Chapter Text
Mysteries aren’t new to them.
In fact, Jinshi likes to think that the threads of their marriage are woven with unsuspecting clues, overlooked details, and answers revealed by the light. On the surface, they are an unexpected match: a man who hails from the brightness of royalty and a woman who was raised in the shadows of the pleasure district. But when the evidence of the past six years is examined, Jinshi and Maomao make perfect sense.
Maomao sees who he is beneath the layers of station and duty. Jinshi sees who she is behind the walls she constructed around herself. They can read between the lines of speech and action and find the other’s truth. Jinshi knows that he was born under a lucky star not for his birthright or his looks or his power but for this: to be seen, to be respected, to be understood – by Maomao.
There’s a vulnerability and trust interwoven with the affection they have for one another, a pulling of threads whose fibers contain memories of the past. They aren’t the same people they once were, those bleeding things who denied their individual wounds. They’re sutured now, secure with the knowledge that their shared tapestry is invisible to all but themselves.
A solved case, a known quantity, an indescribable comfort.
A year of marriage passes them by under this security, a settling of the titles of husband and wife.
The long nights, the late mornings. Touching and learning and creating a new code just for them – a different kind of knowing, physical and intimate – until Jinshi believes that he knows Maomao more than he knows himself. He can read between her subtle shifts of expression, the tilt of her head, the soft exhales that leave her parted lips. Jinshi believes that there is no further mystery to solve between them, that he can hold the truth of their desires in his hands and taste it in her kiss.
Maomao, as she so often does, proves Jinshi wrong.
☽ ✿ ☾
i. the dismissal
It’s time to rise to the occasion, dear. Off to work you go.
Or at least, that’s what Suiren tells him on the mornings that she dismisses him from his own house. Her words, the door she holds open, and the stern look on her face are all tactics to prevent him from dawdling on the days that his work agenda is stacked with meetings. His grandmother is past the point of being amused by his antics – namely, his efforts to keep Maomao in his rooms longer than what their schedules can afford – and has resorted to lingering in his sitting room to ensure breakfast passes uneventfully on such days.
Such as today.
She bests him most mornings. Sometimes, however, even Suiren can’t overlook Jinshi’s raised eyebrow or the twitching of the corner of Maomao’s mouth and excuses herself with an exasperated sigh. Unfortunately for Jinshi, such victories are the exception and not the rule when Suiren is on a mission.
As such, Jinshi hears the old woman’s dismissal and pouts at his bowl. He wasn’t even done with his breakfast, strictly speaking. He catches Maomao eying the rest of his food from her seat across from him, her own bowl already cleared of its seared pork belly. He’s noticed things like this before. Maomao, folding rice crackers in a napkin for a midnight snack, never calling for fresh ones if she so desires in the middle of the night. Maomao, reusing old clothing for her medicinal wraps, aghast at the thought of throwing the fabric away. Maomao, rushing to eat the best of the meal first, like she can’t believe it’ll remain on her plate if she doesn’t eat it quickly.
They’ve gotten better, these symptoms of an impoverished upbringing, but it’s never easy to witness.
“Can you finish this for me?” He asks her, wiping his face with a cloth napkin.
His wife shrugs, seemingly uninterested, but he notices the way her eyes quickly flicker to his bowl again. “Sure.”
Jinshi stands, ignoring Suiren’s silent-but-loud demand for him to not neglect his duties today, and places his hand on Maomao’s shoulder. She takes a sip of tea – that special batch that she drinks in the mornings now – and places the cup on the table. With a minuscule tilt of her chin, Maomao gives him permission to kiss the top of her head. It’s the usual display of affection she permits in front of a select few, even though he wants to lift her from her seat and, well, do exactly what Suiren is there to prevent.
None of this stops Jinshi from bending and pressing a smacking kiss to Maomao’s cheek, grinning as he dodges her resulting swat.
“Give you an inch and you take a mile,” she mutters, a light blush on her face. Blue eyes finally meet his obsidian ones, evidence that she’s finally awake and alert. Maomao always needs more time than him to fully wake, especially during these frigid autumn mornings. Her eyes flicker behind him toward Suiren, raising an eyebrow when she meets his gaze again. “Busy day today?”
