Chapter Text
All in all, the evening was... pleasant. Perhaps too pleasant.
To be honest, Maomao hadn’t found a single moment to be bored. She had already managed to converse with several intriguing guests, debated spice pairings with foreign chefs, and even won a contest she had personally nudged Jinshi to approve, wrapping it in the grand phrasing of "a cultural exchange of culinary traditions."
The premise was simple: taste dishes while blindfolded and identify the ingredients. Maomao performed brilliantly, earning the sincere admiration - and slight irritation - of her competitors. She accepted her victory with dignity, and an extra plate of appetizers.
Eventually, her gaze drifted back to the dance floor.
Many couples were already swirling there. And the longer Maomao watched, the more a strange pattern emerged: dozens of men had long, lustrous hair - clearly artificial in most cases - wore high-platform shoes, and had even "accidentally" acquired a scar on their right cheek. Pathetic imitations.
Despite being obvious failures compared to the original, they still commanded the attention of the women. These were the ones who hadn't secured the real prince - or those who lacked the courage to approach him.
And he…
The pair of seemingly perfect individuals moved fluidly across the stone floor. The princess’s hand rested on his shoulder just a little too closely. She leaned toward him as if every step required a whisper. A cheap, obvious method of seduction.
Maomao clicked her tongue in annoyance.
Strange - she had grown up in an environment where such behavior was considered perfectly normal. But now, for some reason, it felt... unpleasant. Like someone touching a belonging that wasn't theirs without asking.
"Fine," she decided. "If this is an evening for fun, I don't have to be the exception."
Her gaze slid toward a buffet table where the same clumsy man who had bumped into her earlier sat alone. He looked a bit lost, staring at the appetizers as if they might take offense if he made the wrong choice.
Maomao approached him.
"You know," she said, stopping beside him, "food is made to be eaten, not to be stared at with reproach."
She took a canapé with smoked meat and fermented berry sauce, snapped it in half, and unceremoniously held one piece to his mouth while popping the other into her own.
"Here, try it. It’s actually quite good."
The man looked up at her in surprise.
"It contains no poisons or aphrodisiacs," Maomao added between chews. "Don't be afraid."
"I believe you," he shook his head with a faint smile. "It’s just… is this your way of starting a conversation?"
"I just put a half-eaten canapé in your mouth," the corners of her lips curled slightly. "If that’s just a conversation starter for you, I’m curious to know what you consider a closing statement."
"What a bold claim," he commented, finally eating the morsel. It was indeed delicious.
"I was told that if you want to be heard, you must speak openly," Maomao shrugged.
"You associate with very wise people."
"I won't argue with you there."
She was already piling more snacks onto a plate - thinly sliced honey-roasted duck and something resembling cheese in a crispy shell.
"Want more? I can taste-test them for you," she offered innocently.
"Wouldn't that look suspicious?"
"Not if it looks like flirting," a mischievous spark flared in her eyes.
Before he could protest, Maomao sat directly on his lap, making herself comfortable with the plate.
"I can't bear to watch such a handsome man hungrily drilling holes in the appetizers with his eyes."
She held a piece of duck to his lips.
The man hesitated for exactly one second. Glancing around to ensure that similar scenes were common enough in the pavilion, he obediently opened his mouth.
"A handsome man?" he remarked. "And here I was told I have terrible taste."
"Why," Maomao replied, slowly tracing a finger along the edge of the plate. "You tried very hard with the costume. Everything - just as I taught you," a note of almost-pride rang in her voice. "Except for your scent... it’s far too distinct."
It was true. Jinshi wouldn't have even needed to speak for her to know exactly who stood before her. Sandalwood, a hint of jasmine - and something very familiar, something far too personal.
"Firstly," Jinshi replied calmly, "only the wealthiest people in the country are gathered here today; they can afford to smell however they wish. Secondly, do you truly think anyone remembers my scent so meticulously? Shall we ask Basen what I smell like?"
Maomao abruptly looked away. Her cheeks suddenly felt hot.
"Who is that man?" she asked hurriedly, nodding toward the youth dancing with the foreign princess.
