Time: Shortly after the "scandal case," during Ai Miao's arranged meetings with eligible noblewomen
Location: A refined teahouse in the capital
The private room was scented with faint orchid incense. Outside, the streets bustled, but the atmosphere inside remained heavy and still.
Ai Miao sat by the window in pale moon-colored robes, his features strikingly elegant, though his eyes were veiled in fatigue and detachment. Across from him sat Miss Liu, daughter of the Assistant Minister of Personnel. Graceful and well-mannered, she clearly admired the young, handsome Vice Minister of the Privy Council—especially one favored by the court (or so outsiders believed). She even showed unusual "understanding" toward his recent scandal.
"Lord Ai Miao needn't concern himself with such baseless rumors," she said gently, voice full of considerate warmth. "A man's true worth lies in his achievements. A few youthful indiscretions—what are they, really?" Her cheeks flushed, the implication clear.
Ai Miao lowered his gaze to the tea leaves swirling in his cup, his heart cold and numb. He knew exactly what Miss Liu admired: his promising future and the power of the Chancellor's household behind him. As for who he truly was—his heart, his truth—it mattered little. That realization brought a deep weariness… and bitter self-mockery.
He was about to offer some polite, meaningless excuse to end the meeting when the door burst open without warning.
A gust of cold wind swept in.
Gu Lian stood at the threshold, dressed in dark robes, tall and imposing, his expression stormy. He had clearly rushed over—his hair still carried the chill of the outdoors. The eyes that once held sunlight or fire now glinted with icy fury. His gaze sliced past Miss Liu and locked onto Ai Miao.
Miss Liu paled, scrambling to her feet. "Y-Your Highness…"
Gu Lian didn't spare her a glance. He walked toward Ai Miao, each step heavy with suffocating pressure.
Ai Miao slowly rose to meet his gaze, emotions churning. Embarrassment, exhaustion—and a flicker of pain he hadn't expected. So he does care. Enough to come storming in like this.
"Your Highness…" he began.
"So," Gu Lian cut him off, voice cold as ice, laced with undisguised sarcasm, "Lord Ai seems determined to live up to his 'scandalous' reputation. One case unresolved, and already seeking new companionship? Or perhaps…" He stepped closer, eyes blazing, "…the Vice Minister believes this palace—or I—can no longer contain him, and he must find a softer place to land?"
Each word was a poisoned needle, stabbing deep. Ai Miao knew Gu Lian was retaliating—for the silent departure, the scandal, the calm acceptance of this matchmaking farce.
Miss Liu trembled, face drained of color.
Ai Miao closed his eyes briefly, forcing down the surge of emotion. When he opened them again, they were calm—desolate. He avoided Gu Lian's gaze, bowed slightly, and replied in the most formal, detached tone: "Your Highness misunderstands. I am here at my mother's request, hosting Miss Liu. If Your Highness has no further business, we shall not disturb your leisure."
He emphasized "at my mother's request" and "we," pulling their relationship back to the cold distance of ruler and subject.
Gu Lian was enraged by this wall of indifference. He stared at Ai Miao's lowered lashes—so different from the vulnerable, misty-eyed figure in his dreams. This cold, composed official felt like a stranger.
A storm of pain, anger, and helplessness surged in his chest. He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, then spat out a bitter laugh:
"Fine. Enjoy your 'leisure,' Lord Ai."
He turned sharply, his dark robes slicing through the air, slamming the door behind him.
Silence fell. The orchid scent lingered—but its warmth had soured.
Ai Miao remained bowed for a long moment. Only when the footsteps faded did he straighten and say quietly to Miss Liu: "Miss Liu, I apologize for today. I'll take my leave."
He didn't look at her again. He walked out into the noisy streets, sunlight glaring, but he felt only cold.
Gu Lian's wounded, furious eyes burned in his mind.
He knew the rift between them had deepened. And under the Empress's warnings and his family's expectations, he didn't even have the right to explain.
This matchmaking had become a farce—fuel to Gu Lian's fire, salt to Ai Miao's wounds.
Ai Miao didn't return to the Chancellor's estate or the Privy Council. He wandered aimlessly through the crowd, haunted by Gu Lian's eyes.
He knew it was a misunderstanding—Gu Lian's words born of pain and panic. But they still cut deep, like a dull blade carving into an already broken heart.
He remembered the night before leaving the capital—how Gu Lian clung to him in the steamy bath, demanding he return soon, stay away from Murong Che. He had promised, knowing it was a farewell.
Now he returned branded a traitor, and Gu Lian saw him… rushing into marriage.
How ironic. How tragic.
He couldn't even say, "I never intended to marry." It would sound like a lie.
Meanwhile, Gu Lian stormed back to the Eastern Palace.
He kicked over the incense burner. Ash scattered like his chaotic thoughts.
"A fine 'mother's request'! A fine 'hosting Miss Liu'!" he growled, chest heaving. He saw Ai Miao's cold face, Miss Liu's shy smile— So he's eager to marry, to erase the past?
The scandal, the rescued courtesan—proof that Ai Miao could accept women. Now this matchmaking felt like a final blow.
Had five years of intimacy, whispered nights, meant less than a conventional marriage?
Had Ai Miao grown tired of their forbidden love?
Jealousy, rage, abandonment— The emotions twisted like poison, burning through his reason.
He grabbed a jade brush—Ai Miao's old favorite. He nearly smashed it, but instead gripped it tightly, letting the cold bite into his palm.
The incident spread like wildfire through the capital's elite circles—and reached the palace.
The Emperor snorted, telling his eunuch: "Seems the Chancellor knows how to guide his son. Let the Crown Prince rage. He'll learn."
To him, it was a lesson in letting go.
The Empress sighed. "This child… it's hard for him too. Let them be. Only through this chaos will they see each other clearly—and see the world for what it is."
At the Chancellor's estate, Ai Miao faced his father's scolding with closed eyes. "Father, it's done. Let it rest. I'm… tired."
He couldn't speak of Gu Lian's reaction. It would only worsen things.
Seeing his son's pale face and weary eyes, the Chancellor swallowed his anger and sighed.
This rushed, awkward matchmaking was like a stone thrown into a frozen lake. No ripples of joy—only deeper cracks in the ice.
It became a fresh, bleeding scar between Gu Lian and Ai Miao. For a long time, any mention of it would bring unbearable pain.
Only much later, when all misunderstandings had cleared, when Gu Lian stood atop Lingyun Pavilion with the decree naming Ai Miao as consort, would he whisper, voice hoarse with relief:
"Thank heaven… you never married anyone else."
And Ai Miao would simply hold his hand tighter, letting silence mend the wounds that day had carved into both their hearts.