— Ai Miao's Inner Reflections
A quiet meditation on beauty,a journey from fleeting grace to blazing devotion,a strategist's private tide of longing and belonging.
Chapter I: The Swan's First Flight
Time: A late autumn night during Ai Miao's tenure assisting Murong Che Place: A secluded noble estate in the Northern Jing capital
Candlelight flickered. Incense curled warmly through the air. Ai Miao sat at a night banquet, invited by a Northern Jing aristocrat. His fingers tapped silently against his knee, calculating the next move. Until the music changed— And his rhythm faltered.
The dancer entered like moonlight slicing through a night soaked in wine and color.
His body moved like silk in the wind. The moon-white gauze revealed a waistline so delicate it seemed it might snap with a breath. The crimson sash trailing from his arms wasn't an accessory—it was an extension of him. Raised, it was wildfire. Spun, it was blood. But most striking were his eyes—hazy and seductive one moment, then suddenly clear, fragile, and defiant.
"So men can be weapons too…" Ai Miao gripped his wine cup. The chill of the porcelain grounded him. This wasn't the scorching sunlight he saw in Gu Lian. This was moonlight—poisoned, dazzling, dangerous. And yet he couldn't look away.
For one absurd moment, he thought: If His Highness were to dance like this… The thought tightened his throat. He downed his wine.
The dance ended. The dancer—Flowing Cloud—collapsed to the floor, breathless. Sweat slid down his nape into his collar. Cheers erupted, laced with lewd laughter. Ai Miao saw a noble reach out to lift the dancer's chin.
"This dancer," Ai Miao said suddenly. His voice was quiet, but the room fell silent. "I'll take him."
Gasps rippled through the hall. Even Flowing Cloud looked up in shock.
—
That night, Flowing Cloud was delivered to Ai Miao's temporary residence. He knelt at the steps, voice numb with resignation. "Your servant is here to assist with your robe."
Ai Miao stood by the window, studying a map of Northern Jing's borders. He didn't turn. "Do you know why I redeemed you?"
"I… do not."
"There's a blade in your dance." Ai Miao turned, gaze falling on the tremble in his fingers. "It shouldn't break in filth." He tossed a pouch of gold. "Leave the capital within three days. Head south. There's a music house near the Da Sheng border called Yun Shui Jian. Take this to the master there."
Flowing Cloud stared at the pouch, then bowed deeply. "I wish to follow you! As servant, as shadow—"
"I don't need that." Ai Miao cut him off, voice calm. "And you don't need to cling to anyone." He looked one last time at that breathtaking face. "Don't waste this swan's flight."
—
Three days later, a scout reported Flowing Cloud had left the city. Ai Miao stood atop the city wall, watching the black dot vanish down the road. His hand rose to his chest— A fleeting ache. Nothing more.
"Your Highness…" He murmured to the empty air, fingers tracing invisible lines. "If you were to dance for me…"
The thought made his ears burn. Not a dance like Flowing Cloud's—soft and seductive— But Gu Lian's kind of dance. Red robes flying. Sword at his side. Every turn sharp with battlefield fire. And in that final glance— Only Ai Miao reflected in his eyes.
"Forget it." Ai Miao laughed softly, tossing the ink-stained paper into the brazier.
He pressed his chest again— A longing for a swan that would never take flight.
But the ache was quickly buried beneath sharper logic.
"That kind of beauty is too fragile…" He whispered to the flame. Flowing Cloud's moonlit figure faded from his mind, Replaced entirely by Gu Lian's scorching, sun-like presence.
"I'd rather protect a sovereign like His Majesty— A sun that burns for the empire."
And that secret wish to see His Highness dance— He let it drift away, Buried forever in the autumn winds of Northern Jing.
Chapter II: Ripples Beneath the Swan
After returning from Northern Jing, Ai Miao's life was once again filled with the order and splendor of Da Sheng—endless memorials, intricate strategies, and the deepening gaze of the emperor.
Only in rare moments—such as during palace banquets, when the Music Bureau presented its most elaborate performances—did he allow his mind to drift.
When the dancers' sleeves fluttered and their movements flowed like water, it wasn't their grace that surfaced in his mind. It was a figure from a cold night in Northern Jing— A body that fused strength and suppleness, wrapped in moon-white silk, tinged with defiance and fragility. Flowing Cloud. That name, and the breathtaking dance beneath candlelight, had become his secret measure of all beauty.
