Chapter Text
He has never thought that one day he would open his eyes and find the world turned white.
Everything. Everywhere. Everyone. It has all soaked in the color of nothingness. Some people say that the God of Oblivion has black eyes. They are pompous pretentious bastards, of course. Those who have seen their life crumbling down know the truth. It is white that promises nothing, just drowning you in the void.
The palace walls are covered with starched canvasses, no dragons or flowers decorating them. The staff is provided with pristine cloths the color of snow that is mostly yellowish and greyish because of all the dirty work on their hands now. Noblemen have equipped themselves with the most prestigious garments: ladies wearing exquisite pearls and lords proudly displaying their ivory daggers and buttons. The conquest of loyal supporters. The purer the hue of their dress, the more dedicated they are to the cause.
The vases are full of colorless roses and lilies grown in the bathhouses. They will be dead in a few days, and to tell the truth, withered flowers will suit the atmosphere better. Maybe he should ask the servants to leave the dry stems be. It is the funeral and mourning after all. People won’t let him think about it, but at least the flowers can remind him of the tragedy behind the farce.
There is simply no time to dwell on the loss. He would love to stop. Just to sit down with a bottle of Osmanthus wine and dive into the small pond of their memories. No, their shared moments did not form the ocean in all the 17 years of his life. Yet, they had those small warm pools of family tranquility and simple joy. Like broken mosaic they are scattered all around his heart and head, hurting and scratching the surface of the common sense. Sentimental arguments are all crushed against one undeniable fact.
It is not only the father you lost.
You lost your Emperor too.
Losing a parent should be heart-breaking. He wants to swim in that hot bile that is the bitterness of loss. But so many reasons hold him back, preventing from indulging in his grief. Who would have thought that one might crave misery? It is a nasty fact that he does not have even this luxury. All he can allow himself is a symbolic obsidian at his right wrist and dead bouquets.
Instead of mourning, he has to think of what to do now… And everyone around him seems to know exactly the right path for the new ruler. All the indulging smiles or sorrowful sighs… He can’t breathe among them. Discerning false from true, sincere from pretensions… That’s all he has been trying to do for the last several hours. In a way it is easier when everyone around him is white. You don’t need to distinguish inner colors when it’s all out. Everyone is white. Meaning, everyone is empty, pursuing their greedy motives.
But no matter how much he despises them, he can’t judge. The Emperor is dead. Long live the Emperor. A new ruler is a gold mine for ones and a powder box for the others. Ones would love to make a puppet out of a young monarch. Others would rather get rid of a nuisance and put someone else on a throne. That’s how it works. How it has always worked. There is no point trying to condemn the system.
The one true annoying irony is that he has hoped to never become the center of this corrupted system. Well, he knew that it was probable misfortune, and he might become the next ruler if his father did not make other heirs. And his father did not. But what is worse, he had formed a kind of illusional idea in his head that at some point it would become obvious that there would be no other heir, so his father would prepare him for becoming the next Emperor. Teach him maybe. Make some arrangements. Get the right bonds and alliances. Something.
Instead, the bastard just left him alone in a sea swarming with sharks and unresolved problems. Not his problems in the first place. But becoming the new emperor, he inherited all of his father's issues along with the throne.
He leaves the meeting hall barely remembering his true name.
Your Highness.
Your Majesty.
Sire.
Emperor.
All of those refer to him now, and he is struggling to recall his other names. Was it Jinshi? A unique flower with intoxicating charm and childish temper. Or was it impatient, yet cold-blooded Ka Zuigetsu all along, hiding behind the elegant black petals like a devious snake ready to strike at the least expected moment?
No one knows the truth. And paradoxically, he tends to forget it too. Jinshi and Ka Zuigetsu have become too independent and frivolous for pretentious masks. If the latter was freed from the collar by the unexpected inheritance and throne, then the first one was set free by something… or rather someone else. Both parts of him tended to control themselves, preferring careful gaming to unreasonable wild fantasies and urges. And now… Unexpectedly, he gets everything he needs to make his dreams come true. Power and authority. Surprisingly, that’s all it comes down to. You don’t need anything else to make something you want possible. Others may judge and criticize, but they cannot say a single objection. If you need a reason to get powerful - use this one. Freedom to do whatever you deem right, or desirable.
There was probably a chance. One moment to change everything by renouncing the throne. He didn’t want a throne, he was ready to give it away. But this possibility… this absolute freedom to do what you deem right is worth fighting for. And that’s something both Jinshi and Ka Zuigetsu agree on. They want same things. And they want one person… But on different conditions. Yet, this door that has opened for them is something they can’t miss.
He… No. The Emperor crosses the white from fresh early winter snow yard to reach his personal negotiation room. The passages and routes are all too well known. It was all designed for the ruler to arrange an audience for his allies or enemies inconspicuously, so that no one knows who has visited the Emperor. Being Jinshi, he used it constantly to visit father and discuss political matters, mostly concerning his weakening position as Ka Zuigetsu. Now, he uses those ways to turn The Emperor Ka Zuigetsu into the chief overseer of the Inner Court, Jinshi.
Right now, he is Ka Zuigetsu, though. Dressed in a white ceremonial gown to mourn the brother and Sire. With the lower part of his face being covered with light shawl.
“Your Highness,” one of the most familiar voices welcomes him as the Emperor enters a surprisingly small room with thick stone walls and barely any decor. It is meant to store the ruler’s secrets, so that no one can hear a single thing or try and alter the room. No servants are allowed here. Only the Emperor and his most trusted man has a key to an intricate lock. Ka Zuigetsu was one of them. Maybe he was the only one, but you can never know. It will be safer if he changes the lock as soon as possible. Cautious of spies, the young Emperor had Gaoshun to check the room before coming there himself.
“It is safe, I assume,” Ka Zuigetsu asks quietly, stepping inside and allowing Gaoshun to shut the iron door behind him.
“As far as I can judge, yes,” the attendant gives him a short nod, waiting for the ruler to sit down on a modest chair. There are no windows here to avoid eavesdropping, but lots of candles to ensure good lighting. Under his fabric mask the young ruler makes a wry face. The heavy, dump air smells of mould. And the frost does not make the place any more comfortable. Yet, there is no other corner in the Court he feels safer.
