Ever since that summons in Situ Xin’er’s camp, Ziqing hadn’t seen Jun Beiyue again.

She’d declined the title of Queen of the Northern Pass, and no one had brought it up since. Now, she remained a woman with no troops, no real power — merely holding an empty title, Princess Yao.

Once Jun Beiyue had finished redeploying his forces, the Western Frontier army was returned to the west. Their homeward procession was modest — Jun Beiyue traveled as he had come, bringing only his shadow guards as escort. Jun Beiyao, by contrast, brought a fair number of attendants. Everyone rode in their own carriages, no one on horseback, the journey moving along with some urgency.

Jun Beiyue’s carriage led at the front, Jun Beiyao’s followed next, then Ziqing’s, with Situ Xin’er’s bringing up the rear. But that girl paid no mind to protocol at all, constantly darting forward to the front, climbing into Jun Beiyue’s carriage more than once, sometimes staying half a day before coming back down.

With the person in question raising no objection, who would bother to complain about her?

Some people were simply born fortunate — raised in comfort, backed by unshakeable power. When they broke the rules, people simply said “that’s just how she is” and never held it against her.

Others weren’t so lucky. The moment they stepped out of line, someone would step forward, pointing fingers, demanding this and that.

Situ Xin’er was, without question, the former; Ziqing, the latter.

“Miss, His Highness said you weren’t permitted,” Hongyi said, clearly disappointed. She’d watched Situ Xin’er’s brazen behavior along the entire journey.

Her mistress had simply grown bored sitting in the carriage and wanted to ride ahead — not even to lead, just to ride alongside — and even that had been refused.

Ziqing lowered her eyes and was about to speak when the sound of a horse neighing came from outside. She frowned, glancing over, her hand freezing slightly before she slowly lowered the carriage curtain, saying flatly, “Hongyi, bring me Wuzheng.”

“Yes.” Hongyi withdrew, and the moment she stepped outside, she saw Situ Xin’er already riding high on horseback, weaving flamboyantly around the carriage train, front and back, left and right, playing and laughing brightly, her clear laughter ringing out — no one daring to stop her.

“Neigh…”

The blood-sweating warhorse trotting alongside Ziqing’s carriage suddenly whinnied, watching the horse galloping ahead with unmistakable restlessness, clearly eager to join in but not daring to.

Even watching the horse was enough to stir pity — how much more so for the person sitting in the carriage?

Hongyi averted her gaze, an unbidden thought surfacing in her mind — if that “caring” of His Highness’s was truly bound never to fade, wouldn’t it be better for her mistress to leave sooner rather than later?

The deeper she fell in, the more her mistress alone would suffer for it.

She carefully retrieved the Wuzheng and offered it in silence. At any other time she might have tried to talk her mistress out of whatever she was planning, but right now, she only wanted to hear her play.

“What would you like to hear?” Ziqing asked flatly, her tone carrying no emotion at all.

Hongyi was faintly startled. This version of her mistress felt both so familiar and so strange — this was exactly how she’d been when she’d first arrived at the Prince Yao estate, cold and detached.

“Whatever Miss wishes to play, this servant will listen to,” Hongyi said quietly.

Ziqing lowered her head, her fingers lightly brushing the strings, and began a melody that was open and expansive, unhurried. In an instant, the small carriage seemed to widen into something vast, as though one stood upon a boundless grassland, wandering freely.

The music quickly overtook Situ Xin’er’s laughter, drawing everyone’s attention. The entire caravan, without anyone quite realizing it, began to move in rhythm with Ziqing’s playing — quickening when it quickened, slowing when it slowed, gentling when it gentled.

Inside his own carriage, Jun Beiyue slowly lowered the scroll he’d been reading, one hand propping up his head, eyes narrowed slightly, listening in silence, his handsome brow etched deeply with exhaustion.

Heaven only knew how many sleepless nights he’d endured by now.

“My lord, a letter has arrived from Young Master Situ,” Yingzi said quietly, presenting the letter.

