Chapter Text
Years blurred into decades. The boy; Lady Lihua’s son, whom he helped raised grew into a wise emperor, one who ruled with compassion where others had wielded fear. Jinshi guided him quietly, never seeking the spotlight, never marrying or fathering children of his own. His life was given wholly to reform, to mending a fractured nation and ensuring her sacrifice had not been in vain.
But time is relentless. His hair silvered, his hands stiffened, and his body grew frail. When at last he lay on his deathbed, he was not afraid. He had carried her memory long enough to know she had never truly left him.
The end came softly, like falling into sleep.
And then—he opened his eyes to light.
It was not the palace, nor the battlefield, nor any place he had known. Instead, he found himself standing in a garden that could only have been hers. Earthen pots lined the path, herbs spilling over their edges—wormwood, licorice root, chrysanthemum, peppermint. Wildflowers threaded through the grass in unruly patches, their scents mingling in the air: sharp, sweet, and unmistakably her. The breeze carried the faint clink of glass jars, suspended from branches like lanterns, each catching the sunlight and scattering it in soft colors across the ground.
“About time,” a voice teased.
His heart lurched.
Maomao stood at the garden’s center, her sleeves rolled, a pestle in one hand. Her blue eyes glimmered as she looked up, her smirk so achingly familiar it undid him. She stepped forward, pressed her lips to his in a kiss that tasted of warmth and longing, then swatted his cheek with a playful sting.
“That’s for making me wait.”
Jinshi’s laugh broke on a sob. He cupped her face, his hands trembling. “I never wanted to. I just… there was so much I had to finish first.”
Her gaze softened, tender pride shining through rare tears. “And you did. You carried us both further than I ever dreamed. I’m proud of you.”
He leaned his forehead against hers, drinking in her nearness, the smell of herbs clinging to her hair. “I’ve missed you every day.”
Her hand slid over his, firm and certain. “Then don’t let go again.”
Their fingers laced together, fitting as if they had always belonged.
Together, they walked down the garden path, toward the glow that waited beyond the jars, the herbs, the sunlight—a light that felt less like an ending, and more like coming home.
The Moon Prince’s story was complete.
But theirs, at last, could begin anew.