At one such banquet, a newly choreographed Song of the Rainbow Garments won thunderous applause. Seated just below the emperor, Ai Miao's fingers tapped lightly on his knee—unconsciously echoing a long-forgotten Northern Jing rhythm.
"What does Ai Qing think of this dance?" Gu Lian's voice sounded beside his ear, laced with subtle curiosity. He always noticed the smallest flicker of Ai Miao's distraction.
Ai Miao blinked, returning to the present. He lowered his gaze respectfully. "The melody is exquisite, the choreography refined… but perhaps a touch too soft. It lacks a certain strength beneath the grace."
He had chosen his words carefully. But in his mind, he was comparing it to that crimson sash— That dance of tension and release, of elegance laced with steel.
Gu Lian studied him for a long moment, said nothing. But that night, back in the bedchamber, he took Ai Miao's hand and turned it over again and again in his palm, as if absentmindedly. Then murmured, almost to himself: "My Ai Qing's taste… grows ever more discerning."
—
Another time, in plain clothes, Ai Miao passed by a newly opened music house in the western quarter of the capital—Yun Shui Jian, the very place he had once directed Flowing Cloud toward.
He'd heard whispers of a mysterious dance master there, whose choreography blended the desolate strength of Northern Jing with the elegance of Da Sheng. Scholars and nobles alike flocked to see it.
Ai Miao paused across the street, listening to the faint strains of music and scattered applause. Then he lowered the brim of his hat and turned away, vanishing into the crowd.
He knew—some beauty was meant to be sealed in memory. To see it again might shatter the perfection he'd preserved. Or worse… stir ripples that should remain still.
He understood clearly: What he felt was not love, but reverence. An appreciation for beauty in its purest, most fleeting form. Like a rare painting, taken out once in a while to admire—never confused with the living warmth of love.
His feelings for Gu Lian were different. They were carved into bone, resonant in soul. A love heavy with empire, forged in shared storms.
Flowing Cloud was a dream—distant, exquisite. A private corner of sentiment, tucked away from the strategist's rational world. A footnote to his understanding of grace.
This unspoken, lingering memory had never once shaken his loyalty to Gu Lian. If anything, it made him cherish the emperor's presence more— That fierce, possessive love, so real it burned.
And so, in rare moments of music and celebration, He allowed that swan-like shadow to skim across the surface of his heart— A fleeting ripple, gone before it could deepen, Returning to the vast, unwavering sea of love he held for his emperor.
Chapter III: Aesthetics in Debate
Winter, Jinghe Year Two. A rare idle afternoon. The brazier glowed warmly in the inner chamber. Gu Lian, for once free of state affairs, reclined lazily on a soft couch, flipping through a newly presented volume—The Elegance of the Capital. An appendix listed the "Twin Beauties of the Capital," as voted by the public.
"Ai Miao," he called, voice tinged with a languid smile, tapping the page with one finger. "Come look. This book names Su Wanqing the most beautiful woman in the capital—'as radiant as the autumn moon, unmatched in grace.' Hmm. Fair enough, I suppose."
Ai Miao sat not far away, reviewing memorials. He didn't look up. His brush moved steadily. He merely replied with a soft, "Mm."
Gu Lian turned another page. His gaze paused, tone turning teasing. "Oh? And the most handsome man… is me? 'A sovereign of dragon grace and phoenix bearing, dazzling as the midday sun'?" He gave a short laugh and set the book on his knee. "Flattering nonsense. Idle scribblings of bored scholars."
Ai Miao finally set down his brush and looked up. The usual calm in his eyes softened slightly, a faint smile brushing his lips. "Why must Your Majesty be so modest? 'Dragon grace and phoenix bearing'—it suits you."
"Oh?" Gu Lian raised a brow, sitting up with interest. "Then tell me—if we set aside rank and power, and judge only by appearance and bearing… who truly deserves to be called 'first'?"
Ai Miao fell silent. His gaze drifted to the withered branches swaying beyond the window, as if searching through a thousand faces in memory.
"Miss Su is indeed a rare beauty—elegant and radiant, a model of noble grace. But…" He paused, voice calm and measured. "Though beautiful, she feels… over-polished. Lacking a certain vitality."
Gu Lian hadn't expected a real critique. His interest deepened. "And the men's list?" he pressed, leaning forward slightly. "Do you think I, too, am… over-polished?"
