Time: Jinghe Year One, a stifling summer night
Location: Imperial Study
Candlelight flickered. Even the chill from the ice basin couldn't dispel the heavy air. Memorials lay scattered across the imperial desk. Gu Lian stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, facing away from Ai Miao. Ai Miao stood in the center of the hall, head slightly bowed, posture still upright—but the fingers hidden in his sleeves had turned faintly white from tension.
Gu Lian's voice was cold, laced with suppressed anger. "…So what you're saying is—this decree I issued to appease the Huainan gentry was a mistake?"
Ai Miao's tone was calm to the point of rigidity. "Your Majesty is the sovereign and acts with full authority. I would never presume. I merely believe that the Huainan gentry have long been guilty of land annexation and population concealment. This decree may be overly lenient, emboldening them further and disheartening the reformist officials."
Gu Lian turned sharply, eyes like lightning. "Dishearten them? Ai Miao, is that all you see now—your reforms, your laws? Do you not understand the chaos that would erupt if we press Huainan too hard right now? The northern border has only just stabilized. The treasury is still recovering. This is a time for caution, not upheaval. Do you not see that?"
Ai Miao lifted his gaze, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes like a drawn blade. "I do understand. And precisely because I understand, I believe we must act decisively. Yield an inch today, and they'll take a mile tomorrow. Your Majesty, indecision is the greatest peril in governance."
"Indecision?" That word struck like a blade. Gu Lian stepped forward, closing the distance, voice grinding through clenched teeth. "So in your eyes, my deliberation—my caution—is indecision? Ai Miao, do you truly believe that only you see clearly, only you hold the perfect strategy? That without your counsel, this emperor cannot take a single step?"
The words were too harsh.
Ai Miao's body swayed almost imperceptibly. His face paled. He lowered his head abruptly, hiding the pain that surged in his eyes. When he looked up again, he had already returned to the composed, impenetrable Lord Wen'an.
"I have never thought so," he said, voice steady but tinged with a faint rasp. "Your Majesty is the ruler. I am the subject. What I speak is merely my duty. If Your Majesty deems it overstepping… I have no defense."
He bowed deeply, and turned to leave.
"Stop." Gu Lian's voice cracked through the air. His chest rose and fell sharply. He stared at Ai Miao's impassive face, the way he sealed away all emotion behind perfect decorum. A wave of anger, grievance, and helplessness surged in his chest.
He would rather Ai Miao argue with him, fight him—anything but this. Anything but this cold, formal wall of protocol he could not breach.
"Ai Miao… must we speak like this?" Gu Lian's voice softened, tinged with fatigue and a trace of pleading.
Ai Miao froze. Back still turned, shoulders taut. He didn't look back.
Silence stretched between them—more suffocating than the argument.
After a long pause, Ai Miao drew a quiet breath. His voice was barely audible:
"Your Highness… you know I would never think you need me."
"It's I… who cannot be without you."
The words struck like a soft arrow, piercing through all of Gu Lian's armor. He froze.
Ai Miao slowly turned. His eyes, usually calm as deep water, now shimmered with a rare vulnerability and stubbornness.
"Precisely because I can't be without you… I cannot watch you take a single misstep. Even if… it means you'll come to resent me."
The moment the words left his mouth, Ai Miao himself faltered. The memory of that rainy night in Yongxi Year Seventeen surged back— The young crown prince, soaked to the bone, clutching his hand to his chest, begging incoherently for a promise. Back then, he had feared too—feared that those broken eyes would go dark forever.
And now…
Gu Lian couldn't speak. He looked at Ai Miao's reddened eyes, his tightly pressed lips. He saw, beneath the mask of composure, a different kind of fear—deeper, older.
The fire in his chest was drowned in a flood of aching tenderness.
He stepped forward, reached out to touch Ai Miao's cheek— Only for Ai Miao to instinctively turn away.
His hand froze midair.
Gu Lian's gaze dimmed, but he didn't withdraw. Instead, he gently cupped Ai Miao's face, forcing him to meet his eyes.
"No one could ever resent you. Least of all me." His voice was low and hoarse, but resolute. "That night in the rain, I begged for you. Now, even with the world in my hands—I still beg for you. So never speak of 'resentment' again. You and this empire… both belong to me. And I will never let go."
