The dim zither pavilion lay in utter silence, a stillness that carried within it a heavy, oppressive weight — a weight that seemed impossible to break, even with Xiong Xiaobao and the others’ arrival.

He couldn’t say whether it came from the pair of ancient, mysterious zithers resting on their stands, or from Jue Mingzi’s aged, weathered face, his lifeless, hollow eyes.

In any case, Xiong Xiaobao’s chest tightened, and after that single word — “Grandfather” — he found himself unable to speak another word!

Of everyone present, only Jue Mingzi truly understood zithers, understood music. Could anyone look at an expression like that on his face and not feel afraid?

It wasn’t that Xiong Xiaobao didn’t want to ask — he didn’t dare to ask. And yet, Jue Mingzi had no choice but to speak.

This whole affair had come far too suddenly — even he hadn’t expected things to turn out this way!

He rose to his feet, glanced at Xiong Xiaobao and the others, then lowered his head, gently stroking the Xuezheng, and said flatly, “What Xuanyuan Lige left behind was not an enchanting melody — it was a soul-seizing composition.”

Xiong Xiaobao said nothing, staring blankly at Jue Mingzi.

Jue Mingzi’s expression was grave, his voice deliberately low. There was no question — if he’d had any choice in the matter, he would never have wanted to say this at all.

He’d never expected Ziqing’s condition to recover so quickly, and even less had he expected that when she decided to play this piece, she wouldn’t have told him at all.

Of course, even if he had been present, perhaps he too would have realized what was happening only after the fact, just as he had now.

By the time he’d come looking for them, the people were already gone — and only then had it struck him.

If this were merely an enchanting illusion, how could the people themselves have simply vanished?

An enchanting illusion was, after all, nothing more than a vision conjured to produce hallucinations in the mind — whether the player or the listeners, all of them should have remained right there, physically present, the whole time.

And yet, all of them had vanished entirely!

Both zithers remained here, the playing had clearly long since ended — and yet the people themselves were gone!

Suddenly, Xiong Xiaobao, who had been silent all this while, let out an abrupt, furious roar. “I’m waiting! Speak! What is a soul-seizing composition!”

Everyone present froze — none of them had ever seen this child this fierce before. The feeling was familiar and yet strange all at once — familiar, because this kind of bone-chilling fury bore an uncanny resemblance to Jun Beiyue; strange, because it was something they had never once seen in Xiong Xiaobao before.

This child seemed to have transformed into someone else entirely, in an instant.

Even Jue Mingzi was startled by this. Having been lost in a daze this whole while, the shock snapped him back to alertness, and shaking his head, he said, “No enchanting melody, of any kind, could possibly cause this. Once the music ends, the illusion always shatters — neither the player nor the listeners ever vanish; their consciousness simply awakens from the illusion. A soul-seizing composition works in precisely the opposite way.”

Jue Mingzi took a deep breath before continuing. “A soul-seizing composition is a form of musical art spoken of only in ancient legend — no one has ever actually heard one, and there is no way to verify its existence. Legend holds that a soul-seizing composition can seize wandering, unclaimed spirits, trapping them forever within an illusion — so that even after the body perishes, the soul endures eternally, bound within the illusion, so long as the illusion itself endures.”

“The body perishes?” A flash of bloodthirsty red light flickered through Xiong Xiaobao’s eyes, and his voice turned cold. “What do you mean by that?”

That same bloodthirsty gleam had appeared before — it had shown itself once already, back when Xiong Xiaobao had furiously bitten Old Meng Five, among the Meng clan!

This child could not be provoked!

Seeing this, Yingzi panicked, rushing forward to embrace Xiong Xiaobao — but the moment he touched him, he was thrown violently aside. “Don’t touch me!”

Under ordinary circumstances, there had never been much distinction between master and servant between Xiong Xiaobao and Yingzi — they were more like playmates. But now, even Yingzi shrank back in fear, retreating to the side, shooting Jue Mingzi urgent glances, silently urging him not to say anything further for now!