“This room is your responsibility now. Make it more… bearable.”
It is still unusual to give Gaoshun orders like that. That’s why he doesn’t take his mask off even here in complete privacy. Ka Zuigetsu’s image helps to act accordingly. He needs to get more used to this behavior, now that he has a throne. As a Prince, he didn’t have to talk or command too much. That’s all he is going to do now. I need practice.
“Of course, your Highness.”
Gods bless Gaoshun, who holds back an approving smile. The elder man was the one who reminded his master of a need to act more authoritatively around everyone.
Fighting the urge to clear his throat uncomfortably, Jinshi is about to say that they are going to spend a lot of time here, so it would be helpful to make the place friendly, but he bites on his tongue at the last moment.
You don’t need to explain yourself. In fact, you simply must not do it. You are the Emperor. Be the Emperor.
That voice belongs to the Moon Prince who has settled inside him the moment he learnt that he is currently the only heir to the throne. It was no different from all other faces Jinshi has painted for his convenience. Yet, the Prince has been used often enough to become more wonted. Besides, like Jinshi, Ka Zuigetsu image inherited too many lines that reveal the original soul.
“What is the situation?” he asks briefly, fighting to keep his back straight. Jinshi hunches and moans about work and problems. But Ka Zuigetsu can’t allow that for himself. It is the details that betray the truth. And he intends to keep his disguise for a bit longer.
“Concerning, my Lord,” Gaoshun admits with a straight face, looking down as the etiquette requires of his rank. “There are many questions and uncertainties that trouble the clans and our ministers. But the most pressing questions are who is going to become the Grand Chancellor…”
Ah, the Emperor’s right hand. That is expected. Most officials want to get that rank. It is one of the three highest and most influential positions in the country.
On the one hand, it is a role for someone you trust, for the Chancellor is more than a formality. He is a close advisor with an authority to make decisions of national importance. However… it is a very lucrative job. Meaning, that it’s a tasty bait to lure someone from an influential clan to your side. He needs to think carefully about it. Right now, Ka Zuigetsu can literally trust only five people: Gaoshun and Suiren, obviously. Ah Duo and Grandmother, who has been undoubtedly aware of his decoy for a long time. As to the last person of his little team…
Can I really claim to trust her if I can’t even tell her about my true identity?
The pressure of the last few hours has almost tossed the matter to the darkest corner of his mind. Yet, it keeps on emerging from the depths of his pretentious indifference. The inner moon darkens meaningly at his hesitation.
It is not the matter of trust, though. I keep her ignorant for her own sake.
Immediately, everything in his mind and heart gets lucid and clear. Right, doubts are useless. As an Emperor, you should be certain and clearly distinguish your feelings, or thoughts, or desires.
But no matter how certain he is about these four, he can’t make any of them the Grand Chancellor.
“And the second matter is your legitimacy,” Gaoshun finishes the statement, causing the ruler to raise his eyebrow in a silent order to elaborate. “As a brother, you are not the… indisputable heir, Your Highness. There are rumors, that some clans would rather support the previous Chancellor’s family or even Lady Gyokuyou’s daughter rather than you. What is more, several Clans are related to the Imperial Family, and that may become a reason to undermine your position too.”
Ka Zuigetsu clenches his teeth in annoyance.
“They are not doubting the legitimacy. It is just an excuse to quickly get higher.”
“Undoubtedly, Your Highness. But they have valid arguments to make this excuse look convincing.”
Lavender eyes narrow conspicuously at the attendant. Gaoshun hesitates, as if unwilling to explain. The Emperor has a vague idea of what he is about to say. Yet, he wants to be certain.
“Like what?”
“Your health condition. It is a well-known fact that the Moon Prince missed a lot of events due to the deceases and ailments. Besides, your face remains a mystery, and mysteries give birth to doubts and mistrust. But the most reasonable argument is-”
“Heirs,” he finishes drily, seeing the elder man’s silent nod.
“Your brother did not have a single living son at the age of 35. Considering your fragility and poor health, noblemen are easily convinced that you may have even greater problems with producing a healthy heir,” Gaoshun brings every word to the point as a perfect storekeeper, never stammering or faltering. Unlike Jinshi, the attendant commits no mistakes, waltzing perfectly in the dense thickets of both truth and lies.
That’s what you should achieve.
“Besides, people know you, my Lord, as a 19-year-old Crown Prince, who has never demonstrated any attention to noblewomen or taken consorts. They see it as your weakness.”
He should control himself and look carefully after the hot kettle with his boiling emotions. But at this moment, Jinshi just can’t force himself to reduce heat. On the opposite, he tosses another log into the hell-fire of his temper.
“You keep on saying they. Who are they, Gaoshun? I am well aware about the dynasty challenges. Tell me something I do not know, so that I can act on that.”
This is irrational and unreasonable annoyance at the man he respects and cherishes. Gaoshun doesn’t deserve to be scalded with the splashes of his impotent rage. Not to mention that the Emperor is supposed to be well-reserved and cool-headed at all times. Still, the moon inside his chest continues to shine defiantly. The Inner Prince doesn’t mind this turmoil.
Ka Zuigetsu and Jinshi are two sides of the same coin, forced to live separately. One covered in dirt and the other plagued by rust. They are of the same material, though. Smelted in one forge. Therefore, there are a few things they implicitly agree on.
Gaoshun gives a deeper bow, almost tearing Jinshi’s conscience, but the mask artfully conceals a painful wince.
Keep your head high. You are not willing to follow his advice, are you?
Of course, not.
They know what’s coming next.
“That I cannot tell, Your Highness. Allies and enemies are difficult to distinguish yet. However, many officials have not chosen the side yet. That includes the former High Consorts’ clans, several ministers and trading companies. It would be wise to win them over to our side. There are few positions we can offer and even less promises or resources to tempt them. In this case, the position in the Inner Court is a fair bet everyone is willing to make. And the title of a High Consort is most expensive.”
