Chapter Text
Jinshi would not say he's a good person.
Though this mask of his has committed no crime, shows some manner of respect regardless of the recipient, and judges every complaint and bill sent his way with fairness, he wouldn't say these are traits to prove one is morally good. At least, they don't prove he isn't morally corrupt.
Those things are merely his duties. A lure for his true goals. Perhaps Ka Zuigetsu is a more straightforward man, but Jinshi is a trickster. A wretched scoundrel gliding by on good looks rather than merit. A better person would accept their fate with grace and learn to live with it.
Jinshi, however, refuses with all the might he can muster. If it means making use of those around him, so be it.
Even now, in these enchanted halls at the height of autumn, Jinshi offers a night of merriment. Drinks, dance, and dames—a gathering beyond the walls of the court, framed as an appreciation party. A token of gratitude.
However, this gratitude is not freely given. Some day in the future, Jinshi will collect on what he's owed.
Because Jinshi is a manipulator. These officials have done some good work on his behalf, and they are rewarded to ensure they continue. Jinshi trains them to jump and bark on command. With mere coin as the cost and his future on the line, it's an easy choice. He needs good people on his side to do good work.
There is only more and more work these days. Jinshi does not foresee the easing of the towers of paper that pile over his desk daily.
He knocks back a drink and deigns not to think of his office any longer.
Upon a raised stage emblazoned with gold leaf, the brothel's best treasures, three princesses, twirl and sing and play. They sparkle, robes shimmering amongst lantern light and forms swirling in the haze of smoke and perfume. Jinshi's guests might as well pant at their heels.
Jinshi, on the other hand, is far too familiar with the illusion to play along.
"Please excuse me, gentlemen."
Too full on the feast before their eyes, the guests at his table nod in response without a glance his way.
Gaoshun appears from the shadows as he steps past.
Jinshi resists rolling his eyes and yet still earns a reprimanding glance. Nothing slips past this man. They've known each other too long to require words—nods are exchanged, the man's eyes gleam in warning before a brief bow, and the message is loud and clear.
Stretch your legs all you like, but stay within sight. As expected of the Emperor's most trusted sword.
Not like I planned to go far anyway, Jinshi muses.
He ambles about the room, greeting his guests at every odd table. Some took up games with serving courtesans—an official from the Department of Rites is losing a game of Go while others are drinking their fill or gazing up at the stage. Truly a pack of hunched hounds, drool threatening to spill over their lips over beautifully plumed songbirds.
There's one little bird avoiding their gaze.
A lone shadow stands in the back corner. Another courtesan, dressed like the rest—bright silk robes and dark hair styled in twin buns—and entertaining no one but herself. She's hardly paying the festivities any attention, choosing instead to light a fresh pair of green and red incense sticks. The smoke curls up into the air.
"Curious?" Jinshi murmurs.
The girl doesn't startle despite his best attempt to. Not even a hint of embarrassment while caught slacking off. She glances his way, eyes narrowing in the slightest. As though Jinshi is in the wrong for disturbing her peace.
Interesting. Most women blush when he's this close. Weak to their instincts and eager to use his looks as a springboard from their dreary lives, they make a show of keeping his attention. They show off, flaunt their best features. The most desperate fall to their knees and beg.
Meanwhile, this one returns her gaze to the incense. He's apparently less appealing to entertain than the sticks he brought from the palace to his own party. Jinshi fights an urge to pout at the rising smoke.
"Sandalwood and … something floral," she mutters. "A type of orchid? Maybe plum blossom."
Jinshi blinks. Ah, he's been ignored. Imagine that. Him—ignored! Cast aside like an insect.
How is she ignoring him?
With a flick of his hair and a cough to clear his throat, Jinshi invades the girl's space. Voice slick with honey, he replies, "My, my. That's exactly right. How did you know?"
She shudders and glares at him askance, backing away. Jinshi stills when their gazes meet and decides she's nothing like the rest of the songbirds amongst the crowd. The girl has the eyes of a predator rather than a trapped bird. Intelligence glinting in the depths of those dark eyes as she looks him up and down. Her disappointment is apparent—taking in what she sees and finds him wanting. Somehow she sees past his mask of pride, confidence, and beauty and decides he is uninteresting. Jinshi wonders what he has to do to change that—to become as interesting to her as she is to him.
He fails to think of an answer by the time she's bowing deeply.
