Work Text:
It was nearly half an hour before midnight, and Maomao had just finished drying some of the leaves she had recently gathered. She was preparing to turn in for the night when she heard a faint knock on the door.
Maomao paused in her tracks, bewildered. Who could be knocking at her door at such a late hour? It was neither an urgent nor a persistent knock, leaving her more curious than anything else—though she wished she could simply be left alone to enjoy her long-awaited rest after a workload that seemed to grow heavier by the day.
With a heavy sigh, Maomao stepped toward the door and opened it, never expecting the sight that met her eyes...
Jinshi was standing there, his shoulders slouched downward, his head bowed, and his posture askew, as though he were expending a tremendous effort just to remain upright. He was not wearing his official robes, but rather a simple garment reminiscent of what he used to wear during his days as a disguised eunuch in the Rear Palace. His dark hair, usually smooth and groomed, appeared somewhat disheveled, as if he had run his hands through it.
Although Maomao could not discern his facial features clearly, what she gathered from his posture was enough to give her a general idea of his current state. Her mind raced through the possible causes that might have triggered such a state, leading him to her room at this hour. She asked in a low voice, with a note of urgency, “Master Jinshi, what are you doing here at this hour?... Wouldn't it have been easier to summon me instead of taking on the trouble of coming yourself?”
He did not answer right away; he only raised his head and looked at her. His gaze was weary, distant. He seemed unable to process her words just yet, as though her voice took time to reach his awareness.
Jinshi released a tired exhale, “I am sorry... for coming at a time like this, but... may I come in?”
At the pleading, broken tone in his last words, Maomao realized entirely that the situation was dire. Without a second thought, she stepped aside to clear the way for him, muttering under her breath, "Great, goodbye to sleep tonight!"—ignoring the way her chest tightened and the cold sweat that began to seep into her palms.
She led him to the middle of the room and had him sit on one of the chairs at the table, then turned quickly to fetch him a cup of water. She wanted to ask what had happened, but deemed it wiser to wait until he gathered himself. Jinshi whispered as he took the cup from her, “Thank you... Maomao.”
Ah, even in this state, he had not forgotten to thank her for such a small thing! Maomao nodded to him, biting her lip as she went to prepare something soothing to help him, if only a little.
She walked over to the shelves to retrieve two tea cups and dried chrysanthemum petals. Maomao was grateful she had brought a kettle of boiled water from the dormitory before retiring to her room; upon checking, she found it still retained its heat.
During those few minutes spent preparing the tea, Maomao didn't utter a word, giving him the space he needed. Instead, she kept watch over him out of the corner of her eye, noticing how he buried his face in his hands, his intermittent sighs the only sound between them. As soon as the tea was ready, unwilling to waste any more time, she brought the tray of cups and placed it on the table.
Maomao set the cup near his hand, “Here, Master Jinshi, drink this.”
Slowly, Jinshi lifted his face from his hands, looking first at her, then at the cup near him. He clasped it tightly between his hands, not drinking immediately, preferring to cling to its warmth on his fingers first. Her chest tightened once more as treacherous thought began to linger in her mind: perhaps if he were to receive another kind of warmth, it might help ease his burden more effectively—even if she believed it to be far lesser in degree compared to the heat of this tea and its steam... Shaking her head, she pulled out the other chair and sat down.
As much as she wanted to know right then what had afflicted Jinshi and left him like this, she did not ask. For a long time, nothing broke the silence in the room except the chirping of crickets, the gentle rustle of the wind outside, and the occasional sound of him sipping his tea.
Beneath the dim candlelight, she could still observe his features. Maomao searched for signs of severe exhaustion or illness, but nothing on his face appeared worse than usual—just tiredness, sleepiness, and the dark circles under his eyes that had faded for a time only to return just as dark. However, the furrow between his brows, the distant look in his eyes, the slight downward curve of his mouth, his left hand clenched tightly into a fist on his lap, and the faint trembling of his leg—all were minute details, yet she absorbed them completely.
The moonlight slipping through the window cast its rays upon Jinshi, illuminating his features amidst the dim light of their surroundings. Despite all the exhaustion overflowing from him, those features still appeared as Maomao had come to see them: delicate, elegant, and sincere. Finally, she averted her gaze and caught her breath.