But Jue Mingzi had no chance to hold back.

“The people are gone — and you’re telling me about the body perishing?” Xiong Xiaobao demanded.

“That’s exactly the crux of the matter. They aren’t wandering spirits — yet they’ve stumbled into the illusion of a soul-seizing composition. They… they… they may end up just like unclaimed spirits, unable to ever leave!” Jue Mingzi said anxiously.

At these words, Xiong Xiaobao stumbled back several steps, falling out through the doorway. His face went blank, and he stood there frozen for a long moment — and then, suddenly, he began to laugh. “I… are we… are we dreaming right now?”

How could this possibly be?

What did Jue Mingzi’s words even mean? That his father and mother would never come back — ever?

Was this some kind of joke?

Hadn’t they just had a small falling-out? Hadn’t he already sent word through Baili Weisheng, telling his father that when he came back, he’d kneel and admit he was wrong!

He’d even been looking forward to it — learning humbly from his father, conquering the realm together with him, ruling it together with him!

So what was this, now?

The two of them had simply vanished, without a single word left behind, dumping an entire realm this vast onto his shoulders, never to return?

How could that possibly be true — this had to be a dream!

Xiong Xiaobao muttered to himself, laughing like an utter fool.

Everyone present, even Jue Mingzi, found themselves at a complete loss, unsure what to do — as he kept laughing, no one dared say anything, afraid of provoking him further.

But just then, Guxi spoke up. “Elder Jue, are you certain?”

Jue Mingzi glanced at Xiong Xiaobao, and though he too was deeply reluctant to face this truth, he had no choice but to admit it. “It’s all but certain. If my guess is correct, ‘Parting Sorrow’ is itself a soul-seizing composition! And the piece Xuanyuan Lige composed in imitation of ‘Parting Sorrow’ would be a soul-seizing composition as well!”

That line the zither master had left behind — “‘Parting Sorrow’ will take you home, where there is no sorrow” — surely, this was exactly what it meant!

The deserted island truly had been wiped out long ago, its people entirely extinguished — and the zither master, in composing “Parting Sorrow,” had created an illusory world, one that gave shelter to the wandering souls of the deserted island’s people.

Within that world conjured by the zither master’s music, a world entirely under his own control, free from all worldly strife, there would naturally be no sorrow there. Never leaving that world meant never suffering sorrow, ever again.

“‘Parting Sorrow’ is a soul-seizing composition…”

Xiong Xiaobao murmured to himself, and in that instant, understanding struck him — so this was it, this was the secret of the deserted island, the secret of “Parting Sorrow” itself!

“His Highness and Her Highness surely had no idea — which means they… they’ve stumbled unknowingly into the illusion of a soul-seizing composition!” Yingzi cried out in shock.

Guxi’s calm gaze flickered with a trace of worry as he turned to Jue Mingzi once more. “Is there truly no way to break the soul-seizing composition?”

Jue Mingzi could only shake his head. Never mind that there was no known way — even if there were, he had no idea what it might be. A soul-seizing composition existed only within legend; besides himself, there likely wasn’t another soul left in the world who even knew such an ancient musical art existed at all.

“So you’re saying His Highness and Her Highness truly won’t be coming back?”

Seeing Jue Mingzi shake his head, Yingzi and Hongyi finally lost their composure entirely, their hands trembling with panic. How could this possibly be happening — vanishing forever without so much as a farewell, how was anyone supposed to accept this?

And just then, Xiong Xiaobao suddenly kicked the zither stand over, roaring furiously, “The two of you, such liars! Abandoning me like this!”

With that, he turned and ran. Everyone rushed after him in a panic — though all of them were equally lost, equally unsure of what to do, they all understood one thing: their young master could not afford to come to any harm right now, or else, who would rule over the realm they had all worked so hard to build?

Da Zhou, which had never once known chaos, was surely about to be swept up in a violent storm, thrown into utter turmoil.