His thumb brushed Ai Miao's cheek, gaze steady. He seemed to weigh the Huainan situation, the court's balance, and the clarity of Ai Miao's plan.
"…Fine." He exhaled. "Huainan will be handled your way. Tomorrow, I'll issue the decree. But Ai Miao…"
He leaned in, foreheads nearly touching.
"Next time, don't say 'I have no defense.' And don't you dare turn your back on me. If you have something to say—say it. Even if it ends in shouting. Understood?"
Ai Miao felt the heat of his palm, saw his own reflection in Gu Lian's eyes—small, vulnerable. His defenses cracked. He closed his eyes, nodded faintly, throat tightening.
"…Mm."
The storm dissolved into silent spring rain, soaking the unspoken grievances and love between them.
The air in the study loosened, leaving behind a quiet blend of tenderness and exhaustion. Gu Lian's hand still cradled Ai Miao's face, thumb unconsciously stroking the faint shadows beneath his eyes.
"Tired?" His voice was low, tinged with regret. Only now did he truly see the weariness etched into Ai Miao's features.
Ai Miao didn't deny it. He simply turned his head slightly, avoiding the gaze that saw too much. "Your Majesty… the details of Huainan—"
"Tomorrow." Gu Lian cut him off, tone firm. He released his face, took his wrist instead—still cool to the touch. "That's enough for tonight. You need rest."
Just then, the sound of rain began—soft at first, then pouring down in sheets, drumming against the glazed tiles.
Gu Lian tilted his head, listening. Then looked at Ai Miao. "With rain this heavy, you're not going anywhere." His voice held a hint of relief, and something quietly possessive.
Ai Miao glanced at the dark, rain-soaked night outside. Leaving the palace now would be impractical—and would draw too much attention. He said nothing, but his silence was consent.
Gu Lian's lips curved ever so slightly. He led Ai Miao past the imperial desk, toward the eastern warm chamber connected to the study. It was his private resting space—less formal, more intimate.
The attendants had already prepared hot water and clean nightclothes, then quietly withdrawn, leaving the room to the two of them.
"Go bathe. Wash off the chill." Gu Lian handed him a set of soft, white sleepwear, the gesture so natural it felt like he'd done it a hundred times.
Ai Miao held the clothes, hesitating. He'd stayed in the palace before, but nights like this—after arguments—always stirred something complicated in him. Was it closeness? Unease? Or the quiet surrender of falling into warmth?
"Still thinking about Huainan?" Gu Lian misread his hesitation, voice gentling. "I said tomorrow. Ai Miao, even your brilliant mind needs rest."
Ai Miao shook his head and finally moved toward the bathing room. Warm water could ease the fatigue—but not the ache of being seen so clearly, and still accepted.
When he returned, steam still clinging to his skin, Gu Lian had changed into sleepwear and was reclining on a cushioned bench by the window, reading by candlelight. The rain outside made the room feel even quieter.
Seeing him, Gu Lian set the book aside and patted the space beside him. "Come here."
Ai Miao walked over but didn't sit immediately.
Gu Lian reached out, tugged his wrist gently, guiding him down onto the soft cushion.
Then, with practiced ease, began massaging his temples.
"Still so tense?" His touch was firm yet warm. "Earlier… I spoke too harshly."
Ai Miao stiffened slightly, then slowly relaxed under the pressure. He closed his eyes, long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks.
"I was… stubborn." His voice was low, tinged with post-bath drowsiness and quiet concession.
Gu Lian chuckled, breath brushing his ear. "Good. Next time, don't give me that cold Wen'an face. I'd rather you argue with me like you did back in Yongxi Year Sixteen—over those maps."
Mentioning their youth softened Ai Miao's lips into a faint curve. Back then, their clashes were wrapped in protocol but driven by reckless passion. Now, the fire remained—but buried under heavier chains.
"I wouldn't dare," he murmured, though the distance in his tone had faded.
"You? Not dare?" Gu Lian snorted, hands still moving. "You never hesitate to challenge me."
Ai Miao didn't reply. The steam from the bath seemed to linger in his eyes, softening their usual clarity. He leaned back slightly, letting more of his weight rest against Gu Lian.
Outside, the rain had quieted to a gentle patter—like a lover's whisper.
