Sage

The room is stifling and hot. It’s hard to breathe. Her eyelids feel heavy. She doesn’t want to open her eyes. Maomao can sense it—he’s here. Sitting and waiting for her to wake up. And in this moment, she wishes she never would. Foolish? Everyone else would say so. The emperor’s younger brother is sitting in her room, waiting for her. Any woman dreams of being in her place. Becoming the favourite of the future emperor meant winning the brutal game called life. But she only wants one thing—to be left alone. The scent of herbs fills the air: dried wormwood, chamomile, and thyme blend into a bitter cacophony of smells. The melody of the herbs is supposed to calm Maomao, but even that no longer works. She hasn’t fully woken up yet, but dozens of thoughts are already spinning in her head. What should she do? Maomao has had to escape all sorts of situations before. She’ll manage this one too. She must. Her eyelids slowly part. The bright sunlight pouring into the room makes her want to squeeze them shut again. And that’s exactly what she does. Pretends she’s unwell. Maybe Jinshi will pity her and spare her from the conversation that has been hanging in the air for so long that it’s on the verge of becoming something tangible—something heavy—ready to crush her like an enormous sacred bell. It would’ve been easier to have died back at the temple, but fate had very different plans for her. Maomao feels Jinshi flinch. It means he’s been sitting beside her for so long that he’s let his guard down. That’s not good. He never used to allow himself such liberties—showing up whenever he felt like it. He always had some excuse, some errand. He used to act like a proper servant of the harem. That carefully crafted image had been crumbling ever since Maomao discovered his little secret. Well, not so little. “I thought you’d never wake up. How can anyone sleep that long?” Jinshi says, frowning with feigned annoyance. But there isn’t even a trace of irritation in his tone. His voice is as soft and melodious as ever, wrapping her in a warm futon of expectation—of something more than just idle conversation. To Maomao, Jinshi is like a spoiled child. Impatient and unwilling to wait. He doesn’t understand that what he so desperately wants is something he can never have. That the circumstances towering over them both are far greater than their foolish desires. “I wasn’t sleeping. I was trying not to die,” Maomao snaps at him. She is nothing more than the dirt under his nails, and no one can change that. Jinshi shouldn’t be here with her. The stories of simple girls who become empresses are nothing more than fairytales for naïve women who haven’t yet learned that life doesn’t grant miracles. Maomao now knew better. Not a single concubine in the harem was a village girl. They all had impeccable lineage and pedigree. Unlike her. Silence hung heavy in the room, like a dark cloud. Outside the paper window, leaves rustled, birds chirped in conversation, and insects buzzed. Everything was just as it always was. As if nothing in the world had changed. “I was worried about you.” Maomao was fully awake now. Her head was still spinning. Nausea lingered, but the worst had passed. The old man had taken good care of her, and she was grateful for that, but the most devastating illness could no longer be cured. Jinshi’s words made her heart beat faster, and she hated it. She should’ve kept her distance from the young master. Any smart maid would have. Maomao considered herself smart, but with each passing moment, she realised just how much of a fool she truly was. From the very beginning, she had been doing everything wrong. She was lucky to find a quiet job in the harem, where no one paid attention to someone like her—a plain, freckled girl with no trace of feminine curves. At seventeen, her chest was still underdeveloped, a fact she used to her advantage. Her plainness was her shield. No one noticed her, and she preferred it that way. But her desire to help had destroyed that cover. She had wanted to play the part of a simple, foolish ugly girl, but her cursed tongue and her inability to ignore the suffering of others had led her to serve Jinshi. No, no—she adored tasting poisons. She had loved experimenting on herself since childhood. Poisons thrilled her, more than the strongest aphrodisiac ever could. That tingling on her tongue, the bitterness in her throat, the fleeting breathlessness as though unseen hands were gripping her lungs, the burning in her stomach—it was all so unbearably intoxicating. But her love for poisons had finally caught up with her. She had poisoned herself—so badly that they had to call for the old man. The local quack doctor would’ve only sent her to an early grave. Maomao stayed silent. She had no words. What could she possibly say to the young master? She was still trying to play the part of the dutiful servant. She couldn’t dismiss him. Maomao didn’t even need to look around to know she was in one of his servant rooms. The smell of herbs might fool someone else, but not her. The old man’s herbs were mixed with the scent of expensive incense. Beneath her was a soft futon, a high, round velvet cushion, and on her body was a fine, heavy kimono that felt pleasant against her skin. Nothing underneath it, either. Her clothes must have been ruined when the poison worked its way out of her system. She didn’t want to think about how she’d ended up in such rich garments. But they must have changed her quickly, skipping undergarments altogether. How careless. The kimono’s fabric would be irreparably damaged by her sweat and lingering odours. Maomao gave her head a slight shake. That was the least of her worries. What should she do next? Could it be that Jinshi had stopped trying to hide how he felt about her? Rumours were already spreading through the harem, though for now, they were just empty gossip. But the more often Maomao was seen with Jinshi by the chatterboxes, the harder it became to pretend that nothing was going on. And now, being treated here, not in the infirmary but in the young master’s estate, would spark so many rumours that Maomao might never be able to go about her duties in peace again. Jinshi was ruining her life. Maomao looked up at him, only to meet those bright, radiant eyes openly staring at her. They reflected so much concern that Maomao felt a twinge of guilt. The harsh shadows that fell across his face did nothing to diminish its beauty. That