Once back in Great Zhou, Jun Beiyue once again became an extraordinarily busy man. During the half-month spent waiting for Chu Feiyan’s arrival, he left early and returned late every single day, entirely occupied with the soldiers fighting in the war between Xijing and Xichu. Had the distance not been so great, Ziqing might well have believed this man would rush straight to the battlefield himself!

Ziqing, meanwhile, found herself with considerably more free time, occasionally joining Shiliang and Guxi in the courtyard as they trained her mercenary band.

Shiliang, faithfully following Prince Yao’s instructions, brought a bowl of stewed soup every afternoon without fail.

“My lady, drink it while it’s hot—the weather’s getting colder by the day,” Shiliang said respectfully, staying close by Ziqing’s side. These days, she’d come to resemble a proper attendant even more than Hongyi did.

Ziqing lounged lazily on the couch, watching Guxi lead the brothers through their sparring drills. She took the bowl with little enthusiasm, but after just a few sips, her eyes lit up brightly. “This chicken soup tastes remarkably rich. How on earth was it made?”

Shiliang felt secretly delighted, the corners of her mouth curling up slightly—that faint, knowing smile bore an uncanny resemblance to Ziqing’s own, utterly endearing.

“My lady, this is drip-stewed—it’s been simmering since early this morning.”

“Drip-stewed?” Ziqing asked, puzzled.

“Not a single drop of water added. The chicken is cleaned thoroughly and cooked dry. Once it reaches the right temperature, the essence within the chicken meat naturally drips out on its own. My lady, this small bowl of soup actually used three whole chickens!” Shiliang explained earnestly.

Ziqing couldn’t help but frown. “That’s… that’s far too wasteful, isn’t it? Who taught you this?”

Shiliang, having grown up as a beggar, had learned to cook soup from Hongyi—but a method like this was far beyond Hongyi’s own level of skill; she would never have thought of it herself.

“His Highness sought out one of the palace’s master chefs and had him teach this servant many different methods. He said he worried my lady might grow tired of the same flavor, and told this servant to find new ways to prepare the soup,” Shiliang answered honestly.

Ziqing’s heart warmed. She finished the bowl in one large gulp, then called for Hongyi. “What time will His Highness return tonight?”

Hongyi smiled with a knowing look. “Even my lady doesn’t know? This servant certainly has no idea either…”

She paused, then added with a barely suppressed giggle, “Though His Highness will certainly come back, that much is certain.”

Having served in the Prince Yao’s estate for so long, she knew that under normal circumstances, if His Highness hadn’t returned by sunset without urgent matters detaining him, he wouldn’t come back at all that night. But now, with Her Highness here, no matter how late it got, His Highness would always make his way home!

Ziqing’s face showed little expression as she rose to her feet. “Shiliang, teach me how to make this drip-stewed chicken soup.”

He treated her well, and she wanted to treat him well in return—Ziqing’s thinking was that simple. And so, that entire day, from afternoon until deep into the night, she remained holed up in the kitchen.

Frustratingly, despite her considerable talent for learning, she simply couldn’t master it. Several hours passed, and while Shiliang once again produced a rich, fragrant bowl of chicken soup, all that sat at the bottom of Ziqing’s own bowl was plain water.

“My lady, the key to this lies entirely in controlling the heat!” Shiliang said helplessly.

Ziqing shrugged. “When we go to Nanzhao later, you’ll come along too, and I’ll keep practicing slowly. I’m not afraid of failing to learn it eventually.”

Just then, Hongyi came rushing in urgently. “My lady, His Highness has returned.”

Ziqing glanced at the sky outside, hesitated for a long moment, then decided to bring along Shiliang’s bowl of chicken soup anyway, hurrying off. Shiliang and Hongyi both stared after her, dumbfounded, feeling as though their mistress had turned into an entirely different person these past few days!

Upon reaching the main hall, she found Jun Beiyue unrolling a map across the table. Ziqing recognized it immediately as a map of Xijing—so this fellow had actually managed to obtain it!

Jun Beiyue glanced at Ziqing once but said nothing, his sharp eyes focused intently on the map, absorbed in deep thought over something.

Just as Ziqing was about to speak, Physician Gu, noticing what she carried, stepped forward and asked quietly, “My lady, is that soup stewed for His Highness?”