"Your Majesty is, of course, exceptional." Ai Miao turned back to him, gaze steady. Then, with a subtle shift in tone, he dropped a quiet bombshell: "But if I had to name a 'first'… I would choose Flowing Cloud."
"Flowing Cloud?" Gu Lian blinked, then narrowed his eyes. "Flowing Cloud… you mean that dancer from Northern Jing?"
"The very same," Ai Miao nodded.
"Him? A dancer… and you think he surpasses me?" Gu Lian's voice held disbelief—and a trace of jealousy he didn't even notice himself. Flowing Cloud, now famed in the capital's Yun Shui Jian music house, was known for his beauty and mesmerizing dance. Many nobles were said to be enamored.
Ai Miao seemed oblivious to the emperor's shifting mood. He spoke with the same calm he used to analyze statecraft. "Your Majesty is the Son of Heaven—dignified by nature, like jade from Kunlun, noble and untouchable. But Flowing Cloud's beauty…" He paused, choosing his words. "Lies in the phrase 'alive with color and fragrance.' Every glance, every smile, is a painting in motion. Especially when he dances—it's as if all the spirit of heaven and earth gathers in him. Soft, but not weak. Alluring, but never vulgar. That kind of beauty… flows. It breathes. It strikes the heart."
The chamber fell silent. The brazier crackled softly.
Gu Lian stared at Ai Miao, expression unreadable. After a long pause, he said quietly, "…Ai Qing observes with remarkable precision."
His tone was calm—too calm. Like a lake in early spring, still on the surface, but ice lurking beneath.
Only then did Ai Miao realize something. He turned his gaze from the window back to Gu Lian. The emperor's lips still curved in a smile, but his eyes had cooled.
Ai Miao blinked, a flicker of understanding and helplessness in his eyes. His voice softened, laced with reassurance. "Your Majesty misunderstands. I speak only from a place of aesthetic appreciation. Flowing Cloud's beauty is like a night-blooming flower—brilliant, fleeting. Worthy of admiration, but never meant to linger in the heart."
He rose and walked to Gu Lian's couch, leaning down slightly. His dark eyes locked onto the emperor's, steady and sincere.
"But Your Majesty's beauty… is like the sun and moon, like the mountains and rivers. It has long since become part of my bones, part of my breath. Beyond romance. Beyond appearance."
He gently took Gu Lian's hand and placed it over his own heart. "Feel this. How could Flowing Cloud ever compare?"
Gu Lian looked at the face so close to his own, listened to the words that were both explanation and confession, felt the steady warmth beneath his palm— And all his irritation melted into a tide of quiet joy.
He pulled Ai Miao into his arms with a sudden laugh, voice rumbling in his chest. "Silver-tongued flatterer… but I'm pleased."
Ai Miao stumbled into his embrace, caught off guard. He didn't try to rise again. Instead, he buried his flushed ears in the emperor's robes, lips curving in a barely visible smile.
As for whether Flowing Cloud truly deserved the title of "most beautiful man"— It no longer mattered. In Ai Miao's heart, that place had long been claimed by one person, unshakable and absolute.
Outside, the wind stirred, rustling the snow that clung to the eaves. Inside, only the soft crackle of the brazier and the sound of two hearts beating close.
After a while, Gu Lian loosened his hold slightly, content. Ai Miao shifted, turning his back and settling into the emperor's arms, finding a more comfortable position.
Gu Lian tightened his embrace again, chin resting atop Ai Miao's head. His voice was lazy, satisfied. "From now on, no more detailed critiques of anyone's looks—except mine."
Ai Miao, nestled against his chest, let a faint smile touch his lips. "As you wish. I'll have the beauty rankings abolished first thing tomorrow."
Gu Lian blinked, then laughed. "No need for that… let them be."
The reason, of course, needed no words. That top ranking—paired with the warmth in this quiet chamber—was proof enough. A private indulgence, known only to the two of them.
Chapter IV: The Swan Returns
Spring, Jinghe Year Three. Ai Miao had half a day of rare leisure. Dressed in plain robes, accompanied only by two close guards, he wandered the western quarter of the capital, listening to storytelling in a teahouse.
Passing a quiet alley, he was drawn by a distinctive rhythm of drums. Following the sound, he saw a modest music house rehearsing a new dance.
