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Chapter Text

Go and Shogi were odious. Connoisseurs of such games were often fools–many a person has wagered too high only to lose far too much. Whenever the hands of perverts picked up pieces at Verdigris House, it was often for matters such as whose shoulder might peak out of silk or whether fingers might be slipped under a robe. Some men only played these games at the pleasure house to sit across a beautiful woman. Then there was her father, who played shogi and go out of obsession. Still, he was not a man immune to the temptation of a bet. 

The nature of bets rarely appealed to Maomao, most of all, for having been the result of one. All of this is not lost on Maomao, who sits across from her father, Lakan, a board situated between them. Irksome he was, a sappy smile on his face as he stared at her, unblinking. His daughter had finally visited him. 

Lakan picked up a black piece, considering his next move, before laying it down. “For all his intentions, he rejected my darling daughter in the end.”

“He wouldn’t make me empress.” Maomao laid a piece, understanding that she could not beat him in a fair game. She had learned the rules begrudgingly, as perhaps situations would unfold when it would benefit her to know the game. There was no benefit today. In fact, she did not understand why she agreed to play it. “Or rather, I wouldn’t be empress.”

“I heard you’ve taken up at the Verdigris House again, accumulating debts.” 

Maomao swallowed, narrowing her eyes. The old man kept tabs on her, as anyone in the business of information would. She could not fault him for this, though she wished he had gained this knowledge later, when the debts were higher, when she was too ruined. 

 “Room and board come at a cost,” she said, placing a white piece without regard for the others. 

“My rooms are free,” Lakan said.

“That life is not.” 

The pieces clacked between them. Lakan’s deliberate moves matched Maomao’s furious ones. He reveled in the chaos, the limitations her carelessness presented him. Years ago, she would have been stone-faced. She would not have allowed him to peer beneath the thick skin she applied, but he was not naive enough to believe that she allowed him this rare glimpse. This was a woman undone. As a military general, he thought she had fallen for a trap laid under her watch; as a father, his heart ached for her. 

“You become a courtesan to avoid what? Him? A low-life, good-for-nothing–”

“You speak that way at the cost of your head.”

Lakan barked a laugh. “That must be why whenever I’m near, he turns the corner!” 

“Better not to speak of the Emperor, as a rule. Don’t you think? ” 

“I would never want to upset my darling daughter.”

Maomao had stopped looking at the board several moves ago, though Lakan’s eyes never left her hand. She was grateful for it, first for the fact that the sight of him perturbed her, and second, for the fact that often her eyes were too expressive. 

“Well, then, you take up being a courtesan to what? Continue the family trade?” Lakan asked.

“You said you don’t wish to upset me.”

“And you are not.”

“If I lived here, there would be engagements. Dinners. And when summoned, I can’t avoid those things. A year from now, two, when…” Maomao stopped herself. She hadn’t dwelled on the future. She never entertained what the Emperor regent might do. In her time, he was a child living in a man’s body. But with that power, that command, she shuddered to think of a summons. “A courtesan is unacceptable company.”

Lakan saw a path to winning, too obvious for his liking. The game would end, and then his daughter would walk away from the board. There was a bet to consider. For all of her protesting, she would not have easily wagered a life as a military official’s daughter–a princess, suitable in the eyes of the right politician. She had already rejected that life. But he offered to buy her out, offered as insistently as when she was a child, for he could not see her condemned to that place. Not with a mind like hers. He made no move, placing his hands on his knees. 

“He wouldn’t force you. You’ve been released.”

“And I would leave Li, if I could, but I’m burdened with knowledge,” Maomao sighed. “I’m an arm’s length away, anywhere in this country. Don’t you understand what that does to a man?”

Lakan nodded. “Then he wouldn’t have let you go.”

“Make your move, if you’re so sure.”

“Let me think on it some more.” The fruit juice in his cup had emptied, and he moved to refill it. The juice trickled slowly, and drop by drop, the cup was filled. “Really, your moves can be so similar to your mother's, but there’s no follow-through. Perhaps, if you’d play a few more rounds…” 

“Absolutely not. Make your move.” 

“I’m considering my possibilities. There’s no rush.”

This was quite like him, Maomao thought. Infuriating her when it was most inconvenient, testing the boundaries she put up. He experienced a twisted joy whenever she glared at him, and he cooed if she ever so much as smiled in his vicinity. It was no wonder he was attracted to games he always won, when being around him was equivalent to losing, day after day. 

“I would fund you to open a clinic. I’m sure the request won’t be refused,”  Lakan giggled. Yes, this was his worst quality, she decided. He simply could not help himself.

So that was it, Maomao thought. He would conjure a dream world that daddy would pay for. Good daddy, generous daddy, let-me-rescue-you daddy. She began to laugh. The laugh started in her belly, traveling up through her lungs, into her veins, circulating in her blood, entering her heart as all blood did. That life unfolded in her mind’s eye, her belongings brought here, the clinic built to her exact specifications, the people she would help, the name she would make for herself. On and on, until the emperor regent was injured, was ill, and no more capable hands than hers could be found in Li. 

Maomao hadn’t realized that her laughter brought her to tears. She despised crying in front of Lakan, though he was wise enough to remain on the other side of the board, his hands kept to himself. These were not tears he earned. 

The board was wet; she was losing the game. “Then welcome me here so that one dinner, six years from now, he catches a glimpse of me. So that seven years from now, I sew his wounds. So that eight years from now, when he has made a new life, I’ll be at the foot of a concubine’s bed in the rear palace to deliver his child.”

“Maomao–”

“Make your move,” she demanded. “Do it.”

Lakan began to shift. Absorbed in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed the other option, or rather, she hadn’t thought it a possibility among the moves he could make. Extending the game, leaving it to chance, she understood. But he took a piece, curling his fingers around it. He formed a fist, and pressing his lips together, he tossed it into her lap. 

“I forfeit,” he said.  

Chapter Text

In the periphery, there was an ominous flicker. Its pace was slow like the low beat of a drum before battle, as refined as a soldier’s march to that very beat, yet more chilling. Blood would flow with battle, but the originator of the flicker understood quite well that in the palace, blood could not be drawn. There were other methods, beginning with his posture, hands tucked behind his back; the face, emotionless but contemplative; the sounds, deliberate footsteps on parquet. This was a commandant's march, and it should be taken as such, including in the audience of the Emperor. 

The curtains on the windows were drawn. A darkness invaded this space that should be bathed in light. Ka Zuigetsu’s bed was draped in deep purple. Strong incense burned, its scent reminiscent of those used in royal funerals to cover the stench of decay. Mourning swelled from each corner, peaking at the apex where the Emperor lay, seated against fine pillows, dressed in black robes, which were fitting, though no longer appropriate. The old emperor had been dead for some months now.   

A strong ruler should rise on the second day.

Lakan scoffed, his monocle flickering. The Emperor lay still, unperturbed, as a vessel. Jinshi, within, swallowed. 

“There are rumors that you’re sickly,” Lakan said. 

“So I am.”  

“Ah, perhaps I should wish you a swift recovery.” The general sat, lacking welcome, on a chair that had been placed beside the bed. Then he uncapped his jug of fruit juice, the color of wine, and poured himself a generous glass. “But it seems that in your case, even someone with Luomen’s skill wouldn’t be able to treat you.” 

A malaise struck the Emperor, not long after the apothecary left. The apothecary, who kept the Moon Prince well, his personal attendant with knowledge that surpassed many of the finest doctors this palace had seen. Of course, they said around Li, a skilled hand like that gone–it’s no wonder the new Emperor has weakened. 

“Did you come to taunt me?”

Another glass was poured. Lakan feigned drunkenness, Jinshi thought. Or rather, he was inebriated from a substance few could taste. Fear brought bile to rise in his throat, and the scent alone had a peculiar effect on that strange man, akin to the effect of poison on that apothecary he once had. If he were not ill now, he would be after Lakan’s departure. 

Lakan hummed. “A wise woman we both know would tell me not to taunt the emperor.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jinshi said, turning away. He wouldn’t think her name, yet her outline stood in his memory. They had endured longer periods apart, though in those days, their reunion seemed inevitable. Even now, he expected her to linger outside the door, like a wandering cat, too fickle to enter, too fickle to go. “So, why did you come?”

“I was summoned.”

“It wasn’t an official invitation. It wasn’t an invitation at all.” 

Jinshi had not slept for three days when he wrote the letter. There was an aged wine involved. The distinct lack of Gaoshun or Basen certainly played some role. Jinshi was alone in a room with Ka Zuigetsu, that thing made of papyrus and glue. He would prefer not to remember what he had written, but there had not been sufficient wine for that.

“I want to ask for her hand, you wrote,” Lakan said. “I wonder what mindset you were in at the time. Were you a frustrated little boy who broke his favorite toy? Or were you bold enough to claim what you want?” 

Jinshi was certain Lakan knew the answer. He would not approach without an assured outcome, and Jinshi was in a particular mood. “I was the squashed bug beneath her shoe.” 

Lakan rose from his chair and leaned over the bed, his monocle darkening. He took Jinshi’s face roughly, squeezing his cheeks with his fingers. The scar was raised beneath Lakan’s touch, the only visible sign that at one time, the Moon Prince waged a minor war for his daughter’s safety. Jinshi braced himself, wincing, but Lakan simply released him and poured another glass. 

Then he smirked, nodding to himself. “You’ll be ill for years to come.”

“It would seem so,” Jinshi said. 

A long stretch of quiet unfurled between the two men. Jinshi wondered whether Lakan had begun to move the pieces in his mind, maneuvers yet to unfold. The Crown Prince was only four. His reign as regent could last a decade, longer, if needed. He had no substitute, the late emperor having succumbed to a swift and merciless disease. Life had been a fleeting promise, and Jinshi felt himself at fault for having hoped. 

Lakan tapped Jinshi’s arm before standing from his chair. His bottle of fruit juice was slung over his shoulder, taking his leave, losing the walk of a commandant. He became the fox, smooth and sly, having that same cackling bark. 

“I was a squashed bug once, too,” he said, a bit too pleased, and closed the door. 

*****

Joka admired the old granny’s smoking pipe from the front desk of Verdigris House, not for its beauty, as it was of basic craftsmanship. That shrewd woman whose eyes glimmered at the sight of coins, who twitched with the thrill of a goblin at the scent of fortune thick on her patrons, smoked for decades from a pipe that cost only some copper coins. The management of Verdigris House was handed to Joka, and the smoking pipe was passed on to her. Why this, of all things? She wondered.