damned snake. “Why do you always look at me like that?” Jinshi asked. A faint crease appeared between his brows, and Maomao flinched. She tried to relax her face, forcing a semblance of a smile. “Sorry. I just got lost in thought,” she said the first thing that came to mind—and it wasn’t even a lie. She didn’t mean to offend him, but it always seemed to happen. She often got lost in her thoughts. She wasn’t used to being in service. She was an apothecary. Her duty was to heal and help people of all kinds and statuses. If her face didn’t radiate endless cheerfulness, no one cared. She didn’t know how to smile and grovel like the local charlatan, who could only ever manage a foolish, servile expression. “How are you feeling?” Jinshi suddenly changed the topic, as if remembering why he was there. Maomao realised he must have sat with her for hours—and she couldn’t afford to keep him any longer. It was time to start convincing Jinshi that she was nearly recovered and that he didn’t need to hover over her. “I’m fine,” she said. Her voice betrayed her, cracking slightly. She wanted to clear her throat immediately, and the next moment she was coughing, covering her mouth with the wide sleeve of her kimono. “Should I call the old man?” Jinshi was suddenly right next to her, moving so quickly that their bodies were almost touching. Maomao lowered her eyes, just to avoid looking into that impossibly beautiful, worry-stricken face. Jinshi wasn’t lying when he said he was worried about her. Maomao could read him like an open book. It was a wonder his secrets hadn’t spread through the harem yet. Or maybe everyone just turned a blind eye to the young master’s eccentricities to avoid having their tongues cut out—or worse. “Don’t call anyone,” Maomao finally exhales, trying to steady herself. She straightens up in bed, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. The muscles in her back pull taut, her face feels heavy, but Maomao slowly regains control over herself. Her eyes fly open abruptly when Jinshi wraps his arms around her, pressing his face into her chest—or at least, where her chest should be. Maomao’s heart flutters like hundreds of butterflies, their tiny wings trembling in her chest. She blames it on anxiety, fear for her future. She wanted to stay far away from Jinshi, from anyone in power, from any situation that could lead to trouble. She didn’t want to know anything, didn’t want to cross anyone’s path. But resisting Jinshi was becoming increasingly difficult. No one had ever truly cared for her. The old man had raised her, taken care of her, but that love everyone always talked about? She didn’t know it. Her mother had hated her, her father had tried to use her for some unknown purpose (and Maomao didn’t even want to remember the look on his face when he talked about her). Her sisters had been kind to her, but they treated her as a future commodity. And the old hag had tried to take advantage of her as quickly as possible. She would have succeeded if Maomao hadn’t ended up in the harem. Perhaps that’s why other people’s love felt so meaningless to her. Perhaps that’s why she couldn’t even understand what it meant to love someone. Only after a moment did Maomao realise her heart was pounding madly. Jinshi could undoubtedly feel it. His flawless, radiant face was pressed against her, twisted in a grimace of pain as if being close to her caused him unbearable suffering. Hesitantly, Maomao raised her hand. It hovered above Jinshi’s head for a moment. Should she? But her hand moved on its own, brushing against his beautiful, glossy hair. So soft, like silk. She had dried his hair with a towel before, even rubbed oil into it when they had gone to the pleasure quarter together. But that was only because she’d been ordered to. She would never have dared touch Jinshi on her own. This felt entirely different. She didn’t want to pull her hand away. And that poisoned her existence worse than any venom ever could. Maomao had always tried to stay in the background, to avoid drawing the attention of the lords. She did her work and then vanished into the shadows, hiding in the quack doctor’s shop, happily sorting through herbs, or serving in the Jade Palace. Quietly and invisibly. She had done everything she could to drive Jinshi away. She knew where this was heading. She saw how he looked at her, how he searched for her in the crowd of servants, how he constantly, time after time, requested her “return” from the Jade Palace. She knew Jinshi didn’t keep her near him just for her usefulness. It wasn’t just that. Her fingers tangled gently in his hair, brushing against his pale skin that had never seen sunlight. Jinshi exhaled, his chest sinking sharply as if he’d been holding tension all this time. The crease between his brows smoothed out. His face looked like a statue of Buddha—so serene and peaceful. Could it really take so little to make him happy? “I wanted to tell you so many things. When I realised how unwell you were… I was terrified for you, Maomao.” A wave of conflicting emotions rose inside her. Listening to Jinshi’s voice felt like resting in a garden on a cool summer day. But his voice held a dangerous allure, and Maomao couldn’t let herself succumb to it. “You’re impossibly foolish, Jinshi-sama,” she blurted out without thinking, instantly regretting her words. Too sharp. Too presumptuous. She shouldn’t speak that way to the future emperor. But how else could she push him away? “I know.” He pressed closer to her, so tightly her ribs creaked, and Maomao realised it was already too late, no matter what she said now. “You’re not the first to tell me that.” “Then listen to the wise ones.” Jinshi fell silent again. He didn’t want to continue the conversation in this direction. But Maomao couldn’t simply give up. “Why do you torment yourself?” “Only torment can teach a person the true meaning of pleasure,” he replied, and something inside Maomao clenched painfully with despair. She feels as if she’s letting go of something she’ll never experience again, but she can’t stay silent, can’t let Jinshi trap her. She senses that he’s ready to pull everything out of the depths of his soul—everything he’s been holding back since that day they were stuck in the cave together. How she wishes that had never happened. “Am I worth your suffering?” Jinshi takes a deep breath. His back heaves as he pauses in hesitation. So capricious. So foolish. Maomao mirrors his