The moment Xuanyuan Zhaoxi left, every guard fled the scene at once, leaving the tent in utter silence — only Xuanyuan Lige and Ziqing remained.

Xuanyuan Lige said nothing, lowering his head to carefully, gently remove the iron rings from Ziqing’s fingers.

Ziqing, too, stayed silent. It wasn’t the first time they’d been this close — but it was the first time she truly, deliberately studied him.

Those rare, phoenix-shaped eyes. A remarkably high, elegant nose bridge. Thin, delicate lips. A full head of naturally silver-white hair, gleaming with extraordinary luster.

He carried an otherworldly beauty, as though untouched by the ordinary world — and now, with his face so pale, that beauty took on an added air of melancholy, fitting perfectly with his name: Parting Sorrow.

If Jun Beiyue was a fusion of fire and ice both at once, then this man before her was pure, unadulterated ice, through and through.

He appeared calm, indifferent — and yet Ziqing could clearly see his chest still rising and falling faintly. This man must have ridden here at breakneck speed.

“Are you… all right?” Ziqing asked flatly. In some sense, they stood on opposing sides — and yet she had never once truly thought of him as an enemy.

“I’m fine,” Xuanyuan Lige said flatly.

“Fine? You were coughing up blood nonstop and you call that fine?” Ziqing pressed.

Xuanyuan Lige’s hand stiffened slightly, but he still said flatly, “It’s nothing serious.”

“What illness do you have? How long have you had it?” Ziqing asked directly.

“I’m on medication. It’s nothing serious,” Xuanyuan Lige said, clearly unwilling to discuss it further.

Just as Ziqing was about to press again, Xuanyuan Lige cut her off. “I suddenly remembered I still owe you something. That’s why I came back.”

He released the last of the iron rings from her fingers as he spoke. Only then did she see — the tips of all ten of her fingers were swollen and engorged with blood. Had he been even a little later, even just a moment longer, her fingertips would surely have been ruined beyond repair.

“You owe me something?” Ziqing asked, puzzled. Honestly, this pain barely registered to her at all.

Xuanyuan Lige didn’t answer, instead retrieving a salve and applying it carefully to her fingers. The salve was ice-cold, colder even than his own hands. Ziqing immediately felt a cool relief wash over her burning fingertips. “Use more of it — it feels wonderful.”

“This medicine is what I use for zither practice. Too much of it is toxic,” Xuanyuan Lige explained flatly. Once the salve was applied, he carefully wrapped her fingers in strips of cloth, his head bowed the entire time, utterly focused.

A man’s focused expression really was a beautiful thing to watch.

Soon, the unbearable swelling and pain in her fingertips began to fade steadily, and before long, Xuanyuan Lige moved to unwrap the bandages. Ziqing could hardly believe it — she’d never seen a medicine work so quickly.

“What’s this medicine called, to be so remarkably effective?” Ziqing asked.

“Frost-Jade Violet Clay. It’s made by melting ten-thousand-year-old glacial ice into water, blended and refined with medicinal herbs. There’s only one jar of it in the entire world,” Xuanyuan Lige said flatly.

Ziqing glanced at the purple salve beside her — already half used — and thought to herself that this must be an essential part of Xuanyuan Lige’s zither training routine. Such extraordinary skill, such formidable finger strength, could only come from years upon years of relentless practice.

Once the bandages were fully removed, Ziqing’s fingers looked completely restored, as though nothing had ever happened. She couldn’t help but flex them experimentally — aside from a faint lingering ache, there was nothing wrong at all.

“Thank you,” Ziqing said flatly, not even realizing that, uncharacteristically for her usually reserved self, she always seemed to find herself speaking more freely around this man.

Only then did Xuanyuan Lige slowly lift his head to meet her eyes, and said, “Princess of Prince Yao. I’m sorry.”

Sorry?

Ziqing didn’t understand. Then she saw Xuanyuan Lige draw a scroll of sheet music from his sleeve, wrapped in a purple silk cover — and on it, clearly written, the words “Parting Sorrow.”

This — this was “Parting Sorrow”! His most renowned piece, unmatched to this day, one that no one had ever heard performed in full!

“I promised you — one month’s time, and I would pass on everything I’ve learned in my lifetime. That month hasn’t ended yet, and I failed to protect your hands properly. I truly am sorry.”

