Jun Beiyue looked at the teacup Ziqing had deliberately set aside and raised an eyebrow. “This is…”

Was someone coming?

Ziqing simply smiled cheerfully to herself, saying nothing.

Jun Beiyue truly couldn’t figure it out. His slender fingers gently traced the rim of his teacup, and he finally had to admit defeat to the woman before him. “Who is this set aside for? Not for our son, surely?”

To his surprise, Ziqing actually nodded. “Mm.”

“Do you really think our son is coming back tonight?” Jun Beiyue laughed—that little rascal had probably made up his mind to cling to his grandmother all night.

Yet Ziqing shook her head. “It’s for you—as her son.”

At these words, Jun Beiyue’s hand froze slightly, and he looked over at Ziqing.

“Tomorrow morning, go present a cup of tea to your mother, and call her by name,” Ziqing said calmly.

Since their reunion, he still hadn’t formally acknowledged that mother of his, hadn’t yet called her by that title!

She had no idea whether that mother-in-law of hers privately hoped for this, nor whether it truly fell within her own duties as a wife and daughter-in-law to think of it—but she’d kept this thought in mind regardless, and now gently reminded Jun Beiyue.

It had to be said—if Ziqing hadn’t brought it up, Jun Beiyue truly hadn’t thought of this at all. As the son, he should have been the one to bring it up on his own!

His birth mother had already explained everything—it had all been a misunderstanding; she’d had no choice, and hadn’t abandoned him out of will.

Jun Beiyue set down his teacup and placed his large hand over Ziqing’s small one, his deep gaze so tender it could melt a person’s heart. He seemed to want to say something, but in the end merely smiled indulgently. “Silly woman…”

Yet Ziqing’s gaze grew hesitant, as though there were something she couldn’t quite bring herself to say.

Unexpectedly, Jun Beiyue seemed to understand her anyway. “Sleep in a little tomorrow. I can go on my own.”

If he had married Ziqing with all the proper pomp and ceremony, then naturally, tomorrow she would go with him to present tea together, to call out that word “Mother” together as well.

But Ziqing hadn’t formally married him yet—theirs was merely a marriage bestowed by imperial decree, a formal title conferred. There had been no real wedding ceremony to speak of!

This, perhaps, was a matter of a woman’s dignity—and also Ziqing’s own personal principle. It wasn’t that she, as a junior, was putting on airs before an elder.

Before their formal marriage, Ziqing had no wish to present that cup of tea prematurely; she had no wish to call her “Mother” ahead of time either.

Hearing Jun Beiyue say this, Ziqing finally smiled, revealing a row of pearly white teeth, her smile brighter than sunlight itself in the candlelight, even so late at night.

Seeing her smile so brightly, the weight that had been sitting on Jun Beiyue’s heart lifted considerably.

“Ziqing, do you think she’ll want the Qiankun Poison Pouch back?” Jun Beiyue still chose to get straight to the point—after all, he was no fool.

Having grown up in the imperial palace from childhood, this man had witnessed more than enough scheming and treachery lurking beneath the surface of family bonds, and it had left him with more composure than anyone else when it came to matters of kinship—a cold, even ruthless kind of composure.

Ziqing didn’t hide anything either, coming straight to the point. “As far as I can tell, she will.”

The Qiankun Poison Pouch was such a vitally important item—essentially a weapon that could determine the outcome of any future war against Nanzhao. In truth, no matter how much Xiong Bao fussed, even if Meng Wanyue refused to let it go, she would have every right to do so.

But the key issue was this—Meng Wanyue had let it go readily, without showing the slightest hesitation, the slightest reluctance.

Too much generosity, too much indifference—it simply wasn’t natural.

At the very least, when it came to the matter of the Qiankun Poison Pouch, she was putting on an act.

An unkind old woman wasn’t frightening. But an old woman skilled at putting on an act—that was truly the most frightening thing of all.

Seeing Ziqing’s helpless expression, Jun Beiyue couldn’t help but tighten his grip on her hand. “Don’t worry about all that. As for the Qiankun Poison Pouch, I already promised you—I’ll find a way to convince her.”

Watching Jun Beiyue hold this attitude was, in truth, already more than enough to satisfy Ziqing.

