Chapter Text
The end of December arrived unannounced. The weather remained crisp but snowless - a quintessential winter evening. The air was dry, punctuated by occasional sharp drafts of cold, while the sunset painted the sky in pale peach hues, as if brushed by a master’s hand. The streets were nearly deserted; only a few scattered caravans creaked faintly in the distance, their wheels groaning as the cold rays of twilight glinted off the polished rooftops.
As was her custom, Maomao arrived to check on the health of the precious Imperial Brother. It wasn't that Jinshi truly required an examination - she knew that well enough herself. And yet, she had no reason to complain; it would have been far worse if there were actual grounds for a medical visit. Today, however Suiren, did not lead her to the warm, cozy living quarters, but straight to Jinshi’s private study.
The evening study was bathed in the warm glow of lamps, their light reflecting off lacquered furniture and walls lined with scrolls and books. Jinshi sat at a massive writing desk, wrapped in a dark robe, deeply immersed in paperwork. His gaze was fixed, his fingers dancing across the documents. Occasionally, he leaned in closer, scrutinizing the finest details, his brow furrowing slightly as the strain seemed to make his sharp eyes even more piercing.
"Young Master, Xiaomao has arrived," Suiren announced, her voice a fraction louder than necessary. It seemed Jinshi had been lost in his work for quite some time, and it required an extra effort to pull him from the depths of his workaholism.
"Good evening, sir," Maomao said, offering a small, respectful tilt of her head.
"I’m afraid we’ll have to skip the examination today," Jinshi said, casting a fleeting glance at Maomao before returning his attention to the papers.
Dinner. He meant dinner. Her visits had long since ceased to hold any genuine medical value.
"If I am not needed today," Maomao remarked with a hint of disappointment, "you might have warned me in advance. I wouldn't have wasted my time traveling all this way."
"I always need you," Jinshi replied unexpectedly, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Maomao felt a slight flutter in her chest - a sensation that, for some reason, only made her more annoyed. How could he simultaneously avoid physical proximity and say such outrageous things?
"I need your help," Jinshi continued, ignoring her scowl as he handed her a substantial stack of papers.
"Is the Empire in such dire straits that only my 'incredible' diplomatic skills can save it?" Maomao asked sarcastically, arching an eyebrow.
"It would be very funny if it weren't so tragic," Jinshi leaned back in his chair, smiling weakly. "The Emperor is hosting a special foreign delegation from very distant lands. At this time of year, they hold a folk celebration, something akin to our Spring Festival. They have offered to host a reception at court in their own name to better acquaint us with their culture."
"Sounds interesting enough," Maomao commented. Privately, she added: How fortunate that I don't have to go...
"Yes, quite," Jinshi sighed. "Conveniently, they are prepared to organize everything themselves: food, attire, decorations. It is to be a masquerade ball."
"I see," Maomao offered eloquently.
"They also provided a detailed report on the festivities," Jinshi gestured to the piles of paper before him. "Every tradition, dish, decoration, and garment - everything is described to prevent any misunderstanding."
"How thorough." Maomao was genuinely impressed; it seemed these guests truly knew how to handle their affairs.
"Indeed. So, our task is simple: read through and approve it all," Jinshi summarized. "I must ask for your assistance. Your part covers the stacks related to food, plants... in short, everything that could cause physical demise."
Which meant Jinshi himself was handling everything that could cause mental demise.
"Wonderful. And in how many years is this celebration planned for?" Maomao asked, eyeing the sheer volume of documents with irony.
"Who infected you with sarcasm today?" Jinshi chuckled softly. "Whence all this negativity?"
To be honest, Maomao didn't quite know herself. It wasn't that extra work from Jinshi was anything new. But lately, her visits... she had simply... there had been such a sense of peace between them. Maomao was slowly growing accustomed to the concept of "relaxation." Seeing Jinshi in a study overflowing with work felt... unpleasant.
"Forgive me, sir," Maomao said. "Perhaps I am simply a bit hungry, which makes me irritable."
It was the truth. Maomao had come expecting to sample Suiren’s delicacies; why should she ruin her appetite now?
"Is that so? I didn't think," Jinshi said. "I’ll ask Suiren to pack some treats for you to take home."
"To take home?" Maomao repeated, her eyebrow shooting up in surprise. So now he wanted to get rid of her, too?
"Yes. There are many documents, so..."
"Do you require a very detailed report?"
"No," Jinshi looked up at her, blinking in surprise. "Just your opinion."
"Then wouldn't it be easier if I worked here with you? That way, I can comment on any concerns as they arise."
"Oh," Jinshi raised a brow ever so slightly. "If you say so..."
Maomao, for her part, was already making herself comfortable on the sofa by the tea table. Lately, something was clearly wrong with her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. Or perhaps, she simply didn't want to admit that she already knew.
❄️ ✨ 🥂
They worked in a silence that no one wished to break. It wasn’t the heavy, strained stillness that usually accompanied late-night sessions, but a soft, cozy sort - one where the rustle of paper and the faint clink of teacups felt almost intimate. The lamps cast a warm glow across the desk, and the shadows of scrolls glided slowly along the walls, as if time itself had decided to slow down out of respect for the evening.
Occasionally, Maomao would look up from her reading to offer a brief comment on a particular tradition - dryly, with a hint of irony, or with genuine curiosity. Jinshi never answered immediately; he would finish his line first, place a neat mark with his brush, and only then, without lifting his head, offer his thoughts. Their voices remained low, as if they were afraid of startling the atmosphere itself.
