Gu Lian demands love. Ai Miao gives what he can. And the palace begins to watch.
In the sweltering heat of Yongxi's seventeenth summer, the palace simmered with tension.
Ever since the emperor's warning—"Know your limits"—Ai Miao had begun to distance himself from Gu Lian. His every movement became precise, formal, as if executing duties rather than sharing companionship.
One day in mid-July, Gu Lian felt the shift acutely.
"Your Highness, today's memorials have been sorted," Ai Miao said, placing the documents neatly on the desk. "If you have questions, I'll await your summons in the side hall."
Gu Lian frowned. "Since when do you wait in the side hall?"
"It's protocol." Ai Miao lowered his gaze. "I must not overstep."
This exchange repeated in the days that followed. Ai Miao no longer dined with him, no longer lingered after lessons, and avoided eye contact altogether.
Murong Che noticed the change too. Ai Miao's teaching grew colder, more rigid—no longer patient, no longer warm.
"Sir," Murong Che asked after a harsh reprimand, "did I do something wrong?"
"You did not." Ai Miao closed the book. "But it's time you understood—this is how teachers and students should be."
In early August, the emperor and empress formally set Gu Lian's wedding date with Su Wanqing: March of the following year.
At the same time, urgent news arrived from Beijing: Murong Jue was gravely ill. Several ministers had begun reaching out to Murong Che.
The message sent Murong Che into a spiral. He knew what returning meant—not just the danger of succession, but a final farewell to Ai Miao.
"Sir," he asked after class, voice trembling, "may I… not return to Beijing?"
Ai Miao didn't look up. "No."
"Why?" Murong Che's voice cracked. "Why must I go back?"
"Because it's your duty," Ai Miao said flatly. "And your only value."
That sentence broke him.
On the eighth day of August, in a rainstorm, Gu Lian wandered the palace, weighed down by his impending marriage and Ai Miao's coldness. Passing the western quarters, he heard voices.
"Let me finish!" Murong Che's voice rang through the rain. "Everything you've done for me—was it all calculation?"
Ai Miao stood beneath the eaves, face hard in the lantern light. "I told you long ago. We are allies of convenience. Nothing more."
"Then why were you so kind?" Murong Che's voice cracked. "Why make me hope for something I shouldn't?"
"That was your misunderstanding."
"I… I don't just see you as a teacher," Murong Che whispered. "Since the day you shielded me from the boar, I…"
"Enough." Ai Miao cut him off, voice like ice. "I, Ai Miao, have no heart for romance. I will never be swayed by emotion. Between us, there is only strategy. Nothing else."
Gu Lian stood in the rain, frozen. He heard Murong Che's sobs, Ai Miao's rejection—and the sound of his own heart breaking.
So it had all been calculation.
Later that night, Gu Lian intercepted Ai Miao on his way back. Rain soaked his robes, plastered his hair to his forehead. Water streamed down his pale face.
"What you said to him," Gu Lian's voice was hoarse, broken, "was it true?"
Ai Miao stopped. Rain blurred his features. "Your Highness heard everything?"
"Answer me!" Gu Lian's voice cracked with emotion.
"It was true." Ai Miao's tone was calm, but sharp as ice. "I've said before—I have no heart for romance."
The words pierced Gu Lian's deepest fear. He didn't shout. But his shoulders sagged, as if drained of strength. He looked up, rain and tears mingling on his face, and asked in a voice so fragile it barely rose above the storm:
"Ai Miao… will you stay by my side forever? Never betray me?"
Ai Miao was stunned by the raw vulnerability. Rain slid down his face. "I… have never considered otherwise."
"Then why…" Gu Lian's voice trembled. He stepped closer—not to confront, but to seek. "Why treat me like this? I'm your prince. Am I just another piece on your board, like him?"
The last words were barely audible, but heavy with pain. Not accusation—just the laying bare of his deepest insecurity.
Ai Miao looked at him. The crown prince, stripped of all dignity, stood like a supplicant in the rain.
At last, Ai Miao spoke, voice low and cruelly honest: "Because Your Highness has everything. I… don't know what else I can give you."
Gu Lian let out a bitter laugh. Tears spilled faster. Then, as if making a final decision, he tore open his soaked robes, revealing his slender but growing chest. He grabbed Ai Miao's cold hand and pressed it hard against his heart.
"I need your love, Ai Miao! Not your counsel, not your strategy!" he cried. "I want your brilliant mind—filled with kingdoms and war—to hold me too! I want you to feel this! I want this heart to beat for you—and I want you to care!"
It was a scream born of fifteen years of longing.
Ai Miao froze. Beneath his palm, Gu Lian's heart pounded like a trapped beast—hot, wild, desperate. Rain dripped from his lashes.
Two confessions in one day. Two demands for love. It was beyond anything Ai Miao had prepared for.
His mind screamed: refuse. Rejecting Murong Che was easy. But rejecting the crown prince—emotional, beloved by the emperor and empress—could unravel everything. The safest path was to stabilize him.
Ai Miao looked at the tear-streaked face before him. He remembered the day he chose to walk beside this boy, thinking: If I could stay with him forever… maybe that wouldn't be so bad.
Between reason and something deeper, Ai Miao closed his eyes. Then opened them.
Rain blurred his vision. Perhaps it blurred his logic too.
He heard his own voice, soft but clear: "…Alright."
Not love. But the only answer Gu Lian could bear.
To fulfill this desperate need—perhaps that was Ai Miao's final duty as advisor and friend.
The rain poured harder, as if trying to wash away the vow.
From that night, their relationship changed. Gu Lian basked in the joy of having what he wanted, cautiously testing intimacy. Ai Miao honored his promise—indulgent, but never reciprocating.
In the imperial study, the emperor and empress listened to the shadow guards' report.
The empress frowned. "Your Majesty, can we truly allow this? Ai Miao is a man. If word spreads, our son's reputation…"
The emperor sighed, gazing toward the Eastern Palace. "He is our only child. We cannot force him now. You and I were young once. We know—the more you suppress, the harder it rebounds."
"Ai Miao's influence is too great," the empress said. "What if Gu Lian falls too deep?"
"That's why I said: we observe."
The emperor turned, eyes sharp with calculation. "We give them time. We give Ai Miao a chance. Let's see if he understands what it means to 'begin with feeling, end with propriety.' Let's see if he can meet the prince's emotional needs—without crossing the final line. This is Ai Miao's ultimate test."
"Ai Miao can be Gu Lian's sharpest sword," he said. "Or the shackle around his neck. Used well, he's a national treasure. Used poorly…"
The emperor's voice dropped. "I won't hesitate to break that sword myself."
The empress was silent. Then nodded slowly.
Gu Lian knew none of this. One night in late August, he leaned against Ai Miao's shoulder and asked softly:
"Will you stay with me forever?"
"I will always serve Your Highness," Ai Miao replied, still rational.
"Not just serve," Gu Lian said. "Stay. Like this."
Ai Miao didn't answer. But he honored his promise—he gently wrapped an arm around Gu Lian's shoulder.
Outside, autumn rain fell.
Gu Lian closed his eyes, content in the warmth. He didn't know that his parents, full of love and fear, were watching from afar—preparing the path they hoped he would walk.
The path of a ruler.