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“If these children were insects, they’d have survived the winter, don’t you think?”
If these children were insects…? Maomao ponders Shisui’s words, visibly confused.
It takes her a few seconds to remember. Then, another few until everything clicks.
She won’t be coming back anymore.
“Shisui,” she exhales, reaching her hand out. Maomao yearns to touch, to comfort, to demand answers; but she hesitates. Still. “You should run. Throw it all away, and escape with Suirei.” The puzzle pieces fall together in Maomao’s mind just as she realizes that it might be too late. Politics, your parents, the clan, just throw it all away. Shisui turns to exit the room with a flourish of her garments. I don’t care about other people either. I’m the most important person to me too. Do you realize how much I went through after being dragged here? She grits her teeth. But still… She can’t just let Shisui go.
Maomao only hesitates for a moment before time seems to slow down to a near halt. Determination makes her eyes glisten in the gloomy candlelight. She’s battered and bruised, but so is Shisui. The former concubine has made her decision. She’s just as capable as Maomao, if not more so. Her duty is her own to carry. And yet… Her feet steady themselves on the ground. The image of a cat about to pounce on its prey briefly flashes in her mind. She sees Shisui move as if through molasses, slow, dainty footsteps carrying the weight of generations.
Maomao doesn’t think for one second longer. She jumps, reaching her left arm out. Her fingers wrap around Shisui’s wrist, slender and cold to the touch. Shisui’s head whips around to face her, saccharine eyes gleaming with something akin to anger.
“Don’t stop me!” she snarls, yanking her arm back. Maomao is left open-mouthed and wide-eyed, her hand still open, as if inviting Shisui to change her mind. Shisui’s gaze softens, a feather-soft smile on her small lips. “I have my own duties.”
Maomao knows this, and it shakes her to her core. There are so many things she’d like to say, so many questions she wants answers to. Why, after all they’ve done to you? To Suirei? Why not run? Why do you have to do it alone? What about your friends? What about me? Instead, what she says is expectedly veiled. “What difference will it make?” Maomao knows her expression is betraying the turmoil behind her question, if only through Shisui’s bittersweet smile. It’s like she’s putting up a brave face for Maomao, which only twists the blade inside her stomach further.
“I have my own pride.”
Maomao’s hand extends even more. It’s near Shisui’s chin now. “Just throw that away,” she almost begs. She realises she’s looking at Shisui with a level of stubborn reverence that would have even someone like Jinshi blush up to his ears, but at this point, she’s past the point of no return.
Shisui purses her lips, and Maomao feels her quiet breath dance on her extended fingers. It’s warm and nearly invites her to take a step forward. Then, she would be close enough to caress Shisui’s cheek. That’s all it would take. Maomao is sure that Shisui understands what’s happening. What Maomao is asking of her. It’s a lot; it’s too much. But when has she ever asked anything like this of her? Of anyone, for that matter? “Please,” Maomao actually begs, this time. Her feet move of their own accord and, suddenly, their faces are mere inches apart, her hand floating ever so slightly above the former concubine’s shoulder. “You’re… valuable, to me. I can’t watch you kill yourself, Shisui.” Tears well up in the corners of her eyes for the first time in years. This close, Maomao is sure Shisui can see them. “Let’s leave this place. I’ll run away with you, if that’s what it takes.”
Shisui lets out a sound between a laugh and a scoff, gentle as always. Maomao was sure that through Shisui’s mind ran an endless list of reasons to decline her — frankly, idiotic and borderline desperate — request. However, at that moment, all she could focus on was Shisui’s breath tickling her nose. Maomao’s eyes dart to her painted lips, then back to her eyes.
“Hey, Maomao?” she almost whispers, leaning in closer. Her tone is swift and precise, but her gaze seems to be drinking Maomao in. The distance between them is so small, almost insignificant… Maomao is only half listening. “If there was an unknown poison in front of you, and you were told you had just one chance to drink it… What would you do?”
