Chapter Text
Maomao’s path is changed like so, by two men sitting over cups of wine:
“Lakan grows too powerful for my piece of mind.”
“Perhaps, but he is still neutral, to the best of my knowledge. A wild card that your political enemies are also wary of.”
“Hmm. How long will he stay that way, I wonder.” The emperor strokes his beard, placing his cup to one side. He takes a deep breath of the night air. “We must gain some leverage against the man.”
The emperor’s younger brother shakes his head, his long violet hair shifting in the breeze. “For long years we have searched and never found anything. Kan Lakan is unconnected and unpredictable, with no interests to be manipulated.”
And now the emperor smiles. “I have found such an interest.”
The man known as Jinshi raises an eyebrow. “Do tell.”
“There is a daughter. Born to a woman at a brothel - the Verdigris house - who died before Lakan could make her his bride.”
“The Verdigris house?” murmurs Jinshi.
“Apparently Lakan visits frequently to attempt to buy her contract, but has always been denied.”
“She is a courtesan?”
“According to my information, no. She performs some small work about the place in the nature of an apothecary.”
This gets stranger and stranger. “An apothecary?”
Relaxing back into his seat, the emperor gestures. “The material point is that Lakan apparently dotes on her but has been denied access.”
A sense of foreboding sweeps down Jinshi’s spine. “Alright…” he says.
“And that she is a La princess. Whoever controls her will have influence and weight with Lakan.”
“Then you will take her as a consort?”
“No, Zuigetsu. You will.”
*
Maomao’s first day in the rear palace is not quite what she expected.
*
Nor is her second
*
As a mid-ranking consort, but one with a high familial connection (she growls inwardly at the thought) she has been assigned a small pavilion in the East quarter of the rear palace. She was delivered here on the first day by a solemn, respectable looking eunuch who had introduced himself as Master Gaoshun, and told her to contact him for anything she needs.
She had bowed and murmured ‘of course,’ and immediately discarded the idea of ever doing so.
A small queue of young serving women forms outside the front door before she even finishes exploring all the rooms in the building – here to be interviewed for the position of lady in waiting. From behind angled shutters, Maomao gazes out of the window at them gossiping and fanning themselves in the early summer heat; the thought of having a maid of her own is utterly surreal.
She picks the first one. After all, she has never been good at judging people’s emotions – how could she possibly know from a short interview whether someone will be a loyal servant? Xiaolan seems like an uncomplicated and eager girl – certainly more keen to do a good job in her position here than Maomao is. But then, Xiaolan has the possibility of release someday.
They unpack Maomao’s few belongings – packets of herbs, apparatus to aid in preparing medicines, various essentials. “But where are all your clothes?” Xiaolan exclaims, looking down at the simple green and red set that is the only thing Maomao has packed.
“I have no other clothes,” Maomao says drily. She is currently dressed as a bride, in as extravagant a fashion as the madam could kit her out. She assumes she was sold to the palace for a price much, much higher than anyone might have dreamed her contract might reach.
‘You are the daughter of Kan Lakan,’ the madam had said, cackling. ‘You are to become consort to the Moon Prince.’
“You cannot wear that,” Xiaolan says, shocked, still looking down at Maomao’s usual clothes. “People will think you are a servant!”
Maomao smiles.
*
That first night, she asks Xiaolan to ask for wine from the kitchens in expectation of his highness’s visit. A jug of wine might make the whole affair more tolerable for Maomao too, but that would ruin the necessary fasting she has observed. She will judge whether or not the prince needs a cup of liquid courage when he arrives. Otherwise, she has a fair amount of theoretical knowledge from her time at the Verdigris house, plenty of knowing advice from her sisters, the three princesses of said brothel, and a plan for the evening.
It grows late, and her quiet spot in the parlour is disturbed more and more frequently by Xiaolan moving from the kitchen to the parlour to the front door, and checking the view from the windows again and again.
“It’s very late,” Xiaolan says finally, half kneeling on the window bench, angling her head to get the best view of the path. Outside it is hushed and still.
“I think we can assume he is not coming,” Maomao says wryly. Xiaolan makes a noise of distress. “Perhaps he had other business.” Odd though, to take a consort and then not make use of her. Although she had got the impression politics were involved.
Rising carefully from the couch, her rich robes draped around her, she turns towards the bedroom. “I shall go to bed.”
“I will help you,” says Xiaolan eagerly.
But it has been enough for one highly fraught day. “I am perfectly capable of doing it myself.”
In all honestly, the dress is fiddly enough that she regrets her refusal.
*
What am I supposed to do all day? Maomao wonders. It's not like she's been provided with books or other entertainment.
The pavilion, although absolute luxury compared to the shack Maomao had been living in with her adopted father, is somewhat sparse when it comes to activities. There is a set of chambers for the consort, a smaller bedroom for a servant or two, a public parlour and a small kitchen to make tea. Aside from the fine furnishings, nothing else has been provided.
“Just sit around and wait for the Moon Prince to impregnate me, I suppose,” she mutters under her breath.
“What was that, Lady Maomao?” Xiaolan bustles in with her breakfast, delivered to their door by a maid.
Maomao clears her throat. “I was wondering what consorts usually do all day.”
“Oh!” Xiaolan seems nice enough, but talks incessantly. This turns to Maomao’s benefit now, as she describes all the workings of the rear palace. Apparently, consorts spend a great deal of time having endless tea parties with each other. Maomao’s nose wrinkles. Urgh, social posturing. Not one of her strengths. “In fact,” Xiaolan says brightly, “I would guess you’ve already received some invitations today!” The girl proffers a sheaf of letters.
“Nope,” Maomao says. “Not interested.”
“But-“
“No.”
The conversation is derailed when Maomao swallows a bite of her congee.
Her eyes go wide and liquid.
What…
Her hands tremble. Her lips part in surprise, and then curve in delight.
“This is poisoned,” she murmurs quietly, but alas not so quietly that Xiaolan does not hear.
“What?” her new lady in waiting shrieks. “Lady Maomao, what-“
Maomao cooly slips a hand into her hanfu to check for the emetic agent she always carries, and then tries to tune Xiaolan’s hopping form out so that she can fully enjoy the sensation. She closes her eyes, deaf to Xiaolan’s “Mistress, mistress!” and tries to identify the poison. Her tongue is tingling faintly. The taste had been… slightly sour? Perhaps she should take another bite to be sure. She can always spit it out.
Opening her eyes, the room is empty. She raises the spoon to her lips, but a great commotion comes from the front door.
Bad timing for guests. She really should take the emetic powder.
It turns out to be Xiaolan with three eunuchs, and, a minute later, a panting palace doctor. By that point Maomao has excused herself to go and vomit, but, much to her distress, they all insist on following her. The doctor wrings his hands helplessly as she empties her stomach, and Maomao feels more than a little resentful of this humiliating end to what had briefly promised to be a lovely morning.
“There,” she says, having finished and cleaned herself as best she can. “I am, as you can see, fine.”
“You were poisoned,” Xiaolan says again, then bursts into tears. “I’m so sorry.”
The doctor appears on the verge of losing his composure too, eyes suspiciously misty, and apologises for not being more help. Maomao suspects he may be a total quack.
Wearily, she hustles all of them out of the pavilion, saying that she needs rest. Xiaolan, agreeing readily with this, becomes a staunch ally in sweeping them out.
Maomao does not rest.
“I’m perfectly fine,” she says between gritted teeth. Xiaolan, it turns out, can be very stubborn when it comes to her lady’s health. “Come with me then!”
This compromise reached, they leave the pavilion, Maomao in her green jacket and red skirt, Xiaolan in her simple robe.
If there is nothing to do in the pavilion, Maomao will have to explore outside it.