A resolute palm rises up to put an end to this ugly discussion. Gaoshun apologizes immediately, covering his head with arms and sleeves. What an ugly picture… These etiquette rules are not applied to impudent ministers and chancellors, they are practically allowed to doubt the ruler during the private meetings. Gaoshun’s rank, however, is too low to address the Emperor this way.
The Grand Chancellor is someone you trust immensely. If he were to choose with heart, Jinshi would have named Gaoshun his right hand. The head of Ka Zuigetsu, though, realizes the risks of this choice. For one, Gaoshun is his so-called eminence grise, who collects and manipulates rumors and opinions. He can’t reveal a piece that important. Besides, the Grand Chancellor position is a bait too important to give it away.
And there is one more thing.
His attendant is probably one of the few people who gives him sincere advice, even if the Emperor doesn't listen. That’s his job. To tell the truth no matter what.
But there are certain rotten pieces that both Jinshi and Ka Zuigetsu refuse to cut off. They do not need to be constantly reminded of that.
“Find our enemies,” the young ruler replies at last after taking a long pause to collect his thoughts and calm down his raging heart. He has to admit that it is refreshing after the dead emptiness of the white court… But going there now is not a better path for thoughts or emotions. Jinshi needs to… no… Jinshi and Ka Zuigetsu both need to approach the issue subtly. “I will deal with the Inner Court myself.”
Right… Four High Consorts of his deceased father. One of them has a baby, who’s his half-sister. Another one is a fourteen-year-old girl, practically a naive child. The third woman is in contrast 7 years older than him. And the last one happens to be a daughter of the nastiest dick in the Court.
Add dozens of middle-ranking concubines with their families hoping to get them a promotion.
A pressing matter of succession and naming the Empress.
Sure. I can deal with all of it. No problem.
If only his inner sarcasm sounded somewhat believable.
“I will do everything in my power, Your Highness. But before you leave, may I ask you of something?” Gaoshun asks quietly, never revealing his face, buried in sleeves. Sighing and closing his eyes in semi-defeat, the young ruler urges the man to continue. Go on. Hammer your nail into my white coffin.
“Be reasonable, young Master.”
That makes him blink in surprise. For the first time during the Moon Prince disguise, Gaoshun addresses him openly, also raising his head and giving the Emperor a deep meaningful stare.
That’s a sharp nail… And the elder man has a good aim.
******
That mean old hag!
Maomao can swear on her most precious supplies that Suiren did not ask her to cover wood this morning. How could she? Everyone, including a small team in the Master’s pavilion, was too agitated by the news to pay attention to the household duties. Was not it the old woman herself, sighing and lamenting upon hearing about the Emperor?! Her mind was anywhere, but here. A lot of emotional words came both to her and unusually lost peacock back then, but “wood” was not among them.
It was around 9 o'clock, right when the apothecary had finished her evening chores and was about to retire to experiment with her new toys that Master had given her, when Suiren innocently wondered about the firewood in the yard.
What firewood? she asked reasonably, getting a creepy grin in response.
The one you were supposed to cover from snow the first thing in the morning.
No words came afterwards. It became obvious that Maomao was not testing her bugs that night.
Obviously, the wood got all dump and useless for heating. So, the apothecary was tasked with bringing dry logs and coals from the storehouse to the main building and moving firewood into the shelter.
It’s not that difficult, but rather irritating and time-consuming… and freaking freezing! The winter has come early this year, as if coming on purpose to see off the late Emperor. Noon was somewhat bearable, but nights are literally piercing you through with icy spears. Considering that everyone was too busy today to find new winter cloths for her, Maomao walks the yard in her half-open shoes and regular clothes, wrapped in some old skin she generally uses as a blanket. The body feels warm enough, but her feet are hating her and the old hag. And hands holding the logs outside the cozy temple of fur share the sentiments. And I had no time to burn bark to warm up my room for the night. What a wonderful night that would be. It hasn’t snowed for a long time, and this winter has a very harsh starting. During this frost even servants are allowed to burn some wood to get through the night. The problem is that you need to look after the fire, because servants generally do not have a special fireplace and use portable firepits. So, the most efficient way is to burn bark for a few hours while you are awake and then fall asleep in a heated room.
Guess I have to choose between sleep and warmth. Honestly, the first option looks more tempting-
“Remind me to apologize to Suiren tomorrow.”
She was digging in the white pile, looking for buried wood, when a sudden voice almost knocked her face-first into the snowdrift. Frowning, Maomao turns to see the peacock, standing right behind the corner, with his hands mockingly folded on his chest. And here she thought that the night can’t get any more annoying.
“I never believed her stories about snowmen coming to life and roaming the streets. How wrong I was! It's a snowkitten now rampaging through my yard.”
The apothecary is about to snort at his attempt to graze her with a joke on her disheveled appearance, when she realizes that his chuckle lacks the usual vigor. The scarce light from the window does not wash his features clearly enough for interpretation, so she prefers to ignore the bait and continue with her work. The master was absent the whole day. Recent events must have affected his busyness greatly. He is probably too tired to nag her-
“Seriously, what is a small kitten doing at this hour in this weather?”
Or not.
“Just a regular task,” she shrugs too factitiously, barely feeling her fingers now. Damn it, you couldn’t find the better time. Aren’t you cold? Maomao didn’t notice at first, but Master is practically wearing his light leisure haifu he uses for sleep. Good, you will be freezing soon, meaning you’ll be leaving soon. Wasting time on chatting in the middle of a snowy yard is not on her agenda.
“Regularly, you are not digging ice and snow with bare hands,” he replies drily, watching her torture with a raised eyebrow.
Oh Gods! Just turn him into the icicle already. Not that there are any signs of him freezing. Fine. I’ll pretend that I didn’t hear that one and leave. I will just return for the freaking wood later-
Before she can slip away, her nearly frozen feet are suddenly lifted from the ground. A moment of utter confusion is quickly swept away by indignation, which, though, is immediately silenced by a sudden warmth of the body carrying her. Okay, that’s worth the blabbering.
“No more collecting flowers at this time of the year in this type of clothes,” the peacock states decisively, bringing her right inside the closest building. Blinking the snow off her eyes, Maomao realizes with confusion that it’s been the master’s office she was next to. He must have heard her scurrying around and came out to check on her, finding her half buried in the snow.
