Chapter Text
In the suffocating darkness of the Garnet Pavilion, a lone figure stands motionless in front of a closed window, staring blankly at it as if able to see beyond the shuttered panes. Her face is an impassive mask, eyes unmoving and barely blinking. A little further down the hallway, a procession of women in identical robes disappear around the corner one by one until absolute silence settles in the building.
Finally alone, Loulan closes her eyes and releases a long exhale before heading in the opposite direction of her ladies-in-waiting. It’s been a busy morning of concubine duties after a long period of being bedridden, and she can feel the physical and mental toll it’s taken on her still-recovering body. At least she’s been relieved for the rest of the day until dinnertime, and she has explicitly requested to not be disturbed until then.
Leaving her free to do whatever she wants for the first time in weeks.
She closes the door to her bedroom and leans against it, staring into the middle distance again, lost in her thoughts. Compared to the last few days, her health has vastly improved. Maybe she’s well enough to sneak outside, to don her servant persona for a bit and explore, to feel sunshine on her bare face, to feel its warmth and bathe in its light. To talk to people she hasn’t seen in too long, exchange stories and jokes, catch up on any gossip she may have missed.
To seek out one person in particular.
To apologize.
To…explain…?
Though her resolve to venture outside starts to solidify the more she thinks about breathing in some fresh air, Loulan finds it faltering a bit at the thought of confronting a certain apothecary.
The apothecary who might as well have saved her life a few days ago with some much-needed medicine. The rear palace’s unofficial detective who discovered her secret but hasn’t divulged it with anyone. The favored pet cat of the crown prince, on speaking terms with the emperor himself, keeping a huge felony under wraps to protect her.
The first person in her life that Loulan considered a genuine friend, if she can refer to someone as a ‘genuine’ friend after hiding such a tremendous part of herself from them.
She stops in front of the full-length mirror delivered by the western envoys, gazing at the soulless mask that stares back at her from beyond the glass. Painted face. Empty eyes.
After wearing this mask all her life, it’s nothing but bad timing to start despising it now.
With a small grimace, Loulan removes the ornaments that adorn her hair one by one, lining them carefully on the vanity in order from right to left and top to bottom, in case she needs to quickly put them back on. Her flashy outfit comes next, the thick cloth a weight off her shoulders as she peels off layer after layer to hang them over the back of a chair so they don’t wrinkle. Once left in her undergarments, she reaches into her dresser and pulls out a set of robes identical to that of her ladies-in-waiting.
Partially disguised, Loulan closes the dresser doors and leans heavily against its side, shifting it along the wall about a meter or so to reveal a hidden pathway. She slips in and shifts the dresser back behind her, leaving a small opening for her return.
It’s a narrow and unpolished path that connects to a steep staircase — it was already here when Loulan inherited the place, probably built for servants as access tunnels, never meant to be used by the consorts themselves. It’s perfect for her, though, a convenient way to sneak in and out of the building without using the conspicuous front entrance.
And in no time at all, she reaches the door at the bottom and slips out into a small clearing concealed by shrubs and greenery and the shadow of the main building. Hardly anyone comes around this area so her temporary disguise isn’t all that necessary, but years of playing this game have taught Loulan that it never hurts to be too careful.
Especially now that the nosiest person in the entire rear palace is aware of her secret.
Pushed forward by that thought, Loulan quickens her pace and ducks into a shed towards the very edge of the Garnet Pavilion property.
It’s dusty inside, largely untouched since before her predecessor’s time. It’s also dark, shelves and barrels and pots blocking all the windows and only allowing a thin sliver of light to illuminate a small spot towards the back of the building.
There, hidden inside an unassuming box on a jam-packed shelf, is a set of stolen servant’s robes and a pair of well-worn shoes. With practiced movements, Loulan puts on the uniform and wipes off her makeup and perfume with a cloth scrap and a soapy water mixture stored in a flask. Another flask holds diluted, unscented oil, which she rubs in her hair to rid it of its clean sheen as she re-ties it into pigtails.
A quick glance in a silver, pocket-sized mirror shows that her transformation is complete; when she exits the shed, she emerges as Shisui the servant girl.