*
Over the next week, it becomes apparent that:
- There are a great many interesting herbs to be found in the grounds of the rear palace. She wonders who planted them. Many of them are the same kinds she grew up using with her dad.
- Since she is a consort, there doesn’t seem to be anyone who tells her what to do. She happily sets up her private sitting room as a place to dry herbs and prepare ingredients, and is unmoved by Xiaolan’s unhappy face.
- If Maomao ignores the invitations to tea, they will stop coming.
- If she wears her plainer clothes around the palace, everyone assumes she is a servant. She overhears giggling and gossip directed at the Moon Prince’s new consort, but none of it is directed at her, since no one seems to know what she looks like.
- Thankfully, it seems she is to be a consort in name only.
*
The second real poisoning takes place a week after the first, and is perhaps more serious. Maomao writhes on the ground, trying to balance the need to enjoy this for as long as possible with the need to consume the emetic so that she doesn’t tip over the verge of lethality. Xiaolan, after the expected shrill panic, has again disappeared, presumably to get help.
Maomao finally swallows enough of the emetic and vomits all over the floor. Not her most graceful moment. The immediate aftermath is, alas, witnessed by the small crowd that bursts into the parlour, and Maomao resolves to have a very strong word with Xiaolan about not fetching people every time Maomao is poisoned.
A serious looking eunuch bends over her – one she half-recognises. She is carefully drawn away from where she has thrown up, and he raises her head slightly to rest it upon his knees.
“Oh, Lady Maomao,” Xiaolan says tearily, and kneels beside them to gently wipe Maomao’s face with a damp cloth.
“What has happened here?” comes a strong voice from the front of the room.
Maomao blearily assesses her surroundings. Xiaolan, check. Team of three eunuchs clearing up her mess, check. Palace doctor helplessly wringing his hands, check. And the eunuch who has helped her is… the one who brought her here the first day? Master Gaoshun?
Leaving the purple haired woman who is tapping her foot an unknown. She is very tall, Maomao thinks, and very beautiful. Presumably, she is in a position of authority in the rear palace.
Maomao makes it to her hands and knees, then kneels up and bows her head behind her sleeves – perhaps a little unsteadily. “Forgive me,” she says. “There was a slight poisoning, but I am fine now. Apologies for the disturbance.”
“Apologies for the disturbance?” The purple haired beauty looks stunned.
“Master Jinshi,” murmurs the man behind Maomao, and it takes a moment to realise he is addressing the woman. Not a woman in that case, Maomao surmises. Realisation hits: this must be the heavenly eunuch that Xiaolan keeps telling her about.
What beauty to be wasted on a man - and a eunuch at that. He’ll never even have the chance to pass it on to his children.
Master Jinshi seems to compose himself at Master Gaoshun’s words, his expression smoothing to courtly charm. “My apologies that we have not been previously introduced,” he says, voice turning honey-sweet. “I should have visited sooner! My name is Master Jinshi, and I am the manager of the rear palace. Please let me-“ And he comes forward and offers his hand, waiting until she is forced to take it or make a spectacle of her refusal. After helping her to her feet, he guides her to the couch.
“Thank you, Master Jinshi,” she says once she is seated. “There is really no cause for concern. I detected the poison immediately upon eating it, the same as last time.”
“Last time?”
Oops.
“Yes,” she says, face impassive. “There was another attempt on my second day in the palace, though with a milder agent.” She doesn’t tell him of the additional times she has seen or smelled something suspicious in her food or drink in the meantime, and saved it to experiment with later, in private.
He sinks to the couch beside her, face pale. “We must assign you a poison taster immediately. I… did not anticipate…”
“I am trained in detecting and resisting poisons,” she says firmly. “I can do a better job than anyone you could find.”
He sighs, covering his face with a hand. “As the consort of the Moon Prince, you must be protected.”
As she has so far seen no evidence of the Moon Prince, she cannot imagine he is overly fussed if she lives or dies. Presumably, based on the gossip she has heard, he is too infirm to visit her. She is merely a trophy consort. “It really isn’t necessary,” she tries again.
This only seems to provoke further disbelief. “You ate poison twice!”
Only twice, she is tempted to say. She had detected the other times. Her pride pricked, she explains, “It is harder to detect some poisons just by sight or scent. There are additional aids that might help with identifying them, but-“
“What aids?” he interjects.
Well, since he has asked. “Silver dishes may discolour on contact with many poisons, due to a chemical reaction.”
He continues to look at her, not saying anything. Must she explain down to the last tiny detail?
“Whereas ceramic dishes provide no additional cues,” she adds, becoming uncomfortable with the silence.
And now she sees a reaction: surprise. “You are being served in ceramic dishes?”
Ah, not that he hadn’t understood her point then. Merely that he assumed she had already been provided with silver ones. She nods.
Master Jinshi barely has to turn to the side before Master Gaoshun is bowing, murmuring, “It shall be taken care of.”
Looking back at her again, Master Jinshi relaxes a little and gives a slight smile. “Since I have so far been remiss in my duties – are you comfortable here? Is there anything else you require?”
She shakes her head, but, even as she is demurring, Xiaolan pipes up with: “Clothes!”
Everyone turns to stare at her, and the lady in waiting blushes but remains resolute. “My lady needs more clothing.”
Master Jinshi turns to contemplate Maomao again. She watches him take in her simple hanfu. “How much do you have?” he murmurs.
She presses her lips together. “I have everything I need, sir.” It isn’t as though she’s attending parties or attempting to impress a prince.
“She needs more,” Xiaolan repeats firmly. Maomao glances at her and widens her eyes, attempting to instruct her to be quiet. But, apparently, the casual nature of the relationship Maomao has had with her thus far has left her emboldened. “At least two sets of robes.”
“Two sets,” Master Jinshi mutters. A short distance away, Master Gaoshun watches placidly. “A consort of your station should have at least seven or eight robes for daywear, plus some outfits for finer occasions. How many would be needed to reach that number?”
“Seven or eight,” Xiaolan says meekly. Master Jinshi stares at her for a long moment, then switches his gaze to Maomao.
“You have nothing?” he says, horrified.
She scowls. “I have these!”
“These are not suitable for a consort. I thought – they said you were dressed finely when you arrived!” He glances at his attendant as though betrayed.
“Yes,” she says simply. “The Verdigris house dressed me for my buying out, although I’m sure they billed the palace for it.”
“And these are the only other clothes you have?”
Now he’s just repeating himself. She glances at the other eunuch, Gaoshun, but if anything his face now shows the same concern as his master.
It must reflect badly on the palace if one of their consorts is improperly outfitted. Perhaps on the Moon Prince as well.
“I see,” she says, and bows her head behind her sleeves. “Thank you for your consideration, Master Jinshi.”
“We will organise it,” he says, expression calming. “No, I will organise it.” She nods. “Do you have any particular requests?”
“Something practical,” she says, without much hope of being listened to.
“I will see what I can do.” And suddenly he smiles, and however exquisite she had thought his appearance before, it immediately becomes devastating. People would go to war over this man, she thinks. “An eventful first week, then. How else have you been spending your time, aside from being poisoned?”
He’s almost… sparkling. She shies away, the effect too much. A frown briefly quirks his brow, then his smile grows even broader.
“I’ve been going for walks,” she says. That seems safe enough.
“Many areas of the palace are very beautiful. Though be careful of the North side, it is much more wild.”
“Thank you.” She bows again.
And makes immediate plans to visit the North area of the rear palace.
*
“It’s so hard,” complains Xiaolan, frowning down at the paper in front of her. On Master Jinshi’s second visit, Maomao had requested paper and ink, and a few books.
