Chapter Text
Maomao's heart stopped beating when she was little.
She only discovered it years later, trapped within the crimson streets of the pleasure district, surrounded by the decaying scent of lust and poison.
That morning she had been awakened by the scream of a young apprentice who had found a courtesan dead in her bed, wrapped in the limp arms of her dead lover. Maomao found the way their bodies intertwined strangely fascinating. Meimei remarked that they had held each other so tightly that even Death itself would struggle to pull them apart.
Joka, on the other hand, let out an exasperated sigh. While the two bodies were carried away to be buried somewhere without a name, she locked herself in her room to write a poem. Since the old man had forbidden Maomao from going anywhere near corpses, she tiptoed after Joka instead and sat beside her, quietly watching the brush dance across the paper.
After a long silence, her sister looked at her over the tip of the brush before setting it aside, her fingers stained black with ink.
"Dying for love is something neither you nor I will ever understand, Maomao. Daughters of prostitutes are born with frozen hearts, without a single spark of warmth. And whatever warmth we have left is stolen by the red lights of these streets."
Joka was a poet, but she had simply given voice to a thought that had been growing inside her for years.
Maomao, however, was practical.
So she decided to catalogue the symptoms.
Other people never made her heart race. She cared for her sisters, for her father, and even for the greedy old madam who ran the brothel, but no embrace had ever managed to warm her.
She said nothing to her father.
Instead, that night she picked a handful of nettles and rubbed them against her forearm in search of pain.
The burning itch and the sharp stings made her heartbeat quicken, and she smiled in relief. The physical response to pain brought her a little closer to the emotions that always seemed to escape her.
Even though poison had already taught her she was capable of feeling, emotions themselves remained foreign territory.
Other people's hearts could burn down palaces.
Hers was merely warm.
Slow.
Still.
The conclusion was obvious.
Maomao's heart had grown so cold that it had stopped beating.
It existed in a state remarkably similar to death.
That day was the first time she encountered death for love.
It was hardly unusual to find lovers dead together. There was an unwritten rule in the pleasure district: for lovers without money, the only endings were death or resignation.
So when Ukyo arrived at the residence one winter night, months after her return from the Western Capital, carrying a letter from the Madam, Maomao merely clicked her tongue while rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
She hated idiots. And above all, she hated lovesick idiots who interrupted her sleep even more.
She hurried into her hanfu and climbed into the Verdigris House carriage. On the way she managed to yawn twice while thinking through the haze of sleep.
A nighttime suicide was always bad news.
People chose the middle of the night precisely because breakfast couldn't interrupt them.
The carriage stopped two streets away from the brothel, and Ukyo led her through the back entrance.
The urgency.
The secrecy.
Both spoke of the old woman's terror of scandal.
So the suicidal client had money.
Interesting.
Hidden behind clouds of steam and simmering pots, the old madam kept fiddling with the bracelets around her wrist, a nervous habit that Maomao immediately filed away among the warning signs.
"You took your sweet time!" the old woman barked the moment she saw her.
"You're the one who came looking for me instead of spending money on the district physician."
The remark earned her nothing more than an irritated snort.
The Madam turned on her heel and led the way through corridors lined with wallpaper and crimson lacquer. Despite the urgency, neither of them spoke.
Secrets had an unfortunate habit of slipping through paper-thin walls.
"It's a disaster," the old woman declared as soon as they stepped into one of the rooms on the second floor.
This was the middle tier of the establishment, home to the brothel's most sought-after courtesans, surpassed only by the Three Princesses. Discretion was valued far more here than in the cramped rooms downstairs.
Even so, rhythmic knocks and muffled moans still seeped through the walls.
The door clicked shut behind them.
A bitter mixture of sweat and passion immediately swallowed the room.
Inside stood only the old woman, Ukyo, Maomao and two corpses clinging to one another in a poor imitation of an embrace.
The man had wrapped his arms around the unfortunate woman the way a frightened child clings to his mother. His fingers had curled into claws against the fabric of her hanfu.
Foam lingered at the corner of his mouth.
The foul odor coming from his body spoke of violent muscle spasms.
Love was usually described with sweet perfumes and elegant cosmetics.
It seemed strange that these lovers had not chosen a poison that offered a gentler death.
"Who's the lucky gentleman?" Maomao asked, pinching her nose as she crouched to inspect the scene more closely.
"His name was Shinxue," the madam replied, lighting her pipe. "The son of a court official."
Maomao studied the dead man's contorted face. His lips had turned blue, and sweat had carved narrow trails through the powder that concealed what looked like countless blemishes scattered across his skin.
His hands, long and slender, still clutched the courtesan's hanfu with an unnatural grip, far too tight for a corpse. The toxin must have forced his muscles into repeated contractions. Incontinence would have been expected. What was unusual was that poisons capable of causing such violent convulsions were also notoriously agonizing.
"It looks more like a punishment than a suicide," Ukyo remarked from behind her, giving voice to Maomao's own thoughts.
The old woman clicked her tongue and waved her pipe through the air.
"Quiet! This disaster is going to bury us as it is. I don't even want to hear the word murder."
Maomao didn't bother turning around.
A murder would mean the ruin of a courtesan house. Not even the Three Princesses of the Verdigris House could stand against rumors of curses or the wrath of a noble father wealthy enough to grieve loudly.
Trying not to dwell on what lay ahead, she forced herself to focus on the silent victim instead.
