Deep in the night, the entire camp remained as quiet as ever, but across the river, the Poison Clan chief and Old Master Sheng had already begun withdrawing their troops.
In truth, the war was already over—all anyone had really been fighting over was pride. The King of Nanzhao’s apology was only a matter of time now.
Under ordinary circumstances, Ziqing and Jun Beiyue would surely have found a way to force the King of Nanzhao into apologizing then and there, to declare the truth of the lonely island to the world on the spot. But now, with the truth of the lonely island finally revealed, neither of them had the heart for any of it anymore.
This night was destined to be sleepless.
Inside the tent, Ziqing had already sat there the entire night, without so much as a drop of water, utterly motionless. Jun Beiyue didn’t try to persuade her—in truth, he himself hadn’t touched a drop either, simply holding her gently, keeping her company through the night.
The room was utterly, utterly silent.
Watching Ziqing like this pained Jun Beiyue more than anything, but there was nothing he could do to help her, not for the time being.
The blood zheng—their last, final hope rested on that instrument. He was certain he could master it, but he had no idea how much time it might take.
But the more pressing question staring him in the face was—how to get the blood zheng away from this woman without her noticing.
Suddenly, Ziqing moved, gently slipping free of Jun Beiyue’s embrace, and without a word, rose and walked into the inner chamber.
Jun Beiyue hesitated a moment, about to follow her in, when the sound of music drifted out from within—”Twang…”
Jun Beiyue started slightly, and rather than following her in right away, he sat back down to listen quietly.
She was playing “Parting Sorrow.”
In the past, she’d always play a short passage before bed, with no particular purpose—just practice, a habit long since ingrained. But ever since news of Xuanyuan Lige’s death had reached her, she’d hardly played at all.
Jun Beiyue wasn’t entirely ignorant of music—what child raised in the palace hadn’t been trained in both letters and arms? He simply didn’t care for it much, that was all!
Of course, when it came to true mastery, he was nowhere near as skilled as Ziqing and Xuanyuan Lige had been. But he understood it well enough.
Having spent so much time with Ziqing over the years, he’d picked up a fair amount by osmosis, and his ear for tone and pitch had, in truth, long since surpassed the average person’s.
Within just a note or two, he recognized it—it was “Parting Sorrow.” And what’s more, it was the blood zheng!
The blood zheng had been in their possession for quite some time now, and Ziqing had never once properly used it to play “Parting Sorrow.”
The music drifted from soft and distant to sharp and resonant. Jun Beiyue listened carefully, and quickly sensed something wasn’t right!
If Xuanyuan Lige had been the one playing, by this point he surely would have already been unable to bear it—the blood zheng’s power lay in soul-piercing sound, its tone far more lethal than the Wuzheng’s. The Wuzheng’s power lay in qin-strikes, the force of wind blades.
And yet, as Ziqing played, there was only the sound of music—none of that soul-devouring power behind it.
Jun Beiyue listened, puzzling over it, when suddenly—”Twang!”—a discordant note rang out, and the music stopped abruptly.
What had happened?
Jun Beiyue rushed inside, and the sight before him made his heart skip a beat with shock!
Ziqing’s hands, without his even noticing when, were now completely covered in blood!
“Have you lost your mind!”
Jun Beiyue roared. He rarely, rarely shouted at Ziqing, but this time, he truly couldn’t hold it back. He seized her hands roughly, pulling her toward him. “Someone, fetch Jue Mingzi!”
Faced with Jun Beiyue’s towering fury, the attendant outside nearly buckled at the knees. And yet, Ziqing remained expressionless, her eyes lowered, letting him pull her, letting him hold her.
Jun Beiyue, breathing hard with rage, his handsome brow furrowed tight, sat down and pulled Ziqing close, and saw that all ten of her fingers had been cut open by the strings, both hands looking as though they’d been soaked in blood.
Looking at the blood zheng itself, blood stained the strings, the wood—and yet, the blood zheng seemed to reject this blood entirely, refusing to absorb any of it.
“Han Ziqing, I’m warning you—never touch this instrument again, ever!” Jun Beiyue warned coldly. Whatever the reason, he would not allow it, under any circumstances!
Jue Mingzi arrived quickly, and the moment he stepped through the entrance, seeing Ziqing’s hands and then the blood zheng, his face changed completely!
“Xuanyuan Lige…”
Jun Beiyue, already seething, found those four words nothing but fuel on the fire. “What does he have to do with any of this!”
“This… this… the blood zheng—it’s been sealed with a blood Gu! No one will ever be able to master it now!” Jue Mingzi slapped his own thigh hard, his face full of helplessness, not knowing what else to say.
“A blood Gu?” Jun Beiyue started slightly.
“The blood zheng, as its name suggests, is nourished by blood and mastered through blood. If its master dies, a new master seeking to wield it must first use their own blood to dispel the previous master’s blood essence, then nourish it anew with their own blood, and only then master it through blood. When I first gave the blood zheng to Xuanyuan Lige, it must have taken him no less than ten years to fully master the instrument. But… ah, ah!”
Jue Mingzi sighed again and again. “I never imagined he would go so far as to seal it with a blood Gu—using his own blood as the catalyst, swearing on ‘Parting Sorrow’ itself, sealing the blood zheng with Gu. That means no one but himself could ever play ‘Parting Sorrow’ on this instrument again! Force it, and the only outcome is death from complete blood loss!”
The moment Jue Mingzi’s words fell, a cold flash crossed Jun Beiyue’s eyes!
So then—did that mean his own plan to play “Parting Sorrow” had also been shattered?
Jun Beiyue couldn’t help but clench his jaw, both furious and full of hatred. Xuanyuan Lige, Xuanyuan Lige—when you accused me of failing to protect this woman, did you ever once stop to consider yourself?
If you had the nerve to seal the blood zheng with a blood Gu, why didn’t you have the nerve to go on living?
But no matter—blood Gu or not, this king was going to master this blood zheng regardless!
Whether Ziqing was even still listening to Jue Mingzi’s words, no one could tell. She sat curled up in Jun Beiyue’s arms like a child who’d lost all hope, saying nothing at all.
Jue Mingzi opened his medicine box, setting everything else aside to bandage Ziqing’s wounds first. Her hands were injured now too—how would she ever play the qin again?
Seeing Ziqing so utterly drained, Jue Mingzi felt genuinely wretched inside.
“Ziqing, let it go. Just let it go. A place that’s already vanished—where would you even go looking for it? And even if you found the truth, what then?”
The King of Nanzhao wouldn’t have lied at a time like this—if they couldn’t find the lonely island, it must have been destroyed three hundred years ago, without a doubt!
Exactly how it had been destroyed might well remain a mystery forever.
Even if they solved that mystery, so what—the lonely island still wouldn’t come back.
“Ziqing, you’re all still young. You have your own futures ahead of you. Don’t keep burdening yourselves over this any longer—you’ve done more than enough.”
Jue Mingzi wasn’t skilled with words, didn’t know how else to console her, but what he said came straight from the heart, and carried more meaning than it seemed.
Prince Yao had conquered Xichu, the Xiongnu, and Dongqin, claiming half the continent of Longyuan for himself.
And yet, right now, all three of those regions were still in desperate need of rebuilding. Prince Yao hadn’t even ascended the throne yet, hadn’t yet proclaimed himself emperor—there was still so, so much left for them to do.
They’d already poured far too much energy into this one matter.
In truth, getting Nanzhao to sue for peace, to promise to reveal the truth publicly, to offer a public apology—that was already the most complete outcome they could hope for.
“That’s enough now, Qing’er…” Jue Mingzi said gently, his expression full of tender affection.