Xiaolan has gone astray more than a few times because she is unable to read. Honestly, she shouldn’t have been taken on in a lady in waiting position. She had apparently attended the interview with a friend, as moral support, and been dismayed to be called in first. And completely speechless when Maomao had immediately hired her without even checking her qualifications. Oops. Still, if she must have a lady in waiting, Maomao is satisfied with Xiaolan, and would much rather put in the effort to help her than deal with someone else.
“Try again,” advises Maomao. Xiaolan sighs and starts to copy the next character. She wants to please Maomao, and seems interested in learning to read for her own sake, but she easily tires of concentrating.
Maomao turns a page of her own book. Master Jinshi’s visits have brought many improvements to her stay here. Not only the promised clothing – soft fabrics in light pinks, blues and greens – but things to write with and books for herself as well as to teach Xiaolan. She supposes it is his job to keep the consorts happy. But she is not even the consort to the emperor, merely to the mysterious, sickly Moon Prince. She is surprised he is making the effort.
*
One day, at the very end of autumn but with winter already spreading it’s chill, Maomao witnesses an ugly altercation outside the Crystal Pavilion. She doesn’t often visit the South section of the rear palace, since it is home to the most powerful, and therefore potentially most dangerous, consorts. Maomao has offended many people with her bluntness in her life, but here that could easily cost her her head.
Still, she had been out collecting the last herbs of the season that morning, sneaking out behind Xiaolan’s back. She’s garbed in her old clothes, so nobody should pay any attention to her, and she is curious about Xiaolan’s ramblings concerning the curse on the emperor’s children. The symptoms mentioned could be due to any number of ailments, but are suggestive – it would be easier to judge if Maomao could get a better look.
Which brings her here, standing on the edge of a crowd, watching as the Wise Consort slaps the Precious Consort.
The behaviour may be shocking, but other details that Maomao notices are more so. How has no one…
Her eyes cut to the quack doctor, standing uselessly off to one side. Ah.
“How can I tell them?” she mumbles to herself, turning to leave. Almost bumping directly into Master Jinshi, the glorious purple haired eunuch.
He glances down at her, then does an almost comedic double take. “Lady Maomao?” he says, then looks back up at the scene ahead of him and winces. “Wait for me,” he instructs.
She inwardly sighs as he moves into the melee. She’d rather hoped to steer clear of any drama. Perhaps he just wishes to scold her for not being dressed appropriately. She’s not sure what the punishment might be for that. Probably not as bad as if she’d actually been a maid.
The intervention is brief, apparently requiring only a little smoothing over on Master Jinshi’s part. He seems to manage mainly by negotiating with Lady Gyokuyou, since Lady Lihua seems irrational still. The Wise Consort calms almost immediately once Lady Gyokuyou is removed from her sight, however, and their party and the doctor withdraw into the Crystal Pavilion.
Master Jinshi appears once more by Maomao’s side. “Shall we?” he asks, eyes twinkling as he smiles.
She trails his tall form, draped in fine, lilac coloured robes today. He undoubtedly thinks he is dressing modestly, but she can see the richness of the fabric, the worth of the tailoring; can smell the delicate scents that only those of high rank would wear.
Master Gaoshun has joined them as they walk, and after several minutes they come to a halt outside a small building in the central courtyard. Master Jinshi ushers her in with a touch to her arm, seemingly entertained when she immediately shrugs him off. “We can use this office for the moment.”
It reads: The Matron of Serving Women. Said matron is evicted with promising smiles and delicate laughter, and appears delighted to be giving way to such a heavenly nymph.
Maomao inwardly rolls her eyes.
Master Jinshi takes a seat behind the desk, and she reluctantly comes to stand in front of it. “My apologies for bringing you here,” he says sweetly. “I use this as an office in the rear palace when I have need, and I thought we might have something to discuss.”
He continues smiling, as though he expects her to immediately spill her guts. Not happening.
“I was surprised to see you at that gathering,” he prompts.
She nods. If he’s going to punish her for the clothing she’s wearing, she wishes he would just get on with it.
“And I couldn’t help overhearing you muttering to yourself,” he adds.
Her eyes widen. Oh! Not about the clothes, and, in fact, this solves her problem neatly. “Yes,” she says. “I’m fairly sure the children are being poisoned.”
He rears back in his seat, his charming front dissolving. “Poisoned!”
“The symptoms fit with a specific type of poisoning,” she continues. “It was confirmed when I saw the two consorts. The Precious Consort does not appear sick herself. But Lady Lihua does, and she is also the only one of the two who was wearing white face powder.” Seeing his confusion, she adds, “This high-end makeup powder is sometimes used in the pleasure district by the courtesans I grew up around. The stronger whitening effect it gives is accompanied by a poisonous sting. It brings fleeting beauty and an early death – I have seen it before in my work as an apothecary.”
“Face powder,” he repeats, struck.
“My guess would be that the babies are exposed to someone who wears it – in Lady Lihua’s case, herself. By touching the makeup on the women’s faces, then putting their hands in their mouths, they consume the poison. Because they are so small, it has a much quicker effect.”
He stares at her for a few moments longer. “This is… You have…” The chair scrapes against the floor as he rises abruptly. “I must go immediately. You have my thanks.” He bows hastily, and strides towards the door.
Well, hopefully that solves that.
*
“It’s almost time!” says Xiaolan, checking the window again. She flits around the room tidying things that she has already tidied ten times today.
“Everything looks fine,” Maomao says from where she is writing at a small table. Her hands stay steady on the brush, carefully recording her experimental adaptations of a treatment for insomnia.
“Fine isn’t good enough! It has to be perf-“
A knock comes at the front door.
“Just a moment,” Xiaolan sing-songs loudly, and speeds out to greet their visitors.
Maomao sighs and sets her writing materials aside. It will have to wait for later.
“Lady Maomao,” Xiaolan says, leading their guests in. “Master Jinshi is here!”
No, Maomao wants to say. Really?
Even if you could miss the luscious head of amethyst hair and the radiating beauty, it is mid-morning on one of the two days of the week that Master Jinshi always visits on.
“Lady Maomao,” he greets her, with a glowing smile that suggests this visit is the absolute highlight of his day. She shudders involuntarily, and his smile twitches before deepening into something more satisfied. “What a pleasure to find you at home.”
She glowers briefly. When he had first informed her of his usual visiting days to the rear palace, she had taken care to be out on the next occasion; the early summer months had been lovely weather for exploring. Xiaolan’s distress when she returned, having tragically missed the heavenly nymph’s visit, was surprising in its magnitude but not enough to stop Maomao repeating her secret escape on the next day a visit was due.
Xiaolan had found her and dragged her back by her hair. The lengthy scolding she had given Maomao, which included reference to duty, politics, and an excessively in-depth analysis of Master Jinshi’s charms, had barely finished in time for the overly pretty eunuch’s visit.
On balance, Maomao finds Master Jinshi’s company the less scary option.
“I hid one time,” she mutters under her breath. He won’t stop teasing her about it, though, and it’s been months. At least it doesn’t appear to be malicious. Still though, she can’t work out why he keeps visiting – she’s told him there’s nothing else she needs, and it’s not like she’s anyone important. “How are Lady Lihua and Lady Gyokuyou’s children doing?”
His expression turns serious. “We believe there may be some signs of improvement.”
Right, it probably hasn’t been long enough to know for sure. If it isn’t the face powder, or if there is an additional factor, Maomao wonders if she can convince him to get her into their pavilions to look around.
“How have you been since I last visited you?” Master Jinshi inquires, changing the subject. “Changed your mind yet?”
“No.” She immediately shakes her head. “I like it here. I don’t need to move to a bigger building, and I certainly don’t need my own cook!”
Over the next few minutes, he wheedles, cajoles and tries a command. She remains unimpressed. There can be no satisfactory compromise in this, since Master Jinshi’s goal is to stop her being poisoned, whereas her own wish is to retain as many opportunities as possible.
