— A dual-part side story
Note: This is a two-part extra. The first part, "Traces of an Old Dream", unfolds in a dream; the second part, "Spring Dreams Leave No Trace", follows its tender echo in waking life.
❖ Part One · Traces of an Old Dream ❖
Some questions buried deep in the heart always slip quietly into the cracks of consciousness at unexpected moments.
On a late night in the second year of Jinghe, Gu Lian tossed and turned upon the dragon bed of his sleeping palace. The image of Ai Miao—composed and flawless while reporting affairs of state by day, yet with eyes tinged red when stirred by private passion—intertwined in his mind.
When, exactly, did he begin to look at me this way?
Carrying this obsession he himself had never clearly recognized, Gu Lian drifted into sleep.
In a haze, it felt as though he had merely closed his eyes and opened them again, and the night outside the hall had melted into warm daylight. He found himself standing inside the inner chamber of Ai Miao's office as Chief Minister. A thought surfaced with startling clarity—on a whim, he wished to personally sort through the old manuscripts piled within. Ai Miao had been dispatched to inspect the waterways of the capital region and was not in the palace today.
The chamber was simply furnished, lined only with shelves of scrolls. Gu Lian rolled up his sleeves and carefully lifted stacks of dust-covered manuscripts, brushing them clean. Most were familiar notes on governance and military strategy, the handwriting maturing from youthful awkwardness to firm and commanding strokes.
When he moved the bottom-most, inconspicuous sandalwood box, it opened easily, unlatched. Inside were not official documents, but several rolls of slightly yellowed xuan paper, edges worn as though often caressed by their owner. Gu Lian paused in surprise—Ai Miao was not one to dwell on the past. What could be worth such careful preservation?
He picked up the topmost scroll and gently unrolled it. The paper did not contain essays or strategies, but a five-character poem, unsigned. The handwriting was Ai Miao's from his youth, still carrying a sharp edge not yet tempered, yet with hesitations and erasures that revealed a rare, tender emotion.
Untitled Ink grinds sluggish, brush halts again and again. I long to capture your grace, yet fear to stain snow's purity. All blossoms are but vulgar hues—what could match jade-like brilliance? So I turn my hidden heart into a minister's devotion.
Gu Lian's fingertips lingered on the words "jade brilliance". The phrase was often used to describe one of ice-like purity. Who in court could deserve such praise? His thoughts stirred as he read on. The phrase "minister's devotion" made his heart jolt. Clearly, this was written for someone of exalted status, whom Ai Miao could only look up to as a subject.
An indescribable mix of sourness and curiosity spread through his chest. For whom was this written? Which "jade brilliance" had made the young Ai Miao, already so deep in thought, feel so unworthy that even to write was desecration?
He sat long in the fading dusk, holding the poem, until he heard familiar footsteps outside—deliberately light.
Ai Miao entered, and at once saw the familiar yellowed paper in Gu Lian's hand, and the complex, unreadable expression on his face. His steps faltered. On his usually calm face flashed a rare trace of panic, quickly concealed, but not beyond Gu Lian's eyes.
"Your Majesty…" Ai Miao stepped forward, his voice lower than usual.
Gu Lian raised his eyes, shook the poem slightly, his tone unreadable, only probing: "Minister Ai, I never knew you harbored such… humble thoughts in your youth. This 'jade brilliance'—so pure you feared to profane it with poetry—who was it?"
Ai Miao lowered his gaze, long lashes casting a shadow beneath his eyes. Silence stretched, broken only by the faint crackle of the candle flame.
Just as Gu Lian thought he would not answer, and the sourness in his heart grew heavier, Ai Miao spoke, very softly: "That spring hunt… Your Highness on the polo field, clad in white brighter than snow, winning the match in one stroke." His voice was low, tinged with reverie. "I returned to my office, wishing to record that moment… yet felt no words could suffice."
Gu Lian was struck dumb. The spring hunt… the white riding attire… yes, he had indeed worn such a set. So this poem was born when Ai Miao, still young, had witnessed his brilliance and, overcome with feeling, tried to record it—yet felt unworthy?
"So," Gu Lian lowered the poem, rose to stand before him, and with his fingertips gently lifted Ai Miao's chin, gazing into those rare, unsettled eyes, "you thought yourself unworthy of me… from that early on?"
Ai Miao's ears flushed red. His voice was low: "Your Highness was like the moon in the heavens…"
"And now?" Gu Lian interrupted, thumb brushing his jawline. "Do you still feel it would 'stain snow's purity'?"
Ai Miao raised his eyes, meeting Gu Lian's deep gaze. Years of shared nights, whispered counsel, silent glances—all flowed through his mind. He shook his head lightly, and at last allowed a faint smile: "Now I know… even the moon needs stars beside it."