Business had slowed, the summer heat rising in the red light district. Humid nights such as this one were a deterrent for the wanting, and those who sought music or merriment would head to other establishments cooled by blocks of ice. At least, the girls weren’t fanning the sweaty men whose stink stuck to the walls, but the girls made no money either. 

The night was late when the man entered, checking behind his shoulder as if he were about to be caught. He was dressed rather elegantly, but the style was a decade old, and his robe was ever so slightly tight around his soft belly. So, he must be a man with a sack of silver stashed away for one lucky night. 

“Welcome, sir. Do you have a preference?” Joka asked. “Or would you prefer to see a sampling of our available girls?”

“The one called Maomao.” 

“Are you sure?” Maomao was never called on, though she was bathed and dressed to work as a courtesan. Those who picked her from a crowd often left clenching their teeth, never to revisit her. The man in front of her had not frequented Verdigris House before. “We have a girl, Ying Hua, who is gentle and lovely to first-time visitors.” 

“It must be Maomao.”

Joka found her hand tightening around the pipe, her wrist braced to strike. So this was why. The pipe’s value was unmatched for its usefulness. “Han Mei has the beauty that urges the poet to write and the touch that drives them mad.” 

“And Maomao is on the lips of the customers who leave. The impossible woman.”

Maomao appeared from behind the curtain, her hands tucked beneath the long sleeves of her pale blue hanfu. She nodded at Joka, placing a hand on her arm. “Right this way, sir,” she said. 

“Maomao, but–”

“If it’s Maomao he wants,” she said dryly, “Then Maomao he shall have.” 

The woman before the man was short and rather thin, though not undernourished. Yet all those men on the streets outside babbled her name. He slid his pouch onto the desk, accepting that this is who he demanded, as it would be an embarrassment to retract. 

Maomao led him up the stairs, looking behind her shoulder, casting a chilly stare that would have frozen the man at the bottom of the very first step if it were not for the unreasonable heat. The room where she would perform her service was simple, though perfumed by honeyed incense. There was a table with a pot of tea brewing, which an attendant rushed to prepare, steam rising from its spout. 

“I might look at you,” she began, her back turned, “If you find a way to entertain me, but your clothes must stay on and you must maintain a distance of three meters, at the very least. These are my terms.”

“Terms?”

Maomao gripped her bandaged arm, squeezing the scars underneath. “Else, you may leave, but the money is spent.”   

The man kneeled at the table to pour himself a cup of tea. How strange this woman was. She had neither the softness to comfort nor the talent to astound. She was the hardness found at the bottom of a well, that calcified stone, cold and damp and unbearable. And yet, there were still some who would drop a bucket in hopes of having a piece of her. 

He could not approach her, but his voice would carry to the other side of the room. A story could work. “My wife doesn’t know I’m here,” he began. 

Maomao did not speak. 

“She fell ill some months ago. Really, I never planned on coming to this sort of place. She was quite the beauty, and still would be, but she withers every day. She might not be long for this world.” The man sank his head, expecting that he would cry, but he found himself incapable of it in her presence. She was entirely infuriating in her lack of feeling. His hands twitched. “Aren’t you listening? My wife is dying, and you can’t extend some care?”

Maomao took a step away from him, increasing the distance between them. So, she would act this way. The man thought to leave. His money would be wasted whether he stayed or went. The words he spoke now, he never breathed to another. And what if the courtesan knew? He would not encounter her on the streets, and if they did by chance pass each other by, she would have forgotten him by then. The men who left her service must have concluded the very same, for while she marked their memories they could never mark hers. If it would be this way, then she should remember the story of his wife. He cleared his throat.

“It all started after our anniversary, if you can believe it. Twenty years together. I bought her a face powder with most of our little savings, and the rest is in the madam’s pocket right now. But what use is that powder if she can’t go out?”

“Where did you buy this powder?”

The man blinked. “Excuse me?”

Maomao turned, ever so slightly, to look at the pathetic creature who’d taken up her carpet. “Was it a foreign merchant?”

“So it was.”

“You’re killing her.” Maomao approached his table and poured herself a cup of tea, which had cooled too much to be a pleasant drink, but her throat was dry and her body had begun to ache. Tea would be the remedy to drown the memory. “I suppose you’re applying it to her face from time to time.”

“How did you know that?”

“There have been cases like this here before we banned the powder. It’s poison, you know.” There was a case at the rear palace, too, she thought. “I’ll write some instructions. Follow them carefully to cleanse her of the poison. Dispose of the powder. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes. Thank you. Heavens, thank you.” 

The man left, smiling too brightly, from her room. Inside, Maomao remained on the floor, her knees brought close to her chest. It had been years since she was summoned with the servant girls. Why then did she feel she was about to enter the service of a eunuch? Why then did she feel she was to gain his favor once more? Five minutes passed, then ten. Joka rushed in, the pipe a weapon in her hand.

“What did he do? What did he do?”

“Nothing. He told me a story, and I provided him with a happy ending.” 

A week would pass before Joka learned of the lead powder and the healing wife, as he dropped an additional satchel of copper and silver to pay for an invaluable service. 

*****

The woman seated across from him, by all standards, could cause every head at a garden party to turn. Her face was entirely composed of delicate features, her lips like rose buds soon to bloom, her eyes the color of a tranquil sea, and her skin the fine, pale sand, inviting one to approach the sea. The emperor had seen her twice before as a member of the esteemed Verdigris House–once on the night he found the apothecary after he released her from the rear palace and again the day he came to buy the apothecary out of her debts. The apothecary had been adorned in gold, her lips and eyes painted, her mysterious beauty highlighted, eclipsing the three princesses of Verdigris House. 

Jinshi did not see Meimei, the apprentice of the Go master, seated across from him. Rather, he saw the apothecary girl, dressed too lovely for him, at her side, her nose in the air. Yes, her arms were crossed, but she was tempted to peek at him, to see her reflection in his eyes. There she was; he could reach his hand out and move a lock of hair behind her ear, but he blinked and the vision vanished.

Meimei arranged the stones for them. He would play black, as he was the emperor and should strike first. In truth, this was a game he learned for the purposes of challenging Lakan. A weak match, and he would disapprove of their marriage. But a fight, a gambit–those plans were for a lost future. He should dismiss her, as the emperor was beginning to tire, though he did not. In fact, if it had been another girl in his chambers, he would have sent her away, but this was a big sister of the apothecary, and he could not reject her so crudely.

 As the board was prepared, Meimei’s delicate smile faltered. 

“You aren’t here for the game,” Jinshi said. “There’s no reason to worry about all that.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint,” she said, and gestured to the board. “We can still play if you like.”

“Of course.” 

Jinshi sat facing the windows whose curtains had been opened to brighten the room, which increasingly resembled a funeral hall. Outside, spring was in bloom, and the small tree that had been planted some years ago, soon after the passing of the emperor, had grown to produce stunning blooms. His sight was filled with the color that once enhanced the apothecary’s eyes. He set a black stone down and returned to his gazing. 

Some time passed in silence, Meimei diligent in her strategy, prolonging the game when the emperor set his stones haphazardly. She had been instructed to seduce him with her intellect, as he was not a man easily swayed by attraction, yet they dressed her to reveal her substantial cleavage, in case he had changed with age. Lonely men were prone to waver, even emperors revered above all, and the current emperor regent had accrued a reputation. As the Moon Prince, he was a recluse; as the emperor, he was a strange and prickly hermit.

The meddling officials who sent her would not accept an argument to the contrary: Meimei was unfit, simply because she was the wrong woman. Worse, all women are unfit except for one. She was told, even upon immediate rejection, she should not waver. And though she did not care for this position, she could not refuse, so she played her role. She moved fluidly, so that her capable hands might entice, but her motions only unnerved the emperor. 

“I won’t take concubines,” Jinshi spoke, in the terse and lawful voice of a ruler. “And I don’t plan to take a wife.”

“That’s not something I should know.” 

The black pieces surrounded her white ones–he was stunned to find as he looked down at the board. Was she allowing him to win out of pity? “I know it pains you to be here,” he said more softly now.

“Not as much as it pains you to see me instead of her.” Meimei bowed her head, “I apologize. I shouldn’t have spoken so plainly.” 

The game was over, as the emperor deigned it to be. He cleared the board with a single swipe of his arm, the stones clacking against the ground like violent raindrops on a tin roof. Meimei was not shaken, for patrons at Verdigris House were often capable of more violent acts. Instead, sympathy took root in her cheeks, vile as any look Jinshi had ever received. The apothecary would have agreed. 

“Do you see her?” Jinshi asked.

Were it someone else, Meimei might have asked him who he was referring to, but their games were finished.“From time to time.” 

“Is she well?”

“Yes and no, but that’s no different than she’s always been. She’s taken work at–”

“Don’t.” Jinshi closed his eyes, yearning for the mattress beneath his back. His chest had grown heavy. The emperor would be unwell the following day. He would not rise for his meals. He would be fed from a tray. “Even the emperor shouldn’t know everything.” 

*****

Many whispers spread of the emperor, but those within the walls of Verdigris House were often different from the rest. There was a general consensus that the emperor was ill, confined to his bed chamber. If it were not for his wise rulings, this would spawn the rumblings of conflict. Many wondered if he was biding his time in peace, or if he wished to garner the appearance of a benevolent figure for future gain when the Crown Prince came of age. Politics were unavoidable at Verdigris House, though the politicians who came never spoke ill of him, except for when he was testy, and only then to say he would not allow them to convince him one way or another. Ultimately, his decisions were sound in the end. He brokered calm, and that was more than those before him. 

Then there was the hissing of snakes around her, the chatter of her older sisters. The emperor has no concubines, she heard. The emperor will never take a wife, she heard. The emperor is caught in a past love, she heard. Meimei claimed to have come for Joka, who was always occupied with this courtesan or that, conveniently, until Meimei was finished checking up on her littlest sister.  

“Don’t spread such horrible gossip,” Maomao would caution. “Loose lips make loose heads at the palace.” 

“Then why would he tell me such a thing, if not to tell–”

“You’ll have to pay more silver than you have to continue.” It was difficult to be so harsh to Meimei, but it was not undeserved. “Say hello to Pairin for me when you see her.” 

Meimei was not her only regular visitor. To her chagrin, knowing her exact location, Lakan found no barrier to pay increasing sums to spend an hour with his beloved daughter. This happened mostly on Fridays, though sometimes on Saturdays, to check if she missed him, and other times, lovely weeks would pass with no visit, only for him to steal a Tuesday or Wednesday. But above all, to steal the bits of sanity she had remaining. 