Whoever it is that keeps sending poisons her way, she wishes she could thank them. And ask how they were able to obtain so many rare reagents – several of which she has never been exposed to before, and only recognised from her readings. Her tolerance is gradually growing more and more impressive.
“More ladies in waiting then, at least,” he charms. She scowls as he ups the intensity of his smile. Hasn’t he realised that doesn’t work on her?
“Xiaolan is all I could need,” she says firmly. She has already noticed more eunuchs guarding her pavilion since her most recent poisoning – she assumes she has Master Jinshi to thank for that. It has made sneaking out more difficult, since they will always tell Xiaolan where she has gone.
“Xiaolan does a wonderful job,” he assures her, smiling sideways at her lady in waiting, who melts. “But don’t you think she could use some help?”
“That’s what the maids are for,” she returns, unimpressed. High ranking consorts might have larger retinues of ladies in waiting, but it is not usual for a mid-ranking consort to have more than one; perhaps two. The palace maids come and do the laundry, cleaning, and deliver food, and, honestly, Maomao thinks Xiaolan enjoys bossing them around. “I don’t need anyone else.”
Sensing the argument is lost for now, Master Jinshi instead asks what she has been reading. He is treated to a discourse on the disagreement between two texts on the correct usage of certain medicinal ingredients, and, although she is not sure he follows all of it, he at least appears to attempt to.
“What have you been reading?” she asks in return. He seems stymied, perhaps because she has never asked before.
“A political treatise on the history of our relations with the West.”
She nods, then adds, unthinking, “I’m not interested in hearing about it.”
That gets her a huff. “Should I have told you the same?”
She shrugs. “If you weren’t interested, sure.”
He stares at her in something akin to fascination. Then recovers, and confesses, “I enjoy listening to you talk about something you’re interested in.”
Right, because it’s completely normal to listen to someone talk about medicine for half an hour when you don’t care about it. She really can’t figure him out.
“You look very nice today, I meant to say earlier.”
She stares him down. “These are the same robes I was wearing last week.” A light pink, with darker rose accents and ties.
His smile does not falter. “And they were very beautiful then, too.”
This is something he has done since soon after the new robes got delivered. Every time he sees her in them, he tells her how nice she looks in them. As though she were a child being rewarded for good behaviour.
“What would you say if I wore my old clothes?” she can’t help but push.
His smile grows a little more real. “I would say you look lovely,” he says simply, and the honesty in his voice disarms her. Why does he have to say such weird things? The worst part is, it’s true. He had caught her in her old clothing only recently, and he had said she looked lovely.
“Fine,” she mutters.
*
The health of both of the emperor’s children is officially reported to improve. As the crown prince had previously been on the brink of death, this is heralded as miraculous. The white face paint is immediately banned from the palace, and publicly denounced as poison – the reason the babies almost died.
Good, Maomao thinks.
A bonus is that the affair has given her an excuse to visit the medical office. Master Gaoshun had originally escorted her there to fully inform the quack-doctor of the effects of the white face powder, and to provide details on how to treat the consort and the children.
The doctor had been absolutely horrified – especially since the exposure of his ignorance had probably put his neck on the line – and gratefully soaked in all of her instructions once it was clear he was not to be summarily beheaded.
He is starting to feel quite comfortable around her, she thinks – he has, after all, been called out to at least five occasions of Maomao being poisoned now. She is as yet unsuccessful in telling Xiaolan not to call for him.
Nonetheless, this means that she can now casually drop by his office and he will bustle around fetching tea and moon cakes for them to warm up with after the wintery air. He, like Xiaolan, enjoys gossip, and, since Maomao’s lady in waiting usually accompanies her, the two of them will sit and discuss palace events for some time.
It gives Maomao a chance to look through his supplies, which he tried to deny the first time with a weak, “I’m not sure you should be… that is, should you? Perhaps…” and hasn’t protested since. Maybe it’s because he has realised she is able to prepare medicines, as she did with a burn paste for a eunuch who arrived during one of her previous visits.
Currently, the discussion is concerning the upcoming winter garden party.
“And what will you be wearing?” The quack doctor asks, smiling happily.
Maomao shrugs.
Xiaolan answers for her.
*
“I don’t see why I have to go,” grumbles Maomao as Xiaolan dresses her. Her overrobe is teal, and her underrobes are a pale lilac. The outfit is, she can admit, very pretty. And also likely very expensive. The final adjustments had been made to it only the day before, with Master Jinshi having smilingly delivered in it person a week ago.
“Of course you have to go! You are the consort of the Moon Prince, my lady!”
Maomao has still not met the emperor’s younger brother. She almost doubts his existence. There is a slight curiosity in her mind as to whether or not he will attend this garden party. Though, honestly, she much prefers him as a spectral figure than a flesh and blood one.
The garden party takes place outside, which seems ill advised in the current weather. Maomao has carefully sewn pockets for warm stones into her own and Xiaolan’s undergarments, so that they don’t freeze. She can do nothing for the half an hour long walk to the nearest toilet aside from try not too drink much.
Behind the arena where the event will take place, the consorts each have a small area to wait and rest. Maomao is the only mid-level consort here; it is usually an event reserved for the emperor’s high consorts. But this is Maomao’s introduction as the Moon Prince’s new (and only) consort, so she is also invited.
Luckily, no one here seems to know who she is, so she moves easily behind the scenes. As she watches all the other women shiver, she is grateful for her forethought, and wonders if there would be any way to distribute her idea of warming stones to the others for next time. Perhaps she should ask Master Jinshi.
The various ladies in waiting seem to be having proxy battles with each other on behalf of their consorts, but far more interesting to her are the two babies that have been brought along. It’s been a couple of months now, and all Maomao has are Master Jinshi and the quack doctor’s second-hand reports.
She sees Lady Gyokuyou pick up and bounce a giggling girl in her arms – that’s good. And, in the next section, Lady Lihua bends over a cot, smiling down at the infant within it.
The Wise Consort looks up as she detects Maomao’s presence, eyes narrowing.
Great. I thought I was being subtle.
“I’m not sure if I’ve seen you before,” Lady Lihua says, voice pleasant but cool.
Maomao bows. “Forgive me,” she says. “I was curious to see the crown prince. Is he recovering well?”
The consort smiles at that. “Indeed. His recovery has been slower than my own, but he is doing very well now.”
Maomao nods. “That is unsurprising, given the relative body-weight of an infant. But as long as the cause of the poisoning has been removed, he should have no further problems.”
Lihua’s gaze turns curious.
Maomao inwardly panics, and bows formally. “Please excuse me,” she says.
It isn’t long before the official start of the party when Master Jinshi finds her. She assumes he has been doing the rounds of the other consorts.
“Lady Maomao.” His smile lights up the tent. “How are you today.”
Her feet are cold. She’s getting hungry. And she’s trying to ignore the fact that she might need to pee at some point. Voice neutral, she says, “Fine, thank you, Master Jinshi.”
“This is your first event, I believe?”
He already knows the answer, but she nods. It will be her first time seeing the emperor up close – she will be formally introduced to him. Aside from that, there will presumably be a lot of high ranking officials here, including one weirdo she would prefer to avoid at all costs. Maybe he won’t recognise her. She isn’t wearing her freckles today, after all.
“I have to say, I barely recognised you with makeup on,” Master Jinshi says, echoing her thoughts. “You look very different without your freckles.”
“I’m not wearing makeup,” she says before she can think the better of it. Winces. “That is…” She sighs. It is a lost cause.
The look of intrigue on his face deepens. “I don’t understand. You are not wearing makeup, and yet your freckles are gone?”