breath, as if catching it, storing air for words that are too difficult to say. “You could have any woman. A beauty, a plain girl, a clever one, a silly one. Even all of them at once. And yet you want someone who is indifferent to you.” Jinshi flinches but doesn’t let her go. His fingers run over the heavy fabric of her kimono, and even through the layers, his touch burns like hot embers. “You’re lying, Maomao. Your heart is about to leap out of your chest.” “It’s because of poisoning,” she blurts out, saying the first thing that comes to mind. It sounds ridiculous, but she can’t think of anything better. Whatever she says will sound like an excuse to Jinshi. “Don’t deceive yourself.” Maomao can’t see his face, but his tone tells her he’s smiling. No matter how much she might think him foolish, no matter how naive he might seem, that’s not the case. Jinshi isn’t foolish. He’s cunning and dangerous. Maomao knows she should be much more careful with him, but for some reason, she just can’t take him seriously. “Maybe I’m just scared. You’re too close. Stress always raises blood pressure and quickens the pulse.” “Maybe so.” He doesn’t stop stroking her. Maomao doesn’t resist, and his movements grow bolder, trying to reach her through the kimono. The thick fabric feels like no barrier at all. “The old man taught me not to trust men,” Maomao whispers. She wants to pull away, knows she should push him off, stop this nonsense, and try to reclaim her usual dull life, but her strength to do so is waning. “He was right.” Jinshi’s voice is soft, velvety. His hands slide upward, his fingers tracing a long line along her spine to the back of her neck, gently brushing against her exposed skin. He understands perfectly well what she’s talking about but refuses to listen. It’s as if Maomao is doused with icy water. She flinches and tries to pull back, but Jinshi holds her firmly. The words spill out before she can think them through: “What do you want from me? Why do you care about me? If I died, your problems would disappear along with me.” Maomao can’t help but think Jinshi is only clinging to her to ensure she doesn’t reveal his secrets. But someone like her doesn’t gossip, and without an order, she wouldn’t even think of opening her mouth unnecessarily. The idea that he’s genuinely concerned about her health as more than just a servant—while plausible—is hard to believe. Maomao truly doesn’t understand why Jinshi is willing to get involved with her. He has no limitations in his choices, so why would he be drawn to a simple girl who constantly gets herself into trouble? A girl who doesn’t even want to look at him, who doesn’t listen to him, who always tries to do things behind his back. Who doesn’t trust him. “Don’t say that. I can’t imagine my life without you anymore. I…” Jinshi takes a deep breath, summoning the courage to release a flood of words he’ll never be able to take back. “Don’t. I don’t want to know,” she interrupts him. “No, listen. This is very important. In truth, I’m not just an attendant—” “Do you think I’m so stupid I wouldn’t notice the obvious?” Maomao cuts him off. Something inside her feels like it’s breaking. She’s terrified of his words, terrified that if she hears the truth, she’ll never be able to live the way she’s used to and loves. “You don’t understand, Maomao.” Jinshi pulls back slightly, opening his mouth to complete his thought, but Maomao beats him to it. “That you’re in love with me?” She looks at him defiantly, feeling her cheeks slowly flush—whether from anger or embarrassment, she can’t tell. She doesn’t care if she sounds like a fool. It’s better to humiliate herself than to hear him admit he’s the empire’s heir with his own lips. Of course, he doesn’t love her. Someone like her is just a passing amusement, useful and nothing more. Jinshi’s face turns pink, his eyes glistening, and he releases her, turning away as if to hide his embarrassment. It seems her words hit the mark. Damn. “Not exactly. Or rather… That’s not what I wanted to tell you…” Maomao isn’t listening anymore. All she needs now is to drive Jinshi away from her. She spits out everything that’s been building up inside her—everything she could never say to her lord, even in her worst nightmare. “Maybe I come from the sticks, maybe I look like a silly girl, but I’m a quick learner. I don’t wear your hairpin because I don’t want rumours. I don’t want to keep anyone else’s secrets. All I want is to live. Peacefully. Without fearing for my life. Without being under guard and watched over by a dozen maids.” Why she thinks she could be important enough to be guarded like a treasure, Maomao doesn’t even consider. She’s saying anything that comes to mind, just to get out of this mess. She closes her eyes because if she looks at Jinshi even once more, all her words will vanish. “I want to treat people, to help. I want freedom. I know who you are. That’s what scares me. You should be anywhere else but in this room alone with me. Please leave. Tomorrow you’ll forget everything and thank me for refusing to speak with you. So I’m asking you, do me this one favour…” Maomao doesn’t finish. Warm lips press against hers. Soft and gentle, they make her want to feel them again and again. Her eyes fly open on their own. Jinshi’s face is unbearably close. Maomao allows herself just one moment of pleasure. It takes considerable effort to pull away. Jinshi’s damp lips graze her cheek, leaving a cool trace. Maomao opens her mouth, trying to object, but Jinshi cups her face in his hands, firm and insistent, turning her toward him and whispering against her lips: “Be quiet. If you don’t want to listen, I’ll tell you another way.” He almost kisses her again, but Maomao pushes her hands forward, trying to stop him. She understands that if he wants to, he’ll take her by force. He’s bigger, stronger, and in excellent shape. But for some reason, Maomao isn’t afraid. His face is crimson, like mountains during momiji. Jinshi can’t even meet her eyes. He’s clearly flustered, and Maomao tries to find the same trembling and excitement within herself, but it’s a futile effort. The words escape her lips before Jinshi can kiss her again: “Perhaps you’re used to living with the thought that you could be killed at any moment. I am not. I had other plans for my life. Let me go.” Maomao had worked so hard to remain unnoticed, to make sure no one paid attention to her. She never imagined that among all the