With a swift, impulsive movement, Maomao reached out to grab her forgotten tea cup, took a sip, and leaned forward to break the lingering silence, “Would you like to tell me what happened to you... or would you rather I just talk about my day, as boring as it might sound?”
Jinshi raised his eyes to her and replied in a soft voice, “It is not boring at all... and it will never be, not to me.”
Maomao let out a huff, but she began recounting the details of her day in her usual monotonous voice...
As the words flowed continuously, she began to notice subtle changes creeping over his body; the anxious trembling of his leg gradually subsided, and his slouched shoulders lifted slightly. The frown at his mouth began to fade, and the knot between his brows smoothed out little by little—as though the familiar cadence of her voice and the ordinary details of her day were enough to lighten his burden, if only a little.
After she finished speaking, Maomao left room for silence to prevail once more. She poured more tea into both cups, leaving him to calm down at his own pace.
In those quiet moments, her thoughts began to align, and she was finally able to confirm her suspicions. Maomao connected his sudden relaxation at the mere sound of her daily routines with his heavy, previous silence—a silence unbroken save for his attempt to reassure her—realizing what truly tormented him. It was nothing between them, but rather that complex political web entwining him—a reality standing as an unyielding wall against his dreams and any hope of fulfilling their relationship the way he desired.
All the patience Maomao had clung to so as not to distress Jinshi was beginning to fray. Only then did she realize her hands had abandoned the tea cup, coming to rest in her lap. She was pressing them together with an intensity she didn't think herself capable of, her mind was in a whirl, and her heart pounded in her ears. With his stubborn and steadfast nature, he would never speak of any of this unless she pushed him—just as she had allowed herself to do before...
Thinking no further, Maomao took a deep breath and looked directly into his eyes, “How long will you continue to suppress what troubles you and hide it from me?” She looked down at her hands, “Or did you really think I wouldn't notice your state, or understand what lies behind it?”
Abruptly, Jinshi stood up and began pacing back and forth between the table and the window in quick strides, crossing his arms over his chest, his fingers tapping incessantly against his elbow. Maomao inhaled deeply, her throat and mouth dry; she gripped the cup tightly, noticing the slight tremor in her fingers, and drank it all at once.
Finally, Jinshi's voice came through with difficulty as he confessed everything that had transpired: starting from his audience with the Emperor, where he tried to bring up the matter of bestowing a name upon him once more, arguing with all the patience and resolve he could muster; to the Emperor's unconvinced, evasive reaction; and to make matters worse, how the situation between the Empress Dowager's faction and Empress Gyokuyou's faction remained as dire as ever despite all efforts to resolve it.
Even before he finished speaking, Maomao found herself standing, confronting him halfway. Before she could stop herself, her voice escaped her throat sounding unfamiliar, her hands clenching into fists. “You are still tormenting yourself, refusing to share even a fraction of it with me.” The heat surging through her spread to her face. She grounded herself to look into his eyes, “You haven't even given me a clear answer to my old question, if you remember... the one I asked after our meeting with the Emperor and the former Consort Ah-Duo?”
Would you be okay without me by your side at that time?...
Jinshi shook his head, taking a step back from her, “Please, do not bring up that matter again... It takes every ounce of my control to keep my promise…”
Maomao did not budge an inch, following him until she stood facing him again. She stared at him, Her heart ached as she caught something raw in his eyes: pain, disbelief, and a flicker of joy he quickly concealed. Meeting her gaze, he answered in a firm voice despite its tremble: “I must... be okay, even if I am not... And this is something I am adamant about!”
Her fingernails pressed deeper and deeper into her clenched palms. “Sir, who asked you to be so in the first place? Why must it always come down to your insistence? Just so you know, I am quite capable of stubbornness as well…”
For a moment, the look in his eyes softened and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly, before Jinshi looked away. His eyes drifted down to her hands at her sides, while her eyes caught the restless movement of his throat as he swallowed. The touch of his long, delicate fingers against her hands caused her heart to skip a beat. Jinshi pressed his hands over hers first, raising them toward himself, and forced her fists open when she resisted.