Briefly, she explains that the freckles are made of clay dotted on her face. “I have always worn them, to prevent from being dragged into a back alley.”
His eyes are huge and shocked. “Were you ever-“
She shakes her head. “Attempts were made, but no. Though, after all those years, I ended up here. Someone must have decided I looked half-decent after all.”
“And now?” he manages. “You are safe from that here. Why do you still wear your freckles?”
She shrugs. “I’m used to them. And they will presumably serve the same effect in sparing me from too much notice. No one, whether consort or prince, will pay much attention to a skinny, freckled girl that looks more like a boy.” She looks down at herself as she says this, grimacing, for today that disguise is very much not in effect.
“Lady Maomao.” His voice is low with something, and, as she reluctantly looks up, she sees the troubled shine to his eyes. Wait, is he –
His hand rises and brushes lightly over her cheek, turning so that his fingers trace the skin where her freckles normally lie. “I’m sorry,” he says roughly. “That you ever had a need for those freckles. That you still feel a need for them.” Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his other hand rise, and a moment later there is a startling scratch against her scalp.
“What?” she yelps, and raises her own hand to cover his. “That hurt.”
“And yet it is yours.” He stares down at her for a long moment, and she stills.
Slowly, his hand leaves her head, and her fingers trace the cool metal of a hairpin.
“Though,” his face lightens a little, his mouth curling, “I confess I do rather like them. Your freckles,” he clarifies.
Weirdo.
Her face must express her thoughts because he laughs a little, smiling down at her. “I must take my leave of you. I will see you soon.” And if his last words seem weighted with promise, she is too distracted to pay attention to them.
As soon as he leaves, Xiaolan rushes over, half squealing, half distressed. “What is it?” Maomao asks, unable to stop prodding at the hairpin. Is it considered rude if she takes it out?
“Lady Maomao,” Xiaolan wails. “You cannot wear another man’s hairpin! Even though he is so beautiful, and it is completely right that he should fall in love with you, and…” Xiaolan dissolves briefly into tears, and Maomao frowns at her.
“What are you talking about?” she asks.
“The hairpin! It indicates protection, and a promise. If the Moon Prince should see you wearing it…”
He would be displeased? Interesting. Generally speaking, Maomao prefers to avoid trouble, but in this case…
“It would be rude to remove it,” she says, a small smirk on her face. She can’t imagine the Imperial younger brother will care at all, but if he’s offended, so much the better. It isn’t as though she is likely to ever see him again, given his current record.
Xiaolan wails again.
*
The actual party is uninteresting. After the brief twist of nerves when she presents herself to the emperor, they sit for a long time while the entertainment occurs. The dancers are skilled but uninspired, she zones out completely during the poetry recital, and the fire bearers at least bring the promise of horrible maiming, but it does not occur. Perhaps she would be more amenable if she were less hungry and cold.
Finally, finally, it is time for the meal.
Dishes are brought one by one; small portions of each, since there will be a great many of them. Each high consort has her own small table off to one side of the emperor, with their food taster nearby. Maomao is separated from them on the other side of the emperor, with an empty chair between his position and hers. Presumably that would be where the Moon Prince would sit, but he’s a no show.
Much to her disgust, her food taster is here for this event, and trembles with fear like the rest of them. Maomao does technically understand that this is a feared position, and that many of these women may end up deathly ill or as fatalities. She just cannot understand why they do not remedy the situation with extensive training, as she has.
The poison taster assigned to her by Master Jinshi had shown up the day after his first visit, and Maomao had immediately sent her away again. This pattern had repeated for a few days until the taster finally got the message, and luckily Maomao hasn’t seen her since then. Until now. Tasting Maomao’s food, possibly getting to try delicious poison before Maomao does. Grr.
She eats the vegetable and blueback salad, desperately grateful for something to fill her stomach; wishing there was a giant bowl of it. It feels like an age before the next dish arrives before her, cleared by the food taster – the soup.
Subjecting it to her own inspection, Maomao tilts the silver bowl. It almost looks like…
She glances at her food taster. The woman is staring down at the next dish, clearly trying to summon enough courage to try it.
Well. Only one way to be sure!
She lifts the spoon to her lips, catching motion out of the corner of her eye but not caring to look. This is more important. It has been almost two weeks since anyone has tried to poison her food! Perhaps she’s become spoiled.
She lets the soup slowly infuse through her mouth, her eyes slipping closed in blissful ecstasy. She’s never been so happy to be right!
“This,” she says, soft and rapturous, “is poison.”
There is an immediate stir off to one side of her, loud enough to pull her from her trance. When she glances that way she sees… Master Jinshi? Half rising from his chair, his rose-coloured eyes fixed on her in shock.
Her senses still occupied by the taste and sensations of the poison, her eyes drift slowly over him. He looks different now compared to earlier. His hair is styled elaborately, held up by a jeweled pin. His dark robes embroidered with an imperial Fenghuang.
Her mind notes the final, damning piece of evidence. For Master Jinshi is sitting in the chair for the emperor’s younger brother.
Hastily, she brings a napkin up to her mouth and rises, moving with delicate speed towards the white cloth forming a backdrop for their festivities.
“Wait!” Master Jinshi cries, and her eyes go beyond him to realise everyone is staring at her.
So much for not being the centre of attention today.
She gives a small bow, then ducks backwards between two flaps in the cloth, breaking into a faster walk as soon as she is concealed. She knows she had seen a trough of water somewhere nearby…
“Hey!” The call comes just as she finishes coughing up the poisoned dish, because of course it does. What is it with the people in this place, that they are so insistent on witnessing her indignity?
She ignores Jinshi to wash her face with water and drink a little, figuring he can wait. Apparently he can’t, though, because he grabs her wrist and spins her in place, staring wildly at her.
She can’t even be irritated at him, still glowing from the poison she has tasted, and sees his bewilderment at her smile. “What are you doing? Are you alright?”
“Quite well, thank you,” she says happily.
“But there was – you were poisoned!”
“And it’s all gone now,” she says sunnily. He gives a groan of despair and drags a hand over his face. “Though I should give an emetic to my poison taster, and check the other dishes of the other consorts.”
“The other… You think the others were poisoned too?”
She shrugs. “It’s a possibility. Better to be sure.”
She strides back towards the party, ignoring his “Hey, wait a minute” in the pursuit of her goal. Ducking back through the cloth, everything is in chaos. Next to Maomao’s seat, a minister lies on the ground, groaning faintly. The consorts are huddled off to one side with their ladies in waiting, and all of the food tasters look terrified.
Swiftly, Maomao crosses to the tables where the consorts had been sitting. Upon each rests the same soup dish that Maomao had found tainted. She examines them closely in turn, and finds a subtle tell-tale discolouration in one.
“Who was sitting here?” she asks, pointing at the table.
None of the ladies in waiting are apparently useful enough to speak, but a sensible voice comes from behind her shoulder. Master Gaoshun. “I believe that was the Virtuous Consort’s seat.”
“This dish is also poisoned. Although,” Maomao frowns, puzzled, “I suspect with something different to mine.”
Master Jinshi steps quickly around her and moves towards the consorts. “Lady Lishu! Did you eat any of the soup?”
The girl seems overwhelmed, half hiding behind her ladies in waiting. “N-No. I hadn’t yet.”
That simplifies matters. Although… why isn’t her poison taster feeling the effects? Did the lady in waiting whose job that is not taste the dish? Could she be responsible for the poisoning?
Ignoring the matter for the moment, Maomao moves to her own poison taster, who is slumped over near her seat. The woman shakes her head when Maomao proffers the pouch containing an emetic, however. “They already made me evacuate my stomach,” she says hoarsely. She is still clearly unwell, however. Maomao supposes it is well within the expected range of symptoms for brief exposure to the poison. If she could get back to her pavilion, she could make something to help.