A figure leapt into view— And Ai Miao's steps halted.
It was Flowing Cloud.
He was leaner than he had been in Northern Jing. The fragility in his eyes had faded, replaced by a quiet grace. He was guiding several dancers, his gestures still infused with that bone-deep elegance.
Sensing something, he turned— His gaze pierced the sparse crowd and landed precisely on Ai Miao.
Those eyes, always veiled in dance-born haze, lit up with disbelief. Then melted into gratitude— And something deeper, more complicated.
He crossed the courtyard in swift strides, ignoring the stares around him. Before Ai Miao, he bowed deeply, voice trembling with restrained emotion: "Sir… Ai…"
Ai Miao looked at him, a sigh rising in his heart. So it was… another encounter.
—
That night, in the study of the Wen'an residence, only the two of them remained.
Flowing Cloud insisted on performing a dance— One meant only for Ai Miao.
No musicians. Only the faint sound of the water clock outside.
He shed his outer robe, dressed in simple white. Using his knuckles to tap rhythm on the desk, he began to dance.
This was not the sharp, breathtaking performance from Northern Jing's banquet. This was moonlight over water—lingering, tender. Every glance, every turn, like invisible threads wrapping around Ai Miao, who sat watching in silence.
His fingers traced the air, as if sketching the outline of his benefactor. His body bowed low, like worshiping the only faith he held. As he spun closer, his eyes shimmered with cautious longing— A feeling so vivid it nearly took form.
Ai Miao watched quietly. His gaze remained clear, but his heart was not untouched.
He was too perceptive not to see it— The emotion in this dance went beyond gratitude. It had matured into something deeper, more intoxicating.
But the space in his heart had long been claimed— By a sovereign whose presence left no room for another.
The dance ended. Flowing Cloud knelt, breath uneven, eyes shining with unhidden sincerity. "My life belongs to you, sir. This body, this heart… I wish to—"
"Flowing Cloud." Ai Miao interrupted gently, voice warm but firm. "I helped you because I saw your talent. Nothing more. Your success is your own doing. It has nothing to do with me."
He rose, walked to the window, and looked toward the palace. His voice was calm, steady. "You've found your place. That's good. But some boundaries… must never be crossed."
The light in Flowing Cloud's eyes dimmed. He was intelligent—he understood. This was a final, irrevocable refusal.
He lowered his head, shoulders trembling. "Flowing Cloud… has overstepped."
Ai Miao watched his sorrow, rubbed his brow. Refusing Flowing Cloud was easy. The harder part… was His Majesty.
He could already imagine it— If Gu Lian learned he had not only met this dancer in private, but brought him home and watched him perform…
That vinegar-soaked emperor would likely overturn the imperial desk.
Just picturing those narrowed phoenix eyes, that "gentle" tone— "Ai Qing, such refined taste, hmm?" Ai Miao felt a familiar headache—equal parts helplessness and indulgence.
"Let today end here." He turned, voice returning to its usual calm. "Yun Shui Jian is a good place. Manage it well. From now on… unless necessary, don't seek me out."
Flowing Cloud bowed deeply. When he looked up again, all emotion was gone— Only respectful composure remained. "Flowing Cloud… will remember your guidance."
—
After sending him off, Ai Miao sat alone in the study for a long time.
He unrolled a sheet of paper, intending to work— But found himself sketching the outline of a dancer's pose.
He stared at it for a moment. Then crumpled the paper and tossed it into the brazier.
"Troublesome," he murmured.
But the sigh held no real annoyance— Only a quiet anticipation, For a certain someone's impending jealousy.
Chapter V: Calm Waters, Hidden Currents (Part I)
After Flowing Cloud left, Ai Miao stood quietly in his study for a moment. Then he summoned a trusted guard and gave a few quiet instructions.
Within the time it took for a single stick of incense to burn, a complete dossier on Flowing Cloud and the day's events had been discreetly delivered to the imperial desk.
Ai Miao knew well— In this capital, especially under Gu Lian's tacit indulgence, There were always eyes around him. Rather than letting rumors twist their way to the emperor's ears, He preferred to offer the most objective, most boring version himself.
—
That night, Ai Miao entered the palace as usual. But the moment he stepped into the familiar bedchamber, He sensed a subtle shift in the air— A pressure, low and quiet.
