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No matter how many times Jinshi replays the conversation with Maamei, he still wants to bang his head against his desk until it cracks in half. (Whether his head or the desk cracks first, he isn't sure he cares.) Of course there had been an ulterior motive, there is always an ulterior motive with the empress dowager’s family.
Despite his frustration, he knows his real distress centers, as always, on Maomao and how she'd been dragged into this mess. He thought he'd been bringing her a proper medical mystery, and perhaps an excuse for them to see each other a few times, but she solved the issue and started planning a treatment before anyone else could even understand the problem. Now it’s down to politics, her least favorite subject, and… well it still isn't clear to Jinshi what role his maternal family expects Maomao to play.
According to Maamei, the lady seems to have no ambitions for the sickly girl to become the legal wife. But… who exactly was the lady asking? Maamei and Chue aren't family, so they have no say in the matter, and on paper, he and Maomao have no connection at all. If the lady is merely concerned for the sickly girl, as all said she is, at least this probably isn't an intimidation technique against a perceived rival…
The thought strikes him like a hit from a training sword: solving mysteries may be routine for him and Maomao, but it's not something they've done in the outer court since his reveal as the Moon Prince. They've barely been seen together at all, and the first time they do appear together in public, he thoughtlessly presented her as a woman he trusts on equal footing with the Ma clan.
He may as well have held a sign over her head proclaiming her as his intended bride. Or worse, a target.
Jinshi bangs his head against his desk again and stays there, hoping he'd made a proper dent.
He’d sworn to make Maomao his wife. He'd promised to remove every obstacle. After their year in the West, he'd like to believe he'd made some progress softening up Lakan, and Maomao had finally come to him of her own volition, multiple times, apparently ready to–
But–
The emperor’s illness, despite the successful surgery, had sobered Jinshi up. Until his nephews come of age, he remains a mere breath away from the throne, and he cannot, he will not subject Maomao to that scrutiny, isolation, and danger, on top of her personal loyalty to the current empress. He doesn't want to let her go, but he can’t condemn her to his fate.
He'd hoped to have a little bit longer, but perhaps taking in his cousin and allowing rumors to spread is his best option. At least no one will expect heirs from a likely infertile girl.
A loud knock sounds on the door, probably Basen based on the amount of force. Jinshi groans as he lifts his head, and he calls out his permission to enter.
The door slides open just enough for Basen to stick his head in. “Master Jinshi, the apothecary is here,” he says from the entryway.
“Send her in,” Jinshi replies as he shuffles his papers and pretends to have been working.
“Um…”
Jinshi looks up at his friend and sees a blush on his cheeks, and no Maomao in tow. “Is there a problem?” he asked.
“No… she asked to meet you in your private suite,” Basen mutters.
The brush falls from Jinshi’s hand, narrowly missing the document in front of him and leaving an ink stain on the wooden desktop. “Maomao requested that?” he echoes.
Basen holds one arm with the other uncomfortably and nods. “She's waiting in your room,” he says.
Jinshi blinks a few times before his brain catches up with his ears.
Maomao is here, once again by her own decision.
Maomao wants to speak to him privately.
Maomao is waiting for him in his bedroom.
Jinshi manages to dismiss Basen as he rises from his desk, and he wanders in a daze back to the private wing of his residence. For once, Suiren doesn't delay him, she merely chuckles into her hand and fusses at the flyaways in his hair for a few steps before his pace outstrips her. After both an eternity and no time at all, Jinshi finds himself at the doors to his room, his heart beating a mile a minute. He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, then slides open the door.
Maomao is wearing his hair stick.
She gets to her feet immediately when she sees him in the doorway, but he catches the unmistakable flash of silver in her hair before she turns to face him, and he sees the telltale poppy again when she bows.
“Master Jinshi, thank you for seeing me so late,” she offers in greeting as she rises, and Jinshi briefly pictures a world where she would never need to lower her head to him.
“Of course, Maomao, I'll always make time for you,” he replies, a bit mushier than usual even by his usual standards, but he is exhausted, and she is beautiful. A man only has so much endurance. “What can I do for you this evening?” he asks as he sits across from her.
If he didn't know any better, he'd swear Maomao’s cheeks turn slightly pink under her freckles. But that can't be right, because Maomao never gets embarrassed. Angry, annoyed, evasive, elated, determined, even scared; all of these are among the emotions she allows herself to express, but embarrassment or shyness don't seem to be in her wheelhouse.
Maomao looks away and refuses to meet his eyes. “I was wondering what will happen with Miss Zhizi,” she says quietly.
