Chapter Text
Maomao knew the weight of secrets. She carried them in the folds of her sleeves, tucked them behind the glint of her eyes, and buried them beneath layers of feigned indifference. Working in the rear palace had taught her how to maneuver through veiled intentions and silken lies, how to read a room with a glance and predict a death with a whiff of incense. But nothing in her strange, winding life had prepared her for him—for the walking contradiction that was Jinshi.
To the world, he was a high-ranking eunuch with an untouchable beauty and a voice like fine porcelain. To her, he was something else entirely. A man who had kissed her in the quiet of moonlit corridors, who had touched her not with the hunger of lust but with the reverence of someone who dared to dream, of a man who worshiped her beyond anything she could phantom.
It was dangerous, what they had. She was still technically his servant, a lowborn apothecary from the red-light district with more knowledge of poisons than poetry. He was… well, not what he pretended to be. And lately, he’d been talking.
“I could end it,” Jinshi had said one night, his breath brushing the crown of her head. “This life. The act. I’d reveal everything—who I am, what I’m meant to be—if it meant I could be with you without hiding.”
Maomao hadn’t answered at first. She had just sat there, still as a stone, her hands curled in her lap to keep from trembling. Not from fear, but from the terrible hope blooming in her chest.
But to dream-for someone of her station-was a dangerous, ill advised endeavor.
For even the most sweetest of medicines can be poison in high enough doses.
That had been three days ago, now, in the solitude of her quarters, her mind whirred like a wind-up mechanism left to spin. She had to stop him. Not because she didn’t want him—she did, more than she had ever wanted anything—but because she couldn’t let him trade his peace, his freedom, for her.
He had created the life of Jinshi to escape the weight of power and the bloodied chessboard of court politics. If he discarded that mask for her, the consequences wouldn’t fall on him alone. They would both be drawn into the storm. And Maomao had spent too long dancing on the edge of survival to let love pull them under. Not to mention the power imbalance such an action would cause, given who he really is.
Still… her heart ached with the selfish desire to say yes.
She exhaled slowly, steadying herself. Tomorrow, she would find him. And she would say what needed to be said—firmly, logically, as always. Even if every word cracked something inside her.
When she woke that morning she knew, knew it would be the day she ended it all. She had to break it to him that they shouldn’t couldn’t be together. Even if the mere idea of it caused her chest to ache and tears to threaten to well up.
It’s official…today will be one of the hardest things she’s had to do…
The door slid closed behind her with a soft thud, the sound muted by the roaring in her ears and the pounding of her own heart. Relax…just relax and calm your breathing, your heart rate.
Maomao stepped into the room with practiced calm, her hands tucked into her sleeves to hide how tightly they were clenched. It was early enough, a warm lamp still glowed on the desk, casting golden light over the orderly mess of scrolls, ink, and untouched tea.
To her quiet relief, Gaoshun was nowhere to be seen. Good…this makes things easier.
Jinshi sat behind his desk, half-turned toward the window, the soft folds of his robes cascading around him like silk spilled in a breeze. He hadn’t noticed her yet—until he did. At the sound of her steps, his head lifted, and that familiar, infuriatingly unreadable expression bloomed into something gentler. His eyes lit with quiet surprise before softening into a smile that was almost too open, too real. Like the sun breaking through a tightly guarded fog.
Maomao bowed low. “A moment of your time, if you please Master Jinshi.”
The smile vanished, and in its place came a frown—not of displeasure, but something closer to childish pout . Jinshi rose in one fluid motion, silken robes whispering against the floor, and approached her with slow, deliberate steps.
“You’re bowing to me now?” he murmured, the amusement in his voice dancing just beneath the surface. “How cruel, Kitten~. Have we really fallen so far into formality?”
Before she could lift her head, his hand was under her chin, firm but careful as he tilted her face upward. His touch was warm, fingers calloused from sword practice, and maddeningly familiar. She could smell the faint hint of sandalwood clinging to his skin.
“You wound me,” he teased, lips curved in a mock pout. “I thought we were past all this bowing and scraping when we’re alone.”
Maomao’s throat tightened, but her voice was steady. “We shouldn’t be alone.”
