Tucked away alone in a shadowed corner of the rooftop, Ziqing curled up in silence, the scorpion-shaped ring caught fast on the joint of her index finger, the flesh below the knuckle swollen and red—all from having yanked it off so forcefully in her earlier panic.

She stared at it in silence for a long while, her eyes clear and bright as moonlight, and yet no one could ever have guessed what she was actually thinking.

She had no idea how long she’d sat there in a daze before she finally, gently, raised her hand, pressing her finger to her lips and blowing softly on it, expressionless. Hoo, hoo.

Not being afraid of pain didn’t mean it didn’t hurt!

After a long while, once the pain had faded, Ziqing carefully worked the ring loose, easing it out little by little—once the band cleared the knuckle, it slid free easily enough.

At last, Ziqing let out a soft breath of relief, the ring resting in her palm, and once again she fell into a daze, her other hand hesitating over whether to pick it up.

Her small, slight frame remained curled up in solitary silence, holding this same foolish pose for a long while, until her feet went numb and she finally came back to herself, sitting down with a thump.

Such a simple woman she’d once been—her whole life had consisted only of accepting missions, completing them, collecting payment, and moving on; repaying kindness with kindness, repaying grudges with grudges. And yet now, even she herself couldn’t say where all this confusion, all this vexation—even this ache—had come from.

Night had long since fallen, moonlight pouring down, before she finally came back to herself again, unable to recall what she’d even been thinking about during that long daze.

She lowered her head, rubbing carefully at the bruised, aching spots on her calf and arm where she’d been kicked, the quiet moonlight falling across her bare face, only making her plain, undisturbed stillness all the more striking.

Once the pain eased, she straightened her hand, slowly opening her palm—the scorpion-shaped ring, already faintly wreathed in its own dark glow, seemed even more pronounced beneath the moonlight, resting now on Ziqing’s pale, jade-smooth hand like a glowing black scorpion, lifelike and vivid.

“Scorpion,” Ziqing murmured, “has Han Ziqing fallen for your master?”

How could a scorpion possibly answer?

Ziqing’s smile deepened, and then, without warning, she turned her hand over, letting the scorpion drop straight down, landing on the tiled roof with a sharp clink before bouncing away out of sight.

“No.”

She answered herself, then buried her face against her knees, curling her body up tight, and moved no more.

Was she tired? Had she fallen asleep? Or was it something else entirely?

No one knew—only the quiet moonlight wrapped around her, like some silent, unspoken form of protection.

Before long, every light in the whole government office had gone dark, the night deepening steadily, while at the other end, in the military camp, the lights still blazed as brightly as ever.

In the main tent, Jun Beiyue sat in the seat of honor, with Jun Beiyao seated below to his right, the White Tiger and Red Tiger generals arranged beneath them, and behind them the various commanders.

The treaty lay spread open on the low table before them—its terms had caught not only Jun Beiyue himself off guard, but everyone else present as well.

Getting Western Chu to agree to relinquish five cities alone would have been extraordinarily difficult—even had Jun Beiyue negotiated it personally, success would have been far from guaranteed!

And yet, to everyone’s astonishment, Ziqing hadn’t merely secured the deal—she’d attached two further conditions besides. First, twenty thousand fine steeds—Western Chu’s own fine horses, considerably more formidable in battle than Great Zhou’s—which, combined with the ten thousand she’d already won earlier, would be more than enough to form an elite cavalry unit!

“Ha, my lord, the princess consort certainly has quite the talent—she even got the Western Chu monarch to apologize to the people of both nations. Doesn’t that cost Western Chu its own people’s goodwill?” the Red Tiger general laughed heartily.

“Exactly, my lord. Looking at these two conditions Western Chu agreed to, that old emperor of theirs must have his mind set on the Huns instead. This subordinate suspects there’s something fishy going on here—otherwise, no matter how brazen that Western Chu emperor might be, why would he go and provoke that pack of Huns so recklessly?” the Black Tiger general said seriously.