incredibly beautiful women around, someone would set their eyes on her. Let alone that this someone would turn out to be the Emperor’s brother. Jinshi obeys. He releases her face but doesn’t step back. Maomao knows she should be grateful, happy even, that luck has smiled on her for once in her life. But she doesn’t see this as luck. To her, it’s just another problem. In part, she’s lying to herself. Jinshi is handsome. And he’s not lacking in intelligence, either. Being with him isn’t unpleasant—in fact, it’s quite the opposite. But Maomao can’t deceive him. Somewhere deep inside, she feels a faint thread of desire, but she immediately crushes it. Maomao can’t even entertain the thought that she has the right to be with someone like the heir to the empire. “Since childhood, I’ve always desired what I could never have. And even now, nothing has changed,” Jinshi whispers. Maomao knows these words aren’t meant for her. She’s just a bystander, an accidental witness to his confession. Before he can say anything more, she interjects: “I thought I made it clear several times that I don’t want this. You should have cast me out of the harem in disgrace, but instead, you persist. How many times have I insulted you? Even just now? For one disrespectful glance, others would already be rotting in the ground, yet you let me off the hook again and again.” “You’re smart, Maomao. You know exactly why I do that.” Maomao does understand. And it’s precisely why she wants Jinshi to leave her alone. She doesn’t want his attention. “You mustn’t love me. I’m nobody.” “And yet I love you anyway.” A blush spreads across his face, stark against his previously pale complexion. Jinshi avoids her gaze, staring off to the side, unable to meet her eyes. Every part of his body betrays him as a mere young man; not even his immense power can turn him into anything else. He remains the same Jinshi Maomao has grown accustomed to—strange, yet kind. She’s surprised by how different he can be. One moment he’s playful, like a child, and the next, he’s a grown man—albeit a spoiled one. Maomao sighs, pushing Jinshi away to carve out even a sliver of space. Breathing near him is difficult, though it’s not because of his charm. She doesn’t melt under his gaze. What attracts her to him lies deeper, something she can’t yet define. She knows he’s capable of seriousness. But she also sees how much her rejection wounds him. If only he truly were an adult… The realisation hits her like a sharp, ringing blow. If he’s not a eunuch, then he can’t be older than twenty. Even the most refined young man inevitably becomes a man at some point. Jinshi simply hasn’t reached that point yet. How had she not thought of this before? Her mind was always preoccupied, and she missed something so obvious. Jinshi isn’t much older than she is, and with calculated cruelty, she’s trampling over what might be his first real feelings. A pang of guilt shakes her, and Maomao tries to soften the blow. “Jinshi-sama… I want to be your cherished friend. I’ll stay by your side, I’ll help you, but I can’t be anything more.” “I’m not your friend,” he cuts her off abruptly, his expression hardening. His gaze grows sharper, more mature. “Of all the people here, I am your greatest enemy.” “I know,” Maomao replies. Her quiet voice fades into the paper- and fabric-lined room. She isn’t afraid of him. She simply can’t be. She’s seen his tantrums, his worry, and his fear. Maomao can’t see him as an enemy. And that, she knows, will likely be her downfall. She understands too much, yet still underestimates the power this young man wields. “We’re alike in some ways, Maomao.” Her whole being focuses on his words. How could a mere apothecary resemble the descendant of god? “You want to remain unnoticed. I wanted that too. I was so afraid of responsibility, so much of a coward, that I ran here. I pretended to be someone else just to be left alone. I wanted to renounce my title. My brother insisted I think it over. You showed me that there are people in this world who will stay by your side, no matter what. I trust you. You teach me not to be afraid.” He brushes her hand lightly. Maomao wants to pull away, but she doesn’t. His touch is gentle, careful. Pleasant. “You’re my medicine.” “Any medicine becomes poison in high doses,” Maomao retorts instantly. Her hand twitches, slipping from his grasp. She clutches it to herself as if her salvation depends on it. But the touch has already done its work. Now Maomao knows Jinshi is absolutely, irrevocably in love with her. He frowns, silent, thinking. “Tell me what you want. An herb garden? A pharmacy? Your own infirmary? I’ll give you anything you desire. I’ll find any ingredient—just ask,” he says, and for a moment, Maomao’s eyes light up. Cinquefoil, stag beetle horns, cordyceps, civet glands—they flicker in her mind like unattainable treasures. How many medicines, decoctions, and remedies could she make? How many experiments could she run? She’s never even had the chance to smell some of these ingredients! Jinshi has procured rarer things for her before… But she quickly pushes the thought away. “Do you want to buy me?” she asks, barely masking her excitement. Jinshi sees it and smirks, savouring his victory. “Everything has a price.” “You’re right. But I want nothing from you.” Maomao forces herself to stay composed, though Jinshi’s offer stirs her deeply. He, on the other hand, looks disappointed again, as if rare herbs and exotic animal parts were his trump card. A faint sting of regret pricks her. It’s as though she had expected more from him. Jinshi is right. Everything has a price. Especially someone like her. It’s foolish to pretend to be someone she’s not. She’s just an apothecary trying to prevent a young master from making mistakes. But who is she to make decisions for him? Perhaps she should agree… “You’re lying more than usual today. Not long ago, you didn’t refuse to serve me for a price.” “Then why don’t you just order me? Without any payment. You know I won’t disobey,” Maomao says, though her insides churn. She knows her place and understands she’s not worth even a moment of his time. Jinshi could demand her for himself, and no one would question whether she wanted it. For her, it would be the best outcome: to go from a poor apothecary to the consort of the empire’s heir. But she can’t bring herself to rejoice. She doesn’t want jewels, luxurious chambers, or a horde of servants. She waits for