Gu Lian laughed aloud, carefully folded the youthful poem, tucked it into his robe, and pulled the man into his arms. The warmth of the body against him, the faint scent of ink in his hair, felt impossibly real.
"Fool," he murmured at Ai Miao's ear, voice full of tenderness. "You were never a star. You are another moon."
The dusk deepened, and in the candlelight the two figures embraced, like twin moons shining together in the sky.
Gu Lian rested his chin atop Ai Miao's hair, savoring his rare docility. The poem pressed against his chest was cool to the touch, yet kindled a fire of warmth within.
"So," he chuckled softly, twining a loose strand of ink-dark hair around his finger, "that little scholar in the Imperial Academy, who never dared look me in the eye… was secretly writing poems for me?"
Ai Miao's ears burned hotter, struggling against the embrace: "Your Majesty…"
"Mm?" Gu Lian tightened his arms, teasing, "Now you know how to be shy? Why didn't you think of the consequences when you wrote them?"
"I… did not think so far." Ai Miao's voice muffled against his chest. "It was simply… beyond my control."
Those words softened Gu Lian's heart. He recalled the quiet youth in the corner, whose gaze would sometimes stray toward him. What he had once thought aloofness was in fact careful, hidden devotion.
"And later?" Gu Lian asked gently. "Why did you stop writing?"
Ai Miao was silent for a moment, then whispered: "Later I realized… rather than put feelings into ink, it was better to turn them into ability. Only by becoming useful to Your Highness could I deserve to stand at your side."
Gu Lian's heart trembled. Now he understood why Ai Miao had pursued the path of a strategist so relentlessly—why he had studied politics and military arts with such fervor. It all began with a youthful admiration he dared not speak.
"Fool," Gu Lian sighed, holding him tighter. "You never knew—your very existence outweighed a thousand stratagems."
Moonlight spilled through the lattice, bathing them both. Gu Lian suddenly thought of something, released him, and led him to the desk.
"Grind the ink."
Though puzzled, Ai Miao obeyed. Gu Lian spread fresh paper, dipped the brush, and after a moment's thought, wrote:
Reply to My Minister In youth I knew not, mistaking snow's purity. Today I see the moon, and know it shines double. Ink once trembled with fear, now flows with feeling. Why heed vulgar eyes, when I share this life with you?
He set down the brush and pushed the poem toward Ai Miao. "To repay you."
Ai Miao gazed at the bold strokes, each word answering the youthful poem. His fingers lingered on "share this life with you," and his usually calm eyes shimmered with faint tears.
"What is it?" Gu Lian arched a brow. "Does Lord Wen'an scorn my poetry?"
Ai Miao shook his head, voice hoarse: "I only… never thought I would live to hear Your Majesty's reply."
The chamber fell silent, save for the flicker of candlelight. Gu Lian clasped his hand, fingers interlacing. "From now on, write whatever you wish, say whatever you wish. Before me, you need never feel unworthy."
He leaned close, voice low at Ai Miao's ear: "After all, even I am yours. What matter a few poems?"
Ai Miao finally laughed softly, a smile like snow melting, leaving Gu Lian momentarily stunned.
"Yes," Ai Miao returned his grip, gaze gentle and resolute. "I obey."
Late at night, the candles in the minister's office still burned. Gu Lian tucked the old poem close to his chest, as though holding a warm flame against his heart. He led Ai Miao out into the corridor, stepping into a wash of moonlight.
The moon was bright; attendants had long withdrawn in silence. The pale glow stretched their shadows along the palace path, tightly intertwined.
"So," Gu Lian teased softly, fingertips brushing Ai Miao's knuckles, voice tinged with sudden realization, "was that why you always lingered at the Academy—to steal more glances at the 'jade crown'?"
Heat that had just faded from Ai Miao's ears returned, and he turned aside. "I… was diligent."
"Diligent enough to know my ink brand by heart?" Gu Lian chuckled, recalling how his desk always 'happened' to have the fine pine-scented ink he favored. He had once thought it the attendants' care, but now saw the traces everywhere. "And that autumn hunt—my bowstring snapped, yet you 'just happened' to carry a spare?"
Ai Miao pressed his lips together, silent, cheeks burning as all his carefully hidden thoughts were laid bare.
Gu Lian did not relent. He halted, pressing Ai Miao against a vermilion pillar's shadow, studying his flushed profile in the moonlight. His voice dropped low, coaxing: "Tell me—besides writing poems, besides secretly preparing ink and bows… what else has my little strategist done, that I never knew?"
His breath brushed Ai Miao's sensitive ear, insistent and inescapable. Ai Miao was trapped, surrounded by Gu Lian's commanding presence, memories of a rainy spring night flooding back.
