Five years of waiting. One confrontation. One scandal. And a silence colder than winter itself.
Half a month passed after the celebration banquet, suspended in a suffocating standoff.
Gu Lian gave Ai Miao countless chances. He lingered after court, left conversational threads dangling during meetings, even paused at a palace corridor corner, his robe fluttering in the wind, waiting for half a cup of tea's time.
But Ai Miao never came.
The man who once whispered "forever" in his ear now wouldn't spare him a glance. Every polite deflection, every businesslike exchange, was salt on an old wound. Gu Lian finally understood: Ai Miao wasn't confused. He simply didn't want to come back.
Five years of waiting. Five years of self-inflicted torment. And this was the result. Pride crushed. All that remained was the fury and humiliation of abandonment.
When the last snow of Yongxi Year Twenty-Two fell, Gu Lian's patience ran out.
"Bring him," he ordered the shadow guards, voice cold as the icicles outside. "Now."
Ai Miao was "invited" to a secluded warm chamber in the Eastern Palace, still carrying the chill of the Privy Council. Snow clung to his hair. Seeing Gu Lian standing by the window, back turned, he already knew what was coming.
"What does Your Highness intend?" he asked, maintaining a facade of calm.
Gu Lian turned slowly. The eyes that once held sunlight now burned with frozen fire. "Intent? Ai Miao, it's been five years. Don't you have anything to say to me?"
"I don't understand what Your Highness refers to." Ai Miao lowered his gaze, hands clenched inside his sleeves. "If it's about state affairs—"
"State affairs?" Gu Lian cut him off, voice rising, trembling. "I waited five years. For one explanation! Why did you leave without a word? Why lie and say it was just a border inspection? Why—"
His voice caught. He inhaled sharply, then continued, each word forced through clenched teeth. "Why couldn't you give me a single truth? Were those ambitions, those strategies, really so important? Important enough to discard everything between us?"
Five years of grief, resentment, longing—erupted like a volcano. Gu Lian stepped closer, eyes red, nearly shouting: "Say something! Tell me—was I ever important to you at all?!"
Ai Miao flinched at the pain in his voice. He remembered the imperial warnings, his father's advice: A minister must not confuse the sovereign's heart. He knew that admitting the truth could bring scandal, shame, and danger to Gu Lian.
He closed his eyes, buried every emotion, and when he opened them again, they were barren.
"Your Highness," he said, voice cold, "I went to Beijing to fulfill my duty as a strategist. It was His Majesty's command. As for the rest… merely youthful ignorance. There's no need to dwell."
The words were a poisoned dagger, striking Gu Lian's most fragile place.
"Youthful ignorance…" Gu Lian staggered back, drained. He laughed—low, bitter, self-mocking. "So that's all it was to you. Youthful ignorance…"
He raised his hand, pointed to the door, voice hoarse. "Get out."
Ai Miao bowed, flawlessly, like the perfect minister. He turned and stepped into the snow. As he did, one hot tear escaped—vanishing instantly into the frozen air.
—
The next evening, the Prime Minister's residence was ablaze with lanterns, celebrating Ai Miao's return and promotion. Though called a family banquet, it was filled with officials and allies.
Ai Miao, the guest of honor, was distracted by yesterday's confrontation. He drank more than usual. After three rounds, a wave of dizziness hit—far beyond mere intoxication. His limbs weakened, vision blurred.
The wine was drugged.
"Looks like our dear nephew is tipsy. Help him to the side room," said a distant uncle, smiling with false concern. Two strong attendants escorted Ai Miao away.
He was laid on a soft bed in a perfumed, secluded room. In his fading consciousness, he saw a young girl in dancer's garb, trembling in the corner.
—
Morning light pierced his eyes. Ai Miao awoke with a pounding headache—and realized something was wrong.
He was naked.
Beside him, the girl sobbed, clutching a blanket around her bare body, eyes filled with terror.
Ai Miao's heart sank. He knew—nothing had happened. No signs of indulgence. His body told him he'd slept through the night.
It was a trap.
A carefully laid scandal, designed to ruin his reputation—and perhaps sever his ties to the Eastern Palace.
Suppressing his fury, he spoke gently. "Don't be afraid. Tell me—who sent you? What did they promise? What did they threaten?"
The girl, moved by his calm, confessed. She was a musician from the pleasure bureau, lured with money and freedom, threatened with harm to her family. Her only task: stay until morning and wait to be "discovered."
Ai Miao understood instantly. The goal wasn't truth—it was optics. Two people. One room. One night.
That was enough.
"Listen," he said, voice low and commanding. "We were both set up. Nothing happened. But if someone walks in now, no one will believe that."
He looked into her frightened eyes. "I'll leave immediately. You'll be escorted out through a hidden passage. If anyone asks, you say you drank too much and slept here alone. You never saw me."
"I'll protect you. Free you. Give you a new life. But if you speak the truth—or admit to anything imagined—"
His gaze sharpened, full of authority. "The people who planned this won't let you live. And I won't be able to save you. Understand?"
She nodded, sobbing harder.
Ai Miao dressed swiftly, cleaned the scene like a battlefield. He summoned his most trusted aide, sent the girl away, and began arranging her freedom and future.
He erased every trace.
But the rumors had already spread—like a plague waiting to be unleashed.
"Deputy Minister Ai Miao, drunk and debauched, spent the night with a courtesan." The tale, embellished and salacious, swept through the capital.
No one needed proof. Just the story.
Ai Miao's carefully crafted truth was powerless against gossip and manipulation.
His reputation—once pristine—was stained beyond repair.
—
The news reached the Eastern Palace during breakfast. Gu Lian dropped his chopsticks. The sound echoed sharply.
He froze. Then, without warning, coughed up blood—splattering his golden robe and untouched meal.
"Your Highness!"
As darkness claimed him, one thought remained: He's tired of me. Yesterday he cast me aside. Today he seeks pleasure. He won't even leave me a shred of illusion.
—
When Gu Lian awoke, he was changed.
The last flicker of light in his eyes had died. Only ash remained.
When Ai Miao entered the palace to plead his case, kneeling before the throne, Gu Lian didn't look at him.
He stared into the void and said to the eunuch: "Tell Minister Ai: matters of personal conduct have been handled. The Eastern Palace need not be sullied further. Dismiss him."
No rage. No questions. No emotion.
It was worse than hatred—it was indifference.
—
Soon after, under pressure, Ai Miao began meeting noblewomen—those who didn't mind his tarnished name.
And so, a wall thicker than any palace barrier rose between them.
Everything they once shared was buried beneath that winter snow.