She's never excelled in small talk, so Jinshi figured she would get straight to the point. “Nothing’s been decided,” he says without inflection. “You were there, and I only heard Maamei’s recap, so you probably have a better read on the situation than I do.”
Maomao nods once, and she chews at the corner of her lip.
Again, since when did Maomao ever get nervous about anything?
“And what do you think?” she asks, still not looking at him.
“Of Zhizi’s condition? I wish I could say the concubine’s days here are numbered, but she seems to have my uncle wrapped around her finger,” he replies darkly. “Is that type of poisoning something the girl can recover from?”
“With time,” says Maomao. Her fingers are starting to dig into her skirt, enough that her nail beds are turning white.
“Is everything all right, Maomao?” Jinshi asks.
She doesn't answer, doesn't seem to hear him.
That's the last straw, and Jinshi moves to take the seat next to her. She doesn't respond until he gently pries her fingers out of their death grip and holds her hands in his. The look in her eyes when she finally glances up at him is both guarded and probing, as though she is taking his measure and determining her next step.
“I don't know my birthday,” she finally blurts out and looks away from him again.
Jinshi blinks, taken aback. “Pardon?”
“The old fart doesn't know it because he didn't know about me until I was four. No one wrote it down, since courtesans don't get pregnant and brothels don't have babies, and if Granny remembers, she won't tell me,” she explains. “Big Sis Pairin remembered the month, and we obviously know the year, but I don't know the day or time.”
Still not quite sure where she’s going with this, Jinshi strokes his thumbs across her knuckles. He’s honed his patience in her silences, so he waits for her to continue.
“You've already done everything out of order anyway, so maybe it’s water under the bridge...”
To Jinshi, her vague statement explains nothing. “What exactly have I done out of order?” he asks.
“Well… you opened with gifts, but that's not supposed to happen until after wenming and naji. You did double back to ask at least, but you can't complete the next steps if I can't tell you my bazi.”
Wenming is the rite of asking a bride her bazi, her birth date and time.
Naji is the rite of divining a prospective couple’s fortune based on their bazi.
As for what he'd asked… well. That much he can figure out.
“You’re referring to the Six Etiquettes?” Jinshi asks to clarify.
“Yes?” Maomao confirms, but it sounds like a question. “I think I remembered them right. It was somewhere in the Five Classics I had to study for the court lady exam, but a lot has happened since then...”
She's fidgeting now, and trying to take her hands back, but Jinshi uses his grip to pull them closer. “Does that mean, in spite of everything, you're… finally giving me an answer?”
Maomao’s eyes narrow as she turns to him, and at last Jinshi feels he is on familiar ground when she glares at him like a fly in her ointment. “Was I not clear enough the last time I was here?” she snaps, her demanding voice full of agitation, though the dusting of pink still remains across her cheeks.
Jinshi blushes as well, but he needs to leave no room for willful misinterpretation. “You're saying you'll agree to marry me, despite the potential threat to Empress Gyokuyou, and despite the empress dowager faction scheming to place me on the throne?”
Maomao looks away again, but she stops trying to reclaim her hands. Her eyes dart to the closed door, and she takes a breath in anticipation. At a glacial pace, Maomao tips toward Jinshi, and her head comes to rest against his chest. “Everyone is going to keep trying to foist consorts on you if you wait,” she says at last, just above a whisper.
Dumbstruck, Jinshi stares down at the crown of her head. Words escape him, but his arms move on their own to encircle his treasure and pull her into his lap. He bends down and noses into her hair as his arms tighten, and he feels her small hand grip his robes.
“This could backfire and increase the calls for me to succeed my brother,” Jinshi warns, feeling the need to play devil’s advocate now instead of getting the rug pulled out from under him later.
Maomao shifts, but she makes no move to escape his embrace. “If we have to play by their rules, then I want to win,” she says, and at last she looks up at him.
There's restrained fear in the tightness of her face. Her hand still grips his robe as tightly as she gripped her skirt earlier, and her determined eyes beg him to understand what she doesn't want to say.
He does. It feels like wishful thinking, because for so long that's all it was, but she's here and she's making her point in the clearest way she is capable. And Jinshi is not going to waste it this time.
“The bazi is less of an issue in a perceived political match,” says Jinshi, one of his hands coming to cup Maomao’s face. “When blocking such a match might be seen as an insult to the imperial family or a named clan… well, suffice to say, the result of the naji tends to come out favorably.”
