（From Gu Lian's Perspective）
I. The Shadow That Lost Control
Winter, Year 17 of Yongxi. One month after Ai Miao's departure.
Gu Lian listened expressionlessly to the shadow guard's report: "Lord Ai Miao has arrived safely in Beijing's capital and is temporarily residing in the embassy."
"You may go," the Crown Prince said, voice devoid of emotion.
The guard hesitated, then added, "His Majesty instructed us only to ensure Lord Ai Miao's safety. No further—"
"I know." Gu Lian cut him off, fingers unconsciously brushing the familiar handwriting on a memorial—Ai Miao's last review before leaving the capital. "Dismissed."
Once the study door closed, Gu Lian hurled the memorial to the floor. He knew his father's warnings. He knew he shouldn't care too much. But he couldn't help it.
Ai Miao's "voluntary resignation for the sake of his ideals" was too perfect—like a well-rehearsed play. He should believe it. Ai Miao had always been rational to the point of cruelty. But a voice inside him screamed: He didn't believe it. He didn't believe that years of companionship could be severed so easily.
"Shadow Seven," he called softly into the dark.
A figure knelt silently.
"Go to Beijing," Gu Lian said, voice tight with emotion. "I want to know everything. But he must never know."
He needed proof—any trace—that Ai Miao hadn't left willingly.
II. The Ai Miao in the Reports
(Winter Year 17 – Year 18)
Every ten days, a secret report appeared on Gu Lian's desk.
At first, the contents were brief:
"Lord Ai Miao visited Prince Murong Che."
"Met with tribal leaders."
"Survived an assassination attempt—minor injury to left arm, resolved."
Gu Lian crushed his teacup upon reading "assassination." He nearly summoned Ai Miao back immediately, but instead wrote one word on the reply: "Investigate."
Later, the reports grew more detailed:
"Lord Ai Miao dislikes local cuisine, has lost weight."
"Prefers Huizhou ink; Beijing's supply is poor, often frowns while reviewing documents."
"Seems sensitive to cold; uses more charcoal than others. Often seen staring at an old purple bamboo brush, polishing it frequently."
These trivial details became Gu Lian's only comfort in five years of gloom. He imagined Ai Miao enduring discomfort, warming himself by the fire, reviewing documents under dim light. It hurt—but it also reassured him. Ai Miao wasn't thriving. Maybe… he missed the warmth of the capital too.
III. Storms and Portraits
(Year 19 of Yongxi)
Spring brought a major report: "Prince Murong Jue has died. Lord Ai Miao helped Prince Murong Che secure control of the capital's defenses. With tribal support, Murong Che ascended the throne on the seventh day of mourning. Opposition suppressed."
Gu Lian stared at the report. Ai Miao had done it—swiftly, decisively.
In autumn, a flat brocade box arrived. Inside was a scroll. Unrolled, it revealed Ai Miao in Beijinger robes, standing among exotic trees, gaze distant, features colder and sharper than in the capital.
"Where did this come from?" Gu Lian asked, voice icy.
"Your Highness, the Beijing king commissioned a court painter to portray Lord Ai Miao. It hangs in his study. We bribed an attendant and described Ai Miao's features to replicate it."
Gu Lian's eyes landed on a line in the corner: "Painted by the Beijing court artist, gifted to His Majesty as a keepsake."
Keepsake. His Ai Miao—turned into someone else's cherished memory?
Gu Lian silently rolled up the scroll and locked it in a sandalwood box deep in his chamber—beside a jade pendant Ai Miao had once left behind.
One was a hidden teenage affection. The other, a replica built from stolen glimpses. Both were Ai Miao. Both were fragments of five years he couldn't piece together.
IV. Stability and Undercurrents
(Years 20–21 of Yongxi)
In the twentieth year of Yongxi, reports showed Ai Miao assisting Murong Che in consolidating power, purging opposition, and reforming internal governance. But they also brought news that made Gu Lian deeply uneasy:
"Princess Murong (Che's elder sister) has invited Lord Ai Miao to several hunts, seemingly fond of him."
"The Beijing King and Lord Ai Miao frequently engage in late-night policy discussions."
"A prominent noble family seeks to marry into Lord Ai Miao's line to secure their standing."
Fondness. Late-night talks. Marriage. Each word stabbed Gu Lian like a needle.
He began losing sleep, climbing palace walls at night to stare at the northern stars. Was the princess truly so radiant? What did Murong Che and Ai Miao talk about through the night? Had Ai Miao… truly opened his heart to someone else?
This jealousy grew like a poisonous vine, silently wrapping around his chest. His brushstrokes on the reports grew sharper:
"Track the princess's every move."
"Record all conversations between Murong Che and Ai Miao. Reconstruct them if possible."
But deeper than jealousy was shame. He saw Ai Miao commanding the court in Beijing, shining with brilliance— while he himself relied on shadows and schemes, calculating and grasping.
He hated this version of himself. Yet he couldn't stop.
