A week passed since Xiao Mo broke the golden thread on the scroll. The days were quiet—too quiet. But beneath the serenity of the estate, something shifted in the air.
Eyes watched him more closely now. Servants whispered when they thought he wasn't listening. And once, while crossing the garden path, he spotted a man in imperial robes vanishing behind a pillar.
Even the birds didn't sing the same.
Yuan Sijun remained calm on the surface. But Xiao Mo had learned to read tension in the curl of his friend's fingers, the stiffness in his posture. Sijun was preparing for war—even if he didn't yet know the battlefield.
—
The court's displeasure came with subtlety.
A letter arrived from the Inner Palace. Silk-sealed. Written in the elegant script of the Empress herself.
General Yuan, it read, a matter of personal concern has reached our ears regarding your ward, Mo Xianyu. While the empire respects all bonds of brotherhood, we remind our honored officials of the importance of appearances—especially when they reflect upon the imperial court. The Mo family's reputation, already delicate, may suffer irreparable damage from unchecked rumors.
We trust you will act in accordance with the realm's stability.
No threats.
But the message was clear.
End it. Or suffer the consequences.
—
Sijun burned the letter.
But Xiao Mo found the ashes.
He said nothing—until they sat under the camphor tree that evening, sharing wine in heavy silence.
"I saw the seal," Xiao Mo said softly. "From the Empress."
Sijun didn't look at him. "It means nothing."
"It means everything."
The silence stretched.
"I don't want to be the reason your future is ruined," Xiao Mo added. "You were meant to lead armies, not… protect someone like me."
"Someone like you?" Sijun turned to him then, gaze sharp.
"I'm not blind, Sijun. I know what they say about me."
"I don't give a damn what they say."
"You should." Xiao Mo's voice cracked. "They'll use it against you. You'll lose power. Your grandfather will turn on you. You'll—"
"I won't lose you," Sijun cut in. "If I start choosing the empire over what I believe in, I've already lost."
The words hung in the air like a vow.
Xiao Mo stared at him, lips parted.
"You think I'm afraid of the Empress?" Sijun added. "She's a spider with a thousand threads. But I've killed worse monsters on the battlefield."
"But this isn't the battlefield," Xiao Mo whispered. "This is the court. They don't strike with swords—they do it with secrets and shame."
Sijun reached out and cupped his cheek. "Then let them. Let them see."
And before Xiao Mo could speak again, Sijun kissed him—gently, openly, in the garden that watched everything.
A promise.
And a declaration.
If they come, we face them together.
—
But not all battles wait politely.
The very next day, a summons arrived. Not for Sijun—but for Xiao Mo.
From the Ministry of Rites.
A "private inquiry."
Yuan's face darkened when he read the message. "They're going to test you."
"Test me?"
"They want to see what you're made of. If they can break you. Or shame you. Or… buy you."
Xiao Mo stood straighter. "Then let's see if they can."
—
The chamber of the Ministry was cold.
Ten officials sat like crows behind a curved table, all dressed in the blue robes of civil power. At the center sat Minister Qiu, a man with thin lips and thinner patience.
"You are Mo Xianyu," he said flatly.
Xiao Mo bowed. "Yes, Your Excellency."
"You have become close to the General's heir. Uncommonly so."
Xiao Mo said nothing.
"We do not pry into private affections," Qiu continued, "but when those affections begin to ripple across the stability of noble alliances, they become a matter of state."
One of the ministers leaned forward. "Were you aware that House Yuan was being considered for a marriage alliance with the southern vassal state?"
"No," Xiao Mo said.
"Of course you weren't," another muttered.
They grilled him on lineage. Morality. Family loyalty. Each question dipped in disdain, meant to undermine.
But Xiao Mo didn't break.
"I was born into silence," he told them. "I've learned to endure it. But I will not apologize for being cared for."
Qiu narrowed his eyes. "You misunderstand. You were summoned here not to answer—but to choose."
A pause.
"Renounce the General's heir publicly," Qiu said, "and you will be rewarded. Land. A title of your own. Your own household."
"And if I don't?"
Qiu smiled thinly. "Then you will be cast out. And everything you hold dear will burn with you."
Xiao Mo exhaled slowly. The chamber spun like a storm in his chest. But when he spoke, his voice was calm.
"Then I suppose you'd best prepare the flames."
—
That night, he returned to Yuan Sijun's estate quietly.
He didn't cry. Not even when Yuan took his hand, saw the bruises on his wrists from where they'd gripped him too hard.
"I won't leave you," Xiao Mo said. "No matter what they offer."
And for the first time, Sijun pulled him into his arms—not like a shield, but like a home.
That night, they lay side by side in silence. Nothing between them but breath and touch, heartbeats and longing. Sijun whispered, "They'll keep coming."
"I know."
"They'll hurt you to get to me."
"I know that too."
Sijun turned and kissed the curve of Xiao Mo's neck, reverent and aching.
"Then let me protect you," he said, voice cracking.
And Xiao Mo finally let go, tears falling for the first time—not from fear, but from being seen.
Truly seen.