Garden Snake

by Drakoloach

Chapter 3

Summary:

When she used her sleeve to wipe the vomit from his face, he remarkably didn’t flinch. Instead, he went right back to his owlish staring, despite his unfocused eyes and clammy skin.

“What are you?” Scar-man croaked.

“An apothecary.” She promptly responded, keeping her voice low to not disorient him further. They had to move him to a proper clinic, she really needed access to more bandages. She needed her herbs, too, and a refilled gourd to keep him hydrated…

Notes:

I hoped to have this out before New Years, but sadly a nasty case of Covid and family drama got to me first! Warning for potential medical inaccuracies, I tried my best! Enjoy!

 

---

 

As much as he wanted to, Jinshi never allowed himself a wink of true sleep. 

It was a skill he had honed since his first days at the rear palace, so he wouldn’t collapse during the day or let the mask slip more than it should. He would close his eyes and let himself drift, sometimes for an hour, sometimes just a few minutes. To an outsider, he looked fully unconscious. But the moment something around him shifted— a door creaking open, the lightest footfall, a brush slipping from his fingers— he would snap to attention as if nothing had changed. 

Granted, he always needed some time before he was able to actually understand any words being spoken to him. It wasn’t a foolproof method, and it never worked when it rained, but it was better than going days without a hint of rest.

Both he and Maomao understood that now was not the time for a nap. But she had looked unusually haggard, and he would never refuse a chance to wind down in his apothecary’s presence, not ever. So, with her tiny fingers in his mane, her warm body next to his own, and her bitter, earthy scent filling his lungs, he allowed himself to drift.

And when a leaf crunched, too far away to be heard by human ears, but deafening to his dragon, Jinshi snapped into alertness as if he’d never dozed at all.

The forest was dark and deep. The moonlight filtered down through the wispy clouds and thick tree branches, so at present he could barely see his own tail amongst the shadows. He raised his head as high as it could go, just under the canopy, his talons fisted in the earth in preparation to stand. At his side, Maomao groaned irritably, the sudden movement having jarred her into a sitting position. She rubbed her arm where he’d accidentally bumped it and cut him an adorable glare, her hair mussed. Jinshi didn’t let himself admire the sight, however.

Another leaf crunched. 

He scanned the treeline, ears flicking and tilting as he turned his head this way and that, listening intently. His whiskers floated, testing the air for changes in pressure. 

Slowly, Jinshi raised himself into a low crouch, his belly brushing the tips of the wildflowers. Maomao picked up on the tension in his spine immediately, her clever eyes darting about the undergrowth. 

The cat and the dragon waited and watched. The air was still and unnervingly quiet. Perhaps the presence of a dragon had spooked the crickets and owls into silence. Only the familiar rustle of wind through the trees was brave enough to break it. Not for the first time, Jinshi cursed his inability to fly, the one dragon story that didn’t seem to have any basis in reality. Neither he nor his brother could ever figure it out, despite the many, many tales of imperials past ascending into the heavens. All exaggerated tales of fantasy, he had concluded. For as divinely worshipped as they were, not even dragons could surpass the whims of nature. The winds never obeyed him, as wild and unflappable as the waters and mountains.

It was funny, in a way. He was put on a pedestal above man and beast, but all he really had over the average person were claws, teeth, a decent size difference, and maybe a small nudge up in the precision of his senses. Nothing extraordinarily supernatural in sight. He could not summon a thunderstorm with a single roar, nor take hold of the four winds and soar across the sky. He did not live in a palace beneath the ocean nor covet a divine pearl that carried his very essence. He was, to put it bluntly, just a very large lizard.

If Jinshi were anyone else, he’d be disappointed. But he was not. He was himself, so he felt nothing but contentment. It was comforting, even. Flying would be wonderful, it would definitely make things easier in this situation, but it would also be one more thing separating him from his people. In some ways, his dragon was no different from his eunuch mask. All that changed was his outside appearance. He was still the same man beneath all the scales and fur.

Hell, he welcomed his dragon’s most crippling weakness. Being uniquely affected by ban xia, was it really so different from Maomao’s inability to consume buckwheat, or Lady Lishu’s inability to eat fish? He was a dragon, but he was still mortal, still tethered to the earth like any other creature. His life could be taken as easily as any other man’s, even with his position. He lived, therefore he could die.

But at the present, there were more important things at stake than his own life. 

Another crunch, this time a twig. Something shifted in the brush. 

Maomao stood. The shuffling of her shoes on stone was louder than a landslide, and the touch of her hand on his arm, a tiny spot of warmth, a heated needle through his meridians. It was almost enough to distract him. His tail slithered through the grass, curling like a ward around her little pile of rocks. He inhaled, exhaled, tracing the scents around him, searching for anything out of place.

Maomao patted his arm, stealing his attention. He glanced down at her without moving. She caught his gaze and held it, before tilting her head towards a gap in the trees, to the left of them, gesturing with her eyes. Jinshi stared hard at the murky darkness, straining for whatever she had seen, when–

There. 

It was minute, the barest flicker of movement, a shifting of shadow, but it was there. Something was hiding within the gloom. 

For a moment, he was frozen. His breath seized in his lungs, his body stiff and pulled taut. A cloud moved overhead, pulling away from the moon and bathing the clearing in a faint silver glow. 

As it probed through the canopy, it caught on a sharp edge, the flash of metal. 

Jinshi flared his nostrils on the next inhale. His snout wrinkled. He felt the slightest itch, like a speck of dirt had gotten lodged deep into his nose. The tiniest burn.

Once he caught the shine of the arrowhead, it was almost like a domino effect. His eyes flicked about, gradually catching more signs of life. Silhouettes broken by exposed skin, twitching hands on sword hilts, the fluttering of cloth as the men beneath breathed. Slowly, more and more people seemed to manifest from the gloom. Soldiers, all armed, seven in total, littered the treeline around the clearing. 

The man closest to them, the archer crouched in the undergrowth, had a peculiar fire in his eyes. 

Human eyes did not glow. Cat’s eyes, owl’s eyes, dog’s eyes, they glowed and flashed in the light of lanterns and fires. But humans? Human eyes did no such thing. This man, it seemed, was the exception. In the light of the moon, they shone with an intensity that bordered on inhuman.

His face was concealed, a simple black cloth tied over his nose and mouth, something a doctor would wear. The rest of him was clad in black from head to toe, like his kin. His bow was drawn back, the arrow trembling with the effort, pointed right at his heart. There was a furious furrow in his brow, and he glared at Jinshi, at his target, like he wished nothing more than to flay him alive. Whether it be an arrow to the heart or through the skull, it would not be enough to soothe his rage. 

That man hated Jinshi. And if his theories were correct, the man had every right. 

There was just one archer, but all around them, the burning anger in his eyes was reflected sevenfold. Beside him, Maomao was stiff. He couldn’t risk breaking eye contact, but he could tell that clever mind was thinking up a storm. They weren’t surrounded, not completely, but it would take a miracle to walk out of this unscathed. 

Jinshi held the archer’s gaze. He was at a loss. He wanted to speak to the man, maybe apologize, ask him something, anything. But even if he miraculously recovered his speech, the words wouldn’t come to him. He had no idea what to say. 

The Shi had brought their extermination upon themselves. Shishou had served the empire long enough to know the consequences for turning his sword against the imperial throne. He was there when the Yi clan was wiped from existence under the Empress Regent. Loulan had seen the writing on the wall long before anyone else. Jinshi didn’t know if Lady Shenmei understood the sheer gravity of her decisions or how many people it would’ve affected. Maybe she’d never even considered it. But what’s done is done. The Shi rebelled, and as punishment, their clan would suffer.

He did not personally order the Shi clan’s death, but he did bring the matter to His Majesty for his approval. He worked with the strategist’s nephew to put together all the evidence of their treachery. He led the Forbidden Army to their doorstep, drove his blade into the hearts of its defenders, raided their last and only stronghold with no thoughts of the Shi cowering behind closed doors.

All he had in his head at that moment was Maomao. The relief he felt at seeing her again, it stole the breath from his lungs and almost sent him collapsing to his knees. Weeks of fretting, thinking, worrying, spiraling, all swept away when she turned those shining, calculating eyes towards him.

Jinshi did not know these men. But he recognized their anger, the rage that walked hand in hand with loss, with grief. He recognized their determination. Perhaps it was presumptuous of him to try and claim understanding or sympathy, as unlike them, he had been able to reunite with the person he cared for most. He’d lost her, then found her again.

But these men. These men and their families, their friends, their loved ones… 

They were not afforded the same luxury.

The archer’s eyes narrowed. The fire seemed to die down the longer neither of them moved. 

Everyone was holding their breath. Maomao’s touch burned. By the end of the fifth minute, he almost looked sad.

The archer’s finger twitched. That was all it took.

The arrow snapped free with a shrill whistle, and it was only through sheer instinct that Jinshi was able to snap it out of the air. The sound of his jaws cleaving the thin wood in two shattered the tension keeping the soldiers at bay, for they immediately abandoned their posts and drew their swords. An acrid, burning smell followed their shining blades, the scent of poison reeking from their hilts. 

 

Nope, no, absolutely not!

 

Frantically, Jinshi snagged Maomao by the robes and slung her onto his back, only pausing to snarl at the advancing men, keeping them briefly at bay while she fisted her hands into his mane, before taking off like a shot.

The forest was much denser than the pleasure district, the trees clustered together and the underbrush scraping and clawing at his scales. His legs were still too short for his body. Thankfully Jinshi was still nimble enough to slip between the gaps whenever he found them, but crashing through bushes, rocks, branches, and dead logs meant clearing a path for his pursuers. 