“And yet here you are,” he countered, not letting her go. His eyes searched hers, too sharp, too knowing. “Which tells me whatever you’ve come to say is something I won’t like.”
Sharp as ever, she thought bitterly, but didn’t pull away. Not yet. There was too much to say. And not enough time to pretend this wasn’t already unraveling. Maomao grit her teeth. The words were there—poised behind her tongue like a bitter pill she hadn’t yet swallowed—but they refused to come out. Not when he was looking at her like that. Even now, even now, he looked at her as if she were something precious. Something rare. Something he chose.
It wasn’t fair.
That softness in his eyes—the one that never quite showed itself in public—was laid bare now, unguarded and aching. It was the way he always looked at her when the world wasn’t watching, like she was the only thing in it that mattered. And for a single, dangerous heartbeat, Maomao faltered.
Maybe… maybe it would be okay, just for a little while longer—
No.
She tore her gaze away from his and took a small step back, enough to free her chin from his grasp. The warmth of his skin lingered, ghostlike, and only made it worse. “This has to end,” she said, each word sharp, deliberate. “What we’re doing—it’s foolish. Dangerous. You know that.”
His smile vanished completely. Oh, that hurt her heart to see.
“It puts you at risk,” she continued, “and it puts me at risk. You might have the power to endure the fallout, but I don’t. I’ll be the one buried under it. And if you reveal who you are—truly are—just to make this public…” Her hands clenched tighter inside her sleeves, nails biting into her palms. “You’ll throw the entire court into chaos. For what? For a servant?”
Silence fell between them, heavy and absolute.
Then—Jinshi laughed.
Not loudly. Not cruelly. It was a quiet, disbelieving sound, as if he were trying to make sense of a riddle with no answer. “For a servant,” he echoed, voice soft but tinged with something deeper. “Is that what you think you are to me?” His expression was unreadable now, as if he were building a wall brick by brick in front of her. She hated it. She hated that she was the one making him wear that mask again.
“I know what I am…” She said stiffly.
Jinshi stepped back, just once, his arms folding loosely as if to stop himself from reaching for her again. “You don’t.” he murmured. “Or maybe you do, and you just don’t believe you deserve anything more.”
That struck like a dart.
But he didn’t press. Didn’t beg. Didn’t argue—not yet. Instead, he looked at her, really looked at her, and for once his voice was stripped of pretense, teasing, and charm. “I would burn down that court for you,” he said. “But I won’t force you to walk through the flames with me.”
And that—somehow—was worse than if he had fought her.
Maomao’s throat tightened. She hated this. Hated how gentle he was being. How reasonable. It would be so much easier if he yelled, if he accused her of cowardice or betrayal. But Jinshi wasn’t like that. Not with her. And it was precisely that tenderness that made this unbearable. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” she muttered, voice thinner now, like silk stretched too far. “You can’t just—set everything on fire for someone like me. You can’t ruin yourself, your name, your future—”
“My name,” Jinshi interrupted, stepping forward again, “has always been a mask. A pretty one, maybe, but no less suffocating. I’m not that name. And I’m not interested in a future where I pretend to be someone I’m not just to please people who don’t know the first thing about me, this was out of necessity, the need to move freely. But it all means nothing without you by my side now.”
“You were born into that world,” she said, and it came out harsher than she meant. “You don’t get to opt out just because it’s inconvenient now! You think if you reveal yourself as Prince and announce you’re courting a servant, there won’t be consequences? Maybe not for you! But for me?!”
Jinshi’s brow furrowed, the faintest crease of pain in his expression. “I don’t care about their outrage, Maomao,” he said. “Let them whisper. Let them stare. I care about you. I care about the way you purse your lips when you’re annoyed, the way you pretend you don’t enjoy anything when I know you do. I care about the fact that for once in my life, when I’m with you, I feel like I’m not acting. I can protect you, protect us, if only you will let me.”
She looked away. She had to. “Don’t say that…”
“Why not? Because it’s true?” His voice softened again, but this time it trembled at the edges. “Because it terrifies you to believe someone might actually see you—not as a servant or a tool or some passing novelty—but as someone they love?”