"Just a lucky guess, sir. Please enjoy the party."
She practically flees his presence. Jinshi's hand twitches at his side to stop her—he has questions and too much time on his hands to waste it on dogs. This isn't the first time someone's remained unaffected by his beautiful eunuch mask, but it is certainly refreshing to be regarded with such visceral disgust.
However, rules are rules, and the madam was quite clear. No hands on the merchandise unless there was a glint of silver. Some part of Jinshi doesn't think he would mind if it meant she would pay him some attention.
A silly thought. Jinshi knows nothing of her and she, nothing of him. He returns to the table he came from. With a tug still hooked onto his mind, he catches sight of her disappearing behind a curtain of silk.
Gaoshun would only shame him with that patient-looking impatient expression of his. So long as there's work to do, there are other priorities than chasing mild interests no matter how intriguing.
Instead, Jinshi lets her go.
One would think with a beauty like his, Jinshi could have anyone under his finger. He'd agree—after all, it's the talent he's made use of for so long.
With hair like sparkling silk and a face carved from heaven, it's rare for a woman—and at times, a man!—to express not an ounce of carnal desire when he smiles. Women in the rear palace, despite believing Jinshi is a eunuch, fall over themselves for just a glimpse. Serving girls can't be retained at his residence because they can't resist sneaking their way into his bed. Had his identity been known, women would poison each other to cut down the competition.
Little do they know that Jinshi has no interest in them.
Or had. Well, it's a bit more complicated than that.
That one girl—the one who saw past his rosy gaze and rebuffed his honeyed voice. Even now, that hook in his mind remains, enough to dream of her. How bizarre!
On a bright summer's morning, Jinshi wakes from a strange dream. It's late—the sun already rising high in the sky. Quite unlike him to sleep in like this. Birds are chirping from the window, upset without their usual handouts.
Jinshi climbs out of bed to throw open the window, tossing out a mixture of seeds and dried fruit. He keeps a small bowl nearby that Suiren replenishes regularly.
Bird watching is one part pleasure and one part envy. They gather amongst the branches of a peach tree in his unmaintained garden. Thick, green canopy hides their fluttering little bodies from view until they dive towards the grass to peck at his offerings.
Like a faithful devout tossing coins into a shallow well, Jinshi whispers a prayer.
Maybe, one day, he could be as free as they are. Free to fly wherever he wishes.
Suiren arrives at his door, two raps of her knuckles against hard wood. Jinshi hears the slightest hesitation—a longer pause between knocks. He hums a sound to call her in.
"Good morning, young master," she says, peeking in. "Are you feeling better today?"
When has he not been fine? The rumours of his unhealthy constitution are greatly exaggerated—on purpose—but Suiren knows that better than anyone. In general, he would say he's been in great health these last few months, if only a bit overworked.
Jinshi blinks away the sleep and yawns into his words, "I'm feeling just fine." He ambles to the settee, Suiren retrieving his day robes like every other morning.
She continues, "You were quite strange yesterday. Make sure to double-check any completed work from yesterday. I'm sure Master Gaoshun set them aside."
"Strange, you say?"
Suiren hums with a smile. "Indeed. A sudden interest in your own reflection. Might I ask that next time you close the window curtains when the urge strikes?"
"Uh—" Jinshi stammers. In truth, he has no idea what she means, and quite frankly, he's a bit terrified of finding out.
He opts to nod and adds, "Right. I'll review the paperwork with breakfast, then. Have them brought over. I'll head out to the rear palace afterwards."
Suiren shakes her head as she directs him to the baths rather than dressing him.
"The ritual is this afternoon, young master, so you'd best bathe now."
"Huh?" Jinshi sounds rather undignified, but Suiren lets him get away with it. She has always been by his side, never one to lead him astray though Jinshi wonders if something really is wrong with him. How was he strange yesterday? How could he have confused his schedule?
"Is it not tomorrow?"
Yesterday he had met with the emperor to go over details for the ritual the day after next, and today he's supposed to make his rounds to the high consorts, especially to the Precious and Wise consorts. The two with imperial babes, both ill as of late with no cure in sight. It would be suspicious for the manager of the rear palace to be absent from his duties during such an important stage.
"You were there yesterday." Suiren all but shoves him along through his confusion. Despite her age, she's still quite strong. "You mentioned speaking with Lady Gyokuyou when you returned for dinner."
