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Jinshi leans back in his seat, bringing a decorative satin pouch to his lips.
The scent unfurls beneath his nose. A sharp bitterness layered with dry, herbal earth seeps through his stiff limbs, and his muscles relax much like a cat stretching out.
(One particular cat comes to mind.)
On the other end of his office, Basen shifts, angled away and scratching at something, but Jinshi pays it little mind.
Instead, he sighs, returning the pouch to his pocket. The dauntless paperwork awaits, after all.
Summer has to be the second busiest time of the year. The Inner Court is in full swing by then, and it becomes a time of trials. Ministers have settled into the capital, all caught up on the latest gossip and news following the spring garden party. Consorts battle to lead fashion trends. Reputations are challenged, and alliances are put to the test.
Jinshi's patience for pointless paper bills is pushed to the limit. It is a shock at times that entire species of trees have not yet gone extinct with the ever-replenishing tower that haunts his desk each day. And this is after foisting off rear palace duties to Maamei and filtering requests through two secretaries.
He should count himself lucky. Jinshi remains in a uniquely powerful position, capable of swaying numbers and resources throughout the country. Fancy bribes, disguised as favours, fall at his feet constantly. Women look his way, prepared to answer his beck and call should he wish.
Jinshi, as the Moon Prince, a rendered son of the heavens, has any and all within his reach.
Nearly. Nearly any and all.
All except his need to walk the earth as a man with the woman he loves rather than float above her.
His head slips to his hand with a groan—Jinshi’s hardly made it through a third bill. The Emperor has yet to budge on granting him a name but offered his support in Jinshi’s marriage proposal—barring the court from outright rebelling against it.
Neither faction wishes for the La clan to gain more imperial favour than they already have.
But it’s just a matter of time now. The edict was spoken, and a date set. Perhaps there would be an introduction during the fall garden party—
Such a long ways away!
Basen coughs. “Are you alright, sir?”
“Fine,” Jinshi mutters, both hands pressed to his eyes. Perhaps another break would do him some good. However, stepping outside the office leaves him exposed to all manner of lingering ministers hoping to cross his path and string him along a conversation of thinly veiled suggestions to support their projects.
No, best to stay right where he is.
If only he could call Maomao over for a quick charge. The agreement of the engagement stipulated that she live as a proper highborn lady—in the home of her rightful birth father. An experience Jinshi is certain his favourite cat is hissing over, but it was the only way to get the Grand Commandant to agree.
(If only Jinshi had won that game of Go.)
She had been granted special permission to continue her work as a physician every few days on part-time hours. It comes with constraints, especially after their marriage comes to pass. Working with the sick would be forbidden, as well as certain training the doctors have provided thus far. Jinshi worried about these conditions at first. But Maomao argued that it was more than she ever expected to keep, and she was happy.
The memory of her small smile alone leaves Jinshi humming happily and kicking his feet under his desk. She’s had more of those lately! Jinshi has empirical evidence to prove it so.
Basen leans away to scribble something as Baryou’s curtain shifts with movement.
“Rather attentive you both are today, aren’t you?” Jinshi asks. He preens inwardly at Basen’s guilty startle as his attendant rushes to shove something into his pocket.
Basen says, “No more than usual, Moon Prince.”
They’re terrible at subtlety. Basen could learn many things still from his father, but maybe with more time. He's grown quite a bit over the years. However, his skill with deflection remains at an all-time low.
Jinshi rests an elbow against his desk. “Perhaps you would tell me what you’ve been writing about every so often.”
“I don’t know what you mean, sir.” Sweat is already beading Basen’s forehead as he shifts his weight under uncomfortable scrutiny.
"I would know the sound of a pen on paper in my sleep. You can't deny it that easily," Jinshi states with a smirk. "Is it a report, then? Or are you finally penning a letter to Lady Lishu—"
Basen squeaks and rushes to reply, "Lishu has nothing to do with this!"
He's practically a tomato.
"You speak like you're hiding some sort of scandal."
"If I may speak freely, Moon Prince?" Baryou asks from beyond the curtain. A surprise—the man addresses him rarely.
"You may," Jinshi says.
"It would be prudent to focus on today's requests. We have fallen behind as of late."
Jinshi stills and eyes the tower casting a shadow over his desk. This can't only be the requests from today alone.
"Surely it isn't that bad."
Basen grumbles, "You may be working through the night before your wedding."
"I hear you," Jinshi huffs, grabbing another bill. "I can keep up just fine. No one else's sleep need suffer."
