With Jun Beiyue having said his piece so plainly, there was nothing left for the peace envoy to do but slink off, crossing back over the river in defeat.
The moment Ziqing returned, everyone rushed over, but seeing Jun Beiyue’s expressionless face as he escorted her into the tent, no one dared follow. Instead, everyone’s attention turned to Baili Weisheng, who had likewise been missing for quite some time.
Baili Weisheng shrugged, wearing an expression that plainly said “don’t ask me anything,” and turned to walk away—only Xiong Xiaobao followed after him.
Seeing Ziqing back safely, Situ Haonan let out a breath of relief, finally free to go tend to Yelu Qianqian.
This group hardly seemed like they were at the front lines, hardly seemed like they were fighting a war at all!
One could only say their opponent was simply too weak!
And yet, their opponent was Nanzhao—well, one had to admit, managing to turn this war into such a farce was its own kind of remarkable feat on Jun Beiyue and Ziqing’s part!
Inside the tent, Jun Beiyue personally brought water, brought food.
“Drink some water first, then eat. You’ve gone without food all day—if you keep this up, your health will give out sooner or later.” Jun Beiyue said flatly, apparently with no intention of settling scores over today’s events.
“Go handle the military affairs. I’m fine now, really.”
Ziqing remained perfectly calm, one hand tucked behind her back, seemingly natural—but there was no hiding anything from Jun Beiyue.
“What happened to your hand? Let me see.”
“It’s nothing. Go on.”
“Let me see it!” Jun Beiyue finally said, his tone hardening.
Only then did Ziqing obediently hold out her hand. It wasn’t just scraped skin—even with the blood dried, the mangled mess was plain to see. She hadn’t been unable to break through the cave’s sealed stone; in that moment, she’d simply been venting.
Jun Beiyue could tell at a glance—given her abilities, there was no way she should have been hurt this badly.
He looked up at Ziqing, restrained fury hidden in his eyes, but even more than that, helplessness.
Doting on someone, to the point where seeing her hurt herself made him want to kill her—that was what it had come to.
In truth, even facing Xiong Xiaobao, he’d still get genuinely angry. But faced with this particular woman, he found himself, without meaning to, suppressing his anger every time.
“Someone, summon Elder Jue.”
“No need.”
He glared. She could only lower her head.
He pursed his lips, gently pulled her injured hand aside, set it down, and gestured for her to lean back and rest on the couch.
She obediently did as told, and he brought the water to her lips.
She drank obediently, and once she’d finished, he brought the food to her lips as well.
“I can manage myself. You’ve gone hungry all day too.” she said timidly.
He said nothing.
Fine, then. As though she’d said nothing at all.
And so, the two of them sat in silence, one bite of rice, one bite of vegetables, in turn.
Ziqing thought—thankfully, thankfully, through everything that had happened, he was still all right. He was still here.
Jun Beiyue thought—seeing her grieve so much over another man, so utterly lost and broken, he genuinely wished he could have done everything for her that Xuanyuan Lige had done, genuinely wished it had been him who’d left this world instead of Xuanyuan Lige.
Jue Mingzi came rushing in, bursting straight through the entrance. “What’s wrong, what’s wrong! What happened to Ziqing?”
But upon entering and seeing Jun Beiyue feeding her, he instinctively turned to leave—it seemed he hadn’t come at a bad time after all; Ziqing looked perfectly fine.
“Her hand’s injured. Bandage it for her.” Jun Beiyue said flatly.
Only then did Jue Mingzi come back to his senses, hurrying over with his medicine box. Being a physician, one glance at the wound told him it was self-inflicted, from striking something.
A pang of heartache washed over him, and Jue Mingzi didn’t even dare look at Ziqing directly.
Everything his daughter had suffered should rightfully have been his own burden to bear—it was only that, all those years ago, he’d been too much of a coward.
An injury like this was nothing at all to Jue Mingzi, and yet he still handled it with the utmost care, taking quite a while to finish bandaging it.
