Chapter 60: A Long Dream

He slept deeply this time, lost in a long dream.

Perhaps because the last person he had seen before blacking out was Gu Lianzhao, after dreaming of so many others, he returned once more to that second-floor room where they had first met.

The first time, what he had glimpsed had terrified him so much that he went nights without closing his eyes, jolting awake from nightmares again and again. But this time, his dream’s gaze fixed on that white cloth, abandoned by its owner amid a pool of blood.

In the dream, Gu Lianzhao stepped over the gore as casually as if it were mud by the roadside and walked away without a care.

And so, all that remained in his line of sight was that white handkerchief.

If the blood was the deepest nightmare buried in his heart, then Gu Lianzhao—striding lightly away through the blood—was the valiant warrior who had effortlessly conquered it.

Later on, Gu Lianzhao became his consort.

That was when he learned that Gu Lianzhao was only eighteen, that his mother had died young, and that he had a father like that. The more he learned, the more he wanted Gu Lianzhao to have a better life.

Half of his kindness toward Gu Lianzhao stemmed from guilt over dragging him into his own mess, a form of repayment. The other half felt like compensation for the regrets in his own life.

He and Gu Lianzhao seemed like two sides of a perfect foil, their fates utterly opposed.

He had been born into nobility, showered with love, yet in this half-life of his, he had swallowed more medicine than food and spent more time bedridden than any ordinary person spent awake. Perhaps because he had started life at the peak, perched atop the clouds, fate had begun pulling him down from birth. First it stole his health, then it stripped away his right to keep living.

Gu Lianzhao, by contrast, had been born into the muck yet always clawed his way upward. Given the slightest chance, even if it was just a fragile stalk of straw before him, he could seize that faint hope and forge a brand-new path out of the filth.

Liu Yuanxun admired everyone who fought so hard just to stay alive. He felt that since his own life had reached its end, he should at least do everything in his power to help those who still had hope go further, more steadily.

For others to possess what he lacked felt like a kind of fulfillment to him.

His own life was sinking into the depths, so he always wanted to lift others up as best he could.

Gu Lianzhao, Xiao Jinye, Ning Bi, even those two horses… Whoever could live well, should live well.

…

This sleep was extraordinarily long. From sunset, he slumbered straight through till dawn the next day. When he awoke, two people were in the room: Gu Lianzhao standing and Ling Qing sitting.

The moment Liu Yuanxun opened his eyes, Ling Qing’s face lit up with joy. She rushed to the bedside and chirped brightly, “Master, you’re awake!”

Liu Yuanxun blinked slowly and murmured a soft “Mm,” then propped himself up to sit. Ling Qing hurriedly reached out to steady him. Once he was upright, she bustled off to pour water.

Liu Yuanxun took a sip of the warm water to moisten his throat and asked gently, “Where’s Ling Ting?”

“Big Brother’s off brewing medicine,” Ling Qing replied. She draped herself over the edge of the bed, propping her cheeks in her hands, her eyes blinking meaningfully. “Master, how are you feeling? Any better? Was that a good sleep? Do you remember what day it is today?”

“Much better. Slept like a rock,” Liu Yuanxun said, handing the cup back to her. He caught her hint at once. “It’s Laba 6th today, right?”

“Hee hee.” Ling Qing rubbed her hands in excitement. “So, Master, do you have time today? Could you paint my birthday portrait?”

Ever since bringing Ling Qing into the household, he had painted her portrait every year on her birthday. These days, his stamina couldn’t sustain a full painting anymore, but he knew she didn’t care about the artwork itself. What mattered was that he was celebrating her birthday personally.

“I have time, but there are important matters to attend to, so I can’t dawdle. It’ll have to be something simple.” Liu Yuanxun glanced at the sky outside the window. “Let’s wash up first. After that, I need to head to the study.”

Ling Qing let out a delighted cheer and spun away to fetch hot water.

