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The long grass swayed gently in the evening breeze, its soft blades brushing against the bare skin of her legs with every passing gust. Tiny insects wandered lazily among the stems, climbing the flowering weeds while dragonflies drifted through the warm air, their wings catching the fading light. Somewhere beyond the garden, cicadas sang their endless chorus, the sound rising and falling with the whisper of the wind.
Above them, the afternoon surrendered to evening. Streaks of amber, pink, and pale gold stretched across the horizon, blending together until the sky resembled the careful brushstrokes of an artist rather than something nature had crafted on its own.
It was peaceful and Maomao found herself smiling.
Not the small, polite smile she wore around nobles, nor the amused smirk that often escaped her when an experiment went unexpectedly well. It was a genuine one, broad enough that her cheeks had begun to ache, though she paid it little mind.
Across from her, Jinshi continued speaking without pause, his violet eyes animated as he recounted the day's endless meetings. His frustration seeped into every exaggerated gesture as he described stubborn officials who insisted on debating matters that should have taken mere moments to resolve. Every so often he paused to imitate one particularly irritating minister, earning nothing more than an inelegant snort from her before continuing his tale with renewed enthusiasm.
Her husband had always possessed an unfortunate inability to refuse those who sought his help. It was admirable, certainly, it was also terribly exhausting.
Day after day he carried burdens that were never truly his own, accepting responsibility without complaint until the weight of it settled quietly across his shoulders. These evenings had become their remedy. Once the sun dipped low enough to paint the world gold, he would find her, settle beside her in the grass, and slowly unravel every frustration he had so carefully concealed throughout the day.
She had never been particularly skilled at comforting people. In the past she would often think of the proper response hours after a conversation had already ended, silently berating herself for choosing logic when reassurance had been needed instead. Feelings had always been difficult things to diagnose, far less treat.
Yet she had learned. Not because she had suddenly become perceptive, but because she had realised something no one else seemed to notice.
Jinshi rarely allowed himself to be vulnerable.
Not before the ministers who relied upon his confidence. Not before the servants who looked to him for guidance. Not even before Gaoshun, despite the years they had spent together.
Only her.
Once she understood that, she had stubbornly forced herself to listen, to ask questions, to remain beside him even when she had no advice worth offering. Little by little she had grown accustomed to these conversations, until comforting him no longer felt like another unfamiliar skill to master.
Somewhere along the way, she had begun to treasure them. After long days spent surrounded by herbs, medicines, and patients, there was something quietly restorative about simply listening to his voice. The steady rhythm of it eased the tension from her shoulders more effectively than any tea she had brewed or tonic she had prepared.
Whether Jinshi realised it or not, he had become her favourite medicine. And unlike every remedy she had ever studied, this was one she never intended to stop taking.
Jinshi sat beside her with his legs loosely crossed, his shoulders slumped in a way few people would ever believe possible. Gone was the flawless posture expected of the Moon Prince, the elegant mask he wore before ministers and nobles alike. Here, in this garden, he allowed himself to simply exist.
She preferred him like this, without ceremony or expectation.
She sat close enough that their shoulders brushed every so often whenever the breeze shifted, her legs folded comfortably beneath her. Her gaze wandered between the man beside her and the countless plants surrounding them, lingering on the blossoms that had only recently begun to bloom.
The garden had been his wedding gift to her.
He gave her no jewels or silks, no extravagant gesture befitting royalty. Just a quiet corner of the estate where she could cultivate whatever she pleased.
He had helped her gather rare seeds and unusual medicinal herbs from every province he could reach, somehow remembering the idle comments she made whenever a plant caught her interest. Once everything had been planted, however, he had stepped back without hesitation. He never hovered over her shoulder or questioned how she arranged the beds. He simply handed her the space she had always lacked and trusted her to transform it into something beautiful.
It had become everything she had once dreamed of.
Rows of medicinal herbs flourished beside flowering shrubs, climbing vines curled around carefully placed trellises, and colourful blossoms bloomed wherever there had been room to spare. The air was rich with the mingled scents of earth, herbs, and petals, each carried gently through the evening breeze.
Somehow, over the years, it had changed. Without either of them noticing, it had stopped being her garden, it had become theirs.
She had caught him more than once quietly admiring a particular flower after a rather long meeting. He never asked for anything outright, he simply looked, perhaps for a heartbeat longer than necessary, before turning his attention elsewhere.
The flower would always appear somewhere in the garden a day or two later. He had never commented on it, only smiling whenever he found it.
