Anyone with any sense could tell that Meng Duo’er’s words weren’t meant for Dream Elder Five’s ears, nor for anyone else’s—they were meant for Baili Weisheng.
Ziqing had long wanted to speak up and keep her here, but under the circumstances, she found it hard to say anything either.
For a moment, everyone turned to look at Baili Weisheng, but he simply remained utterly unmoved. Heaven only knew whether he genuinely hadn’t noticed everyone’s pointed looks, or was simply pretending not to.
He stood off to the side, his gaze calm, not seeming evasive at all—as though Meng Duo’er’s words had nothing to do with him whatsoever, which made the atmosphere all the more awkward.
Realizing everyone had understood exactly what she meant, Meng Duo’er’s small face flushed bright red all at once. Flustered, she immediately swung herself onto her horse. “I’ll go on ahead!”
“Duo’er!” Ziqing called out, alarmed, moving to go after her, but the Dream Clan chief and Dream Elder Five both stopped her at once.
Seeing his father step in, Dream Elder Five backed off. The Dream Clan chief had seen more of the world than anyone else present had eaten salt—how could he possibly fail to recognize matters of the heart?
“Let it be. She’ll return to the Dream Clan in the end regardless—there’s no escaping it for her, not in this lifetime. Let her go.” the Dream Clan chief said flatly, cutting straight through the awkward silence.
What difference would it make if Meng Duo’er stayed? She had feelings for him, but Baili Weisheng had none for her, and besides, Meng Duo’er was the Dream Clan’s heir, bearing the weight of the entire clan’s future on her shoulders—she’d have to remain there for the rest of her life. Baili Weisheng, on the other hand, was a man who wandered free like a cloud in the sky—why would he ever agree to stay tied down in one place for a single woman?
A flower that could never bear fruit, however beautifully it bloomed, meant nothing in the end.
The Dream Clan chief sighed softly, and Ziqing didn’t press the matter further either, feeling a quiet pang of sympathy—Meng Duo’er and Yelu Qianqian were, after all, two very different kinds of people.
Thinking back to how Yelu Qianqian had once chased after Situ Haonan like a devoted little shadow, refusing to be driven off no matter how much he cursed at her, Ziqing couldn’t help but admire her tenacity—though thinking of everything Yelu Qianqian had sacrificed for Situ Haonan, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for her too.
Love came at far too high a price.
Turning to look at Jun Beiyue, Ziqing thought—perhaps it was time, from now on, for her to do something for him in return.
With that, Madam Jinjiao and the Dream Clan’s group parted ways. Meng Duo’er had already ridden far ahead, driving her horse desperately, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes.
She thought, if there was no goodbye said, then there would be no meeting again either—never again, forever.
Once everyone had gone, Baili Weisheng finally lifted his head slowly to look after them, a flicker of guilt crossing his dark, deep-set eyes. He knew, better than anyone, exactly how Meng Duo’er had treated him all this time.
It was only that he knew, deep down, that whoever he’d once loved, it hadn’t been her.
After parting ways, Ziqing’s family of three set out on their own journey as well, leaving only Baili Weisheng and Jue Mingzi accompanying them.
Jue Mingzi carried a heavy heart, saying little over the past several days, because Jun Beiyue had taken the blood zheng with him days ago now.
That night, deep in the middle of the night, the inn they’d rented out entirely for themselves lay perfectly quiet.
Just one more day’s travel and they’d reach the capital. Tonight, they’d chosen to stop and rest.
Ziqing slept soundly. Though the matter of the lonely island had reached its conclusion in her heart, and Jun Beiyue had encouraged her to relax for a few days, taking the scenic route home—still, she hadn’t been idle.
She thought about how reluctant Madam Jinjiao had been to leave her son behind—how wonderful it would be, if she could see him recover his memory.
She thought, if Baili Weisheng ever did recover his memory, she’d absolutely have to force him to make a trip to the Dream Clan—even if he did nothing else, he’d at least have to properly thank Meng Duo’er.
These past few days, she and Jue Mingzi had gone through nearly every medical text they had, even compiling a list of physicians to consult once they returned to the capital, planning to summon them one by one.