Jun Beiyue merely nodded, turning to Yingzi. “Have you found her yet?”

The treaty had been signed, and Western Chu, eager to find their missing party, had withdrawn their troops that very night. Jun Beiyue, too, had spent the night urgently gathering his officers to distribute rewards and reassign forces—only to discover, to his frustration, that the person most responsible for this victory, Han Ziqing, was nowhere to be found!

“We’ve searched everywhere. There’s simply no sign of her,” Yingzi answered honestly.

At that moment, Situ Xin’er, lounging idly in the seat to Jun Beiyue’s left—the seat that should rightfully have belonged to Ziqing—spoke up eagerly. “Why don’t I go look for her!”

Jun Beiyue shot her a sharp glare, and she immediately shrank back, lowering her head to file her nails.

The whole tent fell silent. The most critical part of reassigning forces and distributing rewards, of course, was deciding how to allocate these five cities of Western Chu. Prince Yao had once declared that whoever took a Western Chu city, regardless of who they were, would be granted that territory and a princely title in return!

And now, all five cities were, in practical terms, entirely under the control of the Tiger Legions!

Jun Beiyao had been sitting there since evening without saying a single word, waiting—he simply refused to believe Jun Beiyue would dare claim all five cities for himself alone.

To his surprise, Jun Beiyue calmly rolled up the treaty, speaking as though it were a matter of no particular consequence at all. “As I’ve said before—whoever secures a city holds that territory and its title. These five cities of Western Chu were taken by Han Ziqing. Someone, spread my order: Han Ziqing is granted the title Queen of the Northern Gate, to govern the five Western Chu cities.”

The moment these words left his mouth, Jun Beiyao shot to his feet, his clenched fist pressing so hard against the low table it nearly slammed down.

At once, the atmosphere turned tense—even Situ Xin’er, who had been lounging so lazily, couldn’t help but straighten up and turn to look at Jun Beiyao.

Was this man actually about to challenge Jun Beiyue directly?

Jun Beiyao was clearly buying himself time to calm down. Jun Beiyue, however, simply looked at him coolly and asked flatly, “Seventh Brother, do you have some objection?”

Jun Beiyao took a deep breath and said earnestly, “Fourth Brother, wouldn’t this matter be more appropriately decided by Father?”

The moment he said this, both Tiger generals burst out laughing at once—could the Seventh Prince truly not see how things stood at present?

Prince Yao’s Thirteen Riders, left behind in the capital, hadn’t staged a coup—that was already showing more restraint than most would credit him for. He’d brought a single army from the western border, ostensibly to reinforce them—but in reality, it was the Tiger Legions who had truly held the line against Western Chu at the Three Realms Grounds, and the Tiger Legions who had truly broken through into Western Chu itself!

If the western border army had genuinely come to reinforce them in earnest, even the Third River City would already belong to Great Zhou by now—would they still be sitting here at the Second River City, waiting for Western Chu to beg for peace?

Jun Beiyao had plainly been sent by Emperor Tianhui, feigning brotherly sentiment on the surface, but in truth here to claim a share of the spoils for himself!

Emperor Tianhui might have his own calculations well laid out, but that all depended on whether Jun Beiyue was willing to play along, didn’t it?

“Father?” Jun Beiyue suddenly gave a cold laugh, as though the word were unfamiliar to him.

“Seventh Brother, this king has no intention of letting Father have a say in this matter. What exactly do you find improper about that?” he asked earnestly.

The question left Jun Beiyao momentarily at a loss for how to respond.

“Fourth Brother, Father… this is a matter of state, of great consequence—shouldn’t we return to the capital and discuss it there?” Jun Beiyao urged.

Jun Beiyue laughed loudly, then asked again, “Seventh Brother, how exactly is this a matter of state? This king wasn’t ordered to attack Western Chu—this king used the troops he himself raised to save his own woman. Since when did that become a matter of state?”