Chapter Text
Maomao angst! Read tw!!
When the Walls Finally Held
The palace looked different in the modern era.
There were security cameras beside carved wooden doors, official meetings held over encrypted tablets, and state cars waiting beneath ancient red gates. The Emperor still ruled. Lady Gyokuyou was still the beloved empress. Tradition and modern life existed side by side.
And Maomao was still the palace's brilliant apothecary.
She was also twenty years old, diagnosed with ADHD and autism, usually speaking very little when overwhelmed, and someone who quietly carried more pain than almost anyone realized.
Only a handful of people knew about her age regression.
When she felt completely safe, her mind sometimes settled somewhere between infancy and toddlerhood. Usually around zero to three years old.
Lady Gyokuyou had discovered it by accident months ago.
She hadn't laughed.
She hadn't questioned it.
She had simply opened her arms and softly asked, "Would you like Mama?"
Maomao had burst into tears.
Since then...
Mama was Lady Gyokuyou.
Papa—or sometimes Dada—was the Emperor.
Pairin, Meimei, and Joka proudly declared themselves her big sisters.
No one teased her.
No one treated her like she was broken.
---
The call came just after sunrise.
Luomen had passed away peacefully in his sleep.
For several long seconds, Maomao simply stared at her phone.
Nothing happened.
She read the message again.
And again.
And again.
"...No."
It came out as little more than air.
Then the world stopped making sense.
---
Hours later, the palace staff were quietly searching.
"Has anyone seen Maomao?"
"She left the laboratory."
"She isn't answering her phone."
Pairin's expression changed first.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
---
They found her in one of the unused conservatories.
Curled tightly into the corner behind enormous potted trees.
She looked impossibly small.
Her breathing was uneven.
Her hands shook.
There were signs she'd been trying to cope in unsafe ways before everyone reached her, and several objects had already been taken away by the staff to keep her safe.
She wasn't looking at anyone.
Wasn't speaking.
Wasn't really seeing the room anymore.
She was caught somewhere between overwhelming grief and the edges of regression, unable to fully let herself fall into the headspace that usually made her feel safe.
Her mind simply...locked.
Pairin slowly knelt several feet away.
"No one's going to force you to talk."
Silence.
Meimei quietly sat on the opposite side.
"We're just staying."
Still nothing.
Joka folded herself onto the floor.
"We're your sisters."
No answer.
Only trembling.
---
Lady Gyokuyou arrived without ceremony.
She didn't ask for reports.
She didn't ask questions.
She crossed the room slowly until she was close enough to be seen but not crowded.
Then she spoke in the warm voice Maomao always recognized.
"My little one?"
The shaking paused.
Just for a heartbeat.
"My little one..."
Maomao squeezed her eyes shut.
"...Mama..."
It was barely audible.
Gyokuyou's heart broke.
"Oh, sweetheart."
She opened her arms.
"You don't have to hold yourself together anymore."
For nearly a minute...
Nothing happened.
Then Maomao crawled forward.
Slowly.
Unsteadily.
Until she all but collapsed into Gyokuyou's lap.
The moment she was held, all the tension she'd been using to keep herself upright disappeared.
She cried so hard she couldn't make any sound.
---
When the Emperor entered, he didn't look like the ruler of a nation.
He looked like a father who had heard his child was hurting.
He knelt beside them.
"Dada's here."
Maomao reached toward him automatically without opening her eyes.
He took her hand immediately.
"I've got you."
She clung with surprising strength.
---
The palace physician quietly explained to the adults that grief could intensify both PTSD symptoms and regression, especially when someone was already overwhelmed by autism, ADHD, and exhaustion. The priority wasn't demanding words or explanations—it was helping Maomao feel safe enough for her nervous system to settle.
So that was exactly what they did.
No lectures.
No pressure.
No "be strong."
Just presence.
---
Hours later, wrapped in an oversized blanket with one of Gyokuyou's soft cardigans over her shoulders, Maomao finally looked about two years old.
She was completely nonverbal now.
Her breathing had steadied.
She leaned sleepily against Mama while Dada sat beside them on the sofa.
Pairin offered a stuffed rabbit.
Meimei brought warm milk.
Joka found tiny fruit slices because she remembered little Maomao preferred finger foods.
The rabbit was accepted.
The fruit disappeared one careful piece at a time.
Progress.
Tiny.
But real.
---
That evening, after Maomao finally fell asleep against Gyokuyou's shoulder, the adults remained in the room.
The Emperor spoke quietly.
"She was trying so hard not to regress."
Gyokuyou nodded.
"She thought she had to stay grown up."
"Even while grieving."
"Especially while grieving."
Pairin wiped at her eyes.
"She forgets that she doesn't have to earn being loved."
"No," Gyokuyou whispered, gently brushing Maomao's hair away from her face.
"She never has."
The Emperor looked at the sleeping apothecary who had spent so much of her life believing she had to survive everything alone.
"From now on," he said softly, "when her mind tells her she's alone..."
He rested a hand lightly over hers.
"...our job is to remind her that she's not."
Still asleep, Maomao's fingers curled around his.
She didn't wake.
But she held on.