As the first snow falls over the palace, warmth lingers only in the Eastern Palace. But beneath the surface, a quiet storm brews. Ai Miao is ordered to leave. Gu Lian is left behind. And neither is allowed to say goodbye.
The first snow of Yongxi's seventeenth year fell silently, blanketing the palace's golden glazed tiles. The heat of the autumn hunt seemed frozen by the sudden chill—leaving only the warmth of the Eastern Palace, where no outsider could glimpse the spring-like intimacy within.
In the eleventh month, silver-threaded charcoal crackled in the beast-shaped bronze brazier. Gu Lian lounged on a soft couch, a stack of memorials spread before him, untouched for half an hour. His gaze, as if possessing its own will, remained fixed on the slender figure beside him.
Ai Miao sat quietly, reviewing the day's reports. His voice was calm, his rhythm precise. "Your Highness, the governor of Jiangnan requests additional canal funding. A decision is needed."
Suddenly, a warm hand covered his, fingers tracing slow circles over the sensitive skin near his wrist.
Ai Miao tried to withdraw, his tone still composed—though tinged with a subtle rasp from days of closeness. "Your Highness, please focus on state affairs."
Gu Lian only tightened his grip, guiding Ai Miao's hand to scrawl a crooked stroke across the page. "You read it to me."
He relished this intimacy—the sense of control, the way Ai Miao seemed helpless yet always yielded. His gaze drifted past Ai Miao's flushed ears, settling on the pale curve of his neck, where a faint red mark peeked from beneath his collar—a trace from the night before.
It was a private seal. And Gu Lian felt both satisfied and proud.
Ai Miao gently pulled his hand away, his voice resigned. "If Your Highness insists, today's memorials may not be finished."
Gu Lian chuckled, leaning close, his breath warm against Ai Miao's ear. "You're mine. All of you. The memorials can wait."
He reached out, intending to smooth the collar and admire his handiwork more clearly—
But just then, a eunuch's voice interrupted from outside. "Your Highness, Miss Su has sent fresh plum blossom cakes. She invites you to try them."
Gu Lian's hand paused. His brows furrowed. The lazy smile vanished, replaced by irritation.
"Leave them outside," he said coldly, not even glancing at the ornate box.
Ai Miao watched the shift in his expression, a quiet heaviness settling in his chest. Su Wanqing—the future crown princess, the capital's most admired beauty—had never stirred even a ripple in Gu Lian's heart.
He watched the eunuch carefully carry the box away, and thought of the Emperor and Empress's increasingly probing gazes. A storm was coming. And its chill had already seeped into his bones.
Inside the imperial study, the floor dragon burned fiercely—yet it could not dispel the chill between sovereign and subject.
The Emperor flung a confidential report onto the zitan desk. "News from Beijing. Murong Jue's condition has deteriorated—he can no longer govern. The court is fracturing. This is the perfect moment for Murong Che to return. Ai Miao, the game you've been laying out for years—it's time to close it."
Ai Miao stood with his head bowed, heart sinking. He understood: this was not a discussion. It was a command.
The Emperor continued, his voice brooking no dissent. "I want you to personally escort Murong Che back. Help him ascend the throne. Complete the merger of our two nations. This concerns the foundation of the realm. No one but you can do it."
The Empress spoke next, her tone gentle, but each word landing like a hammer. "Ai Miao, you're a clever child. You should understand our intentions."
She stirred her teacup lightly, but her gaze was sharp. "Lian'er has grown… very close to you. He is the Crown Prince, the future of Da Sheng. His wedding is set for March. Certain dependencies and affections must be severed in due time. This journey is not only for the expansion of our borders—it is also to aid his growth. When he ascends the throne, a bloodless, fully subdued Beijing will be your greatest gift to him."
Ai Miao listened in silence. He understood every layer beneath their polished words: the Emperor and Empress had seen through his closeness with the Crown Prince. They feared his growing influence. Feared that Gu Lian might neglect his betrothed, might stray from the path of marriage and heirs. Feared that Ai Miao, brilliant but uncontainable, might one day become too powerful to control.
They needed this separation. They needed Gu Lian to marry, to father children, to return to the "correct" path—without Ai Miao.
He had no choice. To resist would mean ruin—not only for himself, but for Gu Lian as well.
Just as the Emperor prepared to press further, Ai Miao raised his head and spoke, voice steady and calm. "I accept the decree. The journey to Beijing is critical—and fraught with danger. To prevent His Highness from worrying, or… interfering due to personal feelings, I respectfully request that Your Majesties conceal the true purpose and duration of this mission. You may inform him that I am merely escorting Murong Che to the border for a routine inspection, and will return shortly."
He wrapped the exile in the guise of a secret expedition, taking all the burden of deception upon himself. The Emperor and Empress exchanged a glance—both satisfied by his tact.
"Approved," the Emperor said. And with that, the tone of this departure was set: silence and concealment.
Leaving the study, Ai Miao stepped into the biting wind. Snowflakes lashed his face. He stood in the storm for a long time, until the cold seeped into his bones—until he could feel again.
He knew his time was running out.
Back at the Prime Minister's residence, he began quietly packing. Every item seemed to carry the scent of the Eastern Palace, each fold heavy with reluctance.
More importantly, he began preparing Gu Lian.
In their daily work, Ai Miao started pushing decisions back to the Crown Prince. He withheld guidance, forced him to think, even let him make imperfect choices—only to guide him through reflection afterward.