So he says. Yet the words blur as he reads about the importance of a tax adjustment on salt and lumber before the next spring. Minister Zhu-something or other feels personally affronted that they're so high.
In the fine print, Jinshi spies subtle promises of prized women from associated families upon acceptance or negotiation of this adjustment.
How bold.
Denied.
For all the eyes on him at all hours of the day, it's almost surprising how blind the court remains to Jinshi's preferences. Jinshi is not seen or heard. All they see is the facade of the beautiful prince, one incomplete without several flowers to warm his bed. They see an opportunity for advantage—a bridge for their family to reach for the land of heaven.
How funny it is that none have that which he wants. If only they offered up rare medicinal ingredients instead. At least then, Jinshi would find a minute interest in striking up a negotiation with these men.
Jinshi chuckles. Manipulating the tax structure as a shortcut to rare gifts would only earn him a repulsive glare.
No, it's best to source them himself. The blooming flush and giddy sparkle in Maomao's eye is all the sweeter when he is the sole cause.
"—call her over, Moon Prince?"
Jinshi splutters as the smile falls from his face. The brush slips from his fingers and clatters against his desk.
How long had he zoned out for?
"I'm sorry?"
The curtain rustles in the corner. "Should we call for Lady Maomao?"
Yes, he wants to say. If he could have her by his side all day, every day, of course he'd accept. Jinshi would do unspeakable things to make that a reality.
However, this is one of Maomao's rare days off—not just from the medical office, but from her lessons. Lahan had employed Joka to instruct his betrothed in all manner of political topics, several days during the week.
Maomao requires an intensive hand for matters of uninterest. Jinshi's come to understand that it's been a straining experience for her thus far.
(Yet she has not fled the country.)
"You're daydreaming again, sir."
Baryou is very much Gaoshun's son, Jinshi realizes.
With a pout, he replies, "I do not daydream."
"You must be tired then," Basen says. "You've been staring off and mumbling under your breath."
"His expression speaks for itself."
How can Baryou even see from back there? "What expression?"
The two are silent aside from the sound of shuffling sheets. Basen scratches at his neck, embarrassed.
Jinshi taps a finger against the desk. "Speak up. What's on your mind?"
Basen glances between Jinshi, the paper in his hand, and back.
"The satchel, sir."
Jinshi blinks. He retrieves it from his pocket. The silk is green with flowers embroidered on one side. They look like poppies.
"This one? What about it?"
"It's been distracting you," Basen says, eying it with suspicion. "Is there something—"
Jinshi scoffs. "They're just herbs, Basen. Nothing illicit. It was a gift to help my concentration."
"You've had it out three times an hour. I'm not certain it's working," Baryou adds.
"Three—?" Has he been that obvious?
They've been counting?!
"It absolutely helps!" Jinshi shouts, rising to his feet in his excitement. The pouch is held to his chest as if to defend it from slander. He should rein himself in, he knows—being transparent about his affections for things always leads to them being taken away.
But he simply can't treat Maomao and anything related to her as something he doesn't care about, at least not in the presence of those he trusts.
"It's packaged with my health in mind, you know. The scent is unmistakably close to hers." He straightens, a flush crawling up his neck. "Not—not that I smell her, but—"
"My, my, my, what a thing to shout in the middle of the day!" Miss Chue announces from the office entrance.
The doors are open. And Maomao stands just behind her with a barely schooled grimace.
Basen startles. "You should've knocked!"
"I did! Miss Chue tapped the door with the ferocity of a woodpecker," she chirps. "Your thrilling conversation was rather entertaining, but Lady Maomao has brought a gift for the Moon Prince." She smiles cheekily. "As you're clearly on a break, perhaps this is a good time?"
"Of course!" Jinshi says with a wide smile, ears hot. "Now is a great time."
It is not. There is still so much to do. But with Maomao standing close enough to see, yet not close enough to touch, Jinshi no longer cares about the state of affairs. They can wait.
Basen groans as he shakes his head with a hand pressed to his forehead, a motion that seems so familiar now. Regardless, Jinshi is already beckoning for Maomao to come forward as Chue steps aside.
Strangely, Basen follows Chue to Baryou's curtain, murmuring to each other before Chue hushes him and chases him out, closing the office doors behind him.
"Miss Chue will wait by hubby's desk! Don't mind us ~" she says before skipping away to the corner.
Maomao glances back in acknowledgment before setting her gaze on him. There's a question in her eyes—likely pertaining to whatever he was shouting about.
However, he'd rather not speak of that!
"Let's sit, shall we?" Jinshi offers.
