Chapter Text
The scent of dried herbs clung thick in the air—bittersweet, dusty, familiar.
Maomao sat at her usual bench, mortar in hand, grinding a stubborn knot of dried ginger root to powder. The rhythmic scrape and crush filled the small Outer Court medical office, blending with the faint rustle of scrolls and the distant chatter of palace attendants outside.
Finally. Quiet.
She shifted slightly on her stool, squinting down at the worn list spread beside her. Half the items were circled, the other half scribbled over in irritation. Dried centipede... gone. More foxglove needed. And they keep wasting the liquorice root—idiots. A faint scowl tugged at the corner of her mouth.
The quiet was precious. Rare. The Inner Court was always too loud with whispers and false laughter; here, at least for now, no one demanded her attention.
Or so she thought.
The door slid open with a soft creak.
"Maomao," came a familiar, sing-song voice. Yao peeked in, her lips twitching with mischief. "You’ve got a visitor."
Maomao paused, pestle held mid-air. She didn’t lift her head.
Of course. Just when I needed peace.
"...Who would bother me today?" she muttered, already knowing the answer.
Yao grinned wider. "You know who."
A faint sigh slipped past Maomao’s lips as she set the pestle down.
Like a fly buzzing in the summer heat.
"He’s here again?" she asked flatly, reaching for her drying cloth without much urgency.
"Looking far too pretty for the Outer Court," Yao said with a snicker. "Something about sweets... or tea... or your company, maybe?"
Maomao narrowed her eyes at the open doorway.
Her fingers brushed powdered ginger from her sleeve.
Sandalwood... I’ll smell it before he even steps inside.
As if summoned by her annoyance, the scent reached her first.
Warm. Soft. Familiar.
Sandalwood.
She didn’t bother looking up as silk-clad footsteps padded across the threshold.
"Apothecary Maomao," came the smooth, far-too-pleased voice. "Fancy meeting you here. I was merely passing by."
She lifted her gaze, deadpan. There he stood, framed by the doorway as if posing for a scroll painting—lazy smile in place, pale skin untouched by the sun, hair glossy as lacquer. In his hands, a small lacquered box.
"Passing by," she repeated flatly, setting her pestle aside. "The Outer Court is hardly on your path to anywhere, Master Jinshi."
He hummed, stepping inside without invitation. Too close again. The hem of his sleeve brushed the corner of her workbench, dangerously near the powdered ginger she had spent the last half-hour grinding. She scowled.
"Would you begrudge a man his curiosity?" Jinshi said, setting the box on her bench with the softest thud. "I’ve brought tea. New leaves from the southern provinces. I thought you might check them... for poison, of course." His smile curved, unrepentant.
"Of course." Maomao didn’t touch the box. She eyed him, then the suspiciously fine wrapping. "And this has nothing to do with the sweets Yao claims you left last time?"
Jinshi gave an exaggerated look of innocence. "A gentleman brings gifts where they’re appreciated."
She snorted. "A gentleman should stop crowding my workbench."
His gaze dipped briefly to the herbs and scrolls spread before her, then lifted, gleaming. "Busy, are we? Am I disturbing your precious herbs?"
Too close again.
The thought flickered, unbidden, as his sleeve brushed the lip of the mortar. The faint warmth of him reached her through the cool air.
She grabbed the pestle firmly and met his gaze with a hard stare. "You're disturbing everything. Take your tea and go."
He smiled wider, shameless, as if hearing her words meant nothing at all. "But if I left, wouldn’t the room feel terribly empty?"
Her grip tightened on the pestle. "Idiot. Flawless idiot."
And yet... she did not immediately tell him to leave.
As she turned back to her herbs—pointedly ignoring the silk-clad presence hovering far too near—Maomao heard the faintest clink.
When she looked, the lacquered box of tea remained untouched.
But beside it, resting atop her scroll of inventory, lay a small, glistening sweet.
Perfectly round. Pale gold. Scented faintly with honey and plum.
Maomao stared at it.
Then at him.
"Really." Her voice was flat.
Jinshi held his palms up, all grace and mock surrender. "Ah, my mistake. I must have left that there by accident."
"Accident," she repeated, grabbing a long chopstick from the shelf.
She prodded the sweet carefully, turning it as if inspecting a rare insect.
"Poison?" she muttered aloud.
She sniffed it. No strange smell. She poked it again.
"...No. Something worse." She sighed. "A bribe."
