Seeing this, Situ Haonan understood at once, glancing briefly at Prince Baxian still lying flat on the ground ahead, before paying him no further mind, smiling as he climbed down to help.

Time to change the medicinal bath again!

Ziqing’s body had absorbed far, far too much corpse toxin, requiring her to remain submerged in medicinal broth, with the solution changed regularly to gradually draw the poison out.

Throughout this entire journey, Jun Beiyue had personally changed the medicine himself each time; Physician Gu merely prepared the fresh batches and delivered them.

Prince Baxian, lying flat on the ground, could see nothing at all beyond the fact that the convoy had come to a stop—everything else remained entirely out of view. Though he was well aware that his current behavior differed little from that of a common troublemaker, he reasoned that for a distinguished prince like himself to resort to such humble, self-abasing means of remonstration was, in its own way, a demonstration of true righteousness.

The carriage hadn’t moved—at the very least, this meant his approach had struck some chord within Jun Beiyue’s otherwise stony heart.

At the very least, that young man was hesitating!

He would wait. He would wait until Jun Beiyue finally saw reason.

Prince Baxian looked away, gazing up at the towering archway above, waiting patiently.

Meanwhile, Physician Gu and Situ Haonan delivered the steaming medicinal broth to the carriage and withdrew. Jun Beiyue then lifted the curtain, revealing only a large bathing tub inside, its rim high enough to conceal whoever lay bare within.

Jun Beiyue had clearly grown noticeably thinner, faint stubble now shadowing his handsome, cold face, lending it an unexpected air of mature masculinity. Even with Prince Baxian lying just a short distance away, he never once so much as glanced up, remaining silent and composed as he carefully ladled out the now-cooling medicinal broth, then ladled in the fresh, hot batch.

Each time the medicine needed changing, this same process repeated itself—emptying, then refilling, half a tub’s worth each time.

His hands, once so pampered and refined, were now, whether left or right, entirely covered in frostbite, especially the back of his right hand, cracked open in several places. From time to time, drops of the scalding broth splashed onto these open wounds, mixing with faint traces of blood.

Yet he paid it no mind whatsoever, as though these hands belonged to someone else entirely.

Ladle by careful ladle he emptied it out, ladle by careful ladle he refilled it, terrified of causing the slightest harm to the person within.

Despite the bitter cold, he was soon drenched in sweat.

Every soldier stationed at the gate watched from a distance, utterly stunned, unable to believe that this man, working so silently and diligently, was truly the same Prince Yao who stood so high above them all.

Finally, once the medicine had been fully changed, the carriage curtain would ordinarily be lowered once more.

Yet instead, Jun Beiyue reached for the hot water, plunging his hands—already red and stiff from the cold air outside—directly into it to wring out a cloth.

That water, even on an ordinary winter day, would feel scalding hot to the touch—no wonder, then, that such extremes of hot and cold had left his hands so thoroughly frostbitten.

Yet his expression remained utterly composed as he soaked the cloth thoroughly, then wrung it dry.

Situ Haonan watched from a distance, shaking his head helplessly. In all the time he’d known Jun Beiyue, he had never once imagined he would witness a scene like this.

The man before him now was neither emperor nor soldier—he held only a single role: husband.

Steadfast, unwavering, without a single word of complaint, not the faintest hint of resentment. Every trace of his fury, every trace of his suffering, remained locked away silently within his composed gaze.

He was simply a husband, tending to his frail, disfigured wife.

And yet that single word, “husband,” was more than enough to embody the true meaning of what it meant to be “a real man.”

Situ Haonan couldn’t help but murmur to himself, “Jun Beiyue, you truly have guts. You really do.”

Having wrung out the cloth, Jun Beiyue hurried back into the carriage to gently wipe Ziqing clean.

Within the tub, Ziqing lay submerged, entirely bare, the dark, murky medicinal broth concealing her horrifically discolored skin—but it could not conceal her face.

