Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Serpent Emerges from Its Lair

She spoke with utmost seriousness. As the ruler of a nation, one should put the country and its people first—how could he risk himself for a mere woman like her? Besides, the situation in the palace was far from optimistic; all eyes within the harem were fixed on him.

“All right, Xue’er, why is it that whenever you see me, you always have to lecture me on such lofty principles? It truly spoils the mood.” Hearing Xuexue’s words, Ji Wuqing could no longer contain himself and let his composure slip, a hint of helplessness appearing on his handsome face. “You must remember, you’re but eighteen yourself.”

That’s right—she was just eighteen years old.

Yet, having lived another life, she had seen through so much, and in turn, had also become confused about so much.

“My lord…”

“You may call me by my childhood name—Ziqing. My late father used to call me that, but it’s been many years since anyone has done so.” He suddenly spoke, his tone tinged with a wistful loneliness.

Ziqing?

It was indeed the first time she had heard him mention it.

“But let’s set everything else aside for now. This is not a place to linger—there may be a trap.” Ever since Zuo Qiu Liyue had subtly lowered his guard, it had marked the beginning of a snare. If Ji Wuqing were discovered, it would be no small matter.

Yet Ji Wuqing simply led her to sit at the small stone table. A light breakfast was laid out: two bowls of congee, three dishes of pickles—exactly to her taste.

“What’s the rush? We’re on my territory, after all. At the very least, we should have breakfast before making any plans.” As he spoke, he began to eat, his fair jade-like hand selecting dishes for Xuexue with gentle affection.

He had yet to settle accounts with Zuo Qiu Liyue, and if he were to take Xue’er away, it would be done openly and honorably—not in secrecy.

With Ji Wuqing so calm, she felt no reason to remain on edge.

The congee tasted even more delicious than usual—perhaps her state of mind had changed, making everything seem more flavorful.

Still, something remained unspoken between them. He hadn’t questioned her about leaving the palace, nor had she brought up the past. But what had happened could not simply be erased by silence.

She harbored doubts, yet did not know how to voice them.

“You’ve grown so thin.” Lost in thought, she suddenly felt a large hand cup her cheek, enveloping her face in its warm palm. The touch made her heart skip and then race in confusion.

Though she craved his warmth, she still turned her head, trying to avoid his hand, but he withdrew it the next moment.

The atmosphere seemed to freeze. She hesitated, unsure how to ease the tension. Besides, she was never one to smooth over awkward moments; so she merely continued to eat, her expression remaining composed.

Ji Wuqing paused with his chopsticks, gazing at her and the serenity on her young face.

It wasn’t until the ethereal sound of a flute rose and fell, like drifting silk threads infused with vibrant life, that the silence was broken.

The melody was tinged with sorrow and melancholy, with an undercurrent of something strange. Amid the mists, it felt all the more mysterious and hollow, yet bizarrely beautiful—compelling one to listen closely and feel the haunting anguish within.

It made one wonder just what kind of person could play such a tune.

“This song… I’ve heard it before.” Ji Wuqing looked up at the mist-shrouded sky, his tone leisurely and relaxed. “We must be careful. This melody can shift without warning, catching one unprepared.”

Xuexue listened, only half understanding, but she, too, sensed a hint of danger.

Sure enough, the very next moment, the style of the tune changed abruptly. Where it had been gentle and mournful, it now turned cold and biting, like a violent wind—its notes broken and disjointed.

It no longer sounded like a song, but more like a series of notes used to control something.

On a distant pavilion rooftop, a woman in purple sat languidly, her robes fluttering, the long hem of her skirt trailing over the blue tiles. Her jet-black hair cascaded down, swaying lightly in the breeze.

Her posture was both relaxed and reminiscent of a wandering swordswoman, yet retained an air of elegance and poise.

She held a jade-green flute in her hand, her slender fingers dancing skillfully over its surface. With her rosy lips, she played, and the notes drifted forth—perfect, yet laced with an eerie beauty.

Qingshu and Feiyi stood on the pavilion, gazing at the inn shrouded in thick mist, listening to their mistress play the “Snake Summoning Tune,” their eyes alert to any movement.

They could just make out the backs of the departing lord and his companions, heading in the direction the blind girl had gone. The restless serpents had also been set loose, ready to drive out the blind girl and her people.

“My lord, must you go in person? I fear danger lies ahead.” Yunwu could not help but worry. The mist had come suddenly and inexplicably; they had yet to find a way to dispel it, indicating their opponent was not to be underestimated.

