Deep in the silent night, a shadow landed soundlessly on the roof of Ziqing’s quarters — a man dressed entirely in black, blending seamlessly into the darkness, appearing and vanishing like a phantom.
Seeing the lights inside already extinguished, Hongyi waiting outside the door, he dropped down at once from behind the building, slipping in without a sound — only to find the bed completely empty, no one there at all!
Where had that woman gone at this hour?
He frowned, glancing toward the zither stand — Wuzheng was missing too. He’d once treasured that instrument, treasured her skill with it as well — but now, he had to admit, he deeply regretted it.
In the darkness, his icy gaze deepened further and further. Confirming the room was empty, he turned to leave — only to spot a small, slight black silhouette not far off, clearly carrying a zither on her back, slipping over the courtyard wall.
It was her!
Taking the zither with her — was she fleeing?
Jun Beiyue felt an inexplicable flicker of panic and gave chase at once, keeping his veil on, trailing her from a distance, all the way deep into the forest behind the hills.
She found an open clearing, sat cross-legged, and placed Wuzheng across her lap, though she didn’t begin playing right away — instead, as though soothing a beloved companion, her small hand gently traced the strings. Under the moonlight, her pale, unadorned face was calm and lovely, the corners of her lips curved faintly upward, a purity of contentment written across her features.
He settled onto a tree branch, in no hurry to reveal himself either, simply watching her from a distance, savoring this quiet moment.
He so rarely gazed at her this intently, this long, and found himself, in that instant, suddenly struck by how unfamiliar she felt. Thinking it over carefully, that unfamiliarity made sense — he’d never truly come to understand her, had never truly sat down and spoken heart to heart with her.
Unbidden, the memory of that other night surfaced in his mind — also out in the wilderness, also sitting cross-legged with a zither, when she’d spent an entire night with Xuanyuan Lige, talking the whole night through.
She’d said Xuanyuan Lige was a musician to her, a friend — that it had nothing to do with either of their standing, nothing to do with the enmity between their two nations.
So what exactly had they talked about, all that time?
Was there really so much to say?
Women — he’d never understood them. He only had one thought in mind: give her the best of everything, give her whatever mattered most to her.
Suddenly — “Clang!” — a clear, ringing note!
Jun Beiyue snapped back to attention, following the sound, his gaze landing on Ziqing’s hand — and he was struck with shock at once!
“Clang!” — another note, unusually heavy this time, clearly requiring tremendous effort — it must have struck every string at once!
But she hadn’t touched the strings at all!
Ziqing’s hand hovered in midair, plucking and striking, a full three inches above the strings — and with each pluck and strike, the sound grew heavier and heavier!
Striking wind-blades from her fingertips — this woman had actually achieved it!
As though wary of disturbing anyone nearby, Ziqing wasn’t playing a full piece at all, but repeating just these two motions, plucking and striking, over and over in sequence.
Sometimes one finger at a time, plucking and striking; sometimes two, three, four, even all five fingers together, striking and plucking, producing the very same note each time — yet each carrying its own distinct weight and depth. Though it formed no melody at all, even Jun Beiyue found himself watching with genuine fascination.
He stroked his chin, watching Ziqing’s nimble eyes dance through the empty air, her movements looking effortless and graceful, though clearly backed by immense force. A flicker of surprise crossed his face — why had Xuanyuan Lige entrusted such a skill to this woman?
If she ever truly mastered it, it would grant her, first, the ability to kill with wind-blades, and second, Wuzheng’s highest level of mastery — wind-blades stirring the strings, the strings producing sound even as they rebounded the wind-blade back outward, a lethal force most weapons in this world couldn’t hope to withstand!
With Wuzheng in her hands, wasn’t Xuanyuan Lige afraid this woman might one day turn it against him?
For now, her hand could only manage three inches from the strings — but just how much further could that skill grow?