Below the collarbone, the water hid her skin; above it, her face remained a horrifying, monstrous sight. Even now, with the corpse spots having faded away, the sheer grotesqueness of it remained utterly nauseating.

Yet he seemed entirely oblivious to all of this.

A warm, doting smile touched his lips as he leaned down, gently wiping her face clean. “There now, let’s get you cleaned up—can’t have you looking all grimy, now can we.”

He wiped with utmost care, the cloth warm—neither too hot to scald her, nor too cold to chill her.

Once he’d wiped her forehead and her eyes, the cloth had cooled, so he stepped out again to soak it in hot water, then carefully wiped her nose, her lips, her neck.

He lifted her hand, wiping each finger clean, one by one, pausing to press a gentle kiss against the callus on her hand before finally, reluctantly, setting it back down.

It was as though she were some rare, priceless treasure, held with the utmost care and reverence.

Even the phrase “precious treasure” seemed hardly adequate to describe it.

Once everything was finished, he waved a hand to signal Situ Haonan that they could proceed, having paid Prince Baxian’s presence no mind whatsoever the entire time.

He let the curtain fall back into place, leaning against the rim of the tub, smiling down at her. “Feeling a little better now, aren’t you? When will you wake up for me, hmm?”

“Let’s go,” Situ Haonan said, patting Yingzi’s shoulder as he climbed back into the carriage.

Yingzi jerked his chin toward the gate, silently asking what should be done about the situation there.

“Your master’s leaving whenever he pleases,” Situ Haonan said with an indifferent shrug. Physician Gu, watching Prince Baxian with a deeply troubled expression, shook his head repeatedly, sighing. He’d considered stepping forward to say something, but glancing toward the carriage window, he simply shook his head and withdrew instead.

Best not to provoke his master right now, best to avoid a direct confrontation between him and Prince Baxian—otherwise, the fury his master had so painstakingly suppressed would surely flare right back up again.

And should that happen, the situation would only grow far more dire.

Prince Baxian possessed remarkable patience—this was, in truth, his most serious negotiation yet with Jun Beiyue: a choice between the entire realm, or Han Ziqing alone.

Ever since that chaotic New Year’s Eve in the capital, he had been trying to persuade him all along.

Now, surely, the time had come for Jun Beiyue to finally make his choice.

Yet the moment he felt the carriage begin to move, Prince Baxian immediately sat bolt upright, hardly able to believe his own eyes!

He had assumed Jun Beiyue would come to him personally, would help him to his feet himself, would at the very least offer some kind of explanation!

Yet Jun Beiyue never once showed his face, never once said a single word—and simply intended to pass right through the gate!

As the horses’ hooves drew ever closer, Prince Baxian finally couldn’t hold back any longer, scrambling to his feet, throwing his arms wide to block the way. “Jun Beiyue, if you insist on this reckless course of action, this prince will abandon his regency altogether and return to Lishao Mountain this very instant!”

Yet the carriage didn’t stop at all, continuing forward, on the very verge of colliding with Prince Baxian—until, at last, Prince Baxian was forced to yield, hastily stepping aside.

He immediately rushed forward, clambering up onto the largest carriage, calling out loudly, “Jun Beiyue, this prince will say this one final time—if you take even one more step forward, this prince will return to the capital at once and hand everything over to your father, the Emperor!”

Yet within the carriage, Jun Beiyue remained crouched beside the bathing tub, his chin resting against its rim, gazing at Ziqing, a warm smile touching his lips—yet amid that very warmth, he uttered words of chilling finality. “Prince Baxian, you may return now.”

What exactly did he intend to do? Prince Baxian still couldn’t fathom it—what use was there in staying any longer?

The moment these words left Jun Beiyue’s mouth, Prince Baxian felt as though struck by a bolt of lightning, staring in dumbstruck shock, his entire body rigid—and as the carriage slowly rolled through the gate, it suddenly surged forward at full speed, racing straight toward Albak City.

Still three days to go…