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Chapter Text

The moon was high.

The wind howled in his ears as he fled, ducking and weaving every obstacle that threw itself in his path. There was shouting behind him, men’s voices, ill intent mixing with barked orders and clanging steel. He could no longer tell any of them apart. Boots thundered across the ground, making the earth rumble beneath his clawed feet.

His head pounded. Every step ached and burned, his vision swimming and his nose choked with blood. His trembling limbs smarted with pain, just barely able to keep his body aloft. There was fire in his belly, something cruel and insatiable and devouring, pure torment for a creature of water. He could barely see where he was going, the light of the full moon his only saving grace.

The poison had yet to leave his system.

He spotted a hole in the outer wall. A thrown sword stabbed into grass at his side, spraying him with dirt. A gargantuan shadow lunged after it, gloved hands grasping for his lithe form, a furious face baring its teeth like a grotesque theatre mask.

He dove. The stone bit into his face, his arms, his sides, scraping glittering amethyst scales from his body and tearing his flesh asunder. He grit his teeth through the pain, tasting blood on his tongue. 

It was torture, forcing himself through that tiny gap. Something seized his tail, a cruel vise that tightened like iron, and he heard something snap. Agony exploded through his veins, punching out a choked cry.

There was a whistle, then a soft thok, then a gargled shout. His tail was released. Someone shouted his name– no, not his name. His title. The blood roaring in his ears warped the sound, turning it demented and garbled, spurring him forward. With one last, desperate push, claws scrabbling over stone, he forced himself free.

He didn’t dare look back.

No-one saw him disappear into the night, a bleeding, broken mess. Only the moon was his witness.

He’s late.

Maomao paused in her grinding, looking up from her mortar towards the door. It hadn’t budged, and when she listened, there were no approaching footsteps. The Verdigris House had grown steadily busier as the day progressed, the nocturnal roar of the pleasure district gradually waking from its day-long nap, but to her, it was all background noise. She’d grown up in these halls, catcalling customers and lascivious giggles were as common as chirping cicadas and morning birdsong.

What did stand out, though, was a certain absence of something. Someone.

He’s never late.

Ever since the quelling of the Shi clan’s rebellion, a certain Moon Prince had deigned to visit her lowly shop like clockwork. Once every two weeks, he’d arrive just after noon with a suitably fat purse, masked yet devastatingly handsome, before wasting the rest of the day lounging around on her cushions. He claimed to just want his new scar tended to, but by this point it had long healed over, and he was already running out of viable excuses. It perplexed her, this behavior, but she found she didn’t mind it so much. 

He wasn’t too overbearing and he never interfered with her work. He just sat at her table, sometimes with tea, sometimes with snacks, and watched her bustle about the shop, as happy as can be. Some days, he even asked her questions about her medicines, or relayed going-ons from around the palace. If she was lucky, he’d come with a problem. Maomao liked those kinds of visits best. It was refreshing, getting to puzzle out palace mysteries and secrets. Familiar.

Maomao prided herself on being flexible, but in truth she was a creature of habit, and thrived when allowed to settle into routine. Jinshi timed his visits down to the minute. He always stayed well after dark, drifting off through idle conversation on her floor, and by the time the sun sank below the horizon, he was out like a light. 

Whenever he appeared at her door, it was with a haggard look in his eye, framed by deep bags and accentuated by dry lips and red eyes. So she made sure he slept through the entire night each time. 

He was overworking himself, as she feared, but that was to be expected the moment he cast off his eunuch disguise. Even though one full night of rest couldn’t fix the root cause, it was better than nothing. Better to treat the symptoms if one couldn’t reach the source.

Maomao set down her pestle. It was well past his usual visitation time. The day was almost over. And yet there was no sign of him.

Had he forgotten? Did something come up? It had to be his work, since he so loved to complain about it. Whatever his princely duties were, they took up a significant portion of his time. It made sense they’d take this away from him too.

Still, though. There was an uneasy feeling in her gut, one that twisted and writhed like a drowning worm. She wasn’t hurt by his absence, no, but the more she thought about it the worse she felt. Strange.

What if it wasn’t just work?

Maomao shook her head, standing up to retrieve her paper packets. If anything, he was probably swarmed by eager court ladies and ambitious young nobles. There was no man in the nation more desired than the Moon Prince, even sleep-deprived and scarred. It was only a month or so after her termination at the rear palace, so it’d make sense if more than just work had begun to pile up. Some people liked to bide their time.

Yet, as she slowly poured the powdered medicine into their packets, measuring the amounts down to the grain, she listened. 

Nobody approached her door. A low-rank courtesan and her customer stumbled by, giggling and groaning, but other than that, her little shop stayed silent. By the time Maomao herself began to feel her head droop, not a single soul came to disturb her. So she cleaned her worktable, packed her things, and went home. She passed Meimei in the hall and tried not to pay attention to the gentle concern on her face, but could nonetheless feel her sister’s eyes on her as she turned the corner.

The uneasy feeling followed, persistent and heavy. Before she went to bed, Maomao took a pill for indigestion, swallowing it dry.

He couldn’t stay here. His wounds were too great, his energy too sapped. His blood stained the grass, sinking into the earth and infecting the breeze with the suffocating scent of iron. If someone found him like this, he was as good as dead.

She would know what to do. He had to find her.

Choking down the nausea bubbling up his throat, he abandoned his hiding spot and pushed on. His arms and legs wobbled and shook, bending under his weight like willow branches. He could feel them start to shrink with every step. His attempts to outrun his own weakness were failing fast.

His head pounded, his breaths shallow. He was gulping in air like every breath was his last. He had to find her.

His horn caught on a fallen branch, wrenching his head backwards. His claws slipped in the rain-soaked grass, snapping like twigs. He tried to scramble for purchase, but tripped over his own tail and rolled down into a ditch, beneath the jagged roots of a rotted tree. Splintered wood cut into his scales like daggers.

His body screamed for rest, every touch to his cuts like a brand to his flesh. His mind begged him to stop, to let his dragon take control. But he couldn’t stay here. He had to find her.

He forced himself upright and pushed on.

A knock at the door interrupted Maomao’s morning routine. 

She looked up, hair half-done. That was odd. A patient? This early in the morning?

“Would you mind getting that for me, Maomao?” Her father asked gently, from where he was knelt counting their firewood.

“Yeah, sure thing Pops.” She said absently. 

It took another minute and another knock for her to finally get her hair sorted out. She didn’t usually care about her appearance, but she could at least look presentable for a customer. It was bad taste for an apothecary to be unhygienic.

When she pulled open the door, she found herself face-to-face with a bald, hunched over old man. He gave her a peaceful smile with cracked lips, his wispy beard barely clinging to his chin like moss. Knobby, root-like hands clutched the old branch he used as a walking stick.

“How are you, Maomao?” The old man asked.

“I’m alright, Gramps. Was there something you needed?” 

He was one of her many neighbors, a regular customer who occasionally stopped by to treat his aches and pains. He was a kind old man, supposedly a farmer who came to the pleasure district to help out his grandson, but ended up staying after a nasty fall made leaving on his own nearly impossible. At the present, the two loaned one of their fields to Luomen so they could grow their herbs. She never remembered his name, but he didn’t mind when she called him ‘Gramps’, so Gramps it was.

“Nothing for me, but I may have found something you’d like. You love to catch snakes, don’t you?” He said.

Maomao immediately perked up. “I do.”

Gramps turned away and gestured with a weak hand toward his own shack. “Well, my grandson found an odd one on the rocks near our field. Small, but a very bright color, with these strange knobs growing out of its head. I think it’s dead, but my grandson won’t go near it. He thinks it’s cursed.”

“An unusual snake?” Maomao’s hands were shaking before she even realized it. 

Gramps continued to smile at her. “I take it you’re interested?”

“I’ll be over in a bit. Let me get dressed first.” She was still in her nightclothes. If she was going to catch something new, she needed to be ready for it. 

The old man nodded and began to hobble away at a snail’s pace.

“We found it on the south side of the field, near that cluster of rocks. I don’t think it’ll be going anywhere anytime soon, so take your time.” He called over his shoulder.

“Sure thing!” Maomao replied giddily, giving him a small wave before ducking back inside. 

Luomen watched her as she bustled about their shack, flinging off her sleepwear and shoving on her usual robes and skirt with reckless abandon. He raised an eyebrow when instead of her herb basket, she grabbed a small hand-made wooden crate and made a beeline for the door.

“Now what has you so energetic this morning? Was that a customer?” He asked.

“It was just Gramps. His grandson found a weird snake by the fields, I’m going to go check it out.” She replied absently, tugging on her shoes. “I’ll be back before noon!”

“Take care then.” He said after her, only slightly raising his voice. Maomao raised a hand in a half-wave, acknowledging her father’s warning, before she was out the door.

When she approached the fields, she found Gramps’ grandson hovering impatiently by the dirt path. He was a well-built young man, with a long face that reminded her of a horse. He frowned when he saw her, eyeing the crate in her hands warily.

“You’re actually going to try catching that thing?” He said, nervously kicking the ground with his foot.

“Of course.” Maomao chirped, pushing past him to the cluster of rocks. “It might be a new species! I could even make some money, if it’s really as odd-looking as you say.”

Gramps’ grandson sighed, ducking back into his shack. “Do whatever you want. I don’t trust it.”

A flash of light caught her eye as she rounded the building, reflecting off something near the base of the field’s barebones fence. Slowly, she approached the rocks, holding the crate off to the side. The second she saw it, she understood why Gramps’ grandson might be wary of this creature.

Maomao had never before seen such a vivid shade of purple. The snake lay on one of the larger stones, basking in the morning sun, its body twisted like a half-coiled rope. Its scales shimmered in the sunlight like gemstones, faceted and casting colorful geometric reflections over her face and robes. They overlapped in a bizarrely artful manner, like handcrafted fish’s scales rather than the typical leather-like smoothness. It more resembled a drawing or a fine sculpture rather than a living animal. Its head was also oddly shaped, with a square-ish snout and a pit below each nostril, as though something had been pulled out of its face. And on said head, just like Gramps said, were two strange, bony knobs. 

It truly was beautiful, with a sort of regality to it that had Maomao hesitating in her approach. Were she of the superstitious sort, she’d be swearing up and down that this was a serpent straight from myth. Some kind of spirit creature, all kinds of trouble packed into a snake as long as her torso. Something to be beheld only by royal eyes.

However, the effect was only slightly marred by the massive bloody patches of bare skin that splattered its body, where scales had somehow been scraped off. Rotten splinters stuck out from some of the scrapes, ranging from needle-thin to long and flat, dulling the torn flesh with dirt. There was also a painful-looking kink in its tail, like someone had stepped on it, and its clear lethargy indicated those wounds had to be severe. 

The poor creature was in truly rough shape. Not only because of its injuries, but because of the filthy coat of dried blood, dirt, and dust that dulled the shine of its scales. The fact that the larger cuts weren't flushed with infection was a miracle of its own right. It might not be long for this world.

Something else nagged at her about this snake. She felt she ought to have seen it somewhere before. One of the encyclopedias at the stronghold had a section for snakes, and she recalled marveling at the detailed sketches and colors. Maybe that’s where she encountered this creature.

Odd. You’d think I’d remember seeing a snake with horns.

Giddiness and excitement bubbled up within her. If this snake had appeared in an apothecary’s book, then it must be worth something– if not for its scales, then perhaps its venom. Now that was something she simply had to know. 

In the animal kingdom, it was sort of an unwritten rule that the more brightly colored the animal, the more likely it was to be poisonous. With how brilliant this snake’s color was, even covered in filth, and in such a rare shade, that meant she could likely look forward to a truly wonderful afternoon.

Grinning, Maomao put her crate in the grass, knelt down, and hovered above the sleeping serpent, arms poised to snatch it before it could wake up. It was pretty small despite its odd features, just slightly larger than a common rat snake, so capturing it should be no problem.

Oddly, the snake didn’t react. It just lay there, flat on its belly, staring off into the distance. She lowered her hands closer. Its eye flicked toward her, and something unusual shone in them– a spark. 

In her experience, snakes were very difficult to read. Their eyes were glassy and belied no real intelligence, their faces stiff, so in order to discern their next move, one had to watch their body language. They could strike without a hint of warning, their simplicity making them equal parts dangerous and unpredictable.

This snake, however, felt different. When it looked at her, Maomao actually felt like she was being watched, and intently at that. There was something behind those obsidian eyes, and it only fed her curiosity like wood to a wildfire. And to her surprise, instead of moving away, when she brought her hands closer, the snake visibly relaxed.

There was some decent muscle in its coils, enough to make her worry it wasn’t venomous, so she could see the tension flow from them. Its head lolled to the side, lifting part of its belly from the rock.

Maomao could practically hear the last of her restraint snap. She lunged forward and seized the snake with practiced ease, one hand below its head and the other around its lower body, carefully avoiding its injuries. The snake’s mouth snapped open in response, a strangled squeak! escaping its throat, thrashing and twisting like a caught eel. She was granted a full view of its toothy maw– far more complex than she expected, structured moreso like a dog’s mouth, with two pairs of long fangs heralding rows of dagger-like teeth.

Maomao’s grin was positively manic. She couldn’t wait to feel their bite. Whatever venom this serpent carried, it must be potent.

As quick as she could, she dumped the snake into her crate and slammed down the lid. She could hear it banging against the inside, shaking the crate with surprising strength for its small size, but she simply sat on top of it and waited for the creature to calm down. She had built this crate herself and caught many snakes with it, as well as lizards, frogs, and some larger insects. The gaps were thin enough to let air in without allowing anything to escape. 

“Did you get it already?”

Maomao turned to see Gramps’ grandson watching her, looking apprehensive. He stared at the jumping crate with no small amount of fear, but that fear seemed to increase tenfold when he glanced at her face.

She slapped her hands on her cheeks. Shit, I’m smiling too much.

“I-It was no problem. It appears to be wounded, so it didn’t put up much of a fight.” She said, struggling to keep the excitement from overtaking her. The crate let out a particularly loud thump at her words, as if the snake were protesting her assessment. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it for you.“

If it wasn’t venomous, then she could probably still sell it. An animal this beautiful and rare, there was bound to be a noble willing to shell out some silver just to have it as a pet. Maybe the Verdigris could put it on display, to entice customers with certain tastes. She’d have to see if its wounds could be healed, but even if the scales didn’t grow back, its value was still apparent. If it died, its skin would fetch a fair price, and she’d get a nice meal out of it. Either way, for her, it was a win-win.

Maybe I could get it stuffed… She thought. Taxidermy wasn’t a common practice, but it might be worth looking into. The madame might be willing to fund some of it if she played her cards right.

Gramps’ grandson didn’t look convinced, but nodded anyways and ducked back into his shack. Maomao let out a gleeful cackle the moment he was gone, kicking her legs against the ground like a cheerful toddler. 

The shop could stand to wait a little longer before opening. She had a new poison to test.

Jinshi was slowly coming to realize he had perhaps not thought things through.

He’d gotten some rest, a meager dual-hour, and he’d found his apothecary before the men after his hide could. The bleeding had largely slowed, the sickly burn of infection kept at bay, and when he awoke to panicked voices, the incessant pounding in his skull had subsided. His body was finally given a chance to settle down and start healing.

But, in his haste, he’d somehow forgotten what he looked like. Not only that, but he’d forgotten a very, very important fact about Maomao. A fact he was violently reminded of when she’d seized him by the neck like a mad strangler.

“I’m home, Pops!”

Her voice rang clear and bright, like the chime of a bell through the gaps in his prison, tinkling with laughter. Muffled bumps, the clunk of wood on stone, rustling fabric, then the slow thump-thump-thump of Luomen’s cane. 

Oh, that’s right. We granted him some time off, didn’t we? Maomao had insisted.

He couldn’t see much from within the crate, as Maomao had thrown a blanket over it after dumping him in an unused corner of her shack. All he had to work with were audio cues.

Jinshi lifted his head to try for a better listen, but immediately stopped with a hiss. Some of the deeper gashes had reopened during his prior thrashing fit. They wept sluggishly, sticky against his scales in the humid air. The burning pain that seared through his nerves made his first scar feel like a shallow cut. It struck him, then, how Loulan could have easily done far, far worse.

”You closed up shop early today?” He heard Luomen say, in that gentle grandmotherly voice.

“Yep!” Maomao chirped back. Was it just him, or did she sound closer? “I told Grams I might have found a good money-maker, and she let me leave to test it out. All I had to do was mention silver and pay some of the rent early.”

“Hmm. And if your new friend doesn’t prove worthwhile?”

Maomao hummed. “It will. There’s no way it won’t. Even if it’s not venomous, I’ll still be able to sell it. I’m not letting such a rare specimen go without checking every avenue.”

Jinshi shrank into himself, coiling his body tight. He really didn’t think this through.

“May I have a look at this ‘rare specimen’?” Luomen asked. “If it really is rare, you could be handling someone else’s property.”

“Oh!” It sounded like Maomao hadn’t considered it. “O-Oh, you might be right.”

“If you’ve brought in someone’s injured pet, I believe it may be in your best interest to tend to it before running any experiments.” 

There was a beat of silence, broken only by quick footsteps. Someone was probably pacing. When Maomao spoke again, she sounded positively crestfallen. “You’re right, Pops. I’ll ask around at the Verdigris tomorrow.”

Something in Jinshi twinged, upset, before he caught himself. Why was he feeling bad for her, when she wanted to use him as a test subject? When she wanted to sell him?

A vision appeared to him, of himself in his frail state, locked in an iron cage while his Maomao hawked and bartered with faceless noblemen. Completely powerless as silver changed hands and contracts were signed. Shipped off to an unknown fate, never to see her or the palace ever again.