"I haven't the slightest idea," Jinshi replied nonchalantly.
"But Basen is right beside him! I thought that was the plan."
"It is. I asked him to watch one very specific man," he confirmed. "I knew many would try to pass themselves off as the Moon Prince. I simply chose..."
"It’s so irritating!" Maomao interrupted. "All you had to do was choose the most beautiful, most charming, most elegant person in the room and pass him off as yourself. How can you be like this?"
"You said it, not I," Jinshi smiled. "Besides, I see you decided to add... whatever was missing..."
"Aren't you ashamed to say such things to a lady?" She poked him lightly in the side, fighting the urge to cover her chest. "Have you been spending too much time with the Emperor?"
"I was actually referring to your height," he replied slyly. "What were you thinking of?"
"I was thinking that masks corrupt you," Maomao said. And she wasn't referring to the fabric on his face.
"If you wish, I can take it off for you," Jinshi said softly. "But can you trust the only person in the room without a mask?"
Maomao knew the answer.
She could trust any version of him.
🎄 🌟 🕯️
For a while, they simply savored the moment in silence - the taste of exquisite appetizers, the warmth of each other's presence, and the muffled hum of the festive pavilion. Above them, foreign lanterns of delicate glass swayed slowly, the light trembling within and casting restless shadows upon the silk-draped walls. The music - something unusual, with soft, almost whimsical rhythms - enveloped the space like a lullaby.
Meanwhile, the decoy Moon Prince leaned toward his chosen lady and whispered something into her ear. She let out a clear, melodic laugh, covering her mouth with her hand, and a moment later, the pair vanished unhurriedly into the darkness between the pavilion's columns. Basen, as duty dictated, followed in their wake - alert, focused, and utterly blind to the obvious.
"Perhaps someone should have explained to Basen," Maomao mused, lightly swirling a glass of fruit juice in her hands, "that between two people, there are sometimes situations... well, the kind where his presence isn't exactly vital?"
Wine was being served with extreme caution this evening - a decision made by Jinshi, who had no intention of turning the festival into a test of anyone's restraint.
"Perhaps," he agreed, shaking his head. "Let him learn from his own mistakes. It’s high time he learned how to read the room better."
"Do you ever plan to do the same?" Maomao asked with mock surprise, glancing at him from beneath her mask. "Though... you could use a lesson or two yourself. That man, by the way, is clearly putting his resources to good use."
Jinshi frowned - for a fleeting second. Then his gaze softened, and a warm, genuine smile touched his lips. This version of Maomao - light, ironic, and almost vulnerably alive - was a rare sight. Each time he spoke with her in such a mood, he felt as though he had to tread carefully, fearing that a single wrong move might startle this wild but beautiful creature.
"I could start learning right now," he said. To her surprise, he gently lifted her from his lap, set her on her feet, and extended his hand.
"And... where exactly are we going?" she asked, a bit nervously, wondering for a moment if she had pushed her teasing too far.
"To dance, of course."
"I don't think my shoes..."
"We don't need to be the most elegant couple this evening, remember?" Jinshi interrupted softly. "It’s enough to be the happiest. Or, at the very least, to not fall over."
"I see your expectations for me are quite modest," Maomao huffed.
"Then prove me wrong."
She offered a sly smile and placed her palm in his - warm and steady - allowing him to lead her toward the center of the hall.
The stone floor felt cool beneath her thin soles. The music was slower now, as if specifically composed for those who sought not to impress, but simply to be together. Jinshi placed his hand on her waist - not too close, leaving her the space to choose. Maomao, hesitating for only a heartbeat, closed the distance herself.
"You are a terrible dancer," she remarked quietly.
"I try very hard to be like that."
"It shows," a smile played in her voice.
They moved slowly, imperfectly, but in unison. Maomao found herself thinking that the outside noise was fading away, and the masks - for the first time all evening - ceased to matter. Even if everything returned to its proper place tomorrow, these few dance steps in the light of foreign lanterns would stay with her for a long time.
At least, that was how it seemed to her.
