Chapter Text
Maomao supposed she could consider herself lucky to not be a girl that grew up on self-soothing techniques fantasising about what the distant future may hold. That, and also that her imagination wasn't quite as wild as the courtesans' she'd left behind - the ones that clambered all over her or spat with jealousy at the announcement months prior. If she'd have had either of those traits, then she'd have had it all crash down on her, violently and deafeningly, on the day of her wedding.
The very first day of spring was when the governing court had ruled the wedding date to be set. Supposedly, a lot of thought and consideration had been lent to the auspicious nature of the exact day, though Maomao never thought to ask how. A spring wedding, meant to encourage prosperity and new life. How cliché. In other words, she was expected to produce many babies, and fast.
The gardens, still largely desolate besides the flowering blossom trees after winter, were decorated lavishly with reds and golds. So much so, it was easy to ignore the skeletal frames of the trees and venomous whispers in the air, and to remain swept away in innocent curiosity and admiration.
Stood before the hungry crowd was a woman, one severely out of her depth as she attempted to keep her head raised under the heavy weight of metal pins decorating her hair.
Maomao thought she looked rather like a pin cushion, but she could hardly tell that to the servant with reddened fingertips after hours spent meticulously braiding, pinning, and smoothing her hair - hair that had never been trained into sitting where it was told to before, and seemed to be giving the poor lady an incredibly hard time. She would have offered her compensation if it weren't for the expression Maomao had noticed in their reflections as the hairpins were being tucked into place. It was downright murderous, each hairpin picked up with a tight grip in the palm of her hand that could hardly be used for delicate precision.
Her dress, well, she could be thankful that fabrics used were of such high quality for her to not need to stuff hot rocks into her underclothes, with the thick and heavy material being enough to keep her somewhat warm. Anything further would have weighed her down far too much. Turquoise was never her colour, clashing far too much with her hair, and the red accents to the gorgeous arrangement did her no favours either, but it was as tradition and the fashion of the time dictated. In her opinion, it would have looked lovely on just about anyone except her. At least the fan handed to her covered her face, if only to hide from scornful looks that caught her eye.
The man who stood beside her did not have to bother with the same tiring and painful fate as she. He, her new husband, had no hair showing to be styled, no dress to freeze in, and no gossip being spat at his feet. Though, whether the rumours would stay as quiet behind closed doors was left to be said. He wore a mask, and was concealed entirely in thick crimson fabrics as she stood adjacent to him like an offering. A prize, or maybe a trophy, though a pitiful one either way.
They did not speak, did not look one another in the eye, and did not interact outside of the required performance for each ritual. And when the ceremony was complete with eyewitnesses to verify, none protesting the will of the emperor who had set such demands in place, they parted as strangers.
It crossed Maomao's mind that, perhaps the man who stood in front of the crowd alongside her wasn't the prince at all. A body double. She couldn't care if it was or was not, and it wouldn't have changed the outcome, but such an outfit to conceal the identity of the wearer left questions - and what else was she supposed to do but tell herself stories through her boredom? As tradition demanded of her, she'd spent the prior two months within her family's home - hiding and avoiding Lakan whilst calling it etiquette training. But now she was yet again left to fend for herself in a new environment, and this time, she wasn't protected by the fact that these people wanted or needed her alive.
"Lady Maomao, we must have you looking presentable," one of her ladies called out, pulling her into what appeared to be some kind of dressing room, though it was larger and more lavish than any she'd seen before.
As she sat upon the stool they had offered, she realised that, not once that day had she opened her mouth to speak a word. Nor had there been anyone to speak to, but that was not something that bothered her in the least. The day of her wedding had been spent following where people pointed her, silent and only present enough mentally to not miss instructions discreetly slipped to her.
Dinner and celebration were being served to the prince, supposedly, and in that time she was expected to prepare herself for the consummation that was required of her. She could not eat, hadn't in two days, nor could she drink. Her throat and stomach were screaming at her. Perhaps she really had grown just a little too comfortable at the La clan's manor - usually hunger or thirst wouldn't have bothered her for a while longer.