She blinks hard a few times, shifting the position of her brows and settling them higher — she can open her eyes wider as Shisui, loosen up her expression to allow more emotion, exaggerate her movements a bit more. She can smile. Her cheeks feel stiff when she tries, muscles out of practice after so many days locked up inside as Loulan.
Bright thoughts. Happy thoughts. Carefree thoughts. That’s all that should be in Shisui’s head. With a sharp shake, she knocks out everything else swirling around in there and perfects her smile.
After ensuring the coast is clear, she slips off of the Garnet Pavilion property to float nonchalantly towards the usual laundry area.
Her feet feel lighter in these shoes, no longer weighed down by the fancy footwear she typically wears to match the rest of her concubine costume. She adds a bit of a hop to her step the way she usually does for Shisui and releases the built-up tension in her shoulders to slouch a little more. It’s like working out the kinks in her neck after a long, long time of sitting still; strangely relieving but a testament to how much she’d endured being bound in the concubine role.
By the time she reaches the usual laundry area, Shisui’s settled enough into this character to appear in front of other people. She purposefully grabs a basket of clean, folded laundry, noting that the tag is for a low-ranking concubine’s room. Even better; this one doesn’t need to be delivered until the afternoon, which means she has a prop to wander around with for a while.
No sooner does she complete her disguise with this prop is she suddenly approached by a group of fellow servant girls wearing the same uniform. Girls she recognizes but can’t name, calling out her borrowed one with excitement.
“You’re right, it is Shisui!” one of them says as they rush over. There are four of them, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, more or less cornering her in the shadows of a storage hut.
“It’s been so long!” another one exclaims.
Pasting on a bright smile, Shisui subtly clears her throat to pitch her voice higher than what she’d been using these past few days. “Hi! How’ve you been?”
“We missed you! There was a whole swarm of dragonflies by the pond the other day,” the first one reports. “We looked everywhere but couldn’t find you — they were gone by the time we came back.”
A thrum of something genuine resonates in Shisui’s heart. “Aw, I’m sorry I missed that.”
“Next time!” another one promises.
“Oh wait, have you seen Xiaolan around?” the fourth asks. “She was asking about one of the deliveries for a mid-ranking concubine, and we found someone who can help. But no one’s seen her today.”
“Xiaolan?”
Shisui tilts her head as if deep in thought, pretending to recall whether or not she’s seen the girl in question. In reality, she hasn’t seen Xiaolan in almost two weeks — she’d sorely missed the happy-go-lucky girl and her energetic voice while she was wrapped in the oppressive silence and darkness of her room, and she’d give anything to see her for even a few seconds today.
Unexpected envy towards these girls flares in her chest and fills her mouth with a bitter taste. Mere servant girls, naive and unburdened, able to meet and talk to Xiaolan whenever they want, able to wander the rear palace at will, able to act their age.
A kind of freedom she can only enjoy in risky, stolen moments like this.
“Nah, haven’t seen her either,” Shisui shrugs. “But if I do, I’ll let her know you guys are looking for her!”
“Thanks — tell her we’ll be by the matron’s office until lunchtime. After that we’ll be at our usual table in the dining hall!”
“I will!”
She waves goodbye as they part, swallowing down the childish envy and regaining her carefree smile. It’s pointless and frankly distracting as far as emotions go, and none of those girls are to blame for the situation Shisui has put herself in.
Because she chose this path. Maybe not all of it, but certainly this one where she willingly mingles with these girls with the knowledge that she’ll never be one of them. There’s no point taking out her self-made resentment on some hapless servants.
Adjusting her grip on the borrowed basket, Shisui pivots towards the main laundry area, following the sounds of buzzing activity and light chatter. It’s lively this morning, and when she emerges from an alleyway into the square, she’s suddenly surrounded by the hustle and bustle of too many people at once, overwhelming amounts of noise and colors attacking her after so many days of silence and darkness.
Thankfully, no one else calls out to her or takes note of her presence, either too engrossed in their work or unaware that Shisui has been missing for over a week. It’s not uncommon for servants to come and go every few months — unless someone’s actively seeking her out like with those girls about the dragonflies, her absence probably could go unnoticed forever.
Using that anonymity and obscurity to her advantage, she drifts through the crowd of working girls and eunuchs, idly scanning faces as she makes her way across the square.
There.
Further down along the wall, sitting on their usual bench and snacking on expensive-looking sweets undoubtedly pilfered from the Jade Pavilion storerooms, are the two people she had hoped to bump into today.