🌟 🔔 ✨
The music shifted imperceptibly - slow, lingering melodies dissolved into faster, playful rhythms. They danced without structured steps, allowing the music to lead them rather than the other way around. Precision and grace no longer mattered. At times, Jinshi would gently draw Maomao closer; at others, he would release her, giving her space to improvise. Her genuine laughter - a sound Maomao hadn’t realized she was capable of - mingled with the soft chime of her bracelets. The hem of her dress swept across the cool stone floor, and the high-platform shoes forced her to balance - but he was always there, catching her by the waist or the wrist before she could truly lose her footing.
As the tempo quickened, they whirled lightheartedly, almost like children. Maomao spun, letting her dress unfurl like petals, while Jinshi smiled - sincerely, openly, in a way he never permitted himself at court. Their gazes met again and again, lingering a moment longer than was safe, and Maomao could physically feel the moment thickening, filling with warmth and the anticipation of… something.
With every dance, the distance between them diminished. Hands touched with more confidence; movements grew more synchronized, as if they had known each other’s rhythm for a lifetime. The air between them seemed to grow dense - saturated with the scent of the garden, the light of the lanterns, and that peculiar tension that arises only when words become unnecessary. Even the clamor of the hall, the laughter of the guests, and the clinking of glasses seemed to recede into the background.
"I need some air," Maomao finally breathed out, breathless and slightly bewildered. Whether it was from the dancing or the way Jinshi was looking at her, she could no longer be sure. She wasn't used to such physical activity… or such attention.
"Very well, go on ahead," Jinshi said, reluctantly letting go of her hand. "I’ll catch up with you."
"Why?" Maomao asked, surprised. He looked nothing like his usual self right now; surely he could go wherever he pleased, with whomever he pleased, without drawing undue attention.
"I have to change and bid farewell to our honored guests," Jinshi explained. With a sly smile, he leaned a little closer, so that she felt the warmth of his breath. "You don't think I’ll let half the ladies at court spread scandalous stories about the Moon Prince tomorrow morning, do you? Everyone must know exactly what I looked like… and when I departed."
There was a light irony in his voice, but beneath it lay his habitual caution - an instinct, almost.
Maomao gazed at Jinshi’s face through his mask with soft wonder, noticing the subtle movements, the faint tiredness in his eyes, and yet - his satisfaction with the evening. It seemed he was so accustomed to conspiracy that it had become a reflex, as natural as breathing.
"Don't be long," she said, her voice softer than she had intended. She took a step back, as if giving him the chance to leave… or to change his mind.
Jinshi held his gaze on her face for a moment, as if he saw something there that she hadn't yet seen herself, then gave a barely perceptible bow - not the formal courtly gesture, but something of his own, almost intimate.
"I’ll be quick," he promised.
As Maomao headed toward the garden exit, she caught herself thinking that this anticipation - brief but sweet - agitated her no less than the dance itself.
🌟 ❄️ ✨
Maomao waited for Jinshi in the shadows of thick shrubbery, where the lanterns glowed dimly and the light scattered across the leaves in brittle, golden patches. It was cooler here than in the pavilion, and the air felt purer, saturated with the scent of damp earth and pine needles. She leaned her shoulder against a tree trunk and, crossing her arms, stared into the darkness, not truly seeing it.
It had been a strange evening. Masks, roles, invented names - everything had become so tightly interwoven that at times Maomao herself couldn't tell where the game ended and sincerity began. Behind a mask, she allowed herself more: to look longer, to speak more sharply, to touch more boldly. Yet, it was precisely without the mask, beside Jinshi, that everything became more dangerous. For without cover, it wasn't faces that remained exposed - it was feelings.
He knew how to be many things: the Moon Prince, a high official, a cunning puppeteer of the court… but tonight, in the dance, in the half-light, he had been just a man. And that frightened her far more than any gossip or intrigue.
