Gu Lian begins to feel the weight of comparison—between himself and the hostage prince—and realizes that Ai Miao's attention is no longer his alone.
The twilight scene lingered in Gu Lian's mind for days. He remembered Ai Miao's calm gaze, Murong Che's glowing eyes as he clutched the book, and the vague frustration that had settled in his chest.
That morning, as Gu Lian entered the study hall with Ai Miao and A Lie, he noticed someone already seated in the far corner.
Murong Che.
Dressed in slightly oversized Da Sheng robes, he sat with rigid posture, head bowed as he carefully copied calligraphy. Morning light streamed through the lattice window, casting a soft glow on his lowered face. His heterochromatic eyes were hidden beneath trembling lashes.
Gu Lian's steps faltered, barely perceptible. Ai Miao, however, walked to his seat as if nothing were amiss.
"Grand Tutor," Ai Miao greeted calmly. "The new student, Lin, has completed his third copy of the Thousand Character Classic."
The tutor stroked his beard, eyes scrutinizing Murong Che with a hint of warmth. "Since you've entered the study hall, study diligently. Do not waste the emperor's grace."
"I will remember," Murong Che replied, rising to bow. His voice was soft but clear.
Gu Lian sat down, watching the exchange. That familiar frustration returned. Ai Miao had arranged everything—Murong Che's place in the study hall, even the tutor's approval.
Murong Che's presence subtly changed the rhythm of their days.
He listened intently during lectures, his foundation weak but improving rapidly. Within a month, he kept pace with the others. Occasionally, he answered questions with modest, textbook replies.
But Gu Lian soon realized—Murong Che was holding back.
During a lesson on Strategies of the Warring States, the tutor asked about Beijing's border tensions. Students offered various opinions. Murong Che simply said, "I am ignorant. I dare not speak rashly."
Later, Gu Lian overheard Ai Miao speaking to him in the corridor. "Your answer today was too cautious."
"I feared saying too much," Murong Che admitted.
"Caution is good," Ai Miao replied evenly. "But you must show your worth—just not too much."
Gu Lian stood around the corner, unseen. He realized Ai Miao was teaching far more than books.
That afternoon was calligraphy. The tutor assigned them to copy Preface to the Orchid Pavilion. Murong Che struggled.
Gu Lian finished his work and glanced over. Ai Miao stood beside Murong Che, guiding him.
"Relax your wrist," Ai Miao said softly. "Your strokes are too tight. They lack grace."
He placed his hand lightly over Murong Che's, demonstrating the motion.
Murong Che's ears flushed red. He adjusted, and his writing gained fluidity.
"Acceptable," Ai Miao said, straightening. "After class, compile the tribute records of Beijing's royal court from the past three years."
"Yes, sir."
Gu Lian lowered his gaze to his own completed work. Ai Miao had never taught him like this—perhaps because he didn't need it. But the difference stung.
What bothered him more were the "extra assignments" Ai Miao gave Murong Che—analyses of Beijing's politics, tribal conflicts, even troop movements. Far beyond the scope of their studies.
During archery class, A Lie performed flawlessly. Gu Lian hit three out of five bullseyes.
Murong Che's hand trembled. His first arrow missed entirely.
Muted laughter rippled from the sidelines. Murong Che clenched his jaw, sweat beading.
"Steady your breath," Ai Miao said, appearing behind him. "Picture a hawk on the northern plains—not a target."
His voice was calm, but it steadied Murong Che's shoulders.
The second arrow hit the edge.
"Improved," Ai Miao said.
Just those two words lit up Murong Che's eyes. He drew again, and this time, struck the mark.
After class, Gu Lian lingered, walking beside Ai Miao.
"You're quite patient with him," he said casually.
Ai Miao glanced at him. "Do you think I lack patience, Your Highness?"
"If I were him, you'd have scolded me already," Gu Lian muttered, recalling his own training.
"You are not him," Ai Miao said, watching Murong Che pack his bow. "He needs confidence."
"And I need what?" Gu Lian asked.
Ai Miao stopped, looking at him seriously. "You need to see through people. To use them well."
The words were true—but they unsettled Gu Lian. He suddenly wondered: in Ai Miao's eyes, who truly needed shaping? Who was worth the effort?
The thought took root and refused to let go.
That day, the tutor assigned a strategy essay on securing the northern border. Gu Lian planned to discuss it with Ai Miao—but saw him walking straight to Murong Che.
"I have some thoughts to add," Ai Miao said.
Gu Lian stood still, watching them head toward the archives. A Lie approached, scratching his head. "Your Highness, shall we discuss the essay?"
"We shall," Gu Lian said, voice tight. "Why wouldn't we?"
He had just realized—on Ai Miao's scale, the hostage prince's weight was growing. And he, the crown prince of Da Sheng, was beginning to care far too much about the comparison.
It was… beneath his station. But he couldn't help it.