It was Thursday, and he was not welcome until the following day, yet the fact remained–Lakan arrived, biting his lip as he smiled. “Maomao!” he shouted at the foot of the stairs. “Daddy’s here to visit you.”

When he came into her room, she scowled. “Do you understand the impression you’re leaving when you say those things?”

“That your daddy loves you?”

Maomao’s stomach twisted. “No. Come back tomorrow. Do better.” 

“But tomorrow I won’t tell you anything. And I’m sure you’d like to hear something or other.”

The tea she served him was cold. The cups they drank from were chipped. Incense had been lit in the room hours before, but the air had grown stale. No window was opened. Maomao bit into a cookie that had been saved from the day before and spat it into a napkin, while Lakan ate from the plate without complaint. 

She should not have been interested in what he might say; in fact, she was not interested in the contents of the supposed information. Rather, it was that Lakan had a singular weakness, which was that he had a soft spot for his daughter, plainly seen by all. If he were to engage in gossip, then she should be the bulwark, for harm could be brought upon her as a means to harm him. As such, she was against playing Go or Shogi that day, for his worst habits should not be rewarded. 

“I don’t see why you visit me,” Maomao said.

He had that delighted expression on his face, contorted and ridiculous to her. “I thought you might ask me questions from time to time.” 

“What types of questions do you imagine me asking?”

“The quality of your tea, perhaps. Few would be honest with you. But your father–why would I give you a false impression?”

Maomao shook her head. “I’m not interested in news of my tea. I don’t care for it much anymore.” 

“You would be wise to shrug and listen in your lack of care,” Lakan said, his eyes narrowing. “You’re more obvious than you wish to be, and too inconspicuous when you don’t.” 

“I could also simply ask Joka to bar your entry. Then none of that would matter.”

Lakan took a tactical pause, pouring himself more tea. She was ornery today, just like her mother was during those first matches they played. Here, in this same establishment, he learned to unravel those unsavory layers, though he suspected Maomao would not budge for him. No, the man she bore herself to existed in the shell of the emperor regent, which was to say, he was gone, for the time. 

“The emperor has a tree outside his window,” Lakan began. “A small thing, really, with lush green leaves. He’s told me it rarely blooms, though when it does, its petals are a pink blush.”

Maomao glanced briefly at Lakan, pinching her arm beneath her robe. Curiosity should not hold power over her. Foliage should not tantalize her. “Are the flowers shaped like funnels? The blooms fragrant?”

“I haven’t seen them myself, but he claims they’re the essence of spring. He seems quite fond of his little tree.”

Maomao bit her tongue as she listened, the sharpness of her teeth drawing a drop of blood. She brought the conversation to a hush so that none would overhear. “Are they poisonous? The blooms?” Before he could answer, a warmth spread over her cheeks. Don’t speak on conjecture, Luomen instructed his poor student. “It’s oleander, isn’t it?”

“That’s the very one.”

“It’s just a tree,” Maomao said flatly. “I don’t need to know anything about the palace gardens.”

A bell resounded near the room. An attendant followed, gesturing to Lakan that his time had come to an end. Another hour would be no large sum for him, but he looked at Maomao, who was drawing into herself, and knew another hour would not give him more time with her. “Your tea is strong,” he said. 

Maomao lifted her head, her eyes widening. 

“If I had to describe it, your tea is quite strong.” 

*****

The Crown Prince was still small, only eight, then later, nine years old, but made a place for himself at the foot of Jinshi’s bed to play with a wooden toy. There was no reason for the Crown Prince to be there, though it happened once. Since that day, he had been insistent on visiting the ailing emperor. He brought two toys each time, one for himself and the other for Jinshi. The toy would sit on his chest while he watched the boy play. On a few occasions, Gyokuyou sat further back in the room, observing. 

“He’ll shadow you one day,” she would say. “It would be good if you’re close.” 

“He’ll grow up thinking that being emperor means to lie in bed all day.” 

Gyokuyou would hide her smile behind her hand. “That might make him want the title more.” 

When an hour would pass, sometimes more, Jinshi would feign tiredness and close his eyes. The Crown Prince would be carried away, the toy forgotten, to be picked up on his next play session. These were the easiest of his visits. 

In the afternoon, he would be taken outside to bask in the sun, on those days he could bear it. Basen would accompany him, telling him a story of Lishu and their two, soon to be three, children. Jinshi’s mind would wander with the story. The children’s sandy hair would be tinged purple or green. Their eyes would be watery blue. Basen and Lishu would fade in the distance. Small arms would reach up at him, calling him “Papa, papa.” They would pick herbs from the garden of a countryside home, that distant voice, a dream, instructing them on the variety and benefits and dangers. He would be brought in just as the tips of his fingers would brush against a rounded belly. 

In the early evenings, papers would be brought for him to sign. Officials tugged at his ears, attempting to convince him to make this action or that. Li was in a time of peace. He was thankful that meant he did not need to fret over men eager for war. This also meant that the officials were hardly effective, though his rulings came swiftly, and if by coincidence the desired outcome was reached, they were satisfied enough with him. 

But the nights were his. Finally, he could rise from the bed to stretch his limbs. He would pace back and forth in the room, exercising to prevent his muscles from atrophying. Losing some of his form was unavoidable, but to participate in this charade to the point of inflicting actual illness upon himself would defeat his purpose. The young prince was growing, sturdy and healthy. The years were passing. 

If Lakan visited him, which was rare, perhaps once or twice a year, outside of his official duties, it would be in the early hours of the morning, before the palace bustled with activity. Those were his best and worst days, his heart hammering in his chest, checking if the apothecary had taken root in her father’s shadow. 

Five years had come and gone this way. At the break of dawn, Jinshi slid into routine, burying himself under blankets, in a casket he had constructed out of the room whose door the apothecary once knocked. Ka Zuigetsu wheezed, for the clouds were gray and the weather had turned. A sneezing fit rattled the emperor. That Jinshi had sniffed the ashes from incense was an occurrence of pure coincidence. The officials scheduled to come would have to delay. It was looking to be a fine morning on this first day of the sixth year. 

Then the knock came. 

Chapter Text

Drunkards were the worst of Maomao’s clients, not for their rudeness nor loudness, but for the fact that their hands wandered and that they lacked the impulse to conceal their dilated pupils. A sober man might pretend he found her too meager and slim for their liking, which suited her, as they were quick to leave. But drunk men found meaty morsels on her bones and had no shame to be like alley dogs, drooling, growling, and licking their lips.  

Joka deterred these men from her by calling on other girls, who would draw their attention away. In her early days as a courtesan, when her name was not yet on the streets, no one would ask for her specifically. In her sixth year, however, news had spread, largely due to that man who painted his wife with lead. Many girls would have considered this a blessing. 

These girls did not need to endure the southern noble, who had entered Verdigris House quite drunk and had treated himself to several more glasses of wine since coming into Maomao’s company. He claimed, in this state, that Maomao’s backside was lovelier than her face, which caused her to turn to check if he was earnest. To her surprise, he was upset that she did not bend over, so she continued to face him, the terms of her game changing as the evening unfolded. 

“I might approach you,” she said, clenching her teeth. “If you entertain me with a good story.”

A drop of wine dribbled down his chin. “I do love girls like you who play hard to get.” 

“Oh, I’m sure.”

There was nothing to enjoy in this man’s face, which had reddened to an awful shade of puce, and his long mustache curled over his lips, moist with wine. And his eyes, beady, oggled her too obviously, as if she were no human but a piece of flesh laid out for him. Yes, he was one of those low things given high birth. 

She rang a bell, asking the attendant for another drink to be brought, the strongest they have. He was pleased at that, smacking his lips after gulping shaojiu. Such nobles were quite greedy, and as he was here to indulge, Maomao would not deny him this much. 

“You wanted a story,” he said. 

“Whatever you can come up with, and we’ll see.”

“Well, let me see.” He sucked on his wet mustache while stroking his beard. “There once was a king from a distant land who had been quite ill for the entirety of his reign. The land had fertile fields and an abundance of water. Trade was good, in fact, as good as it’d been in the years before his rule. But you see…” The man lifted his finger, and his eyes lowered to the table where his once-empty glass was now full. “Pardon me.”

He drank well, and Maomao poured another. She did not think him capable of telling a tale that would pique her interest, but the guests of Verdigris House could astonish. “You were saying?”

“I knew I could sway you a little.”

“But how will you know whether I’m truly impressed if you don’t finish the story? Right now I’m a pot that’s barely simmering. I might boil over by the end.” 

“You can be quite the tease. The others before me–they just didn’t know how to handle you. Did they?” He was intent on Maomao, as he could not resist the sight of her wrists bending while she poured. Goodness, was she generous. Attentive, even. He would prove himself to her, as he knew he could. “The trouble was, while things weren’t any worse, they also weren’t any better. And while some of the people seemed content with this, the wise people of the south knew better–a land without growth would fall behind its neighbors. The king was no great ruler. After all, he was too ill.”

“And then what?”

His speech had slurred by then, yet he persisted. “The plan was simple. An ailing king in a palace could not lift an arm to direct an army, and to all it seemed there was no one stronger controlling him. There was a lame duck in the tower. All that they needed to do was topple it. This was the vision of those southern people, wiser than the king.” 

“My goodness! That was a thrilling story.” Maomao feigned a blush, hiding her cheeks behind the sleeve of her hanfu. “Could you walk over to me? Then you can have me.” 

As the man stood, his surroundings began to warp: the bed behind the courtesan fuzzy, the walls around them somehow too close. He choked out a word as he took a step forward, but lost his balance and fell onto the table, crushing it beneath his weight. Glass broke at Maomao’s feet, and wine splashed in the air. Maomao threw her head back, laughing, her dress wet and red. Gasping for air between her laughs, Maomao reached for the bell, ringing it wildly. 

The attendant rushed in. Joka followed. “What’s happened?”

“He imbibed too much, I suppose. He’ll sleep it off.” Then, facing the small girl, she smiled. “I’ll need you to send for that weird man, the one with the monocle.”

Alone, Maomao sank onto the floor, staring at the man. Could he be this reckless? She wondered. Did he think her too stupid, a courtesan with no brain? Rumors of unrest are to be reported; the punishment for holding one’s tongue was as severe as treason. This was for her own safety, yet there was a weight in her stomach, unbearable to carry, at the thought that the emperor had enemies. She was no innocent girl to think the imperial family would not be victim to the scheming of ambitious nobles–perhaps it was the distance and her memories that convinced her he would always be safe. 