I did? In this strange turn of events, he has no memory of their discussion. An unusual and rare occurrence.
Jinshi stares off into the distance through the entire bath and dressing. As Suiren combs his hair and prepares him for the day, Jinshi rearranges his schedule in his head. Without knowing what he did the day before, it's difficult to separate what remains to be done. His thoughts are rather sluggish too.
After dressing, he flexes his hands and arms. Physically, he feels fine if only a bit tired.
Jinshi last remembers visiting Master Guen yesterday for an update on the prince and princess before meeting with the emperor. Afterwards, back at his home, Gaoshun had brought him a letter.
That's right—the letter.
I must have left it on the table, he thinks, retracing the steps in his room. Indeed, upon a small table near his bed rests a folded letter, one that Jinshi hadn't given much thought following a cursory glance. After running around all day and speaking to his brother, the words had all meshed together, so he'd lit some incense and gone to bed.
The sender is unknown, signed only as "the apothecary".
He doesn't know an apothecary. Does he? Jinshi doesn't pretend to understand what physicians do or study to understand illness and disease, but he knows they're related vocations, though not quite the same.
The content of the letter itself didn't make much sense: 'Please be wary of any rituals. Reply to this letter as soon as you can.' Apparently, it came from the Verdigris House. Why did that name seem familiar?
"Suiren, do you know of this place?"
Her brows furrow before relaxing. "Ah, yes. It's a high-end brothel. You held a party there a few years ago, if I remember correctly."
Jinshi hums an affirmation. That's right, he had. He had met a girl there that time. The one haunting his dreams. One he did intend to go back and see, purely to satisfy his curiosity. Unfortunately, his schedule had not allowed him to make that wish come true. Time passed in such a way that Jinshi simply forgot all about it.
He fleetingly wonders if the letter is from her.
Reality quickly settles in, however—it's impossible. Jinshi had never given her a name. The woman knew nothing of where he lived, what he did, or who he was. At the party, he was just another noble to drink and dine with the crowd.
Her disinterest had been clear no matter how oddly it stung him, and she never spoke a word of her own interests. What courtesan has the time to work as an apothecary? Women spend their time preparing for marriage. Cleanliness, purity, and beauty are all the women in the rear palace care for. Unless it's to make love potions—Jinshi shudders at the thought—he can't imagine any of the concubines bothering to learn such a trade. Of course, barring the fact that the current restrictions in Li only permit men to make medicine and become physicians.
Oh well. Jinshi sets the letter aside. He has far too much on his plate to worry about some innocuous letter from a mystery sender. If it's a threat, then he can only trust in his allies to handle it in his stead.
Jinshi starts his work days in the office in the outer court. Without other imperial business, his rounds in the rear palace take place in the afternoon.
Gaoshun guides him into the office with a gaze of thinly veiled concern. The usual statements follow.
"Please remember your appointments for the day—"
"The summer solstice ceremony is taking place at the Altar of Earth, don't forget—"
However, Gaoshun also asks, "How are you feeling today, Master Jinshi?"
That's new.
"I'm fine?"
What's not fine is the veritable weight of sheets before him. Jinshi glares at the formidable tower of papers, nearly up to his nose. The work pile surely had not been this high when last he left it. "Gaoshun. What exactly did I do yesterday?"
Gaoshun's face twists as though in despair. "You were not yourself."
"How so?"
"Servant girls have taken up an interest in botany and gardening. The rear palace physician also has many questions I don't believe you can answer in your current state."
Jinshi blinks. "I don't understand."
"I'm sure you don't, sir." Gaoshun sighs, long and deep. "We wondered if you were simply avoiding your duties, but after meeting with Lady Gyokuyou, you appeared… disturbed."
At his bewildered and questioning stare, Gaoshun continues, "Perhaps it is best to see for yourself."
Jinshi groans, ignoring the disappointed gaze aimed his way, and takes a seat with a huff.
Maybe his servants are playing some elaborate prank if they all happen to be in on it. The first sheet is familiar at least. This bill is certainly where he left off the evening before. He lifts it, ready to call Gaoshun on his bluff but pauses at the strange writing haphazardly scribbled all over the page.
This is not his handwriting. Nor Gaoshun's. Or Suiren's.
'Lead Makeup.'
'Poison.'
…What the hell?
