Gu Lian begins to understand that some things—loyalty, closeness, control—can't be demanded. And winter has never felt colder.
Autumn faded into winter. Outside the study hall, the parasol tree had shed its last leaf. But the unease that had settled in Gu Lian's heart since late autumn hadn't dispersed. Instead, it deepened, hardened by the chill in the air.
That day, the Grand Tutor lectured on the Records of the Grand Historian, pausing at the story of Han Xin enduring humiliation beneath a man's legs. His gaze swept toward Murong Che in the corner. "A true man bends when needed. A moment of disgrace may be the seed of future glory."
Murong Che kept his head down, diligently copying notes, seemingly unaware of the implication.
But Gu Lian noticed Ai Miao's subtle frown.
After class, Ai Miao did something unusual—he didn't leave with Murong Che. Instead, he approached the Grand Tutor.
"Sir, I believe today's lesson was slightly biased."
"Oh?" The tutor raised a brow. "Explain."
"Han Xin's humiliation stemmed from misfortune, not weakness of will," Ai Miao said calmly. "Teaching students to endure disgrace may dull their edge."
The tutor pondered, then nodded. "You make a fair point."
Gu Lian watched from the doorway. Was Ai Miao… defending Murong Che?
From that day on, Gu Lian noticed Ai Miao's care for Murong Che was more meticulous than he'd imagined.
If the food from the kitchens arrived cold, Ai Miao had it reheated. If Murong Che ran out of ink, Ai Miao had fresh supplies ready. Even the drafty window in Murong Che's quarters had been quietly repaired.
These small gestures were done without fanfare—but Gu Lian saw them all.
What unsettled him more was that Ai Miao had begun teaching Murong Che things… different things.
One day, Gu Lian finished archery early and passed by the western quarters. He overheard Ai Miao instructing:
"Remember—when faced with overwhelming power, showing weakness isn't cowardice. It's wisdom."
Murong Che sounded uncertain. "But sir… if I always show weakness, won't I never lift my head?"
"Weakness is for gathering strength," Ai Miao replied softly, each word precise. "Learn to observe in silence. Strike only when it matters."
Gu Lian stood outside the moon gate, emotions tangled. Ai Miao had never spoken to him like this. Was it because he didn't need it—or because Ai Miao thought he didn't?
Snow fell in the twelfth month, blanketing the palace.
That day, the Grand Tutor fell ill and dismissed class early. Gu Lian planned to invite Ai Miao to the plum garden to enjoy the snow—but paused outside the study when he heard voices.
"Sir," Murong Che said hesitantly, "I've been reading The Art of War. There's something I don't understand."
"Speak."
"'Throw them into death's ground, and they will survive.' But… what if I never get that chance?"
Ai Miao was silent for a moment. "You're already in death's ground."
Gu Lian held his breath.
"As a hostage prince, with eyes that mark you as different, you're already discarded," Ai Miao said, voice calm to the point of cruelty. "But remember—death's ground can still birth survival."
"Please guide me."
"Let those who scorn you continue to scorn. Let those who pity you continue to pity." Ai Miao paused. "And then, when no one expects it—stand up."
Gu Lian heard Murong Che inhale deeply. "I understand."
In that moment, Gu Lian felt a sharp pang of jealousy. Jealous that Murong Che received such direct guidance. Jealous that Ai Miao was willing to speak so plainly to him.
Gu Lian turned and left, unnoticed.
The snow thickened, covering the stone paths. He wandered alone through the plum garden, watching red blossoms bloom in the white silence, feeling hollow.
A Lie found him there, standing alone in the snow. "Your Highness, why are you out here alone? Where's Ai Miao?"
Gu Lian didn't answer. He was wondering—if he were as helpless as Murong Che, would Ai Miao teach and protect him like that?
The thought made him ashamed. But he couldn't shake it.
As the year drew to a close, preparations for the New Year's banquet began.
After class one evening, Gu Lian was summoned by the Empress to try on ceremonial robes. By the time he returned, night had fallen.
He assumed Ai Miao would be waiting in the study. But passing the western quarters, he froze.
Ai Miao and Murong Che sat side by side beneath the eaves, a chessboard between them. Lantern light cast a warm glow, wrapping their silhouettes in quiet intimacy.
Murong Che focused on the board. Ai Miao watched him, gaze intent.
"That was a good move," Ai Miao said—rare praise.
Murong Che looked up, eyes bright. "Really?"
Ai Miao nodded, brushing snow from Murong Che's shoulder. "Remember that line of thought."
The gesture was gentle, natural. But it struck Gu Lian like a blow.
He had never seen Ai Miao act so… close with anyone.
Murong Che noticed him, startled. He stood and bowed. "Your Highness."
Ai Miao turned, expression unchanged. "You've returned."
Gu Lian stood there, unsure what to say. He felt like an intruder disturbing something private.
"You two carry on," he said at last, turning away.
Snow fell on his shoulders, cold and sharp.
In that moment, Gu Lian knew—things had changed. Ai Miao was no longer his alone. The hostage prince was slowly occupying the space that once belonged to him.
The realization brought fear. And anger.
He was the crown prince of Da Sheng. Ai Miao was supposed to serve him. Why should a hostage from Beijing receive such care?
That night, Gu Lian couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned, haunted by the image of Ai Miao brushing snow from Murong Che's shoulder.
He knew he shouldn't be petty. He knew it was all for the greater plan. But…
Some emotions defy reason.
At the New Year's banquet, Murong Che sat at the far end, as protocol dictated.
Gu Lian, dressed in princely robes, sat beside the emperor. Yet his gaze drifted toward the corner—Murong Che sat quietly, head bowed, out of place amid the revelry.
Midway through, a few young nobles approached him with wine.
"Prince Lin, drinking alone?" one teased, voice laced with mockery. "Come, join us."
Murong Che looked up. His mismatched eyes gleamed strangely under the lanterns. "I… don't drink."
"You can learn." Another reached for him. "Or are we beneath you?"
Gu Lian frowned, about to intervene—but Ai Miao was already there.
"Gentlemen," Ai Miao said softly, yet the group fell silent. "Prince Lin doesn't drink. Allow me instead?"
He raised the cup and drank in one smooth motion.
The nobles exchanged glances, then backed off.
Ai Miao leaned down, said something to Murong Che. Murong Che nodded, eyes full of trust.
Gu Lian's grip on his own cup tightened.
He wondered—if he had been the one harassed, would Ai Miao have stepped in so quickly?
The answer was likely yes. But why did it still sting?
After the banquet, Gu Lian stopped Ai Miao on the way back.
"You were very protective of him tonight."
Ai Miao paused, snowlight catching his profile. "I was fulfilling my duty."
"Duty?" Gu Lian's voice rose. "Your duty is to assist me—not babysit a hostage!"
He regretted the words instantly. They were beneath him.
Ai Miao looked at him, eyes deep. "Are you questioning His Majesty's orders?"
Gu Lian faltered. He knew this was all sanctioned by the emperor. He knew Ai Miao was following orders. But…
"I just don't understand," he said quietly. "Why does it have to be you?"
Why must it be Ai Miao—his most trusted companion—who tended to that boy?
Ai Miao was silent for a long time. "Because it's the fastest way."
"Fastest way to what?"
"To help you understand," Ai Miao said, looking toward the palace walls, "that not everything in this world will go your way."
The words hit like ice water.
Gu Lian watched Ai Miao walk away, and the winter suddenly felt colder than ever.
Snow continued to fall, covering all traces. But something had begun to grow in the shadows.
Gu Lian knew—after tonight, nothing would be the same.