Standing high atop the towering city gate, one could take in the full, boundless sweep of Eastern Qin’s vast plains.

At that moment, Jun Beiyue’s dark battle cloak snapped and rippled violently in the wind, whipping wildly alongside his three thousand strands of raven-black hair.

His cold eyes took in everything — the small, delicate figure moving south across the plain, and the carriage retreating north. Stern and silent, no one could guess what was passing through his mind in that moment.

“My lord, should we pursue?” the White Tiger General asked again. Xuanyuan Lige’s carriage moved with remarkable speed — pursuing wouldn’t be difficult while he was still within range, but doing so would surely provoke a direct clash between the two armies. If that was the intention, preparations for battle would need to begin immediately.

Jun Beiyue still said nothing. Then, without warning, he leapt down from the gate, a series of graceful midair flips carrying him forward like a soaring dragon, straight toward Ziqing, who was now walking slowly toward him.

He landed just a single step away from her, close enough to force her to stop in her tracks. Yet his gaze never once settled on her — instead, he stared coldly at the retreating carriage in the distance, saying flatly, “Xuanyuan Lige. Running away?”

Ziqing sneered inwardly. Who had ever claimed this man had flown into a rage purely over a woman? A full month apart, and at their parting she’d still been gravely wounded.

And now, here she was, standing right in front of him — yet he wouldn’t even spare her a proper glance. Choosing her as his consort had been an act of open defiance against Emperor Tianhui, a deliberate slight against Chancellor Han. This whole “flew into a rage for love” reputation — whether praised or condemned — had only ever been a convenient pretext for establishing his own independent power base and using it as an excuse to strike at Western Chu.

“Prince Yao. The moment Xuanyuan Lige appeared at court, you already suspected Jun Beiyao, didn’t you?” Ziqing said, not answering his question, countering with one of her own instead.

If she remembered correctly, the moment Xuanyuan Lige had appeared that day at court, he’d immediately gone to stand near the Tenth Prince. But what standing did the Tenth Prince have to invite someone like Xuanyuan Lige? It had to have been Jun Beiyao — his closest companion — who was truly responsible for inviting this wolf into the fold.

That man had warned her to be wary of Jun Beiyao. Surely he’d been guarding against him all along himself.

“This king won’t attack Eastern Qin. But…” Jun Beiyue’s attention remained fixed entirely ahead, “I despise nothing more than a deserter.”

The moment he finished speaking, he swept past Ziqing in a sudden, swift motion. Ziqing immediately retreated; he lunged forward, she darted back. Then, without warning, she spun around and dropped into a low sweep, her leg cutting through the air toward him.

Jun Beiyue leapt clear, his brow furrowing sharply. “You?”

“He came to face certain death, to end the war. Prince Yao — consider Xuanyuan Lige’s life today as a debt I, Han Ziqing, owe you. How does that sound?” Ziqing asked flatly.

A flicker of surprise crossed Jun Beiyue’s eyes. “You and him…”

Ziqing immediately dropped to her knees, speaking earnestly. “Prince Yao, there was nothing at all between Xuanyuan Lige and myself. This past month, I didn’t suffer the slightest hardship — every wound, great or small, has healed completely.”

As she spoke, she produced the thick scroll of “Parting Sorrow” and presented it with both hands. “My lord, this was a gift from a zither master who valued my talent — not a gift from Eastern Qin’s crown prince. Today, I ask you to spare that zither master’s life. This has nothing to do with Eastern Qin’s crown prince — I beg my lord to grant this mercy.”

Jun Beiyue’s brow furrowed as he studied “Parting Sorrow,” unable to deny a flicker of genuine surprise. Rumor had it that “Parting Sorrow” had been composed under the guidance of some mysterious zither master, a full decade in the making — and yet, even now, only the sheet music existed; no one had ever managed to play the piece through to its end.

For no other reason than this: the deeper into the piece one played, the more powerfully it ensnared the listener’s mind — even the composer himself couldn’t escape its pull. Anyone who heard the entire piece performed in full would find themselves trapped forever within the illusion the music conjured, never able to break free again.

