Chapter Text
Maomao drew in a deep, lungful breath of the frosty air. It was crisp and sharp, carrying the faint, nostalgic scent of dry leaves and woodsmoke - the unmistakable fragrance of that threshold where autumn yields to winter. A few more days, and winter would officially claim its rights. Another year in the Outer Court was drawing to a close, leaving behind the distinct, heavy impression of a wheel spinning in place.
Life in the medical office flowed with a deceptive, predictable rhythm. Soldiers arrived with fevers, sprains, and reopened war wounds, only to depart just as steadily, leaving behind a word of thanks or a silent, respectful bow. They fell ill and they recovered, not without the skilled hands of Maomao and the other women. Everything was familiar, expected... almost too much so.
Lately, the influx of patients had increased. Significantly. Most people chalked it up to the recent reshuffling among the generals' ranks, and indeed, that was the easiest conclusion to jump to. Maomao, however, merely snorted to herself. She had already been forced to dive into the bushes several times while returning from her rounds; that old bastard had started appearing on the training grounds far too frequently. It wasn't for show. It wasn't for supervision. It was for something else entirely - but she preferred not to dwell on it.
The young princes and princesses grew in peaceful ignorance, knowing nothing beyond their childhood games and the schedules of their first tutors. The Emperor, fortunately, enjoyed robust health and a stable constitution - at least as much as his age and status allowed. The court desperately needed this illusion of stability, and it held on with surprising, stubborn tenacity.
Per their schedule, Maomao continued her routine visits to Jinshi. Formally, it was for an examination - to check his pulse and update his medical records. In truth, the majority of their time was spent over dinner, discussing critical matters of state. Or, to put it more accurately, they gossiped. They talked about the Outer and Inner Courts, about bizarre edicts, about officials who had suddenly vanished from sight, and about those who had begun to surface far too often.
Their conversations were light only on the surface. Glances lingered just a fraction longer than propriety deemed acceptable. The pauses between their words sometimes carried more weight than the dialogue itself. Poetically, their relationship could be described as "neither left nor right" - a step forward felt perilous, yet a step backward had long since become impossible.
Maomao was thoroughly accustomed to the daily routine. It was comforting, like the steady thrum of a heartbeat, yet it brought an underlying anxiety; the rhythm was simply too perfect. Too clean. Too flawlessly orchestrated not to suffer a sudden disruption.
The only genuine piece of novelty was the arrival of a new doctor - Ryo. He had come from across the sea, from the distant eastern lands where the gaze of most courtiers never bothered to wander. He had been personally invited by the Emperor to share medical expertise, but Maomao knew better: the Emperor never did anything for a single reason alone.
Ryo was somewhere between his mid-thirty and forty. He was unmarried, a detail that ignited a flurry of intense speculation not only among the medical staff but also among numerous court ladies, who suddenly found themselves "coincidentally" fascinated by herbs and pulse diagnostics.
Unlike them, Maomao cared nothing for his fine manners or his exotic accent. Instead, she hung onto his lectures with a ravenous hunger, studying his hands during practical applications and committing every unorthodox technique to memory. Only one thing frustrated her - he had brought far too few medical treatises with him. His knowledge far eclipsed the paper she had to show for it, and the lack of reading material irritated her almost physically.
Standing on the threshold of the medical office, Maomao took another breath of the freezing air. A sudden premonition brushed against her: winter would not be arriving alone.
And the truth was, she was rarely ever wrong.
💜 🌖 💚
Maomao, Yao, and En'en sat together in a room of the medical office, where the warm air was thick with the scent of dried herbs, crushed roots, and freshly brewed tea. Beyond the narrow window, the snow fell in slow, hesitant drifts - sparse but persistent, as though winter were gently tapping against the palace walls, a quiet reminder of its arrival.