This line of thinking would not help her, she decided. All she could do, as a woman in her position, was to report the rumor to someone who could investigate it. And after the strategist visited, regarding her too sympathetically, she checked on the man, who woke early in the morning hours with no recollection of who she was or what they had spoken of. This was the best she could have hoped for, yet her legs were jittery, knowing the path to the palace, and her lips were restless, for there was an ear there, belonging to someone she hoped would listen. 

*****

Lakan had three living passions, no more, no less: the games of Shogi and Go, military strategy, and his daughter. If any of the three were to interfere with the other, he would suppose that his duties towards the military took him away from playing more matches. Barring her kidnapping by the Shi Clan, Maomao and strategizing for the nation did not intersect until the current emperor regent ascended to the throne. Maomao had told him in no words of her own that she still wanted the man once called Jinshi; rather, it was her choices, one lined up after the other, that spoke to him as Go stones placed turn after turn. She played on an entirely different field, with no board or rules or order; in fact, the only constant of each match was the man in the bed, who, without consulting her, played a game along another line, for much the same end. 

Maomao had not asked Lakan to be involved; rather, she discouraged him from meddling. Yet he was thrilled by their responses to the theoretical movements of the other, and how alike they played. His daughter, as always, was brilliant like her mother, opening unexpectedly but with such aplomb. She was quite unreachable there at Verdigris House, and if a father were ever to be proud that his daughter was a courtesan, he would be proud of Maomao as she lived on her terms, for the satisfaction of no one else. It was no wonder to Lakan that when this irritating, often useless child of a man looked upon Maomao, he was smitten.

Still, Lakan was surprised by him, for he had settled on a singular goal and did little else that might prevent him from achieving it. There was once a time he would have supported Jinshi’s rule as the true heir. However, Maomao swayed his preferences, and his strategizing took into account that she had chosen this one person, for whatever reason. Certainly not that he took life by the reins, though there was a practicality and a cunning in him that Lakan began to admire. 

A coup would be inconvenient, as he had made other plans. Emperors were only untouchable so long as the people believed in them; the turn of the wheel was merciless in that way. This was the flaw in Jinshi’s design, and Lakan hoped it could have been avoided by a short rule. However, Jinshi must have understood this, as he sat up and began to dust off the sleeves of his robe, seeming more annoyed than distraught. 

“Where did you hear this?” Jinshi said. 

“Whatever I've heard has been verified, but if you must know, an honorable lady of Verdigris House entertained a noble of that region. She was wise to come to me with the information.” Lakan smiled too proudly. “Some girls there are still partial to me.” 

Jinshi’s lip twitched in disbelief. “What action would you take?”

“Entire clans have been erased for less,” Lakan said. “A healthy emperor, looking forward to a long reign, would act in this way, and that would be my advice. For you, sickly as you are, perhaps I’d be happier to see you rot in bed than become strong and ask for my daughter’s hand in marriage again.”

Unsettled, Jinshi rose from his bed and began to pace around the room, his hands tucked behind his back. After their first meeting here since becoming emperor regent, Lakan did not mention that incident. For this, Jinshi was thankful; he had been careful since then not to imbibe too much when he was alone, when the calligraphy brush seemed too powerful a tool for his meager hand and the wishes he would profess too large for the page. 

He understood Lakan’s concern–in the presence of his discerning eye, he was weak-willed. His reign was not yet over, and it would be many years before he could walk away from the palace. Patience was all that was required of him. 

“Are you saying this more as a father or a strategist?” Jinshi asked.

Lakan squinted at him. “Is it so black and white? Don’t you sometimes find the lines between Jinshi and the emperor are blurred?” 

“Too much at the moment.” 

Jinshi sat down at the edge of his bed, bowing his head to the floor. Never had an emperor become so vulnerable in front of even his closest allies, but in that moment, Jinshi felt more in the presence of family than anyone else, the father of the wife he does not have. 

“How is Maomao?” Jinshi asked, smiling fondly. “I’m sure she’s become a respected apothecary in some far corner of Li by now. Maybe she travels from town to town, looking for new medicines and poisons. Or maybe she finally has her own greenhouse.” 

Lakan stiffened. So Maomao had been right, in a way. Hadn’t she said after six years, he might begin to crumble? That self-restraint was one of his weaker qualities, for he was prone to fantasies. Had he not found Fengxian in her last years, he would have considered the emperor to be a total fool, but there was a sweetness, the commandant had to admit, in the way he envisioned her. 

“She’s surrounded by remedies of all kinds and plenty of customers who need them,” Lakan answered, for that was the acceptable version of the truth. Lakan had worried some, initially, that the emperor would send someone to find her, though if he had, Maomao would have been removed from Verdigris House by now. 

“I could’ve given her every resource in the world, but none of the freedom to pursue her desires,” Jinshi stared down at his palms, considering that the richest hands in the nation were too poor to love her properly. “All I wanted was her happiness.”

“Then rule well,” Lakan said, tapping his lap. “Rule well and cleverly for these next years.” 

*****

The emperor’s bout of good health, unfortunately, began with a simple stroll on a cloudy day. The umbrella he carried protected him from any potential rain, and the thick robes he wore warmed him well. Neither of these protected him from the gawks and stares of those in the palace, pausing at windows–unbelievable, they thought. The emperor out today? 

Having been accustomed to being a spectacle, Jinshi was not unsettled by the attention, though it made him long for the privacy within his chambers. He had been able to forget, for a time, that his beauty drew much unwanted attention. His time as a sick man had not aged him considerably, as those around him might have suspected. No, the people of the palace were quite surprised to find that the emperor looked remarkably youthful. The only mark of time left on him was the creases around his mouth when he smiled, which disappeared whenever his face stilled. 

The walk was short, a simple promenade to visit the oleander that was planted outside of his bedroom, to sit beneath its shade and inhale the scent that reminded him of that apothecary girl who would have eagerly sucked their nectar. The excursion was short, as he could neither be too healthy nor too occupied with thoughts of the past, and while he quickly returned to rest, rumors of his sightings circulated the palace. Moreover, the timing could not have been better, officials said–there were events on the horizon, parties, galas, and meetings with nobles that the emperor sent proxies to in the past seven years. 

As his health had improved, the officials who, before, had left him to rest and recover, were bolder, expecting the emperor to take meetings daily instead of once or twice a week, unless there was an urgent matter. And Lakan’s appearance at court had increased, though there were no apparent wars; the few southern officials were, however, quite silent in his presence. A time or two, Jinshi thought Lakan might mention the rumblings of dissatisfaction throughout the empire, but when Lakan’s lips remained sealed, Jinshi understood that the decision to wage war had been entirely left to him, as was his begrudging duty as the emperor. 

There were alternatives to the shedding of blood on the battlefield, for no blood had ever quenched a noble’s thirst for power. Jinshi was rather unsuitable for war; even in his time on the battlefield in the Shi conflict, he sought to spare as many lives as possible. How could that man have been made emperor? And now, to have to burden yet another child with a future beyond a single man, to craft a child into a figure was an unfortunate consequence of his regency. 

Jinshi sat beneath the oleander tree, imagining how another might have navigated this situation. To what lengths would she have gone to avoid inflicting needless suffering upon others? A whole court of advisors, and not a single one was as insightful, as humane as her. That was why she had to go, Jinshi reminded himself. 

Petals were scattered around his feet. The once sweet fragrance had turned musty in the late days of the trees’ bloom. If a greenhouse were built, he could surround himself in foliage and breathe warm, peppery air year-round, and yet, it would be as good as empty, without her hands tending to each plant. Confined to his room, he hadn’t allowed himself to envision that the palace could be anything other than what it was. His good health had come to him at a great cost. 

“Uncle?” the Crown Prince said, interrupting the emperor’s thoughts. “Could we take a walk? The weather is nice. It’d be good for your health.” 

“Oh, I don’t think I could refuse you,” Jinshi said, standing slowly, taking the appearance of a frail man, using his arms to push against his thighs. At thirty, his joints had begun to crack, aiding the act. 

Jinshi had known the Crown Prince since he was a baby; he had played with him on many occasions, though in parallel. The boy was more interested in what his uncle would do with the toy than in devising a game for them to play together. But, between his ninth and tenth birthdays, the Crown Prince had given up his toys and his visits to his uncle. Gyukoyuo had mentioned he was busy with his lessons on the governance and history of the nation, and Jinshi supposed that was appropriate. He was old enough to concern himself with the beginnings of duty, wasn’t he? 

When should a Crown Prince’s childhood end?  The answer he faced was disappointing, and he would not repeat it for his nephew; if Gyukoyuo deemed him ready, then he was ready. Perhaps the late emperor would have begun his imperial education sooner, and Jinshi’s reluctance kept him from achieving his potential. Stuck between paralysis and inadequacy, the Crown Prince and the emperor made a few rounds around the garden, Jinshi looking down at his nephew from time to time, wondering the extent of his failure as an emperor and an uncle, and whether the success of one prevented the success of the other. 

Then, the Crown Prince pursed his lips and, against decorum, tugged lightly at the emperor’s sleeve. “I hope I won’t offend you to ask… But you’ve never taken a wife.”

“Well, I won’t be emperor for much longer. That role will fall on you one day, when you’re ready.” 

“Would I have to take a wife?”

The prince was nearly eleven, which was later than when Jinshi’s future life was laid out before him. It was not as though he desired to rule any longer than necessary and knew he would have to begin preparing him for the transition, yet the question startled him. When he was that age, he was not one for questions, but rather demands; he was a child who tested the limits of what was permissible as the late emperor was lax with him. How foolish it seemed now that he expected much the same resistance, finding himself in the hateful position of the hypocrite. 

Facing the emperor’s silence, the prince continued to talk. “I think I’d like to have one, because having an empress is important. If I ever have a wife, I’d pick someone who would make a good empress for the nation.”

Jinshi patted his nephew’s head. “Did your mother tell you to say all this?”

“No. I only asked her about my dad, and she said he was kind. So, whoever I’m with, I’ll be kind to her, too. I think that’s best.” 

Jinshi suppressed a laugh, closing his eyes. For two decades, the late emperor viewed Jinshi as his heir, the single man who could ascend to the throne, only to have a son who had every quality he lacked. There was that seriousness Jinshi imitated, the commitment to a nation that Jinshi felt half-heartedly. He must have taken after Gyokuyou and her practicality, as he and his elder brother were, in the worst moments, idealists. 

Perhaps Jinshi did not need to fret. The boy could be capable, with time, and under Gyokuyou’s care, he would be a far more suitable ruler than Jinshi ever was.  Jinshi knelt on the ground, placing a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. 

