That night, Jun Beiyue personally tended to Ziqing, carefully changing her bandages, helping her bathe and change, gently combing out her tangled, disheveled hair. He had seen her at her very worst, and yet it didn’t bother him in the slightest—he handled everything himself, tenderly, seeing to every detail.

Deep in the night, with everything quiet, Ziqing lay clean and fresh on the couch, her pale little face tinged faintly with pink—not from blood loss this time, but from a blush. In her sleep, the corners of her lips curved faintly upward, somewhere between a smile and not, peaceful and content.

Perhaps it was relief that the addiction was finally cured. Or perhaps it was because of what Jun Beiyue had said today.

“I’ll spoil you, cherish you, protect you, love you. The whole world can wrong you, but not me—there’s no reason, none at all, that I’m allowed to hurt so much as a single hair on your head.”

He remembered it. And she remembered it just as firmly. She didn’t know what love truly was, didn’t know which of them should protect the other more.

All she knew was that as long as he remembered it, she would spoil him, cherish him, protect him, love him in return—and never, ever hurt him.

The room was silent. Jun Beiyue kept watch by the bedside, still carefully checking the wound on Ziqing’s leg. This woman had fallen asleep right there in the hot spring pool—heaven knew how exhausted she must have been—and he didn’t dare disturb her.

After a thorough check confirmed the wound was in no serious danger, he gently pressed a kiss to her forehead and quietly slipped away.

In the main hall, Prince Baxian had already been waiting for some time.

“Beiyue, if this matter drags on any longer, it’s bound to cause bad blood. Is it really worth all this, over a squabble between women?”

Prince Baxian got straight to the point. Though he understood perfectly well what Han Ziqing was capable of, and that she was nothing like the women confined within the deep palace, that hardly mattered—women, after all, were always the spoils of men’s rivalries, gifts and trophies to be exchanged, tools to be used. Nothing more.

Especially for a son of the imperial family, especially for Jun Beiyue, the guardian deity of Da Zhou—he, of all people, should understand this principle.

Chu Feiyan had remained holed up in the envoy’s residence all this time, refusing to see anyone, refusing to step outside, and still hadn’t said whether she wanted to continue on to Nanzhao or return home to Western Chu.

This matter had been Prince Baxian’s greatest concern these past few days—he was burning with impatience, though Jun Beiyue clearly felt none of the same urgency.

Sitting down at his leisure, waiting until Ziqing had fallen asleep before finally allowing himself to relax, he took a sip of tea and said flatly, “Prince Baxian, have a seat.”

“Beiyue! No matter what, we cannot afford to offend Nanzhao, and we absolutely cannot risk provoking a war! You know full well how formidable Nanzhao’s Three Clans’ armies are. Da Zhou is Nanzhao’s northern gateway, the most exposed position of all—that’s precisely why, for generations, Da Zhou has maintained friendly relations with Nanzhao! The Prince of Nanzhao holds you in high regard, has given you tremendous face—this is a chance to strengthen ties between our two nations, and you’d best think this through carefully!”

Prince Baxian spoke earnestly, his anger barely contained. He, of course, knew nothing about the matter of the Isolated Isle—if he had, he would certainly have objected. This trip to Nanzhao was, in truth, an extremely risky gamble for Jun Beiyue as well.

For no other reason than that Chu Tiange lurked in the shadows while they remained exposed in the open.

And as for the relationship between Da Zhou and Nanzhao, Prince Baxian’s concerns were, indeed, warranted.

At last, Jun Beiyue spoke flatly. “Prince Baxian, it isn’t that I’m shielding my consort out of favoritism—it’s that Chu Feiyan deserved to be taught a lesson. She came uninvited to my manor and struck someone. The injury itself is a minor matter, but the insult is not. Did she truly think so little of me?”

Hearing this, the corner of Prince Baxian’s mouth twitched. This man had gashed a deep wound into Chu Feiyan’s forehead, one that would surely leave a scar, and he was still claiming he wasn’t shielding his household out of favoritism? What was that, if not exactly that?

Prince Baxian paused, then said quietly, “Beiyue, if you truly refuse to let this go with Chu Feiyan, then simply see to it that she can’t be married off at all. Her going to Nanzhao brings Da Zhou no benefit anyway.”