They were animatedly discussing a surgery they had recently witnessed. Yao spoke rapidly, gesturing with her hands, her eyes bright with a mixture of awe and lingering dread. En'en, ever the composed one, listened intently as she poured boiling water over the tea leaves, ensuring they didn't steep a moment too long; she was meticulous in everything she did, down to the smallest detail.
In the corner of the room, Yo and Changsha were busy preparing medicine. The dull thud of wooden pestles hitting mortars established a familiar rhythm that Maomao had long since learned to tune out. Medicine was always in higher demand during the winter, but this year, the Imperial Court had ordered truly staggering stockpiles. After all the recent upheavals, the directive felt... prudent. At the very least, Maomao couldn't call it unnecessary.
By sheer habit, she picked up her own pestle. Her hands moved automatically while her thoughts drifted down their own paths.
"I wish I could study under the eastern physicians too," Yo sighed, her eyes glued to her mortar. "It's a shame Changsha and I weren't invited. Youth can be a cruel joke sometimes," she added with a wry smile.
"I wish I had your problems," Changsha dismissed pragmatically. "Have you seen the prices of salt and meat? How did they skyrocket so fast?"
Maomao pressed her lips into a thin line. She had noticed. And she hadn't remembered to care. Was that a bad sign? Was she becoming too wasteful?
"Doctor Ryo is such a professional..." Yao murmured dreamily. "And so handsome, too!"
En'en merely offered a quiet sigh, pouring the tea into cups.
"Maomao, back me up here!" Yao frowned.
"His knowledge is indeed impressive," Maomao agreed placidly, not looking up from her herbs. "Especially considering his age."
"You know that's not what I asked you to back me up on," Yao grumbled.
"My religion forbids me from calling men handsome," Maomao replied without a hint of jest.
"What kind of religion is that?" Yao asked, incredulous.
"The kind that requires me to paint on freckles," Maomao reminded her.
She was genuinely grateful that Yao didn't associate with the Moon Prince. If Yao were to babble to him with that same enthusiasm about how attractive Dr. Ryo was, Jinshi would likely turn entirely gray before the man even set sail back across the sea. At the thought, Maomao’s face contorted slightly - not from irritation, but from a strange, unwelcome warmth blooming beneath her ribs.
As if summoned by their words, the door opened quietly, and Dr. Ryo himself stepped into the room.
"An afternoon snack?" he asked with a smile, scanning the room.
"Would you like some tea?" Yao offered instantly, already reaching for the kettle.
En'en shot her a sharp, warning look.
"If there is one thing I can never turn down, it is a good cup of tea," Ryo replied, seating himself beside them as if he had always belonged there.
He spoke with an easy grace, readily answering their questions, explaining concepts, and sketching diagrams directly onto prescription paper. The girls listened with bated breath. Even Changsha briefly forgot about the market prices.
"I hope that one day I will know even a tenth of what you do," Yao said dreamily.
"It is all a matter of experience," Ryo replied with the measured courtesy of a man well-accustomed to flattery. "By the way, the three of you are already quite skilled. I noticed you some time ago."
I wonder why he was looking at us in the first place, Maomao thought, her hands never pausing their grinding.
As if reading her mind, Ryo continued, "To be frank, I am not here merely to exchange expertise."
The girls exchanged bewildered glances.
"I am tasked with selecting a group of talented young women to take back to my country for an apprenticeship," he explained. "You would undergo training, gain vast practical knowledge, and even receive the official status of a doctor upon your return."
"Really...?" Yao gasped.
"It was the Emperor’s personal initiative," Ryo confirmed. "And the three of you are currently on the roster."
Maomao, who knew perfectly well where the Emperor’s "personal initiatives" usually originated, silently thanked Jinshi. Yet, a sudden knot of anxiety tightened in her chest.
Ryo carefully cradled his teacup, warming his palms against the clay, and paused for a moment as if deciding where to begin.
"In my homeland," he finally spoke, "winter is far more severe than it is here. The frost holds the land for so long that the earth hardens like stone; we often have to dig for roots almost blindly. Because of this, we learned long ago to work with plants that survive where others perish."