Jun Beiyue didn’t move, whether asleep or simply listening quietly to the music, no one could say. Since that day, no one had heard him mention Han Ziqing at all, and no one knew what had happened that night either.

“My lord, it’s marked urgent,” Yingzi had to remind him.

Only then did Jun Beiyue open his eyes. He took the letter and read it — and his composed expression darkened at once. Situ Haonan had actually written to demand an explanation regarding the overnight stay in the tent!

How had he found out?

“Bring Han Ziqing to me!” Jun Beiyue’s fury erupted at once.

Yingzi was startled, not even daring to ask what the letter contained, turning to leave — but Jun Beiyue stopped him again, his voice suddenly, frighteningly sharp. “Wait!”

Yingzi didn’t dare move, didn’t dare say another word, until Jun Beiyue waved him off, only then daring to leave.

That night, five days into the journey home, the caravan stopped for the first time at an inn to rest overnight.

Jun Beiyue had bought out the entire inn without hesitation. After five full days and nights of hard travel, everyone was thoroughly exhausted, and rather than dine together, each went off to see to their own needs.

Situ Xin’er was about to go find Jun Beiyue for dinner when the inn’s attendant unexpectedly delivered an entire table of dishes.

“Who sent this?” Situ Xin’er asked, suspicious. No sooner had she spoken than Jun Beiyao stepped out, smiling. “Might this humble prince have the honor of dining with Miss Situ?”

“Take it all away, I’m going to find Beiyue-gege!” Situ Xin’er refused without a shred of courtesy.

“I hear your brother sent an urgent letter today. I wonder—” Before Jun Beiyao could finish, Situ Xin’er startled. “Speak inside!”

Jun Beiyao maintained his polite smile. “After you.”

Once the door closed, Situ Xin’er asked anxiously, “Do you know what it said? It’s not asking Beiyue-gege to send me home, is it? When’s he coming?”

Jun Beiyao ladled soup for Situ Xin’er with impeccable manners, smiling without answering.

“Just tell me already!” Situ Xin’er nearly flipped the table. Her brother thoroughly disapproved of her clinging to Beiyue-gege — if she hadn’t run off ahead of everyone else, her brother would never have let her come along at all.

“Good news, actually.” Jun Beiyao said mysteriously, leaning in close, low-voiced. “Miss Situ, I wonder who let it slip that His Highness stayed overnight in your tent — Young Master Situ’s letter was precisely about that matter.”

At this, Situ Xin’er froze. She’d promised Beiyue-gege she wouldn’t say anything.

Suddenly, she gasped. “It was you!”

Jun Beiyao laughed and nodded. “Miss Situ, it seems it won’t be long before this prince has to call you sister-in-law.”

Situ Xin’er, who’d been furious a moment ago, flushed crimson at once, protesting with a coy anger. “Are you trying to get me killed!”

Jun Beiyao laughed again, an unconscious rasp slipping into his voice without him even noticing. “What’s there to be embarrassed about? You’ve known Fourth Brother for so many years — it’s no secret to the rest of us brothers. Don’t worry about it — even if Fourth Brother investigates, it won’t ever trace back to you, sister-in-law. Trust me, I’m fully invested in seeing this marriage happen. I just hope that once it’s done, sister-in-law won’t sell me out!”

Hearing herself called “sister-in-law” over and over, Situ Xin’er’s heart bloomed with joy, her small face flushing as red as a ripe apple. She hurried to pour wine for Jun Beiyao. “I won’t say a word, I won’t say a word, I know nothing!”

Meanwhile, dressed in black night-travel garb, Jun Beiyue stood frowning, reading and re-reading Situ Haonan’s letter.

Situ Haonan rarely wrote letters at all, let alone one this lengthy. Jun Beiyue understood perfectly well — this was serious trouble.

“My lord, please eat something first,” Yingzi urged.

But Jun Beiyue simply drew a veil over his face, saying flatly, “Stand guard outside. Whoever asks, tell them I’m sleeping.”

It had been a long while since he’d gone to see Han Ziqing as the man in black. It was time to pay a visit.

…