Only once she was gone did Liu Yuanxun notice Gu Lianzhao standing in the corner.

Gu Lianzhao always seemed to position himself instinctively in places light couldn’t reach. Coupled with his preference for black or gray robes, if he stayed silent, Liu Yuanxun might not have spotted him at all.

He smiled at Gu Lianzhao. “I thought you were out in the courtyard practicing martial arts. Didn’t realize you were in here too.”

Of course. With Ling Qing there to keep him company, who’d notice me? Gu Lianzhao stood in the corner, arms crossed, watching coldly. His expression was frosty, his heart stuffed full of malicious sarcasm.

He was in shadow, while Liu Yuanxun’s bed basked in sunlight—a sharp line of light and dark divided them into two separate worlds.

He knew most of his face was shrouded in gloom and that Liu Yuanxun, facing the light, couldn’t make out his expression. So he didn’t bother pretending. Lips pressed thin, he glowered openly, determined not to respond.

But the man spoke again.

Liu Yuanxun sat on the bed, his sunlit face tilted up toward him with a gentle smile. “You know, I dreamed about you last night.”

Perhaps drawn by Liu Yuanxun’s gaze, the sunlight noticed the neglected corner and began creeping slowly toward it.

Gu Lianzhao’s tightly pressed lips eased. His arms unfolded and dropped. But a single sentence, a mere dream—it wasn’t enough to mend fences. So he held himself rigid, refusing to budge.

Then Liu Yuanxun beckoned him with a wave. “Come sit. Aren’t you curious what you were doing in my dream?”

The morning sun climbed swiftly. In just a few breaths, it had advanced a good stretch. Gu Lianzhao glanced down at the light touching his toes. He gripped his right wrist with his left hand and flexed it idly a couple times. Then he took a few steps forward, pulled over a chair, and sat.

He had drawn out the response with that sequence of motions. Once settled, he feigned nonchalance, casually asking as he poured himself water, “What did you dream?”

Gu Lianzhao thought his movements were smooth and natural, his pretense flawless. Yet somehow he felt Liu Yuanxun had seen right through him and was laughing inside—though the man’s voice remained perfectly even.

“I dreamed you were on Lin’an Street, holding a white silk flower and buying candy to eat.” Liu Yuanxun recalled the blood-soaked cloth from the dream, then eyed the stubborn youth across the table. His smile deepened.

Just eighteen.

That prickly age of youth, all awkward bravado.

Gu Lianzhao froze for a split second. He looked up and met that smile head-on. It was far more striking than Liu Yuanxun’s usual sickly pallor. For a moment, Gu Lianzhao forgot to look away and just stared, dazed.

Only after a long beat did he snap out of it. To cover his fluster, he whipped his head aside, drained his cup in one gulp, and grumbled gruffly, “I don’t like candy.”

“Liar.” Liu Yuanxun laughed. “Anytime there’s something sweet, you can’t leave a single piece alone. It all ends up in your stomach, and now you claim you don’t like it.”

Liu Yuanxun said it with a smile, but those three words—”you’re lying again”—hit Gu Lianzhao like a bucket of ice water. He went cold all over; his hand trembled around the cup.

A brief blank in his mind left his ears ringing. He missed whatever came after.

But that cold water didn’t just douse the faint warmth in his chest—it also cleared the fog from his eyes, forcing him to confront once more the fact he had nearly forgotten: Liu Yuanxun’s smiles, his tenderness, all rested on the facade Gu Lianzhao had built.

Did he dare let Liu Yuanxun know what kind of person he really was? Dare let him see the prisoners who had died by his hand?

He didn’t.

After so many years in the Imperial Prison, he was no longer human.

Liu Yuanxun saw his face drain of color and couldn’t help sliding out of bed to approach. But Gu Lianzhao, normally so alert, didn’t sense anyone drawing near until Liu Yuanxun softly called, “A’Qiao?”