Those mystery messages left amongst Jinshi's scattered paperwork are not solved in the few hours he has to, in polite terms, undo the chaos of the day before.
The day before that Jinshi absolutely, positively, without a damn doubt, does not remember enduring.
'Enduring', one might say, is an odd way to describe their daily life. Especially as an imperial. Jinshi, or rather, Ka Zuigetsu, should want for nothing. Respect, attention, and all manner of luxuries are at his disposal.
But it's all fake. An act. A performance. Members of the imperial family are nothing more than tools. The respect and attention are regarded towards the position and what it represents—not the person. If anything, the person behind the scripted symbol is not known or seen at all.
The image that people have of Ka Zuigetsu is put on a pedestal higher than where Jinshi would place him. With a name only the emperor can say, Jinshi isn't quite sure, after all these years, if this person called Zuigetsu exists. However, what would the rear palace manager and eunuch Jinshi be without the heavenly and celestial Zuigetsu?
Well—nothing, he supposes. Zuigetsu means everything to the nation of Li, while the existence of Jinshi only means everything to himself.
Jinshi is the one busy with enduring the troubles of his brother's flower garden, and yet the man finds every opportunity to call out Zuigetsu from his voluntary seclusion. What was the point in making that bet with his brother to avoid becoming crown prince if he still gets assigned to these ridiculous ceremonies? Sometimes, Jinshi wonders if his brother will truly honour the terms of their agreement.
Unfortunately, without a healthy, adult son, Jinshi would lose out on the war despite the battles he's won, and his freedom would forever remain out of reach.
The young prince and princess are what occupy his mind as the ceremony begins. How to ensure the survival of this supposed curse the emperor's children have been struck by. The scribbled words from his papers—could they be related somehow? Who in their right mind would use makeup made with lead? Unless such a thing isn't exactly obvious. Unless the product has been unknowingly poisoned.
It is only with years of practice that these thoughts do not show on Jinshi's face as he reads the rites. With no real talents or skills, all Jinshi could do growing up was be a rather studious person. A bit of effort goes a long way, though he is only slightly better than the average person at most things.
This ritual he knows inside and out. Each movement is precision born from relentless practice, a perfected actor performing on a platform to harmonize with the heavens. While officials circle him slowly with focused intent, their shuffling feet echo throughout the altar beneath the drone of Jinshi's voice. They represent the flow of yang returning to yin, a way of welcoming the summer solstice and guiding the sun to give way from its reign in the skies as the cycle of seasons prepares to change tides.
Jinshi doesn't believe in much of it—the cosmic harmony or the willfulness of the heavens. Disasters will simply happen. Famine or plague, it's merely up to the imperial family to protect the people. But it is the perception of the people that supports who sits on the throne. If the ceremonies act as a show to prove that those in power are doing all they should to help them, then who is Jinshi to question it? He follows along with tradition as he should.
The ceiling is low and the ceremonial hall is wide—the chanting fills the space, echoing around them. Incense smoke tickles Jinshi's nose. Enough of it is burning throughout the hall; sandalwood and plum blossom scents coat the air and stick to his robes. By the time he leaves, it will sink into his hair and skin. Only a long soak will rid him of it.
It's a good smell though, Jinshi admits.
The combination of scents is unique and pleasant. Jinshi often burns it in his own home or shares it to curry favour, though it's supposed to be burned only for ceremony. What's a couple of missing fancy incense sticks for the imperial family?
(In any case, he hasn't been caught yet.)
A line of officials break away from the encircling; they bring with them the ritual offerings.
"What has passed is not lost to what will come," Jinshi reads.
And the crowd around him chants back, "As goeth one, so goeth the other."
Jinshi's spoken these words tens of times without giving them much thought. One by one, the items are placed on the wooden table before him. All the offerings are things in a particular stage of their natural cycle. A selection of ripe green apples, a bowl of grain, and an arrangement of blooming flowers.
They used chrysanthemum flowers. Good for headaches and fever.
This thought gives him pause. It lingers like a floating string cut loose in his mind. Jinshi only learns enough about flowers to maintain the rear palace and fulfill duties to the high consorts that are often associated with them. Where he heard the name, Jinshi can't place.
Someone clears their throat. Jinshi blinks back to the present.
"At the height of brightness, the path returns from whence it came," he says.
The officials drawl in unison as they repeat his words. Then the ceremony comes to an end.