More than once, he rounded a tree only to find a sword slashing towards his snout. One man managed to cut him off, his toxic blade soaring towards his neck, forcing Jinshi to rear back like a spooked horse. The singing metal missed by a hair– and Maomao, his gorgeous, clever, and incredible Maomao, hanging off his mane like a monkey, snapped her hand out and quite literally threw salt in the wound.

He had no idea what kind of powder it was, but all he needed to know was that it was a violent shade of red, went straight into the soldier’s eyes, and sent him cringing back with a shout of pain. It gave Jinshi ample opportunity to jump over him, leaving the poor guy coughing and clawing at his face in the dirt.

“…using up all my good spices…” He heard Maomao grumble, already digging into her robes for presumably more toxic powders. 

I’ll buy you enough to last a year, Jinshi wanted to reply, but then another sword almost clipped his leg, and his attention was immediately stolen back.

It was strange, actually, now that he thought about it. As he twisted and stumbled, they attacked with broad, sweeping swings, using the trees as cover before lunging forward like vipers. The soldiers’ blades stank of poison, the too-strong scent making him a little dizzy just by proximity. Their strikes never dove too close, but the way the seven moved, dodging the lashing of his tail and the snapping of his jaws, vanishing before he could even retaliate, it would make one think there were double in number. 

They were hiding their numbers and keeping their distance, but they kept cutting him off every time he tried to forge a new path. He would take one step forward, then end up pushed back four. He would try to scramble over a fallen log or boulder, and would be forced to retreat when a singing blade cut into the dirt in front of his snout. It was almost like—

A flash of metal, in the corner of his eye. Not at ground level, but above them.

—Like they’re herding us.

A whistle, like the screech of a startled songbird. His nose was filled with the burning scent of acid. He frantically lunged forward, trying to flatten himself to the ground, but then he felt Maomao’s hands in his mane suddenly tighten, an iron grip, yanking a few strands straight out of his skin. His head swung around as if on a pendulum.

And Jinshi watched, horrified, as the arrow hit home and Maomao went tumbling into the dirt.

---

Ow.

Maomao coughed, clutching a hand to her chest. In a stroke of misfortune, her sudden tumble had her landing chest-first on a tree knot, punching every ounce of air from her lungs. 

While she struggled to stand, wheezing for air, her shoulder smarted. Painful, but not distracting in the slightest. For once, Maomao couldn’t tell if it was because the arrow missed, or just because of her usual pain tolerance. She turned to check the damage, and saw the tail end of the shaft pinning the collar of her robes to the ground. 

Maomao coughed again and closed one hand around the arrow, giving it an experimental tug. It didn't budge, her shoulder twinged, and she resigned herself to an hour or so of mending as she shakily got to her feet, fighting the uncomfortable tightness in her lungs to suck in a breath. Her collar ripped, the well-woven fabric fighting to hold, but a couple sharp yanks later, she was freed. 

A soldier shouted, incomprehensible, and the ground trembled beneath her hands. A low rumble rolled out above her, possibly rolling clouds heralding rain. Ugh, that wasn’t good. They had to keep moving, but she was already dreading the prospect of fleeing in a torrential downpour. The mud alone would be a problem…

She looked up, expecting storm clouds. Instead, she saw Jinshi.

When her eyes met his, his horrified face instantly contorted, like a strike of flint and steel. His jaws parted, revealing fangs as long as swords, glistening with spit. His lips pulled back into a snarl, uncannily similar to the roaring dragons that decorated His Majesty’s own robes. His eyes went black as pitch, the pupil swallowing up any trace of color, bleeding into the whites like spilled ink. 

The beast lifted his head, neck rising higher, impossibly higher, growing before her eyes. His obsidian eyes flashed like a demon’s, whiskers undulating like twin serpents in an untouchable breeze. And for the first time since she’d found him on that rock by the fence, Maomao felt a small spike of fear.

Basen’s words drifted back through her mind. ‘He should be big enough to rival every building in this district.’

Somehow, in the split second between their dash through the trees and her tripping into the dirt, something else had taken his place. This wasn’t the tiny touch-obsessed fool who insisted on sharing her bed as he recovered. This wasn’t the creature who hummed, purred, sighed, and growled in her presence, wordlessly chastising and toying with her in ways she always found familiar, ultimately harmless. This wasn’t the man who made a fool of himself on a whim, just to try and pull a laugh out of her.

This wasn’t Jinshi. 

This was an imperial dragon. This was the Moon Prince. And every living creature that dared to stand before it, save for the Emperor himself, was no more than a pest to be trampled underfoot.

It was bizarre, and so utterly, utterly wrong.

The dragon’s growl rolled like thunder, rumbling through the ground and into her body, its neck curved in the spitting image of a cobra prepped to strike. It stepped away from her, toward the soldiers frozen around them, the footfall so heavy it sent more tremors through the earth. Its jaws stretched wide with a snarling hiss, the inviting gates of hell, porcelain fangs almost glowing in the moonlight. It stomped slowly, a heron stalking through a marsh, its entire body trembling with rage. 

Maomao heard the soldiers frantically call out “RETREAT!” and “GET BACK!”, scrambling over each other to make a mad dash for the forest’s edge. A few brave souls attempted to stand their ground, blades raised, planting their feet as though prepared to face the coming storm. The young archer that had taken them by surprise, once seated high up in a tree, had fallen onto his rear before the beast, his bow forgotten, frozen in terror. Another fumbled with his sword, frantically combing the forest floor for his companion’s missing arrows. 

 

The dragon inhaled, a bellowing sound, as though the four winds were roaring in unison. Maomao just barely managed to twist on her heel, chest still aching, muscles tensed to run, before the dragon suddenly reared up as if to lunge, and–

It screeched.

Maomao clapped her hands over her ears with a pained shout, the sound piercing through her skull like a needle. Gooseflesh exploded over her skin. Where she expected a roar, instead what burst from the dragon’s throat was a terrifying shriek like scraping metal. The awful noise tore through the forest, bouncing off trees and shaking the dirt beneath her feet. It was completely at odds with the beast’s otherworldly elegance; far, far from a simple, noble call of anger belonging to a celestial being. 

This was a cry of raw, unfiltered fury. A strike of lightning upon the earth, a howling tempest ripping through the coastline. Were she a religious woman, this, she supposed, was what the wrath of the very heavens sounded like.

It was agonizing to her mortal ears, an explosion of sound unlike anything she had ever heard before. Her bones hummed and her pulse pounded, her instincts screaming, pumping her veins with a primal surge of energy that begged her to run for her life. 

She wasted no time obeying. Figuring out this strange mood that had overcome the beast, or how such a sound could be produced by a living thing, would come later. A dead Maomao was a useless Maomao, and she didn’t feel like dying this early into her life if she could help it.

Trees crashed and thundered to the ground, wood splintered, the ground shook with impact, and there were violent snaps in the air, like the cracks of whips. And all throughout, the screech faltered for none of it. Maomao ran until her skull no longer threatened to split open, throwing herself behind the widest tree she could find. She pressed her back to it, covered her head and neck in her arms, dropped into a crouch, and waited. 

It was a long, long time before the noise died down.

When the horror finally abated, the scream trailing away like a fleeing bird, Maomao counted down the seconds until her hearing returned. 

It was eerily quiet, the world muffled as though filtered through cotton. She could hear the dragon sucking in a vast breath, refilling its lungs. Eventually, her ears adjusted, only to immediately begin ringing. The high-pitched whine was a poor mockery of the dragon’s rage, yet it hurt all the same.

Maomao didn’t stand. She stayed there, eyes shut and hands fisted in her hair, glued to the rough bark as though it could swallow her whole. Her head pounded, her roots stung beneath her tense fingers. The scent of fresh earth filled her nose.

The forest’s silence was somehow the loudest of all. There were no gurgles of the wounded, no clangs of swords, no pounding boots. There were no low growls, nor shouting soldiers, nor horrifying screams. Just pure, still silence, broken only by someone’s wheezing, haggard breaths. It wasn’t until she cracked open her eyes, peering out into the lonely darkness, that she realized those breaths were her own.

What the hell just happened? Maomao wondered, then almost sighed in relief at the sound of her own thoughts again. She thought they’d somehow been driven from her. 

A soft gust of wind blew over her shoulders. Maomao blinked, and her eyes were pulled up, up, up, as if drawn by a string. She blinked, and she was peering into the face of a monster.

Void-dark eyes bored into her own. Half-concealed in darkness, the creature’s snout pushed towards her, its neck twisting around the tree and bending to reach. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it lower its body to the ground, elbows high like a perched cat and hooked claws dug into the grass. Its whiskers drifted and wound around her like hovering hands, curious yet hesitant to touch. Its doglike nose flexed, sending another breath washing over her trembling form. It smelled like flowers.

Maomao snapped out a hand and smacked it as hard as she could. 

There was little wind-up. A flash of anger, followed by a sudden lunge, driven only by the need to knock some sense into the idiot rather than a proper slap. Nonetheless, the dragon’s head twitched to the side, eyes widening. His jaw fell open a fraction, shocked. His perfect fangs flashed in the moonlight.

“Don’t you ever,” Maomao hissed through clenched teeth, glaring at him as if her anger alone could pierce his scales like daggers. ”Make that horrible noise again.”

He blinked at her, as if he couldn’t comprehend a word she was saying. Maomao spoke slower to help him along, propriety all but thrown out the window. “You just woke up the entire empire and gave away our location, sir. Did you forget your current state?”

