Gu Jiao first saw Jun Heng at a palace banquet in the tenth year of the Zhaoyuan era.
That day, he followed behind the late emperor, wearing a silver-blue long robe. His figure was slender, exuding a chill like pine and bamboo after the snow. His black hair was neatly bound with an exquisite jade crown, a pale white jade pendant hanging at his waist. The long sash of his robe swayed behind him with each step, while the lanterns carried by palace maids cast a soft, hazy glow around him.
She sat beside Gu Qingxing, curiously studying this rarely seen crown prince.
Perhaps sensing her gaze, he slightly raised his head, meeting her eyes.
Their eyes met for a brief moment; his gaze lingered lightly but quickly shifted away.
Gu Jiao didn’t have time to look away. A thought flashed through her mind: Long brows like willows, a face like the autumn moon—ancient descriptions don’t lie.
She had always thought the phrase “so beautiful it clouds the mind” was exaggerated. After all, she had seen many handsome people around her; even her father in his youth had often been handed handkerchiefs by swooning girls.
Yet Jun Heng’s beauty was truly transcendent.
At that moment, her young mind froze for a beat, only snapping back when Gu Qingxing pulled her up to bow to the Zhaoyuan Emperor.
Once seated again, she couldn’t help but sneak another glance at Jun Heng—but his cold gaze immediately sent her retreating.
For the rest of the long banquet, she felt as if needles were pricking her back, as if those eyes were piercing her with every glance.
Later, she realized it wasn’t her imagination—it was indeed happening.
After shifting closer to Gu Qingxing thirteen times, Gu Jiao finally couldn’t resist glaring back.
—but was once again ensnared by his beauty, forgetting to maintain a fierce expression.
She confirmed that the origin of the sharp glance was indeed the crown prince she had never met before.
Confused, she wondered to herself—had she unknowingly offended him again?
Though not widely adored, she was at least considered decent-looking and well-mannered. That day, her hair had been praised by the steward for being beautifully arranged. What had she done to offend him?
Unable to make sense of it, she cautiously peeked at him again.
He slowly lowered his eyelids, then swirled the cup in his hand toward her.
“Dirty,” the crown prince said simply.
Gu Jiao: …
That day, she learned one thing—being disliked by someone doesn’t require a reason.
After the banquet dispersed, she tried to subtly ask her father about the crown prince on the way home, and Gu Qingxing told her everything.
Jun Heng was the late emperor’s seventh son.
Ordinarily, the crown prince title would not have fallen to him.
But the Jun family had an unusually tragic fate: shortly after Jun Heng’s birth, his six elder brothers all died from various accidents. For many years after, no other imperial sons were born in the palace.
Thus, even though Jun Heng had suffered from a chronic cold since childhood and needed medicinal care, it was only natural that he became the heir.
“Chronic cold?” Gu Jiao repeated, puzzled.
Gu Qingxing patted her head: “The young prince endured many hardships and carried the illness from early on.”
“Can’t it be cured?” Seeing Jun Heng’s frail figure, even if she had been upset, Gu Jiao couldn’t help feeling a twinge of sympathy.
After Gu Qingxing nodded, her little resentment toward Jun Heng gradually faded.
She had always disliked suffering; it made sense that someone constantly taking medicine would have a peculiar temperament.
Because of this, in many later encounters, she treated Jun Heng with unusual patience, gradually discovering that although he appeared distant, he carried none of the typical airs of a prince.
As she grew older, their relationship remained fairly amicable.
Until… three years ago, on her birthday, he had left in a huff and outright refused her attempt at reconciliation, without a shred of hesitation.
…
“I mean, it’s been so long. Even if you were angry, shouldn’t it have faded by now?”
Gu Jiao tilted her head to look at Jun Heng’s face. He still turned away, giving no sign of response, and she wasn’t surprised.
She gave a helpless smile: “So you still won’t reconcile with me?”
The calm composure he had maintained showed tiny cracks. He closed his eyes slightly and said softly: “Do you want me to reconcile?”
“What if I do?” Gu Jiao answered casually.