A hand on her upper arm pulls her up to her feet, and she looks up into the commanding expression of Master Jinshi. “You and Lady Lishu will come with me for questioning,” he says.
Ah. “And Lady Lishu’s poison taster,” she adds.
“After you visit the doctor’s office.”
She has no luck in convincing him it is a pointless trip, and they make her throw up again, which she casts more than one baleful glare at him for. If she can find a way to stealthily slip him a laxative, she will.
Then comes the talk with the Virtuous Consort and her lady in waiting. Despite Maomao’s hope that it could be a useful conversation, it is not. At least, not in the way she expected.
They are questioned in the nearest office in the inner court. Lady Lishu is trembling and only stops cowering in order to simper at Master Jinshi when he is being kind to her. Lady Lishu’s poison taster, on the other hand…
“Why did you do it?” Maomao murmurs out of the side of her mouth, standing close to the other woman. Master Jinshi is usefully occupied with reassuring the nervous consort, and this is as good an opportunity as Maomao is going to get.
The other woman’s eyes are scared and guilty. Still, she denies it. “Do what?” she blusters, keeping her voice low. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And yet you are notably not poisoned.”
“That is…” She stops, clearly having no way to talk herself out of that one.
“So, you either didn’t taste the dish, which would mean you weren’t doing your job, or you put the poison there yourself.”
Even more scared. “No! I didn’t!”
“Which is it?”
Their conversation has finally attracted notice, and Master Jinshi looks up. Far more interestingly, Lady Lishu is scratching persistently at her arms.
Only a little questioning is required to reveal that the Virtuous Consort has a reaction to certain foods, and only a little pressure for Maomao to realise that her food taster has been harassing her by deliberately feeding her those things, and definitely not doing her job correctly. Bullying. Both pitiful and distasteful. Thinking back on the scene before the garden party, the same behaviour seems to be coming from the rest of Lishu’s ladies in waiting, too.
The soup was not swapped with the dish of another consort, unlike the blueback salad, since it does not contain anything that Lady Lishu would have a problem with. It seems that Lishu is the intended target of this poisoning.
As obliquely as possible, Maomao informs the food taster of the potential consequences of her actions with regards to food sensitivities. From the terrified visage and uncontrollable trembling, she believes her message is received.
Once the other ladies leave, Maomao turns back to Master Jinshi and Master Gaoshun.
“This doesn’t bring us any closer to knowing who wanted to poison either of you, or why,” Master Jinshi groans, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “I don’t think anyone has attempted to poison Lady Lishu before. But you – how many times have you been poisoned now?”
Maomao hesitates. “A few,” she settles on. Probably better not to name an exact figure; after all, he doesn’t know about some of them.
His sigh is heavy. “What am I going to do with you?” he mutters.
The question is probably rhetorical, but she raises an eyebrow anyway. Glances speakingly at his outfit.
He winces.
Is he embarrassed by his deception? Why has he been pretending to be a eunuch?
“As you may have guessed,” he starts hesitantly, trailing off. She helpfully says nothing. He winces again, then straightens. “I am the younger brother of the emperor.”
“Yes,” she says.
This man is the reason she was brought to the rear palace. When she has met him, which has been many times now with his visits, he has been hidden in the guise of someone else.
“I assume you have your reasons,” she says after a moment. Although she can admit to some curiosity, she isn’t entirely sure she wishes to know what they are, since presumably that kind of intrigue brings a risk to one’s life. “Well then.” She shifts her eyes between him and Master Gaoshun. “I shall take my leave.”
She starts to turn, but he takes a quick step forward to grab her shoulder. Scowling, she immediately brushes his hand away. Who does this heavenly eunuch think he…
Oh.
Right. She supposes as she is the consort of the Moon Prince, he can do whatever he likes. Sighing, she turns to face him fully, looking up at him. “Yes, Master Jinshi?” She isn’t entirely sure how to address him now, and by the troubled look on his face, he isn’t sure either.
“You were just going to leave?” he says, disconcerted.
“Was there more to discuss?”
He scrambles for a response. “But I- But you-!”
“Unless anything is going to change, I can’t see that we have anything more to talk about.” And her tone makes it quite clear she is content for nothing to change. Not something that she has any control over, but if he’s been playing a part this long, she can’t imagine him discarding it now. Although, come to think of it, the high consorts and their ladies in waiting would have all seen his face – perhaps his identity is not such a secret as she had assumed. “May I please be excused?”
He looks faintly miserable, as though this conversation hadn’t gone the way he expected it to. Probably he’d imagined a great deal more fawning. Should have chosen someone else for a consort then, she thinks.
Regaining some composure, he ends with, “I shall visit you tomorrow to discuss the poisoning further.”
*
In the end it is only Gaoshun who appears, bearing a gift of the poisoned bowls for her to examine. She is a little relieved and a little curious – is Master Jinshi a coward?
From Master Gaoshun’s subtle comment about responsibilities, he is also unimpressed that the prince did not attend her today.
Although Maomao uncovers evidence that the bowls were tampered with, she obtains no further leads on who might have done so. The only useful thing is again a suggestion that the two poisonings were not carried out by the same person.
“The bowls have been handled in different ways,” she points out to Master Gaoshun. “On the bowl intended for Lady Lishu, an additional person handled the bowl near the top. On my bowl, any additional finger marks are smudged on top of the others.”
“Could it not be the same person holding the bowls differently?”
She shakes her head slowly. “One shows a knowledge of how such dishes should be handled – your fingers should never hold where the lips of nobility might touch. The other shows a lack of knowledge, or carelessness. In addition, the types of poison were likely different between cases, based on the discolouration. It is possible that this was merely the easiest dish to secrete poison in.”
Master Gaoshun observes her for a long moment. “Who do you believe is trying to poison you, Lady Maomao?”
“Honestly?” He nods. “I have had some time to think on the matter,” she murmurs. “I assumed initially it was out of anger or jealously at my position. The Moon Prince was on the brink of being the crown prince at the time.” And what a terrifying thought that had been; she is very glad that Lady Lihua’s son survived. “But the continued attempts, and the sheer variety of them, suggest either multiple parties or someone with a great deal of resources and knowledge. As I do not think I have angered anyone personally, I believe some of these attempts may also stem from political reasons.”
“I see,” Master Gaoshun says, deep in thought.
She considers him. “May I ask, Master Gaoshun, how many people know of Master Jinshi’s identity?”
A small sigh. “Very few.”
She frowns. “But he was at the garden party.”
“Yes. The usual excuse is that he stands in for the Imperial younger brother when the prince is too ill to attend events.”
“Then-“ Her mind works furiously. “Why did he not say that to me yesterday?”
Gaoshun’s look softens. “I cannot speak for him, but I suspect he has been wanting to tell you the truth.” His hand comes up when she attempts to speak. “Any more, you will have to speak about with him yourself.”
“When is that likely to happen?” she mutters drily.
It gets a small smile from him. “I am sure he will visit you soon.”
It would definitely be too blunt to say she is just fine being left alone.
*
“Master Jinshi is here!” comes Xiaolan’s breathless, sunny voice.
Wiping her forehead with her sleeve, Maomao looks up from the patch of herbs she has been tending in the small garden of her pavilion. Although pickings are leaner in the winter months, plenty of plants grow year round, so she has rotated the species growing here.
Master Jinshi stares down at her, effortlessly elegant and appealing as he always is, and appears vaguely fascinated to see her grubbing in the soil.