Jinshi sighs with relief. He's sweating in these robes. The mask covering is unbearable, though unfortunately necessary to keep his identity hidden. These officials believe the Moon Prince to be of poor constitution and, most importantly, not identical to Jinshi, the rear palace manager. The sooner he gets out of here, the faster he can shed this imperial skin and feel more like himself.
Except that as he steps out of the altar, Gaoshun is waiting for him. Jinshi does not require an escort from ceremonies, so his presence only means one thing.
Even with the mask on, Jinshi groans.
"Feeling more like yourself today, Zui?"
Jinshi resists rolling his eyes.
The Emperor questions him too. Gyokuyou also mentioned he was odd but that he might have found a clue to Princess Lingli's illness.
Jinshi's mouth hangs open. "I… did?"
"You don't remember?"
This is huge news. An incredible discovery. A combination of relief and panic floods over him as he leans back in his seat because this can change everything but what if he can't recall the clue?
"I confess I don't quite remember much of anything from yesterday. I would have missed the ceremony today if it weren't for Suiren."
His brother is, to Jinshi's surprise, unperturbed. The man hums, rubbing at his beard and refills his wine. "…Ah-duo used to experience something similar."
Jinshi blinks. "She did?"
However, he doesn't elaborate any further on the condition itself or what happened to his consort. Instead, with a smile that brings a frown to Jinshi's face, the emperor continues, "Think about it. Is there anything that comes to mind? Anything odd?"
Jinshi really ruminates about it. He'd gone to bed as usual. The whole experience felt like a long dream and the memories of it are fleeting and vague like trying to hold water in your palm as it slips through your fingers. He saw gold and silver and smoke and—
"I dreamt that I was a girl?" Jinshi blurts out.
The Emperor chuckles, intrigued. "Oh? Did this girl have a name?"
The name Jinshi can't remember. Images of that girl he met a few years ago flash through his mind, but the girl he supposedly became doesn't come together. It's all in pieces. His hair and clothes and voice were different. He definitely dreamed he was in a brothel—perhaps that was why the name in that letter, the Verdigris House seemed so familiar.
But a dream is a dream. There's little meaning to it and it's certainly not the sort of thing to occupy the emperor with.
"I'm sure it's nothing." Jinshi waves him off with like an awkward laugh. "My mind must be playing tricks on me. A strange letter I recently received must've influenced my dreams."
The emperor shrugs. "It is not unlike dreams to fade away after some time. If you have dreams of such a nature again, perhaps you should leave yourself some notes."
"I don't think there's anything noteworthy about it."
"You never know. Perhaps the Heavens are trying to tell you something. As an imperial, we should be reading even the changes in our own minds for signs."
Jinshi is not convinced but the matter is left to rest for the time being and he goes about his day.
Primarily, to find the clue he left behind about the children's illnesses.
In his office, Jinshi demands that Gaoshun bring him everything he signed yesterday. His attendant is beyond relieved. The shorter-than-usual stack was kept aside, just as Suiren said, and Jinshi goes through them in detail.
Of course as he had dread, Jinshi does not remember reviewing any of these.
These are formally submitted bills from officials and requests or complaints from consorts in the rear palace. Each form is supposed to be handled in a professional capacity.
Yet there are scribbles all over the pages. Notes written into the margins. Doodles next to his seal.
In fact, the notes are not even in his handwriting. As he goes through them, Jinshi is grateful that the rejected bills met their fate appropriately. He would have rejected them anyway and those can simply be burned.
Especially the change of age for drinking. That one especially, Jinshi of yesterday stamped the rejection area multiple times.
Which isn't necessary! Doesn't his imposter know anything about filling out paperwork?
Well, supposedly not. Because they were not him. It couldn't be.
None of it makes sense.
"Gaoshun. You're certain that I was the one who reviewed these?"
"While you were not yourself, sir, it was physically you," Gaoshun replies evenly.
Jinshi knows that Gaoshun is not blind. The man is quite capable, more so than Jinshi appreciates at times. He was considerate enough to set these aside knowing something was off.
What could have happened? It's like someone else had been here, in his body, while he was elsewhere entirely. Whatever clue this mystery Jinshi had discovered, current Jinshi has no idea what it could be and not enough time to hunt it down, not when he has yesterday's work to correct and today's work still to complete.