She honestly didn’t think she’d find both of them so fast, but she should’ve known she’d find them together — Shisui had accompanied each of them separately into this area multiple times, and without fail their eyes would automatically search for the other. It’s probably not even done consciously. Despite their opposing personalities, they seem to gravitate towards each other in any given situation…especially when snacks are involved.
Distantly, Shisui wonders if she’ll ever know what that feels like. To have someone come immediately to mind when she has leftover food to share. To have someone to run to with the hottest new gossip. To have them think of her with these things.
The envy she’d just finished choking down threatens to resurface as she observes the pair chatting idly and enjoying their refreshments. Just two ordinary people catching a break from work. There’s nothing extravagant or special about the sight, if anything it’s as plain and everyday as can be, but to Shisui it’s as precious and ephemeral as everything else she experiences here. Without fully meaning to, she finds herself gazing at them until they notice her.
Xiaolan spots her first, eyes widening and smile growing like a puppy catching sight of her long-lost owner. Despite the distance, she can clearly hear the excited gasp as she jumps up from her seat.
“Shisui!” she calls, waving wildly as she charges straight for her. “You’re back!”
Judging by her speed and momentum, she’s clearly planning to jump right into Shisui’s arms; something she’s not sure her weakened body can handle without falling over. But she’d missed this tiny girl so much and she’d be damned if she doesn’t accept this full-force hug head-on, so she frees up her arms and braces for the impact.
For her size, Xiaolan really packs a punch. She doesn’t hold back one bit as she practically tackles Shisui in a hug, almost knocking her off her feet despite her preparation — she manages to divert the momentum by spinning them around, letting out a laugh partially out of exhilaration but mostly out of joy.
“Where’ve you been?” Xiaolan’s whining, “You were gone for weeks!”
“Only a few days,” she lies. “I caught a bit of a cold, that’s all. And I’m better!”
“Are you sure that was it?” Her breath whooshes out of her as Xiaolan’s grip tightens around her diaphragm. “It feels like it’s been forever!”
“It does!” Shisui agrees, voice strained from the vice hold.
It really does.
She missed this.
She missed this way more than she thought she did.
Her hand moves to cradle the back of Xiaolan’s head as she tries and fails to hold back a flood of emotions that rush up and snag in her throat. Here is a girl, smaller and younger and less worldly and less fortunate than herself, someone who couldn’t even look her in the eyes if she knew her real identity — claiming that not only noticed her absence but missed her. Someone with a heart so big and accepting that it’ll let even someone as damaged and undeserving as Shisui in.
Letting herself drown in those emotions for the briefest of moments, Shisui squeezes back and forces a smile on her face so nothing else rises to the surface. It’s foolish of her, she knows, to get so attached to someone like this when there’s no point in prolonging this friendship, no chance it’ll continue when either of them leaves the rear palace.
And speaking of people she shouldn’t be getting so attached to…
She glances over Xiaolan’s head to meet the icy gaze of her companion. Eyes, sharp and piercing, bore into hers with a mixture of suspicion and distrust. Eyes that burned with betrayal and accusation the last time she’d looked into them. Unspoken words simmer beneath her tight scowl, jaw working restlessly like she’s chewing over everything she wants to spit at Shisui.
Which, of course, she has every right to do. She also has every right to never speak to Shisui again.
All she can hope is at the very least, she’s willing to hear an apology, whether she accepts it or not.
“Maomao, look!” Xiaolan calls happily over her shoulder, shattering the atmosphere. “It’s Shisui!”
Her expression loosens just enough so Xiaolan won’t catch the glare and scowl, two things that’d be difficult to explain as to why they were aimed at Shisui. With a visible sigh, Maomao slowly stands and makes her way over.
“I can see that,” she calls back, rolling her eyes with a faint smile she reserves only for Xiaolan — clearly Shisui’s not the only one here who knows how to swap between masks.
She reflexively braces herself — this time mentally — as Maomao approaches. “Hey, there were some girls looking for you, by the way,” she says, patting Xiaolan on top of her head to draw her attention back. “They said they’ll be by the matron’s office until lunchtime.”
“Really? Oh! Was it about that mid-ranking concubine?”
