“Knock, knock. Knock, knock…”

In the quiet of the night, a faintly rhythmic tapping sound drifted through the air—anyone well-versed in music, listening carefully, would immediately recognize it as a melody!

In the darkness, Ziqing’s eyes snapped open at once, and she immediately sat bolt upright from the couch!

It was him—Xuanyuan Lige!

That rhythm was unmistakably the opening passage of Lishang—who else in the world besides the two of them could possibly know that rhythm so intimately?

To be able to tap out such a precise, flawless rhythm on a wooden post using only his fingers—that man’s mastery of Lishang clearly surpassed her own by several times over!

“Young Master Xuanyuan?” Ziqing called softly, testing the question.

The moment the words left her mouth, a flash of purple emerged from behind a nearby wooden post—in the dim light, she could just make out purple robes and silver hair, tall and slender: Xuanyuan Lige, without question.

“Princess consort, it’s been a long time,” he said quietly, his eyes clear and untroubled even in the dim light.

“This is a military camp,” Ziqing exclaimed softly, both delighted and worried at once—this was, after all, the very heart of Jun Beiyue’s own power base!

Wasn’t this practically throwing himself into the tiger’s den?

“I know,” Xuanyuan Lige said flatly, lighting a fire striker. In the faint glow, his already pale face looked even more ashen than before, his purple robes and silver hair lending him an ethereal, otherworldly quality so striking that Ziqing found herself momentarily unable to look away.

“Something important?” Ziqing asked again, earnest as ever.

Xuanyuan Lige couldn’t help but smile. “I just wanted to come see you…”

He paused for a long moment before adding, “Has your hand healed?”

“Completely healed. Let’s talk somewhere else,” Ziqing said quietly—Hongyi had mentioned Jun Beiyue still had a second matter to discuss with her, and she had to stay on guard.

“Mm, being caught here at this hour wouldn’t do either of us any good,” Xuanyuan Lige said with a smile.

He extinguished the fire striker, and the two of them slipped out through the back entrance without a sound, arriving at the hilltop before long.

Under the cold winter night sky, the trees and grass bare and withered, the clear moonlight left nothing in the darkness hidden from view. Only now could Ziqing get a proper look at Xuanyuan Lige—in just a single short month, he seemed to have grown noticeably thinner.

“Your illness—has it improved?” Ziqing asked flatly.

“Mm, nothing too serious now. Have you started practicing Lishang?” Xuanyuan Lige asked. Ziqing noticed at once that he’d brought the blood qin with him, slung across his back—of all the instruments in the world suited to playing Lishang, none compared to the blood qin.

“Mm, would you like to hear it?” Ziqing asked.

“No need—drawing people here wouldn’t do us any good. I… let me see your hand, is it all right?” Xuanyuan Lige said with a smile. Ziqing noticed, of course, that his mood seemed particularly good tonight, smiling far more readily than usual.

Whether it was simply having gone so long without seeing each other, or that single word “friend” spoken at their parting last time, something had drawn the two of them closer together.

Ziqing obediently held out her hand, fingers spread. Xuanyuan Lige seemed about to reach for it, then stopped himself, saying instead, “Try this with me.”

With that, he interlocked his own fingers together, twisting them gently.

Ziqing followed suit, and to her surprise, felt a faint soreness in every finger except her thumb!

How could that be—hadn’t her injury from before fully healed?

“Sore?” Xuanyuan Lige asked.

Ziqing nodded, puzzled and unable to understand why.

“Looks like you really have been practicing,” Xuanyuan Lige said with a smile. “Princess consort, congratulations—Lishang has seventy-seven scrolls in total, and that soreness in your fingers means you’ve mastered the first scroll already.”

Ziqing was faintly startled, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “You’d better not be tricking me into harm!”

She knew that playing Lishang all the way through required immense mental fortitude—without it, even the player themselves could become lost within the illusion the piece conjured. But she’d never realized this melody could injure not just the mind, but the hands as well!

Hearing this from Ziqing, Xuanyuan Lige froze for a moment, then burst into hearty laughter.

