Ziqing and Situ Haonan raced west without stopping, straight for the gates of the western frontier city, moving faster than even the fastest three-hundred-li urgent dispatch.
It had already taken Situ Haonan over ten days just to reach the northern frontier. In those ten-odd days, if Yelu Qianqian had traveled quickly, she might very well have already passed beyond the western frontier pass—and if she’d managed to make contact with the guards Yelu Chenyi had sent out to pursue her, she could have left even sooner still.
For now, Ziqing and Situ Haonan could only hope for a miracle—that Yelu Qianqian was still within Da Zhou’s borders, still within reach.
Of course, even if she had already left, Situ Haonan would chase her all the way to Xijing regardless—it would simply make things far more complicated.
The two of them pressed on day and night, racing west—not only for Yelu Qianqian’s sake, but for the sake of the western frontier’s war as well.
Han Ziqing’s departure had gone unnoticed by anyone; no one knew that the situation on Da Zhou’s western frontier was about to shift, as nearly all eyes remained fixed on Da Zhou’s northern frontier!
Yet there was one person who had long since distanced himself from all this strife, and was even now quietly turning it all over in his mind!
This man carried a map of his own, one he’d kept with him since childhood, just as Jun Beiyue did—covered in the same scattering of marks and annotations. And just like Jun Beiyue’s map, the area marked most heavily on this one wasn’t the Central Plains, nor Xichu, but the land north of the northern frontier—Longyuan’s northern gate, the territory of the Huns.
Both he and Jun Beiyue understood perfectly well: this was the crux of it all, the final battle, the decisive clash to end it all.
Across all of Longyuan, the only person capable of commanding the overall situation the way Jun Beiyue could was, in all likelihood, this one man alone—Xuanyuan Lige!
Yu Xiaomeng’s warmth, Granny Yu’s affection, the mother and daughter’s insistence that he stay, and the hospitality of the neighbors and clanspeople these past days had given him a warmth he’d never felt in his life.
He found himself unconsciously wondering—was this what a real family felt like?
Granny Yu had told him that no matter what, even if he truly meant to leave eventually, he should at least wait until after the Bonfire Festival—still a month away.
He’d stayed.
The clan’s healer had come to look at his illness too, but sadly, the healers here were no match for the Central Plains’ miracle physicians—they couldn’t even tell that his lifespan was cut short, only that his body was terribly frail and needed careful nourishing.
These past days, Granny Yu’s care for him had been meticulous in every way, while Yu Xiaomeng, just a young girl, had shouldered the burden of caring for the whole household—he’d watched her do it, and couldn’t help but admire her. Gradually, he’d even grown used to her chattering.
Once the clanspeople learned he hailed from the Central Plains, they often came to him seeking knowledge on all sorts of matters—even the eldest scholar of the clan came to bow and ask for guidance. It had to be said, for a man as naturally cold and aloof as Xuanyuan Lige, this was quite a challenge.
Yet, without quite realizing it, he had gradually settled into this peaceful, unhurried life. He too now ate the food of ordinary mortals, felt joy and sorrow like anyone else, and had even made many friends.
Late at night, whenever all was quiet, he would gaze out at the moon and find himself wondering—would he never leave this place, would he simply spend his final days here?
But when word finally reached this remote place that Da Zhou had declared war on Dongqin, he still found himself, almost without thinking, reaching for that map once more.
Xuanyuan Lige was staring intently at the northern gate on the map when a knock suddenly sounded at the door. This late at night, it could only be Yu Xiaomeng.
There was no point explaining to this girl of the northern steppe about proper conduct between men and women, about how a man and woman shouldn’t share a room this late at night—she wouldn’t understand any of it.
These were Central Plains customs. Xuanyuan Lige understood them well enough, but he had a clear conscience, and had long since adapted to local customs regardless.
“Come in.”
He didn’t bother putting away the map. The moment Yu Xiaomeng stepped through the door, she spotted the things spread across the table, deeply curious. She studied them for a long while, suspicious, before suddenly gasping in shock. “You… you’re a general!”
In her understanding, only generals and emperors possessed things like this.
When Xuanyuan Lige didn’t answer, Yu Xiaomeng pressed on. “You’re from Dongqin—could you be one of Dongqin’s generals?”
Xuanyuan Lige suddenly laughed, without answering her question directly, and instead said quietly, “Da Zhou and Dongqin have declared war on each other…”
But before he could finish, Yu Xiaomeng gasped in alarm. “You’re going back! You’re going back to fight?!”
This girl was always so quick to alarm. Xuanyuan Lige couldn’t help but think of someone else—wondering what her reaction would be, in a moment like this.
No matter how enormous the crisis, that woman would probably never react with such alarm. Perhaps only the matter of Jun Beiyue’s life or death could ever make her react like that.
He knew—she was coming west.
With just a map and a piece of news, he could see through the entire situation. He knew that if he didn’t go back, his mother the Empress couldn’t command the Yinsha Army, couldn’t guarantee the Huns wouldn’t seize the chaos and sweep south. Which meant she had only one option left—to collude with the Huns against Jun Beiyue.
He and Jun Beiyue had struggled against each other for so long—this time, it seemed, he’d finally won.
Jun Beiyue surely hadn’t anticipated that he wouldn’t go back, hadn’t anticipated that his mother would rather ally with the Huns, invite a tiger into the house, than submit to Da Zhou.
Under these circumstances, the northern frontier would inevitably fall into a stalemate!
And once Xijing fell, once Xiliang’s army marched on Da Zhou, only then would the stalemate at the northern frontier finally break, only then would real war erupt—Jun Beiyue, fighting Dongqin and the Huns alone with the strength of one nation, wouldn’t have a single soldier left to spare against Xiliang. Even with Xiliang already gravely weakened, Da Zhou’s western frontier might well be left with no defenders at all!
He wouldn’t be wrong about this. His mother would keep waiting—waiting for Xijing to fall, for Xiliang’s army to bear down on Da Zhou’s western frontier.
And Jun Beiyue was waiting too—waiting for someone else to clean up Xijing and Xiliang for him, so that he could then redeploy the western frontier’s three armies to the northern front.
This time, he even meant to swallow up the Huns themselves.
If he ever won that battle, even Xichu would likely submit to him willingly.
If he, Xuanyuan Lige, went back now, perhaps the entire situation would unfold differently.
But by not going back, he was forcing both Dongqin and Da Zhou into an all-or-nothing gamble!
Looking across all of Da Zhou, the only person who could clean up Xijing and Xiliang in Jun Beiyue’s stead was Han Ziqing, and Han Ziqing alone!
She would come. She would surely come!
Xuanyuan Lige was lost in his own thoughts. Yu Xiaomeng watched him, not daring to interrupt. It was the first time she’d seen this man wear such a cold, dark, almost sinister expression, and all at once she realized just how little she truly understood him—yet why, of all things, did her heart insist on throwing itself, moth to flame, straight into that blazing fire of a man?
He was going back to fight, surely. He must be someone important—perhaps even the crown prince of a nation. Perhaps she and her mother had simply been dreaming too big, hoping to keep him here forever, to make him a man of this household.
Yu Xiaomeng said nothing, simply watching him quietly, obediently—and without realizing it, her eyes reddened.
It was only then that Xuanyuan Lige stirred from his thoughts. Perhaps it truly was fate’s way of balancing things out—Han Ziqing was the poison he could never cure in this lifetime, while he, it seemed, was destined to become the poison lodged in Yu Xiaomeng’s heart instead.
Thinking of that woman, no matter how much his heart ached, the corner of his mouth couldn’t help but curl into a doting smile—the kind of doting that ran clear down to the bone.