He closed his eyes, surrendering at last, whispering so faintly it was almost inaudible: "...Before Your Highness's thirteenth birthday, I… secretly went to the ancestral temple."
Gu Lian froze.
Ai Miao lowered his gaze, lashes trembling. "I prayed before the forefathers… for Your Highness's peace, joy, and safety." He paused, voice softer still, tinged with long-buried shyness. "And… I dared to ask, that I might remain by your side."
Moonlight flowed silently, outlining their joined shadows in gentle blur. Gu Lian imagined that thin, solitary youth, kneeling in the cold solemn temple, offering such a wish—not for power, not for gain, but only for his happiness, and the right to accompany him.
His heart felt struck by the softest feather, aching with tenderness. He tightened his embrace, resting his chin on Ai Miao's cool hair.
"Fool," he murmured, voice thick with pain and affection. "Why ask them? Whatever you want, ask me." He lifted a hand, brushing Ai Miao's reddened lashes.
Ai Miao trembled in his arms.
Gu Lian bent, kissing his damp lashes, solemn as a vow: "My whole self, my whole heart, this realm—it has long been yours."
His arms tightened, lips at Ai Miao's ear, declaring hotly: "From your dream at sixteen—you know, I know, who was in it."
He drew back slightly, meeting Ai Miao's startled eyes, and added firmly: "Just as in my dream at thirteen—you were there. From then on, we were destined."
Ai Miao finally lifted his gaze, eyes shimmering like a broken cold pool under moonlight, reflecting both the sky and the man before him. He no longer hid, no longer restrained—he leaned up, pressing his lips to Gu Lian's smiling mouth.
The palace path lay silent, the moon their witness. All those years of hidden longing, cautious closeness, unspoken tremors—at last, they found perfect reply.
From that day with the poem, Gu Lian grew almost greedy—wanting to uncover every hidden trace of Ai Miao's youthful devotion, to hold them together in their joined hands, warming them into the present.
One evening after supper, as they paused between memorials in the imperial study, Gu Lian raised his vermilion brush but instead of annotating the documents, he tapped a blank sheet of paper, smiling across at Ai Miao.
"Minister Ai," his tone carried a hint of mischief, "besides that poem, did you ever write anything else?"
Ai Miao's hand faltered slightly over the papers, though his face remained calm. "What does Your Majesty mean?"
"Perhaps… a diary? Notes? Or… other poems?"
Ai Miao lowered his gaze, lashes hiding his eyes. "In youth I was occupied with study. I had no leisure for such things."
"Oh?" Gu Lian rose, walked to his side, and whispered at his ear, "Then how is it I heard someone once filled his schoolbook margins with 'His Highness the Crown Prince'?"
Ai Miao's head snapped up, rare panic flashing in his usually serene eyes. "Where did Your Majesty hear that?"
"Guess." Gu Lian smirked, producing a yellowed notebook—the very exercise book issued years ago at the Imperial Academy.
Ai Miao's face changed. "How… how is that in Your Majesty's hands?"
"Found while sorting old things in the storehouse." Gu Lian leisurely flipped pages, reading aloud: "'His Highness practiced archery today, three shots all struck the mark.' Here: 'His Highness sparred with A Lie, no victor decided.'"
With each line, Ai Miao's ears reddened deeper, until they seemed ready to drip blood.
"The most interesting is here," Gu Lian pointed to a faint scrawl in the corner: "'If I could ease His Highness's burdens, I would die without regret.' Minister Ai, you hid your thoughts well."
Ai Miao finally reached to snatch the book. "Foolish words of youth, Your Majesty need not—"
Gu Lian lifted it out of reach, pulling him into an embrace. "Foolish? I think it was the truest words." His voice softened. "So early, you already wished to share my burdens."
Ai Miao, trapped, buried his face against Gu Lian's shoulder, muttering, "I was… immature then."
"On the contrary, very mature." Gu Lian chuckled, stroking his back. "And perhaps your diligence at the Academy was because…"
"Your Majesty!" Ai Miao finally raised his head, eyes tinged with embarrassment. "Do not tease me further."
Seeing his genuine distress, Gu Lian relented, placing the notebook solemnly back in his hands. "Very well. No more teasing. This is yours."
Ai Miao accepted it, fingers trembling slightly.
"But," Gu Lian clasped his hand, gaze tender, "I am grateful. That boy who once wrote my name in secret now truly stands at my side. And I have not failed his heart."
Ai Miao held the worn notebook, feeling the weight of years. At length he sighed softly: "I never thought such a day would come."
"Now you have." Gu Lian smiled, squeezing his fingers. "From now on, write openly. Write as much as you wish. No more hiding in exercise books."
Moonlight streamed through the lattice, bathing them in gentle glow. Those youthful secrets, once unspeakable, had finally blossomed into the most beautiful flower.