Maomao’s face and fingers relax slightly, and she almost imperceptibly leans into Jinshi’s palm. His body keeps moving on its own, bringing their faces closer and closer, until their breath begins to mingle. He almost hesitates, but last time she didn't protest, and she even teased him about his restraint… so he pushes forward and grazes her lips.
Maomao returns his soft kiss, and this time she holds back on whatever courtesan techniques she used on him before. His eyes close and his hand slides into her hair, gently locking them in place as their lips brush against each other.
Such a chaste kiss doesn't last long, and Maomao tucks her head into the space between Jinshi’s shoulder and his neck. He suspects she's blushing furiously, but he’s learned not to call her out right after she's made herself this vulnerable (although after her antics in the last few months, she clearly doesn't extend him the same courtesy; he forgives her anyway).
They stay there a while longer, the prince holding his apothecary tight as the tension melts from her body.
“You still need to decide what to do about Miss Zhizi,” Maomao says to break the silence, speaking into his neck. “She shouldn't be anywhere near the concubine if she is to recover.”
Jinshi sighs and fingers the strands of Maomao’s hair that have fallen loose from her ribbon. “You know what rumors will spread if I take her in myself, or even if I am seen as the one arranging her care elsewhere,” he replies.
Maomao shifts again, hiding more of her face in his robe. “Maybe you should simply start a different rumor first.”
Jinshi is glad that she can't see or feel his face, because it is surely on fire.
The sun is low in the sky, casting a reddish glow about the room, and Jinshi takes it as a good omen. “I don't want you to go,” he whispers in her ear.
Even with her suggestion about rumors, he still expects a sigh or a groan, or even some feline-like sound of complaint, but Maomao doesn't respond right away. She tenses again momentarily, and Jinshi is about to backtrack when she decides to answer him.
“Apparently I ‘trained in etiquette’ in your chambers, so it wouldn't be that strange if I stayed.”
Jinshi swears he can feel the heat where her face touches his skin. “It is late, afterall, and I can't in good conscience send a court lady out on her own at this hour,” he offers, while his unrelenting grip hopefully conveys his true intentions.
She mumbles something unintelligible into his shoulder. Or maybe Jinshi just got distracted again by the feel of her lips moving against his body.
“What was that?” he asks.
Now she gives the long-suffering sigh he's been expecting all evening, before answering him: “Surien sent me in with sleeping robes. Apparently she keeps some in my size now.”
Jinshi tries not to laugh, but it comes out anyway in a choked-off snort. Maomao pokes his burn scar through his robes in retaliation. He squirms away a moment too late and grimaces when her finger digs in.
“Is that really necessary?” he asks rhetorically.
“Yes. I need to change,” says Maomao as she stands and goes to retrieve both sets of robes from the bed. “At least turn around,” she mutters as she hands him his, then she retreats to the opposite corner of the room.
Jinshi hears the shuffling of fabric that must be Maomao untying her aoqun or her skirt, and he quickly changes his own clothes to distract himself from the love of his life disrobing. There's plenty of time for that later… or so he tries to tell himself.
When he hears the sound of his bed being turned down, Jinshi assumes Maomao is decent and allows himself to turn around. He finds her kneeling on the foot of the bed with her hair ribbon, beads, and hair stick in hand, looking for an empty drawer in the footboard. He kneels behind her and reaches over her shoulder to open a small drawer on the top row. Maomao mumbles her thanks as she places her belongings for safe keeping. As far as Jinshi is concerned, that drawer is hers forever now. Maybe next time (next time!) he'll leave some rare herb or medical ingredient in there for her to find.
When she's finished with the drawers, Jinshi wraps his arms around her middle and drags them both to the pillows. He releases one arm to pull the blankets over them, while the other holds her tight against his chest again. Her hair slides away from her neck, and Jinshi finds himself drawn there, kissing the expanse of skin just below her ear and working his way down to her collarbone.
“Master Jinshi, I have a request.”
He pulls back, but not far. “Anything,” he replies in a heated voice.
“If you're going to ‘bite and lick’ me, can you do it somewhere that my robes cover? I don't want to hide the marks with makeup every morning.”
Now it's Jinshi’s turn to blush and hide his face. “You never pull your punches, do you,” he asks, but it's a question they both know the answer to.
Maomao rolls over to face him and runs her hand through his loose hair. “Isn't that something Master Jinshi likes?” she asks in return.
He grunts in response and pinches her cheek, the mood thoroughly broken. “Good night, Maomao,” he says as his pinch becomes a caress.
“Good night, Jinshi.”