Gu Jiao had always known that Xie Chongyu carried many things in his heart.
Things like the past that even Gu Qingxing didn’t dare bring up, and the father who had been imprisoned and died in the imperial capital.
Xie Chongyu was the second son of the King of Nanning, Xie Ji, who was a traitorous minister accused of treason.
Xie Ji was naturally carefree and indifferent to fame or fortune. Nanning itself was prosperous yet far from the capital, living in a quiet corner. He had lived comfortably and freely.
If things had stayed that way, perhaps Gu Jiao would never have had the chance to meet Xie Chongyu in this lifetime.
In the sixth year of Zhaoyuan, the late emperor Jun Jingnan passed through Nanning and was attacked by assassins.
The assassins were swiftly captured by the imperial guards. After several interrogations, it was revealed that the mastermind was none other than Xie Ji.
It was said that the emperor was enraged that day. He revoked Xie Ji’s title and personally escorted Xie Ji’s pregnant consort back to the capital, leaving their eldest son, the then-infant Xie Changling, behind in Nanning.
What happened afterward seemed deliberately hidden. Even Gu Jiao could never pry details from Gu Qingxing.
She later learned that the emperor had not executed Xie Ji but issued an imperial decree forbidding him from ever leaving the capital. His lands were restored to the family, yet the sentence remained: the traitorous Xie Ji was to spend his life confined within the imperial city.
Xie Chongyu was born during this time. His mother, perhaps from excessive fear, passed away shortly after his birth.
Xie Ji raised Xie Chongyu alone for ten years, only to commit suicide one ordinary morning at the city gate of the capital.
When Xie Changling received the news, he rushed to the capital but arrived too late to see anything but Xie Ji’s corpse.
That day, Xie Changling, now the new King of Nanning, knelt at the palace gates for a long time, pleading with the emperor to allow him to take Xie Chongyu back to Nanning.
The emperor eventually saw him, but forced a choice: the throne of Nanning or his younger brother—only one could leave. If Xie Chongyu were freed, the capital would lose its leverage over Nanning.
In the end, Xie Changling left alone.
Xie Chongyu was brought into Gu Qingxing’s residence by one of the emperor’s most trusted ministers.
From then on, Xie Chongyu always maintained a polite and composed demeanor in front of others. Yet Gu Jiao remembered how, when he first arrived at the Gu residence, the candlelight burned late into the night, and his clothes were damp with tears.
Gu Jiao did not care about Xie Chongyu’s background. Gu Qingxing treated him with utmost care, almost revealing everything to him. Yet the slanders and contempt surrounding Xie Chongyu were numerous, some even reaching Gu Jiao’s ears.
She once overheard someone remark that Xie Chongyu was merely a titular heir, and that Gu Qingxing’s attention to him was simply to groom a son-in-law for her.
At that moment, Xie Chongyu had stood beside her, smiling serenely, yet his lowered hands clenched slightly.
Her heart ached. She gently pried open his hands and placed hers in his. A few men were swiftly driven out of the residence, with orders never to return.
She fumed for a long time until Xie Chongyu held her hand, leaned close, and whispered, “Honestly… being your son-in-law isn’t so bad.”
From that point on, their relationship became clear.
It was Xie Chongyu who sought the marriage. He knelt outside Gu Qingxing’s study for two hours, waiting for Gu Qingxing’s approval.
Gu Jiao happened to be away from the residence that day. When she returned and learned of it, she almost stormed off to speak with Gu Qingxing herself—but was stopped by Xie Chongyu, who, despite a half-lame leg, smiled as if he had gained something extraordinary.
That “extraordinary gain,” Gu Jiao could only shake her head at while dressing his wounds—her own lifelong matter had been decided while stepping out for a moment.
Afterward, the two of them simply stared at each other for a long while before bursting into laughter.
From then on, Xie Chongyu busied himself with preparing the wedding.
When she asked about the date, he smiled faintly, glanced at the moon, and then back at her.
“Because the moon that night of the Lantern Festival will be beautiful,” he said.
“Just like my Jiao Jiao.”
…
The day Xie Chongyu left the capital, Tianyu experienced its first snow of the season.
Gu Jiao, holding the half-finished wedding attire, quietly listened to the steward deliver news before heading out to find him.
But the steward stopped her.
“Master Xie… is no longer at the residence.”
She paused briefly, then almost laughed—though even she couldn’t tell what exactly was spreading through her chest at that moment.
After waiting a day in the residence, she finally saw Gu Qingxing. His gaze said everything.
