Work Text:
Upon reaching the third week of their return, the old madam of Verdigris House receives the summons for a visit. Officially, Maomao is requesting a consultation regarding some old story from the pleasure district, but the madam has seen and heard enough to understand it is just an excuse to make her meet the new baby.
Of course it’s a daughter—that’s the legacy none of them could escape from, not even Maomao. Besides that, the “new baby” is big already: when the madam is admitted to the parlor, the child, the round face, the black hair long enough to gather at the sides of her head in little buns, the little hands plump and soft, is trying to stand up keeping hold of borders of the couch where Maomao is seated, with great determination, and only interrupts to turn and stare at her with curiosity.
They’ve been away a long time.
“Old lady, it has been a while,” Maomao greets her. She’s of a few words as ever, and leaves it to her ladies-in-waiting to show a welcome proper of her status, as they bring in a fine tea and snacks for their tea party while she picks up the little girl and places her on her knees.
“Daaa,” the little girl says, staring at Maomao.
“Later,” Maomao replies. The little girl wriggles in Maomao’s arms and tries to change position. Maomao helps her, and returns to give attention to the old madam only once the child seems content.
“What’s her name?” the old madam asks.
If the name can be said at all.
Maomao tells her the name.
“And how old is she?”
Maomao answers, but keeps a certain vagueness that, the madam understands, is a security measure, the same that kept the child out of any written communication she received from her while she was away.
And even if it weren’t, would the girl include the important things in her letters? That would be a first.
“Can I then assume the pregnancy and delivery both were dealt with successfully?”
“As much as these things go,” is Maomao’s reply.
How annoying. It’s not like she can pester her with questions now; Maomao more than anyone should know that. In fact, she’s about to give her a good rebuke, but she stops herself.
Maomao, too, seems... if not annoyed, almost disappointed, for a moment. Then, her attitude changes.
“Right.” Placing a hand on the child’s head, a hand gesturing towards the madam’s direction, she says to the child: “This is granny. Both Pairin and I grew up under her watch.”
What a clinical way to put it; surely, Maomao has never been the confrontational type, but the madam expected at least a demonstration of her sharp tongue. Yet, possibly because Pairin was mentioned, the child seems delighted and, in turn, smiles brightly at her.
The madam doesn’t know how to respond.
It doesn’t matter.
“Anyway, to move to the reason why I asked you to come here...”
If it was an excuse, someone must have worked to make it very elaborate. It was most likely, however, that as it happened with these things, and with how Maomao dealt with her duties, there was true interest in understanding how the pleasure district worked as the capital was being built.
Maomao kept her sources hidden, as usual, but she shared a very credible story about some of the passageways that have been gone for a long time... even before Fengxian’s time.
“Do you know anything of the traffic that was going on there?”
The madam cannot hold herself, this time.
“Are you trying to make me incriminate myself, Mao—?”
She stops right there. She knows how this should go; she just doesn’t want to go either way.
Maomao shakes her head.
“Just tell me what you know. It’s been a long time, anyway.”
This is how her mind works: aimlessly looking for the missing element that will complete the puzzle for her; as her motivation is hidden, it’s very difficult to understand where to go, but this is obviously what she wants.
The madam finally complies and begins to share what she remembers, and as much as she can, following the order of events.
As she talks, she peers at Maomao, her gaze lingering over the girl’s posture: a hand half closed under her chin and the eyes looking down, slightly unfocused. She’s not wearing makeup, and her complexion appears luminous and unblemished, with a gentle fullness, not unlike her child’s. Things must have gone as she said, well and not much else: one must be grateful for that.
There, the child, suddenly bored, twists and turns and with a plump little hand grabs at Maomao’s hair falling over her shoulder and at the ornament tying it. Maomao, unflinching, disentangles the child’s hand from the hair, and in replacement, she offers her hand. The child seems content with grabbing just her pinky.
“I was wondering whether you could show me that on a map.”
“A map? And where are you going to get a—”
Maomao gestures at her attendant, who quickly approaches the madam and, while another lady-in-waiting moves away the tableware, unrolls a large map of what appears to be the pleasure district currently in front of the madam.
“This must have taken some time,” the madam comments, her eyes narrowing.
“The work began before we left the capital.”
That is why some minor details appear off, but that is not what troubles the madam.
Now Maomao too stands and approaches her, dismissing the lady-in-waiting that offers to take the child.
Standing next to the madam, who’s still sitting, the girl even looks taller than she’s ever been, before she leans over the map.
“So, were they escaping through this side of the district?” she asks, her fingers at the exact point where the passageway had its entrance. “Or maybe this other way?”
“Say, Maomao,” the madam says quietly, not even bothering with etiquette, “Are you planning on policing the pleasure district now, with this information?”
Maomao stands again and takes a step back. More than caught red-handed, however, she looks caught off guard, and slightly offended, too.
The girl was never a great actor, so that gives the madam a bit of relief. Still, she wants her answer.
“That’s not the objective of this investigation.”
She’s holding her secrets close.
“Maomao.”
The madam sees the lady-in-waiting on the other side of the table writhe with unease. She turns again to stare at Maomao.
Maomao sighs.
“We’re trying to understand whether a certain method of doing things was replicated somewhere else. You can relax, old lady: this is not about the pleasure district at all.”
“But if the outcome also leads to certain changes to be possible...”
“I will not allow it.”
She really looks taller, and her indignant expression, that too speaks to the madam of a different person. Maomao knows where she stands.
“... Mama?”
The child’s inquiring eyes move from her mother to the old madam. She could sense the tension without a doubt; she must be scared.