Maomao froze involuntarily, forgetting her mortar. Such words were not the preamble to idle pleasantries.
"Take the blue ice lily, for example," Ryo continued, tracing the outline of a flower on the table with his finger. "It grows only on the northern slopes of the mountains. Its root breaks fevers that standard decoctions cannot touch, and it prevents blood poisoning after severe trauma."
"Is it... poisonous?" Maomao clarified carefully.
"Deadly," he nodded calmly. "If you miscalculate the dosage by even a hair's breadth."
Her lips twitched almost imperceptibly. It wasn't fear - it was pure professional rapture.
"And then there is the bitter pine resin," Ryo leaned closer, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret. "We use it to treat deep, suppurating wounds. It burns, it leaves deep scars... but the patients survive. Even those who would have been written off elsewhere."
The room grew noticeably quieter. Even the wooden pestles seemed to slow their rhythm.
"We have adapted to work with whatever we have," he added softly. "Seaweed to purge poisons from the body. Mountain mushrooms to combat lung afflictions. There are plants that allow a person to stay awake for three consecutive nights... without losing their sanity. And there are those that restore sleep to men hunted by nightmares."
That last word hung in the air, far too heavy to be a coincidence.
Maomao exhaled slowly. In her mind, thoughts, formulas, and possibilities ignited one after another. This was knowledge she would never find within the treatises of the Outer Court. Knowledge for which, under any other circumstances, she would have traded half her life.
"Did you bring all of these with you?" she asked quietly.
"Only in my head," Ryo replied with a faint smile. "Some plants cannot survive the long journey. You must see them, touch them, learn to recognize them by scent and taste. And..." He held her gaze intently. "...we need someone who can comprehend them without destroying themselves in the process."
Maomao looked down at her hands, stained with a greenish powder. She felt it with almost physical intensity: it wasn't mere curiosity - it was a calling.
"How long would the training last?" she asked, lifting her eyes.
"Only a year," Ryo answered. "But in that time, you will have countless opportunities to perfect your craft..."
He kept speaking, but his words began to dissolve as if submerged in water.
A year. Only a single year.
To knowledge, it was a mere blink.
To life, it was an absolute abyss.
Maomao stared at the crushed herbs in her mortar, and for the first time in a very long time, she didn't know which emotion gripped her tighter - rapture or dread.
💜 🌖 💚
Maomao was almost grateful to fate that she was required to check on the health of the Emperor’s younger brother this very evening.
The chambers were warm. The lamps glowed with a soft, golden light that made the shadows on the walls seem alive yet tranquil. Beyond the windows, the snow fell in slow, silent drifts, muffling the sounds of the palace as if someone had draped a thick blanket over the world. Everything around them breathed comfort - a comfort far too flawless not to be deeply disquieting.
Their evening together was passing with a strange, flat quality. There were no sharp retorts, no light play of words. Jinshi sat opposite her, his posture immaculate, his face calm and nearly detached. He spoke in monosyllables, moved with measured deliberation, and offered no jokes or his usual ironic remarks. Yet he looked neither tired nor distracted. Rather... he simply did not seem to want to speak to her.
Maomao caught herself thinking that this wasn't the first time. Lately, such evenings had begun to stretch between them more and more frequently - evenings as smooth as the surface of a frozen pond, beneath which a treacherous depth lay concealed.
Her own composure, however, was entirely feigned. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly as she picked up her food; her movements were precise but overly sharp. She swallowed without tasting anything, and finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, she broke it.
"Are you planning a diplomatic mission to the eastern lands?"
The words sounded mundane, almost casual, as if spoken in passing, but her heart struck hard against her ribs.
Jinshi snapped his gaze up to her, a flash of surprise crossing his features. "No. What made you think that?"
"Just this new physician," Maomao replied, chewing slowly. "It doesn't feel like his presence here is a coincidence."