"You've been pushing me a lot lately," Gu Lian complained one day, tossing down his brush with a pout. "You used to sort all this for me."
Ai Miao picked up the brush, dipped it in cinnabar, and handed it back. His gaze was calm, but deep. "Your Highness will one day rule the world. I… cannot always be by your side."
Gu Lian took it as a challenge, or perhaps a lover's vow in reverse. He brightened, tugging Ai Miao's wrist with possessive affection. "Then it's settled. You'll always be with me. Once I'm king, I'll give you a place—one where you can stand beside me, openly and rightfully."
Ai Miao looked into those clear, trusting eyes—so full of dependence and innocent hope. The words I'm leaving soon burned in his throat, but he swallowed them.
He nodded silently.
His heart ached. Your Highness… if only you knew. What your father fears most—is that rightful place.
On the eve of departure, Gu Lian seemed more clingy than ever. He dismissed all attendants and insisted on pulling Ai Miao to the bath chamber in the eastern palace, where hot spring water flowed freely. The steamy mist blurred their features yet sharpened their senses, filling the air with an almost sorrowful tenderness.
Ripples danced across the water as Gu Lian embraced Ai Miao from behind, his chin resting affectionately against the smooth hollow of his shoulder. Arms tightened around his slender waist, his voice both commanding and achingly dependent: "It's only a few days at the border, inspecting defenses, seeing Murong Che off... Promise me you'll come back soon."
Ai Miao stood with his back to him, feeling the rapid, heavy thud of the heart against his back and the undeniable, hard desire pressed against his spine. He closed his eyes, swallowing all the pain and reluctance, silently agreeing.
"Promise me," Gu Lian's lips brushed his earlobe, his breath scorching, "stick to official business only. Stay away from that Murong Che." His fingers traced restless patterns in the water, a fierce declaration of ownership.
"...Alright." Ai Miao's voice trembled, thick with steam, offering a promise he knew he couldn't keep.
Gu Lian pressed his advantage, turning him around and forcing him against the warm marble edge of the pool. Amidst the fierce, almost predatory thrusts, he left new, deep marks on Ai Miao's shoulders and neck, commanding him again and again into his ear, his voice hoarse with desire: "You're mine alone... Remember that. Come back soon..."
Ai Miao tilted his head back, his fragile Adam's apple rolling in the misty vapor as he endured it all. Yet he responded with unprecedented fervor, his arms clinging tightly to Gu Lian's back as if to exhaust years of longing and desire in this single night.
His indulgence and submission seemed to Gu Lian a testament of deep affection, but in truth, it was his own heart-wrenching farewell, too painful to articulate.
The next morning, Gu Lian awoke to the room bathed in warm sunlight. The space beside him was empty, leaving only a faint, lingering scent and the lingering ache of intimacy.
He assumed Ai Miao had gone about his usual "pre-departure" duties and paid it no mind, even savoring the memory of last night's passion, a faint smile curving his lips.
By midday, the Emperor and Empress summoned him to court. Gu Lian was in good spirits, even idly planning how to "punish" Ai Miao for his brief absence once he returned from his inspection.
"Your son greets Father and Mother," he said, bowing. His eyes instinctively swept the hall, searching for a familiar figure. Not seeing him, he asked casually, "Where's Ai Miao? Is he preparing for tomorrow's departure?"
He expected to hear details about the border inspection.
The Emperor set down his teacup, his tone flat—almost indifferent, as if discussing something trivial. "He has already departed. He's escorting Murong Che to Beijing."
The smile on Gu Lian's face froze, like a mask turned to ice. "Beijing…?" he echoed. That was a neighboring kingdom. Wasn't the inspection scheduled for tomorrow?
The Empress spoke gently, but her words pierced like icicles. "Lian'er, Ai Miao is a man of great ambition. This was his own request—his lifelong aspiration. To support Murong Che, to subdue Beijing without bloodshed… such a rare achievement is worthy of his extraordinary talent. You should be proud of him. Focus on your duties. Prepare for your wedding in March."
Beijing. Not a border patrol. A foreign mission. No return date. Voluntary request. Lifelong aspiration.
Each word struck Gu Lian like a hammer. He thought of Ai Miao's tenderness the night before, his unwavering promises— It had all been an act.
While Gu Lian clung to him with desperate affection, Ai Miao's heart had already flown to the battlefield where his brilliance could shine.
The love Gu Lian had offered—the bond he believed was unique, the plea for "your love"—meant nothing compared to conquest, glory, and ambition.
What he thought was mutual devotion… perhaps, to Ai Miao, had long become a burden—something to escape.
He looked at his parents' expressions, full of calm concern and quiet calculation. He looked out at the snow-covered courtyard, empty and silent. No farewell. No explanation. Only a carefully orchestrated lie.
A chill spread from his chest to every limb, colder than the deepest winter.
His heart felt torn, crushed. And the worst pain… was the kind that made no sound.
—
Far away, in a jolting carriage bound for Beijing, Ai Miao sat with his eyes closed, leaning against the wooden wall. His fingers gripped tightly around the purple bamboo brush engraved with Unity of Thought and Action.
He would carry the burden of betrayal alone.
He was heading into a game of life and death—to win, for his prince, a future of unshakable power and a united empire.
The wind and snow swallowed the tracks behind him—along with every unspoken confession and every buried regret.