Startled, Gu Lianzhao whipped around and seized Liu Yuanxun’s outstretched hand. His fingertips had already tensed to strike—had he not caught himself in the next instant, that yank would have crippled Liu Yuanxun’s arm…

“What are you doing?!” After releasing him, Gu Lianzhao shoved hard. Liu Yuanxun staggered back off balance, but before his foot hit the ground, Gu Lianzhao yanked him into an embrace. The arm clamped around his waist hurt like iron, yet the voice of the man holding him trembled fiercely enough to quell any reproach: “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? Are you trying to get yourself killed? What if… what if I couldn’t hold back… what if…”

Liu Yuanxun heard the quiver in his voice, like he might cry. It reminded him inexplicably of the tears that had fallen on his shoulder the last time he was attacked. So he yielded a step in his heart and soothed softly, “I’m sorry. It was my fault… I scared you.”

“Mmph—” The sudden tightening at his waist drew a muffled grunt from Liu Yuanxun, choking off his words.

“It was my mistake.” Gu Lianzhao pressed his forehead to Liu Yuanxun’s shoulder, his voice muffled. “I’m the one at fault, so why are you the one apologizing?”

“Then you apologize.” Liu Yuanxun’s lips curved. He whispered it back: “If it’s your fault, then apologize.”

Gu Lianzhao went rigid. His arms loosened around Liu Yuanxun, and he stepped back, head bowed in silence.

To Liu Yuanxun, it looked like Gu Lianzhao had just realized he was embracing someone and grown shy. But Gu Lianzhao knew that step back meant he had picked up his mask again and slipped it on.

“Sorry, Your Highness,” he said, forcing a stiff smile tinged with guilt. He bowed his head. “I lost control of my hand for a moment. And I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. You…”

“Why ‘Your Highness’ all of a sudden?” Liu Yuanxun smiled at him. “Weren’t you calling me ‘you’ just a few days ago? One apology, and you’re putting distance between us again?”

Gu Lianzhao blinked, looking up at him instinctively.

He didn’t know what his face looked like then, but it couldn’t have been good—for in Liu Yuanxun’s eyes, he saw unmistakable pity. “I’m not upset with you, A’Qiao. So don’t be upset with yourself.”

Was he upset with himself…?

His tangled emotions balled up, unprioritized. Before he could sort them, Liu Yuanxun’s gentleness drew them all sinking back into his heart. All he could see was that smile.

“Why?” he blurted suddenly.

“Why what?” Liu Yuanxun didn’t follow.

Why are you so good to me?

Why are you so gentle?

Aren’t you afraid…

Afraid…

Afraid of what?

Gu Lianzhao didn’t dare dwell on the rest.

Yet he desperately craved an answer—one that might prove useless in the end, but was of vital importance to him nonetheless.

He drew in a deep breath, lowering his gaze to appear even more vulnerable, his voice softening as he asked, “Why don’t you blame me?”

Liu Yuanxun replied offhandedly, “Because it wasn’t on purpose.”

“That’s all?” Gu Lianzhao kept his eyes downcast, his voice still hushed.

Liu Yuanxun sounded a touch puzzled. “What else would it be?”

Because it wasn’t intentional, there was no reason to hold a grudge.

A perfectly normal, utterly ordinary answer.

Gu Lianzhao said nothing more. He simply spread his fingers and gently clutched at the sunlight spilling into his palm. The morning glow was warm and radiant, delightfully soothing against the skin.

But the instant he considered how that same light bathed everyone indiscriminately, the sunshine lost some of its warmth for him.

“Master, Master, the hot water’s here!” Ling Qing’s voice carried in from the courtyard while she was still out of sight.

Liu Yuanxun stepped forward a few paces in the direction of her call, responding naturally, “Take it easy there—don’t burn yourself…”

From behind him, Gu Lianzhao raised his eyes. His gaze remained as coolly detached as ever, but buried in its profound depths lurked obscure emotions that even he himself struggled to comprehend.