“There are no flowers in winter, Master,” she mutters annoyingly in response, hoping to be put back on the ground. She has already wasted too much time on this foolish chitchat. He is not the one who has to wake up at 6 in the morning because of the freezing bed and kitchen chores. The peacock, however, doesn’t haste to let her, still frowning at the girl in his arms. Now, that’s simply infuriating. Those intense heathers of his are giving her an itchy sensation of discomfort. Like a flower scent that’s so strong that it makes you sneeze.
“Roots, stems, bugs… Whatever. You should not freeze yourself to death out there,” the iron gravity of his tone literally pins her down, so the apothecary doesn’t dare to argue. Master tends to overreact, there is nothing new here. No point trying to convince him that a few drops of poison or hours in the snow won’t kill her. Tch, he is not a peacock, but a mother-hen. Can I go now?
Obviously not, because Master isn’t satisfied with her silent indifference.
“Do you get it? Or should I lodge you in my bedroom like a little naughty kitten, so that I can watch every single thing you put inside your mouth and every step you make outside?”
Do not fret, he means it as a joke. Right? Because the way the peacock leans closer to her face and whispers the threat into her ear make it sound like somewhat he would love to do. A sudden image pops up before her eyes with her sleeping at the carpet next to his bed in a little silk collar like an actual cat, as Master comes closer to stroke her head. Gods stop this shit. No.
This crazy picture gives her a shudder more violent than a frost could ever hope to cause.
“See? Now you are shivering with chills,“ oblivious to her disarray, the peacock states in a self-satisfied, yet importunately concerned manner, walking further into the room with the apothecary still cuddled in his arms. Maybe it’s worth trying to explain that I was really just doing my chores… No, it’s a bad idea to accuse Suiren. It’s like a wordless pact between the two. Never discuss your professional problems in front of the young master. With her experience and wisdom, the old weasel will get out of the conflict elegantly. But she will definitely remember the insult and pay back. No, old men are the worst enemies possible. Especially if they happen to be your colleagues. It’s better to not destroy Master’s conviction about Maomao picking herbs in snowdrifts.
As she thinks about the predicament, the peacock brings her to a couch in front of his desk and places her there, covering her diligently with a blue cotton blanket. That’s quite welcomed, though. To tell the truth, her feet appreciate the gesture, and generally time here. His office room is heated much better than her bedroom. She didn’t want to betray her half-frozen state, but her body is too content with the soft, fragrant blanket and its warmth that it can’t help but shiver. That little motion doesn’t escape his keen eyes, of course. Loud sighs and over-concerned, accusing glares sting like mosquitoes. They are not painful, just awfully annoying and unavoidable, ruining the whole pleasure.
“Here. It shall warm you up,” Master says, holding out a small porcelain bowl to her that she accepts reluctantly. A cup is cold to the touch, so it’s definitely not tea, but probably some nasty potion from chill that she could do better-
A strong smell punches her straight through the nose, causing the apothecary to cast an incredulous stare at the liquid in the cup, before quickly drinking it down in one gulp. Now we are talking, Master! Still, alcohol was the last thing she expected him to give her, especially the one like that. It is not a fancy rice or Osmanthus wine that you expect to find in a nobleman’s goblet, but cheap baijiu with a pungent smell. Now that Maomao’s spirit and body temperature are high enough, she starts to investigate the room. Surprisingly, the apothecary notices a jug with baijiu right on the desk, and she is probably holding the single bowl, because the peacock starts to gulp the drink straight from the jug. Quite… ignobly. His disheveled hair and crumpled haifu, slightly wet from his sweat completes the image. At this moment, Master looks more like an exhausted veteran in a public house than a chief overseer of the Imperial Inner Court. She has to admit, though, that shaggy brutality suits him just fine and doesn’t diminish his natural beauty… Tch. You can be sweaty, drunk, tired and sleepy. And you are still the most desirable princess. If you were a woman I would have accused you of witchcraft. But considering facts, I can assume that you are merely a demon.
“What?” he asks roughly and somewhat indignantly, making another short gulp from the jug before forcefully returning it to the table. Oh, I must be staring. Shaking her head, Maomao lowers her eyes quickly, but not before noticing that for a second the perfect face was distorted by a nasty grimace.
“Please, forgive me, Master,” she apologizes, still looking at her bowl, wondering if her truthful explanation can win her a refill. “I just didn’t take you for someone who enjoys lonely drinks.”
She has mastered this craft. You can discover many possibilities within your imagination once it is soaked in wine. But a person who generally doesn’t enjoy alcohol? Why would he drown himself in a cheap, strong draff like this?
Jinshi doesn't reply right away. He taps his index finger on the edge of the jug, musing and searching for something inside.
“I don’t,” comes his tired response at last, as his hand leaves the jug and combs through the sticky hair. It looks as if he is struggling to explain his own actions. That’s curious… As Master ponders about the words, the apothecary leans in to the desk, reaching for the jug and quickly pouring another portion for herself. It is to warm up, Master. Exclusively for that. “I just… needed a goodbye.”
Oh. Maomao conceals her surprise by a thoughtful sip, stealing another glance at the young man. It’s only now that she notices a small obsidian amulet next to the bottle and… some kind of a dagger? That is the side she has not even considered, and it does astonish her. The Emperor is dead, long live the Emperor. Few people
miss the person behind the royal title. Least of all she expected Jinshi to be among those few. Honestly, Maomao thought that strong alcohol was to diminish the stress from the work the changes in the Imperial Court had brought him after the monarch’s death. But it happens to be… deeper. Conclusions made on assumptions. My weak spot.
“Was he a good man?” she asks quietly, returning the empty bowl to the table. Baijiu got much more bitter after she learnt its true purpose. No wonder Jinshi did not care much for the quality of the drink. Sometimes, the bitterness on the tongue can kill the taste of ash in heart. Silence also has a stale flavor. Commonly, Maomao is not the one to diffuse its poisonous surface, but at the moment it was getting too scalding to ignore, flooding chest and mind with boiling tar.
