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“i did not see because i did not wish to see.”
“ohh! you didn’t see because you didn’t WISH to see. ah! well, that makes everything fine then, doesn’t it.”
-moses & aaron in the prince of egypt, 1998.
Somewhere along the line, said line had disappeared.
Maomao can see clearly the moon and all its stars, the grass and the herbs that hide in it, the creases and wrinkles in the skin of her patients and the hopes and dreams that live and die in the eyes of her friends and family. There was a point where she could see the line between her and Jinshi, too, drawn neatly in the sand: Do not cross . But sand, as it is prone to do, shifts. The tides came in and the wind picked up, and before Maomao knew it, the line was gone.
She would be lying if she said some of it wasn’t her fault. In fact, she had lied to herself about just that for many moons, even when directly confronted with her own actions (a brand, a humorless smile, a statement of “you share blame in this, too”). When all is said and done, Maomao is well aware that her choice to be blind led to more headaches than it did solutions. And yet, the only time she can find it in herself to face reality is here, now, in the dead of the night as she washes bandages well past bedtime. She isn’t sure what’s keeping her up; usually Maomao has no problem falling asleep, her denial a weighted blanket. Yet tonight the stars shed light on her issues, and for once Maomao thinks of them without self-induced brain fog while she works. From the table, Chue watches her. Outside, Lihaku stands guard. They’re always there nowadays. Without the sun on her face, Maomao has the courage to admit that they will probably be there for the rest of her life.
“Miss Maomao, are you sure you don’t want help?” Chue asks. Her phrasing makes it sound like Chue had offered help already, but in reality, it was the first time all night that she’d done so. By now Chue knows her lady quite well. If Maomao had needed help, she would’ve made Chue help her ages ago. Just as Chue knows Maomao well enough, Maomao knows Chue enough to know she’s getting ready to launch into conversation.
Attempting to dissuade her, Maomao shakes her head, lips firmly pressed together. Silence permeates the walls of the makeshift clinic. Maomao is glad for her jacket; the nights in the Western Capital continue to be cold. “The water is cold by now, isn’t it, Miss Maomao?” Chue continues. So much for dissuading her. “Let me help you.”
“You just want me to finish this so you can go to sleep.”
Chue laughs, “No.”
Silence.
“Well, maybe.” She admits. “Who can say?”
Though Chue can’t see it, Maomao rolls her eyes. Out of all the ladies-in-waiting she could’ve been given, they just had to give her a character. But then, a traitorous corner of Maomao’s mind whispers, that was probably on purpose. Jinshi knows you too well.
And so Maomao finds herself back to the root of her thoughts. She wonders if Jinshi is awake right now, too. It would explain her restlessness. “What are you thinking about, Miss Maomao?” Chue asks. Outside, Maomao hears Lihaku shift, probably so he can hear better. Maomao figures he’s probably got the same question as Chue.
“Nothing,” Maomao replies.
Chue hums, “That confirms it. Miss Maomao is thinking of the Moon Prince.”
She doesn’t mean to startle, and normally she wouldn’t. It seems her time with the quack is rubbing off on her. Maomao’s hands jerk, the water splashing as she abruptly lifts the bandages out of the water to put to dry. Outside, Lihaku snickers.
“Shut up,” Maomao says, to both of them.
Lihaku snickers again, and Chue openly laughs. “Don’t worry, Miss Chue won’t tell!”
Maomao turns to the last of the bandages, starting to scrub. “That’s fine, considering there’s nothing to tell.”
From the doorway, Lihaku pokes his head in and studies both women. Then, turning to Maomao, he says, “I believe the little lady does protest too much.”
“I don’t.” I do.
Chue claps her hands, “Doesn’t she?”
Hastily, Maomao pulls the last bandage out of the water and hangs it to dry. “Time for bed,” She says, “You both get what you want.”
Chue tsks, while Lihaku only sighs. “I can’t sleep for another hour yet.”
“Well, you’ve lost your company, so have fun with your thoughts.” Maomao shrugs, only feeling the slightest bit of sympathy for him. He is, after all, stuck watching her. The quack is and has always been just a neat cover.
Maomao gets the feeling that Lihaku is smirking. “Oh, you too, I’m sure.” His retort is loud underneath the night sky, “The moon is especially full tonight, don’t you think?”
