What begins as loyalty becomes a game of nations—and Gu Lian is no longer the only player.
The training grounds shimmered with dust, sunlight, and the scent of sweat—an atmosphere brimming with youthful energy.
A Lie had been waiting, a red-tasseled spear planted firmly at his side. Upon seeing them, his sun-darkened face broke into a bright, unguarded smile. He strode forward with the confident gait of a warrior's son and saluted with practiced ease. "Your Highness! Ai Miao!"
"No need for formality in private," Gu Lian said with a smile, lightly gesturing in return. His gaze swept over the sweat on A Lie's brow and the taut lines of his muscles. "You've clearly been training hard."
"Your praise is too generous!" A Lie replied, voice booming. Then he turned eagerly to Ai Miao, eyes full of trust. "Ai Miao, about what you said yesterday—'power must reach the tip of the spear, and intent must follow form'—I've been thinking about it all night. Something feels different today. Can you take a look?"
Ai Miao nodded slightly, his gaze settling on the spear. "Show me the opening form of 'Piercing Clouds.'"
A Lie's spirit surged. He inhaled deeply, grounding his stance, and the spear shot forward like a dragon breaking the surface. The red tassel flared like fire, and his raw strength and youthful ferocity burst forth. Gu Lian watched with admiration—this loyal companion would one day be the unmatched general who carved new borders for the empire.
Ai Miao observed quietly, then spoke. "Your momentum is strong, and your footing steadier than yesterday. But the rhythm of transition between offense and defense can improve. The seventh move appears aggressive, but it's actually a setup for the next defensive stance. Focus more on the flow between forms."
He stood calmly, eyes sharp, tracking every nuance. "Remember—illusion and reality coexist. The true killing strike often hides in the quiet shift."
A Lie adjusted accordingly, paying close attention to the transitions. As he practiced again, the spear's movements became smoother, more fluid. His face lit up with respect. "I understand now! Thank you, Ai Miao!"
Watching them, Gu Lian felt the unease stirred by the hostage prince's arrival begin to fade. Yes—Ai Miao was still Ai Miao. His gaze lingered on martial technique, his loyalty unwavering. That moment of strangeness must have been Gu Lian's own overreaction to unfamiliarity.
But the comfort didn't last.
In the days that followed, Gu Lian began to notice subtle shifts in Ai Miao—changes too consistent to be imagined.
Ai Miao still arrived punctually for study, still offered quiet guidance when Gu Lian stumbled under the tutor's questioning, still fulfilled his duties with calm reliability. Yet Gu Lian sensed part of Ai Miao's mind drifting elsewhere. He paid unusual attention when lessons turned to the geography and customs of the northern lands, fingers tapping the desk unconsciously. During afternoon walks, his steps often veered toward the secluded paths leading to the western quarters.
More troubling, Ai Miao's solo excursions increased. Sometimes he left early, citing research into ancient border strategies. Other times, he vanished after lessons without explanation.
A creeping anxiety took root in Gu Lian's heart—not the kind he felt with A Lie, whose loyalty was shared freely—but something sharper, more possessive. Like a beast guarding its territory, he couldn't bear the thought of Ai Miao's attention being divided.
Finally, when Ai Miao once again left early claiming to visit the archives, Gu Lian dismissed his attendants and followed in secret.
Ai Miao didn't go to the archives.
His figure slipped through rarely used palace gates, past a neglected lotus pond, and into the western quarters—the "hostage compound," a place forgotten by splendor. The air was cooler here, the buildings faded, the gardens overgrown.
Gu Lian hid behind a moon gate's rockery, holding his breath.
Ai Miao entered a quiet courtyard. On the stone steps sat a boy in worn northern robes, knees drawn to his chest, staring at a half-played game of chess. It was the hostage prince Gu Lian had seen days earlier.
Ai Miao didn't approach immediately. He stood in the shadows, pulled out a small leather notebook and charcoal pencil, and scribbled quickly. Only after a long pause did he step forward.
"You misplayed that move," Ai Miao said, pointing at the board. "If you go here, the rest of the path collapses."
The boy—Murong Che—startled, eyes wide with panic. Gu Lian saw his face clearly for the first time: pale, almost sickly, but with one striking feature—heterochromatic eyes, one blue, one brown. In the dappled sunlight, they gleamed like two uncut gems from distant stars.
