d come to Nangong City instead.

“Father, Han Ziqing and Yelu Qianqian must both still be in the northern steppe. Your daughter begs you to help her — think of it as lending a hand to your lost grandson too!” Madam Situ spoke each word with heavy weight, and as she finished, she dropped to her knees.

She had read every letter Situ Haonan had sent to Nangong City asking for help, so she knew about Yelu Qianqian’s abduction, and about Han Ziqing’s disappearance too.

“You’ve already taken a huge portion of his forces — what more do you want?” the head of Nangong City asked, his tone heavy with meaning.

“I don’t want anything more — I just want him back. The moment he’s willing to come home, Situ Yibo will hand over the position of martial alliance leader to him immediately!” Madam Situ said earnestly.

Hearing this, the head of Nangong City hesitated. The truly cunning one here wasn’t Madam Situ, nor Lord Situ — it was the head of Nangong City himself.

Though he cared for Situ Haonan, he would never simply indulge him.

He hadn’t stopped Situ Haonan from going to war before — partly because it was already done, so he’d figured he might as well let the boy gain some experience, and partly to force Lord Situ to truly recognize his son’s worth.

But now, the situation had changed.

Yelu Qianqian had already been taken captive near the northern steppe, liable to be smuggled into Xiliang at any moment. Once she crossed into Xiliang, her fate would be sealed for life.

No matter how hard Han Ziqing tried, she would never manage to persuade the Emperor of Xijing.

By then, the Emperor of Xijing would surely break the alliance, defect to Xiliang — perhaps even join forces with them to attack Da Zhou’s poorly defended western border.

And when that happened, Situ Haonan would suffer right alongside Jun Beiyue.

Seeing her father hesitate, Madam Situ pressed on urgently, “Father, time is short. In these next few days, if you could—”

“If — if I could find Yelu Qianqian myself…” the head of Nangong City murmured to himself, only to be cut off at once by Madam Situ. “Father, are you truly confused, or just pretending to be! If you could help those kidnappers deliver Yelu Qianqian to Xiliang, Situ Haonan would have nowhere left to turn but to us!”

At this, a sharp gleam flashed at once in the head of Nangong City’s shrewd eyes. “Daughter. Do you know where Yelu Qianqian is?”