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“What exactly are we out looking for?” Jinshi teases. “You never told me.”
We? Maomao raises an eyebrow, but maintains her outward composure to the best of her ability. I don’t recall there being a ‘we.’
Jinshi had been the one who insisted he join her entirely against her will. She would have been fine on her own, but she had already torn her stitches once, he’d said, and he didn’t want to see her do it again.
She’s not surprised that he found the time with his workload because he always finds the time to pester her. Perhaps she should be more surprised to realize that she minds his company less than usual.
Still, if he’s going to whine the entire time, then she’d have much preferred that he stay behind in his office doing paperwork.
Unimpressed, she shoots him a look before continuing on her way. He can accompany her if he wishes, but she’s under no obligations to make it interesting for him. “If you wish to go back, I can continue on my own.”
“I didn’t say that.” He trails after her like an aggrieved puppy and she swallows down her irritation.
While he’s still a nuisance, he’s one she’s grown used to and maybe even a little fond of, though she would never admit either of these things to him.
Maybe she herself feels a little better being able to keep an eye on him as well. It’s still hard enough for her to wrap her head around someone wishing to be rid of him so badly that they constructed a plot as elaborate as the one she uncovered.
He seems to be universally adored by men and women alike. It’s hard to imagine anyone wanting to kill him.
Still, someone had and they had nearly succeeded. He would have been crushed to paste had she not knocked him out of the way.
It’s not something she likes thinking about.
“I thought I spotted a fungus earlier. It’s one that I'm especially interested in and I wanted to come back for it. That’s all,” she explains, eager to complete her quest. Her skin tingles with anticipation and she can hardly wait to get her hands on it.
Maomao hadn’t expected to find this particular species growing on the grounds of the Inner Palace and discovering it is like striking gold. She’s brought with her a small bag as a means of harvesting it.
It isn’t toxic, which is regrettable, but there’s still a good many things she can use it for, both medicinal and culinary.
Jinshi’s startled cry shakes her out of her reverie and Maomao spins on her heel to see him slapping his neck.
Has he gone crazy?
It isn’t too far out of the realm of possibility.
But then she sees the insect buzzing around his head. There must be a hive somewhere nearby. She ought to let someone know. It could become a real problem if someone walking the grounds stumbled upon it unawares.
“It stung me!” He stares at his hand, like he can’t quite believe it.
So not even Lord Jinshi can charm bees, she thinks. Reluctantly, she stands up, but keeps the bag of fungus clutched close. Already she can see a red welt swelling on the exposed flesh of his neck.
She winces in sympathy. It looks painful, but she’ll make a poultice when they return and he’ll be fine. “It’s just a bee sting.”
He gives her an apologetic, somewhat strained look. “I’m afraid it’s a bit more than that.”
What does he mean by that? Maomao squints at him, but then understanding dawns on her. “You’re allergic.”
He nods, his expression pinched with pain. It could simply be that he’s being dramatic, but she’s not willing to take that risk.
One brush with death is enough for her.
In Hanamachi, she had seen an allergic reaction to bee stings before. It doesn’t look like he’s going into shock yet, but it’s best not to wait until it starts. “Let me see.” She steps to his side and crouches to his level. His breathing is shaky, but that could simply be because of nerves if he’s afraid of bugs.
Jinshi moves his hand, allowing her a better look at the sting itself. He’s breaking out in hives already- the skin surrounding it is red and irritated.
She sighs.
She has nothing on her right now that could help him, which means they need to go back to the Inner Palace before he grows worse. She takes his arm and helps him to his feet. “Jinshi, I need you to tell me when the last time you were stung was and how bad a reaction you had.”
Jinshi, she notices, is standing awfully close to her and not in the way he usually does. He’s not trying to provoke a reaction out of her. He feels like he might keel over if he didn’t have her to support him.
It’s concerning.
“Twelve,” Jinshi says after a moment. “I must have been twelve.”
“Do you remember how serious it was?”
He thinks on it, then shakes his head. “I don’t.”
So much for that, Maomao thinks. It would have been useful to know, but she’ll have to monitor his symptoms and treat him accordingly. “Maybe Gaoshun remembers.” She’ll ask him once they get back.
Jinshi doesn’t answer. Instead, he moans, letting his head flop on her shoulder.
Maomao sighs again, this time far more tolerantly. There’s a chance, of course, that this is simply a ploy to get her attention. She wouldn’t put it past him, but something is telling her that that isn’t the case here.
“Lord Jinshi!”
Maomao’s head snaps up to see Suiren hurrying towards them, eyes worried. When she reaches them, she quickly joins Maomao on Jinshi’s other side, fretting over him like a mother hen. “What happened?” she demands.
“He was stung,” Maomao explains. “There must be a bee hive somewhere. He said he’s been stung before?”
There’s a sharp inhale from Suiren. “Yes. He was,” she says. “He had a severe reaction as a child and could have died.”
That’s not good, Maomao thinks. Jinshi’s breathing has become more labored and she’s only growing more worried. He catches his toe on a rock and stumbles, but Maomao’s tight grip on him keeps him upright. “We’ll need to get him lying down.” It was one of the first steps they took when someone was suffering a severe allergic reaction. She would also need to make sure that the stinger was no longer in the wound.
Oh, Jinshi. Must you always be so troublesome? Jinshi stirs on her shoulder as though he’s aware of the nature of her thoughts, but he says nothing.
Only the sound of his ragged breathing accompanies them.
Once they’ve got him comfortably on a couch, Maomao begins her assessment. The inflammation is spreading, up his neck and across his shoulders. When she inspects the welt on his shoulder, she finds no stinger.
