Gu Lian begins to pull away—but the more he resists, the more entangled he becomes.
Spring came early in the fifteenth year of Yongxi. Snow melted beneath the palace walls before the first month had ended.
Gu Lian realized he was avoiding Ai Miao.
Not deliberately. He simply no longer sought him out for everything. When the Grand Tutor assigned strategy essays, Gu Lian worked through them alone, deep into the night. When he struggled in archery, he asked the instructors instead.
A Lie noticed first. "Your Highness, why don't you ask Ai Miao anymore?" he asked between spear drills, wiping sweat from his brow.
Gu Lian's hand faltered on the bowstring. His arrow missed the mark. "He's busy."
And he was. Since the New Year, Ai Miao had been taking Murong Che to the archives more often. Sometimes, when Gu Lian left the study late at night, he saw lights still burning in the western quarters.
One day, the Grand Tutor lectured on the Comprehensive Mirror to Aid in Government, recounting a past struggle for succession. Gu Lian listened intently, instinctively turning to discuss it with Ai Miao—only to find his seat empty.
"Ai Miao requested leave," the tutor said mildly. "He's taking Murong Che to the Ministry of Rites to review old records."
Gu Lian's fingers tightened around his scroll.
After class, he found himself walking toward the Ministry. Outside the archives, he saw them.
Ai Miao handed Murong Che a thick stack of documents. "These are Beijing's tribute records from the past ten years. Finish them tonight."
Murong Che's face paled, but he nodded. "Yes, sir."
Gu Lian stood behind a tree, watching Ai Miao gently brush aside the hair from Murong Che's forehead. The gesture was natural—too natural. It stung.
As he turned to leave, he stepped on a dry branch.
"Your Highness?" Ai Miao's voice called from behind.
Gu Lian stopped but didn't turn.
"Do you need something?" Ai Miao asked, voice calm.
"No," Gu Lian replied coolly. "Just passing by."
He walked away quickly, unaware of the flicker in Ai Miao's eyes as he watched him go.
That night, Gu Lian had a strange dream.
He was seven or eight again, running through the imperial garden, hand in hand with Ai Miao. The sun was warm. Ai Miao smiled—rare and gentle—as he let Gu Lian pull him forward.
But suddenly, Ai Miao's hand slipped away.
Gu Lian turned. Ai Miao was holding another boy's hand—the boy had mismatched eyes and a smug smile.
"Ai Miao!" Gu Lian cried.
But Ai Miao only glanced at him, then walked away with the other boy, disappearing into the flowers.
Gu Lian woke in a cold sweat.
Moonlight bathed the room in pale silver. He sat up, heart pounding. The dream had felt too real.
From that day on, he watched Ai Miao and Murong Che more closely.
He noticed what he had missed:
Ai Miao remembered Murong Che disliked sweets and quietly replaced his desserts. When Murong Che coughed, Ai Miao handed him warm water without a word. When Murong Che frowned while writing, Ai Miao would gently remind him, "Relax."
These small gestures, repeated over time, formed a web that Gu Lian couldn't escape.
In March, the palace held its spring hunt—Gu Lian's favorite event. A chance to escape the suffocating study hall.
The hunt was held in the outskirts. The boys were eager. A Lie checked his gear multiple times. "This year, I'll win the prize!"
Gu Lian smiled and nodded, but his eyes searched for a familiar figure.
Ai Miao was with Murong Che, of course. They stood at the edge of the field, Ai Miao giving quiet instructions. Murong Che listened intently, nodding.
When the hunt began, Gu Lian charged ahead on horseback. He needed the wind in his ears, needed to forget.
But the accident came without warning.
A startled boar burst from the woods, charging straight at Murong Che, who had fallen behind. His horse reared, throwing him off.
In a flash, a figure leapt forward—Ai Miao—pushing Murong Che aside.
The boar's tusk slashed Ai Miao's arm. Blood soaked his sleeve.
"Sir!" Murong Che cried, voice raw.
Gu Lian pulled his reins, watching Ai Miao clutch his wound while checking Murong Che for injuries. Something twisted in his chest.
The physician arrived quickly. The wound was long, but not deep.
"Good thing he moved fast," the physician said.
Gu Lian stood nearby, watching Murong Che grip Ai Miao's sleeve, knuckles white. Ai Miao let him, even whispered, "It's nothing."
In that moment, Gu Lian wished he had been the one hurt.
Maybe then Ai Miao would look at him like that.
The hunt ended early. Back in the Eastern Palace, Gu Lian locked himself in the study.
He replayed the scene—Ai Miao's instinctive protection, Murong Che's desperate cry, their unspoken bond.
It drove him mad.
Late that night, he stormed into Ai Miao's quarters.
Ai Miao was changing his bandage. He looked up, surprised. "Your Highness?"
"Why?" Gu Lian's voice trembled, unfamiliar even to himself. "Why would you go that far for him? If I were in danger—would you have done the same?"
The words were improper, beneath his station. But he couldn't stop.
Ai Miao stared at him, something shifting in his usually calm eyes.
"You're my study companion!" Gu Lian shouted. "You're supposed to serve me! Why spend so much effort on a hostage?"
Ai Miao lowered his sleeve and stepped forward. Moonlight stretched his shadow across the floor.
"Are you jealous, Your Highness?"
The question hit like a blow.
Gu Lian opened his mouth to deny it—but no words came.
Yes. He was jealous. Jealous of the attention, the care, the bond.
"I've said this before," Ai Miao said softly. "Everything I do is for Da Sheng."
"For Da Sheng?" Gu Lian laughed bitterly. "So this is what it takes?"
He couldn't finish. Ai Miao's gaze was too calm, too deep.
"Do you remember what I said when I first became your companion?" Ai Miao asked.
Gu Lian froze.
"I said I would always stand by your side," Ai Miao continued. "That hasn't changed."
"Then why…"
"Because standing by you doesn't always look the same," Ai Miao interrupted. "Teaching Murong Che, shaping him into someone useful for Da Sheng—that's part of the path I'm clearing for you."
Gu Lian was silent. He knew Ai Miao was right. But the knot in his heart remained.
"Your Highness," Ai Miao's voice softened, like soothing a sulking child, "you will always be the most important to me."
The words melted something inside him.
Gu Lian looked up. For the first time, he saw something different in Ai Miao's eyes—a quiet tenderness, almost indulgent.
What was it? Resignation? Affection? Something else?
He couldn't say.
But in that moment, the anger and jealousy faded.
"Does it still hurt?" he asked quietly, voice tinged with lingering grievance.
Ai Miao shook his head. "Just a scratch."
Gu Lian stepped forward, hesitated, then gently touched the bandaged arm. "Don't do anything reckless again."
He turned and left, his steps lighter.
Behind him, Ai Miao watched his retreating figure. After a long pause, he raised his hand and brushed his fingers over the bandage—where Gu Lian had touched.
A faint tremor lingered.
Some feelings had begun to drift off course.
And this was only the beginning.