As a daughter-in-law, more often than not, what truly mattered wasn’t really squabbling or competing with one’s mother-in-law—what truly mattered was never the thing itself, but always her husband’s heart.

As long as her husband’s heart leaned firmly toward her, she’d be happily willing to let go of anything.

Even someone as stubborn and cold as Ziqing was no exception.

In such a difficult situation, Jun Beiyue didn’t try to explain to her the importance of the Qiankun Poison Pouch, didn’t tell her that Xiong Bao couldn’t possibly master it—he simply set all of that aside and told her, “I already promised you first.” That alone was enough.

She was someone who wouldn’t back down once she had reason on her side, but she was never someone who made unreasonable demands either. As for the Qiankun Poison Pouch—she would let it go!

“Beiyue, our son is still too young to master the Qiankun Poison Pouch. Waiting until he can fully control it—who knows how many years that might take. Even now, while we’re still avoiding Nanzhao, sooner or later, if Nanzhao doesn’t come looking for us, we’ll go looking for them ourselves. The Qiankun Poison Pouch matters a great deal! It’s also your mother’s lifelong dream…”

Ziqing spoke with a smile throughout, and it was precisely because of Jun Beiyue’s attitude that she genuinely felt at peace with all of it, without a trace of reluctance or difficulty. “Beiyue, if she wants it, and there’s a way to transfer ownership, whenever she comes to ask me for it, I’ll give it back to her. As for our son, I promise I’ll talk him into it, no problem.”

Ziqing simply disliked Meng Wanyue’s pretense. As long as Meng Wanyue kept up this act of generosity and indifference, Ziqing certainly wouldn’t take the initiative to offer it back. But the moment Meng Wanyue brought it up to her directly, face to face, she would absolutely hand it over.

With a wife like this, what more could a husband ask for?

Making that decision hadn’t been easy for Jun Beiyue either, because no one had expected that even after opening the Qiankun Poison Pouch, there would still be limitations on its space.

Ziqing understood his difficulty—nothing was more precious than that.

Jun Beiyue said nothing more, raising his teacup in place of wine and offering a solemn toast to the wife across from him, drinking it down in one go.

Toward this woman, alongside his affection and admiration, there was now also a measure of something he rarely gave so easily—genuine respect.

Deep in the night, the entire Meng Clan had drifted off to sleep—everyone except little Xiong Bao’s quarters, where the lamp still burned bright.

“Grandma, does the Qiankun Poison Pouch have a limit to its space?”

“Grandma, can ‘collecting’ bring in any kind of beast at all?”

“Grandma, is there a way to increase the space faster? I want to collect my bear daddy inside!”

“Grandma, once I’ve raised enough poison beasts, will I be able to summon them out anytime, anywhere?”

“Grandma! Grandma! Don’t fall asleep!”

“Grandma, when can I start growing poisonous herbs?”

Meng Wanyue had been fielding this little bear cub’s questions for two solid hours straight and had unknowingly dozed off from exhaustion. Xiong Bao, however, remained wide awake through the night, no one quite sure where he found the energy, constantly nudging, pestering, and questioning her.

Never mind poor exhausted Meng Wanyue—even Baili Weisheng, perched up on the roof, found himself so thoroughly annoyed by this bear-cub of a child that he wanted to leave. Every third sentence out of the kid’s mouth was about the Qiankun Poison Pouch; by the end of the night, he’d heard the words so many times he felt sick of them.

Gazing up at the bright moon overhead, Baili Weisheng couldn’t help but mull things over. This Fourth Elder was so fiercely devoted to the founding ancestor’s legacy—back then, how deeply must she have loved the head of the Solitary Island to have set that legacy aside and run off chasing romance instead?

And yet, ever since emerging from the Flowing Light Dagger, she’d hardly mentioned the Solitary Island’s leader at all. Could it be that love, once it had run its course, simply vanished without a trace?

That seemed seriously implausible, didn’t it?

Baili Weisheng had always heard that once love took root in someone’s heart, it never truly let go, not even in death—wasn’t that how it worked?

Baili Weisheng, after all, wasn’t Jun Beiyue or Ziqing—he had no particular ties to this old woman. He cast a cold glance down at Meng Wanyue inside the room and thought to himself: better to keep a little something in mind, just in case, for little Xiao Qingqing’s sake.