Jinshi nods, standing upright and fighting a sigh. It's been nothing but an endless stream of busy days lately. Like one lady-in-waiting says –
“The days are long but the years are short, Moon Prince.”
With his back still to Suiren, Jinshi makes a face at Maomao. Only the flash of amusement in her eyes is evidence that he’s rebelled in some way. He really should do something about being herded within his own house, but where would he be without Suiren's direction anyway?
“Today is the legislative deadline for multiple bills,” he explains to Maomao. Jinshi winces at the thought of the line of court assistants that are likely already waiting outside of his office. He keeps his hand on her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her body underneath her sleeping robes. It’s a nice way to charge for what the day threatens to bring. “The typical madness before the fall recess. I won’t return home until late.”
In truth, he won’t be far from home at all. His official office is in the public-facing outer wing of their pavilion – or palace, as Maomao insists. Despite being close, it’s unlikely he’ll return to the inner quarters of the estate before night falls. Maomao hums in response to his answer, the vibration of her voice buzzing under his palm.
“And your day, Maomao?” He asks, gently squeezing her shoulder. “Did they send word that they’d need you today?”
“Hm?” She asks distractedly. Maomao shakes her head. “Oh, no. They didn’t.”
Her tone is level, but Jinshi sees the tightness around her eyes.
It’s not like he doesn’t know what bothers her. Since their marriage a little over a year ago, her hours at the medical offices have been reduced. It wasn’t under his direction or even his fath– the emperor’s. There are no rules against the new Moon Princess continuing to work; her marriage contract stipulated that she be able to. He’d never want her to stop either. After all, he was instrumental in ensuring that women could perform such duties.
But helping open that door for Maomao meant opening that door to other women, too.
If the head physician, Dr. Liu, has to choose between Lady Maomao and an untitled woman cleaning up blood and bile, then the choice is obvious: choose the option that doesn’t draw the ire of the emperor should something go awry. Most disturbing to him, Maomao understands such a decision.
“There’s not a good record of physicians being treated fairly by the Imperial family,” she had pointed out when he finally weaseled the truth out of her one evening. She traced her finger across his furrowed brow and down the bridge of his nose. She tapped it twice. Meaningfully, “Even when they don’t make a mistake.”
Namely, Luomen being punished for the death of a baby boy who actually survived.
If he starts thinking about the impact that his inescapable station has on Maomao, Jinshi might start apologizing to her again. Maomao doesn’t want him to apologize for a decision she made. She had made that clear to him in the first winter of their marriage, once the dust began to settle and the costs of being together became evident.
Her costs, specifically, for marrying the emperor’s firstborn son, the man whose chain only became longer rather than cut.
Jinshi, loudly carrying the guilt of unknowingly welcoming her into his gilded cage. Maomao, silently knowing for years that he’d remain caged despite his efforts. Somewhere in between, he doubts why she would ever choose such a fate while she insists that it was a choice free for her to make.
The last thing he needs on today of all days is to perpetuate the discord that he and his wife swing back and forth like a pendulum they haven’t quite figured out how to stop. He swallows down the taste of guilt, pushing those thoughts and memories away.
“To the greenhouse, then?” Jinshi prompts, giving her a thin, falsely-saccharine smile to hide his unease. It’s an old trick from the younger version of himself, a mechanism he hasn’t wielded against her in years.
It’s a mistake. Maomao sees right through his mask, tensing under his hand and looking away. “You’re going to be late.”
Jinshi drops his hand from her shoulder, watching as she returns her attention to the rest of her breakfast. Maomao stirs black vinegar into her congee before she takes a bite. Seconds pass and the tightness around her eyes has yet to abate.
“Suiren,” Maomao says, looking past Jinshi as if he’s not there. “Is Xiaolan very busy today? There are some supplies I’d like from the market if she has the time.”
“Tell me what you want,” Jinshi interrupts. He doesn’t know why. He just knows that he should say something to cut through whatever is rising between them before he leaves for a long day. “I’ll send someone.”
An indiscernible look flashes through her eyes, there and gone in a moment.
“I can spare her for an hour or two this afternoon, Xiaomao.” He hears Suiren answer evenly. When Maomao doesn’t respond, she continues, “I’ll send her in after she finishes her breakfast. You know how she is at mealtimes.”