He went quiet for a moment, then let out a faint sigh. "Yes, we have signed certain agreements regarding medical exchange. We require more qualified physicians," he explained in a level tone.
So he knew, Maomao realized coldly.
"A year-long apprenticeship, seriously?" The words escaped her lips before she could rein them in.
"What is so wrong with that?" Jinshi asked, tilting his head. "If you are worried about your father, I will assign people to him. They will ensure he eats properly and doesn't fall ill. Besides... you have traveled before."
With you, Maomao wanted to say. And suddenly, it hit her - she could no longer imagine embarking on a journey without him. Without his presence, without this strange, precarious balance between intimacy and prohibition.
"And what about your medical examinations?" she asked, her voice dropping lower. "Who will treat you if something happens...?"
"I will do my absolute best not to fall ill," Jinshi replied simply.
He spoke as if it were a trivial matter. As if her absence were a trivial matter, too.
"We can always recall you if something unexpected occurs," he added. "And in the worst-case scenario, I will consult your father. I know he is someone who can be fully trusted."
Maomao watched him in silence. The lamplight traced the familiar contours of his face, but tonight he seemed miles away, as though a thin, invisible wall had risen between them.
Why had he become so silent lately?
Why was he so ready, so perfectly calm, to let her go?
Maomao suddenly felt the winter chill from beyond the windows seep deep into her bones. She averted her gaze, clenching her fingers into the fabric over her knees. And for the first time in a very long time, it wasn't knowledge she hungered for, nor travel - but an answer he refused to speak aloud.
💜 🌖 💚
Yao - and even the usually tightly-wound En'en - were positively glowing with excitement. The opportunity to study abroad felt to them like a stroke of divine luck, a dream they wouldn't have dared to utter aloud. They spoke in a rapid flurry, cutting each other off and spinning grand plans, as though the future were already reaching out to embrace them.
Maomao, however, was at a complete loss as to what she felt.
Her thoughts resembled murky water; everything seemed clear on the surface, but the moment she tried to look deeper, the bottom vanished. And so, she left. She sought out perhaps the only place where she never had to explain herself with words - where her feelings were understood even without her own consent.
That is, if one excluded Jinshi - who was currently, for some infuriating reason, proving to be utterly useless.
The room was warm and cramped. The air was thick with the scent of incense, sweet wine, and that familiar, comforting blend of perfume and cosmetics. It was always too loud here, too vibrant - but that was precisely what soothed her. The world within these walls was simpler. More honest.
"It really is a wonderful opportunity," Joka said, settling more comfortably into her seat and fixing Maomao with a keen look.
"But it's for an entire year," Maomao countered stubbornly, crossing her arms.
"So what?" Joka shrugged. "You’ve traveled before. Besides, you’ll be with your friends."
Maomao barely managed to suppress a glare. Was there some sort of secret conspiracy against?
"Oh, what's so hard to understand?" Pairin chimed in cheerfully, appearing at her side as if on cue. "She doesn't want her friends. She wants..."
"Keep your mouth shut," Maomao warned dryly.
"But am I wrong?" Pairin asked with a sly smile, tilting her head. "Isn't that exactly why you're here today? So we would talk you out of going?"
Maomao clicked her tongue in sheer irritation.
Yes, Pairin was too perceptive. And entirely too right.
Maomao couldn't find the right words for her own emotions. They were too complex, too fragile. But one thing she knew with absolute certainty: leaving him for such a long time felt... wrong. It felt like tearing something vital from her chest and leaving nothing but a hollow space behind.
Pairin suddenly burst into a light, genuine laugh.
"What do you find so amusing?" Maomao muttered, throwing a sharp glance her way.
"Just love," Pairin replied with a soft smile. "It's a beautiful thing. It shuts down the brain of absolutely anyone - even a prickly little creature like you. That poor boy."
"Save your pity for your own," Maomao grumbled.