“I’m quite curious to see just who dares to try and snatch someone from me,” Zuo Qiu Liyue replied nonchalantly, his mesmerizing features flickering like an otherworldly flower spirit adrift in the mortal realm.

At his words, Yunwu dared not offer further advice. He knew his lord’s temperament well enough—today would inevitably end in bloodshed.

A faint hissing—tiny, sinister sounds.

She could feel it: the approach of cold-blooded creatures, moving steadily toward them, keeping pace with the eerie melody. And it was not only the snakes—there were people advancing alongside the serpents as well.

She rose to her feet, and the little fox returned to her side. It was sated, still licking its paws, savoring the taste of roast chicken.

“My lord…”

“Have you forgotten? Call me Ziqing.”

“What should we do now?” Xuexue hesitated for a moment, quickly recovering, though this was hardly the time to dwell on such things.

“They’re fast, but what of it?” Ji Wuqing appeared utterly calm, a confident smile curving his lips. He moved behind Xuexue, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Naturally, my greatest concern is not losing you.”

“I’ll stay close to you.” She placed her hand on his, her tone earnest.

The two stood together, their robes almost entwined, just as their hearts were.

Ji Wuqing said nothing. Amid the fog, his expression was unreadable, yet he seemed to chuckle softly at her words.

The snakes arrived before Zuo Qiu Liyue and his group, gliding silently closer, their red tongues flicking, sending chills down one’s spine. It seemed as though, in the next instant, they would slither up and sink their fangs into flesh.

But Ji Wuqing did not give them the chance. He drew the folding fan from his waist—a black fan inscribed with golden characters, which snapped open with a sharp sound. The gold writing shone with a golden light as he swept the fan forcefully toward the serpents, the fog swirling with the wind, carrying a strange scent.

The wind scattered the snakes, and with two more flicks of his fan, the air filled with the sound of flesh tearing.

In moments, the ground was littered with mangled snake remains.

“Impressive inner strength, but do you think it ends here?” Zuo Qiu Liyue’s voice drifted from the mist, ethereal and elusive—it could be heard but the speaker could not be seen.

Though he stood not far away, the thick fog made it almost impossible to glimpse him.

“So this is the famous ‘Spirit Snake Emerges’ technique. I’m somewhat acquainted with it,” Ji Wuqing replied noncommittally, making it clear he did not take such tricks seriously.

“And who might you be? Why not show yourself?” Zuo Qiu Liyue’s brows furrowed, his delicate face tinged with curiosity.

At the same time, his hidden guards silently began searching for Xuexue’s whereabouts.

“I’ve come to bring back the mother of my daughter, of course,” Ji Wuqing declared with a loud laugh. “Besides, your people skulk about like thieves—hardly the conduct of a gentleman. Let me make it easy for you: I’m right in front of you. If you have the skill, come and see for yourself.” His words were brazen to the extreme.

“You claim Xiaoxue is your wife?” Zuo Qiu Liyue’s expression shifted, his narrow phoenix eyes flashing coldly.

“Could it be that you’ve taken a fancy to the mother of my child?” Ji Wuqing continued, a hint of mockery in his tone.

“Heh, anyone I desire is not yours to speak of. Even if you are her husband, it makes no difference.” With that, he gestured grandly, his wide sleeves sweeping forth—a gust of wind howled, as if to blow away the mist.

Yet the fog only thickened, a dense layer like storm clouds. Within it, a strange scent wafted—neither pungent nor pleasant.

“Well? Is the gentleman not boasting a bit?”

“You may have broken the ‘Spirit Snake Emerges,’ but the real danger is yet to come,” Zuo Qiu Liyue replied coolly, a wicked smile curving his lips.

As he finished, the flute’s melody changed once again. No longer gentle, it became sharp and jarring, goading the remaining snakes to surge toward them.

On the distant rooftop, Gongshen Ling’er continued to play, though her expression shifted subtly.

She, too, had sensed something amiss earlier—someone had disrupted her snake-summoning skill. But no matter; that was a mere trick. Now, she would get serious.

How interesting, she thought. But who could it be? Was it the blind girl?

“You are truly heartless. Moments ago, you claimed Xue’er was the one you desired, and now you show murderous intent.” Ji Wuqing’s tone was roguish, tinged with mockery, yet his deep eyes flashed coldly.

“If only we had realgar, it would drive the snakes away at once,” Xuexue suddenly said.