The moment he opened them, a flicker of sadness passed through his eyes. Confused, she looked down and saw the crescent marks of her nails carved into her skin, leaving red marks. Slowly, Jinshi brought her palms to his lips. His uneven breath brushed against them before she felt the press of his lips, working its way from her right palm upward to her wrist. Maomao closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath, as he repeated the same gesture on her other hand...
She said in a tired tone, laced with a faint hint of triumph she made no effort to suppress. “Look at you, speaking to me of pulling back and... pushing me away, while…” Catching her breath, she continued, "you never cease doing things like this to me!"
He released her hands from his grasp, though the trace of their shared sweat still clung to her skin, “Forgive me for that... This is absolute selfishness on my part, just like... knocking on your door at such an hour.”
Jinshi retreated, throwing himself onto the chair as if his legs could no longer support him. Breathing heavily, he buried his face once more in his palms, but this time a choked sound seeped out from between them. Maomao stepped closer, the sound of broken, ragged sobs reached her, following one after another. A sigh escaped her lips as she stood her ground before him. Instinctively, she reached out, resting one hand on his shoulder and stroking his hair with the other one.
What was wrong with this? After all, he had comforted her in a similar way back then...
Amidst his quiet sobs and the tremor in his shoulders, Jinshi wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head against her stomach—as if the accumulated weight of disappointment, pressure, anxiety, and suppression was finally giving way, releasing everything he had kept bottled up for so long.
They remained like this for a long time—at times his grip around her waist tightened, at times it loosened, while she kept patting his shoulder with one hand and the back of his head with the other, the silky texture of his hair brushing against her skin. Eventually, he began to pull away with effort, and she stepped back in turn, her heart racing and a sudden warmth spread across her cheeks.
Jinshi sighed and cleared his throat self-consciously, turning his head to the side so their eyes would not meet. Maomao exhaled half a laugh, finding it within herself to place her hand under his chin and turn his face toward her. Two wet patches of tears had spread beneath his eyes and along both his cheeks. She drew a breath that trembled in her throat, blinked, and extended her fingertips to wipe away those traces, unable to resist sliding her fingers at the fading scar on his cheek, touching it for a few seconds before pulling her hand away.
A small cough broke from Jinshi as he found himself unable to resist looking into her eyes any longer. But this time—as Maomao leaned down to be on his eye level, seeing him blush as she brought her face closer and paused—it was she who closed her eyes...
She planted a kiss directly beneath his eyelids—first the left, then the right—lingering for a few seconds longer than acceptable before pulling back.
Jinshi looked at her, speaking in a husky voice weighted by his deepest fear: her being trapped in the palace, robbed of her freedom and her passion for medicine and herbs, and losing control over her own life due to the strict rules about what she could and could not do amidst the complexities imposed by his status and her future position.
Maomao gazed at him, the corners of her mouth curving upward, her heart thumping in her chest as a single truth settled:
This man deserved peace of mind, and she needed to give it to him. It was only fair this way.
“Whether we are able to eat knife-cut noodles from a street stall, or we can only eat them within the palace walls... I still want to eat them with Master Jinshi...”
Maomao casted her gaze downward, staring at her hands.
Two full minutes passed in silence, broken at last by the screech of the chair against the floor as Jinshi stood up in haste. A deep flush covered his cheeks, his eyes were brimmed with tears, his chest rose and fell rapidly with his heavy breaths, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
In the blink of an eye, he stood before her and lifted her into his arms just as he had done during a past certain visit, encircling her back with his arm. Maomao gasped, yet made no move to pull away, merely resting her hands on his shoulders while busying herself with the texture of his robe's fabric.
Jinshi said, voice hoarse, “Maomao, are you sure?...”
He whispered it repeatedly: asking if she was truly ready, if she would never regret this.
He really liked calling her by her name so much...
Maomao turned her face aside, heat spreading from her cheeks to her ears, and huffed, answering with sharpness, “If I were hesitant or unwilling, I would not have stayed here until this hour.”
A chuckle escaped Jinshi as he rested his head down, pressing his forehead against hers ever so gently, their breaths mingling in the narrow space between them.
They looked into each other's eyes and smiled together; though the future before them remained shrouded in ambiguity, in those fleeting moments—his heat was no longer a burning frenzy, nor hers that of a tepid water. Rather, its degrees almost felt balanced and in complete harmony.