“There’s a matter I actually wanted to speak to you about. I thought maybe we could delay, but it no longer seems that way.” Jinshi kneeled on the ground, taking the prince’s hands into his own. “You’re allowed to refuse, even though it’s a request from me. Promise me you won’t feel pressured.” 

*****

There had been strange developments at Verdigris House, particularly in its pharmacy, which for most of its years in operation had seen few customers. The old Madame took no issue with this, as Luomen served the brothel’s personnel well, and Maomao’s accumulation of debt would have to be paid one way or another. Joka continued the tradition, allowing Maomao, in her spare time, to serve as an apothecary for the brothel. As Maomao’s reputation grew, attracting regulars, more customers began to visit her in the apothecary. They were ordered to stand at the sides and not to pester her while she worked. 

“Maybe,” Joka said, at the desk one day as she tallied the last week’s profits, “You should combine the two. Dress like you do every evening and work as an apothecary. You’ve attracted a good viewership. And it would be less effort for you, anyway, right?”

Maomao’s first instinct was to combat Joka’s suggestion, insisting on redirecting the men to the brothel if they wanted a show, but then her eyes widened at the prospect. A courtesan’s dress would be an inconvenience, but she would tie her sleeves. She would not have to contrive situations in which men left spurned and unsatisfied. If the agreement were to see a little show, whatever they got out of watching her, it would be better. 

“Twenty percent, to stock my shelves,” Maomao said, grinning rather like a gremlin. She resembled the old Madame when it came to bargaining, which softened Joka. “There’s no show if I don’t have the ingredients to work with.”

“It’s a deal.” 

While Maomao’s time in the pleasure rooms playing games of first impressions and impossible permissions did not end, they were greatly lessened. She could devote herself to experimenting on remedies for poisons, as poisoning incidents were rampant in the red light district. New poisons were no longer so rare, as trade had increased with foreign lands in recent months, and plants never before seen by her were introduced to Li. 

If only she could earn enough to pay some of her debt simply by working in the pharmacy with no observers, but she was not so lucky. A dozen were packed into her small room, lining the walls, infesting the air with the scent of oils and sweat. All of them were enchanted by the sight of the woman, rocking back and forth at the grinding wheel. The sleeves of her hanfu were tied back, revealing her graceful arms. She huffed and sighed, her lip quivering while she worked to achieve the ideal fineness, oblivious to what inspired such passion around her.

There was a woman too, observing her curiously as she sat in a chair provided to her on account of her condition, a hand on the large swell of her belly. The men grumbled, wondering how she could be let into the brothel in this state. 

“Didn’t you hear?” one of them said, “She was one of the three princesses, but got bought out. She’s as good as royalty here.”

“Or she’s just some whore who got herself knocked up,” another said.

Maomao took an old, ruined pestle from the top of her work table and flung it across the room, missing the man by a hair. A few men shouted, others bawked, and one looked down at her as a feisty, fiery woman he wished to have. 

“Out!” Maomao said, her eyes darkening. “You’ve gotten enough for your copper and silver today.” 

Two attendants stationed outside opened the door and ushered the men out despite their protests. An apothecary could not work in such conditions, among disrespect that could taint the quality of her work. She sighed, lowering the sleeves of her hanfu to cover her arms. 

Alone with Maomao, Pairin began to laugh. “You attract strange customers.” 

“Better than the ones you were getting,” Maomao sighed. “At least, for my sake.” 

“Seven years a courtesan, seven years a virgin? All of them are so excited by your purity, even the innocence of you working makes them drool.”

Maomao nodded. “I had to be checked, didn’t I?”

“There was that man with lovely hair who looked at you like you were the entirety of his world.” Pairin shifting, making herself more comfortable. She was nearing the end of her pregnancy and was too tired to call him the Moon Prince, now emperor, for that would have caused an argument. “He bought you out, back then.”

Maomao did not answer her, sprinkling some herbs into the grinding wheel. “Why did you come?”

“Meimei asked me to check in on you. She’s worried.”

“There’s no need for her to worry.” Maomao shook her head, forcing a smile that looked unnatural on her face. “Maybe that was her excuse so you’d come see me before the birth. How have you been feeling?”

“Fine. Tired. Waiting until I’m not pregnant anymore. All the normal things, I think.” 

Maomao kneeled in front of Pairin, placing a hand on her belly to feel for the baby’s movements. The baby had already dropped, her belly softer by her ribcage. Pairin had bags beneath her eyes, and her skin was rosy. There would be little time before the child arrives. 

“Lihaku said he’d take time off, towards the end, but there’s a garden party later in the week,” Pairin began. “With my luck, he’ll be out when the baby’s born.”

“A garden party?” Maomao asked, though she felt the question was a mistake. 

“Yes. The emperor’s feeling better this year, and they’re hoping to welcome a party of southerners. At least, that’s what Lihaku says. Some of the wives are saying he’s looking for a consort, but I don’t think that’s true.” 

“True or not, it’s his place as the emperor to take a consort,” Maomao said, swallowing the sickness rising in her throat. “Though, maybe you should see if Lihaku can stay home. The little one might arrive before then.” 

*****

Jinshi was a coward, but he was a righteous one. Torn between the duty to one’s nation and the duty to the humanity of the boy, Jinshi found himself unable to demand that his nephew accept any engagement. It was not atypical for arranged marriages to be formed to secure peace between splintering factions; each concubine entered the rear palace as a political arrangement, and the empress selected from them would be the most prudent agreement forged. Jinshi had been introduced to these notions by the age of ten, when the late emperor took concubine after concubine. Then later, at fourteen, when he entered the rear palace as a eunuch and saw the desperation in each woman, finding them not themselves, but servants to the country, and the emperor who desired none of them but Ah Duo, whom he could not have. 

To condemn a boy of ten was impossible for Jinshi, so he did not ask, but instead, he gave him a silver pin and left the choice to his nephew. If there was a girl he found among the southern nobles’ families that he liked, he could give one to her as a symbol of his intention, a tenuous commitment that perhaps would calm the southerners until his nephew grew old enough to choose for himself properly. Jinshi had not expected that the boy would give the silver pin out at all, but as it would turn out, Jinshi knew very little of his nature. 

The garden party took place in the early days of summer, neither too warm nor too cold, and the bushes were thick and green. The officials had not asked him if this was his preference when they arranged the date, but assumed this would be the best climate to ensure he would not fall ill again. Yet there was a smattering of gray clouds above, dismaying them. Jinshi was pleased, for his own sake, that the day was not perfect, as they would fret over the weather instead of him. There were countless soldiers, nobles, and officials seated, waiting for their meal. At his side, the Crown Prince was restless, fidgeting with his sleeve, opening his mouth, and then closing it. 

“Uncle?” he asked softly. 

Jinshi turned to tell him to settle, but then the Crown Prince was standing, his face still and calm. His eyes were fixed on something far in the distance. Jinshi squinted, finding just what had caught his attention.

The girl was rather short, though three or four years older than the Crown Prince, with deep amber eyes and hair the color of pitch. The moment the Crown Prince saw her, he stood from his place beside the emperor and traveled across the length of the platform, approaching the Zhao family, first taking the father’s hand. He spoke some words, and the father nodded, pulling his daughter closer to the prince. There were gasps among the seated members of the garden party, whispers that the Crown Prince had grown into a gentleman as he slid the silver pin into her hair. 

Jinshi waved for Gaoshun to come near him and whispered. “It’s quite a good choice, actually. Arrange a meeting for us, a week from today.” 

“Of course. Should we deliver a box of treats to their rooms tonight, as a sign of good faith?”

“Tell them it’s from the Crown Prince.” 

At the edge of the garden party, the Zhao princess stood, fidgeting with the pin in the bun of her hair, and an ache formed in his belly, twisting and terrible. He tried not to focus on the queasiness, but then there was his poison taster, partaking in each dish without the fervor Maomao had. The thoughts came to him unbidden; now that the matter of the southern lands was being handled, he could no longer ignore what had been unsaid during Lakan’s last visit. 

A girl from Verdigris House was the source of the tip. A girl partial to Lakan, and Lakan was not above false impressions. It couldn’t be? Could it? Jinshi thought, neglecting the food in front of him. There would be chatter that the emperor disliked his meal, but this mattered little to him; the thought of the silver pin was too prominent in his mind. He'd given her that pin shortly before she imbibed poisoned soup, and goodness, how he wanted to have her forever, even then. She had a different life now. Lakan said she was surrounded by remedies, but he made no mention of where exactly she was. After all this, could Maomao have gone back there? And after years of separation, did she still have enough care that when his life came under threat, she would find a way to speak to him? 

He gestured to Gaoshun again, and Gaoshun leaned forward to hear the whisper of Jinshi’s voice. “I’ll need a carriage tonight. Make sure it’s secret. Just the two of us.” 

“But–”

As emperor, he should not have had to beg, but as Jinshi, he felt he was no greater than a worm. “Please.” 

*****

The lanterns in the red light district glowed a warm gold as the carriage rolled down the street. The district was quiet and empty, as most were inside the brothels at this hour. Only the rats scurried, and then there were the cats who chased them. Jinshi peered outside of the carriage window to catch sight of the grand and bright Verdigris House, freshly painted in red, luxuriously lit by a new string of lanterns. Gaoshun, who sat beside Jinshi, crossed his arms and shook his head. 

“We shouldn’t be here,” he said. 

Jinshi ignored him, fawning. “It’s almost like old times.” Though the red light district had changed since those first years he spent orbiting Maomao. Some brothels had fallen; new ones had risen. Verdigris was prominent, though perhaps not so much as in the age of the three princesses. “Why would she come to work here?”

“Questions like those are better left unanswered.”

“And if I make it an official inquisition?”

Gaoshun had known Jinshi since he was a baby and had witnessed his boyish antics persisting into adulthood. In the years since he rose to be emperor regent, however, that energy had much subsided. It was unwise to indulge him, so he would not outwardly support it, but he had missed this liveliness. “You’re the emperor. I can’t say no to you, in the end.” 

“There’s no need for you to talk like that. Tonight, I’m a man under the cover of dark.”

Jinshi exited a short walk away from the brothel, tucking his arms into his sleeves, monitoring the streets as he walked, but there were no souls except for him. Gaoshun lingered several paces behind him, following the emperor’s every step. He was relieved that Jinshi hadn’t lost his sensibilities and had agreed to wear a covering over his face. 