“I don’t know,” Master replies earnestly, falling helplessly onto the floor next to the armchair with Maomao and leaning against it. She is quick to tuck her legs to avoid an unnecessary touching, but the man doesn’t even notice her moving. Maybe I should offer him his seat back… “But he did some things for me that nobody else did. He listened to me. And to a certain point appreciated my skills. Good or bad, but he was an important figure in my life... I think I will miss him.”
That’s a strange wistfulness. Generally, people are either sad, or mad, or lost… or simply indifferent. But her Master seems… empty. As if failing to find certain feelings inside that should be there. Or on the contrary, finding it too hard to let go of something that is not bound to you.
"Well, then, it's nice," Maomao murmurs lightly for the sake of conversation, but, surprisingly, the master seizes the phrase like a rock's edge.
“What is?” Jinshi turns his head to look inquiringly upward at her. Ugh… why can’t I remember a simple rule. If you don’t want to explain yourself, keep quiet. There is no malice or insult in his adroop lavenders, just a simple question. Maybe, he does want to believe that there is something nice about it, but he fails to find it.
“That someone calls him important today.” Her hands form a tight knot around her knees as she feels awkwardness creeping closer. The apothecary knows this topic in her own cynical, yet truthful language, which is quite difficult for others.
“Ha, I believe everyone called him that at least twice today! He is the Emperor! People will remember him exactly because he is important.”
A salty chuckle flavours his wistful answer as Jinshi stretches out his hand for the jug. Maomao almost obeys and passes him baijiu, but hesitates for a second, immediately gaining a disapproving look.
“I don’t think that anyone else drinks a sh- swill like that to honor him as a special man in one’s life,” the apothecary elaborates reluctantly, noticing Jinshi’s eyes widen in astonishment. His outstretched hand moves slowly to land at the chair next to her thigh. Tenacious heathers do not let her go, though, demanding further explanation. He needs it badly, doesn’t he? Some sort of useless consolation… To think of it, there is no one who can give it to him. And the apothecary just happens to specialize in healing. Soul and body aren’t that different in this regard. Apply the right medicine and a wound should be fine. The problem is, though, that ointment may hurt at first. Sighing, Maomao splashes a stinging potion onto the heart’s cut.
“We die. Some of us are important enough for their names to be carried through the history. But few of us manage to become a part of someone’s particular history.”
Lavenders blink. Okay, I need to make it clearer. Taking a quick sip from the jug, she passes it to Jinshi, who doesn’t grab it immediately, but waits for her to finish the sentence.
“I will merely remember him as the Emperor. And so will do others. And the next Emperor, the Moon Prince… that’s all he would ever be for the history. Another ruler. No one will think or know about his favorite tea, or his dreams, or preferences in women, or fears. So… it’s nice that someone today misses the person who liked particular things and did special nothings, and not the Emperor’s mask. That proves that he was a real living man, and not a dusty scroll from the chronicle.”
As Jinshi still hasn’t accepted the jug, Maomao makes another awkward sip, a longer one this time.
“That’s what I call important.”
As expected, silence covers them with a cold gown. Master submits to its power, and gulps the drink thoughtfully, examining the wooden floor before him. He keeps quiet, and Maomao has no right to disturb the stillness of the moment, so she just sits there, wondering if she can reach out for the jug in his hands.
"I hate baiju," Jinshi says out of the blue, finishing a long sip and landing the jug on the floor with a loud thud. Stupefied, Maomao just blinks at the young man, whose hand is still gripping the clay vessel. “I hate white. And I hate winter. I hate the smell of lilies. I hate mornings. There are more things that I hate rather than love, actually… Guess that’s why I cling so much to them. But I love honey. I love my toy terracotta warrior. I love old stories. I love my cat.”
A cat? He has one? That’s a curious discovery. However, maybe the master means the one he had once in his childhood. Whatever, that’s beyond the point…
“I dream of doing what I want to or what I believe to be right, not what I have to,” he continues, not discouraged by Maomao’s lost glance. “And I fear to lose things I love,” Jinshi finishes at last, raising his ruefully smiling eyes at her. “Would you, please, remember that the day I die?”
“I am sure that there are plenty of people who can remember more about you than that,” Maomao replies quickly, too quickly for a polite servant. But once again, she really doesn’t want to speak her dead language any longer. It is nice for those who stay. A consolation. Dead do not care. Neither will you, peacock. And I won’t remem-… The sudden idea makes her frown in wonder. Would she care if that happened to him? She wouldn’t weep, obviously. But remember… yes. It is like her life was split in two. Before meeting Master, and after meeting Master. Remembering him is important. He is important… To a certain degree.
“Not as much as you think,” Jinshi was probably designing it as a chuckle, but a small smile cannot desalinate the words. The more you live with a person, the more you learn about him… As far as she knows, the chief overseer is a busy man who enjoys rare moments of leisure, wasting them on time spent with her. What a foolish hobby, nagging your servant. You would never think that someone like would like to be remembered as a person. That makes her wonder… Does he have parents? Siblings? Friends? He probably won’t make his own family, since the previous Dowager Empress deprived him of this privilege. So… are there really anyone willing to remember Jinshi?
“I am merely a servant, m’lord,” turning on her inner fool, she blabbers half-wittedly, almost causing him to wince. Fuck, not the best time to fool around. Taking just a slightly more serious note, Maomao adds lazily. “If my Master orders me to remember him as a soft cat-lover who hates, but still drinks baijiu, I will. What else are servants for?”
That is the sun ray that finally strikes through the storm of his melancholy. Gods, depressed Master is a pitiful sight. It's like watching a kitten drown in a puddle. What a nuisance…
A warm smile remains on his face for a few more seconds before the peacock coughs awkwardly and replies authoritatively.
“Yes, that is my order. Remember me.”
“Should I also remember the part that reveals Master Jinshi as a nagging pervert and incompetent drunkard?” Maomao singsongs easily, enjoying a short moment when this peaceful face takes a pretty hue of spring roses and erupts in violent indignation.
“Since when I am the drunkard?!”
“Since you are drinking cheap swipe alone at night,” she shrugs, nodding meaningfully at the empty jug by his side. That remark darkens the hint of his cheeks. Simply adorable. If only I could scrape this color off… Then I could make the most expensive blush...