He even considered sabotaging the marriage proposals. Shadow Seven had a plan ready. But just as he was about to approve it, Gu Lian waved the guards away.
He couldn't bind Ai Miao with manipulation. He wanted Ai Miao to return willingly— even if that meant losing him forever.
On Ai Miao's birthday that year, Gu Lian collapsed drunk in his chamber, whispering into the void: "Ai Miao… have you truly stopped wanting me?"
In the twenty-first year, reports focused on Beijing's internal power struggles and foreign diplomacy. Ai Miao remained at the center of the storm:
"Lord Ai Miao led the decisive defeat of the rebel Red Flame Tribe."
"He brokered alliances with three neighboring clans, cutting off external support for opposition."
"He reformed Beijing's tax system, increasing revenue by 30%. A third of this flows to Da Sheng under the guise of 'alliance tribute.' Beijing's reliance on Da Sheng deepens."
Personal gossip faded. Gu Lian's jealousy cooled—only to be replaced by deeper fear.
He saw Ai Miao weaving a vast web, binding Beijing's future to Da Sheng, and himself to that land. Ai Miao was no longer just a strategist. He was becoming Beijing's pillar.
Then came the line that shattered Gu Lian:
"Murong Che once said to his attendants: 'To have Ai Miao is like a fish in water. I am blessed in this life.'"
Fish in water. Blessed in this life.
Gu Lian read it again and again. It wasn't romance that terrified him anymore. It was trust. It was the kind of bond built on absolute reliance and mutual understanding.
Murong Che gave Ai Miao what Gu Lian couldn't: A stage without suspicion. A throne without chains.
Ai Miao was no longer just his. He was Beijing's "national treasure."
Gu Lian's pride collapsed. He couldn't wait anymore.
"I know this is despicable," he whispered to the empty hall. "If you knew, you'd despise me.""But I'd rather be hated than lose you completely."
So, at year's end, Gu Lian issued subtle orders:
Tightened trade routes for iron and salt.
Stirred minor border conflicts.
Sent ambiguous signals to Beijing's remaining rebels.
His plan: Make Beijing stable—but not perfect. Enough to highlight Ai Miao's success. Not enough for him to stay.
He paved the road for Ai Miao's return. He became the player—not just the watcher.
But on Ai Miao's birthday, drunk again, he whispered: "Ai Miao… I've cleared the path. Will you hate me for it?"
V. Homecoming and Hesitation
(Year 22 of Yongxi)
Autumn. The report finally came:
"Beijing is secure. Lord Ai Miao has bid farewell. He will return soon."
Five years. He was coming back.
Joy turned to dread. Gu Lian ordered new robes, studied his reflection, asked for remedies to hide fatigue.
He longed for reunion—yet feared it. Feared Ai Miao's distant eyes. Feared hearing "Your Highness" again. Feared it had all been for nothing.
He redecorated Ai Miao's old quarters—then ordered it all removed. Too revealing. Too desperate.
The palace grew tense. Servants tiptoed, afraid of the Crown Prince's shifting moods.
Final Chapter: Dust Settled
When Ai Miao finally knelt before him, Gu Lian barely held his composure.
But after the celebration, Ai Miao's formal detachment broke Gu Lian's last defenses. He summoned him to a side hall.
Five years of longing, pain, jealousy, and fear erupted.
He wanted to shout: "You're cold. You're thinner. You still keep that brush." But he swallowed the words. Even he knew—using stolen glimpses to demand love was pathetic.
Ai Miao's cold dismissal—calling his feelings "naïve"—was the cruelest cut.
Only later, after deeper trials and revelations, did Gu Lian understand:
Ai Miao had never left him. The hunts, the talks, the proposals—were tactics, not betrayals. The brush, the charcoal, the ink—were silent tokens of memory.
His "watching" was never one-sided.
Postscript
After ascending the throne, Gu Lian one day sorted through Ai Miao's belongings from Beijing.
In the depths of a travel satchel, he found a leather-bound notebook.
Inside was Ai Miao's familiar handwriting—notes on Beijing's politics, geography, and scattered private thoughts:
"Northern cold worsens old injuries. Grateful for the balm His Highness once gifted."
"Murong Che consulted me past midnight. Exhausting. If His Highness were here, he'd frown."
"Heard of His Highness scolding ministers again. Temper unchanged. Must return soon."
The final page, ink darker than the rest, read:
"Return date confirmed. Five years apart. Nearing home, heart unsettled."
The date matched the day Gu Lian had stood before his mirror, adjusting his collar, heart in turmoil.
As Gu Lian traced the words, his gaze froze.
The page's edge bore a faint scorch mark—fragile, deliberate.
Beside it, a subtle ink mark—coded, known only to them.
In that moment, Gu Lian understood.
Ai Miao had known. Had felt the same heartbeat across five years and ten thousand miles.
The notebook wasn't forgotten. It had hovered near flame—surviving a war between reason and feeling.
That mark was Ai Miao's final gift: A quiet, coded, mutual confession.
The whispers Gu Lian had clung to— were never stolen. They were given.