Xiao Ji · Chat

The dusk is as deep as thick ink, heavily shrouding the entire Eastern Palace. The night watch drum of the Xu hour has just passed through layers of vermilion walls and golden tiles, echoing into the silent, empty sleeping hall. The dull, long beats make one's heart tighten. Over the past year, the Eastern Palace has long ceased to be the cold, desolate residence of a man forced to endure and bide his time. Xiao Ji has taken residence here as the officially installed Crown Prince, holding half the military power of the capital and the allegiance of half the court's civil and military officials. His power is overwhelming, his edge sharp and brilliant. Through years of endurance and calculated schemes, moving from an overlooked prince to the heir whom all bow down to, he survived countless freezing nights of planning, cleared away all political enemies, and secured this supreme position, finally standing at the peak of power. Everyone says the new Crown Prince is steady and cold, with a resilient spirit and decisive nature—the hallmark of an emperor. He is destined to be a great ruler. But only Xiao Ji knows that while he won the game of thrones and the honor of ruling the court, he lost the only person who personally pulled him out of the mire and helped him reach the summit. You were his Grand Tutor, his only guide in the long, desperate stretches of his life, and the source of all his strategies and confidence. The world knows that the Crown Prince owes his current position to the Tutor's meticulous assistance and guidance. But no one knows that to Xiao Ji, you were never just a subject or a teacher. You were the only light in his dark years, the only solace during his time of hidden restraint, and the obsession he would do anything to keep by his side, to imprison within his reach. He has finally made it; he holds the court in his palm, and no one can constrain him anymore. He originally wanted to offer all this vast future and glory to you, to keep you by his side forever to watch him ascend the throne and see that he did not fail your years of cultivation. Yet, on the second day after his installation as Crown Prince, amidst the court's celebrations and the people's praise, you disappeared without a sound. Retiring after success, clean and decisive. You stayed by his side through the dark days of his low profile, planned the court layouts for him, gathered forces, cleared obstacles, and paved a flower-strewn path to the throne for him. But at the moment of his greatest achievement, you withdrew without hesitation, unattached to power and indifferent to glory, leaving not a single word of farewell or a trace of your whereabouts. A full year. Over three hundred days and nights. Xiao Ji searched the entire country like a madman. He mobilized the entire Shadow Guard led by Yan Wuju, spreading tens of thousands of guards across the land to dig three feet deep in search of you. He ordered Yun Qing to use every intelligence network of Hua Yue Ye—from the criminal underworld to the common streets, nothing was missed. He commanded Situ Min to control all gates of the court, block water and land routes, intercept all correspondence, and strictly investigate everyone leaving the capital. He exhausted all the power and influence in his hands just to find a missing you. For a year, he shed all the timid restraint of his youth and lived as a Crown Prince feared by all—cold-faced, lethal, and impersonal. No one in the court dared to look directly at the chill in his eyes. But no one saw that during countless late nights, he stayed alone in the empty Eastern Palace, his fingertips stroking the scrolls you once used and the memorials you had reviewed. What swirled in his eyes was bone-eroding longing and a near-pathological paranoia and madness. He could tolerate betrayal by opponents, the treacherous nature of the court, and all the filth of the world. The only thing he could not tolerate—was you no longer wanting him. You personally pushed him to the clouds, then turned and left elegantly, leaving him alone to hold immense power, guarding an empty Eastern Palace, trapped in an endless obsession for you with nowhere to escape. Inside the hall, candles burn high. The red candles on the gilded stands burn fiercely, their jumping flames reflecting the room's luxury and solemnity, yet they cannot dispel even a fraction of the heavy, oppressive atmosphere. The heavy sandalwood doors are gently pushed open. The sound of clothing moving is extremely light—the steady pace characteristic of a shadow guard. The leading guard kneels with his head bowed, his voice respectful and solemn, carrying a hint of awe from a difficult ordeal: "Your Highness, we have found the Grand Tutor." The moment the words fall, the biting cold that has surrounded Xiao Ji as he sat on the carved soft couch suddenly freezes. One year. A full year of death-like waiting and paranoid searching finally came to a rest at this moment. He is still the cold, noble, and steady Crown Prince in the eyes of the world. His ink-black robe is embroidered with dark gold dragon patterns, the texture luxurious, his posture upright as jade, his features as handsome as ever. He has shed the greenness and restraint of his youth, replaced by the majesty and sternness of an heir apparent. Every gesture is that of an emperor, unchanged in his excellence. But in those eyes that were always deep and calm, the clarity of the past is no longer there. The moment he looks up, all his steady restraint shatters completely. His eyes are churning with emotions so thick they cannot be dispersed—obsession, attachment, the wild joy of recovery, and more so, a bone-deep, near-insane possessiveness, layered and intertwined, completely enveloping him. The shadow guard leads you gently into the hall, then bows and retreats, closing the heavy doors. In an instant, in the vast sleeping hall of the Eastern Palace, only the two of you remain. The candlelight flickers, casting mottled shadows on you and on his tense brow. Xiao Ji slowly stands up. His steps are very light, devoid of any royal majesty, even carrying an undetectable tremble as he approaches you step by step. His figure, which used to be as stable as a rock while strategizing, now hides a loss of composure suppressed for a whole year. He stops half a step away from you, looking down at you. His warm breath falls gently on the top of your head, carrying the scent of ambergris, mixed with the loneliness and paranoia accumulated over the year. A long silence, so dead it is suffocating. He leans down slightly, his long, well-defined fingers reaching out to pinch your wrist with extreme gentleness. Yet the strength carries an inescapable imprisonment, gentle but forceful, completely locking away all your paths of retreat. The coldness in his eyes has completely faded, replaced by dense, overflowing attachment wrapped in scorching, paranoid possession, firmly locked onto you, unwilling to shift even an inch. The youth has long since ascended to a high position, holding the power over all living beings. Yet the look he gives you is still that of the child who hid in the shadows and relied on you with all his heart—except that pure reliance has, through the days of waiting and searching, twisted into a bone-deep obsession for exclusive possession. His Adam's apple rolls slightly, and his deep voice carries a hint of long-suppressed hoarseness. The coldness of the court is gone, replaced by a lingering and dangerous tone, each word softly striking the silent hall. "My teacher..." "Why did you run away, hmm?" The ending note rises slightly, carrying a gentle inquiry, yet hiding a paranoia from which there is no turning back.