"Bribe is such an ugly word," Jinshi murmured, utterly unrepentant. "A token of goodwill, perhaps?"
Before she could reply, Yao slid the door aside and peeked in.
"Ooooh," Yao grinned, spying the sweet instantly. "From him again?"
Maomao scowled, feeling her temple twitch.
"Stupid man. Stupid face." But still—she reached for a small scrap of cloth from the drawer, carefully wrapping the sweet before tucking it into her sleeve.
For later inspection, of course. Not because she wanted to keep it.
Yao giggled behind her hand. Jinshi chuckled lowly.
Maomao kept her eyes on the pestle, face carefully blank.
But her sleeve felt just a little heavier.
Jinshi didn’t leave. Of course not. He settled onto the wooden bench nearby with the grace of a cat deciding exactly when to nap—and exactly where to stretch his legs so Maomao couldn’t ignore him.
She barely spared him a glance, eyes glued to the scroll unrolled before her—thick with patient records, remedies prescribed, symptoms noted.
Her fingers traced a series of recent entries: fainting spells, dizziness, nausea.
A pattern emerged.
Several maids from the Outer Court—fainted over the last fortnight.
Maomao muttered under her breath, barely audible.
“Strange,” she said. “All from the eastern wing… no clear cause. No obvious toxin detected.”
Jinshi’s head tilted, eyes sharpening with interest.
“Want help investigating?” he asked, voice smooth as silk but edged with something sly.
She shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through steel.
“Why would you want to help?”
His smile didn’t waver. “Because I’m terribly curious. And because I enjoy spending time with you.”
She blinked. Did her heart just skip? No, impossible.
Maomao exhaled slowly and rolled her eyes.
“He meddles too much,” she thought bitterly, but part of her felt… lighter.
“Fine,” she said aloud. “You can help. But don’t get in the way.”
He stood instantly, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The afternoon sun filtered through lattice windows, casting soft patterns on the stone floor of the Outer Court’s eastern wing. The air felt heavier here, a faint sweetness lingering faintly—almost too subtle to notice.
Maomao walked briskly, her eyes sharp as ever, clipboard in hand. Her fingers traced the rough stone walls, noting faint discoloration—pale streaks, like watermarks dried long ago.
Jinshi followed at a careful distance, his gait relaxed, but his eyes never left her. “You know,” he said with a lazy smirk, “if you wanted me to come along just to boss me around, you could’ve said so.”
Maomao shot him a sidelong glare but didn’t slow. “I’m here to solve a problem, not entertain a court jester.”
He chuckled softly. “Jesters get paid more, you know.”
She hummed without looking up, her nose twitching slightly. There was something else in the air—a scent she couldn’t quite place.
“Do you smell that?” she asked, glancing toward him.
Jinshi inhaled deeply, then smirked. “Sandalwood?”
“No,” Maomao replied, lifting a small vial from her bag, uncapping it to compare. “Something floral... faint, but there.”
Their footsteps slowed as they rounded a corner, where a young maid stood nervously wringing her hands.
“Excuse me,” Maomao said, stepping forward gently. “You’re from this wing?”
The maid nodded, voice trembling. “Yes, Lady Maomao. I—I felt dizzy after tea yesterday. My head spun, and I nearly collapsed.”
Lady Maomao? The words echoed in her mind, colder than the afternoon breeze.
Why do they always call me “Lady” as if I’m some grand noble? I’m just a court lady...
No titles, no privileges—just a healer who’s been lucky enough to survive.
Jinshi raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking between Maomao and the maid. “Tea, you say?”
The maid nodded again, more firmly this time.
Maomao’s pen hovered above her notes. “Thank you. Please tell me everything you remember.”
As the maid began, Jinshi’s gaze lingered on Maomao—her focused expression, the slight crease between her brows. For all his teasing, he admired how deeply she cared.
Too focused to notice me, he thought with a smile. But I don’t mind being in the background.
Back in the cool quiet of the medical office, the scent of dried herbs and medicines surrounded Maomao like an old friend. She spread the tea leaves from the Eastern Wing across the wooden table, frowning as she sifted through the brittle fragments.
Jinshi leaned against the doorway, arms crossed with a grin. “So, what are we looking for? Poison? Venom? The rare ‘death-by-tea’ recipe?”
Maomao didn’t bother to hide her eye roll. “If you wanted to help, start by not making things up.”
He laughed, stepping forward. “Alright, alright. Just thought I’d spice up the investigation.”