Jun Beiyue’s lips curved with amusement, and he was about to draw his sword when, just then, “Clang!” — a single note rang out, carrying an unmistakably melodious quality, as though drifting up from deep within some distant valley.
Jun Beiyue’s hand, resting on his sword, froze at once — while Ziqing’s own hand shot upward unexpectedly, another “Clang!” ringing out in response, equally melodious, this time a full foot from the strings!
Then, from deep within the forest, another “Clang!” answered back. Ziqing lifted her head toward the sound, and her still, quiet face broke at once into a smile she hadn’t worn in a long while — delighted, pure, eager, almost impatient — and another “Clang!” answered back once more.
Back and forth, always the same note — and yet the two of them managed to play endless variations on that single note, the same pitch rendered with different force, different fingerings, different tempos, conjuring an astonishing variety!
Trading blow for blow in this playful contest, Ziqing’s smile grew wider and wider, and from a distance, she looked exactly like a joyful young girl, the kind of sight that made anyone watching want to smile right along with her.
Jun Beiyue’s hand had long since released his sword, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the tree trunk, watching her in silence, entirely unmoved by that infectious smile, his handsome face cold enough to frighten — as though he were meant to be a block of dark ice that heaven had mistakenly carved into human form.
Suddenly, “Clang!” — a single, unified note — and the two, so happily locked in their contest, fell silent in perfect unison, as though on cue.
At last, the man emerged slowly from the forest, cradling a zither, dressed in violet with silver hair — dreamlike violet and noble silver blending together in the dim moonlight, framing that otherworldly, breathtaking face so exquisitely.
For a dazed moment, Ziqing once again mistook him for some celestial being fallen from the ninth heaven.
She laughed, still flushed and breathless from their playful duel, all the earlier shadows swept clean from her heart. “Young Master Xuanyuan, don’t tell me this is just a chance encounter!”
Xuanyuan Lige paused, then smiled quietly, walking over to stand before her, his gaze warm as he looked at her. “Ziqing.”
“Ziqing” — that was how they’d agreed he’d address her.
Ziqing laughed helplessly and called him back in kind, easily. “A’Li.”
Only then did Xuanyuan Lige settle down cross-legged, gently brushing the strings of Wuzheng. “Mm. Not a chance encounter. I simply came to see how you’re doing…”
Just as before, he paused, then asked, “Have you made progress?”
“Well?” Ziqing asked at once. She’d been secretly practicing hard all this while, not entirely certain herself how far she’d come.
“Have you tried Lishang yet?” Xuanyuan Lige asked.
“I have. The melody is strange — I keep losing the thread of it, over and over,” Ziqing answered honestly. She had indeed attempted that piece, but the moment she tried using wind-blades, she lost all continuity, forced into pausing after every single note, exactly as before, unable to form anything resembling a melody at all.
“Can you play it?” Ziqing asked in return.
Xuanyuan Lige shook his head without answering, carefully packing away the Wuzheng for her. “Silly girl, you must take care of your hands. A musician’s hands are their life. Understand?”
“I’m not planning to be a full-time musician,” Ziqing said with a laugh, though she obediently began stretching her fingers anyway.
“Is that so? I’ve heard your mother, Mu Ci, was quite renowned — the most famous musician in Da Zhou’s Music Bureau in her day. Won’t you carry on her legacy?” Xuanyuan Lige teased.
“Once I’m no longer a princess, maybe I’ll take up music as a career then,” Ziqing replied with a smile.
Xuanyuan Lige smiled and asked, “Have you ever heard your mother play?”
There was something in her memory, though hazy. Ziqing shook her head. “I can’t quite recall.”
Xuanyuan Lige was about to ask more, but suddenly sensed someone nearby, spinning around at once, striking a wind-blade from his fingers. “Who’s there!”
Ziqing startled, rising at once, and glimpsed a rustling disturbance not far off, retreating swiftly into the distance.
Xuanyuan Lige launched forward at once in pursuit, and Ziqing followed as well — but before they’d gone far, both figures had vanished entirely.