Gaoshun recalls that his mystery self had written down a variety of instructions and handed them off to Lady Gyokuyou as well as hand-delivered a message to Master Guen at the rear palace medical office. Jinshi instructs him to chase either one down. The contents of those messages must yield the evidence of whatever clue he discovered.
The following days are uneventful and come with terrible news.
Lihua's son, only three months old, passes away.
It is raining harshly and miserable and dark by the time Jinshi finally crawls into bed.
Consort Lihua is, as any would expect, beside herself with grief. Her first and only son had passed away quietly in his sleep after weeks of failed attempts to save his little life.
Jinshi in particular feels like a spectacular failure. He couldn't do anything for his baby nephew. The instructions he had left for Gyokuyou and Master Guen indicated something about certain face powders being toxic to young children. They had all hoped that such advice could also save Lihua's child.
However, the makeup powder Gyokuyou's wet nurse was using was not found in the Crystal Pavilion. It's apparent that whatever had claimed the poor babe was something else entirely.
At least Princess Lingli should pull through. Jinshi can't help wishing, deep down, that Gyokuyou had borne a son.
It's a selfish, awful thing to think. But Jinshi was so close. A prince had finally been born, someone who could eventually grow into the role of the Crown Prince, and Jinshi was too useless to save him.
If he had managed, maybe freedom from his cage wouldn't feel so impossible. Jinshi doesn't know what he'd do if he could walk the streets of the capital. Maybe he could become a farmer and tend to animals. Jinshi likes his horse well enough.
Thinking of that, he falls asleep.
Jinshi's sleep is dark and dreamless, and morning comes all too quickly. He pushes off his bed, blinking away the drowsiness. And blinks a few more times, because nothing looks right.
This is not his home. This is not his bed.
He shivers. Drafts of morning wind leave him with goosebumps as he eyes the homey wooden shack. As he sits up, the thin blankets slip off. Jinshi runs his hands along his arms before reaching his chest to pull the robes tighter around his body.
His chest feels weird. Smaller. The robes are not as soft either; the fabric is rougher and—green? Jinshi glances over his body. Skinny legs, covered by a long grey skirt. Tiny, well-kept toes that certainly respond as Jinshi wiggles them. His hands, which do not look like his hands, rubbing against his robe, feeling for muscles he definitely had when he went to sleep.
And an old woman walks into the shack, staring down at him blankly.
"My, is it time for another physical examination already?"
Jinshi squeals in a voice that is not his own.
This is a dream. It has to be, and Jinshi now remembers he's had this dream before.
It's like his mind has drifted off and created a peek into a commoner's life. After the initial scare, the old woman, who is actually an old man, apologizes for the startle and offers to prepare breakfast.
If he remembers correctly, this man is the girl's father. Jinshi roused in a similar way the last time he dreamed of this. Sitting up and feeling his chest—well, this girl's chest—confused by the unfamiliar robes against his hands and the shape of this other body.
With burning ears, he struggles with the words to explain that he wasn't trying to fondle the old man's daughter. Of whom Jinshi is not, despite current appearances.
Except the thought feels insane. It's just a dream—why not entertain the fleeting idea of living another life? It's his dream, so surely he doesn't have to explain himself.
Instead, Jinshi tries to act natural. Blend in with his surroundings by rolling up the blankets that make up his bed. Commoners do that right? Jinshi takes a seat at the table before being told to use the well water outside to freshen up.
He totally knows where that is—but could he get a reminder?
Returned to the table, Jinshi idly observes the home. It's quite small yet still comfortable. They have enough for their needs—a makeshift stove, food staples, and many tools Jinshi recalls seeing in the medical offices in the palace. The large, well-cared for hundred-eye cabinet especially catches his eye. It explains the dried herbs that hang along the walls and windows.
This man must be an apothecary by trade. Do apothecaries tend to live like this?
Not that Jinshi thinks poorly of this father-daughter pair. Their home is modest and cozy. Warm in a way that his palace hasn't ever felt. If anything, Jinshi appreciates it.
The old man places two bowls of congee with pickled radish and greens and sits with pained hiss.
"Ah, silly me. I forgot the spoons," he says, looking pointedly at Jinshi. "Would you mind fetching them?"
"R-right!" How hard can it be to find eating utensils?
Except that Jinshi has always had utensils brought to his table. He does not have a single clue as to where normal people keep their things.
"Check on the shelf," the man says. "Below the plates."
"Ah!"
