Chapter Text
Maomao is the strangest girl alive, according to her dad, sisters, granny, and two great-grandaunts. She poisons herself over and over for her experiments, regularly gets into fistfights with everyone that insults her, her family, or really any courtesan ever, she refuses to learn how to do her makeup, given the choice between a shirt and skirt or a tunic and pants, she'll take the latter every time, and she latched onto the knife lessons her great-grand uncle decided to give her while she was visiting one summer with a fervor.
Someone actually tried to report her for draft-dodging the last time conscriptions went out to fight the barbarians. That was a strange conversation to have with two military officers that had come knocking on her dad's door on an otherwise completely normal day. One had actually kept her distracted talking about the different medicines her dad's taught her to make while the other stepped out to pester her family about why she's covered in bandages.
It was only two months after that whole mess that Maomao got kidnapped, sold to a family, and then sold into service at the hougong — the Rear Palace. The residence of the Imperial Harem and home to 2,000 serving women and 1,000 eunuchs to protect them.
And now…
"Excuse me, miss," a soft voice says. Maomao looks up from the flowers she'd been squinting at on her way back to the western washing area to find a eunuch standing there with a small basket in his hands. "I thought you might enjoy this."
In the five months that Maomao has been serving here, she's been given extra food a grand total of thirty-nine times. This time makes the fortieth. Baozi, spring rolls, dried fruits and nuts, sweet cakes, pickled vegetables, preserved meats, fresh fruits and nuts, roasted seeds, rice balls, dumplings, sesame bars, and dried seafood. She's been well fed, at least. Is it that she seems frail with hunger? Or is this just a thing that happens sometimes?
"Thank you, sir," Maomao says, bowing politely as she takes the basket.
The eunuch smiles, then hustles away, pretending he was doing something else as one of the higher-ranking eunuchs passes by. Maomao opens the basket, and finds jujubes, persimmons, tangerines, a couple pomegranates, and some hawthorn. Oh, she has enough to share with Meilin and Xiaochun after dinner. How wonderful.
She stashes the basket in a small alcove only she seems to realize exists, and finds a small bowl of rice. Okay, so maybe she isn't the only one to realize it exists. Who tucked that away? Meh, none of her business.
In any case, she has work to do. Maomao picks up a small basket of clean clothes and makes her way to the assigned room, Orchid 13. Personally, she finds it a little distasteful that the buildings for low-ranking concubines are literally named after flowers, but that's not her place to judge, so she just keeps quiet about the opinion.
As she walks, her eyes catch on the various flora growing along the sides of the path. Monkshood, datura, rhododendron, arum lily, the list goes on. How convenient, if someone knows how to use them properly. How dangerous, if someone knows how to use them properly. Though, maybe her definition of 'properly' is a bit skewed, considering her summers with her great-granduncle. His niece quite likes poisons. And, well, that's a common thing people come to the apothecary to be healed of.
Maomao pauses for a brief moment, eyes locking on the datura, then keeps moving. Best to not get too distracted by the allure of medicinal herbs. Serving girls can lose their lives over the smallest of infractions, including 'dawdling about'.
When she gets to the room, she sets the basket down in the designated drop off area, then picks up the basket of dirty laundry sitting in front of the door of the twenty-second room. Technically, her assignment is to handle the laundry from Orchids 1-20, Peonies 11-15, and Wisterias 21-35, but it doesn't hurt anyone if she takes on a little extra work.
Well, her supervisor doesn't take kindly to it, but Maomao mostly just ignores that, because what are they gonna do? Fire her or kill her for taking on extra work? Ha. There's rules against that sort of pettiness, so mnyeh.
And, well, Maomao is currently known as a calm, quiet, peaceful individual that's always willing to help others out among the other servant girls and a good portion of the eunuchs. If she's "lucky", her contract will be extended at the end of her two-year term.
"I wonder how dad and the others are doing," she mutters to herself as she makes her way back to the washing courtyard.
Contacting her family is out of the question. Revealing she's literate will only lead to padding the pockets of her kidnappers pockets, and there's no sense in providing them with another cup of wine in the evenings or—knowing the pleasure district—another hour at a lower-end brothel.
Maomao sighs as she sets the basket of dirty laundry down in the western washing area's main laundry building, standing on her toes and stretching her arms above her head to crack her spine. She gets a concerned look from a eunuch before she moves on, stooping to pick up a basket for Wisteria 9. It's not a big deal, really. She doesn't know why they're so fussy over her and not the ones younger than her. Wait. She's 15. There isn't anyone younger than that here.
Then again, she thinks. Maybe it's the bandages.
They're along the entirety of her left arm, shoulders, right calf, left thigh, and her right forearm. Most of them aren't visible under regular circumstances, but she wouldn't be surprised if there weren't whispers of them running around after the weekly bath servant girls are allowed to have. It wouldn't be difficult to come to the conclusion that they're to cover scars, especially since she's had them on for so long. Most servants don't look like they've been the victim of torture.
"Maomao, do you know what room this is supposed to be?" Xiaochun asks, showing her the tag.