Gu Lian reclined on the couch, reading memorials. He didn't look up when he heard footsteps. Just gave a deliberately flat "Mm."
Ai Miao understood instantly. But his expression remained composed. He bowed as usual, walked to Gu Lian's side, and reached to organize the reviewed documents.
Just as his hand moved, Gu Lian suddenly set the memorial down with a soft but deliberate thud. He finally looked up, phoenix eyes narrowing slightly, gaze sweeping Ai Miao's face. His tone was casual—too casual.
"I heard Ai Qing had a rare half-day of leisure today. Quite the occasion."
Here it comes, Ai Miao thought. But his face remained calm. He followed the emperor's lead, even adding a faint, offhand sigh to his tone:
"Yes. I passed through the western quarter, heard some drums, and stopped to look. Unexpectedly, I ran into a dancer I once helped in Northern Jing."
As he spoke, he naturally picked up the half-cold tea beside Gu Lian, Replaced it with a warm one, and handed it back— All with the ease of routine care.
"Oh?" Gu Lian took the cup, his fingers brushing Ai Miao's hand—cool to the touch. "You mean the one Ai Qing couldn't forget? The one you personally redeemed, gifted gold to, and sent on his way? That 'swan'?"
"Since Your Majesty has read the dossier," Ai Miao replied evenly, "You know that what I did back then was merely a gesture of appreciation for talent and sympathy for circumstance. A casual move on the board."
"Seeing him again today, I found he hadn't fallen into degradation. Instead, he's fused Northern Jing's boldness with Da Sheng's elegance, creating something new. Not a disappointment."
He paused, then looked up. The palace lanterns reflected in his eyes—clear, steady. There was a hint of helplessness, as if misunderstood, but perfectly measured.
"As for 'couldn't forget'… Your Majesty should know better than anyone— This heart of mine has been full since youth. There's no room left for stray glimmers. Even the moonlight above cannot compare to the warmth of Your Majesty's candle flame."
His words were calm, But more powerful than any passionate defense. They explained the past, clarified the present, And struck directly at the root of Gu Lian's quiet jealousy.
Gu Lian stared at him for a moment. Then suddenly reached out, pulled him onto the couch, and into his arms. His chin rested atop Ai Miao's head. His voice was low, no longer cold:
"Silver tongue. If it was just a casual move, Why summon him today? Why watch him dance alone?"
His arms tightened—possessive, unyielding. "Ai Qing certainly has refined tastes."
Ai Miao relaxed into the embrace, not resisting. His voice softened, carrying a trace of indulgence:
"I summoned him to sever old ties. Watched him dance to confirm his character—still usable, still cautious." He tilted his head slightly, breath brushing Gu Lian's neck. "If Your Majesty dislikes it, I'll order Yun Shui Jian to relocate tomorrow. Never again shall it appear in our sight."
He offered retreat, Handing full control to Gu Lian.
Gu Lian was silent for a moment. Then laughed softly, the vibration echoing through Ai Miao's back. He loosened his hold slightly, lifted Ai Miao's chin, and forced him to meet his gaze.
His eyes were clear now—moonlight after clouds— Filled with familiar mischief.
"No need. Would I be so petty?" His thumb brushed Ai Miao's lips. His tone was lazy, domineering. "But since Ai Qing has displeased me… Shouldn't there be some… compensation?"
Ai Miao saw the emperor's mood had returned to normal. He let out a quiet breath of relief. A faint smile touched his lips. He leaned in and placed a soft, steady kiss on Gu Lian's lips.
"Does this… soothe Your Majesty's displeasure?"
Gu Lian's eyes darkened. He deepened the kiss, Until both their breaths grew uneven. Then pressed his forehead to Ai Miao's, voice husky:
"Barely… acceptable."
—
Candlelight flickered. Their entwined shadows danced across the screen—warm and tender.
Days later, an imperial edict was issued: Praise for Yun Shui Jian's fusion of northern and southern dance styles. A reward of gold and silk. Permission to perform at the upcoming Longevity Festival.
Flowing Cloud knelt to receive the decree. He understood— This was the final protection from his benefactor. And an invisible chain.
From now on, he would be the master of Yun Shui Jian. A "former acquaintance" of the Duke of Wen'an— No longer anything more.
He bowed deeply toward the palace, Burying all forbidden thoughts.