Jinshi to grow tired of pretending to be a mature and reasonable man, for his capricious nature to emerge and take what’s rightfully his without any silly discussions. “I can’t,” Jinshi says, shattering all the assumptions Maomao had carefully constructed in her mind. Jinshi defies her logic. Why does he endure everything she puts him through? “You’re a hypocrite. You know I don’t love you.” “Then why are you always by my side? Helping me, saving me?” “Because you’re my master,” Maomao forces a smile. Did he really think she did all this out of feelings for him? Not at all. Maomao did what was expected of her. “If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t have saved me in the temple.” “I never said I didn’t care.” Maomao turns away. It’s unbearable to look him in the face while shattering his hopes time and time again. “I know you’re not the kind of person who would throw themselves into my arms, but I can’t let you go, Maomao. I’d rather die than return to the palace without you.” Jinshi speaks softly, his voice barely audible. Maomao remains silent. What can she possibly say to him? “Why do you resist? With me, you’d have a life everyone envies.” “I’m not lying to you. I truly don’t need it. I don’t feel the same as you. I don’t know what it’s like to love. I’ve never loved, and I probably never will. The only things that stir my feelings are herbs and medicine. I can’t pretend. And I’m a terrible choice for you. I can’t let you ruin your life over a whim.” Even if Jinshi loves her, what of it? No one would ever recognise her as a legitimate wife, assuming it came to that. Maomao never wanted children and would do everything to avoid having them. What if Jinshi truly loved her so much that he couldn’t imagine being with anyone else? That’s too great a burden for her. A soft chuckle breaks the silence, and Maomao turns to see Jinshi’s amused eyes. Not just eyes—violet sapphires, sparkling as if cut by starlight. “You think too highly of your own importance.” Maomao doesn’t take offence. Relief drifts through her thoughts like a breeze. Jinshi is right. She’s not worth worrying about. She’s just one of many women Jinshi will have to deal with. There’s nothing particularly special about her. Perhaps she’s overthinking it, and to Jinshi, she’s merely a fleeting infatuation that will pass so quickly no one will even notice. Maybe all his words are just sweet lies to get what he wants. Maomao feels lost. She’s missing something important yet hidden, and the fact that she can’t grasp it unsettles her. If Jinshi is only playing with her, why go to such lengths? To confess his love only to immediately belittle her sense of worth? Maomao feels incapable of piecing together the fragments of his words into a clear picture. They seem part of a complex mosaic, a mystery that requires time to unravel. Time Maomao doesn’t have. But she can’t deny the obvious. Blackmailing Jinshi with his favourite toy is a piece of cake. And taking it away costs almost nothing. Maybe it’s not worth indulging in the hope that Maomao is so important to Jinshi that this could pose a danger. But sometimes he can be stubborn and foolish to an unbelievable degree. “You underestimate the danger you’re exposing yourself to.” “Believe me, this is the lesser evil.” Maomao doesn’t believe it. It seems like Jinshi has rarely faced problems in his life. But calling on his reason time and again proves to be a futile endeavour. Maomao feels herself beginning to give in. “Don’t push me away, Xiaomao.” His words warm her inside. That unbearably tender tone again. Jinshi could command her, but instead, he asks for her attention. How incredibly foolish! Jinshi moves closer, gently taking her hands in his. Maomao watches everything as though through the thickness of water—his movements are slow and unclear. She sees how Jinshi brings her hands to his lips. The sleeves of his kimono slide down, revealing a scarred, disgusting hand without a bandage. The result of numerous experiments and failures. Jinshi doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away, covering her wrists with soft kisses as he moves higher. Maomao thinks. What are her options? He won’t back down. And if she continues to resist, it will only make him more determined to pursue her. Maomao cannot afford to become too important to him. She understands who she is and knows her place. Jinshi will tire of her, and if her freedom and body are what she must sacrifice to save the emperor’s younger brother, then she will do it. “Am I repulsive to you?” Jinshi interrupts her thoughts. He notices that his kisses aren’t affecting her. Maomao can retreat so deeply into herself that she notices nothing around her. But that doesn’t stop Jinshi. He tries to uncover something that isn’t there. “Not at all. You know very well what effect you have on women.” “But not on you.” “No.” Maomao lies a little, but not much. If only he knew what was really going on inside her. The fight for her own freedom is mixed with desire. A curiosity to try what it’s like to be with a man. “You said you see only Jinshi in me. Then be true to your words.” Maomao really did say that. But she didn’t think it would put her in such a position from which she couldn’t escape. “I tried to see only Jinshi in you, but it can’t go on like this. I can’t imagine you as just an ordinary servant, knowing who you really are.” “Pretend for me. Like in the city.” Maomao shuts her eyes. Her forehead tightens involuntarily. She thinks. She thinks without stopping, but her mind is slipping away from her. She can no longer come up with anything new. Jinshi’s touches are confusing, only making things worse. “Do you want to bargain for my love?” “I want to earn it.” His pleading gaze, his warm hands—all of it slowly, gradually, moment by moment, enchants her. Maomao never dreamed of becoming a princess, never sought love in this world. She drifted along like a petal fallen from a flower. Maomao didn’t fight for Jinshi’s attention. Anyone who saw their interactions could say without hesitation that Jinshi meant nothing to her. But she’s not a nobody for him. The heir to the empire wants to earn her love. A herb woman. A nobody. How foolish. Almost laughable. Maomao wants to keep her distance. To pretend again that she doesn’t see or understand anything. But can she allow herself to do what she wants, not what she should? The answer is simple. Of course not. It’s easier to give