He smiles as he guides Maomao to a settee. Her robes flutter about her as she steps past him with a silver tray in hand. Jinshi is happy to see her wearing anything—or nothing—but she's looked more and more like a noble lady these days.
Maomao's always deserved finer things, and despite her denial of it, he can't help feeling she enjoys wearing them. She can be comfortable in well-made clothes so long as they suit her. Maybe the lack of practicality for her usual work would put her off of wearing them too often, or even due to the effort to get dressed up like this.
She's at ease, though. Maomao is more sure of herself, shoulders relaxed rather than scrunched up by her ears.
She's settling into her status, little by little.
"You seem quite busy," Maomao says as she places the tray on a small table. She doesn't let it go, however, as if to confirm that she isn't imposing.
Jinshi takes a seat next to her, closer than propriety would allow at this time, but in the privacy of his office, the lines are that much easier to cross.
"No more than usual. What's this you've brought?"
Maomao gives him a side glance, one that shifts between him and the papers on his desk. A warning, possibly, but she nods anyway.
"I've made something for us to share. It's been quite a while since I last made it, and the choice of ingredients may be unorthodox. But I figured you would wish to try anyway."
When she lifts the cover, setting it aside, Jinshi blinks in surprise.
When Maomao makes something for him, it's usually medicine. Something for fatigue or muscle cramps. Jinshi spends his entire day writing too much and sitting too long. Maomao has given him massages on occasion, which has often led to something more. After such a long period of push and pull between them, Jinshi is weak to Maomao's touch.
It's a rare event that she makes food. The few times he's had the opportunity to try, it's always as good or better than anything served in the palace—Suiren excepted.
And beneath the cover sit two silver spoons and a cup of ice cream.
"What brought this on?" Jinshi asks, reaching for a spoon and claiming a taste.
It's fresh, cool, and sweet. The flavour is soothing like honey in a creamy milk tea. There's an undertone of something floral, though he can't place it.
Maomao doesn't answer. He knows she heard him with the way she pointedly avoids looking at him while she enjoys her own spoonfuls. She hums pleasantly, like she's surprised with how it turned out. But the choice of treat leaves him direly curious.
Jinshi has learned over the years that she prefers salty and savoury things. Suiren keeps a stock of rice crackers handy just for her.
"If you don't eat soon, it'll melt."
"I'm savouring it." He takes another bite. "It's not every day my wife makes a treat."
Maomao's face twists into a scowl. Jinshi feels goosebumps along his spine, and they're not from eating.
"We're not married, sir."
"Yet."
She drops her gaze, returning to staring down at the tray and taking occasional bites. But Jinshi spots the tips of her ears turning pink.
"Yet," Maomao mutters under her breath.
That admission alone warms Jinshi's chest. Just a little part of how far they've come.
Still, there's something about this that itches his thoughts. The more they eat, the less ice cream there is. The less that Maomao can avoid discussing what she came here for.
Jinshi tries another angle.
"I thought you weren't fond of sweets."
She sets her spoon down, leaving the rest to Jinshi to finish. "It's not my preference."
"You sure put in quite a bit of effort for something you don't favour."
"Do you not like it, sir?"
He does, actually. Jinshi has a fondness for sweet things, to Suiren's frustration. He often ruined dinner for himself with hidden stashes of candy when he was young. She rooted those out once she caught on.
"You've made something like this before," Jinshi says. It wasn't the same flavour—last time was fruit-based, wasn't it?
Without thinking he adds, "You did. For one of the high consorts."
"That's right. Consort Loulan."
Jinshi regrets saying anything.
Loulan, or rather, Shisui, is an old scar. To this day, Jinshi remains rather irked at how easily she managed to fool everyone in the rear palace—including him—and escape, leading to Maomao's kidnapping years ago.
For Maomao, Jinshi believes, it was as much of a loss as it was a sort of abandonment. They don't speak of her much.
Jinshi never was exactly sure how she felt about the whole thing. He was forced to send her back to the pleasure district after leaving his mask as a eunuch behind. While Maomao mentioned giving the woman her hair stick—one that Jinshi had intended for Maomao—she rarely came up in conversation. He's sure she thinks of her from time to time. Maomao just doesn't voice her thoughts easily.
He's learned to read her better now, though. And there is a thoughtfulness, rather than sadness, behind her expression.
"I find it funny now," Maomao says. "I made ice cream for Consort Loulan and thought I'd never know if she enjoyed it or not. We didn't have any connections. Chances were good, of course, but never absolute."
