Gu Lian begins to see the path ahead—but every step forward feels lonelier than the last.
Since the night Ai Miao said, "You will always be the most important to me," Gu Lian's heart had settled somewhat. But some things, once changed, never return to how they were.
He no longer clung to Ai Miao like a child. Instead, he began to observe the game as a crown prince. Ai Miao noticed the shift too—during lessons, he would occasionally glance at Gu Lian, his gaze unreadable.
In the soft light of April mornings, the study hall carried a subtle tension.
That day, the Grand Tutor lectured on The Art of War. When discussing "Know yourself and know your enemy," he asked Murong Che to speak on Beijing's cavalry. It was Murong Che's first time answering a tactical question in class.
"Beijing's cavalry favors curved blades, charging in wedge formations…" Murong Che's voice trembled at first, but steadied under Ai Miao's encouraging gaze. "Their weakness lies in their long supply lines."
The tutor nodded approvingly, then turned to Gu Lian. "Your Highness, how would you respond?"
Gu Lian rose calmly. "If supply is their weakness, we should target their grain routes and avoid direct confrontation."
"Excellent." The tutor smiled. "Ai Miao, your thoughts?"
Ai Miao bowed. "Both princes are correct. I would add—Beijing's tribes harbor deep rivalries. If exploited wisely, they could yield unexpected results."
A Lie muttered under his breath, "Sounds clever, but it's all from that hostage's mouth…"
Gu Lian nudged him lightly. A Lie fell silent.
After class, A Lie couldn't help but grumble. "Your Highness, why do you keep defending that hostage?"
"I'm not defending him," Gu Lian said, watching Ai Miao help Murong Che organize his scrolls. "I'm defending Da Sheng."
A Lie nodded, half convinced, though his displeasure lingered.
On the fifth day of the fifth month, the palace banquet brought trouble.
During a toast, a Beijing envoy leaned toward Murong Che and said in their native tongue, "Don't forget—you're a prince of Beijing."
The words were quiet, but in the hushed hall, they rang sharp. Murong Che's hand trembled around his cup, unsure how to respond.
Just as the envoy smirked, Ai Miao raised his own cup and replied fluently in Beijing dialect, "Prince Lin remembers his duty well. No need for reminders."
The envoy's face darkened. He hadn't expected anyone in Da Sheng to understand.
Gu Lian stood at the right moment. "On such a festive day, why speak of politics? Try our finest wine instead."
The tension dissolved.
During a break, A Lie asked Ai Miao, "When did you learn their language?"
"These past six months," Ai Miao said casually.
Gu Lian's heart stirred. Those months had been Ai Miao's busiest—supporting him, teaching Murong Che—and yet he'd found time to master a new tongue.
"You should've told me," Gu Lian said quietly, a hint of unspoken disappointment in his voice.
Ai Miao looked at him, calm as ever. "You know now. That's enough."
In that moment, Gu Lian felt the distance between them. Ai Miao no longer reported everything. And Gu Lian was no longer his sole priority.
After the banquet, Gu Lian found Murong Che alone in the garden pavilion.
Bathed in moonlight, the boy looked especially fragile. He turned at the sound of footsteps, relaxing only when he saw Gu Lian.
"Your Highness."
Gu Lian sat across from him. "Don't let the envoy's words bother you."
Murong Che gave a bitter smile. "He wasn't wrong. I am a prince of Beijing."
"But now, you're Da Sheng's guest."
"Guest?" Murong Che repeated softly. "Do you truly believe that?"
Gu Lian didn't answer. He knew "guest" was a hollow word.
After a pause, Murong Che asked, "Do you hate me?"
"Why would I?"
"Because I took Ai Miao from you." Murong Che's voice was barely audible. "He used to see only you."
The words struck a nerve. Gu Lian hesitated, then said, "Ai Miao is right. We must think of the greater good."
"But…" Murong Che looked up, his mismatched eyes glinting in the moonlight. "Sometimes I wonder—if there were no 'greater good,' would Ai Miao truly care for me?"
Gu Lian was stunned. He'd never considered that Murong Che might care too.
"He treats me well. But that kindness…" Murong Che searched for the words. "It's too perfect. Like he's fulfilling a task."
Gu Lian suddenly understood the dissonance he'd felt. Ai Miao's care for Murong Che was too precise—like executing a flawless plan.
"And you?" Gu Lian asked. "How do you feel about him?"
"I respect him as a teacher," Murong Che replied quickly. But his flickering gaze said more.
Just then, Ai Miao's voice came from behind. "Still awake, Your Highness? Prince Lin?"
Both boys jumped. Ai Miao stood outside the pavilion, lantern in hand, expression unreadable.
"We were just leaving," Gu Lian said, rising.
Murong Che bowed hastily. "Good night, sir."
As Murong Che hurried away, Ai Miao asked softly, "What did you say to him?"
"Nothing important," Gu Lian replied, avoiding his gaze. "Just talking."
Ai Miao didn't press. "It's late. Allow me to escort you."
They walked in silence. At the palace gate, Ai Miao spoke.
"Your Highness, whatever happens—please believe, everything I do is for you."
Gu Lian stopped. "For me? Or for Da Sheng?"
"For Da Sheng is for you," Ai Miao said. The answer was flawless.
But Gu Lian felt something hollow inside. He nodded and walked into the Eastern Palace. The lanterns cast his shadow long and lonely.
He understood Ai Miao's logic. But for the first time, he saw the path to the throne as one he might walk alone. And the person who once walked beside him was now paving that solitary road.
In early June, news came from the border: the old king of Beijing was gravely ill. His three sons began vying for the throne.
The court was shaken. The study hall grew tense.
The Grand Tutor chose a passage from Zuo Zhuan about fraternal conflict. Murong Che kept his head down the entire lesson.
After class, Ai Miao left with Murong Che immediately, without a word.
A Lie muttered, "See? When trouble comes, he only cares about his precious student."
This time, Gu Lian didn't argue. He felt it too—the sting of exclusion.
That evening, Gu Lian went to the western quarters. He heard voices inside.
"You must support the eldest prince," Ai Miao said sternly. "He's the rightful heir."
"But he's cruel…"
"Exactly. He needs allies more than anyone," Ai Miao interrupted. "Help in hardship is worth more than praise in peace."
Gu Lian stood outside, shaken. Ai Miao was already planning Murong Che's return.
He knocked. The voices stopped.
Murong Che opened the door, still flushed. "Your Highness?"
"I heard Beijing's in turmoil. I came to check," Gu Lian said, stepping inside. He looked at Ai Miao. "Is there anything I should know?"
Ai Miao handed him a report. "The old king is dying. The princes are fighting. I recommend supporting Prince Murong Han."
"Why him?"
"Because he's the least popular," Ai Miao said calmly. "Support him now—replace him later."
Gu Lian turned to Murong Che. "Do you agree?"
Murong Che bit his lip. "I… will follow my teacher's guidance."
Gu Lian wanted to ask—if Murong Che refused, would Ai Miao change the plan?
But he didn't. Some answers are better left unknown.
As he left, the sunset bathed the courtyard in gold. He looked back and saw Ai Miao standing under the eaves, watching him. His silhouette was solitary.
Gu Lian remembered the spring hunt—Ai Miao shielding Murong Che from the boar, blood staining his sleeve. Ai Miao had once protected him like that too.
Maybe Ai Miao was right. Everything he did was for Gu Lian.
But this way of doing it… had never felt so lonely.
The summer wind swept through the palace, carrying news from afar.
A storm was coming.