up. Sooner or later, Jinshi will take an interest in someone else. Maomao understands that the more she resists, the more Jinshi will want to possess her. He’s not used to rejection and is not willing to back down. But if Maomao becomes available to him, just another ordinary thing, then everything will soon fall into place. Her chest is torn with anxiety, and Maomao stifles the pain with a heavy sigh. “I will be yours. I’ll stay with you as long as you want. And then I will become useless or uninteresting to you. And you will let me go. And forget me, as if I never existed. Promise me.” “I won’t be able to forget you, Maomao,” Jinshi says, with hope in his voice. “And you’ll be even more foolish than I thought.” Jinshi smiles gently. His hand reaches for her face, his fingers carefully touching her cheek. “Let it be.” Dizziness rises in her head. Maomao tries to regain at least a little of her own freedom. “Outside this room, I’m just your servant. A taster. That’s my condition.” Jinshi smiles. Maomao has no right to set conditions, but she is determined. She can’t let herself give in to a passing attraction, even if he’s the heir to the empire. She wants to be herself. At least, she will try. “Alright.” Maomao can’t believe her ears. Is Jinshi really willing to give in to her? And is this all she has to give him—just her attention? Reluctantly, she stretches out her hands toward him, touches the thick, expensive obi, pulls the heavy tassels toward herself, and the sash falls, twisting like a poisonous snake on the futon. “Remember my words: I am your poison. And you will regret not listening to me.” “Maybe I want to be poisoned.” His hand gently rests on her cheek, caressing her skin, then slides lower, to her still fevered lips. He leans toward her, and Maomao can’t resist. And doesn’t want to. She gives in, just as she must. He kisses her again. Softly, but confidently. Maomao no longer pushes him away, instead, she succumbs to his innocent caress. Jinshi is changeable, like the rainy season. One moment he’s carefree and cheerful, the next decisive and serious. Maomao has only seen him cry once, and she still can’t understand the reason for it. Now that she knows his main secret, many things fall into place. He is the only one in this vast kingdom of gossip, intrigue, and lies. Maomao just happened to be too straightforward, someone Jinshi could trust as he would himself. Maomao can’t blame him for that. He was lucky she was nearby—so unremarkable, yet understanding far more than others want to show. She still can’t believe that Jinshi is only a little older than her. But through his caprices and whims, confidence, determination, and strength shine through. Maomao reaches for him. Under her palms, she feels the interweaving of taut muscles. She’s seen his body before, but not like this. To her, he was just another unlucky guy who’d gone through castration. Had she known then that everything was in place, she would have been much more careful. But now it’s too late. His lips torment hers, and she slightly opens her mouth. Their tongues intertwine in a languid dance, Jinshi tasting her, although impatience is evident in all his movements. His firm tongue smoothly explores her lips. Maomao doesn’t make Jinshi wait. The heavy uchikake slips off her shoulders as Maomao slips her hands under the expensive fabric, caressing Jinshi’s strong, sinewy arms. Jinshi’s face is flushed from her simple manipulations. The contrast is indescribable—where did that Jinshi go, the one who flirted with her at every step? Jinshi had tested her strength, tried to break the wall Maomao had built between herself and the world, and when the heavy door to the unknown creaked open, Jinshi became shy. Maomao realises that when it comes to relationships between men and women, Jinshi knows only from books and perhaps women’s gossip, so she’ll have to take the initiative. She feels just as awkward when she reaches her hands toward the tightly tied obi around his waist. Jinshi doesn’t hesitate, jerks the waistband of his undergarment, unties the simple knot, and his body is exposed—beautiful and strong. Maomao freezes for a moment, studying every curve, but Jinshi presses on, pushing down from above, kissing her neck. “I don’t deserve this, Jinshi-sama,” Maomao keeps trying to reason with him, but all in vain. “You’re wrong,” he whispers, and goosebumps rise on her skin in time with his words. A small shiver runs through her as his hands touch her through her clothes. She would like to believe that she really is something more. Maomao tries to breathe evenly but falters when Jinshi slides his lips higher, tracing the line of her jaw, lightly kissing her earlobe. It’s thrilling and pleasant. His heavy palm rests on the knot of her obi, and Jinshi whispers quietly: “May I?” Maomao feels that if she says a word, her voice will break, and she nods briefly. His hands tremble, barely managing the ribbons of her sash. Under the kimono, there’s nothing—her nudity paralyses her. Maomao isn’t foolish. She knows everything that happens between a man and a woman in bed. Probably even better than Jinshi. So why does it feel so unbearably shameful? Her face burns like she has a fever, and Jinshi pulls away, examining her body. His cheeks are pale under the blush. Maomao can’t tear her gaze away from Jinshi—he’s so beautiful. Damn snake. Maomao had imagined that one day she’d fall into his traps, but she was sure she’d withstand his charms. Perhaps she was too confident, or maybe she hadn’t realised how persistent Jinshi would be. “I have no idea what I should do…” he says awkwardly, but he doesn’t look away. He’s staring at Maomao as if enchanted. “What do you want to do?” she emphasises, trying to smile. It’s hard to do so through embarrassment and the desire to cover herself. Jinshi blushes deeply again. Maomao can’t guess what he’s thinking, he can only guess, but he doesn’t understand at all what could interest him in her body. Tiny breasts, barely formed hips? Maomao had never been so self-conscious about her body as she was at that moment. Jinshi timidly touches her chest. He covers her with his huge, in comparison, palm. He squeezes it easily, studies the dark skin with his fingers. He strokes her taut nipples with his fingertips, and Maomao shudders as a short charge runs through his body. Jinshi is handsome. His slender, toned, very young body reflects the hard work he put into shaping