But Maomao was reminded of the other lady in the room when she felt pins being tugged a little too harshly out of her hair, and her gaze wandered to the bronze mirror that lay within her line of sight, reflecting her image back. She was hardly recognisable, and it was a truly sickening sight to remember. The freckles that adorned her nose and cheekbones were gone, scrubbed clean off or covered with powder for those that she had made slightly more permanent with a thin needle and ink. Her weight, whilst comparably scrawny compared to the expected figure of any consort or concubine, was not as off-putting as she had wished it stayed. All of her aesthetic defences had been systematically broken down, one by one, though it hardly mattered anymore. She had lost; despite all her hiding she had been used as a playing piece among powerful men either way.
A gentle clatter of pins sounded as the jewellery was placed and arranged on the table beside her, care and thought being put into the handling of the gifts from the prince. The same was not extended to the bride, with her hair quickly falling victim to harsh tugging at the knots that had been created by the intricate style and lack of care in taking it down. Maomao remained quiet, but she was certain that the behaviour was no way to treat a lady of the house. If reserved words and bitter actions were to be what Maomao received, then that was something she could live with. If it became harassment or a danger to her, then maybe she could look into sorting the issue a little further, but more than anything she just wanted time alone, not caring for much else.
There was one servant that was at least tolerable, though. Sanfan, her head lady and the one lent to her by Lakan, at least had her interests at heart. From the few times she had spoken with the rather masculine woman within the La estate, it was clear that Sanfan had goals of integrating herself into the family - through marriage to Lahan, though Maomao could hardly begin to understand why. Sanfan's loyalty to the La clan was obvious and as genuine as it could get, and though begrudgingly, that was something Maomao needed. For that, she could extend a little trust to her and only her.
The tugging on her hair stopped only when there was nothing left to tug, no resistance meeting the brush's bristles that were instead dug into her head spitefully a few last times.
"My nightgown?" Maomao's scratchy and unused voice finally prompted, tired and unwilling to argue as the servant turned and obeyed despite the open glare on her face. She carried the gown behind a dressing divider, and as soon as Maomao stood before her, began to remove articles of the scrawny girl's clothing, silent biting comments filling the air despite nothing leaving either woman's mouth.
Maomao felt far too exposed for a person that had grown up seeing a state of undress as nothing more than business or medically necessary. She missed the pleasure district more than ever, where even the rudest of sisters would still slide extra food over to those who looked a little thin, or at the very least, be blunt about their unwanted advice. Here, hate and gossip was silent, brewing into an addictive, deadly concoction over time.
But nothing compared to the dread that swept over her as she was walked to her marital bed, told to simply wait quietly for her fate.
And she waited.
And waited…
And the masked man she'd hardly met earlier in the day never arrived. Every set of wandering footsteps that sounded from the surrounding corridors built onto her fears; every creak of a floorboard had her eyes honing onto it as though she expected a ghoul to come crawling out. Her lungs and heart hadn't been able to catch a breath, so to say, as her knees curled up to her chest on the clean floor, before shooting to stand at any slight noise.
The bed, comfortable as it looked, felt wrong to touch.
The same happened when she did eventually hear a firm pair of knocks on the doorframe - her legs stumbled to standing, breathing halting, and her posture stiffening - only to hear a male servant address her.
"Your Highness, I come with a letter from the Moon Prince."
It's just a servant, nothing more to worry about, she reasoned, smoothing her gown and wrapping the clean shawl she had been given around her shoulders to at least feel a little more modest, even if she wasn't exposed regardless. "You may enter."
The man entered, a tired look in his eyes, or perhaps he was simply older than he first appeared. To Maomao, he looked to be either rather young with a terrible early infliction of deep wrinkles to his eyes and forehead, or he was older than expected with a rather young face. The man bowed as he entered, a gesture she felt unnatural to be the recipient of.
