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This night felt somehow especially fresh and pleasant: a quiet coolness, the silvery light of the Moon softly illuminating the palace grounds. Maomao ran barefoot, feeling the wet grass tickle her feet. The hem of the maid’s uniform was already stained, but at that moment it didn’t matter. The air was damp, cool, and heavy with the mingled scents of the imperial gardens.
“Maomao! Maomao-o-o!”
Maomao turned. In the darkness she made out a familiar figure: another maid was racing down the garden path toward her, her dark ringlets tied in her signature bows, strands trembling in the light breeze beside her face. She held something in her hands, and her emerald eyes gleamed — she could hardly wait to show her find.
“Shisui? How are you here?” Maomao smiled. That girl always seemed to appear from nowhere.
“Look what I found!” Shisui said cheerfully. In her palm sat a firefly — a tiny beetle whose body shimmered with an even, slightly greenish light. It dimmed and flared again.
Maomao looked at Shisui with warmth. She was all as usual: a light gait, graceful hand movements, animated, very beautiful expressions. But why couldn’t Maomao hold her gaze? And why did she see dirty smudges like soot on Shisui’s cheeks, and smell the faintest trace of gunpowder on her?
“They say if you make a wish on a firefly, it will surely come true.” Shisui stepped closer and whispered conspiratorially in Maomao’s ear. “Want to try?”
Maomao didn’t believe in silly things like wish-magic. But then again, why not? What did she have to lose? Shisui’s soft, smooth hands covered hers. Then, taking a deep breath to lock the moment into every fiber of her soul, she closed her eyes…
***
“Good morning, my little kitten.”
Maomao started awake at the unexpected voice. Her husband’s words pulled her from the dream into a reality that hit her like a heavy blow. No — she truly loved her present position, but sometimes a warm ache of longing for the past throbbed in her heart — especially in those moments when the past broke into her dreams like a creeping vine.
The Moon Prince’s chambers weren’t as ostentatiously luxurious or ornate as those of the senior concubines, but every detail shone with refinement and expensive taste. A status she was still getting used to. She was no longer a maid. She was the Moon Prince’s wife.
Each tender word from Jinshi carried her back to childhood, to nights when she slept on a straw mattress curled into a small ball to the rustle of the mortar in which the old man prepared medicine. And when Jinshi called her “kitten” again, just like Luomen used to, something inside her flipped and spread a pleasant warmth through her whole body.
“You were mumbling in your sleep.”
Maomao rubbed her eyes and saw the handsome face of her husband leaning over her, gently smoothing her bangs with his fingers. How did he manage to look so perfect even in the first minutes after waking?
“Sorry to have disturbed your sleep. I had a strange dream…”
“Sorry? Come on. You looked very cute.”
Maomao’s cheeks flushed as Jinshi showered them with light, airy kisses.
“Was the dream pleasant?” he scooped his wife up with the covers, rolled her into a little bundle and hugged her like a child.
“Partly… Yes, I think so,” — the bundle didn’t resist until Jinshi fell back onto the bed with it and started playfully nibbling her cheeks, ears and neck, then, without any embarrassment, pinched and tickled her heels.
Jinshi knew Maomao very well. He had noticed she was out of sorts upon waking, but he also knew how easily she could be cheered by pressing the right spots. A long-awaited smile brightened Maomao’s face, and when she calmed from the tickling-induced laughter, he set her on his lap.
“I’m taking you on a date. There’s a big fair in town.”
Maomao couldn’t remember the last time they went somewhere that remotely resembled a date. The pair often overworked themselves — even when it wasn’t strictly necessary. Such was their sense of duty.
“A date? But I have work today…”
“I gave you the day off. Don’t worry, the physicians have already figured out how to redistribute duties. They didn’t mind.”
She understood they "didn’t mind” for the only reason they had no right to "mind". Essentially the Moon Prince had simply stolen Maomao from the medical office, using his status and influence. What a snake! Maomao nodded, smiling in agreement — a small rest would be most welcome. And street food as well…
“By the way we need a disguise. Will you do my makeup today?”
“Master Jinshi, if you become even more handsome, the country’s done for.” Maomao said languidly, twisting a long smooth lock of Jinshi’s hair around her finger and looking straight into his deep dark eyes. He, in turn, smiled lazily. Not so much at the joke as at how many times he’d heard it over the past few years.