it. The elegance of his build distracts her, and last of all, her gaze slides lower to the dark curly hairs. Seeing the hair on Maomao’s body is unusual. Eunuchs, by their bizarre nature, were smooth, while girls were all required to shave their private parts. Concubines regularly smeared themselves with sticky sugar, pulling out the hated fluff. Maomao, on the other hand, has been used to seeing the same smooth sisters since childhood and has forever adopted an aversion to body hair. Jinshi seemed to come from another world. In fact, it was, and these hairs remind Maomao again of who was in front of her. Jinshi moves closer. A pile of tangled clothes gets in his way, but he doesn’t pay attention to it: he huddles closer to Maomao, and their lips meet again in a kiss. His cock rests between her legs, and Jinshi rubs against her. Maomao feels his impatience and swings her hips. They may not fully understand what they are doing, but everything seems to be working out by itself as if all the necessary knowledge was given to them from above. Maomao doesn’t want to admit that it feels good, but there’s still a lingering desire in the pit of her stomach. It gets wet between her legs, and Jinshi touches something, which only makes it more pleasant. Maomao concentrates on the sensations. Jinshi smells wonderful. With incense and herbs, he seems to be soaked in the smell of this room and her, Maomao’s smell. His tongue explores her mouth, stroking the palate, making goosebumps run through her body. Maomao leans in, clings to him, and it feels like there is too much space in the big room. She wants it to shrink down to the size of the two of them. Maomao catches herself thinking about it, breaks the kiss and pulls herself out from under Jinshi. He looks at her with a hint of irritation in his eyes—his hair is a slight mess, his eyes sparkle like precious stones. He doesn’t have time to protest when Maomao pushes him away, forcing him to lean back. Jinshi puts his hands on the futon as Maomao shamelessly climbs onto his lap. His hard cock rests against her stomach, but Maomao is in no hurry, she doesn’t want her first time to be too painful. She pulls his palm to his crotch, guides him and shows him what needs to be done. Jinshi understands her without words. His fingers glide over the fair, clean-shaven skin. Maomao feels his fingers tangle in her wetness. Maomao doesn’t let Jinshi look down, grabs his face in her hands and pulls him towards herself. Jinshi happily reaches for her lips again. It seems that she will never be too much for Jinshi. He can’t get enough of her, aggressively crushes her lips, sliding his fingers over her hot pussy. He’s breathing heavily in impatience, but he’s waiting for Maomao to give him hints, a signal. She doesn’t know if she’s ready, but her bottom squeezes in a sweet cramp, and a soft moan escapes from her lips. Maomao reaches down and touches his penis. Velvety and hot, it shudders at the touch of cool fingers, and Jinshi exhales right into her lips as she squeezes it at the base, gently strokes it with her hand and slowly slides up and down. Jinshi loses his rhythm, his fingers stop and then move jerkily and unevenly. He freezes for a moment when Maomao touches a particularly sensitive part, and she takes advantage of the moment, pulls away from his lips, puts her hands forward, pushes his supple body, and Jinshi falls onto a soft futon. His hair is flying over the fabric, slightly tangled, but still looking like liquid silk. It’s hard for Maomao not to stare at him. Jinshi is perfection, like a statue carved out of stone. He reaches out to Maomao, but she pushes his hands away from her, not allowing him to touch her. He’s frowning. Maomao sees his displeasure, but she’s not up to a whim right now. It’s scary, exciting, and awkward, but Maomao doesn’t want to drag it out any longer. Inside, everything yearns for something new, something she doesn’t fully understand yet. Maomao gets up, guides his penis between her legs, spreads the folds, which are pulsing with tension. Even her own touch pierces her with short flashes. Jinshi doesn’t take his eyes off her. The blush on his cheeks is unbearably charming, but Maomao can’t look at it. It’s too awkward, and she looks away, examining the pattern on her now wrinkled kimono. Jinshi ytretches out his palms towards her thighs. The fingers dig into her thin skin. He jerks up, presses Maomao’s hips lower, pushes her on top of him and Maomao gives in, sinks under his pressure. Burning pain pierces her body in a flash. Maomao probably should have pulled away, run away from this pain, but she suddenly feels a new surge of excitement. Her head is spinning with pleasure. Maomao hurt herself more than once, burning her hands with plants, poisoning herself. It’s another new and yet unexplored pain that delights her. She screams involuntarily, and Jinshi freezes for a moment, his mouth opens as if he wants to say something, but Maomao moves her hips, pushing harder, and Jinshi’s head tilts back. Maomao can almost feel the wave of pleasure that passed through his body at that moment. Maomao is moving more confidently. Pain, no worse than a scratch, fades into the background. Her insides are hot and wrap around the cock, squeeze with pleasure. It feels good, and it only gets better with every push. She moves faster and faster, her hands pressing against Jinshi’s hard abs, hardly paying attention to him. Maomao wants, tries to feel at least something besides lust, at least some bright feeling that can be attributed to love, but there is an absolute emptiness inside. Just a fire that burns up as if oil had been poured into it. Maomao hears Jinshi’s ragged breathing, feels his hands tighten on her, helping her move, lifting and lowering her hips. “Look at me,” he asks, and for the first time, Maomao obediently does so, raising a bleary gaze at him. Jinshi can’t stand it, gets out of her abruptly, jerks her onto her back, grabs her hips and pulls her closer to him. Bodies hit with an ugly slap, but each new sound is a strange and unexplored thing that Maomao loves to dive into so much. She shrinks when Jinshi’s face looms over her. His hair falls from his shoulders, and the light from the window becomes lost in them, sparkling with thin rays. Always perfectly clean, Jinshi now smells strangely of sweat and something aniseedy with a slight sourness and sweetness. Maomao wants to taste him and reaches