The word hung between them, heavy and impossible.
Maomao flinched. “This isn’t about whether I believe you love me,” she said, barely above a whisper. “It’s about what that love means. What it could cost. You—me—, the court, the emperor himself. We’d be causing a ripple in a pond that was never meant to hold us. Love is for those who can afford it, to which we, are not.”
Jinshi didn’t move this time. He just stood there, like a man trying to catch the last drops of a dream slipping through his fingers. “Then damn the pond,” he said. “We’ll make our own ocean.”
Maomao’s eyes welled before she could stop them, and she cursed under her breath, turning away so he wouldn’t see. She wanted it. Stars above, she wanted it. But wanting and having were not the same. Not in this world. And not for girls like her. Maomao blinked rapidly, furious at herself for letting the tears slip. She scrubbed them away with the edge of her sleeve before they could betray her further. She wouldn’t cry—not in front of him. Not when she needed to be strong. Not when he was already unraveling for the both of them.
“You say you can protect me,” she said, voice thick despite her best efforts. “But even you can’t shield someone from the judgment of the court, from the weight of bloodlines and tradition and centuries of pride. You’re not just anyone. You’re the Emperor’s brother, no…Master Jinshi, we both know that you are his son. You and I know that after much investigation. Do you understand what that means? What that makes me, if you declare me as yours?” Her voice cracked, and this time she didn’t bother to hide it.
“They’ll say I seduced you. That I manipulated you. That I’m unworthy of even standing beside you, let alone being chosen. I’ll become a tool. A liability. A weapon your enemies will use against you. And if they can’t reach you, Master Jinshi… they’ll come for me.” Her fists curled in her sleeves. “You may be able to bear their scorn. I will drown in it. Because for a servant that is a death sentence.”
Across from her, Jinshi stood very still, the barest tremor in his shoulders betraying the storm beneath the surface. When he finally spoke, it wasn’t with fire. It wasn’t a prince’s declaration. It was the raw, quiet voice of a man on the edge. “You think I don’t know that?” he asked softly. “You think I haven’t weighed every possible outcome, imagined every insult, every threat they’ll hurl at us?”
He took a step forward. “I’ve lived my life pretending to be something I’m not so I could move through this world without chains. I wore their silks, spoke their pretty words, and smiled while they lied to my face. And in all that time, not once—not once—did anyone ever look at me and see me.”
His hand hovered at her arm, hesitant. Reverent. “Until you.” Maomao didn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. “You saw me when I was at my worst,” he went on, “when I was stubborn and ridiculous and not worth the effort. And you didn’t flatter me or fawn over me. You insulted me. You mocked me. You challenged me. And I’ve never wanted anything more than I want you—not the court’s approval, not the crown, not even peace.”
Maomao opened her mouth—maybe to protest, maybe to tell him to stop—but Jinshi shook his head. “You’re right. This world wasn’t made for us. But I’m willing to tear it down, Maomao. Brick by brick, lie by lie. If you asked me to stop, I would. I’d walk away from all of it. But only if it’s what you truly want.” Then he finally asked, voice barely above a whisper:
“Is it?”
.
.
.
Maomao’s composure finally cracked. “Of course I want to be with you,” she snapped, the words lashing out like a whip—but it wasn’t anger behind them. It was grief. Raw, aching grief. Her shoulders trembled as the dam finally broke. “I wake up and think of you. I go to sleep and still think of you. I count the seconds between our meetings and scold myself for it, and I’ve spent weeks, no, months, telling myself this thing between us would fade. That it should fade. By the Heavens Master Jinshi it should. But it doesn’t. And I don’t know if what I feel is love because I’ve never had anything to compare it to—” Her breath hitched, eyes brimming again. “—but it hurts, Master Jinshi. It hurts in a way that makes me think it must be. Because only love must feel like it’s eat at you alive.”
Her hands were shaking now, pressed tight against her sides. “And still, I know it can’t happen. Why can’t you see that? Why won’t you just let me go before we both ruin each other—!!” She didn’t get to finish.
Because he kissed her.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate.
It was quiet.
Final.
.
.
.
And by gods above did it feel wonderful.
