The moment the zither’s sound cut off, Ziqing instinctively closed her eyes.

But an unexpected turn of events followed. They had all assumed everything would vanish in an instant, that they would return to the bamboo forest zither pavilion at Prince Yao’s estate — and yet, at this moment, nothing happened at all. Nothing changed.

Jun Beiyue, Baili Weisheng, and Xuanyuan Lige — the three men — exchanged glances, all equally taken aback.

Baili Weisheng nudged Ziqing with his elbow, teasing her with a lie. “Hey, your son’s come home.”

Ziqing’s eyes flew open at once, immediately startled by everything around her. “How can this be?”

The sound of “Sorrow of Parting” had stopped — logically, even if this illusion differed from an ordinary enchanting one, they should have left by now, shouldn’t they?

But it didn’t take Ziqing long to realize something. “Could it be that this really is the passage we guessed at? That the music is nothing more than a passageway — one that brought us in!”

At this, Baili Weisheng brightened at once. “Whatever it is, let’s play ‘Parting Sorrow’ and find out!”

Indeed — only “Parting Sorrow” could give them the answer.

The environment conjured by “Sorrow of Parting” hadn’t collapsed, and Xuanyuan Lige remained right before their eyes — which meant they no longer needed to worry about time, and could play “Parting Sorrow” in its entirety!

What Baili Weisheng had said was exactly what was on everyone’s mind!

After all this effort, at the point where the road seemed to end entirely, a new path had opened up before them! In an instant, everyone’s spirits lifted.

Ziqing turned slowly to look at Jun Beiyue, and just then, he too was looking back at her, saying flatly, “It’s worth a try.”

He had already resolved to bond with the Xuezheng — now, at least, he could save himself some effort.

“I never thought I’d get another chance to play…” Xuanyuan Lige’s smile widened considerably, then he paused before continuing. “I’d also like to know — why do I exist here at all?”

Indeed — a person who should have vanished without a trace, whose soul had instead fallen into a world of his own creation, becoming its master — he wanted to know why, and he wanted to know how much longer he might exist.

Xuanyuan Lige’s words made all three of them turn to look at him at once. If not for this reminder, perhaps the three of them would have long since forgotten that the Xuanyuan Lige before them, while not an illusion, while not false, was not quite real either!

Only now did they remember — he was nothing but a solitary, wandering soul, with no idea where he belonged, not even certain how much longer he could continue to exist.

If this had happened in the past, Ziqing might have thought it all a dream — but she had crossed over from another world, her soul entrusted to and living on within a body from ancient times.

The concept of a soul was, to her, no stranger.

“Perhaps you’re simply bound by fate to the Xuezheng,” Baili Weisheng offered timidly, breaking the silence.

Xuanyuan Lige smiled, turning to look at the Xuezheng, while Ziqing looked toward the Wuzheng, took a deep breath, and said, “We’ll only know once we try!”

Of course, playing “Parting Sorrow” wasn’t something that could simply be done on a whim. Never mind that “Parting Sorrow” consisted of nine hundred and ninety-nine sections, which would place an enormous strain on the fingers — the notes of “Parting Sorrow” resembled both an enchanting melody and a soul-killing composition. To play out its true essence, to convey its deeper meaning, would demand an immense amount of mental and spiritual strength.

Ziqing decided to rest for a few hours, and to use the time to find her center, to cultivate the right state of mind.

She held the Wuzheng in her arms and walked to the edge of the cliff, sitting there alone in silence. No one knew what she was thinking.

Likewise, Xuanyuan Lige needed to prepare as well. He sat within the mountain, cross-legged, leaning quietly against the wall, his slender fingers gently brushing across the strings of the Xuezheng. In the stillness, he suddenly smiled.

“Jun Beiyue, I never thought you would come,” Xuanyuan Lige said flatly. He had just told Ziqing the same thing moments before, believing she would come alone — only Ziqing hadn’t heard it.

“Sorrow of Parting,” though composed in imitation of “Parting Sorrow,” had laid bare his entire life — every joy and sorrow, every parting and reunion, every fit of happiness and rage.

If Ziqing hadn’t been playing with her whole heart, if she hadn’t been able to read the emotion within the piece, she never would have made it here.