His apology — was it for her hands? Did that promise, then, include the very hands she used to play the zither?

“This scroll of ‘Parting Sorrow,’ along with the fingering technique I taught you — practice it according to that method, and with your talent, I have no doubt you’ll surpass even your teacher.”

He had actually kept his promise from that day, placing the sheet music beside her.

“You’ve lost this war, haven’t you?” Ziqing couldn’t help but ask. This entire month of waiting had brought him nothing but defeat — and in truth, she bore no small share of responsibility for it. If she hadn’t stood in his way that day at the cave entrance, Jun Beiyue would surely have died in Innocence Gorge, and this war might well have turned out very differently.

And yet now, with Jun Beiyue having already breached Eastern Qin’s southern gate, with her herself a hostage of the enemy, the woman of the enemy king — and still, this man treated her with such courtesy?

“Victory and defeat are matters for men to worry about — they have nothing to do with you. Get ready, I’ll take you there myself,” Xuanyuan Lige said, rising to leave.

“Your medicine!” Ziqing called out quickly.

“It’s yours as well, for your zither practice…” Xuanyuan Lige seemed about to say something more, then stopped himself, offering Ziqing a faint smile instead before turning to walk away.

Ziqing stood there, stunned for a moment, finding herself suddenly curious about this man. What kind of person was he, really? Not a gentleman by any measure — and yet he had kept a gentleman’s promise to her all the same.

The moment Xuanyuan Lige stepped out of the tent, Xuanyuan Zhaoxi came storming toward him, glaring furiously. The relationship between this brother and sister was clearly far from warm.

Despite Xuanyuan Lige being gravely ill, Xuanyuan Zhaoxi hadn’t so much as asked after his condition even once.

“Imperial Brother, why do you protect her so fiercely? She’s Jun Beiyue’s wife — do you have any idea that wild beast has already breached our southern gate?” Xuanyuan Zhaoxi demanded.

But just then, a guard rushed in urgently, flustered. “Princess! The envoy has returned! Prince Yao says he won’t come through the gorge — he demands His Highness the Crown Prince personally deliver the Princess of Prince Yao to the southern gate, or he’ll personally lead thirty thousand tiger troops to retrieve her himself!”

The moment these words were spoken, Xuanyuan Zhaoxi startled violently. “Jun Beiyue figured it out!”

She had originally agreed with him to exchange the hostage at the gorge, each side sending only a minimal escort. And now this man was demanding her brother personally show his face — throughout this entire war, her brother had never once revealed himself openly. The only person who knew his true identity was Han Ziqing alone.

And yet Jun Beiyue had somehow figured it out!

“Han Ziqing! She must have leaked it!” Xuanyuan Zhaoxi snapped furiously.

Xuanyuan Lige’s brow furrowed sharply, clearly irritated by his sister’s incessant chattering. “He’d already guessed, the moment he saw the White Tiger Army stationed at the southern border.”

“Then what does he want?” Xuanyuan Zhaoxi demanded.

“You don’t speak for Eastern Qin’s imperial house,” Xuanyuan Lige said flatly, not even sparing her another glance as he turned and walked away.

Eastern Qin had only ever had one true crown prince — him. If he weren’t gravely ill, would Xuanyuan Zhaoxi even have the standing to come to this military camp and start giving orders in the first place?

He had never been fated to sit upon the throne to begin with — this younger sister of his hadn’t needed to be quite so eager to replace him this soon, either.

By the time Xuanyuan Lige had walked far off, Xuanyuan Zhaoxi finally recovered from her shock, realizing the full weight of what he’d just said, and stamped her foot furiously in frustration.

Just then, a guard hurried over once more, presenting a sealed letter. “Princess, a secret letter from the Seventh Prince.”

The moment she heard it was from Jun Beiyao, Xuanyuan Zhaoxi’s anger dissipated considerably. Jun Beiyao was the man she’d secretly admired for years — she’d always firmly believed that he, and he alone, was destined to become Great Zhou’s true ruler one day.

But the moment she opened the letter, Xuanyuan Zhaoxi froze in shock. Jun Beiyao had forbidden her from touching Han Ziqing, insisting that Han Ziqing’s life belonged to him alone. What was going on?