“Clang!”

A deep, heavy tone rang out — the strings’ resilience such that Jun Beiyue’s hand couldn’t press all the way down.

Seeing this, Ziqing paid no mind to the pain in her own hand and pushed his away urgently. “It wasn’t Young Master Xuanyuan!”

Jun Beiyue’s heart gave a startled jolt, and he suddenly fell silent. What exactly was he so angry about?

Ziqing, too, was startled — why was she so angry at him?

Imperial Physician Gu sensed the tension in the air and said timidly, “Your Highness, this wound could only have come from an iron ring — that’s a torture device unique to Eastern Qin.”

“I know,” Ziqing said flatly, sitting back down.

Jun Beiyue sat back down as well, saying coldly, “Who in Eastern Qin would dare torture the Princess Yao of our Da Zhou?”

“Xuanyuan Zhaoxi. A musician. He pitied these hands of mine and saved me,” Ziqing said flatly.

“So you intend to repay him?” Jun Beiyue shot back.

“None of your business,” Ziqing answered instantly, without even a thought.

Jun Beiyue’s already-cold eyes now grew nearly unbearable to look into. The two of them went back and forth like this, leaving Imperial Physician Gu utterly bewildered — though one thing was clear enough: his lord and lady were sparring, quarreling.

His lord was normally so cold, so rarely one to show concern for anyone — how could the Princess not appreciate that?

If she angered the prince any further, her days ahead could grow very difficult indeed. Imperial Physician Gu glanced between the two of them, now glaring at each other, and said timidly again, “My lord, the Princess’s wound really should be treated soon—”

“Apply the medicine,” Jun Beiyue cut in coldly, rising as if to leave.

But Ziqing refused at once. “No need. I have my own medicine.” Carefully, she drew out a jar of black-ice violet salve from her sleeve.

Jun Beiyue still made for the exit. Imperial Physician Gu, caught in an awkward position, glanced back and forth between the two of them, unsure what to do. Seeing that Ziqing couldn’t get the jar open, he said quickly, “Your Highness, allow this old servant to apply the medicine for you!”

“No need,” Ziqing refused again.

At this, Jun Beiyue stopped abruptly in his tracks. “Imperial Physician Gu, you may go.”

To Imperial Physician Gu, those words were like rain after a long drought — he practically fled the room.

The curtain fell, and the vast tent held only the two of them once more.

Ziqing tried to open the medicine jar herself, but her fingers, badly injured as they were, simply wouldn’t cooperate no matter how hard she tried. Her brow drew tight as she pushed through the pain, but the delicate task proved beyond her — the pain didn’t frighten her, but her fingers simply had no strength left.

Even so, she stubbornly kept trying, treating Jun Beiyue as though he weren’t even in the room.

Jun Beiyue had already turned back around, watching her coldly, saying nothing for a long while. He even sat down, simply staring at her hands.

Ziqing’s brow furrowed deeper and deeper, her fingers swelling red, but still she refused to ask for help.

Finally, just as Jun Beiyue finished a full cup of tea, there came a muffled “pop” — the jar lid came loose!

Ziqing was overjoyed, her hands so weak the jar nearly slipped free — thankfully she caught it just in time.

Her clear, composed eyes glanced briefly at the man now sitting right in front of her. She said nothing, carefully setting the jar down on the low table — she truly didn’t need to rely on him for anything. But no sooner had the jar touched the table than a large hand reached out and swiftly took it away.

Ziqing turned, glaring coldly, only to find Jun Beiyue leaning in far too close, their faces nearly touching. She jerked back on reflex. “Give it back!”

Jun Beiyue ignored her, saying coldly, “Hand.”

“There’s no need to trouble Prince Yao. Ziqing can manage her own affairs,” Ziqing said flatly.

“Hand.” Jun Beiyue repeated the same word.

Ziqing didn’t move, didn’t answer, an inexplicable unease settling over her — as though once she got tangled up with this man, there would be no escaping it ever again.

Just as she was about to hold out her hand, Jun Beiyue said coldly, “Say it a third time, and you can forget your leave.”

At those words, her half-extended hand froze stiff. Jun Beiyue, too, paused, faintly startled.

Ziqing glared up at him, furious — and to her surprise, his usually icy eyes actually flickered away, avoiding hers. When had he ever avoided anyone’s gaze?

Ziqing tried to yank her hand back at once, but Jun Beiyue caught it quickly, silently retrieving the ointment. Ziqing didn’t struggle — she’d experienced this man’s grip too many times before to try.

She lowered her head, watching her own hand in silence, saying nothing.

Jun Beiyue, too, fell silent. He took up the ointment and, with great care, began applying it. The cool salve, spread by his fingertips, brushed gently over her swollen, burning fingers, and a strange, unfamiliar sensation spread uncontrollably from her fingertips through her entire body.

Jun Beiyue, in this moment, was so gentle — and yet nothing like Xuanyuan Lige’s gentleness.

Ziqing couldn’t help wanting to look up at his face. She couldn’t picture it — that this sharp, domineering man could apply medicine so tenderly.

Once the ointment was applied, Jun Beiyue casually pulled out a strip of cloth and, with great patience, carefully wrapped and bandaged each of her fingers, one by one.

Surely he’d let her go now.

Ziqing tried to pull away, but Jun Beiyue caught her at once.

“That’s enough!” Ziqing struggled hard.

But Jun Beiyue said nothing, only held on, taking her wrist with one hand, then interlacing his fingers with hers, gently working them — up, down, left, right, softly kneading.

Not only was he gentle, but his technique was excellent.

Ziqing froze, an indescribable sense of relief suddenly flowing up from between her fingers. She couldn’t help an involuntary sigh escaping her: “That feels so good!”

His touch was as skilled as when he’d applied the ointment — careful, gentle.

As though under some spell, Ziqing gradually lost the urge to pull away, letting him knead her hands obediently.

The room was silent. Seen from outside the window, this quiet scene looked, for all the world, warm and tender.

After a long while, Ziqing’s hands, having recovered considerably, were massaged by Jun Beiyue until they had gone completely limp of strength.

Even after feeling how weak her hands had become, Jun Beiyue still didn’t let go.

Suddenly, Yingzi’s anxious voice came from outside the tent. “My lord, the hour is truly growing late!”

The two of them snapped back to themselves almost simultaneously, both looking up at the same moment — their noses nearly bumping. Ziqing pulled back just in time.

Not knowing what to say, and even though she felt she should say something, she remained silent to the end — as she did now.

Jun Beiyue said flatly, “Rest your hand these next few days. An iron ring is no small matter — be careful not to leave lasting damage.”

With that, he finally released her hand. Yet the instant he let go, Ziqing felt an odd sense of emptiness, as though something had been taken from her.

“These three days, camp is entrusted to you. If there’s word from Western Chu, or anyone returns, it’s fully yours to handle,” Jun Beiyue said flatly, and without waiting for her answer, turned and left.

Only after the curtain fell, when the quiet camp held her alone, did Ziqing slowly lift her head. Without knowing why, her hand drifted, unbidden, to her chest — and she felt her heart pounding, quick and unsteady.