As winter descends, Gu Lian begins to understand that some feelings—no matter how fierce—must remain buried.
The autumn of Yongxi's fifteenth year brought a subtle shift to the study hall. With A Lie gone, their quartet became a trio—and the unspoken tension between Gu Lian and Ai Miao made the dynamic increasingly fragile.
That day, the Grand Tutor lectured on the Analects, quoting: "Among three people, there must be one I can learn from." Gu Lian instinctively glanced at Ai Miao and Murong Che beside him.
Since A Lie's departure, Gu Lian found it harder to tolerate Ai Miao's quiet moments with Murong Che. Every time he saw Ai Miao patiently guiding him, a strange irritation rose in his chest.
"Your Highness," Ai Miao's voice pulled him back. "The Grand Tutor asked you a question."
Gu Lian stood abruptly, but had no idea what the question was.
After class, Murong Che approached Ai Miao to study Beijing's script. Gu Lian watched them huddled together over ancient texts, and finally interrupted:
"Ai Miao, have you considered the canal reform plan His Majesty mentioned yesterday?"
Ai Miao looked up. "I'll discuss it with Your Highness in the study later."
"Tell me now." Gu Lian's tone was sharper than he realized.
Murong Che quietly stepped aside. Ai Miao frowned slightly, but answered the question with patience.
Gu Lian felt a flicker of satisfaction watching Murong Che retreat—followed by a pang of guilt for his own pettiness.
In October, Gu Lian began attending court sessions. After class, he would sit beside the emperor, learning to handle state affairs.
It meant less time with Ai Miao. And what unsettled him more—whenever he was busy, Ai Miao would go to the western quarters to teach Murong Che.
"Can't you wait for me?" Gu Lian asked one day.
Ai Miao was sorting memorials. "Your Highness is occupied with governance. I didn't wish to disturb you."
"So you'd rather teach the hostage?"
"It's my duty."
"Just duty?" Gu Lian pressed.
Ai Miao looked up. "What do you mean, Your Highness?"
Gu Lian opened his mouth, but couldn't speak the truth: I'm jealous of the time you spend with him.
A eunuch arrived. "Your Highness, His Majesty summons you."
Gu Lian let the matter drop. But he knew—some emotions were growing beyond his control.
In November, the first snow fell. Gu Lian's voice deepened, his height surged. But what troubled him most were the dreams—of Ai Miao.
Sometimes they walked side by side in the snow, Ai Miao brushing flakes from his shoulder. Sometimes, in the quiet of night, Ai Miao whispered in his ear. Each time he woke, drenched in guilt and confusion.
During martial training, the instructor praised him. "You've grown stronger, Your Highness."
Gu Lian glanced at Ai Miao, who was adjusting Murong Che's archery stance. The sight pierced him. He drew his bow too tightly.
"Your Highness!" the instructor cried. "Too much force—the string will snap!"
The arrow flew wide, embedding deep in a tree.
Ai Miao turned, concern in his eyes.
Gu Lian lowered the bow and walked away. He needed clarity. He needed distance.
As the year drew to a close, preparations for the New Year's banquet began. It was Gu Lian's first since his engagement, and the Ministry of Rites spared no effort.
Meanwhile, news came from Beijing: the third prince had gained the upper hand. The civil war might end by spring.
"Your student may return soon," Gu Lian said while reviewing memorials.
Ai Miao was studying a map. "Not yet."
"You'll miss him?"
Ai Miao looked up. "Your Highness seems unusually concerned about Murong Che today."
Gu Lian's brush paused, ink blooming across the page. "I just think you've invested too much in him."
"It's His Majesty's command."
"And beyond that?" Gu Lian set down his brush. "Is there no personal feeling?"
Ai Miao hesitated. "I don't understand Your Highness's meaning."
"You do." Gu Lian stepped closer. "You know exactly what I mean."
They stared at each other. Snow drifted outside, painting the world in white.
"Your Highness," Ai Miao said at last, looking away, "some boundaries must not be crossed."
"What if I want to cross them?"
Ai Miao met his gaze. "Then everything will fall apart."
The words hit like a blow. Gu Lian understood—Ai Miao feared the consequences. They were prince and advisor. Some feelings could never see daylight.
At the New Year's banquet, Gu Lian sat beside Su Wanqing, accepting congratulations with perfect poise. No one could see the storm within.
Midway through, he saw Ai Miao standing alone beneath the eaves, watching the snow.
"Why are you here alone?" Gu Lian joined him.
Ai Miao didn't turn. "Your Highness should be with Miss Su."
"You know I don't want to be."
Snow fell on their shoulders. Neither brushed it away.
"Ai Miao," Gu Lian said softly, "if I weren't the crown prince, and you weren't a strategist… would we…"
"There is no 'if,'" Ai Miao interrupted. "You are the crown prince. I am your advisor. That will never change."
Gu Lian looked at his profile, wondering what lay beneath that calm mask.
"Let's go back," Ai Miao said. "Miss Su is looking for you."
Gu Lian watched him walk away, and for the first time, felt the full weight of the gulf between them.
Status. Duty. Identity. Each one a wall between them.
Late that night, the banquet ended. Gu Lian walked back alone, snow covering his shoulders.
He thought of turning fourteen in spring. Of the Grand Tutor's words: "A man must marry and build his legacy." Of Ai Miao's warning: "It will destroy everything."
Maybe Ai Miao was right. Some lines must not be crossed.
But how does one silence the heart?
He could bury his feelings in red-inked memorials, hide them beneath the praise of officials. But every time he saw Ai Miao, they bloomed again.
Snow fell silently, covering every trace.
Just like certain feelings—hidden beneath the white, never to be seen.