It was then that she realized—she would not have the chance to marry Xie Chongyu.
Later, she pieced together the events in fragments.
News had leaked about Xie Changling raising troops in Nanning—whether intentionally or not, perhaps he had no reason to hide it.
Perhaps it was for Xie Ji’s sake, or for other reasons, but in the end, the Xie family had tread the path of treason.
When the news reached the capital, the court was shaken. The military forces of the Xie family far exceeded those of other non-imperial princes, revealing their intention to rebel—a plan that was not formed overnight.
Perhaps it had already been decided the day Xie Changling knelt at the palace gate.
The late emperor’s concerns had ultimately come true.
The imperial guards immediately sought to capture Xie Chongyu, only to find that he had vanished.
…
Outside the window, the full moon hung high, seemingly no different from that night long ago.
Gu Jiao frowned for a while, then buried herself in the quilt.
Breaking a promise, huh.
She wasn’t sad… just a little wistful.
…
Perhaps because of memories resurfacing, after Gu Jiao drifted into a drowsy sleep, she dreamt of Xie Chongyu.
It was the first time since he left.
He wore a pale moon-colored robe, leaning against the railing in the courtyard, blowing a leaf.
She was stunned for a moment, and the tune suddenly stopped.
He released the leaf, waved at her, and his eyes sparkled with gentle amusement.
In an instant, she was before him. He bent down, embracing her.
Before she could push him away, the scene changed. In the ink-dark night, Xie Chongyu’s place was taken by Jun Heng, his face pale as frost and snow, eyes fixed on hers.
He stood quietly, stepping back a few paces, lips curling into a self-mocking, distant smile.
Almost immediately, she knew what he would say.
“Gu Jiao, how could I have thought…”
He closed his eyes, murmuring softly: “Had I known, it would have been better never to meet you.”
Sure enough.
“Jun Heng? Why—” she tried to ask, but suddenly woke up.
Gu Jiao sat up slowly, pressing her throbbing head, sluggishly recalling the dream she had just had.
It wasn’t exactly a dream. That conversation—the words—were exactly what Jun Heng had said to her the day they parted.
She hadn’t been in the palace long before meeting Jun Heng again at a court banquet. A court physician had advised the late emperor that, although the young emperor suffered from a lingering cold, constant rest would sap his vitality.
The emperor agreed. After all, the future ruler of the realm shouldn’t appear frail. So a private retreat was prepared in the palace grounds, allowing Jun Heng to step out occasionally for fresh air.
Jun Heng surprisingly agreed.
This immediately led some noble families to scramble, eager to curry favor. They stocked the retreat with lavish furnishings and even planted spies, hoping to “coincidentally” encounter him.
One or two spies might have gone unnoticed, but when everyone thought the same way… the gates of the young emperor’s retreat were soon swarming with watchers.
When Gu Qingxing received news of this, he couldn’t help but laugh and cry at the same time. He brought the intruders back to the residence, and after consulting with the emperor, he simply set up a modest courtyard in the Left Chancellor’s estate for Jun Heng to rest.
Gu Jiao, ever conscious of her role as host, spent those days escorting Jun Heng through the capital whether he liked it or not, introducing him enthusiastically to the young gentlemen of the city.
It was, in truth, for his own good. These young men would one day serve him. As the heir to the realm, cultivating their loyalty early could never be a bad thing.
Jun Heng was not entirely pleased, and he clearly disdained a few nobles—like Ning Feizhi, who led a handful of eccentrically minded families—but he never openly clashed with them. That alone gave her some satisfaction.
The one headache remained: Jun Heng’s undisguised hostility toward Xie Chongyu, who was also staying at the Left Chancellor’s residence.
The first time they met, they couldn’t even look at each other. Seated at the same table, their brows furrowed so deeply she didn’t know which side to appease.
Later, seeing her discomfort, Xie Chongyu chose to avoid appearing at the same occasions as Jun Heng.
Gu Jiao knew Jun Heng had a somewhat reclusive nature, but perhaps because they had spent enough time together, his emotions were fully visible around her, which allowed her to coax him when necessary.
Three years ago, on her birthday, Jun Heng had exhibited the strongest display of emotion she had ever seen from him—and it was also the only time she hadn’t understood why he was angry.
That day, he arrived late, looking haggard as if recovering from a severe illness.
She had been worried, but his expression startled her into hesitation.
Xie Chongyu tried to comfort her, taking her hand to guide Jun Heng to his seat. Yet Jun Heng turned sharply toward him, eyes glinting with a touch of resentment.