Little by little, he began finding more excuses to accompany her to the garden. Sometimes he would read while she worked. Other times he would absentmindedly water whichever plants she pointed towards or sit exactly where he was now, talking about his day while she trimmed herbs beside him.
This place had become as much a sanctuary for him as it was for her.
Though, despite the hundreds of flowers that now filled the garden, he still insisted that she remained the prettiest one among them. She had reminded him more than once that she was, in fact, not a flower. He had only smiled wider each time.
His voice trailed off as he finished his story, his eyes growing softer as they returned to her, his lips curving into a small, tired smile. “What about you, Maomao?” He asked softly, the slight breeze seeming to carry his voice softer than it should. “How was your day?”
His hand raised, a small movement to push a stray hair back behind her ear, his hand lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. She returned his smile, her eyes trailing over the darkening sky as glowing insects flew through the warm air.
Truth be told, her days were nowhere near as demanding as his. While he spent his time buried beneath meetings, petitions, and the endless responsibilities of governing, her own hours were often filled with patients, herbs, and the quiet satisfaction of solving one problem at a time.
Yet, without fail, he always insisted that her stories were far more interesting than his own. She was well aware he only wished to take his mind off of his own responsibilities, if only for a little while.
“It was fine.” She offered without much hesitation. “We received only one bad injury, a broken arm from a sparring match.” Her lips curved up at the memory, she had offered the patient some of her new pain medication she had created, her heart racing to hear if it would be a success.
She had long since cut back on her more reckless experiments. The decision had not come all at once, nor because anyone had ordered her to stop. It had begun one quiet night when they had both been far too exhausted to remain awake.
She had been resting against his chest, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear. The room had been silent save for the occasional crackle of the brazier, the faint scent of sandalwood lingering in the air. She had nearly drifted to sleep when she felt his fingers gently take hold of her wrist.
He showed an unbearable tenderness as his thumb traced the pale scars that crossed her forearm before he lifted it to his lips. One by one, he pressed slow, lingering kisses against each faded mark, as though trying to erase years of carelessness with affection alone.
She remembered watching him in quiet confusion. To her, they had always been little more than evidence of successful, or unsuccessful experiments. Yet to him, they were reminders that she had been hurt.
"I'll love you regardless," he had murmured, his voice barely louder than the crackling fire. "Scars or not, that will never change."
Then, after a long silence, he looked at her with an expression she rarely saw upon his face. His eyes softened with something akin to gentle worry.
She couldn’t fault him, especially now that they had begun speaking, however cautiously, about the possibility of having a child, he had asked if she might consider being a little kinder to herself. Not because he wished to take away the work she loved, nor because he wanted to control her, but because he hoped she would still be beside him many years from now.
It had never sounded like a request born of authority, which was exactly why she had promised him she would try. Since then, she had kept that promise as faithfully as she knew how.
His attention never once drifted as she recounted her own day. Leaning back on one hand, he turned fully towards her, his violet eyes following every subtle change in her expression instead of the scenery around them. Every now and then he gave a quiet hum of acknowledgement or a small nod, encouraging her to continue despite knowing she hardly needed the prompting.
When she reached the story of a particularly unusual injury, the corners of his lips lifted into an amused smile. A soft laugh escaped him, accompanied by a slight shake of his head as he rested his chin against his knuckles, watching her with unmistakable fondness. It never ceased to amaze him how she could describe broken bones, rare poisons, and bizarre accidents with the same enthusiasm most people reserved for festivals or celebrations.
He doubted anyone else could make such conversations sound so captivating.
Not that she seemed to realise it.
Her head tilted to the side, her eyes narrowing slightly as her lips pouted in the way they always seemed to when she was forcing herself to remember the rest of her day. Her memory usually reserved only for medicines and poisons.
“We received some new medical assistants today.” She recounted as her finger came to rest on her lip for a moment. “Docter Liu asked me to train them.” Her voice raised in the way it always did when she was excited.
“Is that so?” He asked, his hand coming to rest on the skin of her leg that poked out from beneath her skirt, his hand tracing slow patterns as he continued, “I’m proud of you, you deserve it.”
Perhaps it was a little unfair of him, but he could never quite resist.
Complimenting her had become something of a guilty pleasure over the years. No matter how often he praised her, she would invariably avert her gaze, the faintest flush creeping across her cheeks before she attempted, usually unsuccessfully, to dismiss his words altogether.
As though she simply couldn't believe them or as though she had never quite learned that she was worthy of hearing them. He had spent years trying to convince her otherwise. It was a slow process, but one he had never grown tired of.