But now that they were here, Jinshi faltered near the entrance, staggering to the left, to the alley that would harbor him in secret. Had it been true? Maomao was inside, working as a courtesan as he lay in bed, feigning illness, when the only sickness that took root in him was the memory of her mouth on his, the sound of her voice in his ear, those promises they made to each other if they could escape the gilded cage. He sank his head in shame, walking further into the alley. All these years, she stayed near the palace, operating beneath its shadow. Had he known sooner, would he have bought her out again? And when she ran off, to be a courtesan a second, a third time, would he have bought her out until the royal vaults ran dry? And when he was overthrown, the mad emperor, a fool for love, would she have accepted him with empty pockets and the rags on his back? There was that madness again, as if it never left, swirling in his mind. 

Gaoshun had been right; some questions should be left unanswered. Jinshi turned around, prepared to return to his carriage, but there was a light piercing the darkness of the alleyway. The side door of Verdigris House was open, and from it, a short woman adorned in pink and red and gold stepped out, tossing a pan of burnt herbs. Her blue eyes widened as she froze, staring at him. 

He stepped forward, pulling the covering from his face, his heart heavy in his chest. Maomao, he thought. Maomao. 

*****

The moon above hung low and full behind the figure of a man, his long hair blowing in the breeze. Maomao knew the streets were dangerous at night. At any moment, a robber or thief or kidnapper could attack, yet the silhouette drew her further into the alley. 

She was weary of ghosts, for they were the subject of tales manufactured to explain the unexplained, but the flowing, that graceful posture—she had seen before. She had felt his skin beneath her fingers, the pulsing of a vein on his neck. Though there was a space between them, she could feel it now, his thumping heart against her breast. He was as much of a ghost as a man could be. He had haunted her for seven years, invisible to the eye, tormenting her thoughts. Now this illusion. He was not real. He could not be real.

She would wave a hand in the air. The shadow would dissipate, and she would be alone again, she thought. As she lifted her hand, she caught a glimpse of him, those purple eyes filled with yearning, the subtle tremor of his lovely mouth. She ached to touch him, but a commoner is never to touch the emperor. Her hand fell to her side; her words caught in her throat.

The urge to run overwhelmed her, and thoughtlessly, her feet began to shift, away from this man who should have been a haunting—an apparition she could have endured. He is the emperor, she thought, he is Jinshi. Jinshi. And that name caught hold of her feet, stomping the impulse to run, as to run meant to leave and to leave meant to end the sight of him. Her feet were settled, and her arms began to shake, as this was Jinshi, Jinshi, Jinshi, whom she longed to hold. 

It was Jinshi who moved first, taking her hand and placing it on his wet cheek. His face was slimmer than she remembered, and he seemed thinner, too. That palace was consuming him. Why then had Lakan said he was strong when this was a weakened man, surviving as she was? 

He stroked her hand, smiling in his gentle way, but there was no happiness to be found on his lips. “Maomao,” he said, his voice strained.

The sound of her voice from him could have been enough, had she not closed herself to thoughts of him, on this day of the garden party. She did not think of him or whether he had a poison taster, or whether they were competent or poor. She did not think of whether he remembered poking the pin clumsily into her hair or if he had given one to another this year. She did not think of how he detested these events nor the reverent or disdainful expressions around him, particularly from those men and women who desired him above all. And as she had thought of not thinking about him, she could force herself to remain still and stifle the gasps or cries. 

Then he lowered her hand to his lips, pressed a kiss against her knuckles, warming the heart she carefully chilled for these seven long years. He kissed her palm, along the veins that led to her wrists, which were rubbed with a sweet floral perfume, but this was not her smell, and her stomach twisted at the thought that he caught a whiff of this life on her. The emperor had snuck into a back alley for a rendezvous with a courtesan. No, not the emperor, but Jinshi; she so desperately needed him to be just Jinshi. 

Her name was being called from inside the brothel, and soon Joka would rush into the alley with her unlit smoking pipe, ready to swat whoever threatened her. There was no time to linger and pretend they were who they could no longer be. She took her hand back from him. 

 “I have to go,” she said, though there were other words, illogical to speak, entirely impractical to utter. Love lodged itself in her throat and was left stuck there when she rushed into the side door of Verdigris House, forcing herself to look forward and not back, to continue when it felt simpler to sink to her knees on those dirty streets so that he might have carried her away.

Maomao turned the corner, entering the pharmacy and shutting the door behind her. 

“You have a visitor,” Joka said, a room away.

“Not now!” Maomao shouted. She had already accepted the only visitor she could tolerate. “Tell them I’m not feeling well. Tell them I’ve died. Add it to my debts. I don’t care. I can’t see anyone tonight.” 

Then, kneeling on the floor, she took the grinding wheel and began to move it back and forth. She breathed to the rhythm of its clangs, that perfect percussive sound, the squelching of seeds like the ocean’s sweeping waves or the gentle rain. Even this did not soothe her. 

“It wasn’t real,” she whispered, though she desired to shout, to scream a confession or a curse out into the alleyway. She would brew licorice root tea later to calm her nerves. “He wasn’t real.” 

Chapter Text

While she was the madame of the brothel, Joka was never fond of men, and since taking on her new position, they had done little to sway her opinion. And since finding Maomao in that forlorn state, silent and listless as she soaked in a steaming bath, Joka was quite certain she would never be brought to that state over a man. She had been close a time or two for one of the brothel girls, but that was neither here nor there–those affections were irrelevant. Maomao, ever solid, had become a sieve, though only those closest to her could notice. 

To the average onlooker, Maomao was as strange and unapproachable as she usually was, snickering to herself in the pharmacy over new herbs she purchased, glaring at men who seemed they would be handsy, and in general, maintaining a stoic but chilly distance from most. If it were anyone else who caught Maomao in these tender spaces, her knees curled to her chest, they might have thought she was embroiled in some mystery. In fact, she wore the same sullen expression in those old days when she traveled back and forth between the rear palace and Verdigris House. But Joka had seen her when she returned from the imperial palace, dismissed as the Crown Prince’s personal medical attendant, when a stricken Maomao came and requested Joka allow her to be a courtesan, against all common sense and wishes for her little sister to have a better future than the one offered in the walls of this finely painted cage. 

There had been only one man in Maomao’s life, and though she had never spoken of him to Joka–Pairin and Meimei had gossiped a great deal, and there was some weight there. After all, the Crown Prince, posing as a eunuch at the time, had caused Maomao to blush before buying her out. Knowing Maomao, if a man made her blush, there would only ever be one. 

Joka could not be sure beyond a question, and yet in her bones, she felt she was. She sat down at the edge of the tub, dipping her feet into the water next to Maomao. “Did you hear the rumors about the emperor?” she asked.

“I hear much, but I listen to little.”

“Does it trouble you?” Joka raked her hand through Maomao’s hair, trying to see if her eyes had reddened, if her lips were swollen or quivering, finding her quite still and barren. “You’re allowed, in privacy, to feel however you feel. Even if you won’t tell me or anyone else, it’s good to feel these things if you do feel them. Worry, heartbreak, hatred. Whatever it is. Even for someone like that.” 

Maomao drifted away from Joka, turning her head to the other side. “And if I told you I felt nothing? That whatever part of me was softened by that distant time is gone now, would you believe it?”

Joka, squeezing Maomao’s arm, considered her words for a moment. “Only so you can pretend here with me, even though I’d prefer it if you didn’t.” 

In the days that followed, Joka allowed Maomao a break from her normal commitments to Verdigris House. In Maomao’s current state, she would torment her patrons, which would make poor business. The larger reason, however, was that Joka could not bear to bring another burden on her when, in other circumstances, Maomao would have never returned to Verdigris House. Seven years as a courtesan, and each day Joka watched Maomao work senselessly, possessed by a desire to degrade herself, so that unworthy, she could be untouchable, and untouchable, she could accept that there was no other future for her. If Maomao were not so insistent, Joka would have fought her harder, dissuaded her, even if it meant Maomao would curse her name. 

In the end, as Joka predicted, these seven years had not helped Maomao. The very least she could do was forgive some of Maomao’s debts and pause her work. This would let Maomao spend her days in the pharmacy or out in the market, Joka offering to replenish the pharmacy’s inventory entirely on the brothel’s dime. It was an honest and well-intentioned gesture that brought about unintended consequences. 

Maomao sniffed as she restocked the shelves, dropping a bundle of expensive and imported dried chamomile. Then, she tossed the entire box containing those cherished flowers to the ground and let out an uncharacteristic shriek, as Maomao thought she was alone. Joka, perched out of view in the hall, rushed inside and began to pick up the broken blooms. 

“I’ll clean this all up and you’ll make a pot of tea,” she said sternly. “And when I’m finished, you’ll tell me what’s been bothering you, else I’ll make you pay your entire debt now or sell you to someone who can.” 

The threat was empty, Maomao knew, but Joka was rarely so cross with her that she did as she was told, bowing her head in contrition. Once the tea was brewed and her inventory sorted, Joka sat across from Maomao and gestured for her to begin speaking.

“He came the night of the garden party,” Maomao would not say his name, though Joka knew she referred to the Emperor, in that reverent but aloof tone. “And there are two possibilities.”

“Maomao–”

“You said you wanted to know, so listen.” Maomao took a biscuit from the tray and nibbled on its edge, sighing. Truly, she should not have allowed herself to be consumed by this. “The more likely, from a certain perspective, is that he found a consort at the garden party and came to see me one final time…”

Joka held her tongue, watching Maomao as she finished her biscuit and then took another. “And the possibility you think is more likely?”

“I never said that.”

“No, you’re just an incredible mystery no one’s ever cracked,” Joka said dryly. 

“Seven years is a long time. Most people wouldn’t dwell on something for so long, and those who do, don’t act on it. Waiting is a kind of cowardice, usually.”

“I don’t think you’d call him a coward.” Joka swatted Maomao’s hand away from the plate, taking the final biscuit for herself. “You’re saying he came to see you, just to see you. But why then?”

“Garden parties bring up old memories. I would’ve done the same thing in his position, a victim of curiosity.” She shrugged, drawing a tense smile on her face. “I’m giving too much importance to myself. He’ll probably be married before the summer ends.” 

*****

The heavy doors to Jinshi’s bedroom creaked open, and the edge of a navy robe fluttered over the threshold. The air in the emperor’s bedroom grew thick and unpleasant. It seemed that the commandant carried the aura of battle wherever he stepped. His monocle, like an unsheathed blade, glimmered menacingly in anticipation of his first strike. 

When Lakan crouched low at the foot of his bed with an awful smile, Jinshi realized this was not a joyful visit. Jinshi could not discern the expression on Lakan’s face. Whether he was disgusted, jaded, or critical was impossible to determine. 