The more Gu Lian learned, the deeper he longed to understand. Ever since discovering the schoolbook, he could not resist touching upon the joys and sorrows of Ai Miao's youth—moments he had not shared, yet which all arose because of him—as though by doing so, he might make up for the time they had missed.
One day, while reviewing memorials, he suddenly set down his vermilion brush and asked casually: "Come to think of it… I recall you took leave on your sixteenth birthday, did you not?"
Ai Miao was arranging waterworks maps from across the realm. At the words, his fingers paused, but his face remained calm. "Yes. I caught a chill that day and rested at home."
"Oh?" Gu Lian rose, pacing to his side. "Yet I heard someone saw you alone at the Temple of Yue Lao in the western city."
The paper in Ai Miao's hand trembled slightly, his eyes flickered, but he quickly regained composure. "Your Majesty heard wrong. I went to the Confucian temple."
"The Confucian temple?" Gu Lian arched a brow, drawing from his sleeve a faded red cord. "Then why was this tongxin knot, unique to Yue Lao's temple, found tucked inside your old Essentials of Strategy?"
Ai Miao stared at the familiar cord, his composure finally breaking. His ears flushed visibly red. "Your Majesty… how did you find this?"
"While sorting your old books, I stumbled upon it." Gu Lian toyed with the cord, voice heavy with meaning. "Praying for marriage at Yue Lao's temple is one thing—but to ask for a tongxin knot… Tell me, Minister Ai, who filled your heart at sixteen?"
Ai Miao lowered his gaze, lashes trembling. After a long pause, he whispered: "I… I then…"
"Let me guess," Gu Lian leaned close, voice amused, "you prayed to Yue Lao that you might remain by the Crown Prince's side?"
Ai Miao's breath faltered.
Seeing this, Gu Lian understood. He gently clasped Ai Miao's hand, placing the faded cord in his palm. "Too bad Yue Lao never told you—if you sought a bond, you should have asked me."
Ai Miao held the cord, fingers burning. After a long silence, he murmured softly: "At that time… I dared not hope."
"And now?" Gu Lian's gaze was steady. "Do you still not dare?"
Ai Miao lifted his eyes, dark irises reflecting candlelight—and the man before him. "Now… I need not hope."
Gu Lian laughed, pulling him into his arms. "Well said. Now you are my rightful consort. Why pray to Yue Lao?"
He entwined their fingers, warmth and heartbeat flowing between them, beautiful as a dream one never wished to wake from. "But since you asked for it, this tongxin knot… I shall tie it for life."
He released their clasped hands, gently lifting Ai Miao's left wrist. In the flickering candlelight, his expression was solemn, as if handling the gravest state affair. He wound the faded cord, loop by careful loop, and tied a firm knot.
At the instant the knot was secured, Gu Lian felt a completeness so profound it seemed unreal—like an ancient rift in the world had finally sealed. He bent close, breathing in the faint, cold ink fragrance from Ai Miao's hair, a scent that filled him with peace deep in his soul.
"Your Majesty…" Ai Miao looked at the old red cord upon his wrist, eyes clouded with complex emotion.
"What is it?" Gu Lian raised a brow. "Do you dislike it?"
Ai Miao shook his head, grasping Gu Lian's wrist in return, whispering: "I only feel… as though I am dreaming."
"Then dream forever," Gu Lian kissed his brow. "I will dream with you."
This moment, this man, this heart—perfect, unmarred, like a dream too flawless to wake from. That deep peace and completeness, wrapped in the familiar ink scent, enfolded him gently.
Late at night, the candles in the study flickered, casting their intertwined shadows upon the wall. The faded tongxin knot glowed softly in the light, as though telling the story of a love begun in youth, now finally fulfilled.
From that day onward, Gu Lian developed an obsession: to read beneath those cool brows all the hidden joys and sorrows Ai Miao had once concealed from him.
That night, snow drifted outside, while the floor furnace in the warm chamber burned bright. Gu Lian set down his vermilion brush, his gaze falling on the old gift list Ai Miao was sorting. Suddenly he asked: "I recall… in the seventeenth year of Yongxi, you gifted me a pot of rare su xin lan—pure-hearted orchid."
Ai Miao's hand faltered slightly, ink blotting the paper. He set down the brush, face calm. "Yes. That year Your Highness—Your Majesty—first entered government. The orchid's purity carried auspicious meaning."
"Oh?" Gu Lian rose, pacing to his side, fingertip tapping the words su xin lan on the list. "Yet I heard that pot was tended by you alone for a whole year, not even allowing gardeners near."
Ai Miao's ears flushed again, though he tried to remain composed. "Such orchids are delicate. I was… cautious."
