It was a summer night in the second year of Jinghe, following a day of political upheaval.
That morning, several senior ministers led by Minister Su had jointly submitted a memorial, condemning the "disorder of yin and yang, the inversion of heaven and earth." Though they never named Ai Miao directly, every word was a veiled accusation—that he, a man, had bewitched the emperor's heart and disrupted the order of court. One official even threw himself to the ground in open court, weeping blood and begging His Majesty to "banish the sycophant and restore moral clarity."
Gu Lian flew into a rage on the spot, dismissing two of the most outspoken officials in quick succession, forcibly quelling the storm. But those venomous words—"a scourge upon the nation," "a hen crowing at dawn"—were like poisoned nails: pulled out, yes, but leaving invisible wounds behind.
That night, though the offending ministers had been dealt with, the bitterness in Gu Lian's chest refused to dissipate. He clutched Ai Miao's hand tightly, repeating over and over: "I will never let anyone take you from me."
Ai Miao simply returned the grip, his voice soft and steady: "Such backward opinions, Your Majesty—I've never taken them to heart."
Yet when Gu Lian finally drifted into exhausted sleep, those so-called "backward" slanders twisted into the sharpest blades in his dream—not from courtiers, but from Ai Miao himself. From those cold, weary eyes. From that offhanded, devastating line:
"I'm tired of you."
He dreamed he stood alone in the vast, empty throne hall, clad in heavy imperial robes, searching in vain for the familiar figure always at his side.
"Ai Miao?" he called. His voice echoed through the hall. No answer.
A strange panic seized his chest. He stumbled out of the hall, down the familiar palace paths, all the way to the Wen'an Manor. The gates stood wide open, but inside was deathly silent. No servants, no guards, no one—least of all the man he longed for.
"Ai Miao—!" he shouted, rushing into the study.
It wasn't empty. Ai Miao stood by the window, back turned, dressed in his usual elegant robes, posture straight as bamboo.
Gu Lian's heart leapt. He stepped forward—
—but Ai Miao slowly turned around.
The eyes that had always been calm and deep now held no warmth, no indulgence. Only cold, complete unfamiliarity. No—worse than unfamiliarity. They held the weariness of someone who had seen through everything… and grown tired.
"Your Highness," Ai Miao said, voice flat and detached. "No—Your Majesty."
"Ai Miao, what's wrong? Where are we? Let's go back to the palace—" Gu Lian reached for his hand.
Ai Miao stepped back, precisely avoiding his touch.
"Your Majesty," he said again, his tone so distant it chilled Gu Lian to the bone. "I'm leaving."
"Leaving? Where?" Gu Lian's voice trembled without him realizing. "The northern frontier? Then I'll go with you—"
Ai Miao shook his head gently, lips curving into a faint, almost pitying smile. "Your Majesty, don't you understand? There's nowhere that needs you. I simply… no longer want you."
No longer… want you.
The words pierced Gu Lian's heart like poisoned ice, freezing his blood in an instant.
"Why?" he could barely stand, voice breaking. "Did I do something wrong? Is it the court's slander? My parents' disapproval—?"
"It's none of that." Ai Miao cut him off, gaze drifting past him into the void, as if looking at a toy long since discarded. "I'm just… bored."
He lifted a hand, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve—graceful, but cruel.
"To assist Your Majesty, to govern the realm—at first, it felt like a challenge, a calling. But now? It's nothing. Endless memorials, endless court debates… and your exhausting affection."
He looked at Gu Lian again. The eyes that once saw into his soul now held only cold, clinical detachment.
"Your Majesty, you no longer challenge me. You no longer surprise me. This game of ruler and minister… I've grown tired of it."
With that, he turned and walked away, never looking back. His figure vanished into the mist.
"No—! Ai Miao! Come back!" "Don't go! Please… don't leave me—"
Gu Lian jolted upright in bed, chest heaving, drenched in cold sweat. Tears still clung to the corners of his eyes.
"Your Majesty?" came a sleepy, familiar voice beside him. A warm hand gently touched his back. "A nightmare?"
He turned sharply. Ai Miao lay beside him, ink-dark hair spread across the pillow. In the moonlight filtering through the gauzy canopy, his eyes opened—sleepy confusion quickly replaced by real concern, reflecting Gu Lian's terror.
It wasn't a dream. He was still here.
A tidal wave of relief and fear crashed over Gu Lian. He pulled Ai Miao into a fierce embrace, arms tightening as if to crush him into his bones, needing to feel he was real.
As he buried his face in Ai Miao's neck, a single, scalding tear fell onto cool skin.
Ai Miao, slightly breathless from the force of the hug, didn't struggle. He let Gu Lian hold him, gently patting his back. But the emperor's spine trembled violently beneath his palm, and the spreading heat at his neck made Ai Miao's heart clench.
"What did you dream?" he asked softly.
Gu Lian didn't lift his head. He inhaled the familiar, calming scent of ink that belonged only to Ai Miao, voice muffled and tinged with lingering fear—and a trace of wounded grievance: "I dreamed… you said you were tired of me. That you didn't want me anymore."
Ai Miao's hand paused.
Then he sighed, helpless and indulgent. He pulled back slightly, cupped Gu Lian's face in the dim light, and gently wiped away the sweat and tears.
Then he leaned in and kissed Gu Lian's pale lips.
The kiss was long and tender, full of comfort. Only when he felt the tension in Gu Lian's body ease did Ai Miao pull away, resting their foreheads together. His gaze was clear and unwavering, reflecting only Gu Lian.
"Your Majesty," he said, voice low and firm, "that was only a dream."
He paused, then added—more direct and resolute than ever: "Even if the throne changes hands, even if the stars fall from the sky—I will not leave you."
"All I fear in this life is not doing enough for you, not staying long enough by your side." He kissed the corner of Gu Lian's mouth. "How could I ever… not want you?"
Gu Lian stared at him, at the undeniable sincerity and love in his eyes. The dream's icy despair finally melted in the warmth of reality. He tightened his arms again, as if to carve this promise into his soul.
"Remember what you said," he whispered hoarsely at Ai Miao's ear. "If you ever forget, I'll… I'll…"
He trailed off. No threat seemed strong enough.
In the end, he simply kissed him again—deeper this time, pouring all his fear and possessiveness into it.
Outside, the summer night breeze stirred the canopy, bringing a breath of cool air.
In the quiet between kisses, Ai Miao sighed silently.
His emperor, who held the world in his hands, was always so insecure about this one thing.
It seemed he would have to spend the rest of his life proving the answer—again and again, tirelessly.
And that, he thought, was a burden he would gladly, sweetly bear.