The sight of that delicate blush spreading across her face remained one of his greatest victories, especially when she began stumbling over her words in a futile attempt to change the subject. She always became adorably flustered whenever he was sincere, and though she would deny it to her dying breath, he knew she treasured his affection more than she let on.
Truthfully, it was perhaps the only circumstance in which he ever seemed to gain the upper hand over her in the bedroom.
His gaze lingered on her as naturally as breathing, drifting unhurriedly over her face before settling there with quiet contentment. He simply looked at her, his eyes trailing over her freckles he had insisted on her keeping, quietly counting them.
Years ago, such unabashed attention would have earned him a sharp glare and a muttered insult beneath her breath. She would have accused him of rudely staring. Now, she hardly thought twice about it, if anything, she found it strangely comforting.
There was something reassuring about knowing his eyes always sought her first. Even surrounded by fields of wildflowers painted gold by the evening sun, he still looked at her as though she were the most beautiful thing before him.
He continued watching her for another quiet moment, their conversation tapering off as his attention drifted elsewhere. His eyes lowered to her lap, where her fingers had begun weaving slender flower stems together without so much as a conscious thought. One flower slipped between her fingertips, then another, until a small chain of wildflowers had begun to take shape.
His thumb never stopped its slow, absent circles against her leg. "Everything alright?" he asked softly.
She blinked, following his gaze until she noticed the flowers in her hands. She paused mid-motion, studying the half-finished chain with a faint look of confusion, as though she hadn't even realised she'd been making it. "Of course," she replied, glancing back at him. "Why wouldn't it be?"
A small smile tugged at his lips. "You fidget when you're nervous."
He gave her hand the slightest squeeze before tilting his head towards the flowers still threaded between her fingers. She looked down once more, turning the delicate stems over between her fingertips before letting out a quiet, amused huff.
He had become far too observant.
Years of watching her had taught him to notice the smallest habits she herself often overlooked, how she chewed the inside of her cheek when trying not to laugh or how she absentmindedly reached for his sleeve whenever she was tired.
"Your conclusions aren't always correct," she replied, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her with the hint of a smile.
His smile dropped for a moment, his eyes flickering between her and the string of flowers that sat loosely in her lap, “then… What are you doing?”
“I’m making a flower crown.” She spoke simply, as if she was aware of what she was doing and hadn’t just learnt what her fingers were doing a second ago too.
“A flower crown?” He asked as his eyes widened in confusion and she couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.
It was becoming increasingly obvious her husband could be oblivious, but it was almost sad to think of everything he had missed out on because he grew up a prince.
"Yes," she admitted, a quiet note of amusement slipping into her voice.
Her gaze drifted away from him, settling instead on the flowers gathered in her lap. Almost unconsciously, her fingers continued their careful work, threading delicate stems together with the ease of someone who had repeated the motion hundreds of times before.
"It started back when I lived in the Rear Palace." The words carried an unexpected softness, as the cool breeze blew through where they sat, "I wasn't only captivated by the medicinal herbs."
A small smile ghosted across her lips as she lifted one of the flowers between her fingers, turning it slowly in the fading sunlight. "The gardens were beautiful, even without the useful plants, there was always something blooming somewhere. When the palace became... overwhelming..." She paused, searching for the right word before giving a slight shrug. "I found myself seeking them out."
She let another flower slip into the growing chain. "I liked the quiet, the flowers never expected anything of me."
"Whenever I grew anxious, I'd sit amongst them and weave the stems together until they resembled little crowns." She glanced down at the half-finished circle resting in her hands, a faint smile lingering. "It gave my hands something to do while my mind settled."
She let out the smallest huff of laughter. "I suppose it became a habit." Her thumb brushed gently over one of the petals as he watched her with fondness, "I don't only do it when I'm anxious anymore. Sometimes I simply enjoy it. It's become... something of a niche hobby."
Jinshi looked between her and the unfinished wreath, the corners of his mouth lifting almost imperceptibly. "I wish I'd known."
She tilted her head. "Known what?"
"That somewhere in the Rear Palace," he said softly, "there was an apothecary girl quietly making flower crowns." His smile warmed as he imagined it. "I think I would have liked to see that."
Maomao looked back down at the flowers, the corners of her own lips twitching despite herself. "...You probably would have ruined the solitude."
He laughed loudly, the sound drifting delightfully through the quiet air as he shook his head at her words. Eventually he calmed down, wiping away the tears that had collected in the corners of his eyes as the noise quietened into something comforting, only the sound of distant nightlife could be heard.
She continued to work slowly, enjoying the quiet moment of peace, the vastly different atmosphere compared to her days at the medical office. She could feel his gaze on her as she weaved the flowers together, and could feel the softness he held for her.