The corner of Jun Beiyue’s mouth curved slightly upward as he smiled. “That’s exactly my intention. Don’t worry, Prince Baxian—Chu Feiyan will come to apologize in person, sooner or later. This matter concerns Western Chu and Nanzhao; it isn’t hers to decide.”

“You—!” Prince Baxian hesitated, unsure exactly what Jun Beiyue was scheming, but one thing was certain: whatever it was, it wouldn’t unfold within Da Zhou’s borders. That was precisely why Chu Feiyan’s continued silence these past few days had made him so anxious.

“Prince Baxian, I have my own plans for this matter. There is, however, one thing I must trouble you with.”

“Speak freely.”

“Father originally intended to send the Second Prince to the western frontier to gain military experience, but that plan was delayed when General Ouyang’s rebellion occurred, and Seventh Prince took his place instead. Now that the great war continues to rage west of the frontier—Da Zhou hasn’t joined the fighting, but it’s practically the front line regardless—let this opportunity go to the Second Prince instead.” Jun Beiyue said this flatly, using the title “Second Prince” rather than simply “Second”—which made it not a suggestion, but a polite command.

Prince Baxian understood the situation within Da Zhou’s imperial family better than anyone. A complicated look flickered through his eyes, but he agreed at once. “Understood. I’ll see to it.”

Prince Baxian was just about to take his leave when Jun Beiyue called out to stop him. “Prince Baxian, I hear Baili Weisheng is a friend of yours across the generations, and that he’s been staying at your residence these days?”

“Indeed. Heh, that young man, despite his age, is remarkably well-read—a rare talent indeed. I recommended him to your consort before, though she declined, unfortunately.” Prince Baxian chuckled, clearly pleased whenever the subject of Baili Weisheng came up.

“Is that so?” Jun Beiyue raised an eyebrow, seeming genuinely interested.

“Why don’t I host a banquet tomorrow and invite him along? You can size him up for yourself,” Prince Baxian offered readily.

Jun Beiyue smiled still, but said, “I’ve already treated him to wine once before. What I want to know is his background—and I intend to trace it through Nanzhao’s merfolk.”

“Merfolk!” Prince Baxian blurted out. How could that be possible?

The merfolk were one of Nanzhao’s Three Clans, entrusted with guarding Nanzhao’s waters—their tears, when shed, turned to pearls, making the merfolk clan one of the wealthiest peoples not only in Nanzhao, but perhaps in the entire world.

The merfolk never left Nanzhao’s borders—not even at the state’s own command would they ever be sent abroad.

Baili Weisheng’s origins might be mysterious, but his vast learning and boundless knowledge had nothing at all to do with the merfolk. Where had Beiyue found such a lead?

“Keep an eye on him. That fellow is definitely here with some purpose in mind,” Jun Beiyue said flatly. It wasn’t that he was withholding an explanation—it was simply all he could confirm for now.

Prince Baxian nodded seriously and took his leave in a hurry. Jun Beiyue didn’t rest either, instead taking Shiliang, who had been waiting at the door, and heading toward the back courtyard.

It wasn’t until the following afternoon that Ziqing was roused from her hazy sleep by Hongyi. “My lady, my lady, Chu Feiyan is here again—she’s in the main hall right now, and I can’t find His Highness anywhere!”

“What does she want now?” Ziqing said, displeased. So Chu Feiyan had finally worked up the nerve to leave the envoy’s residence.

“I don’t know. She just said she wants to see you, my lady. She really does have a knack for timing—showing up exactly when His Highness isn’t around!” Hongyi said, annoyed.

Ziqing dressed and did her hair unhurriedly, taking her time before finally making her way to the main hall. There, she found Chu Feiyan’s injuries fully healed, though the bandage wrapped around her forehead was, if anything, three layers thicker than Ziqing’s own.

The moment she saw Ziqing arrive, Chu Feiyan rose to her feet at once, her face full of indignation.

Ziqing wasn’t cruel, but she was certainly no benevolent, forgiving saint either. She smiled, a lovely smile. “Princess Imperial, back again? I thought you’d returned to Western Chu already.”