“It seems you’ve forgotten about my beloved daughter.” There was a pause. Neither man moved from their positions. And then the cackling began, echoing from each corner. Jinshi winced, and only then did Lakan calm. “The rumors circulating in the palace paint quite a picture. Seamstresses are looking for choice fabrics, surprisingly so, as these great politicians have not found any wife that might suit you.”

“I’ve asked for none of this, commandant.” 

“Are you saying even you don’t know you are to be wed? Oh, but everyone else seems so certain.” Lakan sucked on his lower lip, musing for a bit, deciding he had not prodded at Jinshi enough for his liking. “You know, they knock on my door asking if I’m prepared to give my daughter away. At least if they challenged me to a match of Go first, but no, they have no time. They think I’ll hand her over like that? And to a grimy insect such as yourself!” 

This man was torturous—a would-be father-in-law who took the utmost pleasure in teasing him. Worse, Jinshi found it comical, and, exasperated, he wanted to join Lakan and shout at himself for what this Garden Party had caused. He was a most pitiful Emperor, indeed. “I never said I was grimy, only that I was a bug.” 

Lakan’s hands trembled in frustration. His voice was low, quite unlike the mocking tone of the deranged fox he often took. “You cannot hope to achieve a great outcome from each of your moves. You must anticipate the worst and play for the very best. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Jinshi sat up and positioned himself on the edge of the bed, resting his hands in his lap. Only a few years ago, he felt more like a gnat being swatted at by Lakan. Though Lakan possessed a wisdom surpassing Jinshi’s, his flaw was not in intellect but rather in his limp tongue. Yes, he had hidden behind timidness and immaturity, but neither was suitable now. Time and time again, Lakan had approached Jinshi, as both an emperor and a man, only to find a persistent fool. 

Too often, he reflected on the truths he should have spoken, relying on Lakan to interpret his motives. Yet Lakan had come with a sharp tongue, not to jeer, but to provoke. He had confidence somewhere beneath the roles he played: the pleasant eunuch, the unwilling Moon Prince, the sickly Emperor Regent. Beneath them, Lakan searched for the truth of Jinshi, and it was perhaps only within the reflection of him in Maoamo’s eyes that Lakan had found it.

She would not have chosen an undeserving man all those years ago. 

“They approach you because of favoritism,” Jinshi said, smirking. “The more astute court members understand you’ve grown fond of me, in some way. Was that how you envisioned the outcome? You judge me for these same mistakes. Perhaps you should be equally fond of the Crown Prince. Otherwise, those nobles pestering you now won’t stop at knocking on your door. They’ll plan anything to have their favored choice on the throne. That’s the game above us all.” 

“Oh, is that what you’ll ask me?” Lakan gripped his belly, laughing. “How curious!”

“Am I so ridiculous to you?”

This spurred Lakan’s fit, his face reddening as he struggled between the impulse to laugh and the need to breathe. “Almost always,” he said, “But, oh, not today! Not today, Your Highness.” 

*****

Maomao’s private quarters were located adjoining the pharmacy, away from the rooms where the other courtesans stayed. She had not needed to request this room, which, prior to her residence, had been largely empty, used for storage when there were no other options. It had been cleared out and cleaned by Joka and two attendants. A bed was brought in, as well as a small circular table and two drawers. Maomao added nothing to the room, as there was no reason. The pharmacy was a short walk away, which housed all she needed. 

There was a rule, implemented in the early days of Verdigris House, from before the old Madame’s time. The private quarters of a courtesan were for lodging and not pleasure; visitors were strongly discouraged at the risk of a courtesan devaluing herself. As such, their doors were not knocked on, and their rooms were empty during their working hours. 

Being so far from the other courtesans provided Maomao the solitude unavailable to her in the palace, and each night, a perfect silence would unfold in her bedroom. This was the kind of silence conducive to deep and restful sleep, and nearing thirty, Maomao had found she needed rest; fatigue had begun to sink into her bones, as the almost two decades she spent poisoning herself had stolen much of her youthful vigor. Still, she could not sleep when her bed seemed too large for one or when, alone, her mind refused to recognize rest as a concept, imagining another weight beside her. 

And unbearably provoked by her simple imagination, she could summon in the depth of her mind a lock of purple hair infused with fine incense, tickling her heaving chest. She could picture those two purple orbs consuming the sight of her as sweat dripped down her neck, emitting delightful small gasps. And she could, in these moments, pretend that her hand was larger, that her fingers were rough and slender and massaged her torturously well. 

She knew his voice now, a hair deeper with age, the breathiness with which he said her name. “Maomao,” he would whisper. “Maomao.” 

But that night, her hand could not satisfy her. It had not satisfied her in those months since she had last seen him. She wiped it clean on her sheets and sat up, wishing she were more like Joka, who would have been repulsed at the sight of a man so desperate for her. 

Maomao exited her bedroom and journeyed to the side door of the pharmacy, opening it as if the apparition would appear before her again, clad in robes unbefitting an emperor, wide-eyed and startled by her presence. But the alley was empty, and she sat on the step, waiting until the sun crept over the horizon. The quiet streets began to stir, and only then did she move from her perch. 

*****

Gaoshun moved the curtain away from the window, revealing the oleander tree. Its blooms and leaves had fallen as the cold of winter set in, though Jinshi had not found its beauty to be altered. Meimei, sitting across from him with an empty Go board between them, tapped the table with her fingers. 

He waved wistfully. “Not yet.”

“You did invite me here for a game.”

“And also to ask you two favors,” Jinshi said, turning his attention to her. “First, I’d like you to find one or two days every month to teach me Go.”

Meimei came to the palace perhaps once or twice a year, whenever a noble gifted her to Jinshi for a game. He had always been kind to her, engaging in polite yet measured conversation. To her knowledge, she was the only woman who had entered his chambers aside from his attendants, most of whom were a decade or two older than him. Gaoshun, too, had raised his eyebrows at the emperor’s request.

“Surely, you don’t mean–” she stopped herself. “What is the intention of Your Highness?”

“I might need to play a game of Go against someone.” Jinshi did not specify that this someone was a wholly irritating man with unreasonable expectations. He began to tap his knee. “Well, I’ll need to win a game of Go. That’s all you need to know about this matter.” 

Meimei covered her mouth as she laughed. “That’s simple enough. Of course, I’ll be glad to help. And the second request?”

Jinshi’s face darkened. “What I ask you, you can’t repeat to a single soul. If you can’t accept such a request, then it’s better to tell me now.”

Meimei was not ignorant. Jinshi’s first request led her to think of Lakan. And if he were his intended opponent, it would be better for another to coach him through the game. The late emperor’s Go sage would have been a wiser choice–Lakan had lost to him on several occasions. The gravity in Jinshi’s tone indicated that this was a request she alone could fulfill, but she was of little standing. He would not need to go through her to speak with the Go sage. Her remaining connections were in Verdigris House. 

“If it’s for Maomao, then you’ll have my sworn silence, but for anyone else, I can’t help you.” She bowed her head, peering slightly over her sleeves to find a warm smile on his face. 

“I’m quite happy she has you as her sister.” Jinshi looked to Gaoshun then as a preemptive apology. “I would like to see her, but it must be kept a secret. Even Maomao can’t know that I’ll be coming. My only issue is that the side door at the pharmacy is locked.”

Meimei narrowed her eyes. “You must understand how this sounds, Your Highness.” 

Jinshi raised his palms, smiling politely. “There are too many rumors. I only want to talk to her, so that she doesn’t–I don’t want her to worry.” 

*****

The agreement was forged with many assurances from Jinshi. Meimei would pay a visit to Joka and Maomao, and after an hour or so, she would leave through the side door, inserting a blocker in the lock so that he could later enter and remove it. Gaoshun wholly disagreed with the scenario, but as Jinshi was determined, his opinion held no weight. 

They sat together in the carriage, spying Meimei in the distance, who bent over to adjust her shoe as a signal that her portion of the plan was complete. The evening had fallen, the moon hanging low in the sky. Patrons were rolling through the entrance of Verdigris House, though in some faint way, he felt himself among them. 

 Jinshi exhaled, readying himself to leave the carriage. There was every chance that Maomao would chase him out of the establishment before he could utter a word. He formed a crooked smile, imagining the glare of her steely blue eyes. 

“I know you’re beyond reason,” Gaoshun said. “But let me say a word.”

“I’m in a good enough mood,” Jinshi said regally. “I’ll allow it.” 

“If you want her, then you should marry her. There are official ways to deal with this, Your Highness. She is a princess of the La clan, after all.”

“I would have done it by now if that were at all possible.” Jinshi squinted at Gaoshon, annoyed. “Emperors in the past have visited the red light district. I’m not so naive as to think the rear palace would have satisfied any of them. There are worse places to go than a premier brothel.”

“If it’s what you wish, then that’s what will be, but don’t be reckless. You should also consider what’s best for Xiaomao.” 

*****

Maomao was unable to say that Meimei was at fault–her sister’s honesty and kindness were admirable qualities, though she was vulnerable to the impulses of guilt and pity. For whatever reason Meimei may have confessed to the truth of her visit, Maomao could not find it within herself to admonish her, so she hugged Meimei tightly before she left. Then she sat in a chair, in front of the door, her hands tucked neatly into her lap, and waited. 

When the door opened, she was not roused from her place. The masked man startled in front of her, shielding himself with his arm, then sighed and closed the door behind him. He pulled the string of his mask and let it fall from his face, revealing the tired face and fine lines that had sprouted around his eyes, but to Maomao, he looked much the same as that boy playing Eunuch in the rear palace. She shook her head at him. 

“I don’t think it’s wise for you to be here,” Maomao said, her words carefully chosen, neither a rejection nor an encouragement, yet entirely too bold as she was a commoner offering her opinion to the Emperor. In his presence, a head below him, she felt she had no command over her own domain. 

“I’ll leave if you tell me to,” Jinshi said. “Whatever your orders, I’ll follow.” 

He would take root in her chambers. The thought terrified and pleased her in equal measure, an unease settling within her stomach–to love without fear was a far-fetched dream, but her body insisted, thrumming so near to him. She rose and turned away from the door, saying nothing, and Jinshi understood this to mean that he should follow her. 

“Keep your distance,” she said as they entered her room. “Really, it would have been better for you to return to the palace.”

Jinshi, overcome by obstinacy, sat at the small round table in the center of the room, folding his arms. They had engaged in these roles too many times before. Maomao would scold him, and he would descend into childishness until she warmed to him. After so much time had passed, he still caught the corner of her mouth tugging into a smile. Emboldened, he spoke. 