“Something like that!” Her ribs sigh with relief as Xiaolan finally releases her hold. A dull ache remains: an external one from her lingering illness, and an internal one from the barely-suppressed loneliness that longs for more physical contact from this warm and adorable creature. But she can’t indulge in this warmth forever; whatever she has to say to Maomao, whatever Maomao might want to say back, Xiaolan can’t be around to hear any of it.
But despite the apparent urgency of her errand, Xiaolan hesitates. “Um. Will you still be here when I get back?” She tugs a little at Shisui’s sleeve. “I wanna catch up with you more! I just have to pass along a message but it should only take a few minutes!”
As if Shisui can deny those puppy dog eyes. “Don’t worry,” she reassures her, and taps the stolen basket in her hand. “I have my own deliveries to make, so I’ll be around!”
Flashing a relieved smile but still looking a little reluctant to leave the two of them behind, Xiaolan waves and rushes off to address her errand.
The two of them.
Left behind.
Just them. Alone.
Without even looking, Shisui knows that Maomao’s regained the hostile glint in her eyes and is burning holes in the back of her head. Exhaling slowly to prepare herself, she turns to meet that gaze, opting with a neutral and serene smile to show that she’s not here to fight. But then again, she’s unsure of what the best approach is. Fall into their usual tempo to ease this tension between them? Or lean into the serious atmosphere to reflect the gravity of the situation?
Well. Either way, this has to start somewhere.
“…Hi,” she ventures.
Though she didn’t think Maomao would blatantly ignore her, Shisui can’t help but feel relieved when she returns the greeting, albeit gruffer than usual.
“Hi.” Then after a thought, she adds, “Shisui,” as if confirming her current identity.
It’s not a comical situation by any means, and Maomao definitely didn’t mean for it to be funny, but Shisui can’t quite manage to hold back a small laugh at the awkward pause between the greeting and her name. There’s something in her tone — more mildly irritated than angry or scared or denouncing — that’s so incredibly Maomao that it invokes the sense of fondness she’s always reserved for this peculiar girl.
Some part of her, probably the part that had her smiling instead of flinching at her borrowed name being called by Maomao after the disastrous reveal, wants to believe that this is a sign that maybe, just maybe, things might be okay between them, that they can somehow make this work.
Then again, she also has to accept that this could be their final conversation, that Maomao will ultimately decide that ignorance and distance is the safest option.
Because as far as the facts go, all she’s discovered is that Shisui and Loulan are one in the same, that the mysterious high-ranking concubine with whom she previously had no ties to actually masquerades as the recently befriended laundry worker she’d gone moth hunting with. She’s sharp and viciously deductive, though; Shisui wouldn’t dare underestimate her. The continued wariness aimed towards her is more than enough confirmation that Maomao suspects there’s more to Shisui’s disguise and Loulan’s presence in the rear palace.
The saving grace is that it’s highly unlikely she’s put together any other piece of the puzzle given how convoluted the big picture really is. That being said, it would be smart for them to part ways now and never meet again in order to eliminate any risk of further exposure, before Maomao’s penchant for poking her nose where it doesn’t belong gets them both in trouble.
Shisui frowns inwardly. As reasonable as it is, that option doesn’t sit well with her. It’s a small return for a huge risk, but the time she spends with Maomao and Xiaolan in this disguise provides momentary relief from all the horrors weighing on her shoulders; she wants to cling to it, however impractical it may be.
But that comes later.
First, the apology.
“Look,” she mumbles, lowering her voice as a pair of servants walk by, their chattering loud enough to mask her next words from prying ears. “Uh. About the other day. That’s not how…I never wanted…”
She trails off, the rest of her sentence fizzling out on her tongue. Strange. She’d practiced this. She’d given thought and time to what she wanted to say, how she wanted to apologize and explain without overdoing it.
Why, then, is she struggling so much? She’s supposed to be good at this — picking and choosing the right things to say, always knowing how to get herself out of a bind, matching tone and sincerity appropriately depending on who she’s trying to placate. She’d spent her whole life deceiving people to protect herself, and it’s more important now than ever that she spin the correct tale.
But here, under Maomao’s chilly scrutiny, her rehearsed words seem trite and transparent, like they’re coming from a child fumbling around trying to fabricate a lie that any reasonable adult will immediately see through.