Maomao shakes her head, and her expression softens as she turns to her daughter. “It’s all fine,” she tells her, a hand over the child’s head, “Granny just wanted to make sure of some things.”
That seems to reassure her, too.
“Inny.”
“Mm.”
The child turns to the madam, then, and tries to reach her with her hand. The madam sees Maomao smiling reflexively at this, just for a moment.
But the child wants the madam to look at her, and at her only. She shakes her arm and stops only when her hand is directed at her again.
“Don’t point at people,” Maomao tells her, closing her hand over the child’s. “It’s not polite.”
There’s a moment of silence, afterward. The child seemed to be okay with the reprimand, and she remains quiet now. Maomao is looking away.
Finally, she turns to the madam once more.
“Do you… do you want to hold her?”
This is what catches her off guard.
The child is again staring at her, waiting. Just like Maomao.
It’s impossible.
“Ah! Why should I want that?” she says, quickly. “Or do you want to tell me you’re in need of a paid babysitter?”
Of course she doesn’t, the madam thinks, looking at the servants in the room. That should be her answer.
Maomao purses her lips, and says nothing, but the child understood too, and is now distressed. Her round little face is now turning into a mess of despair.
“No, it’s fine,” Maomao quickly tells her, “It’s fine, granny is like that.”
Like that.
But the child is now crying.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Maomao repeats. Briefly, however, the madam can see her calm crack, if just a little.
Of course. This is what granny is like.
“Lady Maomao,” says the lady-in-waiting, approaching them, “Little princess!”
“It’s fine,” Maomao repeats, not looking at the madam nor at the lady-in-waiting. “I can do this.”
She moves away and massages the baby’s back energetically, and then places a kiss on her head.
“Mama...”
“Yes, yes, it’s all fine.”
It’s quick. The child doesn’t look happy, but she’s not crying anymore.
“See?” Maomao says to the child.
The door opens.
“Lady Maomao.”
A new attendant comes in. “I’m sorry to disturb, but—”
But the child is already peering through the other side of the door.
“Dada!” the child says excitedly.
How quick changes are within little children.
The attendant looks behind nervously, and continues:
“—the Moon Prince needs to speak with you urgently.”
Maomao nods.
“Dada!” the child repeats.
Maomao sighs. “Please tell him to come in.”
This is not needed, for the Moon Prince is outside the door and clearly heard everything, especially the child calling for him. The madam knows him enough to have exploited his emotionality for very good earnings before: she’s not surprised to see him rush in to welcome the child in his arms, the child laughing against his chest as he only then performs the formal greetings, a bit hesitant behind his mask, throwing glances at Maomao here and there as he addresses the madam with streamlined small talk—he’s in a hurry, very clearly.
“My apologies,” Maomao says, and moves to a corner to talk to her husband in whispers. In front of the madam, the map gets rolled up again, and she’s then offered more sweets.
As the child is hidden in the refined fabrics of her father’s garment, the two of them seem to be discussing a rather serious topic.
Then, Maomao detaches from them to go back to the madam.
“I’m sorry, old lady, something came up, and I’m needed elsewhere,” she says. “We’ll need to arrange another meeting to continue this discussion. Ah…” She looks around, then gestures at her lady-in-waiting. “Pairin is here today, she’ll come to have tea with you now.”
The madam would rather go home. After Maomao and her family leave, she stands up. A lady-in-waiting tries to make her sit again, but—of course—fails. It’s not like a young little lady could restrain her, anyway. She wonders how they manage to keep everything clean. The furniture in the various rooms is, in any case, simple while of the best quality—that will probably mean they do not need much strength, only good coordination. But the courtyard, the courtyard surely needs a lot of work—gardeners too, possibly. Or maybe that is a task Maomao keeps for herself. Would she care for plants, still?
In any case, this is where the madam ends up, in a courtyard with some plants and trees, and she doesn’t know where to turn to go back home, and quickly, before somebody finds her. The next time, it could be someone worse than a useless lady-in-waiting: it could be her mortal enemy, the old maid. That woman—
“Old lady, stop right there!”
She’s been found.
Two arms reach for her, block her, and do not let go.
Luckily, it’s only Pairin.
“What has gotten into you, heh?” Pairin even tries to reprimand her, now. “Going around in this mansion without knowing how to, of course you will lose direction.”
She turns her around to take a good look at her. The madam looks at Pairin too, impassive. She too looks well, which is good enough, given that she’s now tasked to help her little sister closely.
Pairin’s lips are now pressed together in a rather pained demeanour.
She lets go of the madam’s shoulders, and fishes in her robe near her chest for something. It’s a handkerchief she produces out of it, and she offers it to the madam.
“Why would you give me that?” the latter asks.
“Oh, come on, old lady,” Pairin says, putting the handkerchief in her hand, “It’s alright. Dry your face before someone else sees you.”
Preposterous.
Even so, Pairin doesn’t let go of her. She moves her hand to madam’s shoulder, and keeps it there, caressing it. She has always been the one child very comfortable—too comfortable—with touch.
“I get it, but in the end, things worked out well for our Maomao; we should be allowed to be happy about it, mh?” she tells her. “And you know, she’s trying.” She sighs. “You should try too.”
“Preposterous!” the madam says, this time out loud, but without much energy. She’s looking at the handkerchief that Pairin gave her, still not knowing what to do with it.
“Yeah, yeah, everything is preposterous to you; you’ve seen all. But have you seen how cute the little one is? Just like our little Maomao.”
And like others, as well. Just as much.
“Let’s go have tea, old lady. There’s a lot you missed that I want to fill you in on, and you’ll want to know everything, right?”
Yes, she wants to know.