The dragon blanched, and there it was. Whatever mood had overtaken him, the imperial dragon, it was gone in an instant. In its place, an indignant sound, near identical to the squawking of a very human fool.

Jinshi pointedly zeroed in on her shoulder, where her torn collar stood out, voicing his wordless complaints. Maomao lifted away the fabric, where there was in fact a long scratch, but it wasn’t deep enough to be of concern and nowhere near bad enough to warrant his previous reaction. The arrow had only grazed her, exactly like she suspected. The wound did tingle enticingly, but she couldn’t detect any other symptoms, so she was fairly confident whatever poison had laced the arrowhead was something specifically made for Jinshi. And if it wasn’t, all the better.

“I’m barely even bleeding.” She informed him with a pointed look, wrinkling her nose. As an afterthought, she muttered, “I wouldn’t be surprised if we went back and found someone dead on the ground, with all that racket. You’re too old for tantrums, Master Jinshi.”

Jinshi looked sufficiently cowed, shrinking into himself as if to hide his face within his coils. The familiar sight almost softened the rage licking at her throat, before her own words struck her and it was immediately forgotten. 

That soldier. A young archer, fallen prone at the dragon’s feet, paralyzed by fear.

Maomao pushed herself to her feet and shoved past the building-sized snake obstructing her path, batting his face aside like he were no more than a rack of drying linens. She kept her eyes off the gargantuan coils under her hands, the way her head barely reached the top of his long body, the unnatural smoothness of his scales. She ignored how his snout was longer than she was tall, lined with fangs and perfectly capable of devouring her in one quick snap. There were more important things to attend to.

Maomao could hear Jinshi make a sound of protest behind her, like a frantic yelp, but she ignored him. She stumbled and crashed through the trees until she reached the small clearing where they’d stopped. She found the young archer curled up on the ground, exactly where she’d last seen him, eyes wide and unseeing. He was drenched in sweat, and his hands were pressed to the sides of his head, one slick with red. She noted a familiar scar on his chin, and next to him, scattered throughout the grass, was his bow— or what was left of it.

Panting, Maomao ran to his side. She still hadn’t been able to catch a full breath. When she peeled his hand away, rolling the man onto his back, she found him bleeding steadily from one ear. Maomao swore.

She’d never been alive for any large-scale wars, but she had read about what happened to soldiers when they stood too close to explosives. She’d also treated many victims of improperly-handled fireworks. This man was thankfully free of burns, for obvious reasons, but evidently he’d gotten a front row seat to the Moon Prince’s outburst. Maomao checked his pulse and breathing. His heart beat rabbit-quick and his chest stuttered with each inhale, but all else seemed normal. 

Maomao dug into her robes and pulled out a handkerchief, before attempting to mop up the blood. The thin cloth soaked through quickly, so she gave up and resorted to pressing it to the man’s damaged ear. She moved her other hand to rummage for the roll of bandages she kept under her breast. His hearing on that side would be greatly diminished for a time, but provided the area was cleaned and the bleeding treated, recovery was possible. She swore again when the bandage bled through almost immediately.

The grass crunched behind her, and Maomao could feel the cause of this mess leaning over her, casting both her and her patient in shadow. She swallowed down the sudden swell of anger in her throat, but couldn’t help a number of highly inappropriate words from escaping her lips as she worked. Some of the foul names she uttered would make even Pairin scold her. With a firm yank, she tore off the man’s sleeve and began to tie it into another rough layer around his head, an attempt to soak up the rest of the blood.

When Maomao finally turned to look up at him, the expression on his face made her want to scream. He looked altogether repentant, frightened, and immensely somber. His massive head hung from his long neck like a ball and chain, his eyes worriedly raking over her crouched form, and he pawed restlessly at the dirt, as though plagued with indecision. He was still staring at her shoulder. In short, he was completely useless to her at the moment.

“Master Jinshi, if I may, can you make yourself useful for once and help me, please?” Maomao snapped, just barely managing to remember her manners. 

Jinshi nodded frantically, his stupid purple mane bouncing and catching in the moonlight. Maomao lifted a bloody hand to shield her eyes, the scowl on her face harsh enough to curdle milk. Words could not express how cross she was with him at the moment.

“This man’s left ear has burst. When he comes to his senses, do not let him move, keep his head level, and whatever you do, do not make a sound.”  She ordered with a pointed jab of a red finger. Jinshi stared at it, jaw slack, but gave another shallow nod. “I’m going to check for others, since I doubt he’s the only one hurt. In the meantime, keep your mouth shut and stay put. Try to shrink yourself, if you can, you’ll be more useful outside of that lizard skin.”

Without waiting for his response, Maomao scrambled to her feet and scanned the forest for more victims. She caught sight of a leg poking out from behind a tree. Dashing towards it, she found another soldier leaning against the trunk with a hand over his stomach.

“Can you hear?” Was the first thing Maomao said. The soldier stared at her, recognition flashing in his eyes, but nodded. He didn’t move a muscle when she dove straight into checking him over. “I’m an apothecary, I can help. Are you injured anywhere? Are your ears ringing?”

The man shook his head at her questions. She found his pulse a tad quick, his breathing fine, and his ears undamaged. He grimaced when she started to tug at the arm wrapped around his torso, prompting a sharp look. “If you’re wounded, sir, I need to see it. I can’t treat you this way.”

“N-not wounded.” The man stammered weakly. He nodded his head towards a spot in the grass, where a splatter of vomit marred the pristine forest floor. 

Nausea, then. Perhaps from shock? Maomao fished a pouch from her robes and pressed it into the soldier’s hand. “This tastes bitter, but it’ll calm your stomach. Stay put.”

Then she was off again. She ignored the growing disarray around her as she stepped around piles of broken branches and pits in the earth. The forest was dead silent, eerily familiar in a way that had her scanning the shadows for movement. Some of the larger trees had been felled, snapped at the middle or crushed to splinters. A deep gouge in the underbrush granted her a clean path to the wounded, carved by a force too massive to be natural. It was like a small tornado had torn through the wood, ripping everything in its path asunder.

Yet when she came across the small clearing, with its wildflowers and mushrooms, she found it completely untouched.

That was where Maomao found two more soldiers, one lightly wounded from falling on his own blade, the other scraped up and dirty from his mad dash through the brush. The rest, it seemed, had fully fled. She treated the ones left behind the best she could, and thankfully the men were generally decent patients, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were a little too compliant. One soldier shook like a leaf the entire time she wrapped the shallow gash on his arm. Given his age, it shouldn’t have been the first injury he’d ever sustained. It didn’t hurt that bad, did it?

Returning to the most urgent patient, covered in dirt and already feeling the edges of exhaustion, Maomao found Jinshi in the exact spot she left him. Scar-man had evidently awoken and started struggling, as the dragon was peering down at the man with panic in his eyes, one huge talon pressed over his body like a cat with a mouse under its paw. Though it was worth noting that this particular cat had promptly lost all his courage the moment the mouse kicked up a fuss. Jinshi looked up at her approach, panicked, his face wordlessly screaming ‘What the hell do I do?‘

Maomao was almost taken aback at how a single talon was big enough to completely cover the soldier’s body, his head and arms peeking out from the spaces between claws. Holding him down appeared to be an effortless task, making her wonder just how much restraint was needed to handle smaller creatures without accidentally breaking them. The poor man looked like a doll next to Jinshi’s full might.

A flailing, blubbering, bleeding doll that needed medical attention now.

Maomao slapped her cheeks. She would ask the Moon Prince her questions later, when there wasn’t a patient blinded by panic and currently at risk of slicing his face open on a stationary claw.

“Hand up.” She ordered once she was in earshot, and Jinshi dutifully lifted his talon. The archer yelped at the sudden movement, his hands slapping over his torso, before sitting up and hugging himself once he realized all his organs were in place.

“If you could, sir, please back up!” Maomao waved her hands at the imperial dragon, as if shooing away a lost cow. “Your presence is distressing the patient!”

Again, Jinshi obeyed. But not without looking like a kicked puppy. A puppy as big as a palace, long enough to crush multiple tree trunks in his coils, and capable of rupturing eardrums just by screaming, but a puppy nonetheless. She supposed she signed up for this the moment she allowed him to stay, that rainy night back home, but it didn’t mean she had to be happy about it.

A bumbling idiot of a puppy with zero self-awareness and barely any sense of foresight. Maomao thought angrily to herself, slowly turning to the quivering man with a fresh-ish bandage, the last of her roll. Heavens, what she wouldn’t give for some clean cloth and water, it’d be a miracle if any of them escaped without infection.

The man was staring at her with eyes the size of saucers, his jaw hung open in shock. She was starting to get concerned at this point, being regarded that way. The only obviously terrifying thing around, the gigantic dragon, was currently attempting to hide himself between the trees. Yet scar-man barely looked his way, instead focusing all of his attention on herself. It had to be the blood on her front, that was the only thing she could think of that would distress someone so. 

“Can you hear me, sir?” Maomao asked.

The archer nodded, then winced, turning his injured ear away and pressing his hand to the blood-soaked wrappings. Understandable. Thank goodness he still had some hearing. When she approached further, she noticed his eyes were unsteady even as they tried to watch her like a hawk. The unbloodied side of his face was also drenched in sweat, and his raised arm was trembling, as if struggling to hold itself upright. Vertigo, most likely.

“If you’re feeling dizzy, sir, please don’t move.” Maomao told him, kneeling beside him in the dirt. She wiped her hands on her robes, cleaning them the best she could, then reached out for his face to check his eyes. 

Scar-man flinched away, but then froze at the movement, his eyes squeezing shut and the color draining from his cheeks. Maomao immediately got to her feet, just in time to step aside before he puked right where she’d been sitting. Definitely vertigo. She waited for him to open his eyes and catch his breath. 

