Chapter Text
A mountain of paperwork loomed over the Moon Prince’s desk, covering out the polished surface beneath. Supper time was fast approaching; any moment now, his head lady-in-waiting would appear to drag him away, whether he liked it or not.
Ever since returning from the Western Capital, documents had multiplied with alarming enthusiasm. Even with Baryou’s diligence and hard work, it was difficult to tell whether the pile was shrinking at all.
At that moment, his stomach voiced out its displeasure and need of nutrients.
As if on cue, there came a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
At the sound of the voice that followed, Jinshi straightened unconsciously. His lips curved into a grin before he could stop them.
Maomao stepped inside.
He gestured her closer. Whatever expression crossed his face must have betrayed him, because Maomao paused, a faint shiver running through her.
“Master Jinshi,” she said evenly, “Lady Suiren has asked me to summon you for supper.”
He nodded and rose from his seat, extending a hand toward her without explanation.
“A charge, if you please.”
She sighed, though she placed her hand in his without resistance.
“Did Chue come to get you?”
Maomao nodded, giving his hand a brief squeeze before withdrawing. Jinshi’s lips pressed into a small pout at the sudden loss of warmth, only to straighten when Maomao lifted her hand to his cheek, lightly checking his temperature.
“Lady Suiren is worried,” she said. “She mentioned you’ve been sleeping in your office, and that your nose had bled earlier from exhaustion. I brought some sour jujube seed tea.”
Jinshi closed his eyes, letting the faint warmth of her palm rest against his scarred cheek. For a moment, he leaned toward her touch, almost instinctively.
Maomao’s hand snapped away, and she looked aside, acutely aware of the heat rising to her face. The moon had thankfully retreated that night otherwise, he might have noticed.
“Young Master. Xiaomao.”
Suiren’s voice cut through, crisp and unyielding. The moment ended as abruptly as it had begun.
They moved toward the kitchen with careful speed, eager to avoid further reprimand from Suiren. Dinner passed quietly, Suiren soon departing under the pretense of other duties, leaving the two of them with only the soft steam of tea between them.
Maomao had already begun her familiar string of complaints about his overworking, irregular meals, and the foolishness of sleeping at one’s desk when Jinshi found himself smiling.
Her voice was steady, practiced, almost like she was reciting the ingredients of a prescription rather than scolding a man of rank. Somehow the tightness in his chest eased simply by listening.
He reached out before thinking better of it and enclosed her hand in his.
Maomao stiffened.
“I have said this before,” Jinshi murmured, his grip gentle but certain. “But I will say it again. I intend to make you my wife. Properly. In a way that will not bind you to the rear palace or place you in danger.”
There was no embellishment and no vow sworn to the heavens. Only intent.
Maomao’s face warmed at once and she looked away. Though she had already accepted his feelings, knowing they existed was very different from hearing them spoken plainly. Her first instinct was to retreat, but his hand remained around hers, steady and unyielding.
Jinshi noticed the tension immediately. A flicker of regret crossed his face.
“I know. It is not yet time,” he said quietly.
He loosened his hold, pressing a brief kiss against her knuckles.
“We will wait….”
The words tasted bitter but they were sincere.
Dinner passed in subdued calm. When it was time to part, Maomao offered a brief good night and slipped out, closing the door behind her.
Suiren was waiting in the corridor.
“Good night, Xiaomao,” she said, her tone mild. “When the time comes, he will be very happy.”
Maomao did not reply. She simply bowed and continued down the hall.