Chapter Text
Maomao had been “returned” to Jinshi in a repeated battle of wills between him and Lady Gyokuyou that she’d be hard-pressed by to witness again. She most likely would as Lady Gyokuyou clearly enjoyed the dramatic tug-of-war that they had going on, for some ineffable reason. In complete fairness, it baffled and intrigued Maomao in equal measure—why Jinshi seemed to cling so hard to the idea that Maomao was his servant, first and foremost. Why he acted childish and impossible in certain circumstances, and then like the poised, sensible eunuch that he should be in others.
Though she did distantly remember that basket of his favourite toys—and soon pictured the goofball crying if Maomao ever got lost and was absent from his reach. Who would he badger and irritate then? Not her, that’s for sure.
It brought a pleasant smile to her face. There was a giggle somewhere that wanted to rise untampered from her chest, but she reined it in. Being taken away from his spoilt grasp would serve him right, of course. But Maomao didn’t plan on getting lost. The repercussions of being gone a day—the workload alone, not even touching on the reprimands—it swiftly wiped the lingering happiness away and replaced it with detached horror.
“What on earth are you thinking about?” Jinshi muttered, eyeing her with vague concern.
The carriage rocked over what felt like a boulder, and her shoulder scantly brushed his as she smoothed her face into vacant calm, lest he discover what she’d really been daydreaming about (his torment).
“Poison,” Maomao replied, before he decided to get tetchy at a non-answer.
Jinshi crossed his arms. “No, you weren’t. You weren’t decidedly happy enough.”
Darn. He caught her. “Fine. Not poison. Skin irritants that cause contact dermatitis—”
He coughed in clever interruption. “Fine, okay. Hey, it looks like we’re here!”
He was only too thankful for this fact, Maomao knows, as he made his diligent exit.
She internally grinned in victory (because outwardly grinning would again result in incessant badgering that she certainly wished to avoid).
Once she planted her feet on firm ground, she brushed at her fluttering hakama and surveyed their surroundings.
It was opulent, of course, as the place had originally served as a summer resort for the late emperor. She wondered why the current emperor had not sought a visit since his coronation... The area was simply too lovely to squander like that, in her opinion. It had rolling mountains painted in lush, vibrant green, and while the weather was mild at the moment, it would be much more tasteful than suffering the heat back in the rear palace during summer, she knew, and the architecture was breathtaking, definitely fit for even the royal family to admire.
Still, she was just a teensy side of bitter to be accompanying Jinshi (against her will) to the homeland of Pure Consort Loulan even despite the luxury (although she maybe changes her mind when entering her lavish accommodations—how she, a servant, managed to be offered quarters that featured a personal bathtub; she’d have swooned if she was anyone else. Maybe when she was finally handed her promised precious ox bezoars, she’d allow herself leave of her usual self-restraint…)
Jinshi, to her knowledge, had been invited as a guest of honour for a special hunt that was being hosted by Lady Loulan's father, Shishou, the leader of the Shi clan in the Shihoku region, and so she’d been extricated from Lady Gyokuyou's lovely hands and had been granted permission to join their little entourage. What a hunt had to do with her… she didn’t know.
And what it all had to do with Jinshi adopting a masked identity… she didn’t know either.
Interesting, all the same.
All that could be seen was the allure of his vivid violet eyes, almond-shaped with long lashes that certainly contributed to his delicate appearance. It was almost a shame no one else during the meal would be able to witness the rare beauty he made, but being the guest of honour elicited a similar sentiment of scrutiny and attention.
Yet… with the masked appearance, he also appeared to be creating a political ball ache, too.
Shishou, leader of the clan, seemed antagonised by the fact that Jinshi avoided eating the food.
Maomao reasoned that this was a fair assessment, as a guest of honour doing so could have untoward insinuations… such as showing a distinct distrust for what was being served.
Gaoshun thankfully takes notice of the offence, where Jinshi instead seemed to remain unaware. Unlike him, to be sure. In fact, she was so sure, that she was almost entirely certain that he must be feeling unwell in at least some shape or form (she had an inclination as to the ailment, of course.)
But take the proffered guidance he does, as Gaoshun had whispered to him, likely clueing him into Shishou’s apparent displeasure. He raised the cloth covering his face with a wavering hand to lift steaming food to his mouth underneath, and Shishou relaxed back into his seat, finally appeased. Not that he’d notice his own guest of honour in clear distress. Rather, he was more concerned with the gossiping ninnies that might spread that his invited visitor might think him or any of his associates capable of poisoning!
However…
He must be too hot in such a disguise, she thought. There was a knot of tension in her chest that refused to unwind.
She followed as he stumbled away—of her own inclination, but also of Gaoshun’s worried prompting.
She expected to see Jinshi suffering from symptoms of heat exhaustion.
What she later comes to realise… is it is something decidedly worse.