When she used her sleeve to wipe the vomit from his face, he remarkably didn’t flinch. Instead, he went right back to his owlish staring, despite his unfocused eyes and clammy skin.

“What are you?” Scar-man croaked.

“An apothecary.” She promptly responded, keeping her voice low to not disorient him further. They had to move him to a proper clinic, she really needed access to more bandages. She needed her herbs, too, and a refilled gourd to keep him hydrated…

“An apothecary?” He slurred, then winced when she turned his head to the side to peel away the soiled dressings. There was dirt and leaves stuck to everything from all that flailing around on the ground. “But… h-how did you…”

Whatever words the archer was attempting to say died in his throat and he suddenly wrenched his entire upper half away from her. Maomao heard crunching, and she heaved a frustrated groan when breaking branches accompanied the sound. Of all times…

Jinshi poked his massive head around a tree to peer at them, whiskers drooping. Evidently, he too was hard of hearing. Maomao opened her mouth to send him off again, her eyes jumping from him to her patient. Scar-man started to shake again, incoherent babbles of fear escaping his trembling lips.

(Maomao didn’t blame him. That screech was going to stick with her for some time, and she’d walked away with barely any damage. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she said it was unlike anything she’d ever heard.)

Jinshi stepped out from his shelter of trees, shimmery body glistening in the moonlight. He looked unreasonably, infuriatingly regal. His tail was tucked oddly against his side, like he was holding something up, and when she looked closer, she saw he had an unconscious soldier draped over his back like a handtowel. Fainted from either fear or exhaustion, perhaps. He clearly meant to help, but all Maomao could think of was how much blood had to be pooling in his head. Painful headaches awaited him once he woke up.

The dragon approached her and her patient hesitantly, as if the forest around them were replaced by shelves of delicate dishware. He glanced between the man on his back and the archer sitting next to her, his expression distraught. Not even Maomao’s worst glare seemed to affect him. He was being serious, then.

Trying to figure out what to say, Maomao turned back to her patient, only to see scar-man fully passed out on the forest floor. Apparently he’d somehow fainted without a sound. She grit her teeth and scowled up at the dragon, who merely watched her and waited. He was the only way out of this blasted forest if they wanted to take the wounded with them, and he knew it.  

Ugh. So annoying. 

Maomao stood, brushing the dirt from her skirt. Her scowl never left her face when she stepped aside, watching Jinshi carefully lift the unconscious archer from the ground. The man was completely limp, dangling like a child’s doll, but the dragon was painstakingly careful as he draped him over his back, keeping his claws as far away from the man’s body as he could. Once he was settled alongside his compatriot, Jinshi looked to her for guidance.

Still scowling, she turned on her heel and threw up a hand, a sharp gesture of ‘Follow me, if you want.’ 

Without a sound, Jinshi ducked his head and followed.

As she stomped through the forest, ignoring the ache in her legs and the rapid thumping of her heart, Maomao mentally mapped out their location. This forest used to be much larger, but it had shrunken considerably as more and more sections were cut down for lumber. As a result, a proper mill was established, and with it, a number of cabins sprang up along the nearby riverbank to act as temporary housing for the workers. She had spent many hours in her youth playing here, foraging for mushrooms and herbs while her father spoke with the mill-workers and loggers. Felling trees was dangerous work, with no shortage of injuries and accidents that needed tending to, so she knew this area well.

I ate my first snake here, Maomao recalled with a glance at her gigantic purple shadow. A common water snake, one she’d caught by the river. She remembered admiring its bright yellow belly, before noticing how fat it was, having begun to gorge for the winter. So, she’d cut off its head and roasted it over a small fire to try for herself.

Damn, now she was hungry. Maybe she’d be able to catch another one soon.

Maomao walked in silence, paying little mind to the dragon trailing after her like a nervous child. She could tell he was trying to keep his footsteps light, yet he couldn’t succeed in fully masking the sheer size and weight of his body, crushing and crunching his way through the underbrush. He stumbled once, and a young sapling was unceremoniously snapped into pieces.

Eventually, the trees began to thin, and the sound of flowing water reached her ears. Maomao followed it, and only a short while later, they emerged from the forest to a wide open plain, cut through by a river. The river used to run straight through the forest, her father once told her, but now it sat alone, framed only by abandoned cabins, creaking mills, and old waterwheels, slowly spinning in the current.

The workers had long abandoned these buildings after the Empress’s ban on cutting trees. It took time for the news to reach this tiny mill, however, so they didn’t clear out the place until Maomao was around twelve years old. She used to wonder, while she wandered around the tiny patch of woods, where all the people had suddenly gone. Eventually, when the cabins fell silent and the river flowed unimpeded, her father stopped taking her to the woods altogether. 

They had sat empty and rotting for years. Now, though, they would work perfectly.

---

Jinshi wanted to die.

He wanted to dig a hole in the ground, curl up into a ball, bury himself, and die. 

He normally loved it when Maomao was short with him, especially when she glared and grimaced, treating him like a crushed bug beneath her shoe, but this… he had absolutely taken it too far. His mother warned him against letting his emotions rule his actions, and now he had probably not only disappointed her, but his brother, his bloodline, Gaoshun, Basen, and worst of all, his apothecary.

He was a man born with power. You’d think, after all these years, he would know how to use it.

There was no excuse for his actions. An explanation, a source, maybe, but no justification. In that single, awful moment when the arrow struck through her green robes, everything around him had ceased to be. He didn’t see her fully hit the ground. Instead his mind was a barrage of images, some real, some fictional, all so horrifying it was far too easy to let his control slip. 

He saw her lying on his bed, face swollen, bleeding and broken, so still and silent he feared he’d wake up one day to a corpse in her place. He saw her lying unconscious on the stone floor of the stronghold, beaten within an inch of her life, neck and face bruised beyond recognition, not even the worst of his nightmares during her disappearance. He saw her with an arrow through her shoulder, writhing in pain with a smile on her face as the poison slowly ate through her veins, smothering her vital spark. He saw her die, in so many grisly ways, each more gut-wrenching than the last, all because he had the selfish, selfish desire to keep her close.

How many times had she gotten hurt because of him? How many times had he caused her strife, forced her to uproot her entire life and safety for his sake? How many times had she been chewed up and spat out by a world built against her in every way, simply for daring to be so brilliant and curious and kind?

How long could he afford to keep her at his side before something finally broke?

Sheer guilt ate away at his soul like ravenous locusts, impossible to ignore. Jinshi thanked every star, every god, every ancestor he knew that she had come out of this with only a scratch. The fact that he could look up and see her tromping away through the brush like an angry boar brought him staggering relief. And that she still seemed willing to associate with him, even through her anger, was nothing short of a miracle.

If he’d hurt her at any point while lost to his rage…

Jinshi shuddered. Best not to ponder futures that would, hopefully, never come to pass.

Just in case, he lowered his head and sneakily drifted a whisker toward the rip in her robes, over her shoulder. Gently, he prodded at the wound site, so light he barely dipped the fabric. When Maomao only batted him away, twisting over her shoulder to shoot him a nasty glare, one capable of making small rodents drop dead out of sheer fright, he sighed in relief and withdrew. He’d gladly take the silent treatment over any lasting harm.

As they walked, one of the soldiers began to slip from his back. Jinshi pondered the idea of letting him fall, just to add a few more bruises, but that would make more work for Maomao, so he carefully lifted his tail and nudged him back into place.

He knew it wasn’t fair to blame them for everything, he knew many of them were just following orders, and their hatred of him was fully warranted. But Jinshi couldn’t help the flare of anger that licked his heels whenever his eyes fell back on them. He may have kicked this whole mess into motion by stumbling deliriously into her neighborhood, and he may have gotten Maomao involved by taking advantage of her kindness, but these men had chosen to go after her. He was supposed to be the true target here, that arrow was meant for him, not an innocent apothecary whose only wrong was treating his injuries. A good scare and some broken trees weren’t nearly enough for what they had done, what they had almost cost him and taken away from her.

And yet, here he was, helping carefully deposit the same soldiers who’d been baying for their lives in an abandoned logger’s cabin, watching his perfect little apothecary bustle about like a trained physician. Watching her coax a lantern flame with the meager remains of a firestarter, sweep out the dirty wooden flooring with a bug-eaten broom found in the corner, and set them up in a pair against the far wall, arranging them to sit as comfortably as possible.

Heavens above and earth below, his Maomao was far too good for this world. Jinshi didn’t think he could fall even more in love, but as always, she proved him wrong.

“Pardon me, sir.” Her voice interrupted his line of thought. Jinshi looked down (down, down, down) to see her glaring up at him, arms crossed.

When he made a questioning sound, she lifted a hand and flapped it toward him, gesturing for him to lower his head. “If you could, please lie down on your stomach for me. Keep your legs apart from your body and your tail uncoiled.”

Puzzled, he obeyed, settling himself in the soft dew-soaked grass and curling in a sort of half-circle around the front of the cabin. Stretched out, it took some maneuvering to not bump into the treeline, the itchy weeds and wildflowers tickling his belly as he shifted. He watched with a curious eye as Maomao began to slowly circle him, running a critical eye over his prone form with a hand on her chin.

She completely circled him twice, sometimes stopping out of view for reasons unknown. Occasionally, he would feel an odd prickling sensation, like tiny needles stabbing into his scales, before the sounds of her shuffling footsteps picked back up. When Maomao returned to his line of sight, she had the front of her robes held out in front of her like a pouch, holding what looked like a pile of red-tinged shards of wood. He rumbled, confused, as she dumped the shards into the dirt by the cabin’s front door.