Jinshi shivered, and then became even more distraught when he realized a tiny part of that dire future didn’t seem all that bad. There had to be something deeply, deeply wrong with him.

”Very good.” Luomen replied with approval, an answer to a question Jinshi’s panicked mind had missed. “I understand you have your passions, but you mustn’t be so hasty, Maomao.”

“Understood.”

More footsteps, then a rustle of clothing.

“Alright, c’mere you precious little thing.” He heard Maomao giggle (She giggled, he’d never heard her giggle before, not over him), before the lid was suddenly lifted and the crate was flooded with light.

All at once, his senses were immediately and wonderfully overwhelmed. 

Maomao.

The way she smiled at him, it was a look he’d only ever seen directed at rare medicines. He’d seen something similar when he gave her that ox bezoar, all those months ago. Jinshi tried not to stare, but he couldn’t help soaking in the sparkle in her eyes and the sheer blinding joy radiating off her like sunbeams, the happiest he’s ever seen her in his presence. Heavens above, there was even a trickle of drool running down her chin.

Jinshi wondered if she’ll ever look at him like that. The real him, instead of what he is now. He wondered if she’ll ever call him precious and actually mean it. What a thing that would be.

He doubted she ever would. In her world, medicines and poisons were her one and only love. She mostly tolerated his presence, despite his best efforts. It’s a hope as faint as it is unlikely.

Lost in his musings, he doesn't notice she’s reached into the box until her fingers were wrapping around his throat.

Jinshi snapped back to reality and began to struggle, but her grip was rock-solid. She held him down with ease that indicated clear experience, deceptively strong. When he tried again to move, she squeezed threateningly, cutting off his breath. He stopped trying after that.

“Here it is, Pops.” She said, presenting his stiffened form to the elderly doctor. Jinshi tried not to squirm under the extra attention, gritting his teeth through the pain as his injuries were jostled. 

“Hmm.” Luomen calmly looked him over with narrowed eyes, from his distinctly not-snake-like snout, to his bleeding wounds, to his plum-colored scales. His gaze stopped briefly on his head, on his shrunken horns, before smoothly moving on. The doctor’s face was unreadable, and if Jinshi could sweat like this, he would be drenched from snout to tail.

Finally, he pulled away. “My girl, I believe you have found something very rare indeed. It’d be in your best interest to treat this creature with care.”

Maomao audibly deflated, her grip on him loosening.

He fixed her with a knowing look, smiling placidly. “Even if he doesn’t belong to anyone, I would advise against dissections. No pickling or scraping either, for that matter.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the apothecary frown, clearly displeased. But she nodded anyway. “Fine.”

“I have a patient who wishes to see me before my return to the palace. When I come back, Maomao, I expect to see him cleaned up and alive. Am I understood?”

“Yes, dad...”

Luomen’s smile grew a fraction. He patted her on the head, before taking his cane and hobbling to their worktable to gather his things. When he left, Maomao let out a long, dramatic sigh.

“You’ve got to be special if even Pops wants you alive. He never really cared before.” She lifted him to her face, deep blue eyes searching. Jinshi tried to keep as still as possible, resisting the urge to swallow.

After a beat, Maomao shrugged and briskly walked over to the worktable. She gently set him down on a rolled-out piece of cloth, keeping her hand on his neck as she reached into her robes for something. Jinshi felt a little too much like a fish on a chef’s table, moments away from being carved up. The sharp glint in Maomao’s eye and the twitching smirk on her lips didn’t help.

With one hand, she withdrew a shiny pair of tweezers and slowly began to pluck the splinters from his flesh, one by one. Jinshi winced and flinched, eyes starting to water, but each attempt to move was met with another warning squeeze. So he swallowed his protests and complied best he could.

“Normally, I’d expect more fighting,” Maomao muttered to herself as she worked. “Interesting…”

When she finished, depositing the bloody shards of wood off to the side, she gently dabbed at the weeping cuts with a damp cloth. 

He shouldn’t have been so twitchy with the splinters, because cleaning felt significantly worse. It stung like no tomorrow, punching a grunt from deep within his throat, but he bit his tongue and rode it out. Maomao gave him another curious look, one he tried to ignore by staring straight ahead. When the dirt and crusted blood had been thoroughly wiped away, she closed the whole ordeal off with a rough bandage.

“I suppose I can’t have you dying before I can use you.” Maomao said to herself as she turned him over, a devilish smile twisting her lips.

Pinned by the neck while she moved on to the next injury, Jinshi’s stomach flipped at her remark. 

Hm.

He’ll have to unpack that later.

His head had begun to grow foggy. He felt oddly safe, despite the hand on his neck and the constant smarts of pain as Maomao worked. Her fingers were soft, yet at the same time rough, honed by years of physical labor and hard work. She wasn’t trying to be accommodating, absolutely not, but every time one of those lovely hands brushed against his scales, it soothed him better than any tea or balm. If he tried, he could pretend she meant every accidental gesture.

It should be concerning, how easy it was to give up control. Every stimulus was muffled, save for Maomao’s touch. His mind had sunken into an almost pleasant haze, like she’d taken his brain and dunked it in honey. A far cry from the muddled confusion that had wracked his mind when he was first poisoned.

Whatever toxin they used, it likely would have killed him, if not for his other self. It was a subtle killer, one that waited hours until it struck. It wasn’t until he was dragging his feet home from an audience with the Emperor, utterly exhausted and irritable, that the first symptoms had started to appear.

First his skin began to heat, his heart beating so quickly it threatened to shatter his ribs. Then his mouth began to tingle, drying up like he’d stuffed it full of cotton. His thoughts began to slow, his vision blurring, and his breaths came short and shallow. His arms and legs started to seize, joints locked and muscles spasming, as if alive and begging to be free from the confines of his body.

By the time the poison’s fire had started to eat through his veins, a searing, agonizing pain that made him want to claw his skin apart just to let the blazing heat out, Gaoshun had sounded the alarm. And as soon as the call left his lips, almost half of the guards stationed around him suddenly turned on their compatriots.

His human body would have succumbed quickly. It was only because his dragon had come roaring to the surface, filling his veins with royal blood blessed by the heavens, blood he so hated for tying him down since birth, that he had managed to escape alive. Weakened and wounded, shrunken down to less than a twelfth of his dragon’s true size, and with his would-be killers hot on his trail, but mercifully alive.

Once he got back to normal, he’d have to find a proper way to thank her for this. Something preferably not poisonous, though, since she’d likely ask for a real snake to replace the one she’d lost.

“There!” Maomao’s voice broke through the fog, her hands suddenly pulling away, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. Instead of cloth under his belly, he felt rough wood. When had they moved? “Now don’t move. I’ll be back for you soon.”

Groggily he lifted his head, blinking the world back into clarity. Somehow he’d gone from the worktable to back inside the crate. The lid was replaced, plunging him into darkness. Once his eyes re-adjusted, he looked himself over, angling his long body into the slivers of light peeking through the gaps.

He was met with tight, yet soft and clean bandages, covering each patch of bare skin he’d scraped free of scales in his initial escape. He still smelled like blood, but he wasn’t sticky or at all damp. At the end of his tail, he saw a small splint crafted from a thick twig, correcting the break.

It was a damn good job. He felt Maomao‘s skills might be wasted living as just an apothecary, she’d make a fine physician if such a thing were allowed. Maybe he could pull some strings once this was all over…

The crate lurched. Someone, probably Maomao, had picked it up and was now carrying it somewhere. She appeared to be taking more care now, since he didn’t rock or slide about nearly as often as he had when she’d first captured him. Jinshi felt his eyes slowly start to close.

I wonder if she saw me blink… He thought as he began to drift. It might make things easier... she’s smart…

She’s… so smart…

By the time the lid opened again, Jinshi was sound asleep.

“I haven’t heard anything, no. Sorry, Maomao.”

“Eep! I’m sure it does belong to someone, but I have no idea who. Can you put the lid back on please?”

“I think we’d know if a man that rich spent some time with us…”

“Ew! Ew, ew, ew, you touched that thing? Wash your hands! Wash them right now!”

“If it isn’t a pet, do you think I could get some of those scales? They’d look so pretty sewn into the right garment…”

“ AUGH! Get that nasty creature away from me!”

Maomao faked a sigh, trying to contain the unbridled joy that threatened to burst her heart like a balloon. None of her sisters had any information related to the snake. Not even the middle and lower-ranked courtesans could give her a hint of a lead. Most of them refused to even spare a look at her delicate cargo.

A serpent like this, if it truly were a lost pet, its owner would for sure be kicking up a fuss. Once, a minister from the west had lost a rare bird, and the news of it reached all the way to the central capital. There were guards combing the streets for days until it was eventually recaptured.

But barely anyone recognized her specimen. She had tried to be thorough, checking in at some of the other brothels outside the Verdigris, as dealing with missing property was no joke. There were rumors of an attempted assassination on a noble at the rear palace, but when she’d asked further, it didn’t seem to be founded in reality, and the sources were dubious at best. So she returned empty-handed.

It was, to put it bluntly, absolutely perfect .

Maomao took her time hauling the crate home, shivering through her coat as the evening frost crept across her cheeks. Its occupant had slept the entire day away, and strikingly, it did so with closed eyes. She was almost entirely certain this was a new species; Of a snake’s many most notable features, one such trait included eyes with no lid. They never blinked, and always appeared to be awake, even while resting. Many people found it creepy.

People who weren’t Maomao, that is.

Tomorrow morning, She thought to herself, pushing the crate close to the crackling fireplace, before adding an extra log. Winter was on its last legs, but the nights were still brutal to the unprepared, so she needed to take care if her experiment was to survive until morning. Tomorrow morning, you’re all mine.

When he was little, Jinshi used to hide inside closets to get away from his tutors. 

They weren’t cruel, absolutely not, but some days he just didn’t want to be bothered and had no energy for lessons. So he hid, stifling his giggles while Gaoshun and his mother combed the palace looking for him. Sometimes they’d find him, but most of the time they’d sic Basen on his trail. That always had him springing from his hiding place, since Basen’s preferred method of searching was to dump out every closet, box, and drawer that wasn’t nailed down.

Back then, Jinshi had liked the feeling of being tucked away in a little box. The darkness was comforting, the closed walls around him sturdy and strong. It made him feel safe, as if nothing could ever reach him so long as he stayed hidden. He was in his own little world, all to himself.

Now, though, as he curled into himself like a pile of rope, the midnight chill brushing icy claws over his exposed skin, the darkness felt anything but safe. 

The rough wooden floor of the box felt itchy under his soft underbelly, scratching and catching on his scales. There was no insulation of any kind, the thin gaps in the boards almost taunting as they allowed just about everything in, but nothing out. No matter how tightly he coiled, the thin wood and freezing wind drained his meager body of heat, his energy waning the longer he was exposed. Maomao had placed his box by the fireplace, a thoughtful move, but it had long since died down to embers. The paltry warmth it offered could be felt, just barely, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

Jinshi needed to get out of here before he froze to death. As he was now, he couldn’t regulate his own body temperature, and while other serpents could probably survive this, he very much wouldn’t. His dragon, for all its strengths, was still significantly weakened. It had spent so much energy healing his injuries, that once it was faced with a drastic drop in temperature, it couldn’t even muster a shiver.

And if the cold didn’t get to him first, something else surely would. 

One could argue Maomao’s little home in the pleasure district was the perfect place to hide. Nobody would think to comb the brothels, restaurants, and slums for a royal dragon, nobody sane at least. It was dangerous on its own, but since he had his apothecary, he trusted she could keep him safe.

Provided she didn’t kill him first.

She wouldn’t do that, right? 

He shivered. Maomao didn’t know who he was, but surely she wouldn’t kill such a ‘rare specimen’, as she put it. She’d at least want to study him or run experiments first.

An image flashed in his mind, of his lovely Maomao pinning him by the neck to her worktable, beautiful blue eyes glittering like the sharpest of daggers as she raised her scalpel, her face overcome with a grin fit for a demon. Not a hint of recognition in her expression, no matter how frantically he thrashed or loudly he shrieked. He pictured that scalpel cutting into his flesh, cold as ice, her movements methodical and calculated as she sliced him to pieces. Reducing him to a dissected lump of meat. Unrecognizable.

Jinshi shivered again, tucking his numb snout into his coils. That didn’t sound promising either. 

He just had to hope his wounds would heal before she got any ideas. His dragon always healed fast, provided he got enough food, rest, and most importantly, warmth.

Maybe I could find a way to tip her off to my identity…

He trusted her, even though a not-insignificant part of himself screeched at the idea.

But despite his trust in her, there was always a risk. If someone ever broke into Maomao’s shack, he’d be powerless to protect her. Even at his pitiful size, he could still distract them, lead them away while she escaped somewhere safe. Now, though, he was as good as a sitting duck. He had no idea how close his pursuers were to finding him. He knew there had to be a counter-hunt led by palace guards, but it was all a matter of who got to him first.

He had to get better. For her sake, and for his.

Mind made up, Jinshi slowly raised his head. He was already sluggish, his thoughts the only part of him still running at top speed. Not good.

With as much effort as he could muster, he nudged the lid off his box with his snout. It took several tries, including an unfortunate setback when a splinter stuck itself into his lip, wasting a precious few minutes trying to dig it out. But eventually, he was victorious, pushing open a gap large enough to fit through.

Jinshi still had no claws to speak off, his body having shed them alongside his mane and whiskers to conserve energy. His brother said it was so he could hide easier, his body changing so it could be mistaken for a regular serpent and left alone while it healed. It was always a last resort.

He couldn’t think of any snakes that had purple scales and tiny horns, but whatever. It’s not like he could ask whoever designed his dragon.

His feeble body straining, he pulled himself up and out of the crate, tumbling to the floor with a quiet thump that made his head spin. When he recovered, he looked across the room, and his heart sank when he realized just how far he had to go. But no matter. It was quite literally life or death.

So began the long, slow trek across Maomao’s frigid wooden floor, from his crate in the corner to where she dozed alongside her father. Perhaps he should thank the heavens she placed his crate on the same side of the room she slept in. He didn’t think he’d be able to make it if he had to go around Luomen.

Mind already fogging at the edges, he pushed his increasingly numb body onward. Every centimeter gained meant more strength sapped from his flesh, the elements uncaring in their assault upon him. Winter nights were always rough for those with dragon’s blood, but now they were downright punishing. 

He approached Maomao’s sleeping form. Her face was turned away, her side rising and falling with her breaths. The blanket covered the lower half of her face, pulled up high to trap in as much warmth as possible. Her hair fanned out on the ground above her, the dull green almost shimmering in the moonlight. She was completely and utterly dead to the world. 

Jinshi could already feel the blessed warmth escaping from a small gap in her blanket, next to her head. The heat brushed his face with comforting fingers, a siren’s song to his aching coils.

Part of him felt disgusting for even trying this, what little he could feel of his scales prickling with discomfort. She might kill him, if she wakes up before he does. Maybe he’d deserve it.

But if he wanted to recover to his full size, at least enough to where he could become human again, Jinshi needed heat.

So, muttering a quiet apology, he ducked his head and slipped inside.

Like most days, Maomao woke long before sunrise. She stared at the dim ceiling, her eyes tracing the rafters, blinking away the crust that had built up overnight. Her slow, shaky breaths misted in the brisk morning air.

Luomen dozed quietly beside her, his blanket pulled high. He didn’t stir when Maomao sat up, a shiver wracking her body as more of her bare skin was exposed to open air. Last night had to have been one for the record books, the temperature had dropped so fast she’d thought she was going crazy. She cast a glance at the fireplace, finding it a faintly smoldering pile of ash.

Hm. Maybe she should have added two extra logs.

Maomao yawned, so wide her jaw cracked. She blinked again, before reaching up to wipe the rest of the sleep from her eyes. Her left forearm ached.

She gradually stood up, wincing at the sensation of icy wood under her bare feet. As she pawed around for her robes, her tired eyes fell on a small crate in the corner. The blanket had slid off onto the floor, and the lid had been pushed askew.

Maomao stared at it, half-awake and uncomprehending. Her forearm ached again. Something smooth shifted against her skin. 

She lifted her arm. Wrapped tightly around it, coils covering her bandage like a shimmering silk scarf, was her specimen.

Maomao blinked. The snake’s eyes were closed. It let out tiny, almost imperceptible snores with each exhale, its chin resting on her bicep. Just under its nostrils, she saw a single pair of tiny, barb-like growths, like catfish whiskers. The bony knobs had also somehow lengthened and grown a second prong.

The bandages she’d meticulously wrapped around its body had torn and slid down at some point, revealing smooth, unblemished scales where there had once been violent slashes and cuts. The splint was still in place, but the crooked kink in its tail had practically vanished.

It had been one night, just one night, and yet it looked fully healed.

She straightened her arm, watching the snake’s coils stretch out with the movement. Was it just her, or did it look bigger? 

Maomao supposed she’d be forgiven if she were to panic. While she didn’t fear snakes, letting them wrap around your body and crawl all over you was a different matter entirely. Especially mysterious purple snakes with intelligent eyes, whiskers, and horn-like protrusions jutting from its skull.

To put it in simple terms, she didn’t panic, per se, but she did violently whip her arm to the side, flinging the clingy sleeping serpent across the room.

It hit the wall with a meaty thunk, its eyes flying open as it let out a startled yelp. It tumbled to the ground in a tangled heap, hissing and writhing, and Maomao watched it intently. Her brain was still waking up, but something told her to keep an eye on this creature.

The snake rolled onto its belly, shakily raising its head. Its huge eyes flitted about the room, unfocused, before it was suddenly overcome with a fully-body wince. A violent shudder wracked its coils, and it began to whip its head from side to side, as if urgently searching for something. Its gaze briefly rested on the dying fireplace, and another shudder punched a chatter from its fanged jaws.