“Ziqing, don’t let this get wet for the next few days. I’ll come by each day at this time to change the dressing.” Even his words came out carefully measured.
“No need. I can change it myself.” Ziqing wasn’t unwilling to let Jue Mingzi tend to it—she simply didn’t want to trouble him. This kind of thing, she could handle herself, and it only took a moment anyway.
Jue Mingzi’s gaze dimmed at that, misreading her meaning entirely, but he didn’t press the matter. “Mm, then rest well.”
With that, he nodded to Jun Beiyue and turned to leave.
“Thank you.” Ziqing said flatly. Though she’d meant nothing more by it, to Jue Mingzi’s ears, that single word “thanks” made the distance between them all too clear.
Jue Mingzi said nothing more, turning to walk away. How could he ever get this girl to truly acknowledge him as her father, from the bottom of her heart?
How could he ever earn her forgiveness?
Muci, our daughter’s temperament is so much like yours—slow to hate, slow to resent, and yet just as slow to forgive, to let go.
Barely two days after the Nanzhao peace envoy returned, word came at once that the King of Nanzhao himself was already on his way, and would arrive shortly!
Jun Beiyue waited patiently. He’d already waited so many years—what difference would one or two more days make!
As for the lonely island, he’d guessed the process leading up to it would be fraught with danger and hardship, but he’d never guessed the outcome would turn out like this.
While they waited, the Dream Clan chief and Madam Jinjiao both arrived.
The moment Madam Jinjiao arrived, she went looking for Baili Weisheng. Seeing her own son fail to recognize her entirely, her eyes rimmed red again and again, and she kept pulling at Jue Mingzi, asking him endless questions.
Unfortunately, no one could give her an answer—no one knew whether Baili Weisheng would ever recover.
Madam Jinjiao spent the entire day watching over Baili Weisheng, not pressing him to remember anything, simply staying by his side.
“Son, here, Mother secretly made you a little something. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I made your father’s favorite—eight-treasure rice pudding. Try it while it’s hot.”
Baili Weisheng breathed in the mouthwatering aroma of the food, looking at his mother’s graying temples and her kind, worried eyes, and felt a quiet pang of guilt, not knowing what to say.
“Try it, quickly! This is the first time Mother’s ever made this for you.” Though Madam Jinjiao’s heart ached for her son, she never once complained. In her bright, gleaming eyes, there was mostly concern, mostly resolve, an unshakable conviction that her son would get through this, would surely find his way back.
Baili Weisheng nodded. Truth be told, he really was a rather unsentimental fellow—though everyone else worried for him, he himself had never felt much urgency about recovering his memory, feeling that whether he recovered it or not made little difference either way.
And yet, Madam Jinjiao’s arrival left him quietly resolved. If only for the hope, the unwavering faith shining in this mother’s eyes, he was willing to go all in—no matter how much his head might ache, starting today, he would try, truly try, to remember.
That night, once everyone else had settled down to sleep, Baili Weisheng set to work.
The room pitch dark, he sat on the couch, took a deep breath, and began to recall—recalling Madam Jinjiao, and everything connected to her.
“Jinjiao… innocent deep ravine, boundless deep sea, silver jiao… father, mother…”
These were all things Meng Duo’er had told him. He sat with his head bowed, murmuring to himself, repeating them over and over, striving to find some sense of familiarity.
“Han Ziqing, Jun Beiyue, Xiong Xiaobao… wretched scholar… Nanny Gu, the Xiongnu… poison Gu, Baili Xiaosheng…”
As he repeated these names, his voice grew softer and softer, his brow furrowing tighter and tighter. Several times during this, he reached up as though to clutch his head, but each time, he drew his hands back!
The pain was starting.
“Bear with it,” he silently warned himself. As long as he didn’t clutch his head, he could hold on—don’t reach for your head, don’t give yourself a way out!