Ziqing watched him for a long moment before finally, helplessly, lowering her eyes and her head—only then realizing she probably shouldn’t have asked that question at all.

Seeing this, Xuanyuan Lige’s laughter grew even more carefree, and without thinking, he reached out to ruffle the fringe of her hair—only for Ziqing to instinctively pull away.

For a moment, Xuanyuan Lige’s hand hung frozen in midair, the moment growing awkward.

To his surprise, Ziqing showed no awkwardness at all, her expression as calm and quiet as before, saying flatly, “Sorry, I asked the wrong thing.”

“Are you in a bad mood?” Xuanyuan Lige asked, only now noticing something was off about her.

“Why does it hurt, though?” Ziqing asked, sidestepping the question, earnest as ever.

A flicker of something complicated crossed Xuanyuan Lige’s eyes. Since she wouldn’t say, he didn’t press further either.

“That’s precisely what makes this score so distinctive—each scroll builds its intensity just so, placing gradual pressure on the fingers, which is what causes that soreness. If you make a habit of practicing this hand position regularly when you have the time, it won’t cause any real harm.”

As he spoke, he demonstrated the movement for her again. Ziqing nodded obediently, following along.

“Is there anything about Lishang you don’t understand?”

Xuanyuan Lige asked first this time, and Ziqing hurried to pull out her transcribed score—she genuinely had no shortage of questions, having worried she wouldn’t get another chance to see him again anytime soon.

On the empty hilltop, the two of them sat together on the ground, letting the wind toss their robes and hair as they discussed matters of music with genuine focus, the atmosphere warm and easy, until the sky began to lighten toward dawn. Only then did Ziqing stretch lazily and rise to her feet, still earnest as ever. “Am I… terribly slow at this?”

Xuanyuan Lige simply smiled, saying nothing.

Ziqing, well aware of her own limitations, shrugged and let the question go—she had a gift for fingering technique, but none at all for musical theory.

“You’ve improved quite a bit. Next time I come, I’ll play a piece for you,” Xuanyuan Lige said flatly.

“Mm.” Ziqing nodded, knowing it was time to part ways.

She liked this particular kind of relationship. All night long, he hadn’t asked her a single word about Jun Beiyue, nor about the treaty between Great Zhou and Western Chu.

They were friends who set aside their respective identities entirely—nothing more, nothing less.

“Princess consort, then I shall…”

Before Xuanyuan Lige could even finish, Ziqing looked up, her gaze pure and clear, meeting his eyes directly. “Young Master Xuanyuan, just call me Ziqing. No need for such formality.”

It wasn’t the words themselves, but that look in her eyes—only a woman with a truly pure heart could meet a man’s gaze so directly, so steadily, without anger, without resentment, without any trace of pleasure either, holding it for so long, so calm, so entirely free of any ambiguous undertone.

Friendship—could there really exist such a thing between a man and a woman, entirely free of any romantic undertone at all?

Xuanyuan Lige froze for a moment, and Ziqing continued, “I’ll call you Lige. Is that all right?”

In that instant, Xuanyuan Lige felt as though his heart, which had beaten steadily for twenty years, was, for the very first time, truly and fully alive.

“Call me A’Li instead. That’s what my friends call me,” he said, his smile warm—as if he had any friends to speak of at all!

“Mm, I should head back, or you’ll be in danger. His shadow guards are patrolling nearby,” Ziqing said flatly, her mind already unconsciously drifting back to that second matter Jun Beiyue had mentioned.

Just as she turned to leave, Xuanyuan Lige stopped her. “Ziqing, smile before you go, won’t you?”

He had, of course, noticed that she hadn’t smiled once the entire night.

The moment he said this, Ziqing, far from smiling, instead frowned, looking somewhat troubled.

To her surprise, Xuanyuan Lige suddenly stepped forward and, without warning, pulled a silly face at her.

Ziqing froze, immediately stepping back, staring at him wide-eyed—and Xuanyuan Lige immediately tensed up…