Perhaps she was still not quite awake yet, because something compelled Maomao to kneel onto the chilled floor. She extended a hand, and the snake whirled toward her at the motion, and its slitted eyes locked onto her, unfocused. Her hand rested loosely on the ground, as if she were inviting it back. After a beat, the gesture somehow seemed to register in the reptile’s tiny brain. The way it visibly brightened was almost frightening.

In truth, Maomao just wanted it at a distance where she could properly handle it, instead of slithering freely around her house.

The snake didn’t know this, however, and eagerly slid towards her across the floor, like a dog responding to its master’s call. She resisted the urge to run at the sight of a gigantic serpent rapidly approaching, staying as still as possible, muscles tensed. When it reached grabbing distance, she did just that, quickly seizing it with both arms and holding it out at arms’ length.

The snake made another strangled sound, not quite a hiss, but made no move to bite. There was a look in its eyes that, if she weren’t of rational mind, might have appeared utterly distraught. If anything, it seemed even more disoriented than when she’d flung it into a wall, opening and closing its mouth like a gasping fish. 

Its long fangs glinted in the blue light of dawn, smooth, sharp, and perfectly white.

An idea struck her like a rock to the head, knocking her into full awareness. A quick glance at her father’s sleeping mat told her he was still out. The sun was up, but the slums had barely stirred, only a few early-risers shuffling and creaking about outside. She had half an hour max before Luomen woke to go tend to their fields.

With one hand firmly gripping the snake below the head, ignoring the way its body twisted and wrapped around her arm, Maomao rushed to her worktable. She lit the lantern hanging above it, then pulled out a leaf of paper from one of her personal drawers. She quickly jotted some notes down on it, pressing the snake against the table to quell its struggling. Master Jinshi had generously brought her some scraps during one of his visits, after she offhandedly mentioned missing having it on hand, and they proved quite useful in recording her experiments.

Working quickly, she pinned her specimen with her elbows to free her hands and loosened the bandage on her testing arm. The snake, oddly, went almost completely limp. Maomao didn’t pay much mind. She had a time limit to keep track of. Once the preparations were finished, she re-adjusted her grip and lifted the snake into the air.

It was already agitated and confused, as well as seeking body heat. Her father was sound asleep. Maomao, meanwhile, was awake and alert. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

“Dose one,” She whispered to herself, swallowing down the tremble in her voice. Sweat had begun to bead across her brow, a broad smile tugging at her lips. She shook her left arm to let the loosened bandage slip the rest of the way off. “Administering the first bite, in three… two…”

Raising her forearm, she brought it to the snake’s head, just close enough to barely brush against its snout. Her grip on its neck loosened, allowing it to slip forward from her grasp and rear back. Maomao’s pulse jumped as it opened its toothy maw, long fangs flashing in the dawn light, and– 

And nothing. 

It stopped. The snake had stopped moving completely, frozen in place like a statue. And rather than bite like she wanted, like any normal animal would, it just stared at her scarred skin with wide eyes. Its mouth hung open, fangs tantalizingly close, its short whiskers twitching. But it moved no further.

“Come on,” Maomao urged, shaking it a little. The snake bobbed with the movement, but didn’t budge. Frustration clawed at her, building with every second the stupid thing refused to move. “Bite already!”

The serpent’s eyes flicked to her, then back to her arm. Maomao felt increasingly more upset, as if she’d been running a footrace she’d spent years training for, only to trip just before the finish line. Was there something wrong with it? Did she handle it incorrectly and break something?

Clicking her tongue in irritation, she thrust her arm into the snake’s face, slotting it roughly inside its open mouth. Its fangs grazed her skin, a delicious sting that promised so much more. Her heart sang at the contact.

But to her utter dismay, the snake actually pulled away . It closed its jaws, shaking its head and smacking its lips like it was trying to get the taste of her skin out of its mouth. Maomao could feel something snap inside her, a seething anger suddenly overtaking her senses.

“What’s wrong with you?” She demanded in a hissed half-whisper, shaking it with a lot more force. The snake made a pitiful warbling sound, like a dying goose. It only made her madder. “What, do I need to starve you first? Do I need to skin you over a fire? Why aren’t you biting?”

She stopped shaking it. The snake blinked and swayed side to side, dizzy, but when it settled, its eyes met hers. She stared at it, just long enough to catch that something flashing in its gaze– that strange spark in its eyes, the one that made her feel uncomfortably watched– before the snake reared back once more. It opened its mouth, but squeezed its eyes shut, like it feared what was about to come next.

It stayed like that, unmoving. Then it cracked one eye open to look at her, almost pleadingly. Was it asking permission?

It wasn’t until Maomao snapped out an annoyed “ Well? ”, jerking her arm and fixing it with her harshest glare, that the snake broke out of its strange trance.

It made an odd sound, like a strangled whimper, before it suddenly lunged forward and sank its fangs into her arm.

Glorious, glorious pain shot through her like lightning. Maomao released a sigh at the familiar burning sting, a small giggle trailing at its edges. Her pain tolerance muffled the sensation, so it wasn’t nearly as severe as it could have been, but it truly never got old.

She watched the snake’s body twist and curl, latching tightly around her good arm like a living rope. A small trickle of blood ran down from its scaly lips, dripping onto her worktable. After a moment of relishing in the feeling (she hadn’t been able to run proper snakebite tests in a long, long time) she gave the unusual serpent a few tugs, and it promptly unlatched.

Interesting. She usually had to pry them off.

Maomao studied the bite with a pleased smile, admiring it in the way a court lady would admire a new manicure. Another rivulet of blood oozed from one of the larger punctures. Evidently, the snake had some decently-sized teeth.

She was correct in her earlier observation. The tooth structure was not like that of a typical snake. It had prominent fangs, but they weren’t slim and narrow, instead rounded and thick, like a dog’s. It seemed this animal was built not for quick strikes, but ripping and tearing.

When she glanced back at the puzzling creature, she found its neck wrapped loosely around her wrist with its head resting on the back of her hand, a positively miserable look in its eyes. It resembled both a deflated ox intestine and a depressed dog that had just been scolded.

Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t a snake. If she were not of sound mind, she might think it was some kind of dragon. A subspecies, maybe. It definitely bore a striking resemblance to the legendary beasts she’d glimpsed while at the rear palace, great snake-like beings that twisted and soared over imperial garments and grand tapestries. Rumors flitted about the palace and beyond that those with imperial blood were blessed by such creatures, able to call upon their power in times of need. But Maomao was not the type to believe in such fantasies. Nor was she the type to cry “dragon” when it was more likely a species of reptile she’d never seen before.

A limbless type of lizard, perhaps? If that were the case, it probably wasn’t venomous, but she’d heard of a lizard that lived in an island nation to the south, one with toxic drool that would slowly kill its prey after one bite. But those lizards were reportedly massive, able to take down and devour entire goats, if the trader she’d spoken to could be believed. Her specimen was decently large, sure, but only slightly longer than her torso. It wasn’t especially thick either, as she could wrap one hand around its body with little effort.

She could have sworn it was smaller when she first caught it, but maybe she’d been mistaken.

There was also its… awareness. The way it seemed to display emotions and intelligence, despite its stiff, scaly face. The way it acted as though it understood the words she spoke and the expressions she made. Like there was a conscious mind behind those dark, slitted eyes, a dancing spark that became harder and harder to ignore.

That was something she chose not to ruminate on.

Maomao studied her bite. There was no immediate swelling, nor a burning sensation at the wound site. There wasn’t the feeling of pressure or immense weight weighing her arm down either. The bite stung, and the edges of it were faintly numb, but the pain had mostly faded. That could be easily blamed on her pain tolerance rather than symptoms of an envenomed bite. She‘d bled freely after the creature first let go, but now it was starting to slow as her body worked to close the punctures.

Her expression twisted, unsure if she should be disappointed or intrigued. Regardless, it was entirely new information, so she picked up her brush and jotted her observations down under Dose one. Even if she didn’t get to endure a new type of venom, this was still a new experience, and the feeling was almost as good. 

Maybe this type of creature had a painless bite, only for it to get worse when left untreated. Maybe it was a slow-acting poison. She’ll have to wrap the bite and give it some time. Maybe it’ll hit her later tonight, when she least expected it!

Reinvigorated, Maomao re-wrapped her bandage and took a firm hold of the creature’s head. It had barely moved, even when she easily shook it off to write and let it drop onto the table. It hadn’t tried to escape once in the two days since she’d caught it, so she was confident it wouldn’t try now. 

It was this confidence that drove her to pry open its jaws with both hands, leaning in close to get a good look at its teeth. 

The not-serpent’s whiskers twitched (had they gotten longer?), but it remained still in her hold. Two canines, on top and on the bottom, with a row of sharp incisors before and after them. The back teeth were flatter, like her own, indicating a diet of more than just meat. Its tongue was also, distinctly, not forked, but pointed at the tip.

Slowly, she traced the curve of a fang with her fingertip. Sharp, very sharp, but also smooth, almost like glass. When she pulled her finger away, a thin, clean, near-imperceptible cut began to grow red as blood welled to the surface. Maomao hummed, fascinated, and stuck her finger in her mouth to keep any more blood from getting onto her clothes.

Her specimen made a faint keening sound, its tail shifting restlessly. Maomao took pity on the creature and released it, letting it gather itself in a tight coil on her worktable, as if it could hide from her using its own body. She ignored its antics and calmly added the new information to her notes, flicking a watchful eye to her captive audience between characters. 

“What are you, I wonder?” She muttered, when she saw it made no move to flee despite having ample opportunity to do so. The not-serpent just watched her with wide, unblinking eyes. Its slitted pupils slowly widened into a complete circle as it stared, gazing up at her while the spark of awareness shimmered.

Interesting. She’d never noticed that before. 

Maomao added it to her notes.

Hell was real and tailored specifically for Jinshi.

Three days since Maomao’s first experiment, and not a single hour had gone by without some sort of surprise test. Each time, she’d wake up early, fish him out of his crate, check him over for injuries, then pin him to that damned worktable and begin for the day. Then she’d finish and head off to tend to her shop at the Verdigris, leaving Jinshi to endure the aftermath all on his own. 

Sometimes the tests were as simple as weighing him or measuring the length of his canines, other days it was plucking off one of his scales or scraping a sample from his horn. The most disastrous experiment yet had Maomao attempting to “milk” his fangs for venom. It was a profoundly humiliating experience for Jinshi and a terribly disappointing one for Maomao, who only got a cup of spit for her troubles.

The worst part was, he didn’t even bother trying to hide or fight her whenever she came to collect him. 

She wasn’t fully without ethics, as while being a test subject left him feeling awful and embarrassed in the moment, she made up for it with shocking kindness. She’d smooth down his ruffled scales with a warm, damp cloth, take him outside to rest on a sun-warmed rock for hours, or even let him curl over her shoulders while she got out her mortar and pestle. Evidently he’d proven himself to be a well-behaved serpent, to warrant such trust. The gestures, as small as they were, more than made up for any previous distress.

Most often, he was usually “rewarded” with something to eat afterwards, a fresh-caught mouse or squirrel. And though Jinshi would normally gawk at such a thing, his own hunger outweighed any objections, and choking down the furry pests got a little easier each time. If he was lucky, she’d bring him a lizard or two. His dragon certainly appreciated the nourishment, and his human side enjoyed eating from her hand a little too much.

Perhaps he should be concerned over how quickly he’d grown used to this arrangement.

As time passed, though Jinshi tried to ignore it, his body changed. With the gradual return of his strength, his size began to increase. His horns lengthened and branched, his whiskers grew longer and longer, and his snout extended. One morning, he awoke to an itching in his spine, and Maomao had picked him up with a fascinated gleam in her eyes.

“I didn’t know reptiles could grow hair.” She’d muttered, running a finger down the baby fluff poking out from his scales like grass. Jinshi, meanwhile, avoided her probing gaze entirely and instead shivered at the touch, arching into it like a pleased cat.

This morning, that same itch had appeared on both sides of his chest, just above his belly. When he studied the areas, he found what looked like a pair of stuck-up scales, shaped like a leaf or flower bud. And as the sun rose, he found similar itchy scales sprouting near the base of his tail. His dragon was recovering fast.

I really should tell Maomao. He thought, watching her from his crate while she bustled about, getting ready for work. She’d already started leaving the lid off. How kind of her. The more I put this off, the more she’ll hate me. If she knew who she was messing with all this time…

Maomao was endlessly brilliant, though. She must have noticed his changes by now. Even if his apothecary tended to play the ignorant servant from time to time, she had no reason to, not in her own home. He also strongly suspected Luomen had an inkling of his true identity, but the old apothecary showed no sign of being in the know. Reading Maomao was like child’s play compared to him.

The day passed without any tests, to his surprise. And more concerningly, it passed without Maomao’s return, even when the sky began to darken and distant thunder rumbled through their tiny shack. Jinshi tried his best to stay awake, at least to ensure she came home safe and sound. But rain always made him drowsy. So by the time gentle pitter-patters began to echo across the roof, rolling roars billowing from the night-dark cloud cover, he was fighting a losing battle against his own body.

A sudden crash shoved him from his state of limbo. His head shot up, his upper half practically throwing itself out of his crate. When his eyes adjusted, he was greeted with a very sodden Maomao shouldering open her door, an unusually haggard look marring her intelligent face. 

“The imperial guard is doing sweeps today and tomorrow.” She told her father, who hadn’t looked up from his yagen. Jinshi respectfully slung his tail over his eyes when Maomao began to disrobe, flinging the soaked garments to the floor as she hurried across the room. “They’re looking for someone, but wouldn’t say who or why. Not even Gaoshun could tell me anything.”

Luomen hummed, pausing in his grinding to gently brush the pulverized herbs into a cloth pouch. Jinshi perked up at the sound of the aide’s name, tail slipping, but kept his face turned away.

“They wouldn’t tell me a thing, but they still wasted my entire day asking me the strangest questions. They’re going to be moving door-to-door at some point once the rain lets up.” Maomao continued, unbothered. Clothes rustled as she hastily tugged on a dry set, and when they stopped long enough to sound safe, Jinshi dared a peek. He found her pacing back and forth like an agitated lion, roughly toweling off hair. She had a dedicated furrow in her brow and stern set to her jaw, a look she only got when her mind was working overtime.

Maomao stopped in front of his crate, one hand holding the towel to her head while the other rested on her chin. She stared down at him, her eyes almost glowing in the dim light. Jinshi curled into himself, squirming like a pinned insect. Her stare seemed to peel away every layer he’d built up, looking straight past his scaly guise and into the eyes of the hopeless man hidden within. 

“The guards were checking for people with recent injuries. They’re looking for a man in purple. They’re also looking for any unusual animals that might have been spotted nearby.” She said, lowering into a crouch to look him in the eye. Even with his recent growth spurts, as he was now, she still towered over him like a giant. “Whoever this man is, he must be in rough shape. They’re certainly pulling out all the stops trying to find him. Something tells me he’s important.”

She tilted her head. Her next words were quiet, just barely a mutter. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard from Master Jinshi, hasn’t it?” 

Here and now, Maomao was every inch the predator and he the prey. He trusted her, he trusted her so much, cared for her so deeply and intensely he feared it would kill him one day. Those weeks during her kidnapping, they were some of the most difficult of his life. He hesitated to call his attachment love, but it was the closest word he knew to this strange affliction that stole his breath every time she looked his way. She was the most perfect, frustrating, and beautifully unique woman he’d ever met. He respected her, he admired her, he adored her. 

But now? Now, he feared her.

He didn’t fear for his life. He didn’t fear having his dragon exposed. What he feared most, looking into those cold, calculating eyes, was betraying the fragile trust she’d extended to him all those weeks ago, when they returned, battered and exhausted, from that damned fortress.

He should have let her know days ago. He should have found some way to tell her. 

But no. He had to be greedy. Greedy, selfish, and weak.

If she knew, she would be far more than just angry. Not even claiming weakness from attempted assassination and grievous injuries would move her. As appealing as being regarded with disgust was, he didn’t want to drive her away. He’d had enough experience living without her during the Shi’s rebellion, and he was not eager to return to it. Ever.

The towel slipped off Maomao’s head and tumbled to the floor, breaking him from his spiral. When he blinked, he saw she had one hand on the edge of his crate, the other hovering above his head, poised to grab. Her face was completely unreadable, but her eyes shone, a cat’s eyes in the firelight.

“Maomao.” 

Both apothecary and dragon turned to see Luomen watching them, looking over his shoulder. He smiled, as gentle and unassuming as ever, but his eyes were open and aware.

“I have told you many times, not to speak on conjecture.” He said. His knowing gaze slid pointedly to Jinshi. “Someone may get hurt.”

Maomao withdrew. Her eyes never left him as she started to get ready for bed, not even when she changed. Jinshi had looked away again, but he found her watching when he turned back around.

Even as Luomen blew out their lanterns, plunging the shack into darkness, the rain a dull roar on all sides, he swore, she was still watching.

Try as he might, sleep never came to him.

Maomao waited until her father fell asleep before confronting her specimen. 

She understood his warning well– make a scene, and the wrong person might get the wrong idea. All of them would be compromised, if the situation was as serious as she suspected. She didn’t need to rely on conjecture to confirm her theory anyways, the serpent’s actions had all but told her everything. So she waited, head buried under the blanket, eyes locked on the wanted creature sitting just a few steps away. Once her father’s breathing evened out and the temperature began to drop, she wrapped her blanket around her shoulders, lit a candle, and kneeled in front of the crate.

”I’m very upset, Master Jinshi.” Were the first words to leave her lips, breaking the silence. 