Maomao reaches across the table to lift the seared pork belly from Jinshi’s abandoned bowl. Quietly, “I know.” She places the extra helping into her bowl. To neither of them in particular, she says louder, “That’ll be all, thank you.”
It’s a dismissal if he ever saw one. He hears Suiren open the door. Jinshi rises to the occasion and leaves.
. . .
The work day proceeds with a flurry of paper and ink.
Baryou is industrious behind his curtain, having said nothing since his greeting to Jinshi. The only sound that comes from his corner of the office is the sound of shifting papers and an inkwell moving along his wooden desk. Basen is at the door, scowling at the ingratiating court assistants that lobby for their superiors. The excitement has drawn even Maamei from her domain, her hard set eyes overseeing the political dance of the day.
“Pathetic,” she mutters under her breath when yet another underling fails to sway Jinshi’s stance toward his supervisor’s position on a variety of proposed laws. “That one cried much sooner than I thought he would.”
Jinshi looks up from his desk to watch the assistant scamper away. “But you knew he would cry.”
Maamei turns to him, lowering her head deferentially. A wicked smile crosses her face, much resembling her mother. Jinshi shivers. Lightly, she offers, “If it displeases you, I could leave, Moon Prince.”
“No,” he answers immediately, almost desperately. He clears his throat. “You may stay.”
Maamei turns back toward the door, arms tucked into her sleeves, and waits for the next visitor.
If it weren’t for Maamei, the final legislative day of the season would be disastrous. He suspects that not even Gaoshun could be as efficient as his daughter is in handling the current situation. There’s a quiet strength to the Ma women, a fact that Jinshi learned as a young boy under Taomei’s care, that many unsuspecting court assistants are just now learning. Should they come under any direction but to help the Moon Prince, then they deal with Maamei.
If it weren’t for Jinshi’s very presence and implicit permission for such a dressing down, the court assistants would riot that a woman is administering their admonishments. Being as it is that Jinish happily remains at his desk, working studiously as such things occur, they leave with nothing accomplished and their egos wounded.
Basen leans against the closed office door and furrows his brow even deeper than before. Jinshi should tell him to stop fretting so much; this is par for the political course, after all. It happens once a year, this mad dash for lawmaking before the garden party.
For Jinshi, this is a welcome reprieve from the usual drivel that arrives in his office. Typically, mid-to-high ranking officials, their daughters in tow for seemingly no reason, come by to pay their respects to the Moon Prince. Some have the decency to bring actual business, some arrive empty-handed. All leave unhappy.
Besides, he has no time for any more distractions. His blundering conversation from breakfast lingers in the periphery of his thoughts. He reminded Maomao of her limitations and then implicated himself by faking a smile. It seemed to pull similarly old behaviors from her too: she ignored him like he was inconsequential, a gnat that wouldn’t stop buzzing around her. The only treatment for that, back then, was garnering her attention with an act or gift that she couldn’t ignore.
Jinshi stares at the brush in his hand for a moment. They’ve been through a lot together and individually. They aren’t the same people anymore. He’s not the impatient, overpowering young man who nearly suffocated her with his own selfishness. He doesn’t need to give her something that she can’t ignore just to get her to pay attention to him. He doesn’t need to mollify her with bear gall or velvet antlers or any other rare medicinal ingredient.
They’re too secure now to push each other’s buttons like they used to, he reminds himself. This residual immaturity must be another growing pain of marriage.
Jinshi continues writing, Basen opens the door for the next audience, and Maamei’s reign resumes. The hours pass slowly, dragging with the insufferableness of his station. A headache comes soon enough, untouched by tea or a light lunch. The chaos swells and swells and swells, the problems compounding under his purview.
Naturally.
Being the emperor’s brother is a thankless job. Being his son – well, Jinshi can imagine the nightmare that would be if such a secret were to come out. He’d likely miss these days of banality, the smell of ink and the inglorious politicking. Not to mention the possibility of inheriting the rear palace. The thought only makes him work harder, as if doing more today will quicken the growth of the Crown Prince.