“Splinters, sir.” She drawled, wiping her dirty hands on her robes. “If you leave them in for too long, the wounds will get infected.”

It took every ounce of willpower to keep from moving when Maomao suddenly crouched in front of his right talon, reaching out her tiny hands to lift each of his fingers, inspecting them. She ran a finger over a nick in one of the curved claws, frowned, then dropped it. “Turn over your palm, please.”

When Jinshi obliged, Maomao clicked her tongue. Under his middle finger, previously unknown to him, was a small scratch— well, small for him, at least. Next to Maomao, it would have run the length of her entire forearm. The apothecary leaned over the cut, nose wrinkling as she sniffed.

“Hm. Probably not poisoned.” She muttered. “Should still be cleaned though…”

Maomao dug around into her robes, before producing a thin roll of bandages. Her frown deepened, glaring at the diminished dressings as though personally insulted, before replacing them with a huff.

“Stand up, but keep that hand elevated.” She ordered. He immediately pushed himself up, letting the affected talon hang limp from his wrist, rather than putting weight on it. She untied her gourd from her side and held it out. “We’re out of water. If you could, please refill this for me. And wash your hand while you’re at it.”

Jinshi blinked. Normally he’d be jumping at such a request (Maomao asked something of him! Directly!), he’d loath to deny her anything not poison-related, especially if it meant being useful, but…

He glanced at his massive talons, then back to the gourd. The thing was smaller than his fourth claw. 

Maomao rolled her eyes with another loud huff. Then she jumped up, seized one of his drifting whiskers, and yanked.

Pain exploded through his brain like a dagger to the skull, sharp and blinding. Jinshi did not let out a shrill, undignified yelp as his apothecary essentially rang his head like a bell, for he was far too dignified a creature for such things. When the spots cleared from his vision, he found his head several chi closer to the ground and Maomao using the commandeered whisker like a rope, clever hands tying it firmly around the neck of the gourd. Smarting pricks and unpleasant pressure accompanied the motion, but Jinshi grit his teeth through the discomfort.

Owww…

Maomao dropped the gourd, watching with a blank expression as it dangled aimlessly from his face. It took Jinshi a moment to remember he could move the darn thing, lifting it up and down, testing the weight. It wasn’t too bad, but it wasn’t exactly easy, as his whiskers weren’t exactly built for this. The base of said whisker, where it met his snout, now tingled whenever he moved, a strange warmth bleeding through his snout.

“There,” She said decisively. “Now you can refill it. Please hurry up, sir, I need clean water for the wounded.”

He felt his eye twitch. Part of him wanted to bite her for that little stunt, feeling more than a little miffed at the callous treatment, but at his present size, such a thing wasn’t feasible without major bodily harm. And regardless, the rest of him still felt horribly guilty for his prior… outburst. He should probably still be atoning, right? Was that enough? Should he ask her to yank his whisker again somehow? He didn’t want to leave Maomao alone with those soldiers, but since they were both unconscious…

With nothing else to do but obey, Jinshi grumbled his complaints under his breath and trundled off to the river.

---

 

Maomao was stacking the soldier’s swords and arrows in a neat pile by the doorway, admiring the shine in the lanternlight, when one of the men began to stir. 

She almost groaned at the tell-tale signs of snuffling breaths and shifting boots against wood, mourning the loss of her precious alone time. The blades smelled absolutely acrid, like vinegar mixed with some kind of corrosive acid, more chemical than metal. Obviously soaked and wiped in some flavor of poison, but unfortunately, she would not get a taste today.

At least, not until she was done handling their sort-of captives and former attackers. Until Basen and Gaoshun miraculously found their hiding place. Which could take hours. Ugh.

Turning back and wiping the toxic oils on her skirt, it seemed like scar-man would be the first to regain consciousness. His brow had tightened, visible even beneath the spotty bandage wrapped around his head. This was somewhat expected, since before he had merely passed out from fright rather than exhaustion. As such, when he blinked the dizziness from his eyes and suddenly jumped in place, head whipping to and fro in panicked frenzy, he found Maomao standing impassively by the closed door.

“Where am I? What did you do to me?” The archer demanded in a croaky, trembling voice. He twisted in place and jerked his arms, a fruitless effort, considering his hands were tied behind his back. Maomao happened to be very proud of her knotwork.

“You’re in a logger’s shack by the river, just past the forest limits.” She explained calmly, speaking softly so as not to aggravate his ear and bowing behind her sleeves out of habit. “I have treated you and your companion to the best of my abilities.”

“Treated—?” He whipped his bug-eyed gaze to the man passed out at his side, leaning slack-jawed and still against the wall. When he looked back at Maomao, his face was twisted with suspicious trepidation. “…Where’s the Moon Prince?”

Maomao hummed noncommittally. “He’s out.”

Scar-man narrowed his eyes. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said. He’s out.” 

“So you’re…” He cast a searching glance around the cabin, then winced when the motion pulled at the bandages wrapped around his head. He lifted a shoulder to nudge at his ear, then winced again. “Agh— what happened to my—”

“You ruptured an ear. It’s not permanent, the skin covering the eardrum simply tore.” She replied, eyes lifting to the shadowy wooden rafters as she recalled her father’s explanations. “These kinds of injuries are not uncommon when handling explosives. It’s mostly caused by extremely loud sounds, such as fireworks or cannon fire.” 

Or dragon tantrums. She quietly thought.

Eyes flicking back down, at his despondent look, Maomao added, "You will regain your hearing, provided you refrain from strenuous activities, keep the wound clean, and get lots of rest.”

Provided she also got access to proper bandages and clean water, too. She had already completely used up her roll, and trying to get him to take painkillers dry would be a chore, if not impossible. Maomao said none of this.

Scar-man didn’t openly react, but she saw the tension in his shoulders lessen somewhat. He blinked. Then a dark look crossed his face, as though struck with a truly unpleasant thought. In the heavy shadows cast by the single lantern hanging from the ceiling, he looked downright sinister.

“What do you want? I doubt you patched me up out of the goodness of your heart.” He grumbled bitterly, tilting his head back to rest against the wall. He still regarded her with suspicion, but it was less fearful than before. More calculating. “You said you were an apothecary earlier, but that’s not all, is it?”

Maomao shook her head. “I was not lying, sir. I really am just a pleasure-district apothecary.”

The archer scoffed. “And what’s a pleasure-district apothecary doing riding on an imperial dragon’s back?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, sir.”

His frown deepened. He seemed frustrated at her response. Maomao chose to ignore it. When he spoke again, his raspy voice was hard as steel. “I’ll ask again. What do you want?”

“An explanation or some names would be appreciated.” She tried, aiming for an air of nonchalance. The man was oddly lucid compared to earlier, when he was struck dizzy and barely audible, bleeding profusely from one ear. Perhaps the hour or so of rest had allowed his mind to calm somewhat. “I understand you’re of the Shi clan—“ Scar-man stiffened. “—but there shouldn’t have been any survivors. All the remaining Shi are still in custody.”

“And you think I’ll just tell you everything?” He spat.

She could feel her bored expression twitch. Heavens, she was already tired of this. Jinshi would probably be able to do it better, but he was still currently stuck in the skin of a palace-sized snake. Her speciality was poisons and medicines, not interrogating people.

“I don’t think you have much of a choice, sir.” She drawled. “You could explain things here and we can handle things peacefully, or the royal guard will get it out later. It’ll come out either way.”

The archer narrowed his eyes with a sneer. “And for someone of your size, you’re awfully confident, little girl.”

Maomao hummed in acknowledgement. Then she walked over to the window. Scar-man watched her path warily.

“Not confident, just well informed, sir.” She said, before pulling one of the screens open. 

Behind it, instead of a lovely scenic view of the riverbank, was a massive obsidian eye, surrounded by a shimmering canvas of elegant plum-colored scales.

Just as she predicted. She figured he’d be eavesdropping. He never could keep his nose out of her business, though she supposed she couldn’t blame him in this instance, as she did put herself in a one-room cabin with two fully grown men. All of which had previously tried to kill them. Refilling a tiny gourd wasn’t a time-consuming task.

The eye widened at the sight of her and flicked to focus on her face, the slitted pupil rounding into a full circle, like a waxing moon. It was kind of surreal, Maomao mused, seeing an eye bigger than her head up close. Every twitch of the eye’s movement was clearly visible. She could discern the tiniest of shifts and changes in the pupil, see the red veins criss-crossing in the corners, and appreciate the beautifully faceted structure of the iris like a fine painting. Jinshi’s eyes were dark, she knew this, but up close she could pick out flecks of grey, brown, and even green. His eye color really was more of a very dark brown than a true black.

His eyelashes were thick and long, just like the rest of him, and delicately curled. Jinshi blinked, and that confirmed another hypothesis Maomao had been considering; He had a nictitating membrane. Translucent and white, it wiped over the eye before neatly folding away in the corners. Fascinating.

Maomao looked back at the soldier. Also as predicted, his face had completely drained of color. He almost looked ready to pass out for a second time. She closed the window.

“Would you like to try again, sir?” She asked.

Scar-man was silent for a while, staring at the closed window. Maomao waited. His trembling gradually calmed. She watched as his shoulders slumped even further than before, drained of all tension, and his pale face slowly regained its flush. With a heavy sigh, he dropped his eyes to the floor, his lower lip pinched between his teeth. Apparently the tough-guy act was not a long lasting one.

“We all had different reasons. We’re not— we aren’t all part of the same branch. Hell, I don’t even know half the other guys’ names.” He said glumly. “The boss just tracked us down and gathered us together because we had one thing in common.”