“I…! I explained to you why I am doing that!” he tries to argue, but Maomao was ready for this easy comeback.
“Right, that’s exactly what drunkards do.”
Hm… And his pale skin would be an exquisite glaze for a porcelain teapot. What a shame that I am not an artist. He would be such a beautiful material for everything.
“I just took this thing from Suiren’s storeroom! I had no idea that it would be that disgusting!” Master doesn’t give up on his attempts to defend his honor, but this time Maomao actually clings at what he said.
“Suiren’s storeroom?” she asks, chewing on the meaning of the words. “The top shelf right above the door?”
“Yes! Wait, how do you know that?”
Oh. The pieces are all together now. So that’s the origin of the fucking wood that was not covered in the morning! Maomao was wondering why Suiren would accuse her of something that petty and make her work late at winter night outside. That makes sense now. The old woman uses this alcohol to disinfect certain products and things, or to treat cuts they get when cooking. She must have noticed the loss, but she knew that the apothecary wouldn’t steal the thing. With my wage I can afford something better, thank you very much. So, Suiren probably learnt that Jinshi was having a bad night in a company of bad alcohol. And the wood Maomao was supposed to find was located right in front of his office. Obviously, Master could not have let the girl freeze… What did the old hag actually hoped to achieve? The apothecary is not the one to reprimand her master. But… she is someone who can easily halve the dose. Right. Like an absorbent sponge, Maomao was chunk to the young master’s depression. Old men are truly the worst enemies possible…
“We keep disinfecting alcohol there,” Maomao replies dryly, hoping to get a colorful reaction from the peacock to improve her mood. And that she gets. What was pink saturates with blood crimson now.
“For the fucking Gods’ sake…”
“Yeap. I have tried things worse, though. Don’t worry too much about that, Master.”
Moaning, he falls back against the armchair, but his eyes focus on her. Quite a disturbing gest. The etiquette obviously obliges her to look away… But neither etiquette nor subordination allow drinking disinfecting alcohol with a master late at night in his office. She has already broken a number of rules, and the peacock supported this violation. Sometimes, Maomao believes that he is doing that on purpose. She used to believe that it is due to his immaturity, youthful maximalism to oppose all foundations, or his spoiled nature. But now… the apothecary is sure that there is more to his behavior. Paradoxically it may seem, but he is lonely. The fact that he enjoys the company of a servant in an hour of mourning proves it. She can’t explain why he could not call Gaoshun, but maybe age difference is the reason. People need communication with their peers on equal terms. And Jinshi seems to lack it. The only young people he spends his time with are the Emperor’s concubines and officials. Those contacts are political or professional. During all her time working here Maomao has not seen a single guest or relative. He may be visiting them, but Jinshi always returns tired or stressed out. He does not resemble someone who has enjoyed his time. He visited some brothel once, right when he asked her to help him with a disguise. But Maomao knows what the main purpose of public houses is. It is not only to please your body, but to cure your soul as well. To make you believe that someone needs and wants you…
Who would have thought that the most beautiful man in the world is also the loneliest one?
That is not the reason why Maomao does not look away. She just… can’t find the reason to. People do a lot of things out of necessity. Make their body obey the head and move. Get out of bed. Go to work. Bend their knees. Bow. Pray. Fight. Sometimes you wonder, what is it like to not do the things that are physically unnecessary? You need to eat. And sleep. You need to walk to keep your body healthy, and you need to full your life with purpose. But what about all other useless things?
That’s a rare luxury for someone like her to enjoy a moment like that and experience this freedom.
“Kitten?” Master’s quiet voice knocks her out of her stupor. Shaking her head, Maomao emerges from the depths of his heather ocean. “What do you want?”
Now she is fully conscious, flabbergasted non the less though. Where is this question coming from? What the fuck does he mean?
On the second thought… People tend to ask others about something that bother them. It is a way to answer your own questions, projecting or comparing other thoughts. Maybe, they won’t have another chance to ask something that intimate. This is the magic of alcohol, no matter how terrible it is. It opens a window to your souls.
“Right now? I want another jug of baijiu… and a better one,” the apothecary replies nonchalantly, checking the master’s mood. Afterall, soulful conversations are easily confused with silly chats in the presence of strong friends like baijiu. Jinshi takes a moment before elaborating, his tired eyes never leaving hers.
“And as to the bigger picture… what do you want from this life?”
So, he does seek an answer for this question. So many philosophers tried to give a right answer to this question… Yet, Master wants her own opinion. Well… he asked for it. Maybe, her language is easier to understand when drunk. In the worst case he will fire her. But for some reason she doubts it. So, Maomao continues to speak her unpopular belief.
“To be honest… nothing.”
“That’s not the answer,” Jinshi replies sullenly, frowning and grabbing her wrist with a weak hand. “Everyone wants something.”
“I did not say that I want nothing,” the apothecary argues with a frown of her own. “I answered your question. I do not believe in a life purpose, that’s all. It doesn’t mean that I want nothing.”
Hell, I want too many things for a humble apothecary! I am just not willing to dedicate my whole life to a single wanting.
“What do you mean?”
Maomao expected an inquiry like that, but surprisingly, there is no mockery in the peacock’s tone. Only curiosity.
“I want baijiu at the moment. And tomorrow I would probably want to sleep till noon. Then I would like to go to the nearest forest and to collect herbs and mushrooms. I want to try another concoction afterwards. I want to discover something new. I want to go further into the wood and to find out if its herbs differ from ones I know. I want to eat fried chicken with nuts and honey and drink strong wine. I want to test the limits of my body…. Life is too small for all my wantings, and I can’t place all of them into one.”
Maomao can actually see thoughts swimming across his frowning face. Maybe she has just complicated it for him… He probably wanted a simple answer. Glory. Family. Knowledge. Wealth. Well, she regards all that as instruments. Because she won’t be truly happy if she has only one thing.
“You are a noblewoman now, you know? You can have all of that by accepting Lakan’s invitation to live with him,” Jinshi makes a sensible remark that she doesn’t really want to hear. Yes… and no.