"Cautious?" Gu Lian drew from his sleeve a faded record book—the log of the Eastern Palace greenhouse. "It notes that Lord Ai visited daily, even mixing the fertilizer himself. I never knew you were so skilled in horticulture."
Ai Miao looked at the familiar book, composure breaking at last. "Your Majesty… even this you found."
"Of course." Gu Lian flipped to a page. "It also records that you carved words into the base of the pot."
Ai Miao froze, pupils trembling, panic flickering in his eyes. That was the deepest secret he had hidden, nearly forgotten even by himself.
Gu Lian leaned close, voice low with a smile. "What did you carve? 'May your heart be as the orchid'? Or 'This heart as pure as the orchid'?"
Ai Miao lowered his gaze, lashes trembling. After a long pause, he whispered: "…'May moonlight ever shine upon you.'"
The chamber fell silent, save for the crackle of the fire.
Gu Lian gazed at him deeply, emotions surging. He remembered that orchid—its blossoms pure and elegant, praised many times. Yet he had never guessed such tender thought lay behind it.
"So," he clasped Ai Miao's hand, thumb brushing the faded tongxin knot on his wrist, "you gave me the orchid to convey your heart?"
Ai Miao shook his head softly. "I did not dare hope Your Majesty would understand. I only wished… to remain at your side, like that orchid upon your desk."
"Fool," Gu Lian murmured, holding him close. "Did you know I kept that orchid in the most prominent place, until it withered, and even then could not bear to discard it?"
Ai Miao leaned against him, voice quiet: "I learned later. So… I dared to hope."
Gu Lian kissed his hair with a laugh. "Now it is no longer hope."
He entwined their fingers. "This knot is tied, the orchid's meaning I understand. What other secrets of youth will you share with me?"
Ai Miao looked up, a faint smile in his eyes. "Your Majesty intends to dig out every thought I ever hid?"
"Of course." Gu Lian arched a brow. "I want to see how much of your heart was filled with me."
Snow fell silently outside, candlelight flickered within. The knot on their wrists swayed gently, whispering of years of hidden devotion.
Gu Lian sighed with satisfaction, holding him tighter. Just as he bent to kiss his cool hair again, the embrace suddenly emptied. The candles flickered as if blown by wind. Shadows wavered—and when he looked again, he was seated alone in the imperial study.
"Come to think of it…" He set down his brush, speaking casually. "I recall you copied a painting at eighteen—Snow-Cleared Rivers and Mountains?"
Ai Miao was reaching for a book from the high shelf. At the words, his hand trembled, nearly knocking down a brocade box. He steadied himself, face calm. "Yes. At that time I was studying painting, copying many works."
"Oh?" Gu Lian approached, producing a worn scroll from his sleeve. "Then why did this copy, hidden away, bear an extra verse in the inscription?"
The scroll unfurled—it was indeed the copy of Snow-Cleared Rivers and Mountains. The brushwork was youthful yet earnest. And beside the original inscription, a line of delicate script: "Better to be a coal in snow, than a flower upon brocade."
Ai Miao's ears flushed red. He had written it when gazing at the snowy scene, recalling Gu Lian inspecting the camps in bitter winter, moved to record his feeling. He had thought it destroyed—yet here it was.
"Where did Your Majesty find this?" His voice was hushed.
Gu Lian smiled, fingertip brushing the words. "In a hidden compartment of your old study. My men found it while sorting. Tell me—this 'coal in snow'… for whom did you wish to bring warmth?"
Ai Miao lowered his gaze, lashes casting shadows in the candlelight. He remembered that winter—so bitterly cold, Gu Lian tirelessly inspecting defenses, even falling ill yet refusing rest. He had watched, anxious, yet could not speak his concern aloud.
"At that time…" his voice was very soft, "seeing Your Majesty labor for the army, I only wished to offer what little I could."
Gu Lian stared deeply, recalling how that winter his study always held warm hand-stoves, his desk always a cup of hot tea. He had thought it the attendants' care. Now he knew…
"So those stoves, those ginger teas…" His voice trembled. "They were you?"
Ai Miao nodded lightly, dark eyes shimmering with rare unease. "I dared not show concern openly… so I used clumsy means."
The chamber fell silent, save for the fire's crackle. Gu Lian's heart surged with heat, recalling years of quiet guardianship.
He clasped Ai Miao's hand, placing the painting in his palm. "And now? Will you still be my 'coal in snow'?"
Ai Miao raised his eyes, meeting Gu Lian's deep gaze, lips curving faintly. "Now I would rather be the furnace in Your Majesty's hall—warming your heart year after year."
Gu Lian laughed, embracing him. "Well said! Year after year!" He lifted the brush, adding strokes to the painting. Where once the sky cleared after snow, now he painted a rising sun.
"Then I shall be your sun. Will that do?"
Ai Miao leaned against him, gazing at the new sun upon the scroll, eyes soft with a smile.