Her lips twitched, though she wouldn’t admit it aloud.
Carefully, Maomao took a small pinch of the leaves, crushing them gently between her fingers. She sniffed deeply, then held the powder to the light.
“See this?” she said, pointing to tiny yellow specks clinging to the leaves. “Pollen from the plum blossom. It’s not poisonous... but it can cause allergic reactions—dizziness, faintness, even nausea.”
Jinshi raised an eyebrow. “So no murder plot. Just pollen?”
“Exactly.” Maomao’s voice was quiet but satisfied. “These maids are allergic.”
He smirked. “Guess that makes the tea an accidental assassin.”
She shook her head, but there was no scowl this time.
“Not every mystery ends in murder,” Maomao said softly. “Sometimes it’s just... nature.”
Jinshi met her eyes, his usual teasing replaced by something gentler.
“Nature’s own little trap,” he murmured.
Maomao felt a small warmth in her chest but quickly turned back to her work, hiding the slight smile that threatened to break free.
The kitchens buzzed with activity—clattering pots, hissing steam, and the murmur of busy workers. Maomao and Jinshi stepped inside, the sharp scent of spices and cooking herbs thick in the air.
Maomao’s gaze swept over the staff, her expression serious. She spoke clearly, “Several maids have fainted after drinking tea made here. We need to ask some questions.”
The head cook, a stout woman with streaks of gray in her black hair, folded her arms. “Fainted? I’ve heard nothing. Our kitchen is as clean as ever.”
A younger kitchen hand piped up nervously, “We haven’t changed anything… except the new supplier for some of the herbs.”
Jinshi stepped forward smoothly, flashing a warm smile. “New supplier, you say? That sounds interesting. What can you tell us about them?”
The young worker glanced at Jinshi, then relaxed, her shoulders less tense. “They arrived just last week. Their herbs smell different—stronger, more fragrant.”
Jinshi nodded thoughtfully. “A change like that could cause unexpected reactions, right?”
Maomao watched quietly as Jinshi’s easy manner coaxed more information out of the staff than her direct questioning ever could.
A middle-aged man added, “The new supplier’s herbs come from the southern regions. Some are rare and not common here.”
Maomao made a note, then turned back to the group. “Thank you for your honesty. We’ll investigate further.”
As they left, she caught Jinshi’s eye and raised an eyebrow.
He shrugged with a mischievous grin. “Sometimes, you need to be less like a doctor and more like a diplomat.”
Maomao smirked, hiding her growing admiration behind a mask of irritation. “Diplomat, huh? Don’t let it go to your head.”
But inside, she thought, Maybe he’s not just a troublemaker after all.
The afternoon sun had dipped low, casting long shadows across the cluttered medical office. Maomao sat alone at her desk, the day’s papers pushed aside, her fingers absently tracing the rim of an empty teacup.
The air was still except for the distant sounds of the palace settling into evening. For the first time, the silence didn’t feel empty—it felt like a fragile kind of peace.
Jinshi’s presence lingered in her thoughts, no longer the irritation it once was. She could almost hear his teasing voice, feel the warmth behind his smirks.
Maybe he’s not all trouble, she thought, a faint smile brushing her lips. Maybe there’s more to him than I’ve been willing to admit.
Just then, the door creaked open. Jinshi stepped inside, his usual confident grin softened into something quieter, more genuine.
“You’ll have to stop stealing all the sweets,” he said softly, sliding a small wrapped package onto her desk.
Maomao glanced up, caught his eye, and for a moment, the world outside the office seemed to pause.
He gave her a rare sincere smile—no teasing, no pretense—just a simple acknowledgment of something unspoken between them.
Her heart fluttered unexpectedly, but she looked away quickly, returning her gaze to the tea leaves on the table.
“Don’t get used to it,” she muttered, but her voice lacked its usual sharp edge.
Jinshi only smiled, the kind that said he wasn’t going anywhere.
Jinshi pushed back his chair, rising with that effortless grace that always seemed to irritate her more than it should.
As he brushed past Maomao, his sleeve lightly grazed her hand.
She froze, the unexpected contact sending a small shock through her.
A familiar scent wafted—a trace of sandalwood, the same subtle fragrance she’d noticed earlier.
Jinshi didn’t look back as he murmured, “I’ll see you soon, Maomao.”
She watched him walk away, the quiet click of his footsteps echoing in the stillness.
He’s becoming a habit. Dangerous.
I should be annoyed. I am. But... this room feels too quiet when he leaves.