“Lakan has his own life purpose. I don’t want to become a part of it,” she replies briskly, regretting that there was too little alcohol for a conversation like this. Tch, I am not the best advisor in this part. People are probably supposed to have some kind of a sketch for their lives. If Master wants me to show him how to draw it, he has chosen the wrong teacher. My soul is too small to plan anything. Ambition… Someone like Jinshi should have it, and he probably has. So does Lakan. Even Gaoshun seems to have one. Well, my ambitions are too vague to be called that, but too bold to be dreams.
“Yeah… Or you can use your position and get free.”
His hand trembles a bit as he pronounces the words with strange difficulty, as if an unknown force (probably named Shitty Baijiu) pushes them off the tongue’s edge. That hooks up her curiosity. Freedom can’t be a purpose, but it’s a very important tool for any whim or ambition, so the apothecary would love to possess it. That makes her wonder… what her Master knows about it. He let her go once, believing that it was her desire. And it was… partly. But the kind of freedom Maomao got back then was not sufficient. In fact, she only changed the cage. Serving Master Jinshi was a nice promotion, with her cage getting bigger and open from time to time. At the moment, the apothecary can’t hope for anything better. Lakan’s cage may be made of gold, but she will get a collar with a short leash on her neck. Well, Maomao would appreciate a soft bed, of course, but the floor is not that bad when your neck is free.
“Would you elaborate on it, Master?” Maomao can literally feel his insecurity about the idea. The heathers in his gaze seem to become more reckless, swaying uneasily under the cold winds of doubt. It must be something good! But considering that he treasures the apothecary's skills and perhaps a chance to talk with her, the master doesn't want to reveal a secret opportunity to her! “Master, tell me. What are you suggesting?” The girl leans forward to pour gentle words into the man’s ear like plum mead. His grip on her hand gets more frantic, but she can handle it. He is wavering! And when you are dealing with a timid fish, you need to make sure it swallows the hook before pulling.
Unobtrusively, her free hand finds his and covers it gently. At this point, she is sitting in the armchair with her legs tucked up, leaning over a young man on the floor whose head is thrown back to stare at her. That’s kind of mean to use an unskillful tippler like this, but damn it! He started it first! An inner fox is greedily drooling at him, oblivious to the moral side of the issue.
Softly, Maomao squeezes his hands back, encouraging him to reveal the great idea. This gesture finally breaks him. At this moment, he reminds her of a devoted dog sitting at the master's feet, whining. That’s a strange, absurd feeling. To be somewhat above him. Jinshi takes a deep breath, turns around and presses his lips to the blanket before murmuring quietly.
“You can get married.”
That’s it? Duh. The ship of her expectations crushes against the colorful reef of disappointment. The sharks of sarcasm are gladly devouring the leftovers of her humiliation. How foolish it was to think that there’s a magical, clean way to get free of the Court and the Verdigris House.
“That is not such a bad idea!” as if trying to justify his idiotic suggestion, Jinshi objects indignantly to her grimace. He even straightens up to get a better look at her, but not letting her hands go.
“No worse than becoming a courtesan, I agree,” she replies drily, as chagrin continues to eat away her composure. Just… ugh! She hates it when experiments go the wrong way! And this is even worse. That’s plain-
Suddenly, she is pulled down abruptly by both of her hands. Before Maomao can object or push him, her body is firmly grasped from behind. After a moment, she finds herself sitting on the floor with two bear arms pressing her tightly against the master's chest. What the fuck are you doing?
…
The pissed apothecary was very close to yelling it out loud. Fortunately, the only sound she made was a hiss. Tch… she hoped that Master was a rare type of harmless, sentimental drunkards with an inclination to chat. Obviously not. He is an obtrusively annoying type who craves for attention! Displeased by this new, not only embarrassing, but also quite uncomfortable pose, the girl starts to fidget in his clumsy embrace. Her legs are completely free, so she can wiggle her way out-
A hot touch at the base of her neck makes her stop for a second. It is that kind of moment that hits you like a boulder from the sky. When you suddenly realize that something awfully disgusting and terrible has already happened, and there is no way to take it back. Maomao tried to convince herself that it was his hand on her neck, or his forehead, or his chin… or any other less of the evils. Anything, but his lips. Or rather his mouth that fits the curve of her neck snugly, leisurely nipping her skin-
Yuck! The hell is he doing?!
“Master, fucking stop it!”
She knew that Jinshi had a perverted side! That’s not a big deal as long as he controls them, she has her own twisted addictions. But she doesn’t want to be on the other side of his wild inclinations! Dammit, his seemingly clumsy arms hold her in place like a mouse trap. Her zealous movements are awkward and fumbling. All she can do is swear, and scream, and bang her feet on the floor. In fact, this wild activity slightly lessens the sudden pressure in her stomach, which has immediately formed alongside the unwanted touch like a red-hot stone.
Before the apothecary can spit out a useless insult, his brazen mouth bites her neck threateningly. She almost cries out, but stubbornly purses her lips, wincing in silent pain that strikes through her in a hurtful, yet invigorating, provocative way. Getting away from him sound good... But even more so Maomao wants to bite him back. Hard. Greedily. Vindictively.
…
Where is that coming from?
Even her hands are itching to squeeze all the arrogance out of him. She fidgets again, not sure what for, though. There is a solid confidence that Maomao wants to hurt him… to make contact and to produce pain… But the rational part of her mind is simply confused. Shouldn’t you just run if you get the chance? Yes, that spunds more reasonable.
Not that she can do either… That’s another extraordinarily realization that overwhelms her body and falls like a block of ice to the bottom of the stomach. Rationality can’t find a single argument to help her out. If she tries to hurt or refuse her master, that may end badly for her. And if she fails to stop the drunk man, and if he doesn’t stop-
“Maybe you should become a courtesan then,” Jinshi is lisping into her neck, slowly moving along the contour of her cheekbone with his wet lips. Like an impatient shepherd, his shameless touch drives the sheepish goosebumps over her body. But his quiet words… they scare and ambush like vicious wolves. He… can’t mean that? A sudden sand storm of devastation swamps her as she digests the words. Become a courtesan. Possessed. Sold. Forced. Maomao doesn’t judge those who make money this way. She just can’t imagine herself in their place. There are so many things she wants to do to her body for the sake of science… and this job will claim her only possession. To play. To perform. To please. To follow the instructions. That will eliminate her last hope for freedom.