Conscious of the dirt on her face and hands, and the rough fabric of her apparel, Maomao awkwardly bows low. It is not the first time he has caught her like this, covered in grass stains, with an unexpected visit. In a moment of unhelpful clarity, she realises she cannot give the man too much trouble over dressing as someone of a different station. Still, her reasons are practical. The only reasoning she can come up with for his deception is that it is some secret prank - of the type the nobility enjoy playing when they are bored.
“Master Jinshi,” she says, aware she has been silent too long.
Xiaomao flutters by her side. “Please wait in the parlour, sir. I will just help my lady get changed.”
He opens his mouth, and whether it is to say not to bother or to castigate her for looking less than ladylike, Maomao doesn’t care. Though she would normally be the one protesting changing just for Master Jinshi’s sake, she agreeably casts herself into her astonished lady in waiting’s hands with a “Thank you, Xiaolan!” and steers them in the direction of her chambers.
Anything to delay this conversation for a little while longer.
She is soon dressed in her prettiest everyday robes – spring green and turquoise, and Xiaolan happily neatens her hair before sliding Master Jinshi’s hairpin into it. Traitor.
“What brings you here, Master Jinshi,” Maomao asks politely once they are both seated in the parlour. Their conversation is delayed a few minutes more as Xiaolan brings through the tea, cups lightly clinking on the tray, and Maomao pours and tastes it with fastidious attention to detail.
“I notice your poison taster is not present,” Master Jinshi murmurs, watching her.
“I believe I proved our relative sensitivity and expertise at the garden party.”
A slight nod from him, and she feels victorious.
“Lady Maomao-“ But he hesitates, and glances at Xiaolan.
So, he does want to speak about personal matters. It has been over a week since the garden party.
He attempts to catch her eye. Maomao pretends to be oblivious and calmly sips her tea.
After another moment, he clears his throat. “I am having a strong craving for savoury buns,” he says. A charming smile steals across his face, and he turns its full power on Maomao’s lady in waiting. “I don’t suppose you could fetch some for me?”
“Ye-yes!” Xiaolan stutters, caught in his gaze. “Of course!”
He artfully lowers his lashes. “Ask if they would be willing to make some fresh for me. They know which ones I favour.”
Xiaolan speeds out of the pavilion as though on the world’s most important mission, leaving Maomao with Master Jinshi and Gaoshun. She sighs.
A delicate snort comes from Jinshi’s direction. “You’ll have to try harder than that,” he murmurs, and seems pleased by her glare. “Now, little cat, I thought it was time we should talk.”
She has been in the rear palace for many months. But now they should talk?
Bowing low behind the soft green of her sleeves, she hides her eyes.
The silence stretches. Then, finally, he sighs, and his voice is no longer honeyed when he speaks. “You are quite right,” he says. “I have treated you unforgivably.”
This is unexpected. She lowers her arms just enough to peek curiously over the top of them.
“You are not like other women,” he says. She supposes this is true. “I had expected… I do not know what I had expected. But, given my current role in the rear palace, it initially seemed simpler to avoid the matter entirely.”
To avoid her entirely. Would they even have met, had not he and Gaoshun been passing that day she was poisoned?
“It has been simpler,” she agrees. This makes him do a double take, and then he laughs, disarmed.
“Truly unlike anyone I have ever met,” he murmurs. Then, “You have not asked why I am in this disguise.”
When a response seems required, she says, “No. I assumed you would tell me if it was necessary. But that it was presumably a secret.”
He sighs. “It is. But it is no longer one from you. Nor do I wish it to be. So then, you already know my identity. I came here to safeguard my brother’s garden until it flourished. For many years, new plants withered and died, but now there is the promise that they will grow strong. Thanks to your help.” He bows deeply to her, and she jerks back, embarrassed. “Now, I am no longer crown prince, which I confess has been my dearest wish. I realise, however, that this is not the situation you expected when you agreed to be my consort.”
Agreed is one word for it, she thinks. “What will happen now?” she asks. He is speaking as though his current role is over. Will he leave his work as manager of the rear palace and resume his official duties as part of the imperial family?
“A new position will be found for me, and I will be officially removed from the succession so as to pose no threat to the new crown prince.”
Her eyes grow round. To willingly give up power that so many men would kill for? He is unusual. Or possibly touched in the head.
“And what will happen to me?” she wonders aloud. If he is removed from the succession, he will not have access to the rear palace. Someone might question whether or not he needs a consort there, in that case.
He hesitates, eyeing her carefully. “The removal from the succession will not happen immediately. When it does, I could take you with me,” he says. “Or – it is not unusual for some consorts to leave the rear palace, as rewards to favoured citizens. Since you have not.. Since we… Since you are…“ It takes only a few moments after he flushes pink for her to realise what he means.
“Since I am still a virgin,” she inserts matter of factly.
He pinks further. Turns his face aside, clears his throat. “Since you are-“ he waves a hand slightly, and he cannot say it, she realises, “-that would be a possibility.”
Her secret amusement fades. “You want to give me to some old official as a reward?” she says flatly.
He blinks. “Well-“
“Just like the pleasure district,” she mutters. “Though, if you pick someone very old, I suppose he might die soon.”
“I-“
Thinking aloud to herself, she wonders, “Can I stay here?” It’s not like the emperor would have any interest in her, so she would be safe enough. “If you can’t send me home?”
He hesitates. “Although I’m sure Lakan would be-“ The dark look of horror she sends him shuts him down immediately. “But,” he stammers, “It wouldn’t be usual to send a consort back to her family, so perhaps not.”
She gives the slightest nod of acknowledgement. He breathes out. Gaoshun, standing quietly at the side of the room, breathes out too. She ensures her face is blank, and casts all thought of that man aside.
Cautiously, Master Jinshi tries, “I had meant more that if there was someone you previously wished to marry, it might be possible to-“
“I don’t have anyone I wish to marry.” She favours him with another frown. “And no one would have me. Look at me!”
She glances down at herself, her point slightly undermined by how nicely Xiaolan has presented her. Still, though, she is scrawny, plain, and has absolutely no chest to speak of. Not really desirable marriage material, and that’s without taking her personality into account. Really, it’s amazing she was taken on as a consort in the rear palace.
“I am looking at you.” Master Jinshi’s voice brings her out of her thoughts, and she blinks, startled. There is a smile on his face, but it is soft, genuine. Real. “I cannot think of a single reason someone wouldn’t want to marry you.”
The words sting in a way that is somehow both pleasure and pain at once. She scowls. “Then you’re an idiot,” she retorts reflexively. Or, now that she thinks about it, a liar. “Clearly you have had no interest in me, so you cannot expect anyone else to.”
She sees it hit home, sees his expression tighten. “That is not why I-“
“Not that it matters,” she comments. She is uninterested in hearing pretty excuses. “I doubt I have any true say in the matter, but, if I do, please don’t give me to someone as a reward.”
He is quiet for a moment, watching her. “Alright,” he says.
Just like that. Can she trust him? She supposes he has no reason to lie about this, and he certainly has the power and position to arrange things however he likes. The tension that was strung through her is cut like strings, and she eases back into the couch a little. “Thank you,” she says.
“Would you like to come with me, then?” he asks.
She blinks. She’d forgotten he’d said that was an option. “Would you have need of an apothecary?” she asks.
There is a small, tired sigh from the side of the room where Master Gaoshun stands. When she glances at him, he is gazing out of the window with implacable patience.
Master Jinshi, on the other hand, looks bewildered. “An apothecary?” He laughs.
It’s hard not to be insulted. “I am quite skilled,” she says evenly. “I can also work as a poison taster. I believe you have seen my abilities there for yourself.”
“I was not doubting your… Lady Maomao, forgive me. I merely meant that you are officially the consort of the Imperial younger brother. I cannot take you with me as an apothecary.”
