What was that piercing, wind-cutting sound?

Ziqing didn’t dare lower her guard, but she looked up urgently alongside Xuanyuan Lige — and there, she saw a rope-tethered arrow streaking past directly in front of Jun Beiyue. He immediately seized the rope, and in the same motion swept his hand out to catch the arrow, binding the thick rope firmly around himself.

On the bridge, all of the shadow guards had lined up in a single row stretching from the bridge all the way into the mountain forest beyond, with Yingzi standing at the very front.

A single command rang out: “Pull!”

At once, every man threw his full strength into the rope, hauling Jun Beiyue forcibly back from the crosswind toward the bridge. A single shadow guard couldn’t overpower the wind alone — but with over fifty men pulling together, there was no contest at all. Jun Beiyue no longer even needed to exert his own strength.

Xuanyuan Lige’s hooked fingers slowly lowered. He understood clearly — striking now would never kill this man; it would only reveal his hand prematurely.

Ziqing saw through Xuanyuan Lige’s hesitation at a glance, and only then did she allow herself to calm down, looking down at her own abdomen, still bleeding freely — only to feel her legs suddenly buckle, collapsing to her knees on the spot.

She didn’t understand why Xuanyuan Lige had shown her mercy — the wind blades that followed had seemed to hold back, lacking the force of that very first strike.

But even that single blow alone had been more than she could bear. A force rivaling a bullet, straight to her abdomen — had he put just a little more strength behind it, even the smallest fraction more, it surely would have torn straight through her.

Painful, but not fatal. To Ziqing, a wound like this hardly warranted concern.

At that moment, head bowed, one hand braced against the ground, the other pressed to her chest, she could feel clearly — her heart hadn’t slowed for even a single moment since all this began.

As though she’d been afraid of something.

She couldn’t help but look back toward the bridge — that man had already been pulled to safety and was now retreating.

Did she not want him to die?

She asked herself the question, then gave a bitter, self-mocking smile. What kind of question was that anyway? They shared no bond, no debt of gratitude or vengeance — what did his life or death matter to her at all?

Just then, Xuanyuan Lige smiled. “You and he… truly are of one heart.”

Ziqing’s brow furrowed at that, sensing there was more to his words than met the eye, though she couldn’t quite grasp what he meant. She simply said flatly, “It’s nearly been a month. When will you let me go?”

“Once the full month is up, I’ll let you go, without fail,” Xuanyuan Lige answered flatly, rising and offering her a salve for wounds.

“Where are we going now?” Ziqing asked, glancing casually back toward Three Realms Bridge — that group of men had long since vanished from sight.

“Nowhere. Play that piece from earlier for me — ‘War Begins,'” Xuanyuan Lige said, his tone so light and detached it was as though nothing at all had just happened.

Ziqing felt a flicker of genuine astonishment — she could hardly believe this was the same man who’d just come at her with such fierce, murderous intent moments ago. She’d ruined his grand scheme, and yet here he was, showing no trace of anger at all.

“I don’t know how to play it,” Ziqing said honestly.

Yet Xuanyuan Lige remained perfectly good-natured, saying flatly, “Then listen to it again.”

“You said you’d pass your lifetime of skill on to me — does that include the ability to conjure wind blades with a snap of your fingers?” Ziqing asked earnestly, without the slightest hesitation.

Xuanyuan Lige paused, mildly surprised, then broke into a smile. “Once a zither’s strings have been stained with blood, they can never produce true music again. Your talent is exceptional — it would be a shame to waste it.”

With that, he immediately began to play, the music ringing out as brilliantly as ever — a sound unmatched anywhere in this world, one that even the wind, the rushing water, the cries of every wild beast in nature could never rival.

Could it be that even his own music, in his own heart, never quite counted as true music at all?

Ziqing didn’t understand, and glanced down at the base of the mountain — Great Zhou’s forces had already breached Western Chu’s southern gate and were now advancing without pause.

Looking down at the vast armies charging across the battlefield, listening to the ringing, urgent strains of “War Begins,” she couldn’t help but feel her own heart stir and surge. If she herself were to charge into battle, what a thrill that would be.

