The room was silent. The beauty, fresh from her bath, more radiant than any flower, sat alone beside the zither stand, her slender jade fingers resting lightly on the strings. This guzheng clearly had strings, was clearly a zheng — and yet it bore the name Wuzheng, “Stringless.”
Anyone unfamiliar with it would simply take it for an exceptionally fine guzheng — no one would know that it was as famed as Xuanyuan Lige’s Blood Zither. Once a player’s skill and fingering reached the level where they could play it in midair, their finger movements would stir the surrounding air, and that air, in turn, would set the strings vibrating — producing wind-blades many times more powerful than an ordinary player could achieve.
This was Ziqing’s first time touching this zither. The moment her fingers lightly pressed the strings, she sensed a faint aura of killing intent lurking within them — the very same sensation she’d felt from Xuanyuan Lige’s Blood Zither.
She knew that if she failed to master it, the strings would surely wound her hands.
“Prince Yao, name your song,” Ziqing said flatly.
“Lishang,” Jun Beiyue said coldly.
“My apologies — Ziqing doesn’t know it yet,” Ziqing refused. Even if she had known it, she wouldn’t have played Lishang — to play it through in full, properly, took no less than three days and three nights, and she had no intention of being tied up with him for that long.
Of course, since he was so eager to hear music, she’d make sure he had his fill of it.
“Play whatever you know, then,” Jun Beiyue said.
“Very well.”
Ziqing began to play. The music flowed from her fingertips like a bubbling stream, and at once it felt as though one stood amid mountain forests, listening to the sound of running water.
The melody trickled on and on, spilling out from the tent, until Hongyi and the guards outside gradually found their souls seemingly captured by it, forgetting who they were and where they stood.
Over the past month, Ziqing had learned no small amount of Xuanyuan Lige’s bewitching musical techniques. As the piece reached its climax, the sound soared, like a silver river cascading down from the ninth heaven, stirring a thousand layers of waves across the world below. Everyone outside the tent listened, utterly entranced, as though riding a dragon boat plunging down from that same heavenly waterfall — nearly everyone couldn’t help pressing a hand to their chest.
But Jun Beiyue, closest of all to Ziqing, seemed entirely indifferent to the music itself. His attention was fixed wholly on Ziqing — on the freshly bathed beauty before him — and his cold, sharp eyes had, at some point without him noticing, softened.
He was used to seeing this woman’s sharp edge, her competence; used to seeing her feigned obedience and docility. But this was the first time he’d seen her breathtaking, world-toppling beauty in full — the first time his gaze had lingered so long on this woman’s appearance.
At last, the piece ended, and Ziqing slowly lifted her head. Seeing Jun Beiyue’s expression utterly dazed, as though his soul had been stolen away, she couldn’t help a cold smile touching her lips. “Wuzheng,” she said lightly, “isn’t something just anyone can afford to listen to.”
With that, she rose to leave — but Jun Beiyue suddenly gave a cold laugh. “Han Ziqing, this prince likes you best just as you look after bathing.”
At those words, Ziqing, halfway to standing, froze in place. That bewitching music should have clouded a listener’s mind for at least the time it takes to drink a cup of tea — yet this man had already snapped out of it!
“Play another,” Jun Beiyue said again. In truth, what he liked best was her, freshly bathed, more radiant than any flower, playing the zither in perfect stillness — like a painting come to life, one that drew a person in without them even realizing it.
“Of course,” Ziqing said, her voice flat, though inwardly she was already furious — not even noticing that she, of all people, always so composed, could so easily be stirred by this man.
If one song couldn’t bring him down, she refused to believe a second wouldn’t do it!
“Clang!”
This piece opened with a single note that announced, at once, its soaring intensity — sharp and clashing, as though ten thousand horsemen were charging forth!
This time, Jun Beiyue finally listened in earnest — but, contrary to what Ziqing expected, he wasn’t drawn in. He lounged lazily across from her, one hand resting on the armrest, the other stroking his chin, watching her intently, seemingly turning something over in his mind.