—
As for Ai Miao— He was thoroughly "comforted" by a certain "generous" emperor, Who claimed it was to soothe his "startled heart."
Only when new marks bloomed on his neck— The kind that required high-collared robes to conceal— Did Gu Lian finally relent.
From that day on, The name "Flowing Cloud" was never spoken between them again.
That glimpse of the swan in Northern Jing Faded into a wisp of smoke, Carried away by the flourishing winds of the Jinghe era.
Chapter VI: Storm Beneath Still Waters (Part II)
Jinghe Year Three, Longevity Festival.
The palace was ablaze with light. Pearl lanterns hung from every hall and corridor, their glow mingling with moonlight and stars. The grand imperial banquet was held at the lakeside Penglai Hall—ruler and ministers gathered in celebration of peace.
After three rounds of wine, the music began anew. When the chamberlain announced, "Yun Shui Jian presents: 'Shadow of the Soaring Swan'," Ai Miao's hand, lifting his cup, paused ever so slightly.
He looked toward the center of the hall— Flowing Cloud entered, leading his dancers in graceful procession.
He was no longer the dusty servant from Northern Jing's banquet. Dressed in moon-white shark silk, his robes shimmered under palace lanterns— The same hue as the gold Ai Miao had once gifted him.
His sleeves floated like clouds. He looked like a banished immortal.
Years of refinement had honed his art. His dance now blended Northern Jing's boldness with Da Sheng's elegance. Every turn, every gesture, carried effortless allure— Strength without aggression, beauty beyond gender.
At the climax of the drums, He froze mid-spin, arched backward, His waist forming a breathtaking curve. His gaze—hazy, seductive—fell toward the imperial throne.
The hall collectively drew breath.
Ai Miao watched in silence.
He had to admit— Flowing Cloud's grace had reached its peak. This beauty had nothing to do with love. It was the reverence one felt for perfect art— Like admiring a jade sculpture from a bygone dynasty, A painting passed down through generations. You knew not to indulge— Yet still, it stirred the soul.
His fingers brushed the jade pendant at his waist— A warm stone Gu Lian had tied there just yesterday. Its touch calmed the ripple in his heart.
Even the most dazzling blossom Couldn't compare to the steady flame in the Eastern Palace study— Lit for him, always.
But Ai Miao didn't know— That brief flicker of distraction, That unconscious touch of jade, Had not escaped the man beside him.
Gu Lian's smile remained imperial, But his fingers around the wine cup had gone pale.
He remembered clearly— The dossier from the Shadow Guard. Ai Miao had once described Flowing Cloud as "Unparalleled in allure."
Unparalleled, indeed.
—
The dance ended. Flowing Cloud bowed low. Applause thundered through the hall. Young ministers were visibly dazzled.
Gu Lian smiled and bestowed gold and silk. His tone was warm: "Flowing Cloud's performance lives up to its reputation. I hear this piece was inspired by Duke Wen'an's guidance?"
Ai Miao rose and bowed. "I dare not claim credit. Years ago, I merely noted his potential and mentioned, in passing, That northern and southern styles might be fused."
"Oh?" Gu Lian's brow lifted. His gaze flicked between Ai Miao and Flowing Cloud. His smile deepened.
"So Duke Wen'an not only governs the realm, But also excels in the arts. What does Master Flowing Cloud think?"
Flowing Cloud, still kneeling, voice trembling: "Duke Wen'an's guidance… I will never forget. Without his words, there would be no Shadow of the Soaring Swan."
The words were sincere— But to one listener, they stung.
The banquet continued. Music resumed. Gu Lian laughed and drank with his ministers. Only Ai Miao noticed— The emperor's aura was growing colder by the minute.
—
When the banquet ended and the imperial carriage reached a quiet corridor, Gu Lian suddenly pulled Ai Miao into his arms.
"Unparalleled?" He growled into Ai Miao's ear, breath warm with wine. "I want to see what kind of allure Could make my Grand Councilor remember him for years."
"Your Majesty—" Ai Miao began, but was silenced by a kiss. It was punishing, possessive, Stealing his breath until his eyes turned red.
"He danced well?" Gu Lian asked, forehead pressed to his.
"…Yes," Ai Miao answered truthfully.
"Better than me?"
Ai Miao couldn't help but laugh softly. He reached up, cupping Gu Lian's tense face. "Your Majesty rules the empire. Why compete with a dancer?"