Outside, the moon shone bright, casting light upon their embrace. Those feelings hidden in years past, like the ink upon the scroll, had grown clearer and more moving with time.
And Gu Lian, like the most devoted connoisseur of a painting, could not resist savoring every detail of the scroll, reading it line by line with obsession.
That evening after supper, the two played chess in the warm chamber of Qianqing Palace. The brazier burned bright, tinting Ai Miao's pale cheeks with a faint warmth. Gu Lian held a black piece, and as he placed it down, he asked casually: "I recall… in the summer of your sixteenth year, did you not take leave to return to the Chancellor's manor for some time?"
Ai Miao's hand with the white piece paused almost imperceptibly, then landed steadily. "Yes. My mother was unwell. I returned to serve her medicine."
"Oh?" Gu Lian arched a brow, tapping the black piece against the board with a crisp sound. "Yet I heard that the very next day, you went to Hongfu Temple in the western city, donated incense money, and drew a lot."
Ai Miao's ears flushed visibly red. He tried to remain composed, eyes fixed on the board. "…Your Majesty even knows such trifles?"
"For me, nothing about you is trivial." Gu Lian leaned forward, gazing across the board into his flickering eyes, voice tinged with amusement. "Tell me—what lot did you draw?"
Ai Miao pressed his lips tight, refusing to answer. The words of that lot were harder to confess than any poem.
Gu Lian was in no hurry. He placed another piece slowly, encircling Ai Miao's dragon, then said leisurely: "I recall that at the time, Father was selecting a Crown Princess for me. The portraits of eligible noblewomen nearly filled the Ministry of Rites."
Ai Miao's fingers whitened around the chess piece.
Gu Lian watched his forced composure, already knowing, and softened his tone: "Let me guess… our ever-calculating Lord Wen'an went to pray that none of those noblewomen would catch my eye?"
Ai Miao's head jerked up, his usually inscrutable eyes flashing with clear panic at being exposed.
Gu Lian chuckled low, reaching across to clasp his cool fingers, gently prying away the white piece he gripped so tightly. "And I also heard… the lot you drew was an affinity of marriage."
"!" Ai Miao's face flushed scarlet, even his neck dyed red. He tried to pull back his hand, but Gu Lian held it fast.
"What did it say?" Gu Lian's voice was low, full of tender insistence. "Tell me."
Ai Miao resisted for a moment, but at last yielded. He lowered his head, voice faint as a mosquito's buzz, nearly drowned by the crackle of the fire: "…'A bond of metal and stone is no accident; dragon and phoenix sing in harmony.'"
Gu Lian froze. A bond of metal and stone, dragon and phoenix in harmony… This was no prayer against noblewomen. This was… a prayer that they themselves might be joined.
A surge of fierce tenderness and overwhelming love swept through him, so intense it seemed beyond reality's capacity to contain.
He moved around the board, pulling the shrinking man into a tight embrace. "Fool…" he sighed, stroking Ai Miao's back again and again, voice hoarse. "Why pray to gods?"
Gu Lian bent, kissing his burning ear, and declared solemnly: "I am your bond of stone and metal. You are my dragon and phoenix match."
In the dream, Ai Miao buried his face against Gu Lian's neck, feeling the strong heartbeat, hearing the vow hammered like iron. The heavy stone that had weighed on his heart for over ten years finally fell, dissolving into endless warmth and peace.
The chessboard lay in disarray, forgotten.
Outside, wind and snow rose; inside, spring blossomed. Those youthful prayers, buried deep and unspoken, were now all known—and answered—by the one who held him.
Many years later, historians would lavish words upon the enlightened prosperity of Jinghe's reign, praising the eternal bond of ruler and minister.
But only they knew: it was not a tale of wise sovereign and loyal subject, but— A bond of stone and metal, at last fulfilled. Dragon and phoenix, singing in harmony.
This perfect vision fixed in his mind, shining at its peak.
At the dream's end, Ai Miao, with gentle and resolute smile, lifted his head to kiss him, whispering like a vow: "Bond of stone and metal, dragon and phoenix."
And in that moment of ultimate sweetness, Gu Lian awoke with a start.
The candles had long burned out. Outside, dawn had not yet broken—the darkest hour before morning.
The pillow was empty, the quilt cold. The hall was silent. No ink fragrance lingered, only the chill of pre-dawn air.
No poem, no knot, no youth who prayed in the ancestral temple or sought a lot at Yue Lao's shrine.
Only the dream's words—"Bond of stone and metal, dragon and phoenix"—echoed as if real, reverberating in the sudden silence, pounding in his hollow chest, until they dissolved into nothingness.
He gazed at the ornate embroidery of the canopy, and in the true silence, smiled faintly—pressing the dream's light and warmth hard against his heart.
