Gu Jiao lowered her gaze slightly, her voice light and gentle, carrying a faint softness.
—A reunion of old friends.
The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of breathing. She looked at Jun Heng’s suddenly startled eyes and found herself wondering—what had she been holding onto these past few years?
Huai’an had been right; she knew his temper well enough. Jun Heng had never been one to express his thoughts properly.
Whatever had happened back then, if it had been Ning Feizhi—or anyone else—they wouldn’t have let the incident fester into this long-standing estrangement.
But Jun Heng… stubborn, complicated Jun Heng.
Thinking of this, she quietly glanced at him. He hadn’t moved from his previous posture, his eyes fixed on the desk, lost in thought.
Had she misread the situation?
If so… that could be troublesome.
“The command token was given to you only because I trusted the Left Chancellor,” Jun Heng finally spoke, his voice slightly rough. “As for… everything else—”
“I don’t remember,” she interrupted.
Don’t remember?
Gu Jiao blinked, ensuring she had heard correctly, and then slowly let a smile bloom.
“In that case, I don’t know if saying this now is too late…”
“Your Majesty, I hope all has been well.”
She spoke each word clearly, smiling as she tilted her head to meet his eyes.
Jun Heng said nothing, a flicker of struggle passing through his gaze.
Gu Jiao suddenly thought of something else.
“Then—”
“But—”
They spoke at the same time, and just as quickly, both fell silent.
“Gu Jiao, I know what you wish to ask, but… I cannot promise I will agree to your request,” Jun Heng said, averting his gaze. “Some matters… I also have my own selfish concerns.”
Gu Jiao swallowed her words, sighing quietly in her heart.
He was shutting down her question entirely.
She had thought that if she spoke honestly with Jun Heng, she might no longer have to continue as a concubine.
But it seemed that wouldn’t be so easy.
“What do you mean by ‘selfish concerns’?” she asked.
Jun Heng hesitated. “Gu Jiao… your position is different,” he said with difficulty.
“Oh?” she said, feigning eager curiosity.
“Have you ever considered leaving the imperial capital?” Jun Heng’s head bowed slightly, his voice soft.
“No,” she answered firmly, without hesitation. “As long as my father serves Tianyu, I will always be loyal to Tianyu.”
Leave the capital…
If her father weren’t Gu Qingxing, perhaps she might have wavered.
She had studied the ways of loyalty between ruler and minister, but only in theory. She didn’t value it much.
Her loyalty to Tianyu existed solely because her father was a diehard loyalist.
…And that was enough.
Thinking further, she guessed aloud: “I know Your Majesty fears I might cling to old attachments, colluding with the Xie family to create some disaster.”
“But the marriage between the Gu and Xie families never happened. That marriage contract was destroyed—it no longer holds any weight.”
Jun Heng tugged slightly at the corner of his mouth.
She knew? She had no idea. He had trapped her in the palace of his own accord, never out of fear of the Gu family betraying him.
“But Gu Jiao… I cannot trust you.”
He looked at her, listing reasons that sounded perfectly reasonable from his position.
“I do not gamble. You know the Xie family’s influence. Tianyu could do without me, but he cannot do without the Left Chancellor.”
“The Xie family will rebel, and you…” Jun Heng’s dark eyes dimmed. “Can you truly say you have no feelings left for that man?”
Gu Jiao was momentarily speechless. His words were not without merit, from his perspective.
No matter how passionately she swore her loyalty, no matter how fervent the Gu family’s dedication to Tianyu, promises were fragile. Who could say they wouldn’t be broken in the future?
At this moment, she could not convince Jun Heng otherwise—unless she killed Xie Chongyu outright.
…She had the skill to do it, but she had spent all these years quietly working in the Left Chancellor’s household.
She felt truly unlucky. Her childhood betrothed had left without a word, and she was left to clean up the mess.
“So… what would it take for you to trust me?” she asked.
…
“When the Xie family poses no threat to the capital, I will let you go,” Jun Heng said slowly, eyes lowered, enunciating each word.
Gu Jiao pondered briefly, then could not help asking, “Why would the Xie family rebel?”
She had reflected on the Nanning incident and sensed something suspicious.
Xie Ji had indeed died for Emperor Zhaoyuan, yet Xie Changling’s actions this time were reckless, showing a disregard for caution.
Though she did not know Xie Changling well, she knew Xie Chongyu.
If the Xie family had been waiting for a chance to rebel, Xie Chongyu would not have acted with such obvious joy and affection… nor chosen to marry her at this time.
Those unhidden feelings… could not have been faked.
“Since Xie Ji’s death, perhaps this day was inevitable,” Jun Heng said, lowering his gaze. “It was only a matter of time.”
“If the Left Chancellor hadn’t insisted on saving him, seven years ago, Xie Chongyu would have died under the Emperor’s secret orders.”
…And she would never have met him.
Gu Jiao’s heart skipped a beat.
If Xie Chongyu had died…
“Perhaps the Xie family acted on impulse—”
“Gu Jiao.” Jun Heng suddenly looked at her. “Do you realize what you are saying?”
