Looking at Sha Qiuzi, Ziqing finally recalled the name — it wasn’t that she didn’t remember the person, only that the name had slipped her mind.

Because Sha Qiuzi shouldn’t have been here at all.

Hearing him say this, Ziqing still couldn’t quite make sense of it for a moment.

Delivering a secret letter?

Jun Beiyue had no shortage of men at his disposal — why would he send Sha Qiuzi to deliver a secret letter? And at this point, with the great war already entering its final stages, what letter could possibly need sending now?

But it didn’t take Ziqing long to realize — could it perhaps have something to do with the secret of the isolated island?

Without a word, she quickly took the letter and read it, while Yelu Qianqian asked in confusion, “Old man, why didn’t you give the letter to Situ Haonan? Why are you waiting out here instead of going into the camp?”

What Yelu Qianqian asked was exactly what Ziqing herself had just been wondering — even if it concerned the island’s secret, Situ Haonan knew of it too. Why would Sha Qiuzi wait here alone, all by himself, so pitifully?

But soon enough, Ziqing understood.

The letter contained only a handful of words, yet they were enough to say everything: “City Lord Nangong is Situ Haonan’s close blood kin — be wary that he may turn against you.”

A flicker of panic flashed through Ziqing’s eyes, though she still calmly folded the letter and tucked it into her sleeve.

At that, Yelu Qianqian suddenly let out a long “Oh…” “I get it! It’s a love letter, isn’t it! Old man, so you’re waiting here for her to come back so she can hand it to him personally, right?”

What a self-satisfied little know-it-all!

Sha Qiuzi gave an awkward laugh and nodded repeatedly, while Ziqing, her chest tight, didn’t know how to respond, and simply pretended not to have heard.

The moment she’d seen those words, her first reaction had been panic.

Truly panic — she had rarely in her life felt so unsettled. Though the words were few and hadn’t spelled out how serious things were, and hadn’t accused her of anything.

But Ziqing knew: for words like these to come from Jun Beiyue meant the situation was serious — at the very least, far from as simple as she might have hoped.

She wasn’t only panicked; something felt lodged in her chest as well. Before she could even think it through properly, her chest had already tightened with discomfort.

Situ Haonan was Jun Beiyue’s closest, most trusted brother — closer to him than any random imperial prince in the palace. And yet Jun Beiyue had had to write those very words with his own hand, warning her to be wary that Situ Haonan might turn against her.

When he wrote those words, had Jun Beiyue’s own heart felt just as tight as hers did now?

Would Situ Haonan really turn against her?

Was this really so serious?

Close blood kin — she wasn’t quite sure what that phrase truly meant.

Someone like City Lord Nangong — did he really count as close kin? Wasn’t close kin supposed to mean standing by someone through everything, unconditional support?

Had City Lord Nangong done that? Not in the slightest!

If City Lord Nangong could be called Situ Haonan’s close kin, then surely Situ Xin’er should count as well.

She’d always heard that family was family, blood ties were blood ties — but having no family of her own, she truly didn’t quite understand.

All she knew was that City Lord Nangong, though family to Situ Haonan by blood, had already placed himself firmly on the side opposing Situ Haonan, hadn’t he?

And she and City Lord Nangong had, in truth, reached the point where it was either him or her.

After all, if the northern desert frontier had fallen, Akbachu would have been in grave danger — and if Akbachu fell, that would have meant the end of Xijing. There would have been no need for the western frontier war at all.

Was it that no matter how great her reasons, no matter how she explained herself, Situ Haonan simply wouldn’t be able to understand, and would inevitably turn against her?

Or, put another way — if City Lord Nangong had been the one waiting here in Longxi City today, telling Situ Haonan he had only two choices — kill him, or withdraw the troops — what would Situ Haonan have chosen?

She, too, had only had two choices, hadn’t she?

She hadn’t yet explained all of this to Jun Beiyue, nor to Situ Haonan.

The importance of the northern desert frontier, the importance of that battle — surely they should understand.

In truth, she had already prepared herself — she had planned to apologize the moment she saw Situ Haonan.

She knew she had to apologize, and sincerely so. And even given the chance to do it all over again, she would still choose to apologize.

The killing had been deliberate — aimed at City Lord Nangong, at Nangong City, even at Situ City itself.

And the apology, too, was sincere — meant for Situ Haonan alone.

Only now, this secret letter from Jun Beiyue had thrown all her thoughts into disorder. A sudden wave of guilt had risen in her, and suddenly she found herself not quite daring to face Situ Haonan — though even she didn’t know exactly what she was truly afraid of.

Was it that even if she went now to explain everything clearly, Situ Haonan still wouldn’t understand?

She had to admit, her heart was in complete turmoil right now.

She thought — Jun Beiyue had only said to be careful, to be wary, not that it was certain. Perhaps if she went now to explain, to apologize, to make amends, there was still time.

Amid the panic and the tightness in her chest, a small sliver of hope remained — because she truly didn’t understand what “close kin” meant.

She had always longed to find the people of the isolated island, to find family, driven by that lingering yearning for kinship. But she believed that, without even realizing it, she would never be so blindly filial as to let sentiment override justice — she too would sacrifice family for the greater good, without hesitation.

Perhaps it was precisely because she had never truly experienced it herself that she could never really understand.

Yelu Qianqian gradually noticed something was wrong with Ziqing and asked timidly, “Did something happen?”

“It’s nothing, Qianqian. Go on ahead — his tent is the one right in the middle. He’ll be so happy to see you. Tell him I’m waiting here for him.”

Yelu Qianqian looked at her suspiciously. “What happened?”

“Go on, it’s military matters — you wouldn’t understand. Hurry up,” Ziqing urged.

“Is it important? It sounds serious. Did something happen in the northern frontier?” Yelu Qianqian pressed further.

“Go on, you wouldn’t understand.” How could Ziqing possibly explain?

Yelu Qianqian pouted, thinking to herself that if Ziqing wouldn’t say, she’d just go ask Situ Haonan instead. She cast one more suspicious glance at Sha Qiuzi before finally heading toward the camp.

Of course, her excitement wasn’t dampened at all — she was the kind of girl whose skies cleared up quickly after any rain, and before long a happy smile had returned to her face.

Situ Haonan, here comes Her Royal Highness, gracing you with her presence!

Inside the tent, Situ Haonan sat alone, staring blankly at the table.

Yelu Qianqian used her princess’s token to dismiss the guards stationed outside the tent, then, giggling to herself, borrowed a suit of armor and a soldier’s cap from one of them. After straightening herself out and calming her excited heart for a good while, she finally managed to hold back her laughter and strode in, playing the part.

The moment she entered the tent, she saw Situ Haonan sitting alone on the heated platform bed, clutching his longsword, lost in some unknown reverie.

The instant Yelu Qianqian saw him, her eyes immediately reddened. All the carefully prepared surprises she’d planned were instantly forgotten. She simply stood at the entrance, gazing at Situ Haonan from a distance — and before she knew it, she burst into tears with a loud “Waah!”

This man — he’d grown so thin she could barely recognize him!