"That's the one for Wisteria 19," Maomao says. She makes sure to phrase things in a way to make it seem like she's just learned what the tag for each room looks like.
Illiteracy isn't all that uncommon among the servant girls. The bare basics of etiquette that's required to work in the Rear Palace are, more often than not, literally beaten into them, but reading and writing is a whole other story.
"Thanks, Maomao," Xiaochun says, flashing a quick smile before she skitters away.
It's funny, in a way, how life twists and turns. Maomao always thought she'd be spending her days testing concoctions, fighting streetwalkers who think her an easy mark, dodging (more like flat-out ignoring) her granny's suggestions that maybe she could start training to become a courtesan soon, helping her cousin with the pharmacy she runs, and learning, like, four different ways to bitch slap someone if needed. Now, her life is limited to laundry and looking at flowers. Both literally and figuratively.
The Rear Palace is strange like that. Extravagance and beauty with an undercurrent of danger, just like the women who inhabit it. Maomao's seen the low-ranking concubines fighting over the smallest scraps of attention from their emperor, clawing at each other with pretty smiles and honeyed words. Quite a few of them remind her of the snakes she used to handle with no regard for safety back home: delicate but venomous. A single mistake, a single opening, and they're sinking their fangs into whoever they please.
She's been careful to not catch their ire. Or anyone's true notice, anyway. That's why the eunuchs confuse her so much. The extra food. The sidelong glances. The whispers she pretends she can't hear.
"That girl's too curious for her own good."
"Too skinny."
"Do you think the matron will keep her on?"
"Poor girl's overworking herself again."
"Who's turn is it to give her extra food again?"
That last one gave her pause the first time she heard it. Maomao has always been pragmatic, but the idea that the eunuch were rotating who was allowed to give her extra food was… strange. It had cemented that it wasn't random acts of kindness, but it didn't really tell her anything else about why they were doing this. She's not anyone special, even if they only know about her penchant for helping others and the bandages.
Maomao doesn't have the beauty—or bust—of the concubines, nor the sharp wit of the higher-ranking maids. She's just Maomao. The weird freckled girl who does extra laundry and occasionally gets distracted by the plants.
Still, she can't deny that the extra food is a welcome reprieve. The portions for low-ranking maids such as herself are meager, and she's borderline starving. The extra food she gets gives her the boost she needs to keep going. And if the eunuch want to play their little game of charity, she isn't going to protest. It also allows her to get extra food to Meilin and Xiaochun.
As she looks through the laundry house to try and find a basket for one of her rooms, her mind wanders back to the flowers she'd seen earlier. Monkshood, datura, rhododendron—each one has its uses, its dangers. She's learned that from a combination of her father, her great-granduncle, and her great-granduncle's niece. Her father just smiles every time she comes back armed with a notebook full of notes and a handful of new scars from poison experiments. That knowledge is useful, especially in a place like this, where one wrong step can result in death.
She shakes her head, refocusing on her duties. Not seeing a basket for any of her assigned rooms, she takes the initiative to help a girl struggling with a basket of wet laundry. It's one of the simpler tasks, to hang the laundry out to dry, but it's still a struggle for some.
"Thank you, Miss Maomao," the girl squeaks.
"Of course," Maomao says. She makes sure to keep her face blank and her voice neutral. "There's no reason to just watch others struggle when I have nothing to do."
The girl smiles. A eunuch gives her a look. Maomao ignores that. So what if they take it to the matron again? She won't do anything except threaten to increase Maomao's wages again for 'taking on responsibilities that aren't yours'. Ugh. She's a stubborn woman.
Maomao makes quick work of hanging the laundry out to dry, her movements efficient and practiced—she helps out at the Verdigris House and her uncle's place sometimes—as she does so. The girl scurries off with the empty basket with a grateful nod, and Maomao glances around before making her way back to the laundry house.
There's a group of four girls whispering outside of it, all with empty baskets in their arms and hands. Xiaochun is lingering around the corner, also with an empty basket in her hands, her face twitching slightly.
"What's going on?" Maomao asks. The group startles.
"Ah, well, Lady Meihua has been accused of stealing a mid-ranking concubine's—Lady Jin's—favorite hairpin," one girl explains.
Maomao raises an eyebrow. Lady Meihua is one of the quieter ones, known for her gentle demeanor and lack of ambition. The idea of her stealing anything seems far-fetched.
"The low-ranking concubine over in the Peony rooms?" Maomao asks. One girl nods. "Well, perhaps Lady Jin and her servants should search the ground better."
She stoops to pick the hairpin in question up off the stone path. Copper plated with gold leaf and an imperfect pearl dangling from the tip. As she holds it up, an eyebrow still arched, a eunuch passes by.
"Excuse me, sir, could you return this to Lady Jin?" Maomao asks him, pressing it into his hand. The eunuch dips his head politely, then makes haste.
The girls stare at her like she's just sprouted another head, exchanging glances as they shuffle off.
"Well that was eventful," Xiaochun says, stepping out from the corner to deposit the empty basket into the pile of empty baskets. "I can't believe no one else noticed it laying there."