He lifted his head to watch the window warily, gaze flicking between it, the swords in the corner, and her. “You gotta understand, lady, I wasn’t part of the planning process. He just gave us instructions and we followed them. The only things tying us together were our ties to the clan and the Moon Prince.”

Revenge, then. Maomao nodded. An easy and all-too-common motive. But still… “You went with a group of strangers for the sole purpose of enacting revenge?”

“What else was I supposed to do? Sit back and let him get away with it?” Scar-man snapped. “I only got away from the mass executions because I was stationed down south. The news got to me before the guard did. Then one day the boss showed up, talking about how he found the Moon Prince’s secret weakness, and I just…”

So he let his emotions take over and joined a suicide mission. She frowned. If she had to guess, this mysterious boss was probably the wolf-man. He seemed decently charismatic. Perhaps, with some smooth-talking and the reveal of the ban xia’s effect on the imperial family, it was simply too alluring to a man stricken with grief.

Perhaps that was why the assassins weren’t content with just letting the toxin take Jinshi down. She had found it odd that the men had suddenly attacked so openly while he was collapsed from poison. Wouldn’t a smarter move be to increase the dosage and ensure a quick and violent death? Or at the very least, take advantage at a later time while he was weakened? Why send in infiltrators to finish the job and risk capture?

But if this was a revenge mission driven by angry, grieving soldiers, then perhaps him dying from poison at a distance wouldn’t have been enough. No, they had to finish the job themselves.

An insanely risky plan, but if they knew they were going to end up executed sooner or later, it was one with a high chance of reward. If all went well, it would result in the death of the man who ordered their entire clan’s execution, as well as give them the satisfaction of dealing the killing blow. Perhaps to them, it seemed entirely worth it.

An unsettling thought came to mind. 

What if, given all the things that had gone wrong for them so far, the plan was messy on purpose? What if the wolf-man didn’t care about minimizing casualties, so long as the job got done? Why else would he send his men chasing directly after a dragon, out in the open while the pleasure district was still under search, with only poisoned swords and a single archer to take him down? Men who were by all intents and purposes, completely loyal and the last survivors of his home clan? The other men may not have noticed all the holes, too blinded by their desire to enact vengeance against a royal. And if what the archer said was true, if he truly didn’t share his plans fully with the others…

This level of callousness seemed familiar. If her hunch was correct, it wasn’t just gross negligence or poor planning, but deliberate cruelty. If this boss had been part of Shenmei’s inner circle, or maybe even Shishou’s, it would explain his knowledge of the imperial dragons, as well as how he managed to track down the stragglers, ones even the imperial guard hadn't found yet. 

Maomao shook her head. It made sense, but she had no proof. Besides, those closest to the Shi heads had been among the first to face the noose. How would someone so knowledgeable and high-up manage to escape?

With luck, Gaoshun and Basen were already on the boss’s tail, so she wouldn’t have to wait too long for answers.

“What made you want to participate?” She asked instead. She couldn’t fathom the idea of letting herself get so caught up in emotion just for a fleeting moment of vengeance.

“My sister.” Scar-man bit out, glaring at the floor. “My sister lived in that fortress with her daughter. Lady Shenmei forced her to. That’s— that’s why I joined.”

He bit his lip, lowering his head further and squeezing his eyes shut, as if trying to hold back an insurmountable flood. “The fortress—“ When he looked back up to her, it was with burning, seething hatred. “Your precious Moon Prince razed it to the ground. He killed everyone. The women, the children, the villagers, everyone.”

He really is young. Maomao thought. He didn’t seem to understand that this was just how the world worked. It didn’t look like he wanted to, either. Perhaps the notion that a single man could rob you of everything you held dear, and it would be his divine right to do so, was just too much to bear.

“That son of a bitch wouldn’t—“ The archer choked, before taking in a shuddering breath. “They couldn’t even find my niece’s body.”

A tear slipped from his furious eyes. He scrubbed at it angrily with his shoulder, but more began to fall, heedless of his desperation to maintain face.

The man was crying. He seemed to hate this fact, but it was a fact nonetheless. Maomao felt herself freeze up. This is not my forte.

“It doesn’t matter.” Scar-man said hoarsely. “You work for the Moon Prince, the boss is missing, I can’t hear out of one ear, and I’m tied up in a– a shack with a fuckin’ dragon at the door, next to a guy I barely know. I knew what I signed up for. I know how this is gonna end.”

He still looked angry, but the fire in his eyes had cooled into a resigned simmer. While trying to figure out what to say, Maomao’s mind snagged on a tiny detail. A sister and niece at the stronghold? The sister was most likely dead, even after the initial raid, she wouldn’t have been able to escape execution. But the niece…

“How old was your niece, sir?” Maomao asked.

Scar-man sniffed. His glare returned in full force. “Why do you care?”

She shrugged. “I happened to be there during the attack on the stronghold. I was thinking I might have seen her.”

“You? But how would an apothecary—“ He began, incredulously, before his face paled a third time. Maomao was starting to get concerned about his circulation. “Oh hells. You’re the Grand Commandant’s daughter, aren’t you?”

Maomao wasn’t sure what face she was making, but whatever it was, it made the archer squeak like a crushed mouse and start kicking against the floor, as though trying to shove himself into the wall. 

“That old fart is a stranger to me.” She said simply, almost surprising herself with the sheer amount of ice injected into the words. 

“Y-Yeah sure, sure, whatever you say—“ 

She cut his stammering off. “Do you know your boss’s name, sir?”

“I–I don’t, sorry.” He seemed relieved at the change in topic. “I didn’t know anyone’s names, but he knew all of ours. We just called him Boss. I heard one of the other guys call him Master Zhou, though.”

Master Zhou. Now she had a name. A rather common one, but maybe it would help Gaoshun narrow down his search. It was better than nothing, at the very least.

A quiet thump sounded against the door. Opening it, Maomao saw her gourd floating in the doorway, dripping with water and hanging by a velvet whisker.

“Thank you, sir,” She said mildly, untying the gourd. When she turned to tend to the archer again, however, she was stopped by a light tap on her shoulder. “Yes?”

The probing whisker slowly retreated. A massive face slowly pushed into view, too tall to be fully visible, so she was only able to see his left eye, scaly left cheek, and the corner of his mouth. Jinshi rumbled, then rolled his eye in a strange fashion, tilting his head away from her. Was he trying to tell her something?

“Pardon me, sir.” She said, hurrying over to Scar-man. With quick hands, she retrieved her painkillers and gently mixed them in with the river water, before pushing the gourd into his face. “Drink this. It will help with the pain.”

The archer was clearly doing his best to avoid looking at the dragon at the door, but as a result he glared at the offered water with a strained expression, like he’d bitten into an apple and suddenly found it mealy. Regardless, at the mention of medicine, he obediently drank. Perhaps he should have been a little more cautious— it could have been poisoned, but Maomao found she didn’t care that much. For a makeshift assassin, he was quite the model patient.

Satisfied, Maomao returned to the door, where Jinshi had moved back enough to let her step out. He raised his head, long neck bending and muscles flexing, to point his snout toward the stars, just above the forest. Maomao followed his gaze, looking up just in time to see a sudden green flash light up the night sky, followed by a smaller flash of yellow.

“Signal flares?” She guessed, blinking in surprise. She had never seen them in use before, and with such brilliant colors, too.

Jinshi rumbled, dipping his noble head in a short nod. He lowered his face closer to the ground, squinting, before lifting a talon and scratching something into the soft dirt with a massive curved claw. It was a little hard to make out in the moonlight, but when he moved away to let her see, she made out the characters for “GAOSHUN” and “GUARD”.

So, the flare was probably Gaoshun and the military. Was it a signal for Jinshi specifically, or was it a signal for someone else? Were they expected to respond?

Jinshi lifted his claw, wiped away the characters he’d written, and started scratching again. “GREEN FOR CAPTURE. YELLOW STAY PUT.”

Maomao nodded, watching him shake out the gathered dirt under his claws with a wrinkled snout. They must have rounded up the fleeing soldiers as they left the forest. They were a good distance away from the pleasure district, even with a dragon running at full speed it took them half an hour to reach the treeline, but Gaoshun was nothing if not dedicated. Basen in particular must be beside himself, since he always seemed to get fidgety whenever something happened to Jinshi.

They probably heard all that horrible screeching and came running as fast as they could. She realized. Maybe Jinshi’s hissy fit would actually prove helpful.

If the yellow flare meant “stay put”, then that also meant they would probably be waiting here for a while. She might be able to get some more information out of scar-man, but at the notion of more free time…

Maomao turned back to the shack, already giddy with excitement— only to find Jinshi hunched over by the door like a caterpillar, gingerly dragging the poisoned swords out with one claw.

She let out an anguished sound. “Sir, please, those are dangerous, you should let me—“

A curt snarl, followed by a narrowed eye flicking her way. She didn’t even need him to talk to understand what he was saying. Maomao opened her mouth to protest, rushing forward to stop him, but he snarled again, cutting her off. She found her path effortlessly blocked by a massive talon, his quick reflexes meeting her attempts to slip past his padded fingers, and she could only watch in horror as he started to dig a hole in the ground.

Leaning through a gap between his fingers, arms outstretched, like a calf trying to squeeze through a fence, she felt her mouth fall open in shock. That slimy bastard was going to bury her poison?!

Maomao tried to duck around the offending limb and was actually able to lunge a few steps forward, the swords tantalizingly close, but then the stupid beast plucked her by the back of her robes, scruffing her like some errant kitten. She kicked her legs and yanked at her robes, but his claws were immovable. He gently deposited her in front of the logger’s cabin with a stern look, talon still hovering in case she made another run for it.