Jinshi ducked his head, avoiding her watchful eyes. His brilliant scales glinted like jewels in the flickering candlelight. At the very least, he had enough sense to be apologetic, even if he couldn’t speak. Instead, he cowered. A far cry from the man who regularly barged into her shop and spent months inserting himself into almost every aspect of her life.

Maomao studied the dragon before her. It was certainly the most unusual of Jinshi’s masks, but she greatly preferred it to the ‘heavenly nymph’ he tended to default to when things went awry. Perhaps she should be more shocked, learning that not only were the rumored imperial dragons real, but that she’d been working under one for the better part of a year. Perhaps she should be prostrating before him, begging forgiveness for using such a legendary beast to satiate her curiosity. A small part of her wanted to fling him out into the rain, to run away from all the trouble this secret would surely get her into. But right now, looking down at the tiny thing while he refused to meet her gaze, eyes roaming over long coils where there had once been bloodied cuts and broken bones…

“I should clarify, sir. I am not upset with you.” She whispered into the darkness. The dragon perked up when she spoke, dark eyes watching her intently, fearfully.

“I meant what I said before. No matter what, you will always be Master Jinshi to me. For better and for worse.”

It was the truth. She felt exasperated, maybe, and very tired, but not mad. A number of factors had brought him here against his will, and the more she recalled, the more her anger grew– not at him, but herself. Annoyance, that she didn’t put two and two together sooner (a mythically beautiful creature, appearing around the same time her correspondence with Jinshi dried up, covered in wounds?). Guilt, for her treatment of him in such a vulnerable state (what must he think of her now?), and dread, for laying her hands on a member of the royal family in such a barbaric fashion (if anyone learned of this, her head would roll faster than she could blink). And most of all, disappointment with herself, for deliberately going against her father’s instructions and acting without sufficient cause (he would surely scold her for lacking such obvious ethics).

The rain pounded relentlessly against the roof. It was accompanied by a steady drip-drip-drip, where water slipped through a crack in the rafters and dropped into a bucket. The wind whistled as it blew between the houses, making the walls rattle and groan.

It was a long, long moment before Jinshi gave any sign of understanding what she’d said. Slowly, so slowly, like dripping molasses, he lifted himself up, resting his upper body on the lip of the crate. Even locked up in a slapdash shack, nestled deep in the pleasure district’s poorest neighborhood, half-curled in a dirty crate hastily nailed together with scavenged wood, he looked impossibly regal. His neck curved like a swan’s, and his eyes sparkled, obsidian irises catching the reflection of the dancing candleflame. His mouth opened, a small sound escaping his throat, before he seemed to remember his lost voice and closed it again with a frustrated snap.

Maomao tried not to stare at his teeth, the very same she’d forced into her arm barely half a week ago. The same teeth she’d felt latch onto her shoulder, on his first visit to her shop. She wondered what sort of thoughts were running through his mind during that first experiment. Something confusing and inappropriate, no doubt. The more exposure she had to him, the more puzzled she became at his behavior. Surely, he had better things to do…

But that was neither here nor there. More importantly, “I would like to apologize, Master Jinshi, for how I’ve treated you these past few days. It was most unbecoming of me, and very unethical.” 

She told him in an even voice, betraying no emotion. She set the candle on the floor and joined her sleeves, bending her waist into as low a bow she could muster while sitting. “I am deeply ashamed of my behavior, and if there is anything I can do to assist in your recovery, please, allow this lowly one to rectify her mistakes. I will accept any punishment as you see fit.”

It wasn’t quite begging for forgiveness, but he was no doubt very cross with her. At the very least he deserved a proper apology. He wasn’t the type of man to lay a hand on his subordinates, so she could probably escape this with her life intact, but handling the Moon Prince like a common garden snake could not go unpunished. She would accept her fate with dignity. 

Her bow was met with a soft, low whine. When Maomao dared to lift her head a fraction, she found him sitting in front of the crate, his head raised as high as possible to look her in the eye. He definitely had gotten bigger.

If he were one of those spitting cobras she’d read about, she would surely be blinded by now. He probably wouldn’t blind her with poison even if he was, even if she really, really wanted to know what it felt like. Even if going blind would only be a hindrance in her line of work. It had to be an interesting experience. But unfortunately for her, he wasn’t a spitting cobra, and by now she doubted he was venomous.

Jinshi narrowed his eyes at her, regarding her skeptically. A short growl rumbled in his throat. Maomao realized she was smiling. She quickly wiped the grin from her face and refocused on him.

“Yes, sir?” She asked.  

Jinshi hesitated, whiskers twitching as he thought, before bending his elegant neck and nosing at her clasped sleeves. Confused, Maomao parted them. Gently, he closed his mouth around the side of her hand, teeth barely pressing into her skin. He tugged, and she allowed her hand to be moved, until her arm was at a 45-degree angle with the floor. Then he let go and slowly twisted his body around it, climbing up to her shoulder like she was a tree branch.

“Is this my punishment, sir?” She deadpanned, watching him with a flat look. 

He huffed and rolled his eyes, but curled himself over her shoulders like a scarf, tucking his snout over the junction between her neck and shoulder with a satisfied exhale. His whiskers tickled like loose twine dragged over her skin, and his belly brushed over her throat, but never tightened. More surprisingly, his scaly body felt soft and smooth to the touch, not a single scale catching as he shifted.

Even after everything, he was still the same Jinshi. The same mystifying, childish, and above all clingy Master Jinshi. Maomao would laugh at the absurdity of his actions if her father wasn’t fast asleep behind her. A treasonous thought occurred, the realization that if her “punishment” for all but torturing the Moon Prince amounted to no more than a glorified hug, then he really must be more unwell than she thought. He would make a fascinating case study.

”Is there a reason you haven’t notified the guard, sir?” She asked him, tilting her head when one of his horns poked her cheek.

Jinshi responded by going tense, his coils stiffening. He shook his head, burrowing his snout into her collarbone, and huffed again, frustrated at his lack of voice. So Maomao mentally catalogued his response, alongside the rest of the information rattling about in her brain, and she got to work.

She had spoken to Gaoshun, but while he sat her down and prepared tea, he had ordered his accompanying men out of the room. And when he began asking questions between inquiries after her health, he was frustratingly vague as to what he was after. She initially thought it was because he lacked real information. Some of Master Jinshi’s tasks were unsolved or abandoned precisely because of the lack of evidence. And, regrettably, Maomao was distracted by the specimen awaiting her back home.

But what if Gaoshun had held his tongue not because the investigation was incomplete, but because of a security concern?

Her mind went back to that one-off rumor from one of the brothels– that a noble had been attacked at the rear palace. The palace was kept locked tight for good reason, so outsiders would have a hard time getting in without being thoroughly inspected. There was no shortage of danger in the rear palace, but much of the corruption had been rooted out after Loulan’s escape, so most of, if not all, of said danger came from rival consorts. A male noble or eunuch would not be the first target of a woman seeking political gain.

The rear palace should have been safe, especially with the increase in security following the Moon Prince’s re-emergence. Jinshi was still working there, as there were many loose ends that needed tying before he could hand the position to someone else. Getting past the walls and close to the Imperial Brother would have been no easy feat.

Unless, She thought. The danger came not from outside, but from within.

The extermination of the Shi clan was still ongoing. The Forbidden Army had taken Lady Shenmei’s fortress, but the clan numbered in the hundreds, thousands if one included spouses, distant relatives, and associates. Their act of rebellion meant punishment would be dealt to every single soul they came across. It would make sense if some Shi had fled before the invasion or gone into hiding to escape their fate. Maomao in particular knew of a select few survivors doing just that.

What if, when those hypothetical Shi managed to escape the army’s notice, they sought retaliation against the man who had ordered their deaths? And what if those malicious actors could be found laying low within that man’s own ranks?

Jinshi whined. Maomao got the message. “You have my discretion.”

She would stop here for now. This was a dangerous path, but so long as she kept her head down and her mouth shut, her “guest” should be safe under her roof. Gaoshun had promised to return with more information, she could notify him of his missing master then. But until his visit, she had to keep Jinshi out of sight and firmly on the path to recovery, and that included away from prying eyes. 

The imperial guard would be conducting sweeps tomorrow. She would have to find a way to speak with him before then and work out a strategy. If they were unlucky enough to encounter one of his attackers, playing him off as an odd snake wouldn’t work. 

But, She thought, glancing down at the dragon halfway to snoozing around her shoulders. He should get some proper rest first.

The health and wellness of her patients took priority. Although…

“I do have to go to sleep tonight, Master Jinshi. This is very indecent.” She pointed out in a whisper, getting to her feet. Jinshi snorted, unwilling to budge, looking for all the world like he was ready to fall asleep. Maomao raised a hand to pull at the coils hanging over her chest like a necklace. “Sir, you’re going to get crushed. I’m not going to let the Imperial Brother get hurt because of his own stubbornness. You’ve been through enough already.”

She knelt on top of her bed, prying his loose hold off her and holding out her arm with a pointed look. The dragon responded with a sound suspiciously close to a groan, but begrudgingly uncurled his body, only to wrap around her arm instead. He twisted and climbed, adjusting his position until his head was near her shoulder. He squinted up at her, a smile in his eyes, chin resting on her shoulder. The tip of his pointed tongue poked out from his scaly lips, teasing.

Maomao, struck with deja vu and thoroughly unimpressed, frowned at him. But she allowed it nonetheless. It was only fair.

“This isn’t going to be a pattern, sir.” She grumbled, settling into her bed and pulling the blanket over them. Jinshi only replied with a happy sigh, his breath tickling her neck. 

The rain had slowed into a gentle shower, the wind quieting. His weight was warm against her side. Somehow, it felt comforting, rather than overbearing like she expected. She found she didn’t mind the pressure. 

In almost no time at all, her breaths evened. The sounds of the storm faded, and with a dragon’s soft snores in her ear, exhaustion quietly pulled her under.

Chapter Text

Maomao awoke to a knock on the door and a smooth weight wrapped around her left arm. She blinked, once, twice, then winced when sunlight struck her directly in the eyes. Eugh.

She turned her head, lifting a hand to block it, and found her father’s bedroll empty. Birdsong filtered through the thin walls, and through the cracked shutters, long sunbeams cast warm strips over the dusty floor.

Just how late did I sleep in?

The knock sounded again. Maomao groaned, annoyed, and pushed herself upright. The rain was gone, but in its wake it left hot, humid air that clung to her skin, sticky and uncomfortable. Running a hand through her hair, she grimaced at the knots and tangles, all coated in grease. She could really use a proper bath.

Lifting her arms, she stretched, only to feel something slide against her skin. Maomao blinked again, then looked down, and was met with the sight of a shimmery purple band wrapped over her robes.

Oh. Right. 

Maomao watched him gradually lose his fight against gravity, loose coils pooling at the bend of her elbow. The motion brought with it a slight prick, the drag of dull claws through her sleeves. Evidently, his legs had returned to him overnight, and all four clung to her like a baby squirrel to his mother. 

Four claws on each foot. Birdlike, but with pads on the palms. She noted. That about confirms it. All he’s missing is a flaming pearl.

The claws weren’t particularly sharp, but she got the impression that they would grow longer and more hooked as Jinshi recovered. He was relatively small now, but his color and sheen were nothing short of gorgeous, a rich plum that practically sparkled in the morning light. Through the haze of sleep, she wondered what His Majesty’s dragon looked like, if the Imperial Brother’s looks were able to translate so well between forms. Maybe the Emperor kept his magnificent beard. 

Even while sleeping, Jinshi had an air of celestial elegance about him. No doubt, were he of larger size, he could strike awe and admiration into the hearts of all before him. He could probably still do so even now. 

But at the present, there were no crowds of adoring subjects or imperial courts to dazzle. There was just Maomao, in her rumpled sleep clothes that were always too big for her skinny body. Just Maomao, with her frowning sweat-smudged face, feeling more irked than anything, as this idiot prince had somehow ruined her sleep schedule with his presence alone. For a heavenly beast of legend, he sure liked to make a fool of himself.

“Master Jinshi.” She said flatly, rapping on the space between his horns with a knuckle. It made an odd sound she didn’t expect, like knocking on wood. She wondered how dense his bones were in this state.

The dragon squeezed his eyes tighter and wrinkled his snout, making a strange chuffing sound from deep within his throat. But he didn’t move. So Maomao knocked again, a little harder. This time he shied away from her touch, clearly trying to stay asleep. He drew his head closer to his body like a turtle, lifting his chin and blinking at her with hazy eyes, before grumbling irritably and bending to press his forehead to her bicep. His claws clutched at her tighter, bunching up her sleeve.

He grumbled something unintelligible. Maomao got the impression that this was probably dragon-speak for “Five more minutes.”

She felt her frown deepen. What a childish move. Would this bothersome man ever grow up?

The knock at the door sounded a third time, impatient. Maomao clicked her tongue and stood up. She walked slowly, holding her arm far away from her body like she was carrying a bag of garbage. She couldn’t have him kicking up a fuss in front of another person.

When the person knocked again, she counted the seconds before carefully leaning forward to peek through a crack in the frame. 

Instead of a neighbor, a customer, or any other kind of friendly face, Maomao was met with a broad armored chest.

Shit.

The next knock made the door shake. Maomao backed away as quietly as she could.

This was far too soon. They barely had any time to wake up, much less regroup and plan. Whoever was on the other side of that door, they clearly hoped to catch them off-guard. Maomao didn’t even have Luomen to help. She had slept in so late, he was already up and out working the fields. I keep telling him to hire someone for that!

Maomao slapped her cheeks. This was no time to play the spooked rabbit. Slowly, she walked backwards to her bedroll. The soldier pounded on the door, loud and impatient, with a shout of “Open up!”. 

Swiftly she shucked Jinshi off her arm, ignoring his squawk of protest and dumping him unceremoniously onto the sheets, before scrambling to her wardrobe. She heard more shouting (“We know you’re home, open this door!”) while she frantically yanked on her usual green robes, smoothing out the wrinkles with one hand while the other grabbed her maroon skirt. When she was at the very least out of her sleep clothes and looking maybe presentable, she hurried back to her bedroll, where Jinshi had scrunched into himself like a caterpillar on her pillow, claws childishly thrown over his eyes.

“Master Jinshi!” She called in a hushed tone, dropping to her knees. The dragon immediately straightened at the urgency in her tone, blinking with wide panicked eyes. Said eyes then grew to the size of saucers when she opened her robe.

“If you don’t want to be found, sir, I suggest you get inside before they kick the door in.”

Jinshi looked at her like she’d suddenly grown a second head. His gaze jumped from the robe, to her face, to the robe again so quickly his head bobbed as if on a spring. Another pounding struck the door, so heavy it rattled the walls, the wood creaking– they had fully graduated from knocking politely to practically punching it through. Maomao clicked her tongue impatiently, her annoyance growing the longer her irritating guest hesitated.

“Best case scenario, they’re going to search my house for evidence of a human man, Master Jinshi. I’m certain they won’t search my body. This is the best option we have if we want to get out of this unscathed.” She hissed, seconds away from just grabbing him by the horns and forcing him in. “I don’t know when you’ve suddenly decided to become a prude, but now is not the time.”

That seemed to reach him, for the moment the door finally gave out and flew open with a bang, he had scrambled into her robes like there was fire at his heels. While she shot to her feet and whirled around to face the soldiers, she felt him wrap around her torso, tiny claws pricking at her skin through her underclothes. Maomao quickly joined her sleeves to hide his movements, feeling him stop just under her chest, squeezing like a constrictor. While it was the right idea, as it made him smaller and less noticeable under the loose fabric, it made breathing a little difficult. She’d have to pinch him when she had the chance.

Maomao wasn’t able to give her appearance a full once-over, so all she could do was shift to stand placidly by her bedroll and hope nothing stuck out. Three men stomped their way inside, two sporting swords on their hips while the other hauled a hefty war club in one hand. Maomao tried to keep her eyes off the club; it was the exact kind she’d once been intimately acquainted with back in the rear palace. The swelling and bruises, she recalled, took quite some time to heal. She couldn’t afford to lose consciousness here.

The first soldier, the one with the club, was a broad, ox-like man who watched her with a steely glint in his eyes. He came to stand behind her, as if to wall her in with his sheer bulk. The second man followed him to stand on her left, a shorter clean-shaven fellow with a thin scar over his jaw. The third soldier casually strode up to her and gave a curt, shallow bow in greeting. This man, with his prominent facial hair and bushy eyebrows, reminded Maomao of a wolf.

“Refusing the imperial guard during a search is a crime, little lady.” The wolf-man said mildly, as though commenting on the decor, and Maomao could feel her skin crawl at the address. He reminded her of Master Lihaku, in a twisted sort of way. “May I ask what took so long?”

He spoke remarkably politely for a soldier. Maomao’s voice was smooth and bored when she answered. “You caught me in my nightclothes, sir. Forgive me, I wanted to change before allowing you entry.”

The wolf-man considered her words, then nodded, his expression calm. A hand rested casually on the hilt of his sheathed blade. “I suppose that’s reasonable, though you could have notified us of that. And, forgive me, but I thought I heard you talking to someone. Is your father home?”

So, they know dad. How much do they know about me?

The soldier glanced around the room when she didn’t immediately reply, then made a gesture with his head to scar-man, who immediately set about ransacking the little shack like an overeager thief. Maomao kept her face impassive while he rummaged through her jars, carelessly allowing her dried herbs and precious medicines to fall out and spill all over the floor. She could feel the weight of the ox-man’s eyes on her, almost as heavily as a certain dragon’s coils around her chest.

“My father is out on a house call.” She lied, subtly nudging Jinshi with her elbow until he loosened. “He works in the pleasure district as an apothecary, and I’m his student. You heard me talking to myself, I was checking our inventory before going out to the fields.”