"Some people are entirely unobservant," Maomao says.
A gong rings out. Dinnertime. Xiaochun and Meilin make their way to the dining hall together, where they join Meilin in line.
"There you two are," Meilin says. "We would've been stuck in the back of the line if you hadn't shown up soon."
"You wouldn't have to wait with us," Maomao points out. "You're perfectly capable of going on your own." Meilin makes a face. "I have something to share with the two of you after dinner tonight."
"Again?" Xiaochun asks.
"That's the third time this week," Meilin agrees, squinting.
Maomao shrugs. Meilin and Xiaochun exchange a look, but neither presses further. They've grown used to Maomao's antics by now, and they know if she says she has something to share, it'll be good. The three of them shuffle through the line, collecting their modest portions of rice, pickled vegetables, a bowl of watery soup that tastes as though it's been boiled with a single radish, and drinking water. Maomao eyes her plate with mild disdain, but doesn't complain. She has more important things to spend her energy on.
The dining hall is a cacophony of chatter, the clinking of bowls, and the occasional reprimand for trading dishes. Maomao, Xiaochun, and Meilin find an empty four-person tabletop and sit, their backs straight and their movements unhurried.
"So, did you hear?" Meilin asks after they're done with their meals. "They say someone attempted to poison someone on the Board of Rites in the Outer Court."
"Oh?" Xiaochun asks, looking up.
"Lady Ah-Duo's cousin," Meilin says. "I overheard a conversation between two eunuchs. Apparently, signs point to the Shin family. They're being investigated."
The Shin family is notorious for causing trouble for the Emperor. They'd been heavily favored by the previous Empress Dowager, and they still hold a large amount of power that the current Emperor is working to strip away.
"Well, hopefully they catch whoever did it," Maomao says lightly.
They turn in their food trays and make their way to the little courtyard where Maomao keeps her stash of food. She pulls the basket of fruit out of the little alcove—the rice is still there, and Maomao decides she's going to wait until tomorrow to do anything with it—and shows it to Meilin and Xiaochun.
"Oh, wow," Xiaochun says, clapping her hands together.
"These eunuchs sure are generous," Meilin says, already reaching for a tangerine. She has a fondness for the things.
"Uh-huh," Maomao says, snatching up one of the persimmons. Those are her favorite. "I just wish I knew why they did this sort of thing, you know?"
Meilin and Xiaochun exchange a glance, their mouths already full of fruit. Meilin is chewing thoughtfully, like she's trying to figure out a way to call Maomao stupid but politely. Maomao just bites into her persimmon, reveling in the sweetness. It's so rare here.
"Maybe they just like you," Xiaochun says after she swallows the bite of jujube. "You're always helping people out. Maybe they think you deserve it."
"Or maybe they just feel bad for you," Meilin says, peeling the pith off another piece of her tangerine. "You're always covered in bandages, and you're so skinny. I wouldn't be surprised to find out they think you're some sort of particularly unlucky waif."
"I'm not a waif," Maomao grumbles, sinking her teeth into her persimmon again. The sweetness does little to soothe her irritation this time. "And I'm not unlucky. I just have hobbies."
"Hobbies that involve you being so injured you have scars in the wake of practicing them," Meilin points out. "Very normal, for a young lady."
"I'm not a young lady," Maomao says, a little sharper than she intends. Her biological father may be a military officer, but she's not interested in letting him buy out her contract. It's bad enough her great-granduncle keeps offering to. "I'm a servant. I don't need their pity."
Xiaochun and Meilin exchange another glance, this one more pointed, but they know not to push when Maomao takes that tone, even if it's an accident. Instead, Xiaochun plucks a pomegranate from the basket and says, "What even is this?"
"A pomegranate," Meilin says, taking it from her and splitting it open. "You eat the seeds, not the outside or the flesh. They're pretty good. Here, have a couple."
Xiaochun takes two, popping them into her mouth. Her nose wrinkles slightly. Ah, she doesn't care for it.
"Tart," Xiaochun says.
"Kind of," Maomao says, snagging the other for herself. Then, at Meilin's curious look she adds, "One of my sisters likes them. She often shared with me in exchange for setting aside an extra-strong contraceptive for her."
Xiaochun pauses in reaching for a persimmon for a brief second, and Maomao knows they're both mentally cataloging that. They have an honest-to-gods conspiracy board about her that they, along with the other servants they share a room with, update when they find out new information, once they're confident she's asleep.
The rest of the fruit is eaten in silence, all of them slowing down towards the end.
"I don't think I've eaten that much since I got here," Meilin says, stretching her arms above her head to pop her back.
"It's all so good, though," Xiaochun sighs.
"We should get to the room," Maomao says, standing. "More work tomorrow, after all."
Xiaochun and Meilin stand, brushing the remnants of fruit off themselves, and then the three of them head back to their sleeping quarters that they share with seven other people. Could Maomao theoretically share with them as well? Yes, but she doesn't like them as much, so she isn't going to.