Thirty years old!
Won’t live past thirty?
Ziqing’s heart gave a start, but the hostility in her eyes didn’t diminish one bit. Her tone remained just as cold. “What kind of rare illness is it, that he won’t live past thirty?”
Xuanyuan Lige had been about to speak, but hearing her words, he slowly lowered his head. His already pale face turned a shade paler still, and his eyes remained hidden from view.
It seemed, perhaps, that any explanation would be superfluous.
They had always been enemies to begin with—even without what had happened, they would still have been enemies.
Jun Beiyue had captured Xuanyuan Zhaoxi, the future empress of Dongqin. A negotiation, a confrontation between Dongqin and Da Zhou was now inevitable. He could no longer stand on her side.
What use was explaining? It would only add to the sorrow.
He refused to pitifully beg this woman to repay a debt of gratitude, and he had no wish for her to carry the burden of such a debt at all.
Before, whenever they’d crossed paths, she had always been cold toward him—but at least there had been no hostility!
But just now, the very first moment he’d looked up at her, he had seen hostility, hatred, in her eyes.
So be it—perhaps this was how it was always meant to be.
He lowered his head quietly, listening quietly to their conversation, quietly listening too to his own heart, unable to stop the shattering, splintering sound within it.
“Every prince born into the Dongqin royal family dies before the age of ten—supposedly tied to some curse. This one’s an exception. In my view, it’s more likely a hereditary family disease. He too should have died before ten, but by taking medicine every day, he’s managed to survive this long.”
Sha Qiuzi grew animated the moment the topic turned to the illness.
He produced a pill and showed it to Ziqing. “Look at this—highly toxic. You’d be fine taking it, but strangely enough, so is he when he takes it. If I’m not mistaken, whatever’s at the root of his illness must carry poison in it as well—this medicine works by using poison to counter poison!”
Sha Qiuzi kept going, but Ziqing clearly had no patience left to listen, showing not the slightest interest. She only said coldly, “Where’s Baili Weisheng?”
Even Sha Qiuzi was taken aback—most people would find such a strange illness fascinating.
“Gone. Heaven knows where—that fellow’s always coming and going like a ghost,” Sha Qiuzi answered.
“I’m asking him,” Ziqing said coldly, looking past him toward Xuanyuan Lige, who sat silent, head bowed.
Xuanyuan Lige gave a soft laugh, not even raising his head. “Into the city. He’s probably headed for the Sand Sacrifice Ceremony.”
Ziqing asked nothing further, only instructing Sha Qiuzi, “Watch him closely. Unless Jun Beiyue gives the order, if you dare use him for drug trials, I’ll blow up your entire medicine storehouse!”
With that, without so much as a glance at Xuanyuan Lige, she strode off.
Sha Qiuzi was left puzzled, wondering what exactly “blow up” meant. In an age where “blow up” was purely a cooking term, Sha Qiuzi genuinely couldn’t fathom how Han Ziqing intended to “blow up” his medicine storehouse.
Of course, he didn’t dare act rashly regardless—Xuanyuan Lige’s illness was already tricky enough to handle as it was.
Sha Qiuzi glanced once more at Xuanyuan Lige, confirmed that all his acupoints remained sealed, and then muttered to himself as he left.
Soon the room fell silent once more. Xuanyuan Lige sat quietly in the corner, head still bowed. No one knew that from the moment he’d lowered his head, from the moment Ziqing’s tone had turned cold, he had been staring, unbroken, at the calluses on his own palm, built up from years of playing the zither.
All his tenderness, all his strength, all her pain, all her helplessness, all their memories—everything remained etched into these very hands.
They would never fade, and yet they would never grow either.
Ziqing hurried into the city, while Yingzi had searched for ages without finding any trap mechanism in the sand, growing more and more anxious. Seeing that the Xiliang crown prince still hadn’t emerged from Mingsha Grotto, and unwilling to barge in after Situ Haonan, he had no choice but to leave the city and rally more men.
Meanwhile, back in Mingsha Grotto, an awkward scene was unfolding.
Neither Yelu Qianqian nor Situ Haonan had any idea who this person who had suddenly burst in was.
The two of them had been locked in a tight, silent embrace.
Then, a burly man dressed in Xiliang royal-style clothing, half his fake beard peeling off his face, came storming in. Situ Haonan instinctively pulled Yelu Qianqian closer to shield her, while Yelu Qianqian, startled, clung to him even tighter.
The two of them stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, staring back at the large man.
Yelu Qianqian’s eyes were red and swollen, tear tracks still fresh, as she huddled pitifully in the broad embrace of the man before her, like a frightened little white rabbit. “Situ, he… he looks a bit like…”
“The Xiliang envoy…” Situ Haonan said in a low voice too, a terrible feeling settling over him.
This premonition had nothing to do with Yelu Qianqian, nothing to do with the Xiliang envoy—it was about his good friend, Jun Beiyue.
The three of them stared at one another, Wanyan Lie fuming with rage, practically breathing fire through his nose, glaring at them viciously without a word.
Even a fool like Situ Haonan understood immediately that this man was from Xiliang, and his mind went completely blank, with no idea what to do.
And yet, of all times, that scatterbrained Yelu Qianqian chose this exact moment to timidly speak up. “My lord envoy, why… why are you in disguise? Who are you? Why are you wearing royal robes?”
Situ Haonan really didn’t want to face this, but had no choice but to confront it directly, and was just about to speak when Wanyan Lie finally lost his patience. He ripped off the remaining half of his fake beard, revealing a sharply defined, handsome face, and said coldly, word by word, “Yelu Qianqian, take a good look and see just who this crown prince really is!”
Yelu Qianqian froze on the spot. Wanyan Lie—it was actually him!
The man she’d run into at the border, the man she was to marry, her own betrothed—of course she recognized him instantly.
“Adulterers! Yelu Qianqian, Situ Haonan, this crown prince will make you pay!” Wanyan Lie roared, as if gone mad, though he didn’t lay a hand on either of them—instead, he turned furiously to leave.
Just then, Yelu Qianqian and Situ Haonan cried out in unison, “You can’t leave!”
If this man left, there was no telling what would happen!
The consequences of this would be nothing short of catastrophic. If he left, he’d surely go straight back to his own country, and his return would mean nothing but war.
“You’re not leaving!” Yelu Qianqian, past caring about anything else, broke free of Situ Haonan’s arms and rushed to grab hold of Wanyan Lie’s arm, while Situ Haonan’s heart sank straight to the bottom—he finally understood what Jun Beiyue had been scheming against Yelu Qianqian all along.
He finally understood exactly how Jun Beiyue intended to take his revenge on Yelu Chenyi!
For Xiliang, anything could be negotiated—except this marriage. There was no room for negotiation on that front at all.
He and Situ Qianqian were beyond saving now, and Yelu Chenyi was even more thoroughly finished.
“Let go!” Wanyan Lie said coldly. “Get your filthy hands off me, you unfaithful woman—you deceived this crown prince, you disgust me!”
“Don’t leave, let’s talk this through, I… I…” Yelu Qianqian was so desperate she didn’t know what to say, only clinging to Wanyan Lie with all her strength, refusing to let go.
Wanyan Lie’s eyes narrowed coldly, and he wrenched himself free, shoving Yelu Qianqian away hard. Situ Haonan rushed to catch her, rolling to the side to break her fall.
“Striking a woman—what kind of man are you!” he shouted furiously. Pushed this far by Jun Beiyue’s scheme, he had no choice now but to play the adulterer to the very end, and flee with Yelu Qianqian.