At fifteen, Gu Lian knows what he wants. But knowing is not the same as having.
In the seventeenth year of Yongxi, Gu Lian turned fifteen.
In the royal family, fifteen meant many things—participating in court affairs, engaging with military matters, and formally preparing for marriage.
Just after the New Year, the emperor issued a decree: Gu Lian was to begin military training. That meant more time at the Ministry of War and the Privy Council—and even less time with Ai Miao.
"Your Highness is inspecting the Western Hills garrison today?" Ai Miao asked, organizing the documents for the trip.
Gu Lian fastened his cloak. "I'll be gone for three days."
"I'll have the memorials sorted by the time you return."
Gu Lian paused. "Is that all you have to say?"
Ai Miao looked up. "What would Your Highness like me to say?"
Say you'll miss me. Say you won't spend those days alone with Murong Che. But those words felt childish. Gu Lian swallowed them.
"Take care of yourself," he said instead.
The three days at the Western Hills garrison felt unusually long. Every time Gu Lian watched the generals drilling troops, he thought of Ai Miao teaching Murong Che—his focus, his patience. All of it now belonged to someone else.
By March, Gu Lian noticed a change in Murong Che.
The boy, nearly sixteen, could no longer hide the way he looked at Ai Miao. A single word of praise would lift his spirits for a day; a single criticism would leave him downcast.
One afternoon, after class, Murong Che gathered his courage. "Sir, if I return to Beijing one day… may I still seek your guidance?"
Ai Miao was tidying the desk. He didn't look up. "By then, you'll be a king. You won't need my guidance."
"But I—"
"No buts." Ai Miao cut him off. "Remember who you are."
Murong Che lowered his head, fingers clutching his robe.
Gu Lian watched from the side, feeling both sympathy and relief. Sympathy for Murong Che's unrequited longing. Relief that Ai Miao still held the line.
In April, after a court session, the emperor kept Gu Lian behind.
"The Ministry of Rites has proposed several dates for your wedding," he said, pushing a scroll forward. "I think next spring would be ideal."
Gu Lian stared at the red circle around "March 15, Year 18," his heart sinking.
"Father, I believe…"
"What do you believe?" the emperor asked, eyes sharp. "You're fifteen. It's time."
Gu Lian lowered his gaze. "I wish to focus on state affairs."
"Marriage and governance are not in conflict." The emperor's tone turned pointed. "Besides, I hear you've grown too close to Ai Miao."
Gu Lian's heart skipped. "Ai Miao is my companion. Naturally, we're close."
"Remember your place," the emperor warned. "Some things must be kept in check."
Leaving the imperial study, Gu Lian ran into Ai Miao in the corridor.
"Your Highness looks unwell," Ai Miao said, concerned.
Gu Lian looked into his eyes and wanted to ask: If I weren't the crown prince, would you…
But he said nothing.
In a rainy night in May, Gu Lian finished reviewing memorials late. As he walked back under an umbrella, he heard muffled sobs near the western quarters.
He followed the sound and found Murong Che sitting alone under the eaves, shoulders trembling.
"What's wrong?" Gu Lian asked.
Murong Che wiped his tears quickly. "Your Highness… I just… miss home."
Gu Lian sat beside him. "Missing home doesn't make you cry like this."
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the rain. At last, Murong Che whispered, "I asked Sir today… if I could stay in Da Sheng, if I didn't want to return."
"What did he say?"
"He said no." Murong Che's voice cracked. "He said my place is in Beijing. That I shouldn't have such foolish thoughts."
Gu Lian looked at the swaying lotuses in the rain and understood. Some feelings—though forbidden—couldn't be helped.
"You're still young," he said gently. "When you grow up, you'll understand—many things in this world are not ours to choose."
Including his own feelings for Ai Miao, which were becoming harder to hide.
In June, the palace held a grand banquet for Gu Lian's fifteenth birthday. It was more elaborate than ever—everyone knew the crown prince was about to fully enter the political stage.
Su Wanqing sat beside him, graceful and poised. No one could see the turmoil beneath Gu Lian's calm exterior.
"Your Highness," Ai Miao approached with a toast. "Happy birthday."
Gu Lian looked at his composed face and wondered: If I took your hand right now, in front of everyone—what would you do?
But he only raised his cup. "Thank you."
Midway through the banquet, Gu Lian saw Murong Che slip away. After a moment's hesitation, he followed.
By the lotus pond, Murong Che stood alone, staring at the blooms.
"Thinking about your teacher again?" Gu Lian asked.
Murong Che jumped, then smiled bitterly. "Nothing escapes Your Highness."
"If you know that, you should learn to hide it better." Gu Lian sat beside him. "Some feelings are meant to stay buried."
"Is that how it is for you too?" Murong Che asked. "With him…"
Gu Lian didn't answer. But his silence said enough.
Two boys, bound by status and silence, reached a quiet understanding by the pond. They both knew—what they felt for Ai Miao would never come to fruition.
But knowing didn't make it easier.
Late that night, after the banquet ended, Gu Lian stood at his window, gazing toward Ai Miao's quarters.
At fifteen, he knew exactly what he wanted. But as crown prince, he also knew—he might never have it.
Maybe he should learn to bury it. But when he saw Ai Miao's silhouette in the moonlight, he realized—
Some feelings only grow stronger the more you try to suppress them.
In the summer night breeze, a boy's longing bloomed like a lotus—quiet, radiant, and destined to bear no fruit.