When Xin Jiuwei stumbled into the bedroom, supported by Xiao Xun, the old lady's cloudy yet clear gaze instantly and accurately fell upon her.

"Wei...Wei'er..." A faint, hoarse voice, almost indistinguishable, escaped from the old lady's cracked lips. She slightly raised her withered hand, towards Xin Jiuwei's direction.

"Aunt!" Xin Jiuwei's tears instantly burst forth! She broke free from Xiao Xun's hand, rushed to the bedside, her knees buckled and she knelt down, tightly grasping the old lady's raised hand, pressing her cheek against the cold, withered back of the hand, sobbing uncontrollably, "Aunt...you're finally awake...Wei'er was so scared...so scared..." All her strength crumbled at the moment her loved one awoke, leaving only the immense grievance and lingering fear of regaining what she had lost.

With great effort, the old lady raised her other hand, trembling, and stroked Xin Jiuwei's hair very slowly and gently, her movements filled with endless pity and heartache. Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but she was too weak to make a sound; only cloudy tears slid down the deep wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.

Princess Zhao couldn't help but wipe away her tears as she whispered, "When Mother woke up, the first thing she asked was, 'How is Wei'er?' Knowing that Wei'er was recuperating in His Highness's residence, she was worried but also relieved." She glanced gratefully at Xiao Xun, who was standing a little distance away.

Xiao Xun stood quietly at the boundary between light and shadow, his dark figure like a silent rock. He looked at the grandmother and granddaughter embracing and weeping before the bed, at Xin Jiuwei letting down her guard and crying like a helpless child. In the depths of his eyes, it seemed as if some ice was silently melting. He had never seen her so vulnerable and so real.

After a long while, Xin Jiuwei's emotions finally calmed down a bit. She raised her head, carefully wiping away the old lady's tears with a handkerchief, and choked out, "Aunt, Wei'er is alright, Wei'er is fine, you see... you should get better soon too..."

The old lady nodded vigorously, her gaze still fixed on Xin Jiuwei's face, filled with reluctance and worry. Her gaze slowly shifted, landing on Xiao Xun standing there. That gaze held scrutiny, inquiry, and a deep, indescribable complexity.

Xiao Xun noticed the old lady's gaze, stepped forward, and bowed slightly, showing respect for an elder: "Greetings, Madam. It is a great joy that you have woken up."

The old lady stared at Xiao Xun for a long time, so long that the air in the room seemed to freeze. Her lips moved again, as if she wanted to say something, but in the end she only nodded very slowly and with a very small gesture. Her gaze returned to Xin Jiuwei, and she held her hand tightly, as if she wanted to transfer all her strength to her.

Xin Jiuwei felt her aunt's gaze and noticed her aunt's silent scrutiny of Xiao Xun. Her heart stirred slightly, and she was about to speak when Princess Zhao said gently, "Mother has just woken up and is not in good spirits, so she can't say much. Wei'er, you and His Highness have also just gone through a great ordeal, so it's not good for you to stay too long and trouble Mother. We can talk properly another day when Mother is in better spirits."

Although Xin Jiuwei was reluctant to part with her, she knew that her aunt needed to rest. She stayed with her for a while longer, reluctantly placing a gentle kiss on the back of the old lady's hand, before leaving the bedroom at Xiao Xun's prompting, turning back to look at her every few steps.

Stepping out of the Marquis of Zhongyong's residence, dusk was approaching. A biting wind blew, chilling her tear-stained face. Xin Jiuwei pulled her cloak tighter, her heart churning like a stormy sea. Her aunt's awakening was a great comfort, but the weight and turmoil brought by Xiao Xun's words, "You will end it yourself," and the looming shadow of the Northern Border, still weighed heavily on her heart.

The carriage rumbled along the cobblestone road. The spacious interior was warmed by a fireplace. Xin Jiuwei and Xiao Xun sat facing each other in silence. The brief moment of tenderness they had shared at the old lady's bedside seemed to have been shut out of the carriage.

Xin Jiuwei gazed at the rapidly receding street scene outside the car window. The lights came on one by one, outlining the bustling cityscape of Beijing, but they couldn't dispel the chill in her heart. She subconsciously rubbed her wrist, as if she could still feel the cold touch of Qi Huaiyu's poisoned dagger. To end him with her own hands… She clenched her fingers, her nails digging deep into her palms.

"Scared?" Xiao Xun's deep voice suddenly broke the silence. He didn't look at her; his gaze was fixed on the leaping firelight, his profile somewhat blurred in the dim light.

Xin Jiuwei's body stiffened slightly as she slowly turned her head. The light from the fireplace danced in his deep eyes, like two dark, cold stars. She met his gaze, which held no doubt, no mockery, only an almost knowing understanding and... a barely perceptible inquiry.

Fear? Xin Jiuwei asked herself. She might still instinctively feel a chill at the sight of death and bloodshed. But towards Qi Huaiyu, her heart was filled only with boundless hatred and a burning desire to tear him to pieces! The blood debts of past and present lives could only be quelled by ending them with her own hands, the karmic fire that gnawed at her soul day and night!

“No.” Xin Jiuwei’s voice was soft, yet exceptionally clear, carrying a resolute determination that cut off all hesitation. “I’m just afraid… that he will die too easily.” Her gaze was cold and sharp, like poisoned icicles, piercing straight into Xiao Xun’s eyes.

Xiao Xun's gaze seemed to flicker slightly. He looked at the pale yet exceptionally resolute face before him, at the undisguised, almost tangible hatred and killing intent in her eyes. At this moment, the fragility she possessed completely vanished, revealing a core of hardness, forged by hatred and will, as hard as cold iron. This seemed different from the Xin Jiuwei he remembered—the one who endured at the palace banquet, the one who stood firm on the high slope, the one who was aloof in the quiet garden.

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