As she flounders silently, Maomao loosens her scowl, her body shifting into something less defensive. She motions with her head towards the bench she and Xiaolan had just been enjoying snacks on, leading the way back there without waiting to see if Shisui is following. A quieter place with less foot traffic, ideal for private conversations. That’s the implication behind the silent gesture.
Not many would believe someone as stolid as Maomao would bother with things like courtesy or compassion, but Shisui has learned over these past few months that it’s mostly a front; she knows, as she carefully matches her pace half a step behind Maomao’s, that despite her cold demeanor and aloof attitude, she actually understands more emotions and social cues than she lets on. That there’s actually no need for Shisui’s apology to be put into words for her to understand what she’s trying to say.
As it is, she breaks her silence after a few steps, absolving Shisui’s unfinished sentences with a restrained sigh and skirting around the entire topic in a very Maomao fashion.
“Are you feeling better?” she asks.
There’s the slightest hint of reluctance behind her question, asked more out of obligation rather than actual concern, as an apothecary rather than a friend. But the reasoning doesn’t matter; the fact that she asked at all is enough.
“I am,” Shisui says. “Thanks to you.”
Her expression doesn’t change, but a small muscle in Maomao’s jaw shifts ever so slightly; just from that, Shisui can tell exactly what she’s holding back from saying. That she had no choice in the matter. That she was under orders from the emperor. That regardless of those orders, she wouldn’t leave a patient in pain. Even if that patient is a lying, conniving, two-faced trickster.
Guilt tugs at Shisui’s conscience.
…maybe she should try again.
“I mean it; I only made it out here today because of your medicine. And I’m sorry, Maomao. You were never supposed to find out — I didn’t want to call you to the Garnet Pavilion, but I wasn’t getting better and you were…the best bad option.” Though it’s true, it comes out sounding more like an insult than an excuse. “I’m sorry for scaring you like that. And for lying to you about who I was.”
It’s weak as far as apologies go, but at least it’s genuine.
Maomao stops just short of the bench, expression impassive, giving nothing away. Safe to guess she isn’t angry, seeing how that’s the one emotion she can never quite hide.
Fear, sudden and all-consuming, not of discovery or persecution but of judgment, plagues Shisui as she regrets her half-winded apology. She can handle avoidance. Grudges. Defensive hostility, even. But when all’s said and done, she doesn’t want Maomao to hate her.
A silly — if not downright insane — desire, considering what kind of reprehensible villain she’s soon to become in the eyes of the empire and those who loyally serve it. She’d hoped, from deep down where something like that exists, that Loulan’s actions would remain separate from Shisui’s existence, that after everything was over, Maomao could despise the former and mourn the latter. It would presumably hurt her less. Be less conflicting.
As if sensing the shift, Maomao spares her a glance before sighing again and sitting down. After a beat of hesitation, Shisui sits next to her.
“You concealed a truth.” Maomao voices the words slowly, like it’s difficult to bring herself to say them. “That’s different from lying.”
Lifting an eyebrow at the unusual phrasing, Shisui turns to look at her. Seeing her distant but neutral expression, she braves a sly smile and hopes it’s not untimely. “Are you saying that for your benefit or mine?”
Maomao narrows her eyes, unamused. “I had an inkling. Something was off about you, I just couldn’t put my finger on it. There were signs, though maybe nothing that suggested something as big as that. I figured there was more, but I didn’t want to pry. Because I — I…”
She trails off and swallows the rest of her justification. Even then, it’s not difficult to guess what she was about to say.
Because I didn’t want to know.
Understandable, given the abundance of secrets that permeates the rear palace and the price one pays for knowing too many of them.
“I see.” Shisui says quietly to spare her from completing the thought.
Falling silent, Maomao stares out towards the square for a long moment, watching the laundry workers go about their tasks as they chat happily with each other and exchange the occasional laughter. Shisui wonders if they’re sharing the same thought, that this was them until a few days ago, just two faces in the crowd of servants who fill the palace, a pair of ordinary lower-class workers and unlikely friends brought together by a stray cat.
Now they’re bound by something more sinister and unpleasant. The ambiguity behind both her identities. Her connection to the emperor. The power she holds over Maomao. Not to mention the myriad of questions that are surely swirling around in her head, itching to be bombarded onto Shisui. Questions like: What are you doing here? What are you after? What are your two different personas for?