He seemed to accept that answer, as hasty and full of holes as it was, but something about his placid demeanor didn’t sit right. In fact, a lot of things didn’t sit right. From the soldier’s demeanor, to the ox-man’s attire and weapon, to the frenzied way scar-man dug through her shelves, as if he’d somehow find a Moon Prince in a laundry basket. Now that she thought about it, the ox-man wasn’t dressed as a common soldier at all– he was clad in the same armored guardsman uniform she only ever saw outside ritual buildings and imperial entourages. 

Either this fellow got a demotion and wasn’t given a new uniform in time, or he wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place. Neither option seemed promising.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw said scar-man pick up Jinshi’s crate. He turned it over, dumping out a few mouse bones, scraps of fabric, and the thin blanket she’d loaned her guest, then looked to the wolf-man.

“A personal project?” The soldier asked, eyeing the crate with interest.

“Yes, sir. I catch animals to test medicines.”

“What sorts of animals?”

Scar-man dropped the crate, apparently no longer interested, and was now banging his way through their barebones kitchen, letting his filthy hands roam all over the countertop while he pawed around their food storage. A bowl of half-finished salve was pushed to the ground, spilling it all over the sitting mats, and a string of drying mugwort was carelessly tugged from its hook. Maomao’s eyebrow twitched.

“Mice, mostly. Rats and squirrels if I can. Sometimes frogs.” She replied slowly, her hands clenching behind her sleeves. A mortar of ground valerian was knocked over by a stray elbow, the pestle chipping a notch into the wooden flooring as it fell. Jinshi flinched. She pressed her arms closer to her body.

Wolf-man hummed. “What about snakes?”

“I hate snakes, sir.”

Another crash. He was pulling out all her clothes now. A container of face powder, gifted to her from Meimei and completely unused, was unceremoniously tossed to the side and dumped out onto the table, coating the entire surface white. Her eyebrow twitched again.

“May I ask what you’re searching for, sir?” She said, hoping the strain in her voice wasn’t audible. Wolf-man’s finger tapped quietly on his sheath. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say I’m being robbed right now.”

The wolf-man laughed, but there was a tense edge to it. “Don’t worry, little lady, we’re just looking for evidence. A wanted fugitive was spotted in this area and we think he might be hiding out in one of these shacks. Who knows, he could have stopped by in the middle of the night.”

He smiled at her. “If there’s nothing wrong, we’ll be out of your hair soon. You don’t mind if we’re thorough, yes?”

Maomao sucked in a breath when the scar-man opened a cabinet and found her alcohol stash. A slimy grin overtook his face as he pulled out the one bottle of wine she’d been saving for last. It was a generous gift from Jinshi, one of many, as thanks for solving an accidental poisoning case. An excellent vintage, clearly far too expensive for someone of her station, but she could never refuse a free drink.

As if sensing her discomfort, Jinshi’s coils tensed under her robes. She felt him tap one of his claws against her right ribcage, a reminder: Stay calm. 

As subtly as she could, Maomao inhaled, held it in, then let it out slowly. Calm down. Calm down. Scar-man turned the bottle over in his hands. He uncorked it, swirling the contents, then leaned in to take a sniff. Maomao tried not to stare.

Shit. He better not know his wines.

A bead of sweat trickled down her neck. If he did, that would be troublesome. Maomao’s mind raced for a single explanation as to why she, a poor apothecary living in the pleasure district, had a bottle of wine that cost more than every single thing she owned, combined and doubled.

“Hey, this is–“ Scar-man started to say, but Maomao immediately cut him off with a blurted, “Would you like to keep it, sir?”

Wolf-man blinked at her, visibly taken aback. Scar-man turned to stare at her. She felt Jinshi inhale sharply, talons fisting in her underrobe. She pressed her arms in tighter, feeling the subtle bump of his body through her clothes.

Maomao continued, her tone polite. “Apologies for my outburst, sir. Would you like to keep that wine? It was a gift from one of my patients, but I don’t enjoy alcohol."

Her heart screamed in despair at the words coming out of her mouth, but there was little else she could do. She could probably weasel a new bottle from Jinshi anyways, if they survived this. 

He definitely owes me. She thought angrily, her fingers twitching with the urge to strangle him for getting her involved in this mess. The things he makes me deal with sometimes…

“A gift? From who?” Wolf-man asked.

“A traveling nobleman. He stopped by a few days ago to treat his indigestion.”

This time scar-man piped up. “What was his name?”

“Master Kousen, sir.” She lied. 

All three soldiers reacted to the moniker, exactly as planned. The ox-man crowded closer towards her, almost pressing against her back, while the wolf-man stared her down with uncomfortable interest. The scar-man stood to his full height, hand on his sword, frantically looking between her and his superior. She was fairly certain Jinshi had stopped breathing.

“Kousen, you say?” Wolf-man growled, leaning in, all decorum forgotten. She could smell his breath at this distance, and it was absolutely foul. “What did he look like? Did he say where he was going?”

Maomao’s face was a stone wall. ”He looked very sick, sir. I wanted him to stay longer, but he insisted he leave soon, as he had to head south, out of the capital. He was quite the talker, sir, with a few attendants. He had much to say about himself…”

She let her tone soften and her eyes flick to the floor, feigning the slightest hint of nervousness. “He was very handsome, and had long, beautiful hair. I didn’t know what to make of it, someone like that visiting me and my father. We gave him our very best care, sir, and in exchange, he gifted us that wine on top of the silver.”

The wolf-man leaned back. He looked to the soldier behind her and nodded, before making a swift gesture with his hand to scar-man. Both men marched out her door (taking the wine with them, the thieves) and called out to someone outside. She heard horse’s hooves. Wolf-man gave her a broad, toothy smile.

“You have our thanks, little lady.” He said, patting her on the head. Maomao resisted the urge to gag, a shiver crawling up her spine.

She didn’t feel Jinshi start to breathe again until the soldiers were long gone, leaving the two of them alone in a thoroughly trashed shack. Powders covered the countertops, crushed herbs and spilled salves littered the floor, and black shoeprints trampled over by the fireplace, where scar-man had stumbled into the soot. Almost every jar, cabinet, and box lay wide open, their contents disrupted. Not to mention the shelves, they were in complete disarray.

Maomao sighed, her shoulders drooping. She could already feel weariness settling in her bones. There was no way she could clean everything up before her father came home.

At least the door is salvageable. 

Jinshi shifted and poked his head out from the front of her robes. He twisted to look up at her, looking more than a little rattled. Maomao flicked his forehead. 

“You should try healing faster, sir.” And stop getting me into trouble.

“Oi. Don’t touch that.” 

Jinshi squeaked as a hand suddenly scruffed him from behind, easily lifting him into the air. He twisted his head to see a very annoyed Maomao, glowering down at him as if he were a greasy rat found rummaging through the grain shed. He shivered, his lips already pulling back into a sheepish smile. Isn’t that a sight for sore eyes!

Maomao only huffed, hauling him away from the shelf and dropping him unceremoniously onto a sitting mat. “In the future, sir, please don’t dig through my things. You’re making a mess.”

Rolling onto his side with a pout, Jinshi watched her return to the shelves and begin putting away all the jars he’d so painstakingly organized. He thought he was doing a decent job, but Maomao, ever the perfectionist, simply undid everything and refused to let him lift a single claw. Granted, there wasn’t much he could do at his size, but he still wanted to help. But alas, he once again was pushed to the side while an incredibly intelligent and gifted woman took over.

His dragon was nothing but a nuisance at this point. No voice, no presence, too small to be of use, always having to hide, and always having to glue himself to a heat source to keep his energy up. What he needed was to be human again. Then he could actually be useful and start pulling his weight.

Resolute and frustrated, Jinshi sat up as close to a standing position as his anatomy would allow and squeezed his eyes shut, focusing all of his energy into one single task.

Human. I need to be human. Human, human, human. I must fall from the heavens and return to earth. He thought to himself, repeating the words like a mantra. He tried to imagine his talons widening into hands, his claws dulling into nails, his snout shrinking and his shoulders broadening. It was mostly mental, the change between skins, but because he so rarely called upon this particular power, he didn’t fully remember the proper process. I must be human. I must fall. Human, human, human, come on, work with me you stupid dragon–

“Sir?” 

Jinshi cracked open an eye. Maomao was fixing him with a peculiar look. “If you’re going to defecate, Master Jinshi, please do so outside.”

He looked down at himself. His whiskers curled in disappointment and he slumped to the floor with a quiet thump, growling in frustration. Still scaly.

Maomao looked hesitant to leave him be, but eventually turned back to her cleaning. Wooden dishware clattered as she returned them to their rightful places. With nothing to do, Jinshi settled for making himself comfortable on her bedroll, kneading his dull claws into her blanket. He felt frustrated and bored, but also a little guilty. First he dragged her into this mess of an assassination plot, then he was forced to hide and cower while she weathered the brunt of the danger, and now he couldn't even help her clean up in the aftermath. He’d even taken away the joy of experimentation by not being venomous. All because his stupid dragon wouldn’t let him go.

At the very least, the conduct of those soldiers revealed quite a few things to them. Namely that they weren’t particularly smart, but dedicated enough to make up for it. The encounter did leave him a little annoyed (those were the men who almost killed him?), but it was strangely humbling. Jinshi wasn’t one to flaunt his status, and aside from his looks and his dragon, he had nothing special in the ways of talent, strength, or intelligence. Yet he nonetheless felt like he’d been knocked down a few pegs. Even as an imperial, as Li’s most desired bachelor, he was still mortal. 

It was a realization that was equal parts familiar and refreshing. If it weren’t for Maomao and her quick thinking, he’d probably be skinned and skewered like a chicken by now.

Jinshi’s mouth began to water. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a chicken skewer…

Maybe he could somehow convince her to pick something up in town. The last thing he’d eaten was a skinny mouse she dropped into his crate, before the dreaded milking incident. Jinshi could pay her for them later. The amount of things he now owed her was steadily increasing, but he found he didn’t mind in the slightest. Only the best for his apothecary, after all. What good was being a supposed descendant of heaven if he couldn’t help those who deserved it? 

There wasn’t a soul in Li more deserving of praise and luxury than Maomao. Jinshi gave a long sigh, watching her idly from his place on the floor. Even while doing something as mundane as wiping down tabletops, she still looked breathtaking. 

The light from the open window caught on her hair just right, making it shimmer like raven’s feathers, utterly captivating. Of the many things he still didn’t understand about her, one was her insistence that she lacked any and all beauty. Maomao often commented on her skinniness and frailty, her “ugly“ freckles and weak stamina, once going so far as to compare herself to meatless chicken bones. But, as probably the only human being who got to experience the sensation of being held down like livestock by said chicken bones, Jinshi would beg to differ. 

He shivered, the phantom sensation of her fingers around his throat tingling under his scales. Maomao was not only beautiful, but she could be deceptively strong when she was focused. Maybe not enough to take down a soldier twice her size, but enough to make his mind wander to… places. Very interesting places that manifested in his dreams more than once. Dreams that once had him startling awake with tightness in his chest, a flush in his cheeks, and a spot of panic in his mind, when he felt her breathing in his ear and briefly wondered if it had all been real.

Maomao had moved on to wiping up the spilt face powder. Jinshi’s eyes lingered on her hands, where they wrung out a cloth above the water barrel. The water glistened against her skin, slightly tanned and marked with tiny scars from her past experiments. Such small hands, lined with callouses, yet lovely all the same. What would they look like, he wondered, wrapped around–

Jinshi shot to his feet and frantically shook the thoughts from his brain like a wet dog, blinking rapidly. Now was not the time. 

With Maomao’s back turned, he resolutely averted his gaze and let his eyes roam around the room, anywhere but her. Maybe there was something floor-level he could do. He eyed the crooked door, the open jars, and a pile of clean laundry thrown haphazard across the floor, before stopping on the sooty footprints by the fireplace. Those seemed pressing. 

Jinshi glanced around for a broom, but only found a human-sized one leaning against a corner, far too big for his tiny claws. Then his eyes caught on a shimmer of light, and he looked down to see a thick, glossy tuft of fur at the end of his tail. Evidently his mane had grown in overnight.

Alright, that could work.

Jinshi smirked to himself as he trotted over to the mess. Suiren would never let him do this, and the ladies of the court would be positively aghast. 

Sweeping was more difficult than he expected, especially using his own tail instead of a real broom, but it worked out. His mane quickly turned from rich purple to a filthy black, and he couldn’t help sneezing every time he got too eager and kicked up a cloud, but he learned quickly. The floor already looked much better.

His underscales were starting to feel raw with how many times he dragged them over the ground. He found that smacking his tail against the stone interior of the fireplace knocked it mostly clean, but it made him sneeze even more, and keeping his talons clean was a battle in of itself. Every time he wiped away a man-sized footprint, he’d end up leaving behind three more dragon-sized ones. But most of the soot ended up back in the fireplace instead of scattered over the wooden floor, so he counted it as progress.

“Sir, what on earth are you doing?” Maomao’s voice came from above.

Jinshi, thoroughly coated in fine black powder from snout to tail, looked up. Maomao, armed with a broom, gazed down at him with bewildered confusion.

Jinshi looked from the fireplace, then to his filthy tail, then back to Maomao. Is it not obvious?

“How did you… hm.” 

The apothecary turned her gaze to the floor around the fireplace. Her eyes hardened as she appraised his work, and her frown never left her face. Jinshi sneezed again, oddly tense. He felt like he was back home with his private tutor, waiting anxiously for the results of his calligraphy exam. 

Finally, after ages of waiting, she said, “Not bad, but not good either.”

Jinshi glowed. A passing grade!

Maomao continued, wrinkling her nose like she had stepped in a cow pat. “But now you’re all filthy. Please, sir, leave all the cleaning to me next time. You’ve made yourself dirtier than the floor. Stay there until I’m finished, and I’ll draw you a bath.”

Jinshi sighed, defeated, but still still smiled at the thought of a nice bath. Realistically, it probably just meant she’d just drop him in a basin of cold water, but a man could dream. He shook his head, sneezed a third time, then coiled in place like a pile of rope. If he was banned from moving, he might as well get a nap out of it.

But as he drifted, willing the waves of sleep to take him under, a shiver raced over his spine, despite the warm afternoon air. Something was missing, but he couldn’t tell what.

The well water was borderline freezing, the basin was just a touch too small, and Maomao didn’t have enough soap to spare. Despite this, when she took his chin in hand to scrub away the smeared soot, Jinshi felt warm to the touch. 

His face was serene, as if sleeping, and he didn’t even flinch when she wiped the thin, threadbare towel over his closed eyes. His waterlogged mane hung like wet moss from body, making him look like a wet dog. His coils curled like a soggy noodle on the floor of the basin, all four legs floppy and lax, and his scales were a little cold to the touch. The word hypothermia came to mind, and Maomao worked just a little bit faster. 

Once he was clean, she wrapped the sleeping serpent in a dry, slightly thicker towel, and gently laid him out in her snake crate. Then she stoked the fireplace into a steady blaze, waited for the warmth to slowly fill out the corners of her shack, and headed outside to empty out the disgusting black bathwater. The air was quite pleasant, the morning humidity long gone, though a slight breeze coaxed shivers from her skin as she walked. Hopefully the coming night will be a temperate one. Right as she turned the basin over in the grass, however, she heard the gentle thok, thok, thok of a wooden cane.

“Did something happen, Maomao?” Her father asked, hobbling up to the crooked door with a basket of herbs on his hunched back. Behind him, the sky was slowly darkening into a rich, vivid orange.

“Nothing that hasn’t been dealt with, pops.” She replied. It was the truth, for now.

He hummed in mild acknowledgment. “Alright, then. Come in and help me sort these once you’re finished.”

Maomao gave the basin a few taps against the ground, shaking the last of the filth out. “Of course.”

After they had dinner and Luomen turned in for the night, Maomao roused Jinshi. He groggily watched her light a lantern and several candles, before setting down a thin stick-like instrument on her worktable with a quiet clack. She brandished an odd book-like object, with wooden borders and slats of a yellow substance inlaid in place of paper, opened it, and slid it towards him.

Sat neatly on the worktable beside her, Jinshi studied the tools with interest, then glanced up at her, questioning. Maomao had a determined look in her eyes, and she jabbed the stick towards him with emphasis.

“If you don’t mind, Master Jinshi, I’d like to clarify a few details.” She said, “You’ve obviously gotten me into something messy, so allow me to ask for more information. This is a wax tablet and stylus, it should be no different from using a brush.”

Jinshi wanted to bang his head against the table. Writing! Of course! Why the hell did he spend all this time lounging about, quiet as a mouse, when he could have communicated with the brush? Damn it all, this is why he needed Maomao in his life.

Sitting up and straightening his back, he took the stylus and curled his tail around his legs to keep it out of the way. He had heard of wax tablets before; they were sometimes used by scribes in military camps or traveling merchants, when wooden slips and paper supplies were low. They were a little old-fashioned, a western invention, but they still had their uses. Their reusability was especially convenient. The second he clasped the wooden handle, however, he came across his first problem.

Calligraphy brushes were made with human hands in mind. Jinshi, despite his extensive training in calligraphy, was currently not human. His talons were relatively large, close to the size of a human hand, but his arms were stubby and his fingers short. They were also rather bony, gnarled like bird’s feet, and missed the fifth finger his human self would have enjoyed. As he tried to clumsily maneuver the stylus into a proper hold, his hooked claws kept catching on the handle. Dragon talons, despite having the luxury of thumbs, were apparently nowhere near nimble enough to wield it with the mastery required.

Regardless, Jinshi did his best. He managed to keep the stylus straight by squeezing it tightly in both talons. He leaned his neck back to keep his long mane from dragging over the tablet, and with significant difficulty, made his very first attempt at writing the characters for his name.