The poor prostitute who would be buried without a name or a gravestone, so no one would ever speak of this disgrace again.
"Who was she?"
The old woman exhaled a cloud of smoke and leaned against the dead girl's wardrobe.
"Meilin. She was decent at Go, and Joka had started lending her books so she could educate herself. She had her regular patrons, and I had plans to make a name out of her." The old woman sighed between drags of her pipe. "It's a waste that she had to die because of that fool."
The candlelight caught a faint glimmer beneath one of the socks lying near the low table where the drinks had been served.
Maomao crouched and pulled out a small metal flask engraved with intricate patterns, along with a tiny mother-of-pearl box.
The sock was enormous and reeked of sweat, leaving little doubt that it had belonged to the man, who had hidden both items inside it.
She uncorked the flask and took a careful sniff.
The sharp scent of alcohol wrinkled her nose.
She cautiously took a mouthful, searching for traces of poison, but all she tasted was an exceptionally strong liquor.
Next she opened the mother-of-pearl box.
It was empty.
Even so, she held her breath and slowly closed her eyes when she noticed the seal engraved into its base.
"What is it?" Ukyo asked. "Poison?"
"Worse." Maomao ran her thumb over the engraving. "A clan seal."
The old woman cursed under her breath.
Ukyo, who had remained silent until then, stepped closer to inspect the mark. She discreetly turned it away from his curious gaze.
"Do you think this is some kind of clan feud?"
Maomao let out a slow sigh and leaned back against the table, her gaze returning to the bodies.
"No idea. But we need to send for Gaoshun and miss Chue."
She paused only a heartbeat before delivering her conclusion.
"This is a murder."
The old woman swore again and collapsed against the cabinet.
"Don't worry," she muttered bitterly. "I'm sure they'll be more than willing to keep this quiet."
Absentmindedly, she traced the Ka clan's seal once more with her fingertips.
Maomao took another sip from the dead man's flask, seeking refuge in the alcohol.
It was going to be a very long night.
"Miss Maomao! Miss Maomao! What a delight to see you back in the pleasure district. I'll be sure to tell the Moon Prince himself that you personally invited me."
Miss Chue's shrill, cheerful voice clashed with the grim atmosphere hanging over the Verdigris House kitchen.
The Madam could have welcomed them into her office, but night was the enemy of discretion in a courtesan house.
Or at least, of the kind of discretion they needed tonight.
The world of the night was willing to overlook forbidden passions and contagious illnesses.
Blood crimes, however, were another matter. They were far too delicious to ignore. Especially one that pointed an accusing finger at the Imperial family.
"So," Gaoshun interrupted before miss Chue had the chance to steer the conversation somewhere indecent, "what was so urgent about your letter, Xiaomao?"
Maomao nodded and slipped effortlessly into the frame of mind her work demanded.
"You'd better see it for yourselves before we have to move the bodies. The old Madam has been clearing out as many rooms as she could, but it would look suspicious if the Verdigris House suddenly sent every customer away," Maomao explained as briefly as possible while leading them through the corridors.
Moans and low growls followed them up to the second floor, which was strangely quiet despite the lively night beyond the windows. Hungry eyes peered through the paper doors, the courtesans eager for any scrap of information, but a single glance from the Madam, who led the group, was enough to send them scurrying back into hiding.
The smell of death reached them several steps before the room itself.
As soon as they entered, Maomao handed each of them a scented handkerchief to cover their noses.
The air was already becoming unbearable.
"A lovers' suicide?" Gaoshun asked, curiosity restrained beneath his usual stern composure.
"At the moment, it's only a theory," Maomao replied. "But there are signs suggesting this may have been murder."
Miss Chue arched an eyebrow as she stepped closer to get a better look at the man's face.
"It's Shinxue," she said, quickly hopping back a couple of steps. "He was supposed to marry one of the main branch's granddaughters in two weeks. The head of the Shin clan intended to make him the first real rival to the current heir."
Maomao nodded.
Her theory had just been confirmed.
Standing in the doorway with his usual military posture, though uncertainty clouded his expression, Gaoshun frowned.
The murder of one of the Shin clan's prospective heirs would throw court politics into turmoil for months, feeding rumors and vendettas.
At first glance, however, it had nothing to do with the Ma clan.
"Among his belongings, we found this," Maomao sighed, pausing briefly before handing him the mother-of-pearl box bearing the Ka clan's seal, which she had left on the table. "I believe this is where he kept the poison. That's why I sent Ukyo to fetch you. I assumed you'd want to know before anyone else."
Gaoshun's face visibly paled, while miss Chue leaned in to study the engraved character, shaped like a flower.
"Who else knows about this?" he asked, his voice suddenly as hard as steel.
Maomao shook her head and glanced toward the Madam, who was watching from behind her with open curiosity.
"Only I've seen the box. As for the bodies, only the Madam, Ukyo, and the apprentice who found them. But she's mute, so she won't be a problem. And the old Madam has just as much interest as the rest of us in making sure this stays a secret... isn't that right?"
The old woman narrowed her eyes, as though she were weighing the value of her silence against the reputation of the Verdigris House.
The House's reputation must have won.
She took out her pipe, lit it, pressed her lips into a thin line, and gave a curt nod.
Lady Chue shattered the silence with a bright clap of her hands.
"Well then! Before we move the bodies, I'm absolutely dying for some pork buns. Do you have the ones with egg?"