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Night-time had always been Maomao’s favourite part of the day. No one usually disturbed her and, ever since she’d been granted a small room of her own, she could use the quietness of the night to run a few (relatively harmless) experiments, or to catch up on the preparation of the most requested medicines.
That evening, she’d decided to prepare a tonic for Concubine Gyokuyou. She wasn’t certain yet, but if the sudden mood swings and the aversion to foods she normally adored were what Maomao suspected…
She was grinding herbs when the sound of footsteps just outside her door caught her attention.
The steps were slow, almost hesitant. Not someone seeking urgent help, then.
The person stopped right in front of her door and Maomao froze, pestle suspended mid-air. Perhaps, if she stayed quiet, the unexpected guest would leave. She couldn’t imagine what could be so urgent as to disturb an apothecary (rather than the Quack Doctor, if it was a medical issue) at that hour.
A moment later, the presence seemed to retreat. Maomao listened intently. Three uncertain steps. Pause. Two more. Pause. Then, a groan. The unmistakable sound of heels stomping on the ground. Finally, a knock. Just a single one, as if the person behind the door had lost courage mid-action.
Maomao knew exactly who it was.
“Come in, Jinshi-sama.”
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, the door slid open and Jinshi’s head peeked in. “Am I really that recognisable?”
Maomao didn’t look up. No, he wasn’t. However, she had spent so much time around him that his footsteps were unmistakable, for her.
Her remark made him stutter, and that finally drew her gaze to him. His cheeks were flushed. Embarrassment, most likely.
“Did you need something?” she asked, returning to her work. Probably in vain. She was painfully aware that, if Jinshi were to seek her assistance, she wouldn’t be able to wrap things up, that night.
“I feel… unwell,” he said at last, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. His half-concealed hesitation distracted her once more –and probably for good.
Maomao gave him a quick once-over. His complexion, after that inexplicable blush, had returned to normal. His posture was impeccable as always. Apart from a faint hint of dark circles (which on his alabaster skin looked more like a deliberate choice than a blemish) under his eyes, she saw no sign of genuine discomfort. But some diseases left no visible trace, even to trained eyes, and Jinshi was an influential figure. She couldn’t send him away without a proper assessment.
“What seems to be the problem?”
Jinshi hesitated. “My stomach hurts.”
He turned his head to the side as he answered, avoiding her gaze.
Maomao eyed him carefully. There was nothing about his demeanour that suggested a stomach ache; not a hunched posture, not even a hint of cold sweat on his face.
She had a funny feeling. “If you’re going to fake an illness, at least choose something believable.”
He froze imperceptibly. Then, his lips curved into a sheepish smile. “Always too perceptive, apothecary.”
Instead of replying, she simply returned to her mortar. She needed to keep moving before the herbs lost their properties.
A moment later, Jinshi sat down opposite her. “Why are you still awake?” he asked, cheek resting on his hand, gaze fixed on her.
Being watched so intently, especially by him, made her uneasy, but she kept her expression blank. “I’m working.”
“In the middle of the night?!”
“It’s relaxing. And usually no one comes to distract me.”
A pause. “I can leave, if I’m bothering you.”
Ah. There was the problem.
He’d said it lightly, but Maomao had effortlessly picked up the core of his unease. Noticing seemingly irrelevant details was her job, and Jinshi was good at hiding things. Exceptionally good, when he chose to be. But Maomao had spent too much time around him, and Suiren had let out far more about his personality than she’d realised at first.
Since her early days at the Inner Court, Maomao had been aware that, despite being constantly surrounded by people, Jinshi didn’t have many he could confide in. His position didn’t allow it.
There were exceptions, of course. Suiren, Gaoshun… and, apparently, her.
Still, his was a lonely life, and the night could make certain truths harder to ignore.
There were no remedies for heartaches. But Maomao was an apothecary, and helping those who asked (whether aloud or not) was part of her job.
Therefore… “There’s a yellow box in the pantry,” she said. “Ginger biscuits. Help yourself. You must be hungry.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Jinshi still. “How…?”
“You skipped dinner,” she clarified, without looking up. “You tend to do that, when you’re in a bad mood.”
Jinshi’s astonished expression almost made her smile. Almost.
A moment later, he let out a soft laugh. “You watch me far too closely, don’t you?”
It was an open secret, by now. No matter how much Maomao didn’t want to get involved in Court matters, Jinshi knew she was far more observant than she let on. Taking note of Jinshi’s action was self-preservation, at that point. It’s not like she wanted to; she had to.
Still, she refused to yield, the mere thought of his smug face motivation enough. So, she muttered, through gritted teeth, “It’s my job, Jinshi-sama.”
A hand suddenly materialised under her face and lifted her chin. “Is it only that, now?”
He recovers quickly… Maomao found herself caught in Jinshi’s impossibly deep eyes. It took her a moment too long to remember she needed to react.
She slapped his hand away and stood up. Grabbing the biscuits and a handful of herbs; set the box down in front of him (perhaps with too much force) and began the preparation of a herbal tea.
When she glanced at him again, she noticed he hadn’t touched anything.
Following her gaze, Jinshi carefully pulled the box towards himself. “They’re not poisoned, are they?”
Despite herself, Maomao felt one corner of her mouth twitch upward. “No. But that can be easily arranged, if you prefer.”
His sudden laugh caught her off guard, its sound making her heart skip a beat.
Once the tea was ready, she placed the two cups on the table and returned to her task. “You can stay,” she said at last. “I don’t mind the company. Just don’t touch anything.”
Maomao didn’t see Jinshi’s grateful smile, but she heard the relief in the almost imperceptible sigh he let out. She gave no sign of noticing, continuing to cut, weigh, and grind the herbs in a familiar, almost soothing rhythm.
From the corner of her eye, she could see Jinshi’s long fingers periodically pick up either a biscuit or his cup. Every now and then, he absent-mindedly tapped the edge of the box with his index finger.
Strangely, the gesture didn’t annoy her in the slightest. Overall, she realised, Jinshi’s presence in her personal space wasn't nearly as bothersome as she expected it to be. In fact, when he didn’t act like an overdramatic, pushy child, he was actually a tolerable companion.
When she finally took a sip of her own infusion, she glanced at him. His shoulders were finally relaxed, the tension gone from his features, replaced by a small, gentle smile.
With a quiet sense of satisfaction, Maomao resumed her task. And, if she dragged out her work a little longer, fighting off sleep to prolong that unexpectedly pleasant companionship, well… no one needed to know.