Part I: His Expression
Time: Late Spring, Second Year of Jinghe
The afternoon sun was warm and gentle, casting golden light across the palace. Gu Lian had spent the entire morning reviewing memorials. Feeling a touch weary, he set down his vermilion brush and glanced toward the window.
There sat Ai Miao, quietly reading agricultural reports sent from across the realm. Sunlight wrapped around him like a soft halo, outlining his profile with a glow so refined it felt almost unreal.
Something stirred in Gu Lian's chest. A sudden impulse rose.
He stood, walked over, and plucked the scroll from Ai Miao's hands.
"Your Majesty?" Ai Miao looked up, puzzled.
Gu Lian pulled him over to the cushioned seat by the window, settling him down before lounging lazily on the opposite couch. Propping his chin on one hand, he gazed at him.
"What joy is there in reading these dry reports all day? Ai Qing, I recall you were quite skilled in painting as a child. It's been a while since you last picked up a brush, hasn't it?"
Ai Miao paused, then lowered his gaze. "Your Majesty flatters me. I'm out of practice. I wouldn't dare show such clumsy work."
"No matter," Gu Lian smiled like a fox who had just sprung a trap. He gestured toward the painting table nearby—already prepared, though long unused. "The light is perfect today. Paint me a small portrait, will you? Just something casual, in plain robes."
Ai Miao met the unmistakable glint of anticipation in Gu Lian's eyes. With a sigh of resignation, he rose and walked to the table, grinding ink and laying out paper.
He dipped his brush, then looked up.
Gu Lian had already adjusted his posture—reclining against a silk cushion, one hand resting casually on a bent knee. But his gaze was anything but casual. It was fixed on Ai Miao, intense and unblinking, as if it could burn through paper.
That gaze was too warm, too focused. Ai Miao's hand trembled ever so slightly.
He steadied himself, lowered his eyes, and forced his attention onto the brush and paper. He sketched the outline, shaded the ink—working with utmost care, trying to capture that unique blend of imperial dignity and private ease that belonged only to Gu Lian.
But that gaze never left him. It followed like a shadow—admiring, possessive, and filled with unspoken affection. It pierced through him.
Ai Miao felt his ears grow warm. Even the once-fluid lines beneath his brush began to falter, touched by a subtle, almost imperceptible… fluster.
After about half an hour, he finally set down the brush. "Your Majesty," he said softly, "it's finished."
Gu Lian rose at once, clearly intrigued. He walked over, but the moment he saw the portrait, he paused—then let out a low, delighted laugh.
The figure on the paper was unmistakably him—every contour and posture captured with precision. But the expression… The faint curve of the lips, the softness in the eyes— That wasn't how he usually looked.
No, that was how he looked when he gazed at Ai Miao.
"Ai Qing…" Gu Lian picked up the painting, tapping a finger lightly on the figure's eyes. He leaned in close, voice low and teasing, breath warm against Ai Miao's ear.
"Tell me—did you paint me, or the version of me you see?" He lowered his voice further, coaxing. "Because the man in this portrait… seems to have eyes only for you."
Ai Miao flushed scarlet. Even the pale skin of his neck turned pink. Only then did he realize—he had unconsciously captured the exact look Gu Lian gave him. Every detail, every nuance.
He reached for the painting in a panic. "My skills are lacking. Please forgive me, Your Majesty. I… I'll paint another."
"No." Gu Lian raised the scroll out of reach and wrapped an arm around Ai Miao's waist, pulling him close. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
"It's perfect. I like it very much. This is the truest version of me."
He lowered his head, brushing his nose affectionately against Ai Miao's burning ear. His voice was low and amused.
"So this is how I appear in your eyes… Good. I'm pleased."
He carefully rolled up the "inaccurate" portrait as if it were a priceless treasure.
"This one belongs to me now. As for you…" He tightened his embrace, smiling.
"For letting your true feelings slip onto the page—what punishment should you receive? How about… staying in the palace tonight, and painting me again, in greater detail?"
Ai Miao buried his flushed face in Gu Lian's shoulder, sighing in helpless surrender.
"…As Your Majesty commands."
Outside, spring light spilled through the windows. Inside the warm pavilion, affection lingered in the air. And that "mistaken" portrait— became the truest confession neither of them had spoken aloud.
Part II: Your Reflection
Time: Three days later, early summer, clear skies
On a day of rest, three days later, sheer curtains hung around the Chengrui Pavilion, softening the summer heat. Pigments and brushes lay scattered across a stone table. Gu Lian, sleeves rolled up, stood before a sheet of xuan paper, fully focused on his painting. Ai Miao sat across from him on a stone stool, holding a scroll. He appeared to be reading, but hadn't turned a page in quite some time.
Gu Lian set down his brush and rubbed his wrist, voice tinged with dissatisfaction. "Don't move."
Ai Miao looked up, helpless. "Your Majesty, I've been sitting here for nearly an hour. I haven't moved."
Gu Lian frowned at the paper. "You haven't moved, but the expression is wrong. This isn't how you usually look when reading memorials—too gentle."
Ai Miao raised a brow slightly. "Then how does Your Majesty think I usually look?"
Gu Lian walked over, lifted Ai Miao's chin, and gently traced the faint crease between his brows. "When you read memorials, your brow holds three parts thought, two parts sharpness…" His voice dropped, softer now. "And when you look at me—five parts indulgence, unique to you."