For Xuanyuan Lige to give something this precious to Han Ziqing — was it truly only because of her talent?

Jun Beiyue glanced once more at the carriage, now nearly vanished from sight, then let his gaze settle back on “Parting Sorrow,” mulling it over for a long moment before saying flatly, “Han Ziqing. After everything that’s happened, is there still any point in keeping up this act?”

Hearing this, Ziqing let out a cold laugh, lifting her head to meet his eyes.

“This king doesn’t like being indebted to anyone. Tell me plainly, exactly who you really are, and I’ll spare that zither master’s life — and Eastern Qin’s, as well.”

A cold smile flickered through Ziqing’s eyes as she slowly rose to her feet, lifting her chin to meet his scrutinizing gaze head-on. “Jun Beiyue. What is it you want to know?”

Jun Beiyue said nothing, instead drawing an exquisite gold hairpin from his sleeve. The moment Ziqing saw it, she recognized it instantly as the very one she’d lost.

He seemed to be in unusually good spirits, a handsome smile touching his lips as he tilted his head to study her, then reached up and gently tucked the hairpin back into her hair, before finally saying, “There’s a great deal this king wants to know. Let’s go back — we’ll settle accounts slowly.”

A great deal?

Ziqing hardly thought so. She was just about to speak when, without warning, Jun Beiyue suddenly swept her up into his arms, carrying her sideways!

“You—!” Ziqing snapped, genuinely irritated now, finally refusing to swallow this man’s overbearing treatment of her any longer. “Jun Beiyue, put me down!”

But Jun Beiyue paid her no mind at all — far from releasing her, he only pulled her closer, pushing off lightly against the grass with one foot and soaring straight into the air, not sparing so much as a final glance at the departing carriage, and streaked straight toward the southern gate.

One could say that, war concluded, the hero had finally returned home with his beauty in his arms.

Her protests proving useless, Ziqing didn’t waste further effort on futile struggle. She’d assumed once they reached the gate, this man would surely set her down.

After all, within the army, her reputation as “the beauty who brought ruin” was hardly favorable. Yet the moment they landed atop the gate, amid the openly hostile stares of everyone around — the White Tiger General in particular glaring at her with unmistakable fury, clearly blaming her for the whole affair, certain that without her, they’d already have driven deep into Eastern Qin territory by now.

“Jun Beiyue, that’s enough!” Ziqing said in a low, cold voice.

But Jun Beiyue paid her no mind at all, holding her still as he gazed out over the Eastern Qin plains for a long moment before finally turning around — and the instant he did, even Ziqing, usually so composed, couldn’t help but draw a sharp, involuntary breath.

Behind them, lining both sides of the makeshift stairway, extending all the way down to the base of the gate itself, wasn’t merely ten thousand White Tiger soldiers — it was a full thirty thousand, an overwhelming sea of silver-white, gleaming brilliantly in the light.

And at that very moment, every single one of those thirty thousand men had turned to look up at them — eyes filled with resentment, with dissatisfaction, with silent curses, with open hostility, with unmistakable killing intent. It was, in every sense, a weight almost too heavy for the human spirit to bear.

And yet, in the face of all this, Jun Beiyue remained utterly unmoved, calling out loudly, “Brothers! This king has brought the Princess back!”

What should have been met with cheers and celebration was instead met with dead silence. No one responded at all.

Jun Beiyue’s smile never wavered, entirely unconcerned. Still holding Ziqing, he began walking down, one step at a time, in full view of everyone.

“Jun Beiyue, what exactly are you trying to do?” Ziqing demanded, her voice low. She understood perfectly well — no matter what emotion filled those thirty thousand pairs of eyes, every one of them carried nothing but contempt. And she despised being looked at that way.

Jun Beiyue stopped, smiling. “Before we settle our accounts — win over my tiger army’s loyalty first, and then I’ll tell you.”

Ziqing’s eyes went instantly cold. Without hesitation, she drew the dagger from her sleeve and, in full view of everyone, drove it straight toward Jun Beiyue’s heart!

Winning over the army’s loyalty — what better way than to make an example of him, right here and now?