"Mine is doing exceptionally well, as a matter of fact," Pairin said smoothly, her voice warm and confident. "I'm not shy about showing him how much I love him. And he..." She paused for a moment, as if savoring the words, "...has started visiting much more often. He even said that by next year, he might finally be able to buy out my contract."
"My word..." Maomao found herself smiling. This time, it was a sincere, gentle expression. She was truly happy for her sister, even though she knew perfectly well that Pairin never worked merely for the coin. "Where did all this confidence come from?"
"It's just that when a man loves you," Pairin said, her gaze drifting elsewhere as if she could see someone very important standing just out of sight, "he is willing to do absolutely anything. Even let his beloved go away to study, all for the sake of her future."
She shifted her gaze back to Maomao and added in a softer tone, "And you know... separation isn't always a bad thing."
Maomao nodded slowly. Deep down, something throbbed with a dull ache - but the edge of the pain had dulled.
She felt a profound gratitude toward Pairin. For her bluntness. For her faith. And for the exact words she had needed to hear. Maomao really let her feelings get the better of her mind.
💜 🌖 💚
The month slipped away unnoticed - the way things always vanish once you grow accustomed to them too quickly. Talk of selecting the most worthy candidates was everywhere: in the corridors, behind folding screens, in the whispers of the maids, and in the overly loud sighs of those who already envisioned themselves across the sea. The topic became an obsession, as if the palace itself had resolved to live for nothing but this anticipation.
Maomao appeared in Jinshi’s chambers toward evening. The lamps were already lit, casting a warm glow over documents, silk screens, and the dark wood of the desk.
"Good evening, my lord," she greeted, bowing her head low.
"That remains to be seen," he replied, not looking up from his papers.
His voice was level, but cold. Suiren was just setting the table, arranging the dishes with that quiet precision that always masked her caution. Chue hovered nearby, helping with far too much enthusiasm; Maomao realized instantly that she simply didn't want to miss a single word.
"I have delivered the results of the medical trials to the Moon Prince," Chue chirped cheerfully. "And he is just a ti-i-ny bit upset that his most personal physician turned out to be... incompetent."
Maomao didn't flinch. She had expected this.
"Incompetent doesn't begin to cover it," Jinshi interjected sharply. "According to these results, she cannot tell the heart from the liver. Let alone hemlock from catnip."
He finally lifted his gaze.
"Maomao, are you aware that you make a rather... abysmal APOTHECARY?"
The words cut her. Not because they were insulting, but because they were deliberately spoken aloud. Jinshi hadn't addressed her like that in a long time.
"I was nervous," she answered, not even understanding why she bothered.
Lying made no sense. Everyone - even those she had competed against - knew that Maomao had blundered on purpose.
"Doctor Ryo was deeply disappointed," Jinshi added coldly.
"He'll survive," Maomao said curtly.
Silence hung over the room like a heavy shroud. Sensing the tension, Suiren gently intervened. "Why did you do it, Xiaomao?"
Maomao slowly straightened her posture. "I didn't want to go," she answered honestly.
"Why?" Jinshi pressed.
"I am perfectly fine here."
He rose from his desk abruptly. His chair scraped against the floor - the sound seemed jarringly loud in the quiet room.
"I invited that man specifically for you."
For the first time, a trace of anger surfaced in his voice - not his feigned, courtly irritation, but something raw and genuine.
"I never asked you to do that."
"But you were the one who used to complain that women couldn't become official doctors," he shot back. "What changed?"
Maomao clenched her hands inside her sleeves.
"People change," she said calmly. "Perhaps it is no longer the dream of my life."
"And what, pray tell, is your new dream?" Jinshi asked with cold curiosity.
Maomao lifted her head. For the first time all evening, she looked him dead in the eye.
"To serve as a field medic in the war against the barbarians in the northern lands," she said, each word crisp and clear. "Right where you intend to go..."
She paused, letting the silence stretch.
"...while I am supposed to be safely across the sea."
The air in the room turned to ice. Even the lamps seemed to burn in stunned silence.