She sighs in relief.
That, at least, is a good thing.
Jinshi gives her a panicked look and her heart squeezes in sympathy. She knows how scary an allergic reaction can be, especially a severe one.
Unlike a food allergy, she can’t simply make him empty his stomach the way she had with Consort Lishu.
This is more complicated and, thus, more dangerous.
“Make sure his arms and legs are elevated,” she instructs Suiren only to find Suiren already slipping pillows under his feet. That will keep the blood in his torso and near his heart.
“I wasn’t born yesterday,” she snipes, but it doesn’t carry its usual heat.
Suiren acting like herself is a good sign.
Though her face is pale, she’s incredibly composed, which makes sense given that this isn’t the first time Jinshi has experienced this.
It makes Maomao feel better. She would rather try to mitigate this with someone who can keep their wits about them.
And it means she can focus her energy on the next step. Among the herbs she’s collected and stored is stinging nettle, which when brewed in a tea works to reduce inflammation and relieve allergic reactions.
“Stinging nettle,” she says. “I have some stashed in the kitchen. Use it to make a tea. It will help.”
She hopes.
There’s not much that can be done for a severe allergic reaction aside from waiting and praying and Maomao has never been one for prayer.
While she waits for Suiren to return, she takes his hand and holds it. If she can do nothing else, she won’t leave him alone to suffer.
She’s spent a lot of time wishing Jinshi would simply leave her be, but… she doesn’t know what she would do if something happened to him.
It’s not a thought she knows what to do with so she sets it aside for the time being.
“Don’t try to talk,” she says when he appears to be trying to. “Don’t try to sit up either.” Obediently, he lies back, but his eyes never leave her face.
She squeezes his hand.
He’s lucky.
A truly severe allergic reaction swells the airways shut, leaving the victim completely unable to breathe. He’s uncomfortable and breathing might be difficult for him right now, but he can still breathe.
“What happened to him?”
Maomao takes her eyes off of Jinshi to look towards the speaker.
Gaoshun stares at them both, his face pinched with worries. He’s only in his thirties. How many gray hairs must he have now because of Jinshi?
“He’s having an allergic reaction,” she explains, as matter-of-factly as she can in an attempt to put him at ease. “I was collecting fungus.” She thinks guiltily of the small pouch that, even now, she still has with her. It no longer seems as important as it did before. “He accompanied me. He was stung while we were walking by the wall.”
He nods, but his eyes have latched onto Jinshi, who returns the scrutiny with an apologetic expression. He looks completely worn out.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“If you could ensure that we are given privacy.” She doesn’t think Jinshi would appreciate being seen by anyone else in this state and the fuss that anyone catching wind of this would cause would only make treating him more difficult. “That would be tremendously helpful.”
He nods. “I’ll see to it that you are left in peace.”
“Thank you.” She doesn’t take her eyes off of Jinshi.
“Has there been any change?” Suiren returns, a steaming mug of tea cradled protectively in her hands.
Maomao only releases Jinshi’s hand so she can rise and take it from her. “It will be bitter,” she warns him, “but drink it anyway. And slowly.” It won’t do to have him choke to death while she tries to save his life.
His hands are unsteady when he accepts it and she helps him guide it to his mouth. It’s not going to be an immediate cure, but it will ease the swelling and make him more comfortable.
Even with her help, he still spills a small portion of it down his front. He looks such a miserable mess that Maomao takes pity on him and wipes it away from his face.
“It looks like he’s going to be okay,” Maomao assures her when Suiren doesn’t stop hovering, hands anxiously clasped. Normally, she wouldn’t make promises like that- she’s all too aware of how quickly circumstances can change- but Jinshi is too stubborn to die.
He’s not entirely out of danger yet. There’s still a chance he could take a turn for the worse, no matter how unlikely.
Jinshi tries to pass the cup back to her.
She peers into it. Less than half of it has been emptied. He would have to drain it eventually, but she won’t push him now.
“How do you feel?”
Jinshi hesitates before answering. He glances at Suiren briefly before dropping his eyes back to his lap. It’s strange to see him subdued, but she’s learned that he’s not nearly as flamboyant as he presents himself publicly. “It’s getting easier to breathe,” he says quietly. His voice is still raspy.
“He’ll need water.” she says quietly. Her shoulders have slumped; she no longer feels as heavy now that the worst has passed.
It feels strange to have Suiren doing as she tells her without a word, but Maomao isn’t the type to relist it at a time like this.
They’re united in their common goal of keeping Jinshi alive.
“What now?” Suiren asks when she returns with the water. Maomao doesn’t take it so she sets it aside.
“Now I stay with him to make sure he doesn’t have a secondary reaction.” It’s something she’s seen happen before: a secondary reaction can occur hours after the first one has subsided. Until she knows for sure that he’s in the clear, she plans on staying by his side.
“You haven’t left yet.” He’s not teasing her this time. She realizes she’s still holding his hand.
She lifts an eyebrow. “Don’t read too much into it. I would never leave the side of someone so close to death.”
“Still…” Jinshi says, but he trails off when he meets Maomao’s eyes. It takes a moment, but that familiar sparkle returns to his eyes. “It’s nice to see you care.”
She bristles, but the retort dies on her tongue when he slumps back against the arm of the couch. He’s recovering, but the ordeal has taken a lot out of him.
Not fair, she thinks.
She can’t take shots at him when he’s laid up like this. She doesn’t answer him. She’ll let him recover first and then, once he does, there will be no mercy.