“You’ll never stop joking about that, will you?”
“Never. Until the end of my days.” Maomao traced a finger from his Adam’s apple to his chin, pulled him close and kissed him — so hot and tender that she immediately felt with her hip how much he liked it.
***
“Do you really think this will be more comfortable than sitting on a chair?”
Jinshi sprawled like a king on the bed, seating Maomao astride him. A minute earlier when he had slung her over his shoulder and carried her toward the bedroom, several brushes had fallen from her hands, leaving streaks of paint on the floor and sheets.
“My back hurts a bit after training, I want it like this.”
Sure, the back hurts. Maomao had long learned all of his tricks — press the pity button to get sympathy, or affection, or…
With practiced motion Maomao parted his bangs into two unequal sections and pinned them back so as not to smudge them with makeup. She had drawn that burn on half his face so many times that the strokes had become automatic. Yet this time her gaze lingered on the scar on his cheek.
A scar that would never vanish. Does he remember Loulan and the Shi clan every time he sees it in the mirror? What does he even think of her — of Shisui?
“Maomao, you stopped. Is something wrong?”
Damn it, the dream. She must just forget it, not think of it or of Shisui. She’s gone. And all the fireflies in the world are powerless here.
“It’s uncomfortable, there’s nothing to lean on…”
“I’ll help you hold on.” Jinshi smoothed her thighs and buttocks with his large hands and gripped the softest parts, pressing her greedily to his heated body.
Maomao involuntarily smiled. She was glad to see the bold, tactile, sometimes brazen peacock vibes in Jinshi again. Saying she had missed his advances during the years he’d deliberately kept his distance would be an understatement.
“Master, the coachman should be here any minute. We might not make it.” She ran her thumb lightly across his lower lip, then smoothed his clean cheek.
“Not make it to what?” flames danced in his eyes and the corners of his mouth spread into a wanton grin.
“Not finish your makeup.”
Maomao thought Jinshi frowned for a moment. Time was tight. When all preparations were finished, they were just informed the coachman had arrived.
In the courtyard a carriage waited, and by it stood a girl with fiery, tousled, unruly hair somehow gathered into a bun.
“Your coachman for today will be Sister Chue!” Chue bowed theatrically in a whimsical curtsy. “Sister Maomao — oh, sorry, Lady Maomao! In that outfit you’re simply a vision the world has never seen! That dress suits you so well!”
Chue knew how to chatter, and Maomao knew it. It pleased her, but it seemed to please Jinshi even more — at the words he puffed up with pride like a turkey. After all, she was his wife! And he bought the fancy dresses for her too!
“And who’s that gentleman with the burn near you? I must report to the Moon Prince that I spotted some stranger with Maomao!”
Chue could not resist praising Maomao’s makeup skills either.
“I’m so hungry! Let’s go already!”
“Sister Chue, let me guess — you just had breakfast?”
“First breakfast, second breakfast… what does it matter when delicious chicken skewers appear on the horizon?”
Laughing, Maomao and Jinshi settled into the carriage, and Chue hopped up into the coachman’s seat and pulled the reins.
***
“With an appetite like Chue’s, the first place we’ll go is the street-food stall. Want something? Maybe locust skewers, or chicken?”
Maomao looked away for a moment, as if embarrassed, then turned her gaze back to Jinshi. Straight. Frankly. Without any shyness.
“I’d rather taste a frog.”
Jinshi’s face flushed from temple to temple. He squeezed Maomao’s hand — which had lain in his palm for the whole journey — clenched his teeth and swallowed.
“You aren’t as brave now as you were this morning in the bedroom.” The girl smiled with a predator’s grin as if drawing him to her with a silk ribbon.
A tiny bead of sweat slid down his made-up forehead, under his bangs, and Jinshi took a breath and furrowed his brow, trying to regain composure while Maomao confidently braided her fingers into his.
“You left the brothel, but the brothel seems to have moved in with you permanently.”
Maomao leaned close, slowly tucking stray hair from his neck. She traced a path with the tip of her tongue to his ear and whispered so sweetly and languorously that the words soaked into Jinshi’s skin:
“Don’t tell me you don’t like what I learned there.”