for his lips. Jinshi enters her sharply, impatiently, and a mixture of pleasure and pain pierces Maomao with a lingering languor. She likes that side of him much more. The moody and predictable Jinshi, the kind she’s used to, is what brings her comfort. She is not ready and does not want to see him being serious. She doesn’t understand this kind of Jinshi and can’t explore him. Everything new and unexpected about him strikes her like a lightning bolt. She arches towards him when he pushes into her again, and her body suddenly turns into a pile of bones and meat. Arms and legs get in the way, Maomao doesn’t know where to put herself, and just grabs Jinshi’s body, looking for support in it. Jinshi greedily squeezes her thighs, so hard that it seems that his fingers will for sure leave bruises. He moves faster and sharper, covering her neck, chest, shoulders and arms with chaotic kisses. Maomao can no longer hold back the moans that are making their way out of her chest. Her mind is foggy, she no longer thinks about paper fusuma and the thinnest walls. She doesn’t remember her own demand to keep everything a secret. Maomao likes his drive and impatience. Through them, she feels that Jinshi definitely only wants her. There is a slight blush on Jinshi’s cheeks. His fluffy eyelashes, too long for a man, flutter. His eyebrows are drawn together, and his whole face is tense as if he is preparing for a fight. Her lower abdomen burns unbearably. Maomao should not experience this pleasure, she cannot allow herself, but her body does not listen to the arguments of reason. Push after push, Maomao feels the tension below only increase, twisting into a tight spring, ready to pop out any moment. Their movements are becoming more and more chaotic. It’s hard to catch each other’s rhythm like that, and Maomao doesn’t try anymore, and completely surrenders to Jinshi’s will. In just a moment, he pulls away from her body, leans toward her, his breath burning her already hot skin. “Mine,” he whispers to her before his body cramps. Maomao feels him pouring out inside. The warm throbbing, the stickiness between her legs, and the tension that had never reached its peak, which was growing further away with every passing moment, dissolving into nothing. There are millions of thoughts in her head — she wants to take a bath and needs to come up with a decoction to prevent pregnancy and many more things that women probably never think about after spending time alone with a man. Jinshi’s body relaxes. It seems that if Maomao moves even a little, he will collapse on top of her with all his weight and crush her, but Jinshi falls sideways, immediately grabbing Maomao with his hands. He pulls her closer. Maomao doesn’t resist. All the necessary thoughts can be left for later. She strokes his porcelain skin with her palms, noticing again how much it contrasts with her slightly tanned hands, once again reminding Maomao of who she is. She nuzzles his chest and inhales that enchanting bouquet of scents again. She doesn’t want to leave at all. And doesn’t want Jinshi to leave. But Maomao is well aware that this moment is the only thing she can count on. “You’re as beautiful as a wildflower,” Jinshi whispers, and Maomao forces himself to remain silent. She won’t deny or convince Jinshi that he is very wrong. Wildflowers are not beautiful at all. They are nondescript, faded and tiny, hiding away from prying eyes. Maomao is a buttercup that can embody tenderness, simplicity and sincerity of feelings, unremarkable and simple, but completely unsuitable for food, poisonous and causing convulsions and even death. Jinshi doesn’t understand this. He doesn’t want to understand. He is the same as a small child who stretches their hands to the fire, so they get burned, preferring to make their own mistakes to the experience of other people. Maomao wants to protect him, not to break his heart, but it’s too late now. All she can do is wait patiently. Sooner or later, he would forget about her. Jinshi nuzzles her hair, inhales noisily, and freezes for a moment as if tasting her. A warm breath sears the top of her head, and Jinshi whispers into her hair: “You smell of sage.” Meanings, properties, and signs flash through Maomao’s mind one after another.… She was probably wiped with sage water to reduce sweating and help her retain moisture inside. This is important in case of poisoning. Dehydration is worse than poison. Sage is also a mild aphrodisiac, recalls Maomao, and the corners of her lips creep up. Funny coincidence. She doesn’t want to talk. Jinshi slowly runs his palms over her back, her body relaxes and is enraptured by the simple caress. Maomao closes her eyes. Jinshi’s hands are slowly crawling along her back, tracing the lines of her vertebrae, reaching for her hips. He’s in no hurry to leave, even though he should have left the room a long time ago. People like Jinshi don’t have the right to love and spend so much time in bed with one woman. Jinshi is the fate of their people, and he should think about what he spends his energy on. Does he understand this? Maomao’s question lingers in her thoughts. She won’t be able to answer it on her own. Jinshi who is able to cross the line is an unsolvable mystery to her. A game of go in which every step leads her closer to defeat. In this battle, Maomao loses unconditionally, preferring surrender to utter defeat. Is she doing the right thing? “Call me a complete fool, but I really love you, Maomao,” Jinshi says softly. The words sink into her hair and Maomao cringes. Words that anyone wants to hear, but not her. Jinshi waits for an answer, but Maomao is unable to answer. She wants to be honest with him till the very end. No matter how hard he tries, he won’t be able to find something inside of her that isn’t there. Jinshi sighs heavily. His chest expands, squeezes Maomao into himself, as if trying to swallow her completely. A moment later, the warmth of his body disappears, leaving behind only the cold and a brief aftertaste of someone else’s caress. Maomao gets up, but she is simply unable to look at Jinshi while he is getting dressed. Guilt and shame gnaw at her, but there’s nothing she can do. She hears fusuma moving away with a soft rustle, and Jinshi wishes her to get well as soon as possible. Then comes the silence. Sounds shimmer outside the window, but Maomao does not hear the singing of birds or the sound of the wind. She’s finally alone with herself.