Right, she supposes that would be too much of a demotion. Still. “No one would know who I am,” she says determinedly. “As soon as I am no longer wearing these pretty robes I am instantly taken for a maid. I have no connections-“
He opens his mouth, then shuts it again.
“-and it would cause no trouble for anyone if I were to disappear.”
He eyes her for a moment, then warily opens his mouth again. “Lakan-“
“Is not my father,” she interjects scathingly. “He did not raise me. He has no say in my life.”
“Unfortunately, he does have intense concern over you. And he is a great strategist, who has built up power for his clan. We cannot risk alienating him by allowing his daughter to go missing.”
She glares at Master Jinshi as though he is a worm, half dried and shrivelled in the sun. He shivers, then marvels at her. Urgh.
“Fine,” she says, seething. “Then I will stay here, exactly as I am, and there was no point to this entire conversation. I am perfectly content here!”
“Are you?” he asks.
What does that matter?
Still. “It’s not bad,” she admits. “I have my own room, and there are plenty of herbs in the grounds. And people keep trying to poison me on a regular basis.”
His face does something complicated. “You’re the only person who’s ever claimed poisoning is a perk of their position,” he mutters.
It only needs a slight turn to look out of the nearest window. She cannot see the walls of the rear palace from here, but she has mapped them out on foot many times over these months. “I would prefer to be able to see my adopted father,” she admits. “I worry that he is not taking care of himself. And while there are many upsides to life here, one cannot leave.”
She will die here. But, given her alternative option is marriage to a random stranger, she guesses she’ll see what she can make of life here. She frowns. “Wait. If I can’t leave here as an apothecary, why did you ask if I would want to go with you?”
The disbelieving stare she receives seems somewhat unwarranted, in her opinion. As is Gaoshun’s quiet muttered prayer to the heavens.
“You are my consort,” Master Jinshi says slowly.
She waits.
The silence gradually becomes excruciating.
“Please excuse me,” Master Gaoshun suddenly says. “I must… see to a bird that has crashed into a bush in the garden.”
“Well that was weird,” mutters Maomao as his back hurriedly disappears from view. Turning back to Master Jinshi, “Do you know why-“
She startles as she finds him right there, having quietly crossed the room to now crouch down beside her. His face is intent, perhaps more earnest than she has ever seen it, his long hair spilling to either side.
“Is it that you do not wish to marry a stranger?” he asks. “Or is it that you do not wish to marry at all?” She is too surprised to respond, staring at him with her lips still slightly parted. “I have treated you poorly as a consort, but believe me when I tell you I would cherish you most dearly as a wife.”
He cannot be serious. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am.” He smiles softly again. He is much more bearable when he smiles honestly, she thinks. “You are not like any woman I have ever met.”
“That doesn’t mean you should marry me!” She tries to slip out to the side, but he catches one of her hands and keeps her there. “It speaks more to the women you’ve met so far.” Presumably everyone else adores him and denies him nothing, and she is interesting merely by comparison.
“Would you rate yourself so lowly?” he murmurs.
She glares at him. “My personal assets are non-existent.” She makes a curved gesture with her free hand in the vicinity of her bust, and his eyes follow it. And stay there. “Hey!” Without thinking, she slaps his shoulder. And immediately regrets it, flinching internally. Surely that will get her executed? But he dutifully removes his gaze from the barely visible shape of her breasts, and doesn’t seem angry at all. Weird. Anyway… “I’m hardly a charming conversationalist,” she continues, “I know nothing of politics, and nor do I want to. My only interests are medicine and poisons. And, unlike the rest of the world, I seem immune to your charms.”
He has nodded along agreeably to her points, and now his thumb strokes across her hand. “I know,” he sighs. “Perfect.”
“Wait, what?” What exactly did he take from her list? He can’t possibly want her as she is, there must be something else that… “If you are marrying me to appease that weirdo official,” she sparks furiously, “I absolutely refuse!”
“Only if it’s because of that?” His eyes sparkle a little, and she scowls. His other hand comes up to rest on her head. “Maomao,” he says, the word a caress.
“Not only,” she says.
He just smiles. Then, after a moment, he confides, “It has been quite a shock for me to realise how deeply I have come to care for my own consort.” She freezes. “But here we are. If you do not wish to marry me, that is another matter, but so far your only reason appears to be that you do not think it possible I should want to.”
“I-“
“I have been thinking on how to speak to you about it. My brother obviously approves.”
His brother the emperor? She lets out a very small noise of shock.
“I hadn’t necessarily planned to ask today,” he adds, a little sheepishly. His hand gently caresses her hair. “I should have planned a better speech.”
“Right,” she says faintly. Because a different speech would have made all the difference. She snaps out of it, wanting clarification. “You want me to be your wife in truth? Not the charade of it, as we have now?”
He leans in a little closer. “In truth,” he murmurs, his eyes intent on hers.
For all that she is already his consort, it has been a position in name only. What he asks for now is more in line with what she had expected her role to be when she first arrived. For reasons she cannot fathom, this man, the indescribably alluring Moon Prince, wishes to marry her and bed her.
“I might,” she says, voice high, “need a little time to think about it.”
He seems to realise his position all at once; how he is leaning in over her on the couch. He draws back with a light cough and deep blush, but keeps his hand over hers.
“Of course,” he murmurs. “My apologies. I… may have become carried away.”
If anyone else saw him blushing like this, she is fairly sure they would forswear all vows and beg to be taken as his lowliest servant.
And he wants Maomao to be his wife?
She carefully extracts her hand from under his. “Thank you for the honour of your visit,” she says, retreating into formality.
He contemplates her for a moment, then smiles. “Perhaps I can visit again soon,” he says. “More often, so that we can become further accustomed to each other.”
You mean so that you can wear me down, she thinks, but, in truth, his company is not so undesired. And if her two possible choices for the future are to remain here quietly for the rest of her life or to marry him, it makes sense to know him better.
What kind of husband would he be? Her mind wanders for a moment, forgetting that he is still in front of her. Intense, from what she has seen of him. Probably spoiled. Prone to panic at the smallest things, like slight poisonings. But also curious, willing to listen, and unexpectedly thoughtful. Then there is always his astounding beauty and the pleasing proportions of his body.
Aside from his odd fascination with her, his character is not a bad portrait.
“What are you thinking of?” he asks quietly.
“Of-“ But she cuts herself off and blushes fiercely. “Nothing!” she squeaks.
His eyes grow wide with delight. “Oh, but now I must know,” he says, and leans in again.
She practically scrambles backwards off the couch. “You must go,” she says firmly, and, taking hold of his shoulder as he starts to follow, turns him and propels him towards the door. He goes along with it – for a moment at the start, she had felt his strength as he planted himself like a tree. But now he moves easily under her touch, laughing quietly to himself.
At the door he turns, all of her pushing instantly negated, and takes her hand between both of this. “How about this,” he says, mouth curling in a small smile. “If you become my wife, I shall also allow you to be my apothecary.”
She glares up at him, falling into the expression instinctively. For the same reason, she tries to tug her hand away, even though she isn’t entirely sure she minds him holding it.
“And is that such a great honour?” she says grumpily.
He smiles. “Perhaps. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure I want anyone else in the position.”
She grumbles, but allows him to raise her hand and kiss the palm. The redness in her cheeks worsens. This is ridiculous – what is she, a blushing bride? Though, as soon as she has the thought, she could kick herself for her turn of phrase.
“Until tomorrow then, Apothecary.”
“Until tomorrow,” she mumbles, and watches him leave.
That had been… unexpected.
Maomao isn’t sure how long she stands by the door before Xiaolan appears, talking to her with words she automatically tunes out. Xiaolan places a cup of tea in her hand and steers her to a seat, and she frowns contemplatively at nothing for a while.
Apothecary doesn’t have such a bad ring to it, she decides.
*
The End