One thought rose, clear and undeniable— When morning came, he must ask. He would begin with the most private, most undeniable question.
❖ Part Two · Spring Dreams Leave No Trace ❖
Time: A lazy afternoon in the second year of Jinghe. Place: Warm chamber in the Imperial Garden.
Outside, snow fell softly; inside, the chamber was as warm as spring. Gu Lian had just finished reviewing memorials and leaned back against a soft pillow, still haunted by the vivid dream from the night before—poems, schoolbooks, Yue Lao's shrine, the pure-hearted orchid… All those quiet affections Ai Miao had once hidden deep within, now wrapped around him like a gentle net.
He glanced at Ai Miao, who sat quietly by the low table reading. Dressed in a deep teal robe, his ink-dark hair tied with a simple jade pin, his profile bathed in soft light filtering through the glazed window—refined and serene. At twenty-five or twenty-six, the youthful sharpness had faded, settling into a calm and composed grace.
The longer Gu Lian looked, the more a mischievous thought surfaced—one he'd kept buried for years. He rose, slippers soft against the floor, walked over, and sat beside Ai Miao, naturally slipping an arm around his waist.
Ai Miao looked up from his scroll, eyes questioning. "Your Majesty?"
Gu Lian rested his chin on Ai Miao's shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of ink—exactly like in his dream. His heart stirred. He murmured, "Ai Miao, I have a question. Answer honestly."
"Please ask, Your Majesty."
Gu Lian lifted his head, eyes sparkling with mischief. "When… was your first wet dream? And who was in it?"
Ai Miao's hand holding the scroll froze almost imperceptibly. His ears flushed red. He lowered his gaze, avoiding Gu Lian's burning stare, voice steady but faintly tense. "Why does Your Majesty ask such a thing? I… don't remember."
"Don't remember?" Gu Lian raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. He tightened his arm, lips brushing Ai Miao's reddened ear. "Liar. You remember everything. Tell me—was it me in your dream?"
Cornered, Ai Miao turned his face slightly. "Your Majesty… this is hardly important…"
"How is it not important?" Gu Lian pressed on, voice playful and teasing. "I remember mine perfectly. On the night of my thirteenth birthday banquet—my first time—it was you in my dream!" He declared proudly, "You stood in the shadows watching me, then walked over and asked… if I wanted something different." His voice dropped, breath warm. "And then I…"
Ai Miao's blush spread down his neck. Of course he remembered. He was three years older than Gu Lian, and had experienced such things earlier. But…
"Say it." Gu Lian began to tickle his waist.
Ai Miao shivered, finally unable to resist. His voice was barely audible: "…Yes."
"Yes what?" Gu Lian's eyes gleamed. "Who was in your dream?"
Ai Miao closed his eyes, forcing out two words: "…Your Highness."
Gu Lian laughed with delight, hugging him tightly. "I knew it!" After a moment, he asked curiously, "So… what happened in your dream?"
Ai Miao buried his face in Gu Lian's chest, refusing to answer. "Your Majesty, please don't ask…"
But Gu Lian coaxed and teased for a long while.
Eventually, Ai Miao gave in. He lifted his faintly flushed face, glaring at Gu Lian with shimmering eyes:
"It was the autumn hunt when I was sixteen," he said quickly. "In the dream… Your Highness won the top prize in archery, turned back on horseback and smiled at me…"
He immediately buried his face again, leaving only his reddened ears visible.
Gu Lian froze.
The autumn hunt at sixteen… That was his first solo victory at the hunting grounds. He had indeed turned back and smiled proudly at Ai Miao. So that moment had been treasured in Ai Miao's heart, even woven into such a private dream?
His pride melted into something softer. He tightened his embrace, voice tender as water: "So even then… you already wished to share all my glory."
Ai Miao didn't reply, only nodded lightly in his arms.
Outside, snow fell silently. Inside, spring bloomed.
Feeling that subtle nod, Gu Lian's heart rippled like a lake touched by a pebble. He chuckled, nuzzling Ai Miao's flushed ear, and pressed further: "And after I smiled at you in the dream? What happened next?" His voice was low and tempting. "My dear strategist… did you do anything improper to me in that dream?"
Ai Miao stiffened, breath caught. He shook his head vigorously, voice muffled and indignant: "No! Your Majesty! In the dream, I… I only watched…"
"Only watched?" Gu Lian raised a brow, clearly skeptical. He traced circles on Ai Miao's lower back. "Really? Just watching was enough to make my strategist… hmm?"
That suggestive hum made Ai Miao tremble and nearly leap away. But Gu Lian's arms held him fast.
"Your Majesty!" Ai Miao finally snapped, eyes shimmering with frustration. He glared at Gu Lian, but with his flushed cheeks, the glare lacked bite—more like a reluctant invitation. "If you keep asking… I'll sleep at my manor tonight!"
