While Ziqing and Beiyue were talking, Yingzi suddenly came rushing over in excitement, holding up a white letter. “Your Highness, word has finally come from Guxi—word about that little scoundrel at last!”

The moment Ziqing heard this, she immediately brightened. Though she acted cold and stern whenever anyone asked, heaven only knew how worried she’d been about Guxi, how much she’d longed for news of him.

Shiliang was her failure.

Guxi was her hope.

Ziqing hurriedly took the letter and opened it. It contained only a few brief words: “Have landed on the island. All is well. Don’t worry. Prepare the payment.”

Jun Beiyue glanced at it and smiled. “Truly a man of your training—very much in your style.”

Ziqing’s heart filled with joy. She didn’t even mind that Guxi hadn’t reported on the island’s conditions, and carefully tucked the letter away.

Seeing her so delighted, Jun Beiyue felt a twinge of jealousy, and teased, “Looks like this prince ought to take a trip out of town someday!”

Whether Ziqing didn’t understand or simply chose not to hear, Yingzi off to the side gave a nervous little laugh. Ziqing put the letter away and turned to look toward the northeast. “If we go straight in this direction, we’ll reach Yaoshun Island, won’t we?”

“Looks like this prince’s long journey should be to Yaoshun Island, then!” Jun Beiyue added.

Yingzi nearly burst out laughing and quickly stepped away to be safe. By this point, Ziqing finally caught on to what was being said, and, understanding the joke, she looked at Jun Beiyue without knowing what to say—she just laughed foolishly.

“It’s been a long time since I heard you play. Would you do this prince the honor?” Jun Beiyue asked.

“What would the honored guest like to hear? Name anything.” Ziqing played along smoothly, fetching the Wuzheng and taking her seat, smiling at Jun Beiyue—she really did look the part of a musician!

“Only Lishang.” Jun Beiyue didn’t know when exactly he’d come to love this piece. It was a mournful, melancholic tune, not the kind of mood he usually cared for, and yet somehow, the more he heard Ziqing play it, the more he found himself not just tolerating it but genuinely loving it.

Ziqing had originally meant to play from the beginning, but on second thought, she began instead from the thirtieth section before the climax—the very portion Xuanyuan Lige had used to sound-kill on the stage at Liuxian Island.

Jun Beiyue recognized it the moment she began. But unlike Xuanyuan Lige’s demonic tones, the sound Ziqing drew from the Wuzheng held no power over his soul at all.

It was Ziqing, instead, who—though she’d started out fine—grew more and more strained as she played on. Even Jun Beiyue could sense the unease and sorrow rising within her.

At first Ziqing had glanced at Jun Beiyue now and then as she played, but as the piece went on, she kept her head bowed, playing on and on without pause, beads of sweat like soybeans breaking out along her hairline.

“Stop!” Jun Beiyue suddenly slammed his hand down and stood.

Yet astonishingly, Ziqing seemed not to hear him at all, her head still lowered, her fingers gliding fluidly across the strings, utterly unresponsive.

Jun Beiyue was alarmed. He’d heard her play several times before, and she had never behaved like this.

Could it be that she herself had fallen under the spell of her own playing?

Jun Beiyue closed the distance in a single stride and immediately slammed his palm down hard onto the Wuzheng’s strings. Only then did Ziqing seem to jolt awake, her head snapping up, her eyes filled with a dazed, sorrowful confusion.

“I…” She realized at once that something was wrong with her.

“What happened? What was wrong with you just now?” Jun Beiyue’s brow furrowed deeply.

“Could it be that I simply got too absorbed in it?” Ziqing murmured to herself.

Jun Beiyue was startled—he himself had felt nothing at all, yet Ziqing had reacted to her own playing.

Ziqing stared hard at the Wuzheng. “Could it be this instrument itself…”

“The problem lies with the instrument, not with your skill!”

Jun Beiyue suddenly understood. What Ziqing had just played was the very same passage Xuanyuan Lige had used for his sound-kill. Though their skill levels differed somewhat, their command over this particular passage was roughly comparable.

So why was it that when Xuanyuan Lige played it, it could shake the souls of everyone who heard it, while Ziqing alone remained unaffected—

And why was it that when Ziqing played Lishang on the Wuzheng, the listener felt nothing at all, while the player herself nearly lost control and fell into a demonic trance?

There could be only one explanation: the instruments were different.

The Demon Zheng specialized in sound-killing; the Wuzheng specialized in string-killing.

String-killing meant the strings themselves emitted wind-blades—in other words, this Wuzheng was not meant to be played at all!

This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened when Ziqing played it—she simply hadn’t mentioned it before. It seemed clear now that there truly was a secret hidden within this instrument.

Lishang had nine hundred and ninety-nine sections in total. If one truly attempted to play it in full on the Wuzheng, there was no telling at what point the player would lose herself entirely, completely consumed by the instrument and the melody.

To play straight through to the nine hundred and ninety-ninth section without stopping would mean death from exhausted vitality, and her hands would certainly be ruined as well.

Between the Demon Zheng and the Wuzheng—which one was truly meant for playing Lishang?

Both instruments had belonged to Madam Ci, and both originated from the Solitary Island. What secret lay between the two of them?

Ziqing gently rested her hands on the strings, not daring to play any further. This latest episode of losing herself had come on faster and more terrifyingly than the last time. If Jun Beiyue hadn’t been there, she had no idea what might have happened next.

“Could it be that the Demon Zheng’s Lishang harms others, while the Wuzheng’s Lishang harms the player herself?” Ziqing murmured.

“Would playing other pieces cause the same reaction?” Jun Beiyue asked seriously.

Ziqing shook her head immediately—only Lishang. Only when she played Lishang did she lose her soul and mind like this.

“For now we can’t work out what it means. Put the instrument away and don’t play it anymore.” Jun Beiyue said it lightly, his tone gentle, but Ziqing knew he had made up his mind and would not allow her to play it again.

“All right.” Ziqing obediently agreed and wrapped up the Wuzheng. A thought unconsciously surfaced in her mind—if someday the complete score of Lishang were ever pieced together in full, would anyone be able to play the entire piece from start to finish without stopping?

How sorrowful would the complete Lishang truly sound, and would she even be able to listen to the very end?

Over the ten-odd days of the voyage, Jun Beiyue remained preoccupied with developments in Xijing and the movements of the Northern Xiongnu near Xichu. Ziqing didn’t play her instrument, spending her days instead studying musical scores and the twelve tones. The days passed quickly, and soon they would arrive in the bustling capital of Da Zhou.

The year’s end was approaching, the new spring drawing near. Though it never experienced true winter cold, even the southernmost Kingdom of Nanzhao on the Longyuan continent joined everyone else in joyfully welcoming the arrival of the new year.

Yet within this kingdom, there was one place that was lively indeed—though not with the joyous bustle of spring celebration, but with raucous, deafening noise. Here, to speak with someone, you had to lean in close to their ear.

This place was none other than the Poison Den of Nanzhao’s Medicine Clan!

Within the massive mountain, thousands upon thousands of caves and caverns of every size honeycombed the rock—some lit with lamps, others pitch black. Everyone was talking, shouting. Only at the great stone pillar in the center was there silence, broken every so often by a shrill, agonized scream.

So much time had passed already—by now, surely every inch of flesh on Shiliang’s body had been beaten to pulp.

Flesh could be pulped while bone, organs, and vital meridians remained intact—a person wouldn’t die that way, only suffer endlessly, only produce the very screams the elders of the Poison Den loved so much…