How could Yingzi and the others possibly keep pace with Xiong Xiaobao’s speed?

This boy had inherited everything good from his parents — except, unfortunately, that composed, steady bearing of theirs. Perhaps he was simply still too young; at seven years old, not quite a small child anymore, and yet not quite grown either.

Fortunately, though impulsive, he wasn’t entirely without sense.

In his running, he hadn’t fled beyond the walls of Prince Yao’s estate at all — instead, he’d run straight into a particular courtyard, and with a sharp “bang,” shut himself inside a room.

Everyone chased after him, gasping for breath, until they reached the doorway, where Hongyi finally murmured, “This… this is His Highness and Her Highness’s bedchamber.”

At these words, everyone’s hearts gave an inexplicable pang, an ache they couldn’t quite explain.

A child was still, after all, just a child!

Moments ago, so furiously cursing them as “liars,” running off in such fury — and yet, in the end, he’d run straight to his parents’ room.

For a moment, no one knew quite what to do.

“Let him be alone for a while. He is, after all, Prince Yao’s son — a tiger’s cub is never a dog. Don’t worry,” Guxi said flatly, sitting down on the stone steps by the door.

Yingzi, Hongyi, and Jue Mingzi were all still in a state of panic, not yet having recovered from what had just happened, everything feeling utterly unreal, as though caught in some sudden, inexplicable dream!

The three of them sat down alongside Guxi as well. Hongyi, unable to bear it any longer, pinched her own arm hard. “Are we really not dreaming? Her Highness and the others…”

Hongyi couldn’t finish the sentence. Yingzi sighed heavily, again and again, while Jue Mingzi sank once more into deep thought.

Guxi furrowed his brow slightly and said flatly, “Could the two of you please be quiet?”

At this, Hongyi and Yingzi fell into an abashed silence, exchanging glances. By age, Guxi ought to have been calling them “brother” and “sister” — and yet, somehow, it felt as though Guxi were the elder brother of the group instead.

There was no denying it — this young man possessed a composure far beyond what his years warranted. Looking at Guxi’s handsome, resolute profile, Hongyi couldn’t help but feel a flash of irritation toward Shiliang.

They say only those who have truly emerged from the wounds of hardship and emotion can achieve real composure.

But why was it that what Hongyi saw in Guxi wasn’t just composure — but a certain coldness as well?

It wasn’t that Guxi was cold-hearted — it was simply that he had long since grown accustomed to never letting his emotions show on his face. He, too, was panicked, anxious inside — and yet, he was even more deeply worried than the rest of them.

Prince Yao had been gone for barely over a month, and already the entire court of civil and military officials was kneeling at the gates of Prince Yao’s estate, begging for an audience. If Prince Yao truly never appeared again, what kind of upheaval would this unleash upon the imperial family, upon the entire court of Da Zhou!

Prince Yao had been away from the capital for extended periods before as well — but even then, everything in the capital had remained firmly under his control, and Jun Beichen had never dared harbor any ambitions of his own.

But this time was entirely different. Prince Yao had vanished without warning, without leaving a single word of explanation.

Even though Guxi had already announced on the estate’s behalf that His Highness was simply unwell, this excuse hadn’t been enough to hold back the assembled officials.

Clearly, more than a few had already begun to suspect that something had happened to Prince Yao.

At this very moment, Jun Beiyue, trapped within the illusion of the soul-seizing composition, had no way of knowing that for every day that passed within the illusion, an entire month had already passed in the outside world.

Guxi remained silent, and Hongyi and Yingzi didn’t dare speak either, while Jue Mingzi, off to the side, had nothing to say at all.

If only Jue Mingzi had shown a bit more initiative, a bit more sense of responsibility, perhaps none of this would have happened to Ziqing in the first place — Guxi glanced sideways at Jue Mingzi, knowing full well that if they hoped to rescue His Highness and Her Highness from the soul-seizing composition, Jue Mingzi alone would never be enough.

And yet, he also knew that if even Jue Mingzi had no solution, then surely no one else in this world would either!

Because the one person in this world with an even deeper mastery of music and the art of the zither than Jue Mingzi was, at this very moment, trapped within the illusion of the soul-seizing composition itself — rather than pinning their hopes on Jue Mingzi, it would be better to place their hopes in Her Highness herself.

For now, the most pressing matter was figuring out how to support the young master, how to steady the officials outside, and how to stabilize the situation across all of Da Zhou.

The courtyard fell into complete silence.

And yet, everyone’s heart hung suspended in midair, filled with fear and unease, wondering what that child was doing inside that room — until, in the stillness, a faint sound of crying began to drift out from within, low and muffled, so soft that one would have missed it without listening closely.

And yet, everyone heard it — that brash, arrogant, fearless young master, so utterly confident and unshakable, was crying.

The sobbing came in broken, halting bursts, clearly being held back with tremendous effort — that child seemed to be trying desperately to tell himself not to cry, and yet unable to stop himself.

Everyone heard it, and every heart ached in time with each sob. Hongyi couldn’t help but clap a hand over her mouth, longing desperately to rush inside, to gather the young master into her arms, to tell him it was alright, to let him cry it all out.

But she couldn’t go in — because she wasn’t his mother. She couldn’t give him that sense of safety, that warmth, that sense of home. At a moment like this, who but a child’s own parents could possibly offer him any comfort?

Hongyi, not daring to let her own sobs be heard, covered her mouth and rose quickly, hurrying away. Yingzi clenched his jaw tightly, and soon found he too couldn’t bear to sit there any longer, afraid that if he stayed, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together.

Jue Mingzi turned his face away, and as the crying from within grew louder and louder, his fists clenched tightly, and he swung hard toward the wall beside him — but just as the blow was about to land, he stopped himself after all, afraid of disturbing the child inside, afraid of making him too self-conscious to cry freely.

In the stillness, the crying grew louder still, until Jue Mingzi could bear it no longer, rising and fleeing in defeat.

Only Guxi remained, sitting quietly with his head lowered, not even realizing how tightly his own jaw was clenched. He found himself drifting back to memories of the past, back to when he too had been young — and without meaning to, his mind wandered far away.

Inside the room, Xiong Bao’s small, thin frame curled up on the bed, clutching tightly to the long pillow his father and mother had shared every night, as though clinging to his very last lifeline, his body trembling softly with each sob.

That small, solitary silhouette looked so utterly alone, so forlorn, that it broke the heart of anyone who saw it.

No one knew how long it lasted. The sky had long since gone dark by the time the crying finally, gradually, subsided. He lay perfectly still, seeming to have fallen asleep — and yet still clutching that pillow tightly, as though he wished to melt entirely into it, into the lingering scent his father and mother had left behind. From that day forward, Xiong Xiaobao would need to hold that pillow every single night in order to fall asleep at all.

Xiong Xiaobao remained shut away like this for three full days and nights. During that time, no matter how Yingzi and General Ouyang, one of Jun Beiyue’s officers, tried to explain things, the assembled officials refused to withdraw, insisting on kneeling until they saw Jun Beiyue in person, demanding that he halt construction of the road through the Innocence Ravine, and calling for him to name a prince of the blood, to divide administration of the Xiongnu, West Chu, and East Qin territories among the imperial princes and grandsons.

And by now, it wasn’t only the capital — wild rumors had spread through every county and city across Da Zhou, chaos brewing everywhere, and even General Baihu had sent a letter inquiring about the matter.

Finally, on the fourth day of the standoff, even Guxi could no longer bear the mounting pressure — and just as he was about to knock on the door, the door itself suddenly creaked open on its own…