The room was silent. Jun Beiyue gently waved his hand for Physician Gu to leave, having just finished feeding Ziqing her medicine. His handsome face pressed against her scarred one, gently nuzzling, full of tender warmth.

Physician Gu hesitated. He knew full well there was no persuading his master, yet he still wanted to try. He had just received word that the moment his master returned to shore, he intended to head straight for Xijing—leaving Nanzhao and Eastern Qin entirely unaddressed!

The Jiaoren had revealed themselves in the naval battle, and rather than considering how to explain this to Nanzhao, how to cover it up somehow, his master instead intended to head straight for Xijing the moment they made landfall!

This was, quite plainly, an open provocation of the Crown Prince of Xijing. Once Nanzhao, Eastern Qin, and Xijing all turned against Da Zhou at once, Western Chu would surely seize the opportunity as well—Da Zhou would find itself at odds with the entire continent of Longyuan. Things could genuinely spiral to that degree.

Had his master truly lost his mind?

This was nothing at all like his usual way of handling things!

Physician Gu had already taken a few steps away, yet he turned back once more—but the moment he saw Jun Beiyue at that instant, holding Ziqing tightly in his arms, his head resting against her shoulder, his eyes hollow and vacant as he stared at the floor, his heart suddenly ached fiercely!

In all his years serving this master, he had never once seen such a look of utter desolation on his face!

Not even in his childhood, when he’d been bullied and humiliated by the other princes, hiding away alone nursing his wounds—not even then had he ever shown such desolation!

“This shouldn’t be… it shouldn’t be, for the sake of one woman…”

Physician Gu sighed inwardly, shook his head, and finally took his leave.

Jun Beiyue held Ziqing close, so very close, his deep eyes utterly empty, giving no hint of what lay within his heart. It seemed as though he were longing for someone—yet the very person he longed for lay right there in his arms.

Perhaps he longed for the Han Ziqing who would blush, who would pinch him in annoyance, who would glare at him, furrow her brow, pout, grow impatient, or dodge away from him.

Yet even with her right beside him, he couldn’t see her at all—couldn’t see that expression he loved most on her, the slightly awkward, slightly bashful look, her large eyes misted with confusion, staring up at him, utterly lost.

He held her for a long, long while, and finally let out a deep breath. Only then did his large hand gently reach up to touch her face—that uneven, grotesque face—his fingertips tracing gently over every inch of skin, with the utmost seriousness.

His voice was very low, very soft, so quiet even he himself could barely hear it. “It’s alright… you’ll get better. Don’t be afraid, you’ll be well again soon.”

He would go to Xijing, and no matter what it took, he would force Yanzi to hand over the antidote!

Whether it was the effect of the medicine, or simply this familiar sensation of touch, Ziqing drifted in a hazy fog, feeling her entire body impossibly heavy, her head heavy as well.

It felt as though she were still in the water, still sinking, still—and the hand now gently touching her felt exactly like that same calloused hand from before.

Whose hand was this, really?

Why was it covered in calluses—did these hands repeat the same motion over and over, year after year? Especially at the pads of the thumb and index finger, the calluses were thick and rough, unmistakably so.

Somehow, this callus felt familiar to her, too—her consciousness flickered like a thread about to snap, yet she could still recognize that texture at once.

Who was it, really?

Who had embraced her?

Her memory ended right at the moment Yanzi had shoved her toward the great water vat. Everything after that was simply falling, sinking.

She felt as though her entire being had sunk into that vat, sinking endlessly—or perhaps she had sunk into the sea itself, sinking without end, without bottom?

Who had held her, who had saved her?

Was it Beiyue?

As the hand gently caressing her face slowly withdrew, Ziqing’s consciousness began to scatter again, and before she could fully wake, she slipped once more into deep sleep.

Jun Beiyue gently brushed aside the loose strands of her hair, a self-mocking smile curving at his lips, as though mocking himself for his earlier loss of composure.

He held Ziqing close, taking her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. He could clearly feel, on her fingers—especially at the pads of her thumb and index finger—a thick layer of old calluses.

This was the mark of someone who had played the zither for years upon years, without fail!

He gently pressed against those calluses, saying tenderly, “Shall I play for you?”

With that, he rose to fetch the zither Wuzheng he always carried with him. He himself had always favored martial pursuits over such refined arts as music and poetry, but ever since Han Ziqing had come into his life, he’d found a new pleasure in listening to her play.

Today marked the very first time he’d ever felt the urge to play a piece himself.

What should he play?

It seemed the only score he could recall at all was Lishang. Oddly enough, though he possessed a photographic memory, he had no real familiarity with music theory at all, having never made any deliberate effort to memorize it—he’d simply glanced at it once, in passing.

Yet when he moved to play, the score seemed to have been hidden in his mind all along, surging forth all at once!

“Twang…”

He plucked the strings, and despite never having touched this instrument before, he found himself playing with surprising fluency right from the start.

Unfortunately, he used only the most basic fingering technique, utterly failing to capture the true essence of Lishang!

Even from the very first notes, when Ziqing played it, there was always a profound sense of sorrow and desolation—yet when he played it, it sounded no different from any ordinary tune.

Perhaps this was precisely the true subtlety of Lishang—without mastering its unique fingering, Lishang could hardly be called a masterpiece at all.

Jun Beiyue slowly came to a stop, his long fingers resting gently on the strings.

The Wuzheng—”stringless zither”—held meaning beyond its strings, its power lying in killing through the instrument itself.

The demonic zither, also called the Blood Zither, was a bloodthirsty instrument, its power lying in killing through sound.

Lishang played on the demonic zither could kill the listener’s heart, while Lishang played on the Wuzheng could kill the player’s own heart instead!

And yet, even so, the secret of Lishang seemed to have nothing to do with either instrument at all.

Judging from Xuanyuan Zhaoxi’s confession, Xuanyuan Lige had allied himself with Yanzi, seeking to find the two missing notes within Lishang.

Indeed, Ziqing herself had once analyzed this—Lishang was surely still missing one yin note and one yang note.

They had always assumed these notes would be found at Mingsha Mountain—yet, unexpectedly, they hadn’t even reached Mingsha Mountain yet.

And now, the guardian of Mingsha Mountain had already come to them on her own!

They intended to seek out the notes at Yaoshun Island instead—did that mean Mingsha Mountain held no notes at all? Or perhaps only a single one?

And where, exactly, was Xuanyuan Lige at this moment?

It wasn’t that Jun Beiyue hadn’t considered all of this—it was simply that, for now, he had no room left to think of it at all.

Not only did he need to settle accounts with the Crown Prince of Xijing and Yanzi, he also needed to find the antidote!

Even the secret of the Lone Island mattered less to him than Ziqing’s own body did.

Disfigurement was one thing; poisoning was another matter entirely. Even if she were immune to all poisons, he would never allow poison to linger within his own woman’s body!

Gazing silently at the figure on the bed, he felt heartache, he felt fury—yet, for some inexplicable reason, a wave of sorrow suddenly began spreading through his chest, the very same feeling he’d once had listening to Ziqing play the climax of Lishang.

And yet, the piece he’d just played held not a trace of sorrow in it at all!

Jun Beiyue noticed nothing unusual, gazing silently on and on, and unconsciously, he began to play once more…