“Could you…” His voice cut through the silence, “could you, teach me?”
She paused at his request, her fingers slowing as her head tilted up to see his almost worried complexion, as if she would ever dream of denying him. “Of course.”
"Collect some flowers," she instructed, already returning her attention to the half-finished wreath in her lap. "Just make sure the stems are reasonably long."
She had scarcely finished speaking before he was on his feet, an unbelievably big smile spreading across his features. "Understood."
There wasn't a trace of reluctance in his voice. If anything, he sounded almost delighted to have been given a task. With surprising enthusiasm for the Moon Prince, he wandered through the garden, crouching beside flower beds as he carefully searched for blooms worthy of presenting to her. Every so often he would pause, studying a blossom with remarkable seriousness before deciding whether or not it met her unspoken standards.
Maomao couldn't help the quiet laugh that escaped her at his obvious eagerness.
Her gaze followed him as he moved between the rows of flowers, only then noticing where he had instinctively gravitated. Nearly every bloom he picked came from the small patch she had planted for him over the years, the flowers he had lingered over just a little too long, the ones he had admired without ever asking for.
He crouched down beside her a few minutes later, his eyes glued to the flowers in his hands as he placed them with the utmost care onto the ground, all the while she continued her own flower crown.
His hands copied her motions, his gaze flickering between their flower crowns and she found herself smiling at the way his tongue stuck adorably out of his mouth in concentration. She watched him for a few moments before sliding closer, their shoulders touching as she leaned in to him in a way that still sent shockwaves through her system years later.
“Here.” She moved her own flower crown next to his, “try weaving them through the other way. Use the bigger ones first and then go back in and use the smaller ones to fill the extra space.”
He adjusted his approach without complaint, setting aside the smaller blossoms in favour of the larger ones as she had suggested. His fingers, far more accustomed to brushes, scrolls, and official documents than delicate flower stems, fumbled only slightly before finding a steadier rhythm.
She watched in thoughtful silence.
Ordinarily, she was a capable teacher. Whether she was explaining medicinal properties to an apprentice or instructing someone how to prepare a remedy, she instinctively knew how to adjust her explanations to suit the person before her. Some required careful demonstrations, others only a few concise words.
This, however, was different. Weaving flower crowns was never something she had consciously learned. It was simply... something her hands remembered. Years of absentminded repetition had made each movement instinctive, leaving her surprisingly ill-equipped to explain why one stem should go over another or why a particular twist made the wreath stronger.
She found herself pausing more than once, searching for instructions she had never before needed to put into words. "...No, not quite."
She leaned a little closer, gently guiding one of the stems between his fingers. "Try folding it underneath first."
He followed her suggestion without hesitation, his brow furrowing in concentration as he copied the movement. Gradually, the loose collection of flowers began to resemble something more deliberate. The circle became neater, the blossoms sat more evenly, and the gaps between them slowly disappeared as they both smiled wider.
It wasn’t perfect. One side sat slightly higher than the other, and a few flowers pointed in directions they probably shouldn't. Though maybe that was the point.
An unexpected swell of pride settled warmly in her chest as she watched him continue.
His life had never allowed much room for hobbies. Every skill he possessed had been cultivated because it served a purpose, calligraphy befitting a prince, swordsmanship for protection, diplomacy for survival. Even his moments of leisure were often dictated by duty rather than desire.
Watching him become so thoroughly absorbed in something with no expectation of mastery, no political value, and no audience beyond herself...
She found it strangely endearing.
She was proud of him.
Her attention soon returned to her own flower crown, her movements slower than usual as she paused every so often to watch his progress. It was rather beautiful, the flowers he had chosen all serving a purpose in the small wreath.
They continued for a while longer, his low humming and the rustle of leaves filling the air as she worked. She had finished her own some time ago, her flower crown resting off to the side as she busied herself with some nearby medicinal leaves. Turning them over carefully, inspecting each one before placing them into piles that mirrored their characteristics. Even while relaxing her mind was still filled with medicines.
Across from her, Jinshi was entirely absorbed in his own task. His hands moved almost deftly through the stems as he wove the flowers together, every now and then letting out a small sigh of contentment as he finished another section.
Several more minutes passed before his expression brightened, “I’ve done it!” He exclaimed far too loudly for the time of day. He lifted the finished flower crown above his head with unmistakable triumph.
She couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped her, the sound ringing softly through the garden, earning a beaming smile from the man responsible.
Slowly she extended a hand in quiet patience, “May I?”
His grin softened as he placed the flower crown into her outstretched hand.