It took him many, many minutes. Maomao watched intently the entire time, eyes trained on the tremor in his arms and the wobbling of the handle. When he finally stepped back, feeling a little winded from concentration, she pulled his work towards her to read.

“…Your handwriting leaves much to be desired, sir.” She said dryly, turning the tablet and squinting her eyes. 

Jinshi slumped. Dammit. Maomao gave it her best shot, but the characters were completely unreadable, the lines too unsteady and melding messily into each other. Some spots he pressed too hard, making ugly fat lines, while others were too light and broke apart mid-stroke. A child could have done better. He clicked his teeth in frustration, tugged the tablet out of her hands, and raised the stylus to try again.

The second time, he tried a simpler character, ‘door’. He had to clench his jaw in concentration, his grip on the handle so tight his fingers ached, but the result was much better. Maomao nodded, commenting, “Alright, I can read that one.”

She pulled out a small stick of charcoal and a wooden writing slip for herself, jotting down a few more characters. “Try these. Once you make some progress, I’ll start asking questions.”

Jinshi balked for a moment, staring at the charcoal. A questioning sound left his lips. Maomao blinked. 

“Oh, this?” She said casually, lifting it for him to see. “I can’t possibly ask the Moon Prince to use such an unbecoming tool, sir. You’ll get your hands dirty.”

Now it was his turn to level her a flat look. Maomao flapped a hand at him, brushing aside his annoyance like an errant fly. 

“It’s not just that, sir, the sticks are too small. It’s easier to use something too big over something too small. I don’t want to waste any of my good slips or paper. Go on, keep practicing.”

Jinshi rolled his eyes and huffed, letting out his protests with wordless growls, grumbles, and snorts. To think she had such little faith in his abilities… How rude. Regardless, he went back to his two-handed writing. 

Two full front-to-back slabs of wax later, his claw-writing was adequate enough to be legible. Maomao had picked out some simpler characters to practice with and they helped immensely. She hummed her approval when he was finally able to write his own name, as well as hers, Luomen’s, and the character for ‘dragon’. Jinshi felt rather proud of himself, a silly smile playing at his lips while he watched her heat the wax in the fireplace and wipe it smooth.

“Alright,” She began, returning the cooled tablets to him and holding her charcoal and blank slip at the ready. She was fidgeting a little where she sat, but her face was hardened in concentration. “Let’s start with this: How were you attacked, sir?”

Taking a deep breath, Jinshi straightened his stylus and began to write.

“POISON.”

Maomao sucked in a breath. In an instant, a flush had risen in her cheeks, and she scribbled down her notes with sparkling eyes. “What kind of poison?”

“DON’T KNOW.”

“Can you describe your symptoms?”

“DIZZY.” He thought for a moment. “DRY MOUTH. HURT EVERYWHERE. ARMS LEGS HEAVY. BURNING.”

Jinshi circled the characters for ‘burning’ twice for emphasis. Maomao watched with rapt attention, her charcoal scratching furiously like a burrowing rat. Her breathing had gotten rather heavy, the edges of a grin tugging at her lips. It seemed to take significant effort to remain composed, she was practically bursting at the seams with excitement.

He tried not to feel too alarmed, seeing her so overwhelmingly happy over the substance that nearly killed him. His heart felt conflicted, both singing at her infectious joy, that something he did made her this happy, and recoiling in terror, at the thought that she might try such a toxin on herself.

“Where did you feel burning?” She asked quickly. “Was it in your stomach? Your head?”

“ALL OVER.” He wrote. “MOSTLY STOMACH.”

Maomao hummed and stroked her chin. Her eyes darted between her notes and his account, clearly pondering his answers at a dizzying speed. “What else? Any other symptoms?”

“WEAKNESS. PARALYSIS. HEAD SLOW.”

“And what about your external wounds?”

“CHASED. FELL WHILE RAN.”

Maomao snorted. “Of course.”

Jinshi bristled with indignation, but before he could protest, she beat him to it with another question.

“When did you first start feeling symptoms?”

“LONG WAIT. AFTER DINNER.”

“What was served?” 

Jinshi wrote out the menu: Roast duck, rice with vegetables, baozi filled with chicken, and a simple soup. Nothing too elaborate. The baozi, Jinshi had ended up eating the whole plate, mostly because he hadn’t had chicken in a while and it reminded him of their outing, back when Maomao was under his employ. He had been unusually hungry then.

Maomao looked at him incredulously. “You ate the whole plate, sir? You didn’t leave any for His Majesty?”

“SHUT UP. HE DIDN’T COMPLAIN.”

“I suppose that’s better than your usual habits.”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. The nerve! “MOVE ON.”

“Whatever you say, sir.” She said placidly. “Was there anyone else you were with?”

“JUST EMPEROR AND GAOSHUN.”

“And your taster? Did something happen to them?”

“NO REACTION.”

“Hm. They don’t know how lucky they are…”

Jinshi poked her with the stylus and growled in warning. Maomao ignored him and picked up a new slip. “What about food you can’t eat? Part of those symptoms could come from a reaction of some kind.”

“CROW DIPPER?” He tried.

She raised an eyebrow at that. “Ban xia? It's not a food, but it’s a decent cough remedy. The root is toxic by itself, sure, but the symptoms don’t match yours…” 

“TOLD TO AVOID. SINCE YOUNG.”

“Interesting.” Maomao hummed. “There’s another plant related to it found in the east, sometimes called ‘green dragon’. I wonder if both have that effect… Did the emperor react to anything at all?”

“NOTHING.”

This continued for several hours, Maomao asking him questions and Jinshi doing his best to answer them. At some spots, he had to rap her forehead with the stylus whenever she got too excited over his answers. Sometimes she seemed to go into a trance, relishing in his descriptions of pain and suffering at the hands of the mystery poison, quietly giggling as her mind parsed through the information. A poke or two snapped her out of it, but it did little to keep him from being thoroughly disturbed. Jinshi adored every part of her, but it didn’t mean he had to approve of it.

They ran through two more wax slabs, but by the end of it, she was glowing with enthusiasm while Jinshi flexed his talons and tried to catch his breath. Maomao held out her notes like they were made of gold. Her hands and face were smudged with charcoal dust, but her eyes, they looked like glass globes filled with stars. Dancing and shimmering lights in a night-dark sky, sparkling in the lantern-light, utterly beautiful. It made his heart flip at the sight.

Her beauty was only a little marred by the fact that it took him describing a near-death experience to cause it.

“I have no idea what they poisoned you with, Master Jinshi.” Maomao declared. Her smile was so wide it almost hurt to look at. “When Master Gaoshun catches your assailants, may I speak with them? I’d like to know how they made this toxin and where they got it from, it must be rare.”

Jinshi must have made a face without realizing it, because she quickly collected herself and tacked on, “It would also help if I knew how to identify it, in case it’s used again. We could examine its compounds, so we know what to avoid for the future. I could even make a replica.”

Jinshi growled threateningly. Maomao raised her hands in defeat with a roll of her eyes. “Fine. I won’t ask.”

“WAKE LUOMEN? ASK HIM?” He wrote to change the topic. Maomao shook her head.

“Let him rest. We can ask in the morning, he needs all the sleep he can get.” Then, quietly, she added, “I don’t want him to get more involved than he already is.”

She produced a fresh slip. “We have the what, let’s start with the who. Do you have any potential suspects in mind, Master Jinshi?”

Jinshi thought hard. The meeting had been a private dinner with the Emperor, to discuss who would be replacing him as the manager of the rear palace. When he left, it was just him, Gaoshun, and four guards accompanying him to his villa– not unusual, given the ongoing uptick in security. The moment he collapsed, however, two of those guards turned and attacked the others, catching Gaoshun by surprise. While Jinshi was writhing on the ground, he remembered seeing a third and fourth man appear on the wall with drawn bows. 

As he fled, one of those archers almost shot him, while a traitor guard tried to pin him under his glove. He heard that man get struck. The rest was a blur of sound, motion, and pain.

He conveyed as much as he could to Maomao, his fangs grinding nervously. She watched the characters pile up with a crease in her brow and a frown that deepened the more she read.

“So, an inside job.” She said with a scowl. Jinshi nodded. “If we assume Master Gaoshun killed one, it’s safest to assume three are still at large.”

Her fingers went to her chin again. “But after a private dinner with the Emperor… were there guards at this dinner, sir?”

He shook his head. “TWO OUTSIDE DOOR.”

“Did you eat or drink anything after leaving?”

Jinshi shook his head. Maomao kept her eyes downcast, one arm folded while the other tapped at her cheek with a finger, deep in thought. Suddenly, her eyes lit up. “Was there incense burning?”

Jinshi nodded. It wasn’t his favorite blend, an oddly strong scent that made his nose itch the entire dinner, but the Emperor didn’t say anything, so he’d kept quiet. He ended up paying more attention to the food than His Majesty’s words, just to have some other sense to focus on. He’d been dismissed early as a result, once his brother realized they were getting nowhere. 

Maomao stood up and strode to one of her shelves, rummaging through the jars. She procured a handful of shriveled green leaves, then stopped to open a window before she returned to him. She stuck the leaf into a lit candle, watching it crackle and smoke. Then she held it up to his nose.

Jinshi, confused, took a deep sniff– then immediately recoiled with a violent sneeze, his snout filled with an itchy, burning sensation. 

He wheezed, dropping the stylus to paw at his nose. The second he lowered his head to reach, however, he was suddenly overcome with a wave of dizziness so strong, he almost stumbled right off the table. Maomao caught him easily, crushing the smoldering leaf in her hand and quickly tossing it aside. 

Carefully, she carried him to the window and held his face up to the fresh air. Jinshi snorted and coughed, shaking his head and blinking black spots out of his vision. He inhaled greedily through his mouth, the cool breeze already starting to stifle the burn and chase away the incessant itch. When he was able to lift his chin without his head swimming, he turned to see Maomao watching him with a contemplative look.

“I apologize, sir, I did not know it would be that strong.” She said, setting him back on the table. Once he regained his footing, she immediately went back to writing, her charcoal flying over the slip. “But that did confirm my hypothesis.”

Maomao pointed her charcoal at him. “You, Master Jinshi, have a strange weakness to ban xia. When burned, inhaling just a small amount of it irritated your nose and made you lightheaded.”

“You mentioned the incense made your nose itch.” She gestured to the crushed remains of the leaf. “This is purely conjecture, sir, but I believe if the dosage is adjusted just right, it can be made to affect one’s judgement without notice.”

Oh. Well, that would explain why his brother was so adamant he avoided the stuff. Jinshi had thought it would only be a problem if he ate it.

“Furthermore,” Maomao continued. “You said your taster did not react to anything while tasting the food. I haven’t heard any news regarding His Majesty. If we assume he is unharmed...”

Jinshi’s stomach twisted. Frantically, he shook the fog from his brain and picked up the stylus again. “BAOZI.”

Maomao nodded. “How very fortunate, sir, that your appetite chose to return that day. Otherwise we may have had a much bigger incident.”

Maomao left early the next morning for the Verdigris, complaining that her shop had gone unattended for too long. That’s what she told her father, but Jinshi knew she was actually going to meet with Gaoshun.

The dragon watched her go from his crate, pouting. She wouldn’t let him come with, claiming security and health concerns, so he was in a foul mood. He understood why, they needed more information before they could proceed, so to keep up appearances, she would go back to her usual routine while Jinshi laid low. But still, it didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. She didn’t even let him sleep with her last night! He had to take the stupid crate! And as a result, he only ended up with a dual-hour’s worth of rest, familiar but no less uncomfortable.

It’s not a cold night, She’d said, You can’t cling to me all the time, sir. Besides, it’s not proper. I’m still a lowly apothecary, people will talk. 

Jinshi snorted, his scales prickling with discomfort. Blegh, he’s had enough of propriety. She didn’t care when he hid under her robes or hung over her shoulders, how was this any different? Besides, what people would talk? Her father? He wasn’t the type to gossip at all. Since when did Maomao care about gossip anyways?

He withdrew his head and tucked his snout into his mane. His rational mind understood he was being unreasonable, this was far more important, but he still felt annoyed. The heat from the fireplace was nowhere close to enough. Maomao could say she ran cold all she liked, but he knew better. There wasn’t a warmer person in all of Li. Maybe if he pleaded enough, she’d let him have an arm later.

On the other side of the room, Luomen watched him sulk, a twinkle of amusement crossing his eyes, before returning to his grinding.

Maomao clicked her tongue. “Keep your back straight, sir.”

He stretched his neck as far as he could, his legs already beginning to shake with the effort. His dragon was not built for two-legged travel; he had to cling to the doorframe with all his might just to keep standing. Maomao leaned in, tantalizingly close, and scratched another notch into the wood, the chalk sprinkling dust over his right whisker. His nose twitched. Don’t you dare sneeze, Jinshi.

He breathed a sigh of relief when she pulled back, bringing her warmth with her. Maomao’s fingers went to her chin as she studied her work, smearing white dust over her clean skin. Jinshi twisted his head to look.

“I was right. You’ve grown.” She said, her eyes flicking between the chalk marks and his face. Then she reached out a clean hand and brushed her fingers over his cheek. “Huh. I was right about that, too.”

Jinshi, who had been contemplating how if he tried, he could probably stand eye-height with her chest, felt his heart just about stop. A strangled noise escaped his throat.

“Your scar, sir,” Maomao informed him, matter-of-fact as she traced a line over his scales. “It’s much more visible now.”

She pulled away and walked over to her worktable, before returning with a small bronze mirror. Jinshi let himself sag, taking it with shaky claws when she offered it to him. He blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to his own warped reflection, before leaning back. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen his own dragon up close before.

The face that stared back at him was long and shiny, with smooth fishlike scales, long curling whiskers, and a thick glossy mane that poured down his neck like a cascade of wisteria flowers. His horns were three-pronged, not yet branched, and his eyes were deep and dark like ink blots. As beautiful as expected, regal even, he looked like a proper dragon rather than an unusual snake, but that wasn’t what caught his eye. Jinshi angled his snout, and sure enough, there was a long, thin slash over his cheek. Rough around the edges, shattering the symmetry of his otherwise perfect visage.

He turned his head this way and that, admiring the scar. It clashed horribly with the graceful curve of his cheeks and tapered snout, breaking up the smooth, polished pattern of his scales. An ugly shadow that drew in the eye of the viewer. Loulan could have made it a tad longer, but he’ll take what he can get. Jinshi’s reflection broke out into a broad, toothy grin.

“I thought a poisoning would have humbled you somewhat.” Maomao drawled at his side, her unimpressed face joining his in the bronze. “But apparently I’m wrong.”

Jinshi barely heard her. If I broke a horn or tore a whisker, how would that translate?

Maomao took the mirror from him.

“Master Jinshi, please cut that out.” Maomao said firmly.

She looked up from her sorting and shot him a withering look, curling her lip in distaste. Ever since their encounter with those soldiers, the esteemed Moon Prince had taken to rolling around her bedroll when he got bored, tangling up her sheets and getting sparkly strands of purple hair all over the mat. He acted like a restless dog, apparently content to lose all sense of decorum now that he walked on all fours, and it irritated her to no end.

At her words, Jinshi lifted his head. He extracted himself from the sheets and met her eyes with a grumble, a clear frown on his scaly face. His vocal annoyance was suddenly matched by a growl from down south, after which he walked over to her worktable and sat down, waiting with his little arms crossed. Maomao took note of how his head reached past the lip of the table, now eye level with her ribs, even while sitting. Then she immediately realized why he was so restless: She had somehow neglected to feed him. 

Now Maomao felt bad. She’d gotten herself plenty of snacks while running her shop, and her sisters would always offer their own food during lunch, including meals to take home to her father. Jinshi so far had seemed content to eat with her and Luomen, they always gave him a portion at mealtimes, but that was only when they actually sat down together as a group. With Luomen’s bad habits, and her own experiments and tests, they often ended up eating at different times. Today, she’d taken lunch at her shop and given her father some buns the Madame had pushed on her, then went straight to sorting medicines. Jinshi didn’t know how to cook, much less in his current state, and had no clue where they kept their food. He was probably too polite to start rooting through their jars anyways.

Taking pity on the poor creature, Maomao got up and dug through her stores, procuring half a sausage and a small bowl’s worth of dried goji berries. She’d bought them for herself as an afternoon snack, and it really wasn’t fit for a prince, but it was better than nothing. Her guest took higher priority. She’d have to get ingredients for something more substantial the next time she went out. 

Jinshi immediately perked up when he saw her set the snacks on the center table, alongside a cup of water. He stood up on his hind legs and raised his stubby arms, claws clenching. She stared at him, confused. Did he want to eat on the floor?

Jinshi made the grasping gesture again. When Maomao picked up the bowl, he shook his head and stood a little taller. Hesitantly, she put the bowl back and leaned down, extending an arm. 

The dragon immediately clambered over her like a monkey, using her shoulder and head as stepping stones to jump on top of the table. Maomao was already sneering in annoyance, but she felt her face twist further in disgust when he wasted no time shoving his head into the water cup, drinking it dry in five seconds flat. When he began to attack the berries like a starved stray dog, her grimace only deepened.

“Can’t you act more professional, sir?” She deadpanned, a little appalled at his behavior. Did taking on the body of a dragon make him forget his manners? 

Jinshi blinked at her, lifting his head from the bowl. His cheeks puffed out like a squirrel’s, full of chewed fruit, and his whiskers dripped all over the table. Maomao swallowed the urge to snort, a smirk tugging at her lips. Suiren would surely flay him alive.

