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The midday sun filtered through the high windows of the outer court’s main office, catching dust motes drifting above towering stacks of official reports.
Jinshi—older now, though no less devastatingly beautiful—pinched the bridge of his nose. The sheer volume of paperwork this season was enough to make him nostalgic for the days when he could hide behind a eunuch’s veil and foist troublesome matters onto others.
A sudden patter of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.
The heavy doors creaked open.
Framed in the doorway stood a miniature disaster.
At six years old, Princess Meiling was the very image of her father: the same lustrous violet-tinted hair, the same liquid eyes, and the same dangerous charm already wielded with alarming instinct. Two ladies-in-waiting hovered behind her, breathless and visibly torn between panic and adoration.
Meiling ignored them entirely. Her gaze locked onto Jinshi.
Clutched carefully in her tiny hands was a single, slightly wilted wild peony.
“Daddy!”
Abandoning every shred of court decorum, she barreled across the polished floor.
Jinshi’s exhaustion vanished instantly.
A helpless smile spread across his face—the sort he once concealed from the world, but now wore freely within the privacy of his family. He swept her into his arms without hesitation, paying no mind to the dusty footprints staining his immaculate robes.
“Meiling,” he murmured, his voice soft with indulgence. “What brings my little star all the way to the outer court? You know your mother will scold us both if she learns you sneaked out again.”
Meiling thrust the flower toward his face.
“For Daddy! I found the prettiest one.” Her eyes sparkled brightly. “Because I love Daddy the most, and Daddy is the absolute best in the whole world!”
Jinshi felt his chest swell with dangerous satisfaction.
Meiling’s unabashed affection never failed to weaken him. If Maomao were here, she would probably give him that exasperated look that implied he was far too easy to manipulate. Which, admittedly, he was.
Then his gaze drifted toward the somewhat battered peony.
An idea occurred to him.
If Meiling delivered it to Maomao on his behalf, perhaps his wife’s mood might soften enough to make the evening considerably more pleasant.
He pressed a kiss against Meiling’s forehead and gently folded her fingers back around the flower.
“Thank you, my sweet,” he said warmly. “But your mother works very hard too. Why don’t you bring this flower to her? Go to the inner pavilion, give it to Mommy, and tell her exactly what you just told me.”
Meiling blinked up at him with wide, earnest eyes before nodding dutifully.
“Okay! Meiling will tell Mommy right away!”
With a delighted giggle, she wriggled free from his arms and darted out of the office, flower safely in hand, with her ladies-in-waiting hurrying after her.
Jinshi watched her leave, feeling absurdly pleased with himself.
Meanwhile, in the herb-scented annex of the inner pavilion, the atmosphere was considerably less sweet.
Maomao sat on a low stool with a heavy mortar braced between her knees. Her sleeves had been tied back with practical cords, and her expression carried its usual air of detached concentration.
Thump. Grind. Thump. Grind.
Dried cicada sloughs and snake-root steadily became fine medicinal powder beneath her pestle.
To Maomao, the world operated on simple logic.
If someone was ill, they took medicine. If they were hungry, they ate. If Meiling scraped her knee, needed a bath, or tore her clothes climbing somewhere she should not, the child came directly to her with practical efficiency.
For comfort, pampering, and shameless spoiling, however, Meiling sought out Jinshi.
Maomao did not particularly mind. It kept the child occupied while she worked.
The sliding door opened.
Meiling stepped inside with both hands hidden behind her back, her face flushed with the excitement of secrecy.
Maomao did not stop grinding, though her eyes softened slightly as she glanced up.
“Welcome back. Did you wash your hands after going outside? Are you hungry?”
Meiling puffed out her chest proudly.
Then, with complete conviction, she delivered the message exactly as instructed.
“I love Daddy! Daddy is the absolute best!”
Maomao’s pestle stopped mid-grind.
She stared at her daughter for a long moment, less offended than mildly entertained.
“I see,” she said flatly. “Did your father send you here just to say that?”
“Mm-hmm!”
Meiling proudly revealed the flower from behind her back.
Maomao glanced at the peony. If properly dried, it might have some medicinal use, though this particular specimen looked rather abused.
“And that flower is for me?”
“No!”
Meiling recoiled in visible horror, immediately hugging the flower protectively to her chest.
“It’s Daddy’s flower! I already gave it to him.”
Maomao suppressed a sigh.
“Then why bring it here?”
Meiling pointed toward the open window with all the unimpressed practicality of a seasoned merchant.
“Daddy told me to bring it to you,” she explained matter-of-factly. “But it’s still Daddy’s flower. If Mommy wants flowers, there are more growing outside. You can pick your own.”
Maomao froze.
That tone.
That deeply transactional, utterly merciless logic.
It did not belong to a six-year-old princess.
It belonged to a certain bespectacled menace who treated human relationships like accounting ledgers.
Lahan.
Maomao’s eyes narrowed into slits.
She had explicitly warned Jinshi not to leave Meiling alone with his eccentric adopted brother during the spring festival. Clearly, Lahan had spent the entire time filling the child’s head with warped theories about efficiency and resource allocation.
And now Jinshi’s attempted romantic gesture had somehow devolved into a lesson on property ownership.
“I see,” Maomao repeated quietly, resuming her grinding with significantly greater force.
THUMP. GRIND.
“How wonderfully considerate.”
“Mm-hmm!”
Completely oblivious to the danger gathering around her, Meiling happily skipped off in search of a vase for her father’s flower.
Maomao continued grinding herbs in silence.
By the time she finished, she had already calculated the precise dosage of a mild, non-lethal laxative for Lahan’s next cup of tea.
As for Jinshi—
His dinner would be exceptionally bitter tonight.