She heard his footsteps before she saw him. The leaves rustled softly, and Jinshi stepped out from behind the trees. He looked almost like his usual self now, yet something had changed. His attire was of a foreign cut: dark, understated, and with clean lines. A long, tailored tunic of soft fabric followed his form, emphasizing his shoulders; the collar was more open than court fashion permitted, and instead of the usual ornaments, there was only a slender belt and simple, almost invisible clasps. There was no ostentatious luxury in this outfit, but it fit him as though it had been crafted specifically for an escape from prying eyes. He had gathered his hair more simply, without unnecessary accessories, and because of this, he seemed younger… closer.
"So, how do I look?" Jinshi asked with a faint smile, stopping beside her. "I can tell by your face that you preferred my previous look."
Maomao slowly shifted her gaze to him, as if evaluating, but a flicker of something else crossed her eyes—something warm and slightly bewildered.
"I can’t say you're wrong," she replied curtly, with a shrug.
The only truly useful thing about Jinshi being a prince was the ability to be in a part of the garden where no outside soul could wander. Silence reigned here, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the gentle gurgle of water. The lanterns glowed more softly, and the shadows of the trees lay across the paths like lace.
They moved further, entering the inner garden. It was far enough from the pavilion that the music and the clamor of the guests reached them only as a muffled echo, like a memory of a festival, no longer making them flinch at every foreign voice. The lanterns were hung more sparsely here, shadows stretched between the trees, and the path beneath their feet was carpeted with fine gravel that crunched quietly.
In the twilight, Jinshi’s face seemed even calmer, and Maomao, having removed her mask, suddenly felt a strange vulnerability - as if the mask had protected her more than she realized. They sat on a bench, leaning their backs against a sprawling tree, feeling each other’s warmth through the thin fabric of their clothes.
"You know," Jinshi spoke after a short pause, "I read a book today about the traditions of this holiday."
"And?" Maomao turned her head slightly toward him.
"They have nothing to do with what is happening tonight."
He spoke calmly, but a quiet irony colored his voice.
"It speaks of family, hope, peace, and prayer," he continued.
"Not at all the same," Maomao agreed. "Are you disappointed?"
"The book says this day is best spent in the circle of those closest to you..." Jinshi said and slowly, as if giving her time to change her mind, he took her hand, interlacing their fingers.
Maomao watched his movement but did not stop him. On the contrary - her fingers instinctively responded to the touch.
"It’s a pity Basen has been missing all evening," she remarked, feigning indifference.
Jinshi smiled quietly.
Maomao felt the warmth rising to her face again. She tilted her head back toward the sky, peering into the darkness between the branches where stars flickered, trying to distract herself.
"It really was a good idea of Suiren’s - not to throw those twigs away," she mused. "But to decorate the trees with them. I wonder how many are here?"
Above them spread a tree heavily hung with mistletoe. The sprigs dangled from all sides, tied with thin ribbons, almost brushing against their hair and shoulders. It seemed as if the tree itself breathed with this strange, foreign magic.
"Let’s count," Jinshi suggested.
They counted in whispers, sometimes losing track, sometimes laughing.
"Fifty," he finally said.
"Interesting..." Maomao murmured thoughtfully. "If a couple stands under fifty sprigs of mistletoe at once, surely one kiss isn't enough?"
"Don't tell me you believe in these superstitions," Jinshi said skeptically.
"And is your life’s mission to debunk every romantic myth?" she parried.
"A meteorite, really?" he clarified with a smile.
"So, would you rather let the world end than kiss me?" Maomao asked jokingly… and froze, searching his face. Had she crossed a line?
Jinshi said nothing. He simply turned her face toward his and kissed her.
Gently, but with certainty. His lips were warm, the kiss unhurried - one that held no rush or doubt. The world vanished for a moment: only the night remained, the rustle of leaves, and this sense of - rightness. Maomao felt the warmth of the kiss envelop her entire body.
"That was one," he said, drawing back and looking directly into her eyes. Their breaths still mingled. "So that leaves forty-nine. Forty-nine meteorites - better, but still not very pleasant."
"The night is long," Maomao shrugged, settling a little closer to him so that their shoulders touched.
Jinshi disagreed.
This night would be very short - the shortest of his life.