Work Text:
Maomao idly watches the scenery change outside as the carriage rattles along the rural plains of Ka Province.
Grey skies stretch across the horizon, streaked with wispy clouds which mask the sun’s rays and dim its golden hues to bright, pale yellows. For a while now, the ground has consisted of little more than plain, ploughed earth, bereft of any crop or vegetation. They are approaching the depths of winter and Maomao, though guarded by the four walls of the carriage and thus saved from the worst of the resultant chill, finds herself very grateful for the thick overgarment cloaking her frame as she regards the landscape. She burrows herself into it a little deeper, the fur lining tickling the skin on her neck. The warmth she is rewarded by it is entirely her own; any of Jinshi’s residual body heat has long since dissipated, and yet she still feels oddly comforted.
Her benefactor in question sits opposite her. She glances at him, her head still tilted towards the window. He too is looking out at the plains surrounding them, but if the minute crease between his brows is anything to go on, he isn’t so much examining them as he is using them as a background to his thoughts.
They had already debriefed all that had occurred at Red Plum Village. She’d made it quite clear that Basen was likely to be just fine, that the quarantining was mostly a safety measure, and she knows he trusts her when it comes to matters of medicine. Whilst she personally had been disappointed to find no traces of equine smallpox after their visit to the stables, Jinshi’s concerns encompass a great deal, from how to deal with the village-chief-turned-crazed-attacker to Lishu and whatever the future held for the timid former consort.
In essence, Maomao has no clue what he’s ruminating over in that strange mind of his.
They are now approximately a half hour into their journey. Their conversation has long since come to a natural close, and a pleasant silence has settled between them. She finds a sudden urge to break it.
“Is there something bothering you, sir?”
Plum-coloured eyes dart towards her own, widened in surprise. A second later, his brows fall from their raised position on his forehead and the muscles in his face relax into a decidedly less stressed expression. He shoots her a wan smile.
“I’m just pondering what we’ll do with the village chief. Amongst other things.” His words trail off with the second sentence, as he once again casts his gaze outside.
Bingo.
Maomao herself has many thoughts on the subject, and while she isn’t as well-versed in politics as Jinshi is, she understands well enough that there are various pros and cons to any potential decision made concerning the chief. But they have already been over this, have already exchanged their opinions and ideas, and have, at least outwardly, put the discussion to rest for now. And yet – she traces the tense lines of his face with her eyes – he obviously can’t get it off his mind: the chief, the smallpox variants, Lishu (and in turn, Basen). He’s getting too deep into it all, like she sometimes does when confronted with a particularly intriguing mystery.
Luckily for them, Jinshi is (more or less) not quite as obsessive as her, and an idea springs to life in her head.
“Would you like a distraction, sir?”
This time, when their eyes meet, his face sweeps through a plethora of emotions so quickly that she struggles to pinpoint each of them. When he chokes a moment later, his eyes are flitting rapidly between her fingers and his wrist, and his face is slightly flushed.
This pervert...
She wants to roll her eyes at him but then remembers that the behaviours he is currently exhibiting are mostly her own fault, so she refrains out of kindness.
“Not that kind,” she clarifies.
He appears both relieved and disappointed. Maomao ignores this most odd contrast and watches as he regains his composure.
“What kind of distraction do you suggest?” he asks her, his normal complexion restored.
She can’t quite help the small twist of her lips as she answers his question with one of her own: “Do you remember that dao xiao mian stall our beloved Miss Chue once mentioned?”
His eyes light up almost immediately.
──────────
It takes some negotiating, but at last, Maomao is given permission to escort Jinshi into the marketplace on her own whilst two guards follow them from a safe distance. She’s sure she recognises the shorter guard from somewhere but hasn’t an inkling of where that might be or what his name is. Whatever, it’s of little importance to her right now.
Jinshi is hot on her heels as she leads him through the bustling streets, and when she looks back, the sheer excitement on his face contrasts starkly against the mysterious cloth shielding one half of it, and she thinks he resembles Kokuyou very much indeed.