Unwilling to give up, Ziqing’s fingers grew suddenly fierce, and the melody shifted sharply — for a moment it felt as though the two of them stood on a battlefield, ten thousand cavalry charging past them on every side!
Yet the man simply lifted his teacup at leisure, an amused curve touching his handsome lips, watching as though utterly captivated — and yet stubbornly refusing to actually be captivated!
“Clang!” The music cut off abruptly. Ziqing’s fingers lifted slightly from the strings; she could clearly feel a burning sensation across her fingertips. Her wounds had only just begun to heal — how could they withstand such intense playing?
But before Jun Beiyue, setting down his teacup, could speak, Ziqing beat him to it. “Prince Yao, Ziqing is in good spirits today. Shall we play another?”
“This prince is also in fine spirits. Nothing would please him more,” Jun Beiyue said, perfectly at ease.
The moment he finished speaking, Ziqing began to play again. But this time, the drawn-out notes — “clang… clang… clang…” — carried, whether from the tone or the timbre, an overwhelming sense of desolation, as though the whole world had turned to ash, like the mournful cry of a wild goose passing through late autumn, unbearably tragic.
Jun Beiyue, whose mind was always exceptionally clear and who was rarely swayed by such things, found himself this time unable to resist listening intently, unconsciously moved by the sorrow in the melody, his handsome brow drawing tight without him meaning it to.
Seeing this, Ziqing was secretly delighted — for what she was playing was none other than a fragment of “Lishang,” the score Xuanyuan Lige had once given her.
She had only just begun to learn a small portion of it, and knew nothing beyond that — yet she hadn’t expected it to have such an effect the moment she played it. If her attention hadn’t been so completely fixed on Jun Beiyue, she might well have been swept away by that same overwhelming sorrow herself.
Lishang — the most sorrowful, most tragic piece in the world. Its reputation was well earned indeed.
Seeing sorrow gradually surface on Jun Beiyue’s face, Ziqing pressed her fingers down even harder, entirely forgetting the pain in her hands. She wanted this man utterly enthralled — she refused to believe that, this time, she couldn’t overpower him!
The notes rang out sharper and sharper, the sorrow deepening — and the strain on Ziqing’s fingers climbed right along with it!
Then, suddenly, Ziqing’s right hand, mid-stroke, went limp and slipped — and a heavy, jarring “clang!” rang out.
The music stopped. Jun Beiyue snapped back to himself in an instant, his faintly furrowed brow tightening sharply. In that moment, both their gazes fell on her fallen hand — her fingers were bright red, as though about to split open.
Ziqing was startled — only now did she realize how severe the pain in her fingers truly was. If this continued, she might never be able to play the zither again.
She gritted her teeth, glaring at Jun Beiyue without meaning to, resentment welling up — this was all his fault.
Jun Beiyue met her gaze, and for an instant, he seemed genuinely at a loss.
“Prince Yao, have you heard enough?” Ziqing asked bitterly.
Only then did Jun Beiyue come to his senses. He stepped forward urgently and grabbed her small hand. “Someone — summon Imperial Physician Gu!”
“No need!” Ziqing refused at once.
“If you still want to play the zither, stop being so stubborn with this prince!” Jun Beiyue warned coldly.
“Ziqing takes very good care of her own hands. No need for Your Highness to trouble yourself,” Ziqing said coldly, trying to pull her hand free — but Jun Beiyue wouldn’t let go.
This woman really had a way with words. What exactly did “trouble yourself” mean, coming from her?
Just then, Imperial Physician Gu came hurrying in, anxious. Jun Beiyue still hadn’t let go, holding Ziqing’s wrist as he said coldly, “Injured from overexertion while playing the zither. Examine her at once!”
Imperial Physician Gu took one look and his expression changed instantly. “My lord, this is… this isn’t—”
“Just say it plainly!” Jun Beiyue snapped, whether from irritation or worry, even he couldn’t tell.
“My lord, this is an injury from an Eastern Qin iron ring! The wound looks mostly healed, but excessive strain has reopened the old injury!” At those words, Jun Beiyue released her hand at once and slammed his palm down hard onto Wuzheng. “Xuanyuan Lige!”