With Chu Tiange dead and Jun Beiyue returning victorious, this news would surely spread across the realm as swiftly as the banquet at Three Realms Cliff itself. Whatever the true cause of Western Chu’s internal rebellion, the mere fact that Chu Tiange had met his end in Innocence Gorge alone was enough to plunge Western Chu into utter ruin.

Ziqing thought to herself — no matter how grand and sweeping a war might appear, in the end, it always came down to a contest between two great rivals.

She listened intently to the music, openly studying Xuanyuan Lige as she did. What was this man still waiting for?

Was the next confrontation destined to be between Jun Beiyue and Xuanyuan Lige themselves — the two true rivals of this age?

The music soared, the war horns rang out clear and bright…

Great Zhou’s army advanced with astonishing speed, especially Jun Beiyue’s tiger army, swift as lightning.

With news of Chu Tiange’s death spreading, and Jun Beiyue personally leading the charge, in a mere five days Great Zhou’s forces not only breached Western Chu’s southern gate but conquered five more southern cities besides. Once again, Jun Beiyue had worked what could only be called a miracle on these northern plains.

For Great Zhou’s forces, however few, to drive so recklessly deep into Western Chu territory, leaving only two armies each to guard against Nanzhao and the western frontier — everyone knew that if either Nanzhao or the western front chose to strike now, Great Zhou would have no way to respond in time.

And yet Jun Beiyue’s grasp of the greater situation across the realm was so precise it commanded genuine admiration — even with Great Zhou’s entire southwestern flank left essentially exposed, not a single power dared take advantage of the vulnerability.

“Report… Prince Yao, Xiliang forces are pressing against Xijing, demanding a marriage alliance with their princess!”

“Report… His Majesty has sent word that Nanzhao’s Three Tribes Gathering is imminent. An invitation has been delivered, asking for Prince Yao’s decision.”

At the great encampment in the Three Realms Territory, Jun Beiyue didn’t so much as glance at either message, saying coldly, “Send another envoy in my place. Tell them this king is ill and unable to attend.”

At this, Physician Gu, standing nearby, couldn’t help but suppress a smile — in all his years following Prince Yao, this was the very first time he’d ever heard him claim illness.

After all, this man never made a fuss even when genuinely near death from injury, so long as it wasn’t outright fatal.

Rumor had it that Jun Beiyue was leading his tiger army deep into the western reaches of Western Chu, personally commanding the charge straight toward the Western Chu capital. In truth, though, ever since returning from Three Realms Cliff, he hadn’t left the encampment even once.

Before long, Yingzi arrived, visibly anxious. “My lord, we’ve searched everywhere, investigated everything — there’s truly no sign of the Princess’s whereabouts. This servant has questioned dozens of prisoners of war, and they all say the same thing: none of them have ever seen the Princess of Prince Yao.”

Only then did Jun Beiyue look up. The gold hairpin he’d been turning over in his hand paused briefly, and he said flatly, “No need to keep searching. Send word to Chu Feiyan — war is war, but she still owes me those ten thousand fine warhorses from her lost wager. Have them delivered as soon as possible.”

Yingzi’s mouth twitched involuntarily — he couldn’t even imagine how that fiery rose of the Western Chu saddle would react upon hearing this.

What troubled him far more, though, was the Princess’s whereabouts. If she were still being held by Western Chu, they surely would have paraded her out as a hostage by now — why would they keep her hidden this long?

There were only two possibilities: either she’d already been killed, or the Princess had escaped on her own.

What exactly did his lord mean by “no need to keep searching”?

He couldn’t help but glance at his lord, but Jun Beiyue’s face remained as unreadable as ever, frozen and inscrutable as ancient ice. Not daring to linger any further, Yingzi quickly turned to leave.

But just then, a soldier clad in a White Tiger battle robe came rushing in urgently. Both Physician Gu and Yingzi startled — how could the White Tiger Army possibly be here? And still wearing white robes, no less — hadn’t this army switched entirely to gray?

Yet the White Tiger soldier reported urgently, “Prince Yao! Eastern Qin has truly mobilized troops!”