She turned it over slowly, her fingertips brushing delicately across each petal and woven stem as she inspected his work. Sage green leaves framed clusters of dusty pink blossoms, while lilac flowers and tiny white blooms filled the spaces between them.
She could feel him watching her in quiet anticipation. “It’s beautiful.” She said honestly, her voice warm with praise, “well done, sir.”
His shoulders seemed to slump with relief. The pride that bloomed across his face was so genuine, so boyishly pleased by her approval, that she wondered if receiving praise from her meant far more to him than he would ever admit.
The flower crown remained in her hands for only a heartbeat before it was gently lifted away. She looked up just in time to see Jinshi leaning towards her.
His movements were slow, almost reverent, as he lowered the woven ring of flowers onto her head. One hand steadied the crown while the other carefully pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips brushing lightly against her temple. He adjusted it with painstaking precision, lifting it once, then again, until he seemed satisfied that not a single blossom sat out of place.
His hands remained cradling either side of her face for the briefest moment, as though reluctant to let go. "There," he murmured, a quiet smile finding his lips. "Perfect."
His knuckles grazed her cheek before his palm settled there instead, warm and impossibly gentle. His thumb traced a slow path beneath her eye, a touch so familiar now that she instinctively leaned ever so slightly into it before catching herself.
He gave her a crooked smile, one that reminded her so much of their time spent together after the Shi Clan rebellion, as they sat together in that carriage. Back then, she had never imagined they would end up here, married. Sharing quiet evenings in a garden they had built together and placing flower crowns upon one another's heads as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
Heat crept steadily across her cheeks as a flush overcame her features.
Jinshi's smile softened further the moment he noticed the colour rising in her face, though, to his credit, he said nothing. There was a familiar fondness in his eyes instead, one that somehow made the blush deepen all the same.
"...Don't look so pleased with yourself," she muttered, unable to meet his gaze for long.
"I wasn't going to say a word."
"Your face already has."
A quiet laugh escaped him before settling back into that fond expression he always wore around her.
Determined to reclaim at least a little of her dignity, she reached for the flower crown she had woven earlier. Leaning forward, she carefully settled it atop his dark hair, taking the same care he had with hers. Her fingers lingered as she adjusted a blossom that had fallen slightly askew, smoothing a few stray strands back into place before withdrawing.
She paused.
Against the deep black of his hair, the soft colours seemed almost luminous. The flowers framed his face so naturally that, surrounded by the garden's evening light, he looked less like the Moon Prince and more like some woodland spirit that had wandered from the forest itself.
He truly was beautiful.
Her body moved closer to his, almost magnetically as she settled comfortably in his lap, her finger tracing the scar he had received from such a rebellion, when he rescued her. Her lips rose to his, placing an almost tentative kiss against his softness before pushing further.
The kiss was unhurried. There was no urgency, no desperation born from stolen moments or uncertain tomorrows. Just the quiet certainty that they belonged here, beneath a sky painted with the last light of day, surrounded by flowers that swayed gently in the evening breeze.
His lips were warm against hers, impossibly gentle as he held her with a tenderness that still managed to catch her off guard after all these years. One of his hands rested against the curve of her waist while the other remained cupped around her cheek, his thumb absentmindedly stroking her skin with slow, familiar motions. She found herself leaning into the touch before she even realised she was doing it.
The breeze carried the scent of herbs and blossoms between them, mingling with the faint sandalwood that would always cling to him. It was a fragrance she had long ago come to associate with home.
Reluctantly, they drew apart, though neither moved very far. Their foreheads rested together as they caught their breath, the silence between them filled only by the evening chorus of insects and the distant rustling of leaves. His thumb continued its lazy path across her cheek, as though he simply couldn't bear to stop touching her now that he had started.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment. The world beyond their little garden still existed. Tomorrow there would be patients waiting for her, ministers waiting for him, reports, meetings, responsibilities and expectations.
But not yet. Here, there was no Moon Prince and medical assistant. Only Jinshi and Maomao, just the two of them. A quiet smile found its way onto her lips.
She had never expected marriage to feel like this. Though then again, she had never expected to get married in the first place. If she did, she would have thought it just another arrangement she would be forced to grow accustomed to.
Instead, it had become this. Evenings spent listening to him ramble about impossible ministers, flower crowns woven together in the fading sunlight, and soft kisses that left her feeling rejuvenated.
Moments where neither of them had to be anyone except themselves. She had once thought medicine was the finest remedy the world had to offer. Now, sitting in the garden with her husband, she couldn't help wondering if perhaps she had been wrong.