“Then I can just pay your Madam to have you,” Master has reached her ear and dwelled there to murmur more dreadful words. “You won’t dare to move a single finger. I, or someone else, will pay so much that I can do anything with you.”
He emphasizes anything with a rough nip on the earlobe. Intimidation cannot discourage her misplaced curiosity, though… Prostitutes of the Verdigris House had all types of clients, including eunuchs. Most of them visited women for the company, but some girls told strange stories about eunuchs with… yearnings and urges. Back then Maomao found it hard to believe. But feeling the frantic touches of the drank eunuch now she starts to believe the rumors. If a man lost his manhood lately and… partly, he may have the insatiable desire.
In any other case I would love to study it more.
This harassment, though, is disgustingly distracting. Abruptly, Jinshi moves her around and presses her against the armchair, causing it to move slightly and bump into the wall. They are still sitting on the floor, fighting each other with furious heavens of serene blue and abysmal violet. This time she can try something with her legs. Maybe Maomao will manage to hit him…
And what next? You know what happens to the servants who oppose their masters.
She knows. But she has never thought that she will have to worry about that. There are laws that are supposed to protect maids, but they rarely work. Maomao may try and use Lakan to threaten Jinshi… No. I would rather allow the eunuch to disgrace me than run to the old fox for help-
"Or you can marry me," which comes out not only suddenly, but also unexpectedly softly. The master is still holding her tightly, but his lips no longer molest her, and his forehead gently presses against hers. “Marry me… and no one will hurt you.”
Oh, he is far more intoxicated than she thought. Even the words are stumbling on their way out, and silly thoughts are freely flowing out of his mouth. Tch, I should remember that Master is a terrible drinking buddy. He ceased to pester her, though. Still, her neck and stomach continue to feel violated, and so does the frantic heart. This dose of adrenaline is too much. What if he didn’t stop? What if his mouth wanted to get inside hers? Or even more? She is not allowed to hurt him, even Gaoshun or Suiren wouldn’t probably take her side if anything ugly took place. And there are few ways to convince a drunk nobleman that he is doing something improper. What if, indeed. Her body is not important enough to risk her quite convenient way of life. Neither it is truly important for Master. She bets that he won’t even remember the accident in the morning. That’s the truth of being either a servant, or a prostitute. Your body and your life do not matter. Just a consumable good that is easy to substitute once it is worn out. Like a pair of shoes.
And nobleman’s wife? Well, Lakan won’t probably allow anything bad happening to her. But that would mean running every time to him, asking for protection… Tch. No way. And in other regard, how different, hypothetically, it will get?
Master Jinshi obviously doesn’t know much about marriages. Not that Maomao is an expert, but she has seen enough girls from the Verdigris House. Most of them regard it as a beneficial deal or management change. Most of them do not experience any quality improvements in their treatment or duties.
To think of it, why would a eunuch even think about marriage? That’s kind of odd. However…
Meanwhile, Jinshi has slid down, his head resting on her laps and his arms wrapped around her waist. Once again, he is a little puppy, yearning for love and attention, rather than an imperious master who abuses a servant.
"Marry me," he mutters whiningly, burying his face in the blanket over her legs and clutching at her clothes in a strange desperation, like a drowning man's. It makes sense now that the apothecary sees him like this. Alcohol makes wonders by undressing the hidden truth and exposing it to the outer cruelty. She was probably right in her assumption that Master Jinshi is utterly lonely. Like most animals, people need simple communication and genuine affection. It is just as necessary as air or water. Maybe not on a regular basis, but from time to time. Even the most beautiful flower won’t bloom for long alone. It needs other plants to support him: to provide shadow, to protect from pests, to create a fertile land…
It’s pathetically sad.
Maybe, he has a different, idealistic, perception of marriage.
Maybe, he believes that it is different from visiting a prostitute in more ways.
Maybe.
It is not her place to ruin his beautiful delusions. She doubts that many clans are willing to marry off their assets to a man incapable of continuing the family line. So, marriage must be some kind of a forbidden fruit for Master, thus making the concept more… attractive and perfect.
Fortunately, Jinshi doesn’t require an answer. In fact, his mumbling starts to remind her of the inner wailing of an old wound. He is just spilling out his inner regrets, dreams and maybe fears, because the way he cuddles makes her think that he seeks protection.
Not that she can or wants to give him anything of that. Honestly, Maomao doubts that his sober self wants it. It is just a shameful moment of weakness, loneliness and thoughts of mortality. The breath of Death intoxicates the soul even more than alcohol.
“I’ll marry you,” Jinshi is still blubbering, but much quieter and less comprehensibly. Baijiu has finally won the battle over his head and body, and now it is driving them towards sleep.
Maomao remains quiet, watching the scene with a sour mix of relief, awkwardness and unwelcomed pity. There can’t be an excuse for his disgusting behavior. But when she looks closely at the beautiful heather valley, tormented by storms and droughts, she doesn’t see the selfish monster. Just a lost man who let himself off the leash and got almost too far over the edge. Almost. He did stop at the last moment after all. Maybe it wasn’t even his intention to get this far, she was the one to provoke a drunk man.
“I’ll show them, kitten. I’ll marry you, I will…”
The fatigue takes him at last, and the apothecary allows herself to relax. It’s a strange feeling of having a hunting wolf sleeping comfortably in your laps like a loving puppy. Exciting and terrifying at once. A knot in her stomach is still tightly tied, but at this point she is ready to admit that it is not that unpleasant. In fact, it resembles the viper’s poison that paralyzes your body and accelerates the heart simultaneously. Quite an interesting experience. But she had enough. It is time to leave now, before he wakes up and tries to remember what happened. That would be… unnerving. For both of them.
The apothecary tries to push his head away from her laps and wiggle out of his arms, but the more she moves, the tighter his grip gets. Damnit… it’s also quite uncomfortable here on the floor. She should admit, though, that it is still preferable to her cold room…
Fine. Maybe I can stay here for a bit longer and wait until his grip loosens.