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The Moon Prince has always been far too complicated, and that is no mystery. I have known him since he was a child. I raised him, I fed him. I even played princesses with him; my dignity was lost in the process. I have endured his whims for more than fifteen years… but he is a good boy. That is what I choose to believe.
The problem is that lately he has been in a good mood, and that is never a good sign. I have learned that his good mood always comes with consequences—generally, consequences that end up becoming my problem.
The residence is calm. Too calm. No one has shouted, no one has run, no one has been poisoned. That alone is already suspicious.
Then I hear it.
XiaoMao’s voice, soft yet clearly focused, filters through one of the doors in the corridor. It is not unusual. She often assists the young master. I should not pay attention. It is not my concern. I keep walking, determined to mind my own business.
Then I hear the young master’s voice.
And I stop.
Not out of curiosity. Never out of curiosity. Out of survival instinct. “Slower,” XiaoMao says seriously. I close my eyes. This is not my concern. “No, not like that… lower me a little more.” My foot freezes midair. No. I am not doing this. I am not getting involved. Not today. I take a deep breath and force myself to move forward.
“I’m close—”
I stop.
The silence that follows is heavy, uncomfortable, absolute. No. No, no, no. I have served for many years. I have seen enough things. I do not need confirmation. This is one of those situations where wisdom dictates retreat.
I turn around and take one step, then two, then three.
“I’m coming—”
I stop dead.
I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose. I have reached my limit—not as a servant, not as a bodyguard, but as a human being. Slowly, I turn back and walk toward the door again. This time, there is no dignity, no calm—only a firm, irreversible decision.
I stop in front of the door and listen for one more second. “A little more—” XiaoMao says. “I’ve got it,” the young master replies. “Higher.” Silence.
That is enough.
I open the door without knocking, without warning, without thinking.
The scene I find… does not help.
XiaoMao is sitting on the young master’s shoulders. Not standing, not leaning—actually sitting on him, her hands reaching toward the top of the window. The young master is holding her legs, completely focused, as if this were the most normal situation in the world. Above them, a cat is stuck between the wooden frame of the window, staring at them—and now at me—with absolute disdain.
All three turn to look at me.
Silence.
I look at them. They look at me. The cat judges me.
“Gaoshun,” the young master says, as if nothing is wrong. “Is something the matter?”
I do not answer immediately. Instead, I walk toward them slowly and stop a step away. I look at the cat, then at XiaoMao, then at the young master, and finally back at the cat. Everything makes sense. Too much sense.
“The cat,” XiaoMao says, as if that explains everything, not moving from her position.
I nod. Of course. The cat. Naturally.
“It got stuck,” the young master adds, adjusting his grip slightly. “XiaoMao is trying to get it out.”
The young woman, still on his shoulders, frowns. “I’m not trying. I am going to get it out.”
The cat meows, as if it disagrees.
I nod again, because my body is still functioning, even if my mind is not. “I see,” I say.
Silence. No one moves. No one changes position.
“…you said you were coming,” I add finally, without emotion.
XiaoMao blinks. “Yes,” she says. “The cat.”
The young master smiles—that smile, the one that always means trouble. “Did you hear anything else?”
I look at him directly. “Yes.”
Silence.
“What exactly?” XiaoMao asks, genuinely curious.
I take a slow, controlled breath, as I always do. “Enough.”
Silence.
The cat meows again, louder this time, as if supporting my decision.
“Gaoshun,” the young master says, still holding her, “can you help?”
I look at him, then at his hands holding XiaoMao’s legs, then at XiaoMao still perched on his shoulders, and finally at the cat. Then I close my eyes.
“No.”
Silence.
“No?” he repeats.
“No.”
I open my eyes again. “I will continue with my duties.”
I turn around and walk away. One step. Two. Three.
I stop.
Because, clearly, I do not learn.
“My lord.”
“Yes?”
I do not turn around. “Next time… use a ladder.”
Silence.
“There wasn’t one nearby,” XiaoMao replies from above.
I nod. “Then… get one.”
I keep walking. I turn the corner, and only then do I bring a hand to my face.
“…this is not in my contract.”
I pause.
“None of this is in my contract.”
I take a deep breath and continue walking, because someone has to keep this house in order—even if, clearly, it is impossible.