The dragon tilted his head, puppylike, before swallowing his mouthful in one gulp. She was briefly mesmerized by the sight of the lump crawling down his long throat (what must that feel like?), but her attention was immediately stolen when Jinshi suddenly stood up. He swayed a bit, sitting back on his hind legs, before stabilizing himself and straightening as tall as his body structure would allow. Then he clasped his front legs together before his chest, as if wearing robes, and began to wobble towards her across the table, walking as close as possible to how his human self normally would.

Maomao had to bite her tongue to keep from making a face. His lengthy proportions, combined with his comparatively stubby limbs and dragging tail, they all painted a strikingly comical figure. He had to bend his neck and spine in a strange fashion to keep from toppling over, forming a sort of fishhook-like shape. 

Jinshi stopped at the edge, tipped into a shaky bow, then tilted his face in an exaggerated fashion, the light from the window catching on his shimmery mane. He bared his teeth, a poor attempt at copying one of his usual sparkly smiles, his whiskers hanging like wet noodles from his snout. It was a horrendously pathetic display. 

To her utter shock, a bark of laughter suddenly punched out of her throat. Maomao sharply turned away when she felt another trying to crawl out after it, covering her mouth with both hands.

“I take it back, don’t do that.” She choked with no small amount of strain. Then she made the mistake of looking back at him, and an explosive, unladylike snort overtook her next words. There were dried berry bits wedged between his fangs. 

Jinshi’s smile went from silly to immensely pleased, almost mischievous as he watched Maomao collapse into a coughing fit, shoulders shaking. When she recovered enough to fix him with a glare, reeling from her temporary bout of insanity (was this some kind of dragon curse?), she found him back on all fours and picking at the sausage. A proper princely creature, using his claws in place of chopsticks to delicately slice off chunks without dirtying his talons. Acting like nothing ever happened.

“You’re incorrigible.” Maomao said flatly. Jinshi preened, as if that was somehow a compliment.

It struck her, then, the sheer absurdity of the situation. He was the Moon Prince, the Imperial Younger Brother, one of the highest people in the nation. He was a man blessed by dragons and gifted beauty so captivating it could topple empires. Yet there that man was, sitting on her table and tilting his head this way and that, trying to lick sausage juice off his whiskers. Eating out of the same bowl she’d been using since she was barely four years old. 

Maomao couldn’t tell what would be weirder, him acting like this as a full human or as a dragon the size of a hunting dog. There was an odd disconnect in her mind, one that made it difficult to view ‘Master Jinshi’ and the needy little creature she shared her home with as the same being. 

She pictured human Jinshi passed out in the corner of her shack, in place of a plum-colored serpent. She pictured human Jinshi wrapping himself around her arm like a creeper vine, human Jinshi bent backwards over her worktable while she pressed a cloth-covered jar to his canines. She pictured him woozy and delirious from blood loss while she pulled splinters from his flesh. She pictured him sinking his teeth into her arm while she took notes and sneaking into her bedroll to hide from the cold. She pictured human Jinshi letting her manhandle him by the neck for several days in a row.

Maomao slapped her cheeks, instantly vanishing the growing mortification and horror brewing within her gut. That’s enough speculation for now.

As if sensing her glare, Jinshi looked up from his food and flashed her another fanged smile, sans berry bits, completely unaffected by the ice in her gaze. He stretched out his long, long body to lean over and pick up the empty water cup, then held it out to her expectantly. Apparently he could weaponize puppy-dog eyes no matter what form he took.

What a weird life I’m living. Maomao thought, taking it from him to refill.

Two days passed without excitement, and Jinshi was thankful for it, since it meant more time spent in relative peace and quiet with Maomao. He yawned, idly drumming his claws on her shoulder while she explained how to prepare an antipyretic from mugwort. He had paid rapt attention at first, it was useful knowledge, and he should take the time to understand his apothecary's interests, but… 

She was just so warm, and her dry, monotone voice proved more effective than any lullaby. Despite her grumbling about bony shoulders and you’re getting heavy, sir, it really was quite comfortable. He was perfectly happy to act as her scarf while she worked, even if his new increase in size meant his tail had to hang down her back like a tassel. If her father didn’t mind, and she didn’t tell him to fuck off, then stay here he would.

Luomen had evidently gotten used to his presence, and only offered the occasional nod when he shuffled to and fro their little shack. Sometimes he asked after his condition, on the rare occasion he returned home before Maomao. And when the nights got cold and the apothecary didn’t feel like playing hearth, he always added a few extra logs to the brazier. According to Maomao, this was tantamount to a glowing letter of approval, so he’d gladly take it.

“Are you even listening, sir?” Maomao raised her voice, making Jinshi jump. He chirped out an affirmative, lifting his head and blinking the drowsiness from his eyes.

She didn’t seem to fully buy it, but went back to setting out the herbs to dry. He rested his head under her jaw, feeling the vibrations of her words buzzing through his cheek. She was saying something about how long the mugwort should be soaked, when to dry it, and how to mix it into teas… something about abdominal pain? He was losing focus again…

Maomao hrm’d in annoyance. “If you’re not going to pay attention, Master Jinshi, then–“

A curt knock made them both jump. Jinshi snapped to attention and made to lunge for the collar of her robes, only for Maomao to seize him around the throat with one hand. He choked, struggling, but quickly gave up. Maomao wasn’t even looking at him, her head fully turned toward the door. At the central table, Luomen’s grinding stopped.

Neither of them knew how long her bluff would take, so both her and Jinshi had been reasonably on edge for some time. He could laze about all he wanted, but knowing that there were soldiers out there who wished them harm… like a persistent itch, it kept them from ever truly relaxing. As a result, they’d unknowingly developed a reflex at the sound of a knock on wood. 

Whenever a customer came knocking, it had Jinshi scrambling into her collar and enacting his best impression of a belt, while Maomao went shock still and stared the door down. They would wait for a second knock, then creep across the room and peek through the crack in the frame. If there was no threat, Jinshi would slip back out and hide in his crate while Maomao dealt with the visitor.

It had gone exactly like this several times today, all merchants and serving girls who just wanted a cough, pain, or cold treated, and each time Maomao sent them away with curt words and a pouch shoved into their hands. Once, a particularly impatient fellow had opened the door before she could reach it, and it had Jinshi overshooting in his panic and careening straight to the floor. Luckily, he had gone unseen, but the rest of that particular afternoon was spent hiding under a table to nurse both his snout and his pride.

“It’s alright, sir, I won’t tell anyone.” Maomao had said as she nibbled on some jerky, sitting in full view of his hiding place. Jinshi had so wanted to grab a piece for himself, but her tone was vaguely mocking, and there was a sharp glint in her eye, so he had decided to play it safe and wait until nightfall. 

At the present, both apothecary and dragon waited in tense silence. Maomao had gone quiet the moment they heard the knock, her eyes watching the doorway like a cat on the hunt, and once her grip loosened, Jinshi turned to follow her gaze. His claws fisted in her robes, and her hands were frozen in place, hovering above the herbs laid out on the table. 

They waited.

The knock sounded again. Curt and sharp, yet polite. Jinshi tapped at her collar, and when Maomao’s eyes briefly flicked down to him, a sharp look that firmly told him no, he carefully slipped off her shoulders and down to the floor. She didn’t move until he had tucked himself into the shadows beneath the shelves, curling up into a tight wide-eyed lump. Maomao looked to Luomen, who gave her a short nod.

Maomao padded to the door warily and peered through the crack. Almost immediately, her posture relaxed, and when she tugged the door open, Jinshi’s held breath escaped him in one big whoosh. 

“Good afternoon, Master Gaoshun. Master Basen.” She greeted.

The aide dipped his head in reply, sleeves clasped respectfully. However, he barely got out a “Good afternoon, Xiaomao.” before Basen all but shoved past her and barged into the room.

“Where is he?” His milk brother demanded, fists clenched. He looked ready to start swinging at any moment, and while normally Jinshi should be reassured at the dedication, all he felt was concern. And maybe a little exasperation.

“Come in, then, make yourself comfortable.” Maomao said dryly, stepping away from Basen’s warpath.

Gaoshun sighed, ducked his head under the doorway, nodded to Luomen, and promptly gave his son a curt cuff to the back of the head. Basen yelped, but that seemed to do the trick, for he clamped his mouth shut, swung his arms back and forth, then took a steadying breath. When he faced Maomao again, it was with significantly more sense.

“Is, ah… is he here?” He asked, much more politely.

Jinshi took this as his cue to crawl out from his hiding place, uncoiling his long body and shaking his mane loose. He got the pleasure of seeing his milk brother’s jaw fall open in real time, pale-faced shock replacing his previous agitation. Gaoshun sighed and shook his head, while Maomao fixed him with an odd look.

“Did you not know, Master Basen?” She asked.

“I– uh…” Basen’s brain must have been working overtime. Jinshi was starting to feel bad for him. He turned to his father. “Why is he so small?!”

“I hope you don’t mind, Sir Gaoshun, but I will leave you all to your discussion.” Luomen said mildly, standing from the table. Basen jumped, blinking at the old apothecary with startled eyes. Evidently he hadn’t even noticed he was there.

Luomen picked up his basket and hobbled out the door, Maomao and Gaoshun giving him respectful bows as he left. Basen stared at his retreating back, but hastily bowed with them once his brain caught up.

“Xiaomao explained everything to us. Did you not pay attention?” Gaoshun said to his son, once the door had closed.

“Of course I did! But she didn’t mention…” He gestured lamely to his master, who had sat up on his hind legs like a weasel peering over tall grass. Jinshi’s head just barely reached above Basen’s waist. “He’s not supposed to look like that.”

“How is he supposed to look?” Maomao asked.

Basen’s face pinched, clearly debating how much he was allowed to say. Which didn’t make much sense at this point, Maomao had more than proved her trustworthiness, but he supposed one couldn’t forget their teachings so easily. The Ma were the only ones outside of the Imperial Family who were allowed to know of the royal dragons, though Basen’s case was a little unique; Jinshi had the unfortunate timing to go through his first change while roughhousing with his milk brother, and the young boy had been suitably freaked out when his playmate suddenly went from simple hair-pulling to latching onto his shoulder like a snake. Jinshi had been dragged away by his mother, hissing and crying, while Basen was locked in the room and left to question what had just happened in solitude.

Gaoshun eventually explained things to him, and even at the young age of nine, the boy wasted no time swearing an oath of secrecy, as serious as the grave. And when Jinshi was finally allowed to meet with him again, after several long months of training with his brother to better control his dragon, the first thing he did was apologize through tears for the bite. As for Basen, the first thing he did was recite his oath in its entirety– and immediately after, pull out a list of new games to play, all involving dragon kings, lords, and princes. The following summer was one Jinshi never failed to look back on fondly.

Basen was nothing if not dedicated. Even now, that sworn oath was clearly scratching at his thoughts. In an attempt to ease his mind, Jinshi sat up a little straighter, catching Basen’s attention. He met his gaze, and with a firm nod, gave his approval. She’s come this far, she’s allowed to know everything. It can only help.

Basen’s jaw tightened, but he crossed his arms and began to speak. “He shouldn’t even fit in this room. I’ve only seen it once, but his full, uh… at his full health, he’s enough to challenge every building in this district.”

Maomao blinked in surprise at that, looking up at the ceiling of her home. Jinshi could see the gears turning behind her eyes, her lips moving wordlessly as she made her calculations.

“Which makes your current state all the more concerning, sir.” Gaoshun stepped in, looking down at the dragon with weary eyes, a little too disturbed for Jinshi’s comfort. “Are you still unable to return to your true self?”

Somberly, the dragon shook his head. Gaoshun frowned, then swept his eyes over to Maomao’s worktable, where the open wax tablet lay, covered in sloppy, sporadic lines of characters. “Were either of you able to figure something out?”

Jinshi opened his mouth, then remembered his limitations, his attempt at verbal language gone with a frustrated growl. Maomao, thank the heavens, answered for him.

“I haven’t yet been able to identify the exact toxin he ingested, but I’ve been able to discern ban xia as a key factor. It’s a useful remedy for a number of things, like coughs and nausea, but the roots are mildly toxic to humans. Master Jinshi in particular reacted badly to the fumes once burned.” She said, flipping through her notes. Her excitement seemed to ramp up in intensity the longer she went on. “Master Jinshi also says he smelled something similar during dinner. This is purely conjecture, but it would not be impossible for someone to lace the incense with ban xia. It could also be assumed it was used to poison the food in some way.”

“So, whoever orchestrated this…”

“Is much more resourceful and knowledgeable than we realize.” Maomao nodded with a sparkling smile. “I would sincerely like to meet them, sir.”

Gaoshun shook his head. “I’m not so sure that would be advisable, Xiaomao.”

Maomao frowned, annoyed, but opened her mouth to speak further. “If I may, I’d like to confirm a few things. Master Jinshi told me that during the dinner, he ended up eating all of one particular dish. He claims His Majesty did not touch it. Did the Emperor report any symptoms or illness of any kind?”

Gaoshun shook his head. “His Majesty is whole and hale. The only thing plaguing him is his worry for the Moon Prince. He wished for me to inform you that he is very grateful for your help.”

Maomao coughed at that, dropping her gaze to the floor. “I see. Regardless, Master Gaoshun, with this information, it could be assumed that Master Jinshi was not the only intended target.”

Both Jinshi and Basen shivered. An attempt on himself was one thing, it was almost a common occurrence, but against the Emperor? Either these defectors were extremely ambitious, shortsighted, or just downright stupid.

Gaoshun looked grave, but gave her a short bow in thanks nonetheless. “I thank you for your insight, Xiaomao. You’ve given us quite a lot to look into for our investigation. Now, as for future proceedings…”

Jinshi tried to pay attention to their planning, but found himself too distracted by Basen, whose horror had only grown the longer they spoke. His face swiveled between his father, Maomao, and himself, as though unsure who to focus on. The dragon decided to trot over to his milk brother’s side and make himself comfortable, curling up on the ground and placing his chin on his crossed claws. Basen watched him all the while, clearly conflicted, before turning and lowering himself in front of him.

“I’m so sorry, sir.” He said quietly, clasping his hands and bending into a low bow. His face was tight while he spoke. “I failed my duty to protect you, I was not able to bring you to safety, and now you have had to suffer in solitude for it. I– we should have noticed sooner, the traitors in our midst.”

His jaw shook from his hard he clenched his teeth, eyes squeezing shut, overcome with a potent cocktail of fury, guilt, and shame. “Whatever punishment his highness deems fit, I will accept. My father and I both.”

Jinshi nudged him upright with his snout, his lips twisting into a small, fond smile when Basen opened his eyes. He rumbled soothingly and dipped his head into a short bow of his own, the best reassurance he could offer without a human tongue. Basen let out a breath, then thumped his chest, resolute.

“I assure you, Master, those who have slipped through the cracks will be dealt with. You’ll be back to full health in no time. I swear it.”

Things were still unsteady, but Jinshi couldn’t bring himself to doubt his milk brother’s words. Briefly, he thought back that summer, when they were both still too young to fully grasp the gravity of his birthright. After his dragon emerged, Jinshi was never allowed to leave the palace. Only Suiren, his mother, his brother, and his tutors could attend to him. The day he was able to bargain for his new life as “Jinshi the eunuch”, that was the day he was finally allowed to taste freedom. Before that, all he ever had for playmates was Basen and the Ma family, and even then, it was mostly just him and Gaoshun. 

Of all the people he had known over his short nineteen years of living, Basen had stuck with him the longest. Jinshi let out a long sigh, letting his body return to a natural coil, his tail curling into a neat spiral. His milk brother dutifully shifted to sit at his side, a little too familiar for a proper attendant, but both of them knew they could get away with it. In front of them, Gaoshun and Maomao were poring over the wax tablets, deep in discussion.

“Are you certain you’re well, sir?” Basen asked.

“Gragh.” Jinshi replied. As well as I could ever be.

The plan went like this: Luomen would immediately return to his duties at the rear palace, for both his protection and his assistance in the ongoing investigation. Maomao and Jinshi would stay behind at the shack until tomorrow afternoon, as the royal dragons were technically not supposed to exist, and his recent growth spurts made hiding him increasingly more difficult. More guards would be placed to patrol the pleasure district, and all gates would keep an eye out for the men matching Maomao’s description. 

They would conduct another sweep through her neighborhood, and in doing so, Basen would move both her and Jinshi to the rear palace, with Jinshi hiding in her herb basket. Once there, he would be moved to the imperial palace, placed under strong watch, and kept safe until the Shi soldiers were apprehended.

And once again, they were left to wait in silence. 

Jinshi had also grown again overnight, as Maomao had woken up to find him completely wrapped around her body, his head pillowed on her shoulder and the tip of his tail tickling her ankles. 

For a brief moment, she had panicked, thinking some kind of constrictor snake had gotten ahold of her. Every breath she took strained against the heavy weight binding her ribs, the coils tightening when she tried to struggle. But then she felt a quiet sound rumbling from the chest pressed to her front, felt silky fur brush her skin, and realized that she was in fact being constricted– just by the world’s most annoying leech, instead of an exotic python. It had taken almost an hour to wake Jinshi up, and another hour to get the idiot to unwrap himself.

His progress was even more evident as they both went through their morning routine, however. When Jinshi stood up on all fours, his long neck allowed him to meet Maomao’s eyes, and when he stretched, he could peer over the top of her head. His appetite had also grown, he ate three bowls of congee for breakfast instead of the usual two, and even tried to steal a spoonful of hers. He was only going to get bigger, so the sooner they could leave, the better.

It was late into the evening, now. Basen and the promised escorts were late. The shack was dead silent, save for the merry fire crackling in the brazier and the gentle splash of water. 

Maomao poured more salts into her gourd, capping it and shaking it to dissolve them faster. Her robes were stuffed with balms, bandages, a small sewing kit, emetic agents, charcoal, and various other medicines, just in case something went horribly wrong during the transfer. Should Jinshi somehow get poisoned again, she was confident she could get it out of his system before it caused too much damage. 