Nevermind. Maomao does not feel sorry for him at all.
Chue does not make a move to follow Maomao, instead standing to go back to her own quarters. “Sweet dreams, Miss Maomao.” Nodding, Maomao watches Chue slip away and then makes for her own room.
Once there, she undresses and then wipes herself down before slipping underneath her sheets. The moon peeks through her curtain, shining light on little specks of dust that float in the air around her. Maomao stares at the stream of light, so resplendent and similar to the prince who shares its name. Then she growls, irritated at herself. And also at him.
Hidden under her sheets, watching the moonlight, with Chue gone and Lihaku standing guard, Maomao reflects. In a way, though this second trip to the Western Capital has been far more hellish than the first, it is its own blessing in disguise. Maomao knows that should they have stayed in the Capital City, the Emperor may have pushed the duo into marriage sooner. At the end of the day, the only drawback to Maomao becoming a part of the royal family is that it isn’t particularly advantageous to the throne —though even that can be argued. The La Clan may be full of eccentrics, but they are geniuses in their own rights. A genius strategist, genius mathematician, genius farmer, genius doctor —and those are just the ones Maomao knows about. By all accounts, Maomao herself is among the stupidest of the bunch, but even she isn’t humble enough to count her wits out of the running. What her intellect lacks, her pride makes up for. Thinking of the Madam, Maomao considers that perhaps that’s her mother’s side coming into play.
Whatever her IQ may be, it cannot be stated that a union between herself and Jinshi wouldn’t be advantageous for both their families. Though Lakan would be hellish for the first few years, even he cannot look past the fact that the royal family is —well, the royal family. Whether or not Jinshi gets his way and is removed from the line of succession (a faraway fancy that Maomao doubts will ever happen), he is still the Emperor’s favorite. As for the royal family, having a family as hard to tie down as the La Clan secured by their sides forever would be a valuable asset indeed. Eccentrics they may be, but they are powerful eccentrics, consistently five steps ahead of those around them. Besides, “new” blood was always welcome in the royal family, especially when the lineage was physically or mentally impressive. Not only that –the freak’s faction of the military, long called the “neutral faction,” would now have a direct tie into the imperial line, bringing them up to equal footing to the rest of the san gong , eliminating any political upheaval that may ever arise. However you spin it, the freak is the Grand Commandant, a member of the trio of men that makes up the military –one of which is the Emperor himself. Marrying such a man’s daughter could only be an asset for both bloodlines. Though she outwardly still disavows the La Clan, Maomao knows her ruse was up long ago. She’s seen a copy of the family registry herself, laid out on Jinshi’s desk one evening well before him courting her was even openly voiced. Her name was printed on it, right below Lahan’s, two steps down from Lakan’s. Loumen’s name had been burned off the registry, though after the successful births of the Emperor’s youngest children, Maomao heard that Lahan had gone in Lakan’s place and inquired about reinstating Loumen’s name.
Sighing, Maomao turns so that her back is to the window and tucks her hands under her face. She wants to go for a walk, but she also wants to be alone. If she steps out, Lihaku is sure to follow her, and though he knows when to quiet his presence, it doesn’t mean he disappears altogether. She doesn’t know how these important people get so used to always having someone around. Maomao can’t imagine spending her whole life shadowed. And yet, Jinshi has all but ensured she’ll have to get used to it. She thinks again of how he’s all but appointed Lihaku and Chue to her for life. Maomao hopes that Lihaku at least got a healthy pay raise for the appointment. It could be worse , the second voice in Maomao’s head whispers. You could’ve attracted the attention of someone who didn’t give a damn what you wanted. This, she knows, is true. At least Jinshi considers what she desires. The stupid brand flashes through her mind again and she resists the urge to hit something. Sometimes he considers her wants too much.
“Stupid boy,” Maomao speaks into the darkness. A childish part of her wishes he could hear her. “Stupid, idiotic, selfless, moronic boy.” And selfless he is. If he were another man he’d have taken her long ago. If he were another man still, he would have ran away with her. Yet Jinshi’s nature is to try and make everyone happy, even if that means his own pleasures wait in darkness. Maomao studies the shadows of her room and wonders if the Emperor knows how dear he is to the Moon Prince’s heart. Not for the first time, she wishes she was unaware of his affections for her. But how can she be? She wields ignorance like a second skin, yet Jinshi’s fondness is one that can hold its breath even while she attempts time and again to drown it. Lately, Maomao is starting to feel the daunting dread that perhaps she wants to resuscitate and inspect it instead.