“Mm,” Ziqing said softly, the words “to help build up his strength” left unspoken on her lips.

To her surprise, Physician Gu chuckled softly under his breath. “My lady, you may not know about His Highness’s little quirk—after nightfall, he generally doesn’t drink soup at all, only wine.”

“Why is that?” Ziqing asked, puzzled. Personal habits varied from person to person, but this particular quirk struck her as somewhat odd.

“It’s a habit formed since childhood. Soup is murkier than wine, and far easier to poison. His Highness didn’t move out of the palace until he was sixteen. Before that, while living in the palace, after the evening meal, the various noble consorts loved nothing more than sending stewed soups back and forth to each other,” Physician Gu explained.

“There’s no poison in mine,” Ziqing muttered.

This remark immediately startled Physician Gu badly. “My lady, this humble servant absolutely did not mean it that way! Nor did His Highness mean anything of the sort! His Highness has held this habit from the age of three all the way to sixteen—it’s simply not something that can be changed now, even if he wanted to!”

Ziqing, however, found this rather amusing. “Here, you drink it then. I understand now.”

Only then did Physician Gu calm down, adding quietly, “My lady, His Highness has another little quirk as well—a cup of green tea first thing every morning.”

Ziqing nodded, about to ask further, when Jun Beiyue spoke up flatly, without even lifting his head. “Qing’er, come take a look at this.”

Jun Beiyue was deeply focused, his attention entirely on the map. Ziqing hurried over. He pointed to a stretch of desert on the map, not far from Xijing’s capital. “Right here—Singing Sand Mountain. The Xijing royal family regards it as a sacred mountain of the desert. It makes a sound once every three years—a faint, humming murmur, as though the sand itself were singing. It’s called the ‘small singing,’ and the sound is so faint you have to stand right beside it to hear it at all. But once every ten years, there’s a ‘great singing’—loud enough to be heard from within Xijing’s capital itself. Up close, it sounds as though the sand itself were about to erupt, shaking heaven and earth.”

Jun Beiyue continued, the corner of his mouth curling into a cold smile. “The Xijing royal family regards the singing of Singing Sand Mountain as the voice of the heavenly gods. This king, however, believes it’s simply a natural phenomenon. This entire desert is composed primarily of fine quartz sand grains. As the wind blows and causes vibrations, countless grains of sand rub and spin against each other in the airflow, naturally producing that rustling, whooshing sound.”

Ziqing had, of course, heard the term “singing sands” before. On the continent of Longyuan, there was exactly one place known by this name, while in the modern world, “singing sand mountains” wasn’t a single location at all, but rather a general term for a type of sand dune. Generally, in deserts or dune fields, various climatic and geographical factors could cause quartz-dominant fine sand to accumulate in a particular area, and that location would then become known as a singing sand mountain.

When the wind picked up, the sound emanating from the dunes seemed just like sand singing—rising and falling with the wind’s intensity, often carrying a distinct rhythm, remarkably pleasant to the ear.

Hearing Jun Beiyue’s explanation, though, Ziqing couldn’t help but laugh. If the ancients had understood some of these simple natural principles, the modern world wouldn’t be burdened with quite so many legends about ghosts and spirits.

“You don’t believe there are gods in this world?” Ziqing asked with a smile.

Jun Beiyue snorted coldly. “If this world truly had gods, why would there be so much suffering, so much displacement and misery among the living?”

“Then what do you believe in?” Ziqing asked again.

“Prince Yao,” Jun Beiyue said naturally, as though Prince Yao weren’t himself at all.

Ziqing couldn’t help but laugh, looking back at the map. “This three-year and ten-year cycle is probably due to wind patterns—judging by the surrounding terrain, three years would be enough time for the wind to flatten the smaller dunes nearby, allowing it to reach this point, while ten years would be enough to flatten the larger dunes surrounding the area.”

“Mm, and there’s more—this location experiences a major sandstorm once every ten years as well,” Jun Beiyue added, pausing to look at Ziqing seriously. “Next year will be the ninth year of the current ten-year cycle—the third three-year interval.”

Ziqing was slightly startled. That meant next year would bring a small singing, and the year after that, a great singing!

But what possible connection could this have to the Solitary Isle?