“We’ve arrived!!!” Chue deftly stopped the horse and opened the carriage door, inviting the young couple out.
Jinshi, who felt as though he’d been caught doing something shameful, scratched his head and cleared his throat — his throat had gone dry from the heat of passion.
“I… I’ll sit here for a minute more…”
***
Chue stood before the lane of food stalls like a general before the decisive battle.
“I must try everything. Young masters can’t eat food that hasn’t passed strict inspection!” she proclaimed with the proud air of a gourmet, turning to Maomao and Jinshi.
“But the young masters can enjoy each other’s company while Sister Chue cares for your taste buds. My stomach is your shield!”
Jinshi leaned toward Maomao, jingling silver coins in his purse, and rightly noted:
“And our principal budgetary shock.”
***
“Try this on.” Jinshi handed her a bundle of the finest, softest fabric. “It’s like it’s woven from the night stars. It will suit your eyes perfectly.”
Maomao snorted, lifting an eyebrow.
“If I wear that to the work office, fish-oil stains will appear on the starry sky the first day.”
“Then don’t go to work in it.” Jinshi smiled warmly, hiding his embarrassment. “Go to... to me in it.”
A minute later Maomao was twirling in the dress in front of a luxurious mirror also on sale. Semi-transparent flowing fabric, smooth lines, interlacing patterns embroidered with filigree silver thread. The dark-blue dye cost a fortune, and she couldn’t imagine how much silver Jinshi was willing to pay to see Maomao in such a dress.
“Beautiful,” she admitted reluctantly. “But completely impractical. Physicians don’t wear things like this.”
“This dress isn’t for a physician, Maomao. It’s for my beloved wife.”
Maomao fell silent for a moment. Then she brightened suddenly and smiled at her husband. One must learn to accept love — and she was beginning to understand that.
“You succeeded, Master Jinshi, I suppose I must take it.”
While the seller wrapped the dress, Maomao’s ears caught something unusual and painfully familiar in the crowd. Turning, she noticed a hooded female figure. The face was hidden, but she kept watching the woman until she disappeared among hundreds of similar shapes.
“There are stalls with foreign antiques over there. Want to look for something?”
“Antiques…” Maomao was still staring into the distance, but the hooded figure and her trail were gone. “No, it just seemed… O—oh—oh—oh—oh, a dozen stalls with medicinal ingredients!!!”
Her feet carried Maomao toward herbs, ointments, bottles, strange fungi, animal horns and other dried bits and pieces that would make an ordinary person shudder. “I’ll just look,” she’d said; Jinshi knew well what those words really meant before she darted off to her paradise.
As Jinshi suspected, “just look” stretched into an hour. He already felt his stomach rumble, but Maomao was in the middle of the fun. At one moment she had a spat with a seller who was offering inadequately soaked aconite stalks for medicine.
“Can I—give a discount?” The poor seller’s face had gone pale.
“Either remove the substandard goods from your stall, or I’ll remember your name and you’ll lose all your customers.”
“She won’t remember,” Jinshi thought. He knew her too well.
Jinshi didn’t catch how the argument ended, but now he had to carry sacks of ingredients that seemed nearly as heavy as Maomao herself.
***
“Sister Chue has been waiting for you forever!” she gestured animatedly while finishing her bowl of hot soup. “You must try the dishes here, here, here and here!”
Evening fell, and the crowds of tired but satisfied fairgoers streamed toward the food quarter. Almost every stall had long lines. If you wanted the best skewers, you had to queue like everyone else.
The stall they chose to begin their culinary journey wasn’t particularly popular, but according to Chue — it served the most delicious flatbreads with their soups. Maomao almost missed her turn, but then someone rushed past, catching her attention.
The hood. The curls. That familiar profile… Maomao froze. That face — it couldn’t be…
“Excuse me,” Maomao ripped her hand from Jinshi’s and dashed into the crowd after the hooded figure, pushing and weaving between people, most larger and taller than her, determined to catch up and not lose her again.
