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Her body belongs to the emperor.
The night she arrives at the Garnet Pavilion, the snow falls in hushed waves, lapping at the clay tiles like waves on the shore.
She has barely taken off her winter gear before the Emperor arrives, here to appraise the latest jewel in his collection.
They dine together, both wearing masks, though she pretends to let hers fall. Then, her maids leave, and she rises to follow him to the bedchamber.
Her body belongs to this man now.
She lets him strip the ornaments from her hair and the robes from her body. Lets him take up the space between her legs.
She lies under him and puts on a show. What’s another role when she’s already taken on so many?
Her body is his to touch and taste and own. After all, she’s one of his flowers now.
But she refuses to bear fruit.
Her body belongs to the emperor, but her loyalty is still to the Shi Clan.
…
Loulan barely knows what her face looks like without rouge.
She has lived a life carved by her mother’s hatred—carved by the ruinous grudge Shenmei bears against the imperial family.
The Moon Prince looks like the late emperor. That’s what the informants say. That day, dear Suirei is beaten until she cannot stand, five broken fans in the courtyard beside her.
Loulan retreats to her chambers after watching in silence. Shisui emerges and rushes to her sister, trying hard not cry now that there is no rouge and powder to hide behind.
Her mother hates the imperial family, and Shisui hates them too. She hates that they torment her family like this. She hates how helpless she is to soothe her mother or help her sister.
And always, always, their father cowers in his office, turning a blind eye on the treason in his home.
Loulan grows, budding into the perfect daughter, blooming into the perfect political pawn.
Her parents intend to use her. They don’t know that she will use them, too.
The Pure Consort is forced to leave the Rear Palace, and her time comes.
She makes the most of it.
Loulan loves her family, but she will not become the next Mother Royal.
Loulan loves her family, and that is why she has to stop her mother.
But she didn’t account for Maomao. A keen, clever woman. A kindred spirit.
It is so easy, in those moments as Shisui, to pretend that there is no war to stop. No plot to thicken. Just a girl who loves bugs and a girl who loves medicines and their dear, sweet Xiaolan.
Her loyalty is still to the Shi Clan—the innocents, the children, her poor elder sister—but in the sun-dappled gardens and the steaming baths and the fortress, her heart belongs to Maomao.
…
Her heart belongs to Maomao. She knows it from the moment the young apothecary recruits her to capture moths.
Her beloved is clever and curious and cautious, but so unshakably good beneath her veneer that it hurts.
Even after being kidnapped and confined and threatened, Maomao still protects Kyou-U and the guards. She still tries to save everyone she can—including a girl who has never truly existed.
Her heart belongs to Maomao, but her life is her own, and their paths must diverge, even if it breaks them both. Shisui may be gone, but Loulan still has a role to play.
She walks out of the bedroom, leaving Maomao behind. Each step feels like a thousand. Her body feels like a magnet pulling her back to Maomao, to a promise neither of them can make—running away together.
It is everything she wants, but nothing that she may have.
A lovely notion, but only a notion.
As if the Moon does not follow Maomao like she is the sun.
As if her stubborn, righteous apothecary could leave behind those she loves and those to whom she is loyal.
As if Loulan could leave now without ensuring this story has its proper ending. After all, what would a narrative be without its great villain?
No.
Loulan presses on. She has unfinished work to do, and so too will Maomao.
…
Later, much later, she reaches the port. She’s guarded the pin for months against her heart. The once fine silver is now greatly flawed, shaped by the bullet that almost ended her.
She takes it out, trading it now, finally, for a lovely piece shaped like a beetle—like a new beginning.
She hands it over as if it means nothing, when in fact, it is everything.
Even warped and ruined as it is, she knows the hair stick will make its way back to the capital city. Maybe, if the Moon Prince is kind, it will make it back to Maomao. Maybe it will be a comfort to her. Maybe it will only hurt.
Regardless, Tamamo will not know.
As the sun sets, she boards a ship headed east and doesn’t allow herself to look back.
Because even though her heart may be Maomao’s, her life is her own, and she intends to live it.