Their breakfast is otherwise quiet. Jinshi's fine with the silence—he's alone through most of his meals and even his hours of work, regardless of Gaoshun's persisting presence. They only speak when there are things to discuss. The man might as well be a fly on the wall.
However, when Jinshi does eat with others, it's typically for political reasons. A game is at hand with a board to make moves on. A game that Jinshi often intends to win with smooth smiles and sweet words. Glancing at this old man between spoonfuls of congee, Jinshi can't decide what it is he should do. What do families without political motivations and hidden intentions talk about?
This congee is really good… It's simple and not nearly as rich as the food served in his palace, but it soothes him in the best of ways. A staple that hits the spot, chasing away the morning chill. Satisfying and real, somehow. The layers of flavour that hit his tongue in such a vivid way. For a dream, the details are immaculate.
The old man collects their dishes when they finish. Jinshi stumbles when he tries to thank him.
"You may call me Luomen," the old man says before ambling off with their empty bowls.
"Oh—"
"There are clean robes back there by the window. Put one on and meet me outside when you're done."
Then Luomen picks up a woven basket by the backdoor and steps out.
Jinshi blinks, off kilter by the bluntness of it all, but hurries to catch up nonetheless. Thank goodness he didn't have to change clothes…
In a straw hat and cane in hand, Luomen guides them down an unkept dirt path a little way out from the shack to a field. Dense weeds glitter in the morning sun.
"We'll gather the herbs here." Luomen hands over a knife. "Follow after me."
Jinshi proceeds to do more hard labour than he's done in the last several years of his life. Crouching in the dirt, pulling up a variety of herbs—not weeds!—by their roots, careful not to ruin them. Suiren would be aghast by the sight.
The Moon Prince. Picking mugwort and wood sorrel without gloves, dirt caking beneath his nails.
A woman's hands, Jinshi reminds himself. How curious that his mind would delve in this direction. He's wondered, on occasion, what it would be like if he'd been born a princess instead, but this dream is oddly specific, even for him.
It catches him off guard when her hair slides across his face, dark like his own, but nearly green like moss under sunlight. He hadn't a clue on how to tie a woman's hair up appropriately. A small part of him wishes to learn.
This is kind of fun, in its own way…
Jinshi's daily life is usually filled with paperwork. It can be satisfying in its own way, he supposes, but it's merely something he has to do. It's a duty to his nation and the officials and concubines that work to support it in their own ways.
Working in the field like this is enjoyable. Jinshi's proud when he shows off a bundle of herbs he pulled, and Luomen nods in approval. There isn't an entire nation to support here. There's no audience or anyone else to impress. Just the daily work of a small family.
But it's nice. Comforting. He learns a lot!
Jinshi loses track of time as they toil under the sun. He pauses once in awhile to rub at his left arm. Given the excitement of the morning, it had slipped under his radar, but the arm aches and throbs as he works. After some time, Jinshi pulls back the layers of sleeves.
The bandages surprise him.
"Is it bothering you?" Luomen asks once he notices Jinshi's stopped working.
Jinshi shrugs. Best to be honest. "It aches a little."
A noncommittal hum. "I see. For now, I recommend leaving it dry and undisturbed. It shouldn't need changing today."
Luomen returns to herb gathering while Jinshi eyes the arm with intensifying curiosity. What could this girl possibly have done to injure herself so?
He hopes it isn't a sign of anything sinister.
As the sun climbs to its peak, they return to the shack. Luomen gets to sorting the herbs right away. He collects bundles of string and folded fabric before setting down the basket.
"It's nearly lunch time now, so we'll bring these with us to the shop." Luomen doesn't even look over as Jinshi flops onto the floor, watching him work. "I suppose you'll need a cover story before we head over."
Jinshi chuckles awkwardly. "What are we covering up exactly?"
"It would be obvious to anyone who knows my daughter well that you are not her." Luomen continues to wrap bundles of herbs with string and loosely cut fabric while Jinshi sweats.
Is this the part where his dream becomes a nightmare?
"I don't know who you are, but I've seen this condition before. Considering this is the second time you've switched places with her, you'll need to be aware of a few things."
Luomen sets the bundles down before gazing at Jinshi directly with challenging intent. "Unless you intend to cause my daughter trouble?"
So the jig is up—that is, if he had ever fooled the old man of this dream at all. Like a sulking child, Jinshi holds up his hands in surrender.