So engrossed in his work, he doesn’t bother looking up as visitor after visitor is either welcomed or dismissed by Maamei until the door opens and silence envelopes the room. Jinshi only notices when the singular noise in the room is the sound of his brushstrokes, leading him to look up with consternation. There’s no time to stop working. Not today.
He finds Maomao standing just past the open doorway, her hands in her sleeves and face placid. She must have waved off the bows from those present because Basen is back to his usual frown and Maamei is patiently waiting for Maomao to speak. The few visitors that remain are staring openly at the princess, their faces rapt with unease. Baryou is peeking from around his curtain, anxious in his typical way. None of them can speak, of course. Not without Maomao saying the first word. If he were to guess, though, that’s not why they are all uncertain.
They’re all uncertain because Maomao has never, in their entire official courtship and marriage, ever arrived at his office unannounced. Jinshi, of course, assumes the worst.
“Maomao,” he blinks at her, standing up jerkily. His heart skips a beat when she meets his gaze. “What’s the matt–”
“Get out,” Maomao says calmly, not breaking his eye contact. “Now.”
In an instant, the court assistants scatter first. Neither Basen or Maamei move for a beat, unused to taking orders from Maomao. After a breath, they seem to remember that she outranks them before they hurriedly exit the room. The only one who remains –
“Baryou,” Maomao says.
An uncomfortable static rises in the air, much like it does each time these two individuals are forced to interact. She says nothing else before the man makes a small noise as he scrambles out of the room, clicking the door closed behind him. Dismissing Baryou – the man who rarely leaves his post, no matter the goings-on of the office – only fuels Jinshi’s anxiety.
The room is empty save for Jinshi and Maomao. Dread washes over him, thick and heavy. Irrationally, his mind floods with thoughts and worries and fears – is it the Crown Prince? The Emperor? What tragedy would pull Maomao from her greenhouse to his office on one of the busiest political days of the year?
He tries to find a clue in her eyes but finds nothing but blue.
Jinshi lowers his brush onto the parchment in front of him. He thinks of laugh lines and warm eyes. “Maomao,” he gets out. “Is it – is it the Emperor?”
Maomao shakes her head before she breaks eye contact, walking over to Baryou’s corner. She removes a hand from her sleeve and ghosts her fingertips along the linen curtain.
His chest loosens a bit. “One of the princes? Your – it’s not Dr. Kan, is it?” He watches her walk toward a side table, her fingers pinching a petal of a rhododendron. Aggravated by her silence, he snaps, “Say something. What happened?”
She turns her face but not her body, her profile framed by the pink flowers. “Nothing happened.”
Relief rushes through him and he exhales, placing a hand on his desk to steady himself. For a moment, he thought this life he cherishes would –
No. There’s no use dwelling. If nothing happened, then nothing happened. But if that’s the case, then why is Maomao here, picking a petal and putting it in her mouth?
“Are you busy?” She asks, breaking off a small bunch of flowers from the rhododendron.
“Very,” Jinshi answers honestly. He wants to go to her and wrap his arms around her out of sheer relief, but her vagueness disturbs him. “Even with Maamei’s help, we’re behind schedule.”
“A shame,” Maomao mutters, unsympathetic.
She brings the flowers bunch up to her face and inhales, closing her eyes. A peaceful expression spreads across her face. When she opens her eyes and looks at him, a smirk plays at the corner of her mouth, there and gone before he barely registers it. He takes a closer look at her.
She’s wearing a dark green skirt with a white top, her wide sleeves bunching around her elbows as she holds the plant up to her nose. The outfit seems familiar but he can’t put his finger on it. Her hair is down, its beads lying against her chest. Maomao’s top is tighter than usual. Though, he supposes, she has gained some weight since living under his roof so perhaps she’s due for a new wardrobe. Fit notwithstanding, her appearance is too informal for her station; Suiren should never let her leave their private quarters like this. He looks up from her clothes to her face. Blue eyes look over the flowers at him, slightly narrowed.
Studying him, he realizes. His wife is studying him.
“Come here,” Jinshi commands without thinking. The urge to wrap his arms around her surpasses his confusion about her odd behavior.
“No,” Maomao says simply.
“No?” Her response lights a fire within him, an impatience rising from his gut.