Startled, she lowered her head. “Sorry.”
Jun Heng closed his eyes. “The command token is in your hands. You can go anywhere you wish. Yet even one title can trouble you so?”
“If… if there were someone you wished to spend your life with, I would let you go. Would that be acceptable?”
She let out a soft sigh, raising her eyes again, calm and clear.
“I never said I wouldn’t agree.”
She smiled slightly, extending her hand toward Jun Heng. “It’s a promise.”
She no longer dwelled on the past. After all… the world was unpredictable; things rarely went as one wished.
Jun Heng hesitated, curling his fingers in his sleeve before extending them. Their palms met gently.
“A promise,” he echoed.
…
After Gu Jiao left, Huai’an pushed open the doors of Longzhang Palace. He added a few coals to the fire before carefully approaching Jun Heng.
Jun Heng still sat at his desk, staring blankly at the brush holder, unaware of Huai’an’s approach.
Remembering the conversation he had overheard after dismissing others, his previously suppressed emotions, weighed down by Jun Heng’s gloom, seemed to lighten.
He began organizing the messy memorials at Jun Heng’s desk and noticed the heavily ink-stained and creased document among them.
He froze.
It was a formal apology from Grand Tutor Ning, regarding Ning Feizhi’s unauthorized entry into the palace.
Though partially obscured by ink, the force behind the strokes was evident—the writer had been furious.
Grand Tutor Ning was strict; after Ning Feizhi returned home, his situation would likely be grim.
Huai’an hesitated, unsure if he should ask Jun Heng again. Jun Heng’s hand moved, taking the document from him.
“Send someone to the Ning residence. Tell Grand Tutor Ning that Ning Feizhi’s entry into the palace was sanctioned by me,” Jun Heng said calmly, glancing at the document.
Startled, Huai’an exhaled and responded, “Yes, Your Majesty.”
His emperor was truly rare to show favor to Ning Feizhi.
“She has left?” Jun Heng asked softly.
“Yes. When the lady left, she even smiled,” Huai’an replied, a trace of amusement in his voice.
“When does she not smile?” Jun Heng muttered.
Huai’an glanced at the faint curve of his lips and, in a seemingly serious tone, said, “The last time she left Longzhang Palace, she didn’t seem very happy.”
Jun Heng’s eyes darkened slightly. Last time… after he had provoked her with words, she had left in a hurry.
Yet, when reminded of her originally scheduled wedding day, how could he feel at ease?
Seeing Jun Heng’s expression soften, Huai’an realized he had spoken wrongly and quickly changed the subject. “Grand Imperial Physician came by just now. Seeing the lady here, he did not disturb you, only instructing the palace kitchen to warm the medicinal meal he brought—”
“Huai’an,” Jun Heng lowered his gaze. “I have some regrets.”
“If… if I had listened to your advice back then, perhaps things would not have come to this between us.”
“Lady has already cleared the air with you. Why do you dwell on this again?” Huai’an said, worry etching his features as he looked at Jun Heng’s still-ailing face.
“You know… how she truly treats someone she considers a close friend,” Jun Heng shook his head, a bitter smile touching his lips. “She’s different now. She is still wary… perhaps even avoiding me.”
In his tumultuous thoughts, he had even changed the way he referred to himself.
Huai’an was momentarily stunned. Jun Heng at this moment reminded him of the bewildered and lonely Seventh Prince he had once accidentally seen in Dongyi Hall years ago.
“You’ve been apart from the lady for years. Her unease is natural. She will adjust with time,” Huai’an said softly.
Jun Heng smiled self-mockingly. She had never been deliberately humble because of her status. His own actions had sown the cause.
Even with the word “Jun Heng,” it did not signal that they could return to what they once were.
“She is too clear-headed,” he said, closing his eyes. “That man nearly married her, yet she behaves as if nothing happened. As if it has no bearing on her whether he stays or goes.”
“Sometimes, I do not know whether to feel grateful for her indifference.”
He had summoned her to the palace yet did not dare see her, initially out of fear of witnessing her unguarded feelings for that man. Later, upon learning from Huai’an that she felt no lingering pain, he did not feel relief as expected.
Instead, a chill wrapped tightly around his heart.
He knew Xie Chongyu’s place in her heart, yet she could let him go cleanly.
And he?
Every time he thought of it, despair surged.
Huai’an sighed lightly. Seeing Jun Heng’s gaze drift to the pair standing side by side like perfect partners, he felt a pang in his chest.
Jun Heng had set down the brush, rubbing his temple wearily before standing.
“The lady is discerning, yet not cold-hearted,” Huai’an draped a robe over him. “As for Xie Chongyu… fate simply was not on your side.”
The fire blazed warmly, filling the hall. Jun Heng’s head remained lowered, his face pale.
Huai’an furrowed his brows, tightening the robe around him, and then heard him murmur softly to himself:
“But in this world, there are many with shallow bonds and thin ties.”