Gu Lian stopped massaging and wrapped his arms around him from behind, chin resting atop his damp hair. He inhaled the faint scent of soap.
"Ai Miao," he said, voice clear in the hush of the rainy night, "The empire is heavy. But not as heavy as you."
Ai Miao's heart clenched. He closed his eyes, placed his hand over Gu Lian's, fingers cool.
"So it is for me," he whispered, returning the embrace.
The night was long, but the distance between them had vanished. Some arguments aren't about right or wrong—they're about letting buried feelings find a way out. And after the storm, the bond becomes stronger.
Gu Lian's embrace was warm and steady, like a harbor shielding them from the world. Ai Miao let himself sink into it, his nerves finally unwinding.
He could feel Gu Lian's heartbeat—strong and steady—through the thin layers of fabric, gradually syncing with his own.
"Still angry?" Gu Lian's voice came from above, tentative, almost sheepish. Gone was the imperial authority—he sounded like a boy who'd said something wrong and now came to make amends.
Ai Miao shook his head slightly, hair brushing Gu Lian's jaw. He wasn't angry. What he felt was something deeper—an unsettling helplessness.
He could calculate the affairs of the realm, but he hadn't foreseen how much one harsh sentence from this man could shake him. That loss of control… was more terrifying than any political attack.
"I'm not angry," he said softly. Then paused. Unable to hold back the lingering ache, he added, voice muffled: "But… Your Majesty's words—'cannot take a single step without you'—cut deep."
Gu Lian's arms tightened around him, filled with remorse. "That was my fault," he said without hesitation. "I was angry. I misspoke. I apologize."
He gently turned Ai Miao to face him, letting their eyes meet. "Ai Miao, you know this empire cannot run without your counsel. But more than that… I cannot run without you."
His gaze was too sincere, too direct—like sunlight breaking through clouds. Ai Miao almost wanted to look away. But he didn't. He simply stared back, his ink-dark eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight, revealing a quiet vulnerability.
"Your Majesty," he said slowly, voice barely above a whisper, "Precisely because I know you need me… I fear that one day, what began as a desperate need on a rainy night… might become a calculated sacrifice in a grand design."
It was the fear he had never voiced. The fear of being too indispensable. Of becoming a threat. Of being cast aside when the cost outweighed the benefit.
Gu Lian froze. He had never imagined that Ai Miao—so composed, so brilliant—carried such a fear.
He thought trust and power were enough. But he had forgotten that Ai Miao's mind, so attuned to strategy, was also attuned to danger.
A wave of tenderness surged through him. He pulled Ai Miao into a fierce embrace, voice low and burning:
"There will be no sacrifice. Never. You are my Privy Minister, my Lord Wen'an, the one I chose. You are part of this empire, part of me. How could I divide us? How could I choose?"
He cupped Ai Miao's face, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Listen to me. If that day ever comes…" He paused, gaze sharp and unwavering. "I would rather betray the world—than betray you."
The words were too bold, too dangerous. They defied every principle of a wise ruler.
Ai Miao's pupils contracted. He instinctively reached up to cover Gu Lian's mouth. "Your Majesty! Mind your words!"
Gu Lian caught his hand, pressed it to his chest. "Feel this. It holds only two things: you and the empire. And you… come first."
Ai Miao's fingers trembled. He felt the heartbeat beneath his palm—strong, unyielding, full of conviction.
All his logic, all his caution, crumbled.
He closed his eyes, leaned forward, and rested his forehead against Gu Lian's. Their breaths mingled, uneven.
"…I understand," he whispered hoarsely. Four simple words—heavier than any vow.
Gu Lian knew: this was the most solemn promise Ai Miao could give.
Outside, the rain had stopped. Only the occasional drip remained, soft and clear.
Gu Lian kissed his hair again. "Sleep. Tomorrow… we face the court."
Ai Miao didn't speak of politics. He simply let himself be held, sinking into the warmth.
His body, his mind, finally relaxed.
Gu Lian didn't sleep right away. He watched Ai Miao's sleeping face in the dim candlelight, fingers gently smoothing the crease between his brows.
He knew the road ahead would still be long. The court would still be full of conflict. Their ideals might clash again.
But it didn't matter.
As long as this man was in his arms, he had the courage to face any storm.