His ultimate threat. Ever since their relationship became clear, Gu Lian had insisted Ai Miao stay in the palace nightly, under the pretense of "late-night policy discussions."
Sure enough, Gu Lian immediately dropped his teasing, though his eyes still sparkled. He gently pulled Ai Miao back into his arms, patting his back soothingly. "Alright, alright, I won't ask anymore." He coaxed like comforting a child, voice full of indulgence. "It was my fault. I shouldn't tease you."
Ai Miao's tense body slowly relaxed, leaning back into the embrace. But the blush on his ears lingered.
Gu Lian held him contentedly, chin resting atop his head, basking in the warmth of regained closeness. He thought of his own confused night at thirteen, and Ai Miao's secret dream at sixteen.
So even before they understood their feelings, the seeds had already been sown—just waiting for the right moment to bloom.
"Ai Miao," he whispered.
"Mm?" came the muffled reply.
"Whether in dreams or now," Gu Lian's voice was low and solemn, "having you is the greatest blessing of my life."
Ai Miao didn't answer immediately. After a pause, he lifted his head slightly, lips curving in a faint but genuine smile.
He murmured a soft "Mm"—like a sigh, like a promise.
Outside, the snow had stopped. Sunset pierced the clouds, casting golden warmth over the snow-covered courtyard.
Inside the warm chamber, the two embraced in silence, their breaths and heartbeats speaking of a love that had long transcended dreams and reality.
Sunlight streamed through the glazed windows, casting long shadows across the floor. The air was crisp after snow, and the occasional drip of melting icicles echoed softly.
Gu Lian still held Ai Miao, fingers idly twining through his loose hair, savoring the rare quiet. Suddenly, he chuckled.
Ai Miao stirred slightly, questioning.
"I was just thinking," Gu Lian said with a smile, "if I had known at thirteen that you'd dreamed of me at sixteen… what would've happened?"
Back then, he had just experienced a dream that upended his world. Facing Ai Miao, he'd been flustered and guilty, unable to meet his eyes, feeling his thoughts were dirty and presumptuous—tainting the pure, snow-like strategist he admired.
Ai Miao paused, seriously considering the hypothetical. After a moment, he replied softly, with rare teasing: "If I had known Your Majesty also… perhaps I wouldn't have felt so afraid and… ashamed."
Gu Lian's heart clenched. He had never imagined that Ai Miao, so mature and composed, had once felt "ashamed" of his feelings.
"Why ashamed?" he asked gently.
Ai Miao's voice was quiet, as if returning to that youthful time: "Because… Your Highness was a prince, a light. And I… had thoughts I shouldn't have." He paused, then smiled faintly. "Looking back now, I was narrow-minded."
"It wasn't wrong," Gu Lian said firmly. He cupped Ai Miao's face, making him meet his gaze, eyes burning with certainty and love. "It was fate. Ai Miao, you were never a mistake. You were always meant to stand beside me."
He looked into Ai Miao's eyes, seeing his own reflection. "Whether I was thirteen, or now as emperor—I've only ever wanted you."
Ai Miao gazed back, emotions swirling before settling into deep, unwavering tenderness. He leaned up and kissed Gu Lian softly, firmly.
"…So have I." After the kiss, his breath was slightly uneven, but his eyes shone with a clarity and openness Gu Lian had never seen before. "Whether I was sixteen, or now as Lord Wen'an—my heart has never strayed."
Gu Lian's chest surged with emotion. He couldn't help but lower his head and deepen the kiss. This time, it was no longer gentle or tentative—it carried the fierce joy of reunion, the possessiveness born of years of longing.
Only when both were breathless did they slowly part, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling.
"It seems," Gu Lian said hoarsely, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips, "we've missed out on quite a bit of time we could've had sooner."
Ai Miao's breathing was still uneven, but his lips curved. "It's not too late now, Your Majesty."
"No, it's not." Gu Lian kissed the tip of his nose. "We still have a lifetime."
The sun had fully dipped behind the distant mountains. Palace attendants quietly lit the lamps in the warm chamber. In the flickering glow, their entwined shadows stretched long across the floor, fitting together as if they had always been one.
Those secret spring dreams of youth, those once unspeakable thoughts, had now become the sweetest footnotes—witnesses to a love that had long begun, and would last a lifetime.
Gu Lian held Ai Miao close, lips curved in quiet contentment, recalling the words from his dream: "A bond of stone and metal, dragon and phoenix."
Some dreams, after all, remain dreams. But some truths… are more real than dreams.
He lowered his head and pressed a kiss into Ai Miao's hair.
This time, he was certain—he would never again miss a single beat of the heart that belonged to him.