One map. One mission. One arrow. And a silence that speaks louder than words.
The first grand court assembly of March centered on the governance of Beijing.
"The northern lands have submitted. We should establish counties and dispatch officials to fully integrate them," proposed the Minister of Revenue, a seasoned and cautious man.
The Deputy Minister of War immediately countered: "The people of Beijing are fierce. Sudden reform may provoke unrest. I suggest maintaining the current structure—let Murong Che remain king, and adopt a strategy of indirect rule."
The court split into two camps, arguing fiercely. The Emperor sat in silence, his gaze drifting toward A Lie among the military officials, and Ai Miao among the civil ranks.
"Crown Prince," the Emperor finally spoke. "What is your view?"
All eyes turned to Gu Lian. He stepped forward, tall and composed, his voice steady and clear: "Neither approach is suitable."
He walked to the massive map hanging in the hall, pointing precisely at key border regions between Da Sheng and Beijing.
"To restructure too quickly invites chaos. To maintain the status quo is to nurture a threat. I propose—divide and govern."
He laid out his plan: split Beijing into three military districts, jointly governed by Da Sheng-appointed commanders and local officials; open border trade to encourage integration; and station troops within Beijing to deter unrest.
It balanced autonomy with control—an elegant solution.
"Ai Miao," the Emperor said suddenly. "You spent five years in Beijing. What do you think of the Crown Prince's proposal?"
Ai Miao stepped forward, head bowed. "His Highness's strategy is prudent and well-considered."
"Explain."
"Beijing's tribes are historically divided. Partitioning prevents consolidation. Trade wins hearts. Troops ensure peace." His voice was calm. "However, I suggest pushing the garrison fifty li further north—to the banks of the Heishui River."
Gu Lian moved his finger on the map. "Why?"
"Heishui freezes in winter—easy to cross, hard to defend. Stationing troops there shows sincerity, and allows swift access to the royal court if needed."
The hall fell silent. Everyone heard it: not just political alignment, but a shared understanding. Yet these two men now stood worlds apart.
With the Beijing strategy settled, the Minister of Rites stepped forward. "Your Majesty, I have a memorial. The newly risen Beicang tribe has sent envoys, offering their princess to the Eastern Palace in alliance."
All eyes turned to Gu Lian. He frowned—barely perceptible—then returned to calm.
"Approved," the Emperor declared. "Crown Prince Gu Lian and Deputy Minister Ai Miao shall serve as chief and deputy envoys to escort the princess to the capital."
—
The night before departure, the Eastern Palace's study glowed with candlelight.
Gu Lian reviewed the route and personnel list. He marked key terrain points, crossed out several guards, and replaced them with his most secret and loyal force.
"Ying Qi," he said to the shadows. "Embed your men in the convoy. Hold these positions. Your only task—" he paused, voice cold and resolute, "is to ensure Ai Miao returns alive. He must not know."
"Yes," came the low reply.
Under the same moon, Ai Miao stood by the Privy Council window, studying the same map.
He noticed subtle changes—personnel shifts, a slightly altered route that was safer despite appearing longer.
He closed his eyes, fingers tracing the map. Your Highness… you still…
When he opened them again, they held quiet calculation.
He drafted a new itinerary—more aggressive on the surface, but designed to redirect risk into manageable zones.
He knew it would reach Gu Lian's desk. It was a silent conversation: I know what you're doing. And I accept your protection.
—
The journey north was long and subdued.
The Crown Prince's carriage and the Deputy Minister's followed one another—yet felt separated by mountains.
All official communication passed through aides. They never spoke directly.
Yet whenever the convoy passed treacherous terrain, Gu Lian's gaze would drift—just slightly.
And Ai Miao, in those fleeting glances, felt a faint warmth. Like starlight on an icy plain.
—
One day, the convoy reached the foot of the Cangmang Mountains, near the border of Da Sheng and Beicang. The road was steep, the forest dense.
Suddenly, a signal arrow tore through the air. Dozens of black-clad assassins burst from the woods, heading straight for Ai Miao's carriage.
"Protect the envoys! Form ranks!" A Lie roared, commanding the imperial guard to shield Gu Lian while sending reinforcements toward Ai Miao.
Amid the chaos, a slender figure stayed close to A Lie, sword flashing with deadly precision. Dressed as a common officer, his face hidden beneath a helmet—only calm eyes visible.
One assassin, swift and deadly, broke through the outer defense. His blade lunged toward Ai Miao's back—too fast to stop.
Whsssh—!
A black arrow, gleaming with cold light, shot from Gu Lian's carriage.
Thud! It pierced the assassin's arm, nearly severing it. The sword dropped.
Ai Miao spun around.
Gu Lian stood atop his carriage, ebony bow in hand, face expressionless. As if the arrow had been nothing.
He didn't look at Ai Miao. "Clean it up. Keep moving," he said, as if swatting a fly.
The convoy regrouped and pressed on.
Back in his carriage, Ai Miao's fingers felt cold.
Not from fear—but from the precision of that arrow. It hadn't been instinct. It had been readiness.
He closed his eyes. In his mind, Gu Lian's cold profile overlapped with the passionate youth from five years ago.
Your Highness… if you've chosen to treat me as a stranger, why does your gaze still follow me? Is it lingering affection—or simply duty to a capable minister?
—
That night, the convoy rested at a border post.
Gu Lian sat alone, polishing his ebony bow, fingers tracing the cloud patterns carved into its surface.
A Lie approached with tea. "All handled. They were remnants of the Chiyan faction," he said quietly. "Your Highness, today you…"
Gu Lian interrupted, voice drifting in the wind. "His life still has value."
A Lie looked at the prince's pale, sharp features under moonlight and sighed.
Value? If that's all—why deploy shadow guards? Why draw the bow yourself? Why… did your knuckles turn white from the force of that shot?
Your Highness, you may fool everyone. But can you fool yourself?
—
Back at his quarters, A Lie found the slender guard waiting silently. He handed over a box of medicine.
Only then did A Lie notice a shallow cut on his arm. "Just a scratch," he said, but took the box anyway.
The guard looked up, eyes lingering on the wound. "The general's safety is paramount," he said hoarsely, then quickly lowered his head.
A Lie felt something stir—but fatigue and worry kept him from probing further.
—
Elsewhere in the post, Ai Miao's lamp still burned.
He studied maps of Beijing's remaining factions and Beicang's terrain. The ambush replayed in his mind—along with Gu Lian's cold gaze.
"Chiyan…" he murmured, pointing at a spot near the border. Was this meant to frame Beicang? Or sabotage the marriage alliance?
He picked up his brush, calmly analyzing every possibility.
Gu Lian's arrow had saved his life—but disrupted his plan. He'd intended to use the attack to lure out and eliminate the remnants.
Now… the prince had intervened.
He had to recalculate. The Beicang princess was a major variable. And Gu Lian—what was his true attitude toward her? Toward him?
That night, separated by a single courtyard wall, both men remained awake.
One polished a bow. One studied a map.
But their thoughts circled each other.
The marriage convoy was about to meet the princess.
The real storm was only beginning.