Murong Che tried to rise and bow, but Ai Miao stopped him with a simple gesture. "This isn't court. No need for ceremony." He sat opposite, moved a piece, and revived the board.
Then Ai Miao looked up at the narrow slice of sky above the palace wall. "They say in the north, people with unusual eyes can see things others can't."
Murong Che trembled, lips parted, a flush rising to his cheeks. He seemed on the verge of speaking, but no words came. Yet something in his gaze shifted—like ripples disturbing still water.
That evening, Ai Miao returned to the Prime Minister's estate. His father's attendant was waiting. "Young Master, the Prime Minister requests your presence."
Ai Miao straightened his robes and followed.
In the study, Prime Minister Ai Wen sat behind a rosewood desk, turning a jade paperweight in his hand. His expression was unreadable. "I hear you've been visiting the hostage quarters?"
Ai Miao bowed. "Yes. I find the northern prince… unusual."
"Oh? How so?"
"Unremarkable in appearance, but resilient. He hides his strengths well. Especially his eyes—I believe they match the ancient records of 'Starfall Eyes.' If so, he may be… worth shaping."
Ai Wen paused, then spoke slowly. "You see this potential. I'm pleased. But shaping a rough stone requires more than one hand." He set down the jade. "In one hour, you'll accompany me to the palace. His Majesty wishes to see you."
Ai Miao's heart jolted. He hadn't expected his quiet actions to reach imperial ears.
In the imperial study, the scent of dragon incense lingered. Emperor Yongxi wore simple black robes, yet his presence was commanding. He dismissed the Prime Minister, leaving only Ai Miao.
"No need for formality," the emperor said, voice calm but probing. "Your father tells me you're quite interested in the hostage prince."
Ai Miao took a deep breath and explained his observations—Murong Che's restraint, the legend of the Starfall Eyes, and his belief that guiding such a person could benefit the empire.
The emperor listened in silence, fingers tapping the desk. When Ai Miao finished, he spoke. "Your thoughts show promise. But they're still a child's view—too narrow."
Ai Miao stiffened.
The emperor rose and walked to a massive map of the realm, eyes settling on the vast northern lands. "You see a person. I see a nation. You think of shaping a stone. I think of using that stone to shatter the gates of Beijing."
Ai Miao held his breath.
The emperor turned, gaze sharp. "I'll give you this chance. You may continue your contact. I'll authorize access to records and provide… certain conveniences. But this is a long game. It demands patience and precision. Are you capable?"
A surge of heat rose in Ai Miao's chest. He knelt, voice firm. "I will give everything, Your Majesty."
"Good." The emperor nodded. "This is a matter of state. Absolute secrecy is required. I care only for results. You may go."
Outside, the evening breeze cooled Ai Miao's sweat-soaked back. He looked toward the western quarters. What had begun as curiosity was now a mission—one sanctioned by the throne.
Days later, in the Eastern Palace study, Gu Lian finally asked: "Ai Miao… why do you keep visiting that hostage prince?"
Ai Miao was shelving books. He didn't pause. "His Majesty asked for my opinion. I gave it."
Gu Lian's fingers tightened around a fine brush. "Father? Why would he care?"
"He believes the boy may become a key piece in future plans against the north."
Gu Lian froze. He hadn't expected the emperor to take notice.
Ai Miao's gaze deepened. "His Majesty has allowed me to observe and guide him. Don't you think… planting a seed in a place everyone overlooks, and watching it grow into a towering tree, is worth the effort? Especially with imperial blessing?"
Gu Lian stared, stunned. Ai Miao's interest in Murong Che was no longer personal—it was strategic, imperial. Gu Lian had walked a path paved in gold, unaware of the abyss beneath. And Ai Miao—his closest companion—was calmly building a bridge across it.
A mix of shock, loss, and exclusion gripped Gu Lian's heart.
Ai Miao saw the turmoil on Gu Lian's face—shock, confusion, and a storm of emotions he could no longer hide. But he offered no further explanation. He simply bowed, calm and precise, then turned and walked away. His robes brushed the threshold as he stepped out, heading toward the chessboard he'd been granted permission to play—one that now involved a nation.
Gu Lian remained alone in the grand, sunlit study. Outside, spring light poured in, dazzling and warm. But for the first time, he felt a chill seep into his bones.
The world he had taken pride in—the one built on loyalty, clarity, and control—was beginning to crack. And the person he trusted most was already walking a path he could no longer follow.