And which one is really you?
She’s not sure she could answer the last one even if she wanted to; all she can hope for is that Maomao never asks her that. But true to her word, she doesn’t pry, keeping all of those questions locked behind her trademark frown. Instead, she lets out a slow, even breath through her nose before opening her mouth.
“I don’t intend to tell anyone, if that’s your concern.”
“I didn’t think you would,” Shisui says, and she means it. Voracious curiosity notwithstanding, Maomao isn’t as reckless as to go around spreading other people’s secrets or reporting someone to the authorities without ironclad proof of their wrongdoing. Even more so if that person is as high up as Loulan. “I’m not here to hurt anyone, if that’s your concern,” she tells her, knowing that’s probably top of mind for this strangely righteous cat.
But she doesn’t respond for a while, eyes following the laundry workers again, deep in thought. Just when Shisui starts to think that she’d finally said something to trigger Maomao’s sense of justice that pushes her to try and incessantly get to the bottom of a dangerous mystery, she mutters an unexpected question.
“What about indirectly?”
Shisui pauses.
Right. Of course.
Leave it to Maomao to find the weak spot in her defense and twist in a blunt knife.
“…Probably, yes. Inevitably.”
Maomao hums thoughtfully, like she hadn’t expected her to admit something like that. They fall silent again, but this time Shisui can guess exactly what she’s thinking about.
That she’s included in that inevitability.
That she’d be first to receive that hurt if she continues associating with Shisui, and by extension, Loulan.
A part of her shrinks back, then. ‘Momentary relief’ is a poor excuse to drag along an innocent bystander — especially a friend — into the line of fire. Though she does truly mean to fulfill her duties here as quietly and harmlessly as possible, there’s no telling what threats this undercover work will bring and who she’ll need to sacrifice in order to minimize the threat her mutiny will pose. If Maomao is willing to look the other way about her and Loulan, maybe it really is best to put distance between them before anything else leaks out.
She shouldn’t really be out here anyway, getting friendly with any of these servant girls. This is probably the universe setting her up with the perfect opportunity to end things right now, to finally commit to —
“Shisui.”
She startles at Maomao’s firm voice. She’s peering at her, mildly irked, like she’d called her name a few times. “Next time you’re that sick, just ask for me. Don’t wait it out.”
Shisui blinks.
Next time…
Next time?
“I mean, obviously it’s best if there is no next time,” she continues. “But if you need medicine and don’t want the quack doctor to see, come find me in the Jade Pavilion shed. Or if you’re too sick to come out as Shisui, then I’ll come to you.” Then, after not receiving a response, she prompts, “Okay?”
“…Okay.”
“Good.”
As if satisfied with her response, Maomao nods once, stands, and gathers up her basket. “I’m heading to the clinic if you need anything. Unless you have to head back to…” She makes a face and tilts her head towards the general direction of the high-ranking concubine pavilions.
“No, not yet. I gotta wait for Xiaolan to come back.”
Looking at Maomao heaving her basket onto her back, Shisui suddenly remembers her own, stolen basket of laundry. “Oh. I should also get this delivered,” she notes, idly checking the tag again. It’s meant for a building on the opposite side of the grounds from the clinic, which means this is where they have to part.
A completely natural, if not hopeful, conclusion to their conversation, and yet Shisui is overwhelmed with an unexpected reluctance to split off. Perhaps all those days she spent alone left her lonelier than she’d thought. Or perhaps the relief from Maomao’s forgiveness and acceptance had left her longing for a little bit more time together.
Whatever it is, it emboldens her to reach out with an invite.
“Do you…um. Want to come with me?”
Maomao visibly hesitates — thinking, calculating, weighing her options — taken aback by the obvious fact that delivering one basket of laundry to a low-ranking concubine isn’t a two-person job. But it’s on the same level as her own offer to visit if Shisui were to get sick again, the same open door for future meetings regardless of where and why. Surely it’s not too forced, doesn’t come off as too desperate…
Does it?
“Yeah, okay.” With a resigned shrug, Maomao turns to her. “Where to?”
Smiling with genuine happiness for the first time today, and for what feels like the first time in a long, long time, Shisui jumps to her feet and skips towards the square.
“This way!”