Time: Winter, Yongxi Year 22 (after the victory banquet)
Location: Eastern Palace, Side Hall
Part I: Rumors Like Blades
The warmth of the victory banquet had barely faded when another kind of heat began to spread quietly through the palace.
"Did you hear? His Highness the Crown Prince attended a poetry gathering at Princess Yongjia's estate yesterday—and played a game of Go with Miss Su!"
"That's not all! At the polo match the day before, he personally coached Minister Li's daughter!"
"Looks like the Crown Prince's red thread of fate is finally stirring."
"Well, of course. What of Lord Wen'an's return? He's still a man. His Highness must marry and produce heirs eventually."
The whispers, like winter drafts, slipped through vermilion palace walls and into the Privy Council's study.
Ai Miao sat at his desk, reviewing the household registration reforms for the newly annexed Beijing territories. His brush moved steadily, each character as calm and precise as ever. But when the words "His Highness" and "Miss Su" drifted faintly through the window, his fingers tensed imperceptibly. A drop of ink nearly bled across the page.
Expressionless, he set down his brush, crumpled the page, and fed it to the flame. The fire licked it up, devouring that fleeting moment of lost control.
Part II: A "Chance" Encounter in the Garden
That afternoon, after a fresh snowfall, Gu Lian strolled through the imperial garden—rare leisure. A Lie followed silently a few paces behind.
As they neared the plum grove, they saw Su Wanqing in a crimson palace gown, admiring the blossoms with her maid. Upon seeing Gu Lian, she quickly curtsied, cheeks flushed, her gaze shy and admiring.
"Greetings, Your Highness."
"No need for formality, Miss Su," Gu Lian replied with a slight nod, his tone neutral. But his gaze didn't linger on her. Instead, it drifted toward a side path—where Ai Miao, holding a scroll, had just emerged from the Privy Council, seemingly on his way out of the palace.
Their eyes met briefly in the cold air.
Ai Miao paused, lowered his gaze, and bowed. "Your servant greets Your Highness." His voice was as calm and unreadable as ever.
Gu Lian looked at his lowered lashes, at the respectful yet distant posture. The frustration and ache that had haunted him since Ai Miao's return surged again.
He deliberately turned to Su Wanqing, softening his tone: "This green calyx plum is quite rare. You have a discerning eye, Miss Su."
Su Wanqing blushed, replying softly.
Ai Miao remained bowed, eyes fixed on the trampled snow before his boots. He could feel Gu Lian's gaze—sharp and heavy—pressing into his back. He could hear the not-quite-warm, yet piercingly loud conversation between Gu Lian and Su Wanqing.
After a moment, he straightened and said evenly, "If Your Highness has no further orders, I shall take my leave."
"Mm." Gu Lian didn't turn around. Just a single syllable from his throat.
Ai Miao turned and walked away along the path he came, his figure slender and upright against the snow.
A Lie glanced at Ai Miao's retreating form, then at the Crown Prince's tense profile, and sighed silently.
Part III: The Night Banquet
That night, the Eastern Palace hosted a small banquet. The guests were young nobles and favored officials—including Su Wanqing's brother and two other sons of ministers with eligible daughters.
Music played, wine flowed, and the atmosphere seemed harmonious.
Gu Lian sat at the head, a faint smile on his lips as he accepted toasts. He occasionally spoke with the Su heir, inquiring after Minister Su's health—his tone gentle. It was all a quiet, calculated signal.
Midway through the banquet, Gu Lian excused himself to "change clothes" and stepped out into the corridor. The cold wind hit him, and the wine rose to his head. But the emptiness in his chest only grew clearer.
He leaned against a cold pillar, staring at the snow-covered courtyard.
Soft footsteps approached from behind.
He didn't turn. He knew who it was. In the Eastern Palace, only the shadow guards—or Ai Miao—could walk so freely.
"The Emperor sent a batch of tribute oranges. They're decent. Send some to the Chancellor's residence," he said, staring into the void, voice flat, as if making a casual remark.
A pause. Then Ai Miao's voice, emotionless: "Your servant thanks His Majesty and Your Highness for the gift."
Gu Lian suddenly turned, seized his wrist, and pinned him between the pillar and himself. His breath, laced with wine and anger, brushed Ai Miao's ear.
"You have nothing to say? Hmm? You see me with others, hear the rumors—and you don't care at all?"
Ai Miao, trapped in that narrow space, could feel Gu Lian's heartbeat, his heat. He lowered his eyes, hiding the storm within. His voice was hoarse: "Your Highness is the ruler. I am the servant. Your Highness acts with reason. I… have no right to question it."
"No right?" Gu Lian laughed bitterly. "Is your heart made of stone, Ai Miao?"
He released him suddenly, as if drained. "Go. Enjoy your oranges."
Ai Miao smoothed the wrinkles from his sleeve, bowed deeply, and walked into the darkness. His steps were steady—only the fingers hidden in his sleeve trembled faintly.
Gu Lian watched him go, then slammed his fist into the pillar. Snow fell from the eaves.
Part IV: Oranges and the Game
The next day, a basket of golden tribute oranges arrived at the Chancellor's residence.
Ai Miao stared at them for a long time. He picked one up, fingers sinking into the cool, soft peel. The fresh scent filled the room.
He peeled it slowly, placed a segment in his mouth. It was sweet, juicy—yet inexplicably bitter, stuck in his throat.
He picked up a second orange but didn't eat it. He simply rolled it between his fingers, lost in thought.
Just then, an old servant entered. "My lord, Minister Su has sent an invitation. He requests your presence tomorrow—for a game of chess."
Ai Miao's hand paused. Minister Su… Su Wanqing's father.
He looked out the window at the gray sky. His eyes were calm, but deep within, something froze.
After a long silence, he said softly, "Reply: I will attend at the appointed hour."
He placed the orange—now warm from his touch—gently back into the basket.