They wind through crowds and rows of stalls, dodging sprinting children and the flailing arms of eager salesmen. Throughout all of this, Maomao keeps her hand wound tightly around his wrist, not wanting him to stray too far from her (when she’d reached out for it upon their exiting from the carriage, his head had whipped towards the point of contact so quickly she’d worried he’d snapped his neck, but a second later, most of the tension had oozed out of him and he’d looked rather pleased indeed. Decent progress.) His skin is warm even through the fabric of his sleeve.
She vaguely remembers the location of the stall from one afternoon in the medical office, when Chue had popped in for an examination and had started chatting about all sorts. When she’d mournfully mentioned the dao xiao mian she had still yet to try, Maomao had interjected the sob story to ask where exactly it could be found. It had sounded rather appetising, what with Chue’s dramatic retelling of her first meeting with the lovely dish.
As she tugs Jinshi along with her, adjusting her grip slightly every now and then, she recounts the directions that she had begrudgingly been provided – “Miss Maomao, you would dare get the noodles Miss Chue herself blessed you with the knowledge of, without her?” Chue’s gasp of false despair resounds in Maomao’s mind. “Hee hee hee, though I suppose if you intend to share them with a special someone...” The Chue of Maomao’s memories is interrupted by a pinch on the cheek.
A beautiful yet skeptical voice breaks through her daydreaming. “You do know where we’re going, right, Maomao?”
She doesn’t need to voice her answer as she makes a sharp turn, strides forward a few paces and then stops right in front of their destination. She hears a sharp intake of breath behind her that would be impossible to notice in the buzzing atmosphere of the marketplace if it weren’t for the minimal distance between her and the source.
Standing in front of the two of them is a modest wooden stall, adorned only by cooking implements and a simple red cloth acting as a crude roof. Behind the wooden surface at the stall’s head is a middle-aged woman with dark hair tied back in a single knot, her weathered hands working diligently to stir a pot of what Maomao suspects to be a braised beef stew. The smell is frankly entrancing, and Maomao is about to close her eyes and sniff up the air with a grin when the woman turns to face them.
“Afternoon,” the woman greets. “Would you like some?” she asks with a smile, tilting her head a little.
Maomao tears her eyes away from the pot, swallows her saliva, and orders two bowls for them.
When she pulls her hand away from Jinshi’s arm to reach for her money pouch, she’s stopped by long, elegant fingers which wrap around her wrist, gentle but firm. Still recovering from the confusion, she freezes for a second and catches a glint of silver in her peripheral. He smoothly hands the money to the stall’s owner and smiles pleasantly at her. Even with so little of the sparkle he used in the rear palace in addition to half of his face being covered, the woman’s previously cynical eye turns bashful as she looks upon the masked stranger.
Maomao, still brushing the fabric of the pouch in her robes with her fingers, narrows her eyes at Jinshi, but he only gives her a cheeky little grin, eyes glinting with triumph. She sighs and lets her hand fall away from the folds of her robe.
She drops her arm to her side, and with it comes Jinshi’s hand. It feels a little silly, but then he releases his hold on her wrist and slides his palm down to meet hers. He interlocks their fingers. Initially, she can’t help but tense up a bit; this, if she is recalling correctly, is the most brazen he’s been in a while. But his grasp is light and tender, as if giving her the space to let go if she wishes to. She risks a glance at him and finds him looking everywhere but at her or their conjoined hands.
Her fingers weave through his a little more tightly. Despite their exposed skin, her hand feels pleasantly warm. When she peeks at him once more, she decides she’ll blame the redness in both of their cheeks on the weather.
Meanwhile, the older woman has already cut up most of their noodles. Maomao watches one deft hand slice through the ever-shrinking lump of dough held in the other. The perfectly imperfect strips land in a boiling pot of water each time without fail. The woman gives it one good stir and then turns to grab two clean bowls, setting them aside and starting in on some scallions. She chops them with levels of speed and precision that speak of years of practice. The thud of metal against wood harmonises with the crackling of the fire and the bubbling of the water. Maomao and Jinshi can only watch, mesmerised.