Unable to watch such a devastating loss, Maomao gritted her teeth and stomped back inside, vowing not to come out until her patients were thoroughly interrogated. She felt a little bad about venting her frustrations on two wounded soldiers, but she was going to get more details whether they were up for it or not. There was no other way to soothe the despair in her heart.

 

---

By the time Jinshi thumped the door again, prompting Maomao to look out the window and catch the sight of a very haggard-looking Gaoshun conversing casually with the titanic dragon, she unfortunately hadn’t managed to get much out of the young archer. 

She learned his name was Wu Gang. He was skilled in archery, though he admitted his abilities were a little rusty, and had been among those stationed on the rear palace walls during the poisoning ambush. He came from a rather grassroots family, game hunting and leather was their trade, but their parents spared no expense on education. After his older sister passed the court lady exam and became a secretary to a minister, she was able to marry into one of the Shi clan’s more prominent branch families, and their family was thus able to move into the fox village alongside her new husband, who managed one of the hot spring inns. She had one child, a daughter, who was about seven years old.

Wu Gang himself wasn’t able to join her for some time, as he had been working his way through military service and had been occupied by a period of increasing barbarian raids. He wasn’t an outstanding officer or anything, more of a foot soldier that had special proficiency with ranged weapons, but he was managing.

He was also only nineteen years old. It put some of his behavior into perspective.

Maomao found most of this information rather boring, but it was still information. She couldn’t promise to remember the archer’s name, but it explained his investment in the Shi massacre. The other soldier didn’t wake up once during their talk (or was it an interrogation?), not even when she unwrapped his wound to flush it with water and clean it properly. She did consider trying to rouse him, but decided to ultimately let him rest. The archer fell into a deep sleep soon after.

She relayed her findings to Gaoshun while munching on roasted rat snake, watching from the corner of her eye as Basen herded Jinshi into the woods, griping about “trying harder” and “being stubborn”. The entire wait, he’d wrapped his long body around the cabin like a gigantic scarf, head resting under the window. He had been pressed so close, when she walked by certain sections of the walls, she could hear his thrumming heartbeat and deep breathing through the thin wood. It was almost as though the house itself was alive.

Maomao had to admit, it was a little intimidating. She wasn’t afraid of Jinshi, not at all, the man was far too foolhardy and strange to be any kind of threat, but there was surely an exception when it came to dragons the size of mountains. She’d been more than startled at the sudden heel-turn in his demeanor after that arrow grazed her, but she couldn’t be blamed for that. There was always a twinge of fear that came with interacting with things far bigger than oneself, something Maomao was very used to given her diminutive stature, and large carnivorous animals were no exception.

More than once, whenever Jinshi yawned, or scratched deep troughs in the dirt, or accidentally flattened a bush with his tail, she found herself pondering such morbidity. He really could have killed someone if he wasn’t careful. 

But that was neither here nor there. Maomao idly chewed her snake. Such musings would get her nowhere.

“Xiaomao? Is everything alright?” She blinked, looking back up at Gaoshun, then winced. Was it her, or had the bags under his eyes gotten deeper? 

She swallowed. “I’m okay. Just thinking.” 

“About what?”

“Transportation,” Maomao lied. Gaoshun had brought four carriages and a legion of men on horseback with him, following a dirt path eked out by the loggers, but she couldn’t fathom Jinshi ever fitting into one given his current state. “If I may, do you know how we’re going to move the Moon Prince and the assassins back into the capital?”

“The plan is to go by carriage, actually.” The aide replied, turning his head toward the forest. Maomao followed his gaze, only to jump when a series of loud cracks, snaps, and creaks suddenly sounded out, like the snapping of giant bones. Someone yelped. The trees rustled.

She blinked in bewilderment when shortly after, Basen came marching back out, a cat-sized dragon trotting at his side.

“He can do that?” She found herself asking. Could he have done that the whole time?

“It is a learned skill— one Master Jinshi is not especially proficient at, but one he has nonetheless.” Gaoshun then raised a hand, gesturing to the soldiers carrying the unconscious assassins into one of the carriages. 

“Move them carefully. They are injured.” He ordered, his usually calm voice hardening for a brief moment. It softened again when he turned back to her. “You are to ride with me in the second carriage, while our master and Basen will ride in the third. I have been instructed by the Grand Commandant to escort you separately.”

Maomao blanched. That monocled freak! Of course he learned about all this, she should have known. She perhaps should count herself lucky he didn’t come to “rescue” her on his own, but to try and order her around from afar? And what did he mean, separately, did he think traveling with Jinshi was too dangerous?

“Are you sure that is wise, Master Gaoshun? The Moon Prince still has some injuries I’d like to look after, I don’t want him succumbing to anything I may have missed on the way back.” She immediately protested. “We both know he can be a difficult patient.”

Gaoshun gave her a knowing look, one that immediately made her skin prickle. “Our master will be fine, Xiaomao. The guard is trained for this. I have vetted the men myself and brought along some proper physicians to tend to him. All have been sworn to secrecy.”

She pursed her lips, unhappy, watching as the much smaller Jinshi clambered into one of the carriages, Basen at his heels. The dragon paused on the step, shooting a shiny-eyed glance her way. He looked almost sad. Then Basen tapped him on the back and he scrambled through the open door with a squeak.

“But sir, wouldn’t it be safer if I tended to him?” She tried. “It lessens the risk of his secret getting out, as I’m already in the know.”

Gaoshun was quiet for a moment. He turned his gaze skyward, as though a monk in the midst of a religious crisis searching for a sign from the heavens. Then he heaved a weary sigh, rubbing his forehead. “I suppose so.”

Maomao nodded and gave him a grateful bow, but on the inside, she was celebrating. Take that you miserable old fart. 

He continued, “But when we reach the capital, I will have to ask you to disembark at the Verdigris House. His Majesty has requested the Moon Prince be delivered to the palace alone.”

Maomao frowned, but nodded her assent. Knowing the freak, he would probably be waiting for her at the city gates, the tousle-haired weirdo at his side. She would have liked to stick with Jinshi until he was inevitably summoned, but it was better than nothing. She still wanted to keep an eye on that cut on his hand, even if he’d washed the wound she needed to wrap it properly to avoid infection. Gaoshun waved off the soldiers hovering to escort her, and with a second bow of thanks, she followed him to Jinshi’s carriage.

The dragon immediately perked up the moment the door opened. Basen gave her a startled look when she sat down next to him, one that turned to shock when Jinshi immediately uncurled from his place on the floor to clamber into her lap. Maomao waited for him to get situated, kneading his tiny claws in her skirt and flopping over in a messy pile of coils, before she picked up his injured talon. Carefully, she used the last of her bandages to thoroughly wrap the cut, before running her hands over his body to check the spots where she’d found splinters.

Jinshi wiggled happily as she moved him around. He rolled onto his back, rubbing his face into every bit of fabric he could reach, even attempting to burrow his cold little nose under her robes. Maomao gently countered the dragon’s restlessness by turning him back onto his stomach, as proper nobles probably shouldn’t be showing their belly like that, holding him still with a firm hand on the back of his neck. A light rumbling sound, like a rough purr, began to emanate from the little body draped over her legs. It seemed the splinter sites had mostly healed over.

When she looked up, she found Basen resolutely staring at the back wall of the carriage, an odd flush to his cheeks.

“Is something wrong, Master Basen?” Maomao asked, reaching out a hand to check his temperature. Basen almost jumped out of his seat and leaned awkwardly to avoid her touch, like a stubborn cat.

“I-it’s nothing.” He grit out, turning in his seat to face away from her and crossing his arms. His entire head was burning and he looked dangerously close to choking on his own tongue. “Just let m-me know if— if there’s something wrong with the M-Moon Prince.”

Confused, Maomao simply shrugged and chalked it up to nerves, absently scratching the silky fluff at the base of Jinshi’s skull. The dragon, oblivious to his milk brother’s distress and actively melting into a scaly puddle, purred louder.

---

Maomao didn’t expect to hear from Jinshi for at least a few weeks. 

Certainly, after such a high-profile case, the imperial family would be hesitant to let the Moon Prince take even a single step without being hounded by guards. Those of noble blood tended to get antsy after assassination attempts, and rightfully so, but especially when it concerned the nation’s most beautiful bachelor. After the incident with the Alter of the Sapphire Sky, she heard from Basen how Jinshi hadn’t been able to leave his estate during the two weeks it took for her to recover. 

Not that Jinshi had complained. He’d always been weirdly neurotic and overbearing when it came to her safety. There was only so much whining and stern talking-tos she could take before giving up and letting him fret. But the entire time, he stayed indoors, burning the midnight oil in his office and periodically dropping into her quarters for unnecessary check-ups. It wasn’t until she started walking around the villa completely unassisted that he finally gave in to Suiren’s gentle reprimands and went for a stroll around the inner court. Accompanied by both Gaoshun and Basen, as well as several hidden bodyguards, of course.

As such, when she arrived at the Verdigris to deliver Grams’s medicine and a balm for Pairin’s pulled muscles, she was made immediately suspicious when the first face she saw was neither her sisters nor the manservants, but a sparkly-eyed old Madame.

“Took you long enough, little brat. ” She said immediately, waving her pipe to a few serving girls waiting in the wings. “Put all that stuff down, you have a customer.”

“I have a what?” Maomao spluttered as she found her shoulders suddenly divested of her herb basket. “Granny you said you wouldn’t—“

She was cut off by a sharp rap to the head. “Don’t talk back to me, girl. It’s just that masked noble of yours. He paid for a whole day, so don’t you dare try to pull anything funny.”