"I want to compete." Gu Lian gripped his hand, eyes dark. "Tell me—who's better?"
Ai Miao looked into those jealous eyes, And his heart melted.
He leaned in, kissed Gu Lian gently. "In my heart, Your Majesty is always the only one. Even the music of the heavens Can't compare to you calling me 'Ai Qing.'"
That finally pleased the vinegar-soaked emperor. His gaze warmed— But he wasn't done.
"Then Ai Qing should properly soothe me."
He scooped Ai Miao into his arms, heading for the bedchamber.
"I want to see— Is Northern Jing's swan dance more captivating, Or is Ai Qing's charm in bed… even greater?"
Moonlight streamed through the lattice windows, Casting their entwined shadows on the floor.
Outside, the night guards quietly stepped back. It seemed Duke Wen'an would be "resting" again tonight.
—
At that moment, Flowing Cloud knelt outside the palace gates, Bowing deeply toward Penglai Hall.
He knew— This was the last time he would see that man.
From now on, the swan would remain a swan— Never again touching the strategist's unfathomable heart.
—
Three days later, Ai Miao received word: Yun Shui Jian was relocating to Jiangnan.
He glanced at the report, set it aside, And continued reviewing memorials.
Gu Lian embraced him from behind, chin resting on his shoulder. "Reluctant to let go?"
Ai Miao's brush didn't pause. His lips curved slightly. "I was just thinking… Where to begin with Jiangnan's tax reform."
Gu Lian chuckled, Kissed his ear with satisfaction.
That breathtaking swan dance— Faded into ink on the pages of history.
But the true legend Was being written here, Stroke by stroke, In the quiet glow of the palace lamps.
Chapter VII: Swan, Fulfilled
Time: A late night, not long after the "Storm Beneath Still Waters" Place: The imperial bedchamber
The chamber was awash in candlelight. Gu Lian, tipsy with wine, had Ai Miao wrapped in his arms, chin resting on his shoulder, idly playing with his long fingers. His voice, low and husky with drink, brushed against Ai Miao's ear like velvet.
"Come to think of it," he murmured, "the phrase 'soaring swan' really is a lovely image. Graceful as a startled swan, fluid as a dragon in flight… But tell me, Ai Qing— What kind of figure, in your heart, is worthy of such a name?"
Ai Miao's heart gave a jolt. But his face remained calm. "Your Majesty, with your dragon grace and phoenix bearing— Even standing still, you are a soaring swan."
Gu Lian chuckled, breath hot against his skin. "Silver tongue."
Before the words had fully left his mouth, He tightened his hold on Ai Miao's waist and spun him suddenly.
Caught off guard, Ai Miao instinctively followed the movement to keep his balance. There was no music—only the rustle of robes, the rhythm of breath. Gu Lian's arms were strong, guiding and possessive. His steps seemed casual, but carried a hidden rhythm— An impromptu dance, charged with desire.
"I've thought about it," Gu Lian said, eyes locked on him, gaze fathomless. "A soaring swan shouldn't be a shadow glimpsed across the water."
He spun Ai Miao again. The hem of his robe swept out in a clean arc.
"It should be this—" Gu Lian's voice dropped, each word striking Ai Miao's heart. "Close enough to touch. Trapped in my arms. Dancing only with me."
"—!"
Ai Miao's breath shattered. In that instant, the fantasy he had buried for years— Of a red-robed sword dance, fierce and radiant— Overlapped violently with the man before him: This emperor, with his commanding steps and burning gaze.
He had never imagined that the secret he'd hidden in the autumn winds of Northern Jing Would be unearthed like this— Not by accident, but by sheer, overwhelming will.
Gu Lian caught the tremor in his body. He didn't understand it, but he was pleased by the reaction. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Ai Miao's parted lips— The final step of their dance.
"Ai Qing," he whispered, forehead resting against his, breath unsteady, Voice thick with triumph and satisfaction, "Was my swan more piercing than the one you imagined?"
Ai Miao closed his eyes. All the emotions that had surged within him— The memory, the longing, the secret— He pressed them down, And let them dissolve into a single, near-sigh of a reply:
"…Your Majesty's performance is, as always— Unrivaled."
He would never let Gu Lian know— That this punishment, born of jealousy, Had, by some twist of fate, Become the only swan dance of his life.
The one he had never dared to ask for—
And would never forget.