She lowers the branch to the base of her neck. His eyes follow. The pink is pretty against her pale skin. It’s the same shade that blossoms on her skin when he lifts his mouth from her body. He hears her confirm, mildly, “No.”
Jinshi’s gaze snaps back to hers, his grip on the desk tightening. “Is that so?” Maomao doesn’t reply as she stares back, an answer in and of itself. “Then why did you come here?”
He has no doubt that there are ears pressed to his office door, more assistants queued to waste his time, and a group of angry officials that await him at the court session later in the day. Things that Maomao certainly knows about, even if she pretends not to.
His annoyance buzzes just thinking about it.
Maomao continues to study him intently before her lips quirk in a half smile, pleased for some reason that eludes him. “An experiment.”
“What experiment?” Jinshi takes a step around his desk.
Maomao takes a step back, toward the door. “Does it matter?”
“I’d say so,” he counters, “considering you’ve disrupted my day.”
“Maybe I’m returning the favor,” she deadpans. “Think of all the times you’ve disrupted my day.”
He moves quickly. For each of his steps forward, Maomao takes a step backward. When she’s flush against the door, Jinshi stands a single step away. Her hand rests on the door handle, an eyebrow raising in an open challenge. Even if he shut the door as she tried to open it, those outside would know what is happening inside his office: Jinshi, closing in on Maomao against the door and not letting her leave.
On any other day, Jinshi wouldn’t care. Today of all days, the Moon Prince is forced to prioritize his work. Maomao’s face remains impassive, but her eyes are shining with victory. Jinshi isn’t sure he even understands the game.
“Maomao,” he says, voice deep with warning. Jinshi’s not sure what he’s warning her against or what he’d do if she didn’t heed it, but he takes a slow step forward anyway when she doesn’t open the door. He places a palm on the surface of the door beside her head, using his other hand to fiddle with the beads in her hair. “What was the experiment?”
She breathes unevenly. Her lips are parted, her eyelids heavy. “They left, didn’t they?”
It takes him a moment to understand before his fingers pause playing with her hair. “You dismissed them. Of course they left.”
“Dismiss me,” Maomao says, her voice clear and determined. Demanding, almost. Then, with a slightly mocking tone, “Moon Prince.”
Those days are behind them, the times in which he’d immaturely order or coerce her to where he’d like her to be. In his palace as a servant. By his bed as she nursed his wound. Under his protection in the western capital. Those days are long gone, replaced with respect for her freedom to decide what she wants for herself.
Jinshi forgets about his responsibilities and drops his mouth to her ear. She shivers and he grins. Victory is sweet, though not as sweet as he knows her mouth can be. In just a moment, he knows, he’ll be able to taste her.
“No,” he whispers. “I won’t order you to leave.”
But Jinshi doesn’t ask her to stay either.
Just as he drags his lips across her cheekbone and drops his hand from her hair to find her waist, to press his body against hers and kiss her, Maomao slips underneath his arm. Startled, Jinshi takes a step back and narrowly avoids the door from hitting his face as she whips it open. She’s in the hallway before he even processes what’s happened.
Jinshi blinks at the door, stunned and confused and – and –
Irritated.
“Moon Prince?” Basen ventures from the other side of the half-open door. His face appears in the doorway, tinged with blush. He dodges eye contact. “Do you – need a moment?”
No. He needs to chase after his wife, to pull her into his bedroom – her bedroom – he doesn’t care whose bedroom – and take their time –
Jinshi doesn’t have any time to spend on fucking his wife, a fact known to everyone who has an understanding of the day’s importance. His wife included. His wife especially.
He takes a deep breath, uncharged for the rest of the day. Jinshi walks back to his desk, dropping into his chair and dipping his brush into the inkwell. Safe behind his desk and mask, he orders, “Let’s carry on, Basen.”
. . .
Jinshi’s day ends well after midnight. It’s far later than he expected but that’s governing, he supposes. He dismisses Basen in exchange for the night guards at the entrance of the inner quarters of his home. He’s relieved not to see Suiren as he walks through the halls. Along his way, he’s surprised to find the kitchen illuminated by a single lantern.
Xiaolan, Maomao’s old friend, sits at the counter with a baozi in hand. She jumps when she sees him, hiding the bun behind her back. She’s a tiny thing – even tinier than Maomao – and her face is infinitely more expressive than his wife’s. And right now, she looks horrified before something registers in her mind and she bends forward in a low bow.
