The music stopped, and the high pavilion fell into complete silence. It was already the tail end of winter, the beginning of spring, and this night was especially cold.

It seemed that every time she played “Sorrow of Parting,” he would appear. Was it that whenever she wished to see him, all she needed to do was play that song?

Ziqing still kept her head tilted back, knowing without looking that Xuanyuan Lige had pressed down on the stringless zither’s strings.

Yingzi’s parting warning still lingered in her ears—be wary of Xuanyuan Lige.

He was the crown prince of Eastern Qin, harboring the great ambition of subjugating Xichu and restoring the glory of Great Qin. The treacherous, impassable ravine lying between Eastern Qin and Xichu could never be crossed directly—one had to either pass through Xiongnu territory or through Da Zhou itself!

Given the dangers of Xiongnu territory, would a power like Xichu ever willingly deal with such tigers, borrowing passage through Xiongnu lands, if not for being forced into it by Jun Beiyue?

As for Eastern Qin, simply managing to resist Xiongnu incursions was already considered fortunate—there was absolutely no possibility of borrowing passage through their lands. Which meant Xuanyuan Lige would surely spend his entire life seeking some way through the Three Realms Pass!

Unfortunately, the Three Realms Pass was Jun Beiyue’s greatest point of contention!

Now, with Xichu and Da Zhou having agreed to a five-year truce, and a pledge never to align with Eastern Qin, and with her no longer wishing to flee, wishing instead to stay, wishing to guard everything for that man—this meant that she and Xuanyuan Lige were destined to remain eternal enemies.

Ziqing remained silent, and Xuanyuan Lige remained silent as well, lifting his robe and taking a seat, his long, gentle fingers resting lightly on the stringless zither.

Finally, it was Ziqing who spoke first. “What brings you all the way to the capital?”

“Just passing through. Thought I’d stop by and see… how much of ‘Sorrow of Parting’ you’ve mastered.”

“Where are you headed? Just passing through here?”

“Wandering the world, making friends through music.”

“Ali, in this life of yours, do you live more for music, or more for Eastern Qin?”

Xuanyuan Lige paused for a long moment, then suddenly plucked lightly at the strings and said with a smile, “Ziqing, let’s not talk about Da Zhou, and not talk about Eastern Qin either, shall we? Those are matters between men.”

“Can you really manage that?” Ziqing tilted her head back and laughed. “You’ve come to the capital looking for Jun Beiyao, haven’t you?”

“I came here to ask only about the zither.” Xuanyuan Lige’s tone remained flat as ever, his fingers gliding lightly across the strings, immediately producing a pleasant, soft melody. Wasn’t that always his excuse for coming—asking only about the zither?

Ask about the zither, ask about the zither—but really, wasn’t it feelings he wanted to ask about? Yet he knew he could never ask that.

At this point, Ziqing finally turned her head slowly to look at him and said flatly, “Ali, could I borrow your shoulder for a moment?”

Hearing this, the faint unease in Xuanyuan Lige’s heart finally eased. But when he looked up and met Ziqing’s swollen, tear-reddened eyes, his heart suddenly clenched, aching sharply.

Only then did he realize she had been crying silently, this badly.

Without waiting for Xuanyuan Lige’s answer, Ziqing rose and came to sit beside him, her pale hand resting gently on his shoulder, her forehead pressed against his arm, her head bowed, saying nothing.

Xuanyuan Lige couldn’t see her face. He looked sideways at the hand gripping his shoulder more and more tightly, and unconsciously wanted to reach out and hold it—but in the end, he never did.

He understood all too well how important it was to maintain distance.

There is one kind of friend who, when you need it most, will listen as you pour out everything in your heart.

There is another kind of friend who, when you need it most, is willing to simply sit with you in silence, all night long.

Xuanyuan Lige, without question, belonged to the latter kind. Ziqing leaned against him the entire night, and the silence lasted the entire night as well.

However long such silence stretched, it always seemed to pass too quickly. By the time the morning sun finally rose, Ziqing suddenly realized, with a start, that the sky had already brightened.

She slowly withdrew her hand. Xuanyuan Lige, facing the morning light, let out a quiet breath of relief, the corner of his handsome lips curving slightly.

He had worried the entire night—if this woman had truly poured her heart out to him, if she had truly broken down crying, he honestly wouldn’t have known what to do.