A few days ago, Jinshi had Gaoshun deliver a letter to Maomao from Loumen. It came in the elegant, obscenely expensive stationary that members of the imperial line use, and as such made alarm bells go off in her mind. Not only that, but his reply had come substantially faster than the last two exchanges they had shared. “The Moon Prince did not want me to tell you this,” Gaoshun, ever the gossip, inclines his head so only Maomao can see the freckles of light across his tired face, “he remembered how you mentioned Doctor Loumen’s replies were few and far between, so he sent a request in his last exchange with the Capital that your adopted father’s letters be included with the Moon Prince’s.” He had studied Maomao’s face for a long moment after, and, seemingly satisfied with what he saw, his expression had softened. “Have a good day, Xiaomao.” With that, her friend was gone, the walkway taking him back to Jinshi’s quarters. The exchange had taken less than five minutes, but it’s been five days and Maomao’s still thinking about it. She stares at the shadows the moonlight has created and then turns to lie on her back, stretching a hand up so it explodes out of the darkness and into the light.
It was something so simple –that’s the problem with Jinshi, has always been the problem with him, long before she knew his name was so far in the clouds that to even think it would be a death sentence. Little things, inconsequential things, matter to him. He turns every single detail of a plan, moment, or person around in his head and finds solutions for nonissues. Maomao had mentioned only in passing that Loumen’s letters were slow to arrive, but Jinshi had not only committed that anecdote to memory –he had taken it upon himself to fix an issue she did not even want fixed. And the worst part? Beneath the impropriety of such an act, beneath the worry of what it means, Maomao can’t stop thinking about it. The act softened her, especially when paired with the knowledge that Jinshi hadn’t even wanted Maomao to know he went out of his way for her. Maomao squeezes her eyes shut. When she opens them, spots of darkness swarm her vision.
In a way, to her, that little act is much more intimate than the brand he sports. It tells of an affection much deeper than obsession, much longer-lasting than fascination. Maomao thinks of the way he smiled the other day when she walked into his quarters, small and close-lipped but with blushed cheeks and bright eyes, standing over some documents with his robes lazily tied around his hips. She remembers the way Jinshi had said her name, how he has said her name ever since crossing that line of familiarity –like it was a privilege and a blessing. Not for the first time, she comes to the conclusion that everything about him is terrifying, petrifying, paralyzing. He is one of the most powerful men on earth, the most beautiful creature on the planet, and for some reason that she will never understand, he has his sights set on her. It is one of Jinshi’s biggest faults, his stubbornness, and she is firmly on its receiving end. It would be the worst of it, if it weren’t for the fact that the smallest part of herself is beginning to admit that, should their stations have been similar –should he have been like her– Maomao would not have minded him. If it could have been just them, void of smoke and shadows and a guard outside her door, she may have even enjoyed it.
Maomao shuts her hand into a fist and lowers it, dragging it across her face and sighing harshly. In the light of day, it is easy for her to lock these realities behind fortified walls and assume her preferred roles –courtesan’s daughter, humble apothecary, medicinal court lady. But as she traces the bandages on her arm and fights against the moonlight, Maomao’s walls start to crumble into resignation. Maomao can easily imagine Jinshi right now, pouring over documents even at this hour, and then scowls at herself for letting the lines between them blur to the point where she could imagine him. Yet even as she thinks about him, there is an awkward seed lodged into her chest, something unidentifiable –similar to what she feels for her sisters or Loumen, but wholly different, teeny tiny in its beginnings but terrifying in its potential. And this is the crux of what is keeping her awake, the deepest secret that she fights against, the reason that she stayed up so late and is now stuck reflecting. It is so simple that Maomao wants to commit the wholly uncharacteristic act of screaming, wants to walk miles and garden and plant until she can focus on nothing but her exhaustion. Because the truth of why she cannot sleep is damning, put succinctly by Chue only two hours prior.
Maomao is thinking of the Moon Prince.
“in another life, i really would have liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.”
-waymond wond in everything everywhere all at once, 2022.