“Maomao?! Maomao!!!” Jinshi sprinted after her, but someone bumped into him, someone else blocked the way. Chue jumped up, dropping her chopsticks, and caught the bags of herbs and the dress Jinshi had grabbed from the fair before running after Maomao. They reacted instantly, but a girl so small was not easy to spot in the crowd, and she disappeared into the alleys.
Maomao darted around a corner searching for a shadow. There, by the foreign-antique stalls, the hooded figure halted as if wavering between slipping away or staying.
“Shisui!!!” Maomao didn’t give her a choice, grabbing her wrist.
The figure trembled. The hood slipped off, revealing her unruly ringlets, still tied in sturdy bows as before. That same light smile. And those emerald eyes — the same, but a bit tired now.
A moment stretched like an eternity. They stood face to face, hands touching. Past and present intertwined. Images rose in Maomao’s memory one by one: a cat, baths, ice cream, ghost stories by candlelight. A ship, a fox-village, burned masks. A fortress. Soot on cheeks. The smell of gunpowder. And that ill-fated shot. Pain, memories, and a thousand unsaid words.
Then… Shisui laughed. Quietly, sincerely. With that intonation that sounded to Maomao like a voice from a distant past.
“Maomao!” Shisui’s voice held surprise and joy. “I recognized you as soon as I saw you. Still the same… too observant!”
Maomao kept silent, looking into Shisui’s eyes. Or was this no longer Shisui?
“You’re alive…” she finally breathed, and those were the most important words in the world.
Shisui dropped her gaze, turned briefly — and, fumbling in a secret inner pocket, produced a thin silver hairpin. It was quite worn; the ornament had nearly lost its beauty, and a melted mark from a bullet lay in the middle.
“You asked me to return it, didn’t you?” Shisui held the ornament out on her open palm. Maomao gasped and lifted an eyebrow.
“You little devil, you didn’t sell it after all!”
“Almost sold it…” Shisui smiled guilty, shrugged slightly. “But at the last moment I changed my mind and brought it back.”
“Tamamo, how long can you stall!” an irritated voice called from the crowd.
Shisui — or now Tamamo — glanced over her shoulder. Then she looked back at Maomao. Her face hardened; her eyes dimmed a little.
“Goodbye, Maomao. Forever now.”
She turned and slipped away through the crowd like a shadow, not looking back.
***
Maomao stood amid the fair’s bustle as though in silence, clutching the silver hairpin. Her fingers trembled. Tears — foolish tears — ran down her cheeks. Hasty footsteps sounded behind her, and in the next second the familiar warm hands settled on her shoulders.
“Maomao!” Jinshi panted. The fake burn had already smeared, but in the evening light it was less noticeable. He looked her up and down with concern. “What happened?”
She didn’t turn immediately but extended her hand, opening her palm to show the hairpin.
Jinshi froze. He recognized it. At once.
“That’s… But… Where from?”
Maomao didn’t get to answer because Chue appeared like a gust. She had packed all the purchases into the basket that usually even held her husband, and in her hands she carried two trays with soups, flatbreads and chicken skewers. How had she managed to lug all that through such a crowd?!
“Sister Maomao, Sister Chue solemnly swears to save the future of the Li state from hunger! If you don’t take the pin right now, I’ll eat it myself and blame the coming harsh winter.”
Maomao wiped her tears with her sleeve, then laughed.
“Harsh winter? In the middle of summer?”
“For my stomach any season is harsh. But for the young masters Chue is ready to perform an act of self-restraint. So accept the trophies!”
Maomao took the pin and took a bite, smiling at Chue’s wink. Jinshi exhaled with relief, watching Maomao finally smile — even through tears, clutching the pin to her chest.
***
They returned home in silence. Maomao didn’t reveal Shisui — not because she had anything to hide from Jinshi. Let that meeting remain a warm light in her heart alone.
Jinshi looked out the window, thinking how oddly — and with what refined malice — fate sometimes performed, as if not merely leading them by the nose but arranging a whole performance, clicking a fan between acts.
Chue, holding the reins, promised herself she’d queue for chicken skewers much earlier next time.
And Maomao… Maomao knew: if you whisper a wish to a firefly — sincerely, without extra words, even silently — it can find its way through time, through darkness, through forgotten paths. And one day it will return. With a gentle light. A warm hand. A hairpin in the palm.