Moments ago, he had still been sleepy and polite. Gu Jiao froze, unprepared for this sudden change.
Instinctively, she reached for Xie Chongyu, but Jun Heng made no move. After a brief, inscrutable smile, he swept his sleeves and left.
He never returned to the Left Chancellor’s estate.
After much internal struggle, Gu Jiao decided she could not remain in ignorance. She went to the Dongyi Hall to find Jun Heng but was stopped at the door. He left a few words: “We shall meet no more,” and closed it.
The doors of Dongyi Hall were solid; his fall nearly knocked her nose.
As word spread, the ladies of the capital learned she had thoroughly offended the emperor, and no one mentioned her previous friendship with Jun Heng.
Well… except Huai’an.
Because of Jun Heng, she had known Huai’an for some time, and they were fairly familiar. So when she heard his name yesterday, she instinctively wanted to avoid him.
Still, now that she had entered the palace, a meeting was inevitable.
Yet recalling her conversation with Jun Heng last night, Gu Jiao frowned.
She had assumed that Jun Heng had summoned her to the palace under the pretense of conferring a title, either to monitor the Left Chancellor’s residence or to threaten Xie Chongyu. But his final words had made her question that assumption.
If not for that, what reason would she have had to enter the palace at all?
Just as she pondered, a commanding voice cut through the hall, breaking her train of thought.
“Gu Jiao!”
That voice… had she heard correctly?
“Gu—Jiao—”
The drawn-out call came again. She looked toward the door in disbelief.
Ning Feizhi!?
…
When Ning Feizhi swaggered into the room and sat before her, Gu Jiao still hadn’t fully recovered.
The young palace maid, Jinshi, had been sent away on her excuse, tears welling in her eyes as she shot Ning Feizhi a look of sympathy before leaving, as if Gu Jiao were about to be dragged off to drown in the river.
Gu Jiao raised her hand to cover her face, and a light chuckle sounded by her ear: “So, you really didn’t want to see me, huh?”
She lowered her hand, her expression complicated as she studied Ning Feizhi.
He wore an eye-catching dark green brocade robe, lounging lazily. His folded fan hung at his waist, sleeves falling naturally, as he leisurely poured a pot of tea and filled her cup.
Even on the coldest day of winter, he had left his collar open to reveal a pale neck. Combined with his striking face… well, Jinshi’s suspicions weren’t entirely unfounded.
Gu Jiao had always been curious: how could such a proper Grand Tutor Ning raise such a… playful son?
Being the legitimate heir of Grand Tutor Ning, Ning Feizhi had never learned from his father’s composure.
Gu Jiao had watched the Grand Tutor gradually lose hope in his son’s behavior.
In talent, Ning Feizhi was unmatched among his peers—his casual verse made many noble sons envious.
Yet, he despised fame, scorned officialdom, and loved only beauty.
Being talented and handsome should have been a perfect match.
But he loved beauty indiscriminately—not a single person, but all who were beautiful.
Had he been placed elsewhere, he would have been scolded as “dissolute.”
Yet every beauty adored him, leaving many green with envy.
Grand Tutor Ning had repeatedly urged him to study for the imperial exams and enter officialdom, promising he could even inherit the post someday.
Ning Feizhi agreed readily, but on exam days, he would get drunk and refuse to get up—or sometimes disappear entirely.
After punishments and reprimands failed, the Grand Tutor gave up entirely, letting him live as he pleased.
Thus, Ning Feizhi’s circle of lovers gradually spread throughout the capital, leaving Gu Jiao in awe.
She had even asked him once if she counted among them.
Ning Feizhi glanced at her, sighed, and shook his head: “Lovers don’t count; but you have a place among the friends of mischief.”
The result? She accidentally spilled a whole inkstone onto Ning Feizhi’s favorite robe.
…
“Master Ning, could you explain… how did you even manage to get here?”
Surely the palace guards weren’t this lax—to allow Ning Feizhi to walk in freely?
Pushing the teacup toward her, Ning Feizhi took a casual sip.
“I’m not that capable,” he said, blowing on the tea leaves, “but the Left Chancellor is. I heard the emperor’s health was poor, and Gu Xiang was worried—so I was sent in to check on him.”
“Also… I was sent along,” he added.
Gu Jiao couldn’t help but smile: “So you took this roundabout route just to visit here?”
Ning Feizhi blinked innocently: “I got lost.”
Then he cast her a sidelong glance: “Honestly, I’m curious—how does the only daughter of the Left Chancellor end up in such a state?”