Jun Heng stared into her eyes, then let out a wry, self-mocking smile: “If it’s not sincere, why bother deceiving me?”
Gu Jiao: …
She really wanted to call Huai’an in to see just how stubborn he could be.
Still… she sighed inwardly. Huai’an hadn’t lied to her; Jun Heng’s current condition really wasn’t good.
Even with the fire in Longzhang Palace blazing, when she had unintentionally touched his hand, it still felt icy cold.
She glanced at the medicine on the table and lost all desire to argue further. Rising, she headed toward the door.
As the door closed, the hall fell silent.
Listening to footsteps outside gradually fade, Jun Heng lowered his gaze, his hands clenched into fists at his mouth, coughing softly.
He stared into empty space for a long time, his complexion seeming even paler.
She had left.
Yes, if it weren’t for Huai’an, she would never have appeared before him in the first place.
…
The cough grew more urgent, a faint metallic taste creeping into his throat.
Jun Heng covered his lips and reached for the now-cooled medicine.
“Squeak—”
The hall door opened again.
A few biting gusts of cold wind swept in, only to be shut out immediately.
The consort had returned, not long after leaving.
She carried a bowl of medicine and a small plate of candied fruit.
The cough stopped abruptly; Jun Heng quickly withdrew his hand from the medicine bowl.
Gu Jiao, who had watched his every movement: …
Thanks to Huai’an’s foresight, a fresh dose had already been prepared. Otherwise, if he drank the cold medicine, she didn’t know whether it would heal him or kill him.
Walking over, she removed the old bowl from the table, sat down again, and stirred the slightly warm medicine.
“If you don’t want to see me, just drink the medicine. I promise I’ll leave right away, okay?”
She scooped some medicine and held it to his lips, coaxing him like a child.
Jun Heng only stared at her in surprise. Sighing, Gu Jiao said, “Medicine tastes worse when it’s cold.”
At her words, a faint cold hum escaped his throat. He sat up, ignored the spoon she offered, and drank the bowl of medicine in one go.
The lukewarm liquid rolled down his throat, soothing the sting and itch, but the strong bitterness made him cough uncontrollably.
At that moment, a piece of candied fruit, dusted with sugar, was brought to his lips.
He froze for a moment, then lifted his gaze. His consort looked at him with a calm, unflinching expression, straightforward and unyielding.
Jun Heng lowered the hesitation that had been holding him back, and after a long pause, slowly bit down on a piece of candied fruit.
Previously, whenever he took medicine, Huai’an would prepare candied fruit in advance—but he had never touched it before.
He wasn’t particularly afraid of bitterness, or perhaps he had simply grown accustomed to the taste of medicine.
He had always despised young noblemen who complained and whimpered over every bitter pill, yet they were indulged by everyone around them, each dose paired with a plate of candied fruit.
Completely useless.
“Sweet? Want another piece?” Gu Jiao asked considerately.
Jun Heng: …
He turned his head, his voice slightly stiff: “I don’t like sweet things.”
Gu Jiao looked at the remaining candied fruit. She remembered that Huai’an had prepared a rather generous piece for him.
The emperor was indeed kind and frugal—he didn’t waste a single piece, even if he didn’t like it. He ate it cleanly.
She felt a small sense of relief.
After finishing the medicine, keeping the promise she had made to Huai’an, Gu Jiao took the empty bowl and prepared to leave.
“Gu Jiao,” Jun Heng suddenly called softly.
She paused, turning her head in confusion.
“You haven’t said anything to me,” he murmured, voice quiet.
The candlelight fell across his face, half bright, half shadowed, making his true emotions difficult to read. Yet somehow, Gu Jiao could sense the restraint in his tone.
She thought for a moment and answered honestly: “I already asked Huai’an.”
He didn’t respond.
“What else?” Jun Heng asked, staring steadily at her.
After a moment, he spoke softly: “You don’t hate me?”
Silence fell. The embers in the stove popped sharply.
Gu Jiao came back to herself first. “You mean regarding entering the palace?”