Fortunately, Suiren appeared just in time. She brought a tray with hot tea - fragrant, with a subtle hint of honey - and several plates of fresh snacks. Steam rose slowly from the cups, and Maomao gratefully wrapped her palms around the warm porcelain. The work immediately regained its vigor; her eyes stopped drooping, and her thoughts grew clearer.
"What a strange tradition," Maomao suddenly remarked, leaning over the text. "Just listen to this."
She rose from the sofa and approached a large crate standing to the side. Rummaging inside, Maomao pulled out a sprig of mistletoe - fresh, green, and tied with a neat red ribbon. She stepped slowly toward Jinshi’s desk and, leaning forward slightly, showed him her find.
"They hang it over doorways," she explained. "Mistletoe symbolizes love, peace, and luck."
Jinshi instinctively turned his face toward his papers, but his eyes treacherously flickered to the side.
"And what of it?" he replied. "Do we not have countless beliefs tied to plants ourselves?"
"That is certainly true," Maomao agreed. She raised the sprig a little higher, as if by accident holding it just above the edge of his desk. "But there is a catch. If lovers find themselves beneath the mistletoe, they must kiss. Otherwise…"
She paused and stared back at the text, pretending to struggle with the fine handwriting.
"…otherwise, it’s not entirely clear: either they will never marry, or they will find no happiness in marriage, or a meteorite will strike the Earth and trigger the end of the world."
Now, Jinshi’s entire attention was fixed not on the papers, but on the branch in Maomao’s hand. His gaze was wary - almost nervous. One might have thought he was the sort of man who feared serious commitment and marriage. Though, on second thought…
He held Maomao’s gaze for a moment. She was standing too close - close enough for him to feel her warmth and the faint, herbal scent she had brought in from outside. And she was holding the mistletoe over them. She was mocking him; it was obvious.
"Cross it out," he finally said.
"Are you certain?" Maomao tilted her head, striving to make her voice sound as innocent as possible. "They sent a whole box of these decorations. What a waste of resources…"
In truth, she understood perfectly: if this tradition were voiced at court, the already "piquant" event would instantly transform into something far more provocative.
"Cross it out and burn the box," Jinshi repeated seriously, his eyes never wavering. "I do not wish to be held responsible for… any of that."
Maomao allowed a barely perceptible smile to touch her lips.
"As you wish," she murmured, carefully feigning a disappointed expression as she returned to her seat.
They returned to their work in that comfortable silence once more - the kind that doesn't weigh you down but wraps around you like a warm blanket. Outside the windows, total darkness had fallen, and only the courtyard lanterns cast flickering, elongated shadows onto the study walls. The lamp flames trembled at the slightest movement of air, and the ink in the wells slowly thickened, as if it, too, was growing weary along with them.
Jinshi couldn't say how much time had passed. His shoulders gave an aching reminder of their existence, and his sighs became more frequent and melancholy. He set aside his brush for a moment and allowed himself to look at the sheets before him - this time, not at texts, but at illustrations.
"And why are you looking at naked women while I am working?" Maomao’s disgruntled voice suddenly drifted from behind his back.
Jinshi nearly jumped. How long had she been standing there? He truly did need a rest.
"Firstly, they are clothed," he began defensively, quickly regaining his composure. "And secondly, these are examples of dress styles for ladies."
Maomao stepped closer and peered over his shoulder, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Of course, you can lie as much as you like," she said dryly. "I saw you eyeing the girl in the middle."
"With my right eye or my left?" Jinshi asked without blinking.
"What do you mean, 'right or left'?"
"Did I eye her with my right eye or my left?" he asked with a wide, almost defiant grin.
Maomao froze for a heartbeat. Sometimes she truly regretted the difference in their ranks - she would have loved to tell him he was an idiot. Instead, she settled for a demonstrative roll of her eyes.
"In any case, I am confiscating these papers," she declared, unceremoniously pulling the sheets toward herself.
"And why is that?" Jinshi protested, though a smile already tugged at his voice.
"Public opinion suggests that you have terrible taste in female beauty," Maomao replied. "So I don't believe you can be trusted as an expert."
"The fact that you dislike my choices," Jinshi countered, leaning slightly toward her, "does not qualify as 'public opinion,' you know."
"Am I not part of the public?" Maomao arched an eyebrow.
"A part, certainly."
"Well then," she smiled, a touch too sweetly, as she pressed the drawings to her chest. "That makes my opinion a public one."
He held her gaze for a moment. The lamplight accentuated the features of her face, and in this proximity, Jinshi suddenly felt his fatigue receding.
"But you already have so much work," he noted, his voice losing its certainty.
"I’ll manage," Maomao replied calmly.
She returned to her desk, flipping through the pages, and without looking up, added:
"Tell me, does this wonderful foreign delegation happen to have an unmarried young heiress who would be beyond thrilled to meet the Emperor and his Distinguished Brother?"
Her tone was far too indifferent to be sincere.
"Where did such a perceptive thought come from?" Jinshi inquired.
"Every third tradition is some sort of love ritual," Maomao answered, setting aside another sheet. "How many such Li traditions do you know that you could present to foreigners?"
"I never really dwelled on it," he shrugged. For him, any state tradition usually meant a headache - whether it was a silly ritual or the risk of the altar falling on your head.
Maomao finally looked up at him.
"So, is there a princess or not?"
"There is," Jinshi conceded. He couldn't remember a single foreign delegation that didn't dream of having him as a son-in-law.
"Simply wonderful," Maomao sighed.
There was no surprise in her voice. They had deliberately submitted three times as many intimate and romantic traditions, hoping that at least some of them would pass the censors.
Fortunately, those were Jinshi’s problems, not hers. Once the events were approved, she could return to her work in peace.
At least… that was what she tried to convince herself.