"But Shisui was there when you tried some."
Maomao nods. "Right under our noses all that time. It is nice to know my efforts paid off. She enjoyed it." She smiles briefly, and it falls away all too fast. "That was the last time the three of us were together."
Jinshi bites his tongue.
He’s had a little investigation on the side—he asked Ah-Duo to find connections to servants that have previously left the rear palace. Maomao will need her own ladies-in-waiting, specifically women she’ll trust, but he also hopes she would have women she could also confide in. Chue has been a wonderful companion for her, but one more would never hurt, especially one a little closer in age.
He doesn’t want to get her hopes up. Especially since they haven’t had much luck so far.
“I fermented and dried leaves of a bergenia plant, then made it into tea. They're hardy plants, sometimes symbolic of an early spring. The flavour is meant to represent that.”
“You were aiming for a taste of spring?”
She pulls out a bundle of cloth. “Yes. To celebrate the snow finally defrosting.”
Maomao peels away the layers, and a metal stick reveals itself.
It's silver, resembling the wing of a dove with a jade embedded into an awkwardly wide indent. If he were to look closely, it would almost look as though the stick had taken a bullet. Maybe from something like a feifa.
Jinshi doesn't quite believe what he's seeing. He picks it up gingerly with shaking fingers.
It's been years at this point. Way back from their early beginnings when Jinshi had known little and less of the world beyond the palace walls and Maomao was a simple apothecary turned food taster.
But it is unmistakable, no matter how some jeweller attempted to shape it up to be worthy of selling. This is the hair stick. The first that he had given her in a fit of charged emotions, many of which Jinshi had yet to understand at the time. He was possessed with the need to give Maomao something, anything, to protect her from the difficulties she had encountered in life. It was an atonement, of sorts, for being unable to prevent bandits from selling her off and taking her away from the life she'd known.
Later, it became a mark that Maomao was intended to be his. Or at least, be at his side.
When Maomao first mentioned she'd given it to Shisui, Jinshi felt conflicted. He hadn't learned exactly what Maomao was doing all that time she was taken.
Suirei provided some explanation when questioned. That the sisters aimed to keep Maomao out of harm's way until an incident with Shenmei led to the marks Jinshi found her with when she was rescued.
They had done their best, he decided, to protect Maomao's life.
Perhaps Maomao felt she was returning the favour.
Jinshi softly runs a thumb across the faint scar on his cheek. In many ways, he owes Shisui some way of thanks. But he had thought—well.
Everyone thought she hadn't made it. Shisui had not been seen again.
Neither was her body ever recovered. But this—
Jinshi whispers, “Where did you get this?”
“I happened upon a stall yesterday," Maomao explains, accepting it back. "The merchant travels between here and across the sea. They mentioned a girl exchanged it for a jade beetle.”
Jade. Shisui. Sui.
And a beetle. In the hands of a girl that loved insects.
It can be no other.
“Then—“ That would mean she lived. She’s out there.
A breathless laugh escapes his lips. “So, she succeeded then. She managed to be free. Shisui fled her cage.”
Shisui gave up everything. Her sister that she claimed to love, her clan, her wealth—everything she once knew. She traded all she loved for a new life outside the cage and across the sea, most likely.
Meanwhile, Jinshi had walked back into his.
By the way Maomao bites her lip, he suspects she has the same thought.
"I don't regret it, if that's what you're wondering," Jinshi says.
He never could come to regret it. Jinshi looks back on his time as a eunuch with no little amount of embarrassment if he's honest. While he's envious that Shisui got what she wanted—what Jinshi's wanted for so long—there was no chance he could have remained as he was without Maomao.
Seeing her now, by his side, leaning towards him oh so slightly, Jinshi knows he would never trade her for only a chance at freedom. He can't imagine doing all that he is now without her.
“It’ll be our turn soon enough, sir.” She places a hand over his. His heart, so full and warm and filled with adoration, threatens to jump out of his chest. That Maomao wants this—that she is willing to join him on this long and strange journey with earnest means the world and more.
Forget ministers, forget paperwork, and forget the entire empire. He wants to smush her face against his. He should take her home—to their home, their bed, and end all this waiting.
There's a chittering laugh in the back corner. While the settee they're seated at is hidden by a divider, Jinshi is certain Chue is attempting to remind him of his place and has to swallow down his urges.
He settles for lifting her hand to his lips. Maomao flushes, glancing away, but doesn’t pull away or flee. They truly have come so far.
He is the luckiest man alive, after all, to have her by his side.
One day, they too will manage to be free.