They’re still watching each other with half-lidded expressions when Maomao answers without thinking: “I’d swallow it in one gulp.” She feels Shisui let out a soft laugh, warm breath rippling across the skin of Maomao’s face. Then, she realizes. Not only that, but she understands. The poison-sweet smile Shisui employs could warrant a world war’s worth of casualties. “Right,” she cheerily quips and begins to walk away. Maomao’s hand stills in the air, placed where it was almost touching Shisui’s cheek.
She’s going… it dawns on her, Shisui is willing to give up everything to take responsibility for her clan’s actions. They both know what will happen to her if she leaves. Maomao can’t have that. She can’t. She never got to… No. It would be madness to let her leave like this, but just as cruel to force her to stay. Still, she has to say something. But… I don’t know what to say.
She doesn’t know what to say, so she takes off running.
“Shisui!”
Her friend tenses in Maomao’s grip, once more preventing her from facing her fate. They both know there’s no way to stop her. But that’s not what Maomao wants to do. “At least…!” using the hand she grabbed her with, she flips her around, and suddenly they’re face to face again. Their noses are touching, soft pants filling up the space between them. Maomao takes a shallow breath, and looks up at Shisui. “At least let me wish you good luck.”
They’re closer to each other than they’ve ever been. “Good luck?” Shisui whispers, moving ever so slightly closer. Their breaths are mingling. “That’s not like you, Maomao.”
Maomao twists her head lightly, angling up her lips. “Yes, it’s rare.” Shisui parts her lips in response, staring intently at her. Maomao averts her gaze and inhales softly, as if in preparation. “Really.”
It only takes another second for them to close the hair’s breadth of distance between them.
They kiss.
They kiss, and the only thoughts in Maomao’s head are soft and warm. Her hands finally dare to touch Shisui’s face. She holds her with as much gentleness as she can muster, fingertips buzzing with electricity. In turn, she’s being kissed like a hidden treasure, like a secret Shisui has sworn to lock away but can’t help to dream about in confidence. The subtle smell of her perfume intertwines with candle smoke and soot, enveloping the both of them in a feverish embrace. When they part for breath, Shisui has a soft smile dancing on her lips. Her eyes fill with warmth as she brushes a stray hair away from Maomao’s face. Maomao leans into the touch, soothing and reverent and absolutely foreign to her.
“Maomao, I’m —”
Her words are interrupted by another soft kiss. It’s different, this time: pained and melancholic, bittersweet and full of thinly veiled resignation. Grief, one could call it. She pulls back and knows, despite her personal difficulties, that there are many emotions swirling behind the former concubine’s eyes. Neither of them wants to kill the silence.
Maomao knows she would have liked to apologize, but she also knows that there’s no need for that. She has overstayed her welcome in Luolan’s game and Shisui’s life, not much more than a pawn who couldn’t stay out of trouble. It can’t be easy, always living on the edge like that. Never in one place or another, just a collection of interchangeable masks for a master actress. Regardless of which one is closest to the truth, Maomao will never forget how much the one she called Shisui meant to her. It only takes a moment for her to figure out what to do next.
Shisui’s eyes follow her hand as she reaches behind her.
“Give this back to me someday. It was a gift,” she says, holding out the silver hairpin.
Her friend’s bewilderment is only slightly concealed. “That’s unreasonable. I might sell it off.”
Maomao almost wants to laugh. “If you do, that’s fine.” She rises up on the tips of her toes and, with a trembling hand, slides the hairpin smoothly in Shisui’s hair. It stands out among the soot-covered gold and amber, but it suits her. Maomao gently guides her to the mirror.
Shisui chuckles, bright and genuine. “I really do resemble a Tanuki, don’t I?”
“No. You’re far braver than that.”
Surprise, then recognition, and finally resignation flash across Shisui’s face. Maomao doesn’t elaborate. She knows she was understood.
One last smile. “Thank you, Maomao. Please take care of the rest.”
And with that, Shisui vanishes.
“Take care of the rest. Right.”