But then, quite unexpectedly, Ziqing stood up, and with her back turned to him, said flatly, “Ali, from now on… please don’t come again. I… can’t do it.”

People destined to stand on opposing sides could appreciate one another, but could never truly become friends. Even if Xuanyuan Lige could manage it, she could not.

The moment these words left her mouth, the faint smile at Xuanyuan Lige’s lips froze completely, his rarely bright, spirited eyes instantly dimming.

Did it really have to be this way?

“Ali, Da Zhou and Eastern Qin aren’t a matter between men. It’s a matter between my husband and me, and your Eastern Qin imperial house. If we ever meet on the battlefield someday, I won’t show any mercy.”

She kept her head bowed, her clear eyes holding back an endless wave of sorrow. She would never forget that it was she herself who had once suggested they be friends, nor would she forget this man’s noble promise.

Just as she was about to leave, Xuanyuan Lige suddenly laughed. “Ziqing, but I can do it.”

Ziqing stopped in her tracks abruptly, spinning around at once—but by then, that figure in purple robes with silver hair, slender and frail as though ill, had already retreated far into the distance, too far for either of them to see the sorrow in the other’s eyes.

He could do it? How could he possibly do it?

Ziqing brought both hands down hard on the zither strings with a resounding “clang.” Whenever sorrow struck her like this, she always felt this inexplicable urge, wanting desperately to play “Sorrow of Parting” straight through from beginning to end without stopping!

Her pale hands never left the strings this time. The moment she raised them, they moved with sudden urgency, the melody instantly turning frantic and jarring. And yet, despite the seemingly chaotic playing, a coherent tune gradually emerged unnoticed. Once a mournful melody grew this frenzied, it took on a tragic, heroic quality—even from a distance, anyone listening could tell this was a musician railing furiously against the injustice of fate!

Ziqing kept her head bowed, not even noticing herself how her hands grew faster and faster, more and more forceful, her eyes fixed on the strings, as though her very soul had been drawn entirely into this stringless zither. Her once clear, bright eyes now stared out utterly hollow!

Just then, a figure suddenly flashed down in front of her—none other than Situ Haonan!

He slammed his hand down on the strings with a sharp “smack.” “Han Ziqing, I’ve called your name several times already!”

Ziqing finally snapped back to herself with a start, looking up at him, her eyes clearly filled with panic. What had just happened to her?

Why had she felt this uncontrollable urge, unable to stop, as though she wanted to keep playing forever, until her very hands gave out, until every ounce of her energy was spent?

Had she been so absorbed she’d fallen into some kind of martial deviation?

“Han Ziqing, what’s wrong with you?” Situ Haonan asked, suspicious, having followed the sound of the zither. He’d already been calling out to her from below while channeling his internal energy, and yet she hadn’t heard him at all.

“Nothing! It’s nothing!” Ziqing hastily averted her gaze, picking up the stringless zither and turning to leave.

Situ Haonan hurried after her, glancing at the zither warily. “Han Ziqing, I’ve heard about this thing before—it’s seriously sinister. You didn’t fall into some kind of deviation, did you?”

A complicated look flickered through Ziqing’s eyes as she said flatly, “I don’t like being disturbed while I practice. What did you want from me?”

“Did you really just fall into a deviation just now?” Situ Haonan asked again.

“No, what did you want?” Ziqing continued avoiding the question.

But Situ Haonan narrowed his long, narrow eyes, suddenly turning serious. “Let me check your pulse.”

“I said no, get out of my way.” Ziqing said, mildly annoyed—this fellow was becoming quite tiresome.

But Situ Haonan’s voice deepened, dropping his usual careless manner entirely, turning deadly serious. “Whether there’s a problem or not, checking your pulse will tell us.”

“My affairs are none of your concern!” Ziqing finally snapped angrily.

“I… with Jun Beiyue gone, I’m responsible for you!” Situ Haonan declared righteously.

“What kind of logic is that? Are you his father, or his son? Responsible for this princess consort?” Ziqing shot back coldly.

Situ Haonan was momentarily at a loss for words. Just then, Shiliang hurried over. “Mistress, finally found you. Guxi and the others have arrived, they’ve been waiting in the back garden for quite a while.”

Guxi—that stubborn little beggar girl, her future mercenary team had arrived!

Hearing this, Situ Haonan immediately reached out to stop her. “Explain yourself first before—”

Unfortunately, before he could finish, Ziqing shoved him roughly aside and strode off!