Behind her, Jinshi was curled up by the brazier, watching her intently. The empty herb basket sat at his side, open and ready. The flickering fire danced in his eyes every time she looked back, and not once did she see them close or turn away. His whiskers twitched, his claws kneaded the sitting mat, and his eyes followed her while she moved around her shack, reminding her of an impatient cat. But he made no move to uncurl. It was a little unnerving.

Was he nervous, perhaps? Maomao could understand it somewhat, it wasn’t everyday he had to wait a whole night of uncertainty while there were attempted killers still at large. She wasn’t completely at ease herself. But, it was like her Pops always said, there was no use losing oneself to worry. All she could do at this stage was prepare for the worst.

When she heard horse’s hooves approaching their door, Maomao took a deep breath. She double checked her medicine stash, triple checked her shack’s cleanliness, quadruple checked the herbs and remedies she had prepared for long-time storage. Luomen had taken most of the short-lived medicines with him, so all that remained were simple concoctions that could handle a week or two untouched.

Jinshi uncurled from his seat and came to stand beside her while she counted. He gently bumped his head against her elbow, a questioning noise in his throat. Maomao looked down at him, at the nervous squint to his eyes. She found herself at a loss.

“It’ll be alright, sir. I’m alright.” She said lamely. Assuring people was not her strong suit. Jinshi didn’t seem convinced and bumped her arm again, whining.

Neither of them jumped when the polite knock came, but they did simultaneously swivel their heads to stare at the door. Jinshi took a few steps back, hunching into himself. Maomao sighed, clapped her cheeks, rolled her shoulders, and went to allow them entry, her mouth opening to greet Basen and his men.

What she did not anticipate, however, was for the door to open before her hand could even touch the handle.

A wolfish smile beamed down at her, all teeth.

“Good evening, little lady.”

Maomao gaped. She was completely frozen in place. Behind the wolf-man, the ox-man stood like a looming shadow, a massive black stallion pawing the dirt at his side. On the stallion’s back, the scar-faced man, now wielding a bow with an arrow already notched. There were other men standing around them, crowded into the narrow dirt road, far too many new faces for Maomao’s comfort.

The wolf-man’s grin sharpened and his eyes grew steely. Seeing her stiffness, sensing her indecision, his hand reached for her.

Suddenly, several things happened all at once.

There was a loud crash! from behind, falling wood and tumbling stone. The wolf-man shouted, metal singing in the air as he swiftly drew his sword. Something grabbed the back of Maomao’s collar, yanking her off her feet, and the shutters let out a loud a bang!, a purple blur smashing them open out of the corner of her eye. The horse whinnied in panic and reared back, stamping its hooves. The gathered men began to shout, a cacophony of noise rising into the air.

Maomao blinked, and somehow she had gone from standing at her doorway to being dragged out through the window. She hit the ground butt-first with an oof, and turned her head to see a long, sinewy body clad in glittering plum scales, a deep purple mane shimmering and flashing in the sunset. Jinshi grunted, his nose bumping against her neck and his teeth digging into her robes, as he pulled her up from the dirt and into the air. Maomao was only able to get out a “What are you–“ before he abruptly broke out into a loping run, panting like a wolf and dragging her with him.

Apparently he hit another growth spurt. She thought to herself, watching the grass fly by under her feet. She just as quickly squeezed her eyes shut, however, as every bounding step jerked her up and down like a ragdoll. Maomao wasn’t prone to seasickness, but apparently this was too much, even for her.

There were shouts of alarm at their back, accompanied by the stomping of boots and the clattering of hooves on stone. Jinshi ran faster, clearing tall fence-posts and parked wheelbarrows with a single leap. He flew through the narrow alleyways and roads that made up the criss-crossing maze of Maomao’s neighborhood at a dizzying speed, slipping through gaps and launching off the walls at every corner. His breath was scalding and punched like bellows against her nape, but he didn’t sound anywhere close to exhaustion, making her wonder where on earth he got all that stamina and strength from. Maybe it was a dragon thing.

“Master Jinshi, where are you going?” Maomao shouted when he yanked her over the head of a woman carrying her laundry, causing her to shriek and dive out of the way.

Jinshi responded with a panicked, screeching cry, muffled by her robes. Maomao could hazard a guess that it was probably Moon Dragon for “I haven’t the foggiest idea.”

If she weren’t being dragged and hefted around like a kitten, Maomao would cut him an irritated glare, as though he were a rotted, headless rat shriveled up in the grass. Evidently she was still the only one around here with a working brain. Swallowing down the edges of nausea, she quickly took in their current path, ignoring how close the sounds of hoofbeats were behind them.

“Turn that way!” She called, flinging out her arm to an alleyway on their left. Jinshi responded a split second later, claws scrabbling for purchase against the dusty ground as he attempted a hairpin turn. He almost sent both of them crashing down, Maomao’s foot dragging through the dirt and a cloud of dust swirling around them both, but before she could blink he was already wriggling through the alley.

When they broke out into open air, Jinshi’s breaths heaving, Maomao flung out her arm to the right. “Now there!”

He obliged. A kid playing with wooden soldiers in the grass cried out in alarm when the dragon vaulted over him, scrambling to his feet. Maomao craned her neck around and saw two men burst from the alleyway after them, followed by the scar-man on his horse, turning onto the road a good distance behind them. She sucked in a breath when she saw the rider was carrying a bow, already drawn and held to the side, prepared to let fly at any moment.

Jinshi whined loudly, stealing her attention back. Maomao pointed to the back of a two-story house, where she knew the edge of the pleasure district’s heart resided at its front. “Turn left past there and keep running straight!”

Had they been able to plan a proper route, they would be out of the district by now. But since Jinshi’s impulsiveness was worse than his ego, he had taken them on a twisting roundabout path, missing every good turn that took them to where they needed to go. Maomao was just glad there weren’t any cliffs or waterfalls nearby.

An arrow suddenly struck the side paneling of a house, barely an arm’s distance away. Jinshi snarled in alarm and veered around it, scrambling away from the impact point. Maomao turned again and saw the soldier on horseback drawing back another shot, aiming at the back of Jinshi’s head with unnerving focus.

“Duck!” She screeched, and Jinshi, thank the heavens, dropped to the ground like dead weight, sending the arrow whistling over both their heads.

Maomao took the opportunity to yank her robes free from his jaws and grab one of his antlers, swinging herself over the back of his long neck. The dragon barely reacted, shooting to his feet and lifting her with him, before breaking out into another run the second he was able. Maomao clung to both antlers like a lifeline, squeezing her legs around his neck. His mane tickled her face, surprisingly soft, and she distantly noted that at some point he’d gotten so large, neither her hands nor her feet would touch if she tried to wrap them around him. His mane smelled like jasmine.

“Keep going straight until you see the gates!” She instructed, leaning around to shout in his ear. “When you see them, turn right! There’s a pile of barrels stacked by the wall!”

Jinshi grunted an affirmative between pants, his talons pounding against the dirt road. A whistle sounded, and Maomao immediately slammed her fist down on the crown of his skull, ducking them both as another arrow streaked overhead, missing them by a hair. 

The gate came into view, bobbing up and down when she pulled her face up from where she pressed into his neck. True to his non-verbal reply, Jinshi bounded right. Mid-turn, his tail suddenly lashed out, breaking the support post of a market stall and sending the roof of the structure collapsing into the path behind them. Maomao’s neck cracked painfully when she whipped around to stare. That post had to be thicker than her entire torso, as skinny as it was, and it had been snapped in two like a toothpick.

She didn’t have much time to think about it though, as with a sudden lurch in her stomach, Jinshi coiled into himself like a spring and launched them airborne. He raced up the barrels like a squirrel with a cat at its heels, and in almost no time at all, dug his claws into the stone wall and scrambled over the edge. 

Maomao could hear several sounds explode into the air, the screech of a horse, the shout of a soldier, the crashing and splintering of falling barrels. But they were all distant sounds, faint compared to the blood roaring in her ears and the growling pants of the dragon beneath her.

Funny. She hadn’t set a foot on the ground the entire chase, and yet she still felt winded. Maomao swallowed the lump in her throat. Aren’t dragons supposed to be able to fly?

After they breached the wall, Jinshi settled into a much steadier gallop. She sat up, loosening her hands from their white-knuckled grip around his antlers, and breathed. The grassy field ahead of them sparkled with dew in the light of the twilight sky. In the distance, over the crest of a small hill, were the looming shadows of a dense forest. She looked back, and saw the red glow of the first lanterns being lit, the pleasure district preparing to open its arms for the night. No commotion would disturb such a routine.

For several minutes, they just ran. Maomao broke the silence first. “Do you see the forest up ahead?”

Jinshi grunted. She stretched out an arm to point anyway. “We can hide there for now. It’s pretty dense, so they won’t be able to bring their horses. Understand?”

Jinshi grunted again. His pace did not falter, but Maomao could hear his breaths gradually get heavier and heavier, his steps stumbling briefly against the occasional hidden rock or root. Even like this, he wasn’t perfect. She leaned back and patted herself down; sure thing, the gourd was still strapped to her waist, and everything she’d prepared was still on her person.

She looked back again. Not a single silhouette had broken away from the city limits to follow them. Her frown deepened.

Jinshi began to slow the closer they got to the forest’s edge. By the time they moved past the first few trees, he had fallen into an unsteady walk, dragging his tail behind them. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth while he struggled to catch his breath. His legs trembled with every step, yet they walked on, crunching over twigs and ducking around branches and overgrowth, until the field was long gone. Several times Maomao had to press her face into his mane to avoid getting smacked off, since she was sitting at a height that made her a prime target for stray limbs. 

He only stopped when they found a break in the trees, a gap in the canopy with enough space to breathe. Maomao patted the side of his neck. Instantly, he stopped moving, slurped his tongue back in, and lowered his neck to the ground so she could slide off. Unexpectedly, when Maomao placed her foot down, the rest of her soon followed.

Jinshi’s teeth caught the collar of her robes before her face smashed into the dirt, expressing his alarm with a muffled yelp. He dutifully lifted her up until she could steady her legs, his wet nose drawing out a shiver against her nape. Apparently riding a dragon was no different from riding a horse. And Maomao had experience with neither.

“I’m fine, sir, you can let go.” She grumbled, batting away the searching whiskers that brushed over her cheeks. Jinshi whined, clearly hesitant, but complied. 

Maomao stepped a few paces away, casting a critical eye over the clearing around them. It was almost like they stumbled into a secret garden of some kind, with enough space to walk around without worrying about brambles and tree roots, the tall cedar forming a patchwork wall in an oblong circle. Mushrooms dotted the low grass in clusters, the occasional wildflower swaying in a gentle breeze, and Maomao’s hands began to itch. The urge to start gathering like a woman possessed briefly passed through her mind. But the ache in her bones was too insistent and the tension in her shoulders had yet to dissipate. The treasures, she told herself, would still be there if she took a moment to rest. 

There was a pile of flat rocks near the edge of the clearing, which Maomao promptly sat down on. Boy, what a day. 

The sun had already set, and when she looked up, she could see the silver eye of the moon begin to take its place. Leaning back on her hands, she watched Jinshi emerge from the shadowed forest and enter the clearing properly. For the first time in a week, Maomao had to actually look up at him. 

His lengthy body gracefully slipped between the tree trunks, gemstone scales sparkling and catching in the minimal moonlight, long enough to fully wrap around the clearing, head to tail. Said tail was almost six chi long by itself and swayed gently behind him, as though drifting in a river current. At the end of his tail, a tuft of fur like the end of a brush, graceful and neat, not a hair out of place. His legs had grown, the elbow sitting where Maomao’s shoulder would be, and his long neck was bent like a swan’s, elegantly towering over her. His talons were large enough to cover her torso with just one, the hooked, ivory-white claws perfectly smooth, and he carefully chose his steps as he approached her.

From his head, a pair of long pronged horns grew from his skull like tree branches, as pale as the moon. Maomao distinctly recalled there being fewer prongs when she had gripped them just half an hour prior. His silky mane rippled over his spine like dew-soaked grass in a summer field, fine curtains of deep purple hanging from his neck. Interestingly, she noticed two tufts curved over the ridge of his brow, like the part of bangs she usually saw on his human self. 

Jinshi studied the trees around them, his gaze jumping about while he assessed the area. He blinked with long, curved eyelashes, feather-light frames to dark eyes the color of fresh-cut obsidian. His face was sharp and his long rope-like whiskers curled in the air, untouched by gravity. Everything about him, Maomao mused, was long. 

It was as though he were a statue, carved by the heavens and sent down to bless the mortal realm with prosperity and beauty. Dragons were not supposed to be real, and even when he stood before her, flesh and blood and fully tangible, he looked everything but. To look upon him felt sacrilegious. He was ethereal, uncannily beautiful, untouchable in every way. 

Had he not suddenly turned his head to look down at her, revealing the left side of his face marred by a scar, a break in the pattern of his scales, she could have convinced herself he was exactly that. Had he not gazed at her with fond eyes, a gentle, relieved smile tugging at his scaly lips in a way that made her want to shrink away, she could have told herself this was all a dream. Had he not settled oh-so-carefully in the grass, taking care to preserve her mushrooms and wildflowers, curling his neck around her rocks, against her back, resting his head at her side… she could have ignored him completely.

Jinshi made a soft sound. Maomao watched his gaze flick over her body, searching. 

“I’m alright, sir.” She said quietly. It was the truth. She tore her eyes away from that worried face and cast a critical eye over his own body. “Are you injured anywhere?”

Jinshi rocked his head side to side, apparently too lazy to lift it for a proper shake. Maomao pulled the gourd from her waist and held it in front of his snout. “Drink this, Master Jinshi. You need to stay hydrated.”

The way he was looking at her reminded her of a stray dog begging for scraps. He tilted his chin up and parted his lips, but made no move to take the gourd himself. Maomao’s nose wrinkled in disgust, regarding him as if he were a sun-dried lizard carcass, run over by a carriage wheel and choked by its own innards. Jinshi’s eyes sparkled.

She resisted the urge to empty the gourd right into that shining gaze, like it could douse the sparkle and make him act befitting of his station for once. Maomao knew perfectly well he could use those whiskers to pick it up, as one of them had wrapped itself loosely around her wrist at some point. What was he, a prince or a toddler? Was there even a difference?

Jinshi crooned, beseeching. Maomao rolled her eyes. If this is what was necessary to keep him from passing out… “Have it your way, sir.”

Jinshi rumbled happily when she tipped the gourd into his mouth, pouring the mixture of cool water and salts down his throat. His throat pulsed as he swallowed. It wasn’t a large gourd, as she had mostly packed it for herself, so it emptied rather quickly. Maomao knew there was a river past this forest, so she mentally added “rehydrate” to the list of important tasks. If Jinshi wanted to take on so much physical activity, they would need significantly more water.

When she tucked the gourd away, he tilted his cheek against her thigh, a content sigh billowing from his nose. For reasons she could not explain, she reached out a hand and rested it between his antlers, where his mane began. Her hand looked like a doll’s atop his skull, his head almost as big as her entire body. She stroked the soft fur, plucking out errant leaves and twigs as she went, and watched his eyes drift shut. 

They couldn’t stay here for too long. There was no way they’d lost those soldiers so easily. It was a straight shot from the district walls to this tiny forest, so the question of where they’d disappeared to was stupidly clear. Their flight had only delayed the inevitable. 

The side of Jinshi’s neck pressed against her back. It should be frightening, sitting this close to an animal so large and so obviously powerful. Especially one who sat so high above her, both in station and in might. He should never have noticed her from his place amongst the clouds. She could very well be executed for this. 

Maomao sighed, barely audible next to the dragon at her side, whose deep breaths reminded her of furnace bellows. She felt herself lift forward and back with every inhale and exhale, slow and rhythmic.

They would have to keep moving soon. It was a bright moon tonight and the darkness couldn’t shield them forever. Maomao stared up at the canopy, where stars glittered between gaps in the branches. She was already planning their next moves, working through possible paths and pondering how to best contact Gaoshun and Basen, but…

But. There was always a but, it seemed, when it came to the Moon Prince. 

Jinshi was fast asleep. He had been for a few minutes now. Maomao wondered how such a thing was possible, when resting his chin against a bed of cold, uneven rocks. She leaned into him, the last of the buzzing energy from the chase slowly draining from her system. She let her head fall backwards, pillowed on his mane. Her hand still rested on his head, her fingers absentmindedly combing through the silken fur. Surprisingly, he ran warm, the heat of his scales almost soothing against the tension in her muscles. Perhaps his temperature needs changed with his size. One would think becoming warm-blooded again would reduce his clinginess somewhat. 

Maomao raised her free hand, where the velvet-soft whisker was still wrapped around her wrist, then dropped it, her eyes slipping shut. 

Who am I kidding. He’s been like this from the start.

He swirled the arrowhead through the mixture with a grimace on his face, holding up his sleeves to his nose to muffle the stench. It smelled so strong he almost felt lightheaded, like straight vinegar mixed with the spiciest peppers from the west.

“Are you sure this stuff’ll work?” He asked.

His superior grunted. “It almost worked the first time when it was half as potent. We just made it stronger. Ain’t no way it’s not gonna work.”

He withdrew his arrow and replaced it with another. He heard footsteps and turned to see his horse being led back through the gates, shaking her proud head and stamping her hooves. 

“We got her back, sir.” The soldier holding the reins said. “When will we depart?”

“Soon.” His superior barked back. “And we’re changing plans.”

He turned to face him, an irritated frown on his lips. “You’re still gonna shoot that damn thing down. But if you can, get the girl with it.”

He smirked, then. “We’ve got a score to settle.”