Three Years Ago,

The great hall was alive with celebration. Golden lanterns swayed overhead, their warm glow casting shadows against silk-draped tables. The scent of wine and roasted venison clung to the air, mingling with laughter and the clinking of cups. Somewhere behind carved and gorgeous screens, the guqin's soft melody echoed as maidens with fair hands and sleeves like flowing water danced, their smiles as gentle as spring's first thaw.

Zhou Wangshu barely heard any of it.

His gaze lingered across the room.

Seated among ministers and nobles, Wu Yiming exuded a presence unlike anyone else at the banquet. His features were striking yet refined, serene. He had a bright smile, one rarely seen on those who had suffered hardship and war. His eyes, dark as ink yet bright as a river under the sun, held both sincerity and sharpness.

His long, raven-black hair was gathered loosely, a few strands slipping free. Dressed in light green robes embroidered with golden cranes, he carried himself with the elegance of someone born to be above others, untouched by the filth of war, as if even blood and dirt dared not stain him.

Zhou Wangshu exhaled quietly, lowering his gaze to his untouched wine.

He shouldn't be looking. He shouldn't be thinking.

Yet, it was impossible not to.

Two years ago, his father had died in battle. With his death, thirteen cities had fallen to the enemy, and the Wu Dynasty had been thrown into chaos. He, only sixteen at the time, had picked up his sword for his grandmother and Zhou family honor and marched onto the battlefield, too young, yet no one had stopped him.

For two years, he had fought relentlessly, reclaiming every lost city.

And when word of his struggle reached the capital, Wu Yiming had stepped forward in court—a prince raised in silk and jade, yet he had left behind the comforts of the palace. He had gone to war, in the bitter cold and barren lands, standing beside Zhou Wangshu as an equal.

They had fought together. Won together.

And during those years, Zhou Wangshu had—

No.

His fingers curled against the table's carved wood. Whatever it was, in the quiet spaces of his heart between battlefields and bloodshed, it didn't matter.

Wu Yiming was the heir to the throne, the crown prince. It was impossible for them to meet in this lifetime.

Besides... he didn't even know if Wu Yiming could feel that way for another man.

The thought was absurd. A foolish, fleeting thing.

And yet, it stayed.

It stayed in the back of his mind when he saw Wu Yiming fighting alongside soldiers, his armor dusted with blood and dirt, the banner of the Wu Dynasty billowing behind him. It stayed when he watched him ride through the battlefield, a flag in one hand, a sword in the other.

It stayed in the blazing fire of the military camp, where their laughter echoed under the crackling embers, over roasted meat and warm wine.

Now, they were back in the capital, returning as victors. The emperor had praised their efforts, bestowed upon them wealth and titles, as if gold could erase the scars war had left behind.

Zhou Wangshu knew His Majesty's kindness, but some part of him still remained ungrateful.

The day his father died, the day they lost thirteen cities, he still recalled the emperor's voice cursing that loss, cursing his father who lost his life protecting the kingdom of Wu.

Zhou Wangshu had taken his seat at the banquet, but his thoughts wandered all over the place.

Until—

"A-Shu."

The voice was soft, yet it struck with familiarity.

Zhou Wangshu turned, finding Wu Yingyue standing beside him.

"Your Highness."

Zhou Wangshu rose from his seat and bowed.

Wu Yingyue raised an eyebrow. "Hey, what's with the formalities? When did we become so unfamiliar, A-Shu?"

"You are the eldest prince of the empire. Of course, this lord must bow to you." Zhou Wangshu replied with a smirk.

Wu Yingyue chuckled, tilting his head. "Just today, you were granted the title of Duke, and already you call yourself 'this lord'? Hmm, I see your ambitions, Duke Zhou."

Their laughter intertwined with the hum of the banquet as Wu Yingyue slid into Zhou Wangshu's seat without hesitation.

"Sit down, Duke Zhou. Think of this as your own seat." Wu Yingyue patted the empty space beside him, his tone light.

Zhou Wangshu let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head helplessly before sitting down.

"It's not appropriate to sit beside me like this, A-Ying," he muttered.

"Come on, A-Shu. Everyone is too lost in the beauty of the night and wine to care about etiquette." He leaned back slightly, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. "Certainly not this so-called lazy prince."

Wu Yingyue poured wine into Zhou Wangshu's cup.

"Drink with me?" Wu Yingyue asked his tone filled with teasing.

Zhou Wangshu's fingers tightened around the cup, but he didn't lift it right away. His gaze flickered, just for a moment, toward Wu Yiming.

Then, without a word, he tipped his head back and downed the entire cup in one go.

Wu Yingyue chuckled, refilling Zhou Wangshu's cup without waiting for permission.

"You're drinking as if you wish to drown in it."

Zhou Wangshu silently put down his glass, this time serving both himself and Wu Yingyue.

"Isn't that what wine is for?"

"Strange. I thought victory should taste sweet, yet you look as if you're drinking poison."

Zhou Wangshu didn't answer. Instead, he refilled his cup again.

Wu Yingyue let out a soft laugh, swirling the wine in his cup. "If you drink like this, you'll be unconscious before the night ends."

"You've been staring at him all night," He murmured in soft voice.

Zhou Wangshu's hand shook, almost spilling the entire jar.

Wu Yingyue smirked, resting his chin on one hand as he watched the reaction unfold. "Ah, so I was right."

"Mind your own business," Zhou Wangshu said with a hint of helplessness.

"But your business is far more interesting than mine," Wu Yingyue said as he shifted a bit closer to Zhou Wangshu. "Tell me, what is it about him that holds your gaze so tightly?"

"I wasn't—"

"Nope, no lies."

"But I really—"

"Nope, not listening." Wu Yingyue shook his head dramatically, fingers pressed over his ears.

Zhou Wangshu shot him a glare. "Why are you like this?"

Wu Yingyue dropped his hands, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "Because you're terrible at lying, A-Shu. And I find it rather amusing watching you try."

"There's nothing to lie about."

Wu Yingyue leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping lower. "Then say it plainly... What is he to you?"

Zhou Wangshu turned away, reaching for the wine jar again, but Wu Yingyue was quicker. With a swift motion, he snatched it from the table and cradled it in his arms like a precious treasure.

"No more drinking, unless, of course, you're finally willing to admit it?"

Zhou Wangshu shot him another glare. "Give it back."

"Hmm..." Wu Yingyue tapped his chin, pretending to consider. "Only if you answer my question."

"You're being ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? A-Shu, I've known you for years. I know that look in your eyes."

Silence took over as Zhou Wangshu refused to reply and shifted his gaze toward the maiden dancing in the hall.

Breaking the quiet moment, Wu Yingyue murmured, "You know, A-Shu... If you keep looking at something like that, sooner or later, you'll want to reach for it."

Zhou Wangshu froze.

"The battlefield is different from the capital." He leaned in slightly, his sleeves brushing over Zhou Wangshu's wrist. "You can spill blood on one and be praised for it, but here? A single wrong step, and you're the one being buried."

"Are you warning me?"

"It's not really a warning, but some people are more perceptive than you think," Wu Yingyue replied.

Zhou Wangshu nodded, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

As an awkward silence lingered, a eunuch approached.

"Your Highness, His Majesty has summoned you."

Wu Yingyue hummed in acknowledgment. "Alright."

Before leaving, he turned to Zhou Wangshu and said, "Go back safely."