Ai Miao's ears flushed. He tried to turn away from the overly intimate scrutiny.
Gu Lian pressed a hand to his shoulder, smiling with quiet insistence. "Don't dodge. If I can't capture the version of you in my heart today, you'll sit here with me until I do."
Ai Miao sighed and sat properly again. "Your Majesty, state affairs…"
"It's a rest day. Even the gravest matters can wait until tomorrow." Gu Lian cut him off, returning to the easel and picking up his brush again. "Now—look at me. Only me."
Ai Miao obeyed, lifting his gaze to the man painting him. Sunlight filtered through the gauze, casting dappled light into Gu Lian's ink-dark eyes. In them, Ai Miao saw his own reflection—clear, unwavering, and filled with a tenderness he hadn't realized he wore.
Gu Lian's brush moved steadily. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Yes… just like that. My strategist. My beloved. Mine alone—Ai Miao."
At last, Gu Lian set down his brush and beckoned. "Come. Take a look."
Ai Miao rose and stepped closer, glancing at the painting—then paused.
The figure in the painting was unmistakably him, seated by a window, scroll in hand. But the focus wasn't on his cool, composed profile. It was on his lowered eyes—rendered with exquisite softness, capturing a hidden tenderness that surfaced only for one person.
Ai Miao's voice was hushed. "Your Majesty… this…"
Gu Lian embraced him from behind, resting his chin on Ai Miao's shoulder. His voice was full of pride and satisfaction. "Well? Does my brush capture even a fraction of Wen'an Gong's thousand expressions?"
Ai Miao was silent for a moment, then relaxed into the embrace. His fingers brushed lightly over the painted eyes.
"Your Majesty didn't paint my expression," he said quietly.
Gu Lian chuckled. "Oh? Then what did I paint?"
Ai Miao turned his head slightly, whispering near his ear, breath warm: "You painted… the way you see me."
Gu Lian's arms tightened, holding him closer. In the quiet pavilion, the painted eyes held a softness mirrored in the real ones.
Outside, cicadas sang.
Time stood still.
Part III: Soul on Paper
Time: A few days later, early summer afternoon
Gu Lian placed the two portraits side by side in a rosewood case within the imperial study, right next to the Imperial Seal.
That afternoon, several senior ministers arrived to discuss state affairs. Once the meeting concluded and they were preparing to leave, Gu Lian seemed to recall something.
"Gentlemen, stay a moment." He rose and walked to the painting case, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "Wen'an Gong painted a portrait of me the other day. I found it quite striking. Would you care to take a look?"
Ai Miao, who had been quietly standing to the side, suddenly looked up. His gaze toward Gu Lian held rare panic and silent protest. That painting… mustn't be shown to others!
But Gu Lian appeared not to notice. He calmly retrieved the scroll and, with the help of an attendant, slowly unfurled it.
As the painting was fully revealed, the ministers couldn't help but admire it. Gu Lian reclined on a couch, his expression relaxed— but what stood out most were his eyes. They were so gentle, so warm, it was almost disorienting. This was not the stern emperor they knew.
The Grand Chancellor was the first to speak, stroking his beard in admiration. "Wen'an Gong's brushwork is exquisite. He has captured Your Majesty's benevolence and grace with remarkable clarity."
The others quickly echoed the sentiment.
Gu Lian, however, spoke slowly. "I agree. Especially the eyes…" He paused deliberately, then turned to Ai Miao, who stood with head bowed.
"Wen'an Gong was standing at the easel when he painted this. Surely he saw clearly. Wouldn't you say he captured the exact look I give him?"
Ai Miao's ears flushed instantly, the color spreading down his neck. He had never imagined the emperor would be so direct.
The ministers were briefly stunned, then realization dawned. So that unusually tender gaze… was directed at the one painting it. And Wen'an Gong's visible discomfort, paired with the emperor's meaningful smile— This wasn't just a portrait. It was a declaration.
The Grand Chancellor cleared his throat and quickly amended his praise. "Indeed… Wen'an Gong's observation is keen. He has portrayed the harmony between ruler and minister with great finesse."
The others nodded in agreement. "Yes, yes! Such unity between Your Majesty and Wen'an Gong is truly the fortune of the realm!"
Once the ministers had departed, only the two of them remained in the warm pavilion.
Ai Miao finally couldn't hold back. "Your Majesty… was that really necessary?"
Gu Lian walked over, smiling, and pulled him into an embrace. "I wanted them to know— that the only person who could draw such a gaze from me… is you."
He gently brushed Ai Miao's flushed ear. "Now the entire court knows: Wen'an Gong not only paints beautifully—he blushes easily."
Ai Miao buried his face in Gu Lian's shoulder, sighing in quiet surrender. But the corners of his lips lifted, despite himself.
From that day on, though the portrait was never shown again, the story of "His Majesty's gaze softening while Wen'an Gong painted" became a quietly cherished tale among the court.
Whenever officials saw the two standing side by side, they would recall that afternoon— and the painting they had never seen, but could vividly imagine.
As for the portrait Gu Lian painted of Ai Miao, it remained hidden from all eyes. Only in the stillness of night would Gu Lian take it out, gazing at the softness in Ai Miao's painted eyes.
"You see," he would whisper, "your heart was mine from the very beginning."
Ai Miao, looking at the two portraits side by side, could only smile.
"It was always willing," he said.
Two paintings.
One beautiful mistake.
A misplaced brushstroke— and a lifelong treasure gained.