The stall owner then transfers the noodles into a colander to drain the excess water, and then again into a pot of cooler water. The serving bowls make a reappearance as heaps of the dao xiao mian are placed into each. When the woman moves towards the beef stew, Maomao sees Jinshi perk up from the corner of her eye. She may have found it more amusing if she hadn’t leaned forward a few degrees herself.
The fragrance hits her nose even harder this time as scoops of braised beef and potatoes and carrots swimming in an exquisite broth are piled onto the noodles. Finally, the woman garnishes the bowls with a sprinkling of the scallions, drizzles some chilli oil on top, and then loads them onto a wooden tray already armed with chopsticks, which Jinshi happily takes off her hands when offered.
They both bow and offer her a wholehearted “thank you” before turning to each other.
“So,” Jinshi begins, scouring the scene around them. “Where shall we have this?”
Maomao spots a cluster of tables with benches on either side of them on the other end of the street.
“There,” she replies, pointing to an empty table a little further from the rest. She almost reaches out again to drag him along but thinks better of it at the last second, eyeing the tray in his arms. She settles for walking closely to him and their bounty, lest anyone gets any ideas.
“Hold onto it tightly.”
“I am.”
They reach their table and Jinshi gingerly lowers the tray onto it, and then carefully places a bowl on each side. Though his movements are slower and much less practiced, they vaguely remind her of Suiren. Maomao sees the old lady-in-waiting's devious wink in her mind’s eye. Eagerly taking their seats, they both stare hungrily at their food, from which steam curls off and into the winter air.
Maomao decides to waste no more time and promptly picks up her chopsticks, grabbing noodles and chunks of beef and taking a plentiful bite. Instantly the flavours burst in her mouth, at once salty and spicy and earthy. The noodles are the perfect balance between chewy and soft, and the meat is tender and succulent. Her eyelids flutter shut in bliss and a smile stretches across her lips.
So decadent, so indulgent...
“Ahem. Care to share in your joys?”
Her eyes snap open. Jinshi is watching her, his lips curved upwards in amusement, but she can spy the barest sense of envy amongst the glimmer in his eyes.
Right! She still technically has a job, even when they’re doing... whatever this is.
“Rest assured, sir, there’s no poison in this. Dig in.”
It feels strange after all this time to direct him to eat instead of the other way round. Though, she has also grown rather accustomed to beginning to eat whenever she pleases. Perhaps she ought to mend that, but seeing as though neither Jinshi nor Suiren ever mind and in fact encourage her, she sees no reason to fret. Besides, she’s always wise enough to mind her manners when they have company.
Across from her, Jinshi takes his first bite, and swiftly makes an eerily similar expression to her own from earlier. He hums in contentment, and Maomao’s lips form a smile of their own accord.
He peers at her through half-moon eyes, his own smile only widening as he looks upon her. “This is delightful.”
“It’s downright sinful.”
He huffs a laugh. “We ought to thank Miss Chue for the recommendation.”
Maomao briefly stops wolfing down her meal. “We will do no such thing. She’ll only pester me until I bring her here and pay for three of her bowls.”
“You make a good point. We were never here at all, in that case.”
She nods her assent.
They continue to eat in silence, satisfied with the company and the food (at least on Maomao’s part). At some point, Jinshi’s legs stretch out under the table as he goes to adjust their position, and they bump against her own. He mumbles an apology. Maomao, still not looking up from her bowl, cautiously hooks an ankle around one of his. Only when she feels him relax against her does she release her breath and swallow. She hides the tiniest of smiles behind the wall of noodles cascading from her chopsticks.
When the meal is finished, Maomao leans her hands on the bench, and Jinshi props his chin up on an elbow. “Thank you, Maomao,” he says earnestly, and she knows he isn’t just talking about the food.
──────────
In the end, Chue finds out about their little excursion anyways, and does in fact demand that Maomao take her out to the stall as well. Unfortunately, this time, there’s no one else to swoop in and pay for the three bowls of dao xiao mian eaten between them, but she at least avoids buying Chue a mung bean cake on the way home.