To say she wasn’t grieving over the lonely island, over Xuanyuan Lige, would be a lie—but it was convenient, at least, to have something to occupy herself with, to keep herself busy, so she wouldn’t dwell on it too much.
She’d even started planning ahead—once they reached the capital, she’d begin preparing for Jun Beiyue’s ascension to the throne, bringing modern principles of governance to Da Zhou, certain that with her help he could usher in a golden age for Longyuan.
Her husband was, after all, a figure destined to be remembered through the ages—how could she possibly let herself hold him back?
Busy by day, she slept especially soundly at night, unaware that Jun Beiyue hadn’t slept in several nights already.
At this moment, the bright moon hung high overhead, the night deep and still.
Xiong Xiaobao lay drowsily half-asleep when he suddenly felt something tickling him. His natural instincts snapped him awake at once, both hands raised defensively.
To his surprise, it was only Baili Weisheng, poking his nose with a blade of grass.
Xiong Xiaobao’s guard dropped instantly, and he kicked out furiously with both legs. “What are you doing? I’m sleeping!”
With that, he rolled over and buried himself back in the blanket, continuing to sleep.
Baili Weisheng rubbed his chin with one hand, still toying with the blade of grass with the other, muttering to himself, “This is highly confidential business—should I say it, or not?”
At that, Xiong Xiaobao flipped over at once, his sly little eyes suddenly wide awake, gleaming with mischief. “What is it?”
“Your father…” Baili Weisheng said mysteriously.
At those words, Xiong Xiaobao startled, already pulling on his clothes and climbing off the bed, asking anxiously, “Is it about the blood zheng? Where is he right now?”
Baili Weisheng, being something of a night owl, had actually already slipped out to take a look earlier. Now, fully dressed, he grabbed Xiong Xiaobao and headed straight for the mountains behind the inn.
Just as they reached the back courtyard, they could faintly hear the sound of a qin drifting down from the mountainside—as though someone were testing the strings, note by note, twang, twang, twang, halting and uneven.
Xiong Xiaobao was about to rush forward, but Baili Weisheng held him back. “Let’s get one thing straight first—you brought me here, not the other way around.”
“Does that even matter?” Xiong Xiaobao said, growing agitated.
“It does. Your father has plenty of ways to shut me up for good—you’ve got your mother to protect you.” Baili Weisheng said seriously. Jun Beiyue’s efforts to bond with the blood zheng were clearly being kept secret from Han Ziqing.
Jun Beiyue had no excuse to make Xiong Xiaobao disappear, but plenty of reasons to make him disappear!
Though he didn’t entirely understand why he himself didn’t want to leave them, the fact remained that he simply didn’t want to.
“Fine, then go back! I’ll go on my own!” Xiong Xiaobao shouted, and immediately charged up the mountain. To his surprise, Baili Weisheng didn’t follow him at all, instead quietly heading toward Ziqing’s quarters instead.
He genuinely hadn’t planned to do anything in particular—it simply happened naturally—and before he knew it, he’d once again settled himself on the rooftop, gently shifting a roof tile aside, and by the dim moonlight, made out the peacefully sleeping figure on the bed below. A strange sense of contentment washed over him. Without lingering to look further, he silently put the tile back in place, laced his hands behind his head, and lay down lazily.
What was he supposed to do?
He’d been trying for several nights now, and could only vaguely recall that Xuanyuan Lige’s final entrusted message had something to do with this woman—and that it was very important—but exactly what it was, he still couldn’t remember.
His head ached so badly it hardly felt like his own anymore, and still he couldn’t recall it.
He thought, if he could just get his hands on something else equally familiar, perhaps the memory would come back to him.
Not knowing anything for certain, he still didn’t want to say anything, for fear of upsetting this woman. Lying there gazing up at the brilliant stars, he found himself mulling it over unconsciously once more. “Xuanyuan Lige, the blood zheng, Han Ziqing… what exactly is this all about?”
Suddenly, an idea struck him, and he sat bolt upright, muttering to himself, “The blood zheng… the blood zheng… but stealing something out of Jun Beiyue’s hands won’t be easy at all!”