She smiled faintly. “I accepted the imperial decree myself. How could I hate you?”
Hearing this, Jun Heng slowly closed his eyes. “You’ve always been so free-spirited.”
He looked toward the window. “Do you remember what day it is today?”
Gu Jiao was momentarily startled. Since entering the palace, she hadn’t kept track of the days and couldn’t recall immediately.
Following Jun Heng’s gaze to the round moon outside, her body stiffened—she suddenly realized.
The Mid-Autumn Festival.
—The day she was originally supposed to get married.
“I can’t really remember… is it an important day?” she asked nonchalantly, turning her head with a light smile.
Jun Heng gazed at her for a long while before finally shaking his head. “Not particularly.”
“It’s nearly midnight. You should rest, Your Majesty,” Gu Jiao said, averting her gaze and raising her voice slightly. “Huai’an.”
No sooner had she spoken than she heard the door behind her open.
She turned, her back to Jun Heng, and finally let out a slow breath, allowing her previously scattered thoughts to settle.
“Your Majesty,” she carefully chose her words, “no matter what, the Gu family will never betray Tianyu.”
So there was no need for him to test her heart.
Behind her, Jun Heng seemed to chuckle softly, his tone faintly obscure: “Gu Jiao, whether you believe it or not, I never saw you as a pawn to manipulate anyone.”
Gu Jiao paused, but after Huai’an appeared, she regained her composure and, without hesitation, stepped toward the exit.
As the door swung shut, her eyes swept across the hall. The candlelight flickered, and Jun Heng sat quietly, hair partially hiding his expression, yet a subtle loneliness lingered inexplicably.
A flicker of hesitation passed through her eyes, but she still turned and walked into the night.
Back in Yulu Palace, the Records of Tianyu’s Secrets lay open on the table.
She let the sleepy little maid rest, then sat down once more.
Her gaze fell on a name on the page. She let out a small smile, though it held no real amusement.
Perhaps she was destined to have no love in this life—otherwise, why would even the most basic matters of romance leave her untouched?
In the Records of Tianyu’s Secrets, the young master she was betrothed to faked his death the day before their wedding.
And just recently, the proper young master Xie Chongyu, to whom she had also been betrothed, disappeared without leaving a trace, leaving her alone with her wedding attire.
The only fortunate thing was that a little time remained before the originally scheduled wedding, and the invitations hadn’t been sent—so the Gu family hadn’t lost complete face.
The only pity was that the wedding attire, half a month in the making at the Tianyi Atelier, was now unused.
It was a special dress, unlike any ordinary clothing. Wearing it alone in public would have been improper.
Finally, she smacked her forehead and decided to store it safely until the next wedding.
Then—just a few days later, she actually received the imperial decree granting her the title of Consort.
When she received the decree, her father wasn’t in the mansion. She looked at it from every angle, finally unable to stop herself: “As a consort, do I have to wear the wedding dress, or may I bring it myself?”
Lying in bed, Gu Jiao still couldn’t sleep.
Jinshi had already extinguished the lights before leaving. Moonlight poured through the window, casting faint, enticing patterns.
She began counting the designs along the edge of the bed, and even halfway through, she remained wide awake. She sighed long and deep.
She couldn’t sleep.
The moment she closed her eyes, his figure appeared.
When he had stood beside her during calligraphy practice, gently smiling as he ground ink.
When he had brought fresh pastries from Xianyun Pavilion to her in the morning.
When they had written the wedding contract, his eyes slightly red, yet he couldn’t stop smiling at her.
And that day, in the snow-filled streets, she had gently opened a door, seeing the thick snow on his shoulders, his slightly stumbling steps, and the lone, desolate figure.
She had thought that after all that had happened, she had mostly forgotten him.
She no longer thought of him first.
Yet who knew Jun Heng would suddenly pierce her heart so sharply.
Before midnight passed, the day was far from over.
“Happy Mid-Autumn Festival—may it be full and complete.”
That time, Xie Chongyu had held her from behind, his head resting on her shoulder, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Her little Brother Xie.