His hands cupped her face with aching care, thumbs brushing away the tears she hadn’t realized had begun to fall again. And then his lips were on hers—warm, steady, trembling just slightly. Like he’d been waiting for this moment, maybe even longer than she had. Maomao froze. Her breath caught in her throat as every reason, every carefully structured argument, shattered beneath the press of his mouth. She was dimly aware of her hands rising—maybe to push him away, maybe to pull him closer—but they hovered uselessly between them, suspended in that fragile, stolen stillness.
And then she kissed him back.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t clean. Her breath hitched and her lips trembled. But it was real. And in that brief, terrifying, blissful moment—it was all that mattered to her. When they finally broke apart, Jinshi rested his forehead against hers, breathing shallow. “I see it,” he whispered. “I see it all. And I still choose you.”
Jinshi’s hands didn’t leave her. One cradled her cheek like it was something sacred, the other resting lightly at her waist, not holding her in place—just there, anchoring them both. His voice was low, rough at the edges. Desperate in the way that only a man in love could be. A man who is close to losing his meaning in life. “We can make this work, Maomao. I know it won’t be easy—nothing about this has ever been easy—but I know we can do it.” His breath was still uneven, like he hadn’t quite recovered from the feel of her lips against his. “I’ve watched the court twist itself inside out over less. I’ve seen marriages brokered through whispers and war. Do you really think we couldn’t find a way?”
He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. His gaze was open—stripped of all his usual masks. There was no teasing in him now, no aristocratic calm. Just a man baring his soul to the one person he trusted with it.
“I’ll be careful. I’ll be so careful. We don’t have to make it public. Not yet. Not until it’s safe. I can keep you close, protected, without them suspecting a thing. I’ve lived my whole life in shadows—I can make those shadows work for us. We have so far, haven’t we?” He swallowed hard.
“But I need you to believe in it. Just a little. Enough to take that first step with me. While I work to make this place safe for us.” His fingers curled slightly at her waist, as if afraid she might vanish. “Maomao… I know what this world will say. I know what it demands of you, of me. Of us. But I don’t care if I have to bend every rule, lie through my teeth, or burn the whole system down one official at a time—I’ll do it, if it means I get to keep you.”
He leaned in again, not kissing her this time, just resting their foreheads together, their breath mingling in the space between.
“You don’t have to carry this alone,” he whispered. “You don’t have to run from this. From me.” Then, softer still: “Please… Just give us a chance. Just trust me.” He didn’t try to press further. Didn’t push her into a decision. But the ache in his voice, the sheer want—it clung to every word, hanging in the air like incense in a temple.
Maomao didn’t answer him with words.
She broke.
Like a thread snapped too tight. Like a dam with one too many cracks. With a shuddered breath, she surged forward and buried herself in his arms, hands clutching at the fine fabric of his robes as though it might keep him from disappearing. Her forehead pressed against the curve of his neck, and her body trembled in his hold—quiet, silent, wrecked. Not with sobs, but with the weight of everything she’d held back for far too long.
“I can’t…” she whispered against his skin. “I can’t continue to want what I know I cant have..” Her voice was barely audible, muffled by him. But he heard it. And it broke him too. Jinshi let out a breath that shook as it left him—half disbelief, half quiet, aching relief. One hand slid up to cradle the back of her head, fingers weaving into her hair with the same reverence he might use to hold a prayer. Then slowly, as though afraid to disturb the fragile peace between them, he sank to his knees.
And Maomao came with him.
He settled them there on the floor, one arm wrapped tightly around her waist, the other cradling her shoulders as he drew her close to his chest—so close it was like he was trying to shield her from the very world. And she sank into it, giving herself everything that she kept denying. “Good,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. “Good… just let me hold you, I promise to all the heavens Maomao, I will protect you…your trust and your heart.”
His voice cracked at the end, rough with the tears he refused to shed. “Let me have this. Let yourself have this.” There was no audience. No titles. No games. Just Jinshi, who had spent his whole life wrapped in silk and lies and aching solitude—holding the only person who had ever looked past it all and seen him. And Maomao, who had told herself for so long she didn’t need anyone—folded in his arms like she was finally home.