Likewise, if Jun Beiyue and Baili Weisheng hadn’t been able to understand — or hadn’t been willing to understand — they, too, would never have made it here. And so, that Jun Beiyue and Baili Weisheng, especially Jun Beiyue, had been able to come, was genuinely beyond Xuanyuan Lige’s expectations.

A former enemy, able to settle his heart enough to truly feel the bitterness and hardship of another man’s entire life, able to understand him — perhaps, by that point, he was no longer an enemy at all, but a friend.

Whether or not Jun Beiyue understood the meaning behind Xuanyuan Lige’s words, he smiled — bright and hearty, a rare sight indeed, especially in front of Xuanyuan Lige.

Unlike Xuanyuan Lige’s cool detachment, unlike Baili Weisheng’s refined elegance, Jun Beiyue carried within him a touch more of a man’s raw wildness, a touch more of a ruler’s commanding presence — and when he smiled, he was truly striking to behold.

He gazed off into the distance at Ziqing’s silhouette, and said, “Wherever she goes, whatever she does, I never stop her — but I have to be there beside her.”

Xuanyuan Lige smiled faintly, deliberately changing the subject. “East Qin and West Chu… are they well?”

“I’ve already given the order to open a road, circling around the Innocence Ravine, forming a loop that connects to the Xiongnu territory in the north and the borderlands of the Three Realms in the south — establishing counties there, allowing free passage and the exchange of goods.” Jun Beiyue held nothing back.

After the war, the continent of Longyuan — West Chu, the Xiongnu, and East Qin — all had rebel forces to put down, refugees to pacify. He was, in truth, extraordinarily busy — though compared to war, all of this was, if anything, easier.

On the road back to the capital, he had already drafted numerous plans, ready to discuss them with his civil and military officials before putting them into action.

There was no question — in the matter of ruling the world, Xuanyuan Lige had lost, completely and utterly. And yet, he was not a man who couldn’t bear to lose. He smiled faintly, at ease, unconcerned.

Having lost the world, but won himself — what was there to worry about?

“And Nanzhao?” Xuanyuan Lige asked again. This was likely the first time these two men had ever sat down so calmly together, discussing matters of the realm.

Jun Beiyue gave a general account of the battle in Nanzhao. Xuanyuan Lige listened with considerable astonishment, never having expected that Consort Qin would turn out to be the spark that ignited that whole conflict.

“With Nanzhao thrown into internal chaos, the variables multiply,” Xuanyuan Lige said thoughtfully — and anyone perceptive enough would understand exactly what he meant by that!

In the war between Da Zhou and Nanzhao, a negotiated peace was the best possible outcome. Pushed too far, it wouldn’t just fail to shake Nanzhao’s foundations — it would instead stoke fierce resentment among all its various tribes, and once united against a common enemy, Da Zhou would find no easy victory.

But once peace was negotiated, it would give Nanzhao’s various tribes the opportunity to turn against one another — and internal strife meant internal attrition. Let Nanzhao remain in chaos for a year or so, and Da Zhou could then make its move.

Even as Jun Beiyue made his way back to the capital, he had already set his sights on Nanzhao.

If he intended to have Xiong Xiaobao ascend the throne while he himself served as regent, freeing up some of his own time to help Ziqing continue searching for the deserted island — well, that selfish motive was understandable enough.

And yet, even setting aside that personal desire, Jun Beiyue genuinely hoped Xiong Xiaobao would take the throne regardless. The northern territories, spanning the three kingdoms, were vast, and among them the Xiongnu were no easy adversaries — while in the south, Nanzhao presented a prime opportunity.

Once Jun Beiyue was tied down on the throne, confined to the capital, his time and energy would inevitably be limited.

He needed Xiong Xiaobao to step forward, to stand on his own, to grow, and to help shoulder the burdens of state — after all, Nanzhao was far too fractured, too scattered. Even reaping the rewards of others’ conflict would take more than a year or two to secure!

Jun Beiyue, of course, understood exactly what Xuanyuan Lige’s words implied. Thinking of this, he found himself thinking of Xiong Xiaobao, and how he was waiting for that boy to come kneel before him and admit his wrongdoing.

He thought that father and son were due for a proper talk, man to man.

That boy didn’t have to become emperor — so long as he could beat him first!