Three months into service under his roof and Xiaolan has not yet gotten used to the privileges of her position, regular full meals included. He thinks of Maomao’s eating habits, his chest pinching, and asks the maid to rise. She still looks terrified. He wonders what happened to her between the rear palace and Chue finding her at his request but something tells him that this food insecurity predates even the rear palace.
“Good evening, Xiaolan,” he says kindly, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen. A part of him hopes that his ease relaxes her.
It doesn’t. Awkwardly, she says, “Good evening, Moon Prince.”
He chooses the one topic that they share. “How was Maomao today?”
“She was excellent, sir,” Xiaolan gushes like a burst dam. She shows him the bun. “We made these together. Mao– Lady Maomao said I could have as many as I wanted.” Xiaolan blinks. “But if your highness wants one –”
“No, no,” he waves his hand in the air. “If Maomao gave them to you, please enjoy. I insist.”
The maid nods, still uncertain. “And Lady Suiren…” She grimaces “It’s quite late for a maid to be out of bed, sir.”
And a prince, if Suiren were to have her say. He frowns at the thought.
“Then it’s best that neither of us let Suiren know what time it was when we crossed paths.”
A mischievous grin spreads across her face. Jinshi understands why Maomao is so fond of the young woman. There’s a likability in her innocence and openness, a rarity in the den of snakes that makes up the capital. “Thank you, sir.”
“Best be off to bed,” he says, standing upright. A thought comes to him. “For breakfast, what’s the main dish going to be?”
“Chicken, sir.” She points to a lidded pot. “It’s in a salt brine right now.”
“Could you bring an extra serving of it for Maomao, please?”
“Of course,” Xiaolan beams. She smooths her dark green skirt with a greasy hand. Jinshi’s eyes follow the motion. A dark green skirt and a white top with wide sleeves – the very outfit that Maomao wore to his office but better fitted on its current wearer. He opens his mouth to ask her something but he closes it again.
Something tells him not to press Xiaolan with probing questions.
Jinshi bids her goodnight and leaves her to her snack. He follows the dark halls until he enters his chambers. Before marriage, he would have Suiren assist him with preparing for bed. Now, Maomao typically helps him when she shares a bed with him. It’s a wifely thing to do, of course, but a small part of him worries that she’s doing it out of habit more than anything else. Tonight he prepares for bed and changes into his sleeping robes alone. He extinguishes the sconces and pulls back the curtain to his alcove bed.
In the dark, he sees the shape of her body under the blanket. Her back is to the room as she faces the interior of the alcove. It’s a pleasant surprise to see Maomao, tucked under the blanket. On other nights that he returns late, she usually sleeps in her own chambers. It’s something she does occasionally, especially when she’s lost in her studies and stays up all night pouring over her notes.
Jinshi slips under the blanket and loops an arm around her waist. He presses his chest to her back, setting his head on a pillow. Her body is soft and warm, immediately leaning into him at his touch. There’s more substance to her curves now, a plumping of her hips and chest that he can only attribute to eating properly now. He’s relieved to see it.
Maomao sighs in her sleep, a content noise. This leads him to stretch his arm across her, his palm blindly trailing up her forearm to find her hand. He wants to hold it but finds that he can’t. There’s something in her hand already.
Careful to ensure her breathing remains steady, Jinshi unwraps her fingers from whatever is in her hold. It’s thin and hard in some places, but the majority of it brushes against his knuckles delicately. She wiggles back against him, a quiet noise passing through her lips. He freezes, not wanting to wake her from deep sleep. After a few moments, Maomao’s breaths return to normal and he lifts the strange object from her hand. He squints in the dark to make sense of what it could be.
It’s a small bunch of a flowering rhododendron, the same one that she took from his office that afternoon.
Jinshi sets it on the shelf framing the bed. It’s not the strangest piece of botany that he’s caught her sleeping beside. He’s just grateful it’s not a cordyceps mushroom again. He pushes the memory away.
There’s something he’s wanted to do since he woke that morning and he intends to see it through.
Gently, Jinshi wraps his arm back around Maomao and holds her.