“Better choices keep me away from you, but then are they really better?” 

Maomao did not answer him, occupying herself with the realization that the table was empty. There were no drinks or treats in her room for sharing. She could pop out and sneak some from the brothel, but as this was not her habit, the trip would bring her unwanted questions. No one could know there was someone in her chambers tonight. No one should have reason to speculate that she was entertaining someone. She would entertain no one. She swallowed the heat creeping up her neck. Jinshi was a comfortable distance away from her, and that was where he would stay. 

“Do you work as the apothecary here?” Jinshi asked, tapping his arm.

“Is that what you came to ask?” Maomao intended to say no more, yet her tongue ran on. “I don’t think you would have snuck into the red light district in the dead of night, if you didn’t already know the answer.” 

“Then even this emperor is so lowly, he would pay to see you.” 

Maomao turned her head to the door, “You can leave your coin on the table on your way out.”

“Are you this callous with all of your patrons?” 

“Worse,” Maomao said, her eyes narrowing. 

“Show me.” 

Maomao found herself at the edge of the room, her back facing Jinshi. She did not recall traveling the distance, yet she knew he could not have placed her there, as he was unaware of the game’s parameters. The conclusion dawned on her, though she did not accept it. Better to believe in the impossible, of a blink through time, a blip that would be unaccounted for when all of space had bent to put her here, at the starting line, as she had determined she would not entertain him tonight. Her lower belly stirred.

Depravity used her mouth as a vessel. “I might turn around if you pique my interest.” 

Shameless. The word burrowed deep in Maomao’s ear, though neither had spoken it. 

She heard Jinshi’s breath hitch. 

She expected he would put a stop to this, unwilling to see the events unfold.

Then his voice came. “One night I was drunker than I ever had been, and my apothecary wasn’t there to soothe me. It was shortly after she left the palace. I wrote to that strange man. You have to believe, I really was more drunk than I think I ever again will be. And I asked if I could marry her. Not that she wanted his permission, or me for that matter. But do you know what he did?”

Maomao’s hands tightened into balls, her nails digging into her palms. “I assume he said some sappy thing about the apothecary girl.” 

Jinshi chuckled. “The weirdo came to the palace just to laugh in my face.” 

A shift occurred in Maomao, and she faced Jinshi, smirking. “He’s done one thing right.”

“It was very deserved on my end.” 

“You really can be too impulsive.” 

“I’m surprised you aren’t calling me an idiot.” Jinshi paused, humming. “So now that you’ve turned around, is that it?” 

“Sometimes they leave before I ever get this far.” 

The air in the room changed, and tension seeped from Jinshi, who leaned too calmly on his elbow for Maomao to find believable. His eyes were alight with desire, darkened by longing. The display had taught him enough about her life. No more, and still, his fears would be assuaged. If she dismissed him, he would accept it, for he would ask for no more than she could give. But desire was visible on him, echoing the gnawing within her. 

“If you can make me laugh,” she began, enunciating her words, “I’ll take a step towards you.” 

One step, two, then three, and Maomao was crawling on her hands and knees towards Jinshi. A wild sort of wickedness took control of her limbs, her eyes darkening as she approached Jinshi, who could no longer maintain his composure. His robes had loosened as their game progressed, revealing his smooth and sculpted chest.

“Has anyone gotten this far?” Jinshi’s voice was low. “Has anyone else seen you like this?” 

“Only you,” she said, her hanfu slipping down her shoulder, pert breasts visible beneath its neckline. She stopped at the small table in front of him, her hand wrapping around its edge. “I won’t move any closer. You cannot have what you have not earned.” 

“Haven’t I been good?” Jinshi leaned closer, careful to maintain a slight distance between them. “I’ve restrained myself these long years.”

“No more than I’ve restrained myself.”

“I haven’t taken a consort. Against the demands of an entire court, I will never take a consort or concubine.” Jinshi paused. Maomao saw the reflection of her pained expression in the watery pools of his eyes. “To me, you are still the only wife I might ever have.”

“You indulge too much in fantasy,” Maomao said bitterly, but she crawled on top of the table. Hesitant to hear what else he might say, she lowered herself onto his lap, her hand shaking as she brought it onto his shoulder. “It’s impossible to know how serious you are, talking like that.” 

“There has never been anyone more serious.”

“If you convince me,” she breathed, “I’ll let you press your fingers to my lips.”

Many emotions had lured him to the red light district. He could place the blame on yearning, but he was not so innocent as to believe that was the case. Curiosity had enticed him, too, but beneath it, a beast lurked, and unchained, jealousy sprang from its den. He selfishly could not have her be a courtesan, but as she shifted on top of him, awaiting his response, whatever preconceptions he had vanished. Was this not the naive possessive streak of a boy? She was here. She was here.

“Even if you weren’t pure, it wouldn’t matter to me,” he confessed. “If someone else has had you, I understand. You’re still mine. Nothing changes that.” 

This should have been the time to plan for another line of enticement to prolong the game, but Maomao’s mind went blank as she gazed at Jinshi’s lips. She was aware that his arm had shifted, preparing itself for its reward. She should have braced herself for the contact, but instead she leaned forward. 

Her lips met his suddenly. In truth, she would have preferred to have lost all feeling for him. After seven years, when their lips touched once more, if she instead felt a wall between them through which nothing passed, she would have accepted it. Then she could have understood their time together had been fleeting, and her heart could stop its tugging. 

And yet, as his breath passed into her mouth, she livened once more, the pulse of electricity wild in her veins. She grasped at him, pressing her lips roughly into his, for whatever distance she had endured before, she could no longer. The sound of his moans only encouraged her, and she took his hands, placing them on her breasts and guiding them to undress her. 

Naked before him, Jinshi grabbed the underside of her thighs, digging his fingers into their faint softness, and tugged her closer, eliciting a gasp from Maomao, who trembled under his gaze. He paused, unsure of himself for a moment, but Maomao nodded for him to continue. He lowered his head onto her thighs and pressed kisses into the warm space between her legs. Maomao sighed, taking a lock of his hair between her fingers to twirl. 

“Would you allow me a taste?” he asked. 

“At your own peril.”

His tongue pressed against her throbbing bud, gently licking her. She watched his eyes flutter open, looking at her with a reverence that caused her heart to clench. And worshipful, he attended to her as she writhed in pleasure, sighing his name softly in a night that should have been forbidden to them. Greed gripped her in place of satisfaction, heat swelling in her belly, and insatiable, she desired for him to climb over her. She longed for the weight of his body against her own, but ashamed, she bit her lip. 

A yearning she had never before experienced surfaced amid the waves of pleasure, and the vividness of his possessive hands on her swollen belly became clear to her as her cunt throbbed. The image swallowed her mind, and she felt herself undone by the thought that he could claim her this way. He would revel in the sight of her rounded belly, she knew, and perhaps it was that certainty, above all, that caused shame to rise as she shook beneath his touch. No, it was that if she were to ask, he would grant her any wish. 

The last wave of climax fluttered over her, and she beckoned Jinshi to come closer. She placed his head over her chest, allowing him to listen to the vulnerability of her beating heart, and clung to him. Her hand ran through his hair, across his flushed cheek. His breath was ragged, his chest rising and falling quickly. Lower, his length strained, visible against his robes.

“Let me take care of you, too,” she said. 

“That’s not what I want.” Jinshi pressed a kiss to her chest. “I’m pampered enough by the sound of my name on your lips. At this moment, all I want is to be your servant.”

His mouth latched onto the meat of her meager breast, sucking until she let out a gasp. It would leave a bruise. Maomao understood that she must leave no memories on his skin–an emperor is dressed by his attendants. There would be talk of a scandal. But she was a courtesan who could easily ask Joka for several more days to hide away. She already had debt to pay. What was more debt to her? 

“Bite me,” she said. “Bite me, Jinshi—”

His teeth were merciless and magnificent in equal measure against the side of her neck. She held his face as he sucked deep bruises down to her clavicle, and there too, along the slender bone, he nibbled and gnawed.

“Mine,” he said, not as a truth but as a promise, his voice crackling. 

Maomao swallowed. He could make it real, she thought. An emperor, his courtesan, and their bastard child. “Yours,” she breathed, if only to hear herself say it. 

Bruises like creeping ivy would paint her body on the morrow, and her bleeding heart would withstand the emptiness left in his wake. These superficial wounds would not do more to her than he had already done, and she begged him to abuse her thighs in his elegant way, with his eyes fixed on hers. She arched her back into the sting of pain, wetness forming once more between her legs. His tongue licked her pulsing folds, and she whined wordlessly that she could not allow herself more. 

*****

Jinshi’s bare chest pressed into her naked back as he drew circles on her hip, laughing warmly, with a tenderness and ease she had never heard from him before. They spoke of the time that passed, of the young Crown Prince, of Meimei and Joka and Pairin and Gaoshun and Lakan. They spoke of the nobles and courtesans, and how alike they were, with false faces and endless enticements. He was the unfit Emperor, and she was the worst of courtesans. Their two worlds were not so different–except that Maomao could forge some path to leave, and he could not. While Jinshi’s laughter continued, Maomao grew serious, and in her seriousness, entered a quiet state. 

He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. “Is something troubling you?”

She shook her head and clenched her teeth. It would have been better for him to say nothing at all and to enjoy his bliss. 

“It was the most beautiful night." She felt his breath against her neck and against reason that it would never leave. "I’ll come again, as soon as I can.”

“No,” she said, swallowing.

“No?”

“Don’t you understand?” she asked, taking his hand to wrap around herself. “One day, it will be too difficult for me not to want more. I think if I could, I would have all of you.”

“Maomao–”

“You’ve seen me in the throes of ecstasy for a bezoar. Don’t you know you’ve become the same? Worse, the kind of poison administered in small doses, creeping until it becomes an affliction, too painful to withstand, but so lovely I can’t help but ask for more.”

“It’s no different for me.”

“I’ll be plain,” she said solemnly. “I love you too much, and if you love me the same, you won’t come back. We had this one night. Let it be enough.”

“Maomao, there has to be a way. No one will know. We can have some good in all of this. I—I…” The weight of desperation cascaded over Jinshi, and his tongue fell limp in his mouth. What were romantic declarations to them but wounds to inflict on one another? And offering promises provided the senseless will to endure—he would not have her suffer him. Until then, as he drew Maomao closer so that he could memorize her scent, he had not realized how far he had strayed from his initial plan. “I will love you the way you need me to. I can’t do more.” 

“It’s enough,” she whispered.