He handed her the letter, smooth and high-quality paper folded neatly into thirds, and stood to the side to ensure it was read through. It was a little awkward to have eyes on her, but Maomao supposed it would be better to not leave the poor man standing around for quite so long, so she hurried to open the letter, revealing small but neat handwriting filling the page.
To Kan Maomao,
I send my deepest apologies that I cannot be in further attendance on this day, despite the court and their insistence. I do hope that you find it within yourself to forgive me.
I am sure you have heard many rumours surrounding the state of my health, some far-fetched and others giving more plausible situations. If you haven't encountered the gossip yet, then unfortunately, they are to come.
But you deserve an explanation. The reason for a lot of my behaviours - the masks, the coverings, the absences that will become commonplace - are tied to such health complications, and are not meant to reflect any mockery or issue this one may have with you being taken as my bride. I rather regret not being able to at least stand beside you as myself without the coverings; your gown was truly wonderful on you. But you should know it is never my intention to offend you, nor shall I allow harm to befall you as my bride within this palace.
I only hope you extend some patience with me.
I trust you find the pavilion comfortable, though please request changes through any of my attendants. Gaoshun, Basen, and Jinshi are the ones I suspect you shall have the most contact with, and they will be there to prioritise your needs and ensure your safety and wellness as they would my own. Your ladies-in-waiting were screened by the matron of the rear palace, so I'm expectant that they shall be up to your standards. Your father also wishes to know if there is anything he can aid you with in terms of comfort, and if it isn't too much, may I ask you write him a letter before my office is overrun with slips of paper…?
Please do make yourself at home within the pavilion, and be sure to ask for adjustments or additions. Once again, I offer you my apologies and wish you a night of rest, Lady Maomao.
- Ka Zuigetsu.
Business-like. That was Maomao's initial impression, for the prince's words did not meander and twist around every excuse as those within courts usually did. It was straight forward where it needed to be. But more than that, the tone seemed… nearly friendly, despite everything. Empty flattery made an appearance, but much less that expected.
It left Maomao intrigued.
Quite a long letter to have put effort into. Quite frankly, Maomao wasn't expecting anyone to reach out at all - either he shows up, or he doesn't.
She found her eyes glued to the seal, the words, the name written out in careful characters, before she remembered the servant still waiting by the door. Maomao raised her head, watching as the man bowed his head deeply to her once more and turned to excuse himself silently.
"May I ask your name?" she called out, before the man could fully exit the room. She could hardly care for what relationship she'd have - if any - with her new husband, but knowing the staff surrounding him was probably wise if she were to get anywhere in this place.
"My name is Gaoshun, my lady," he responded, his voice calmer than hers by a noticeable margin. "I am one of the Moon Prince's attendants, but please extend any queries to me as you please."
Gaoshun… that was one of the names written on the letter, one of three. He seemed like a reasonable man.
"Would His Highness allow for me to write a letter in response?"
"I see no reason as to why he wouldn't," Gaoshun replied, his tone honest. But seeing the slight twitch in her expression, he continued, "Would you prefer I ask him, to be sure?"
"If you wouldn't mind," she agreed, though continued with cheek, "I'd prefer not to offend the royal family on the first day."
Exhaustion and relief were starting to take hold of her as she spoke.
For a moment, she thought maybe her lax tone to the servant may have been the wrong move, but much to her surprise, Gaoshun let out an amused hum. Not quite a laugh, but not anything laced with judgement as she'd expected. "I'll visit the pavilion again tomorrow, a little before midday. If His Highness agrees, how about I collect the letter from you then?"
"Alright. You have my thanks, Master Gaoshun."
The man looked as though he wished to say something more for a moment, but bit his tongue as he bowed low for the third time, retreating and leaving Maomao to sit hesitantly among the scattered date fruits on the unused marital bed.
It didn't seem so scary anymore.