“Masked— oh.” Jinshi was here? It had only been five days! And he paid for a whole day? No doubt the Madame overcharged him to hell and back, but— a whole day?

What could he possibly want?!

Maomao was so busy trying to puzzle this out, she didn’t notice she’d already been taken aside by a grinning Meimei and ushered to the door of her apothecary shop. She missed Meimei’s words— “Make a good impression, Maomao, he’s been asking after you since he got here!” —and patting hands dusting a smidgen of powder on her cheeks, followed by a gentle cloth wiping the dirt from under her fingernails. Then the door was opened and she was abruptly shoved inside.

Maomao had to blink a few times to fully focus on the figure sitting at her table. As silly as it was, she’d been fully expecting to see a tiny dragon perched on the cushion, so when that heaven-sculpted face turned toward her and onyx-cut eyes crinkled with mirth, she briefly found herself at a loss. She’d gotten so used to his dragon self, that she had sort of forgotten what he looked like when he was human. Even masked, Maomao hadn’t felt so slapped off-kilter by his nymph-like beauty since the day she experimentally scrubbed rouge on his lips.

The feeling was only brief, however.

“Master Jinshi.” She greeted, immediately bringing her sleeves up into a respectful bow.

“Apothecary,” Jinshi greeted smoothly, and would it be silly of her to say even his voice sounded strange? It was almost alien, hearing those honeyed tones after weeks and weeks of silence. “Come, sit. I prepared some tea.”

With another bow, Maomao patted down a cushion and obeyed, eyeing the teacups set out with carefully concealed suspicion. There was also an inkstone, a half-used inkstick, a small plate of rice crackers, and a warmed teapot.

Although, apparently she was still taken aback by the whole human-Jinshi thing, because he took one look at her face and immediately chuckled. “I promise I didn’t burn the leaves this time. Try it, it’s actually not bad.”

“Hrm.” Maomao picked up her cup and gave it a good sniff. To his credit, it didn’t smell like expired medicine. “Have you already drank some, sir?”

“I have.” He replied, reaching up to remove his mask. He shook his hair out with a sigh, scrubbing the sweat from his cheeks with a sleeve. “Why, is there something wrong?”

She hummed. “I would have preferred to taste it for poison first, sir.”

He scowled at her, crossing his arms. “Oh come on, I actually did get better! Suiren helped me practice!”

Maomao tried not to look at his face while she quietly took a sip. True to his claims, it was actually much better than the last time he’d tried, though there was still a hint of bitterness in the aftertaste. It was also a tad lukewarm.

“Well?” Jinshi prompted, leaning over the table.

Maomao said nothing for a moment, content to watch him squirm. She took another sip. Then she tilted her head from side to side, humming, feigning thoughtfulness.

Finally, she said, “It’s edible.”

Jinshi heaved a massive sigh, leaning back onto his hands and tilting his head toward his shoulder. The pout he tossed her way was his most pronounced in a long time. “I’ll take it, I guess. Though I suspect nothing short of perfection would please you, eh?”

Maomao almost laughed at the childish expression. “Feel free to keep trying, sir. I'm sure you’ll get it someday.”

He sighed again, truly the most weary man in the world, then sat up and straightened his posture. The illusion of poise was immediately broken when he propped up both elbows on the table, resting his chin in his joined hands. “My perfectly adequate tea-making skills aside, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here, yes?”

She nodded, taking another sip and reaching for a rice cracker. “If you would enlighten me, sir.”

Reaching into his robes, Jinshi procured a brush, a blank sheet of paper, and a folded wooden scroll. He passed the scroll to her. “This is the official report from the head of the guard regarding the Shi assassins. We’ve caught most of them, but a few are still at large, so I figured you’d like to take a look.”

Maomao took the scroll and unfolded it, skimming the contents quickly. She frowned, looking back up to Jinshi. “You haven’t found ‘Master Zhou’?”

“Zhou Dian.” Jinshi corrected. “He used to be one of Lady Shenmei’s generals, but he was stationed elsewhere during the attack on the stronghold, so he slipped from our fingers during the initial assault. We’ve been able to gather that he’s from one of the Shi clan’s many branch families, and not a very well-liked one, but he made his way up through cunning alone.”

“With a name like that, I’m sure Lady Shenmei sought him out personally.” She grumbled. 

He nodded. “Yeah. We’re pretty sure it’s an alias, but the Zhou family does exist. Someone burned the family records when we got there, though. Your physical description has been helpful, we’ve been able to put out warnings throughout the capital, but there’s still no luck.”

“And you’ve thoroughly questioned the men in custody already?”

Jinshi averted his gaze. “We have, but… well. Some of the guards in charge of the interrogations got a little overzealous.”

Maomao’s frown deepened. “How overzealous are we talking?"

“Two of the men had their jaws accidentally broken, while another was found dead in his cell the morning after his first round of questioning.” He explained. “The royal physician says he succumbed to his wounds overnight.”

She couldn’t hold back a snort. Accidentally. Sure.

Jinshi picked up his teacup, swirling the contents with a weary expression. “You suspect foul play too, I take it.”

Maomao sighed. “I would prefer not to speak on conjecture, sir. It’s not suitable for someone of my station to throw out accusations.”

“Point taken.” He took a sip from his tea, then wrinkled his nose. “Blegh. It’s all cold now.”

“It’s your fault for waiting so long, sir.”

He rolled his eyes. “I know that, just let me complain about something for once. I’m still getting used to the sound of my own voice.”

“Anyways,” He continued before Maomao could retort. “Your archer friend has probably been the most helpful so far. I’ve been able to place more trusted guards around his cell and push back his execution date, on the grounds of gathering more information.”

“How is his ear?” She found herself asking.

Jinshi smiled. “It’s healing very well. The royal physician was impressed. You did an excellent job, as always.”

Maomao dropped her gaze to the table, hiding her face behind her teacup. “I did what I could, given the circumstances. It’s not like it’ll change anything.”

“It won’t. But it’s better than doing nothing, yes? You could have easily left him on the forest floor for the guard to find. You could have also turned me over to the palace the moment you found me.” He was still smiling. It wasn’t his usual maiden-slaying sparkle, but something much more dangerous. He picked up his brush and leaned his chin on one hand. “In fact, for all those great deeds, I think some kind of reward is definitely in order.”

Maomao looked up sharply. “Sir I couldn’t possibly—“

“No, no, let me finish. His Majesty already asked for an audience with you to discuss it, but I convinced him I would take care of it myself.” Jinshi twirled his brush between his fingers, contemplative. “Surely you wouldn’t be against another ox bezoar? But no, no, I can’t gift you the same treasure twice…”

There was a painfully earnest look on his face, something she’d seen a few times before in the rear palace, and Maomao didn’t like it one bit. Though she did appreciate not having to speak with the Emperor face-to-face about her supposed “great deeds”. A servant was simply expected to give her life for the nobles that ran their world, it was no heroic feat. If anything, her initial treatment of him was a wholly executable offense. And treating a wounded man, assassin or not, was simply common decency. She did nothing out of the ordinary, as far as she was concerned, and would very much like to put this whole fiasco behind her. 

“I apologize, sir, but I can’t accept it. I was merely doing my duty as a servant. Rewarding my behavior isn’t proper.” Never mind how her heart jumped at the idea of procuring another ox bezoar. There was an order to these things.

"Allow me to respectfully disagree.” Jinshi hummed, studying her like she was some rare creature only he understood. “You tended to my wounds, allowed me to take shelter in your home, kept me warm, fed me, bathed me, and protected me from my assailants at the risk of your own safety. You gave up a great many things for my sake.”

Maomao frowned at the ‘kept me warm’ part. What an interesting way to word ‘entertained and tolerated my immature behavior’.

Nonplussed, he gave her a wide, grateful smile, one that made her want to cover her eyes. Such a painfully genuine expression should not be bestowed upon someone as lowly as her. “I’d say that’s worth rewarding, no? In my eyes, leaving you here empty-handed is what‘s not proper. We don’t have to mention everything else, it was hardly the worst two weeks I’ve ever experienced.”

His eyes fell to the table, as if recalling something important, and mumbled to himself, “It was even kind of fun…”

Maomao couldn’t help the way her face twisted. Damned masochist. 

“Regardless,” Jinshi continued with a purr, a bit of sly sparkle spilling into his tone. “I’m sure you can think of something, apothecary.”

She was silent. Her first instinct was to bring up a rare herb or ingredient, but it had to be something not too extravagant or rare, otherwise it might come off as unreasonable. It had to be something she could utilize over a long period of time. Jinshi had also given her plenty of such things before, and she still had yet to break in all of them…

Her mind first drifted to dried seahorse. They were not only superbly valuable, making her slightly dizzy at the thought of having some of her own, but were also supposed to be extremely useful in boosting male potency and regulating yang energy. He would probably appreciate it if she shared. 

Although… from the samples she’d seen, they also looked a little bit like tiny limbless dragons. Were the two species related? Would it be taken in bad faith if she asked for some?

Maomao shook her head. Definitely not worth the risk. What else…

“Could I have a cup of your saliva, sir?” She tried, lifting her head slightly.

Jinshi immediately made a face. “You want what?”

“The substance ambergris is a well-known and highly prized aphrodisiac. It also goes by the common name ‘dragon’s drool’.” She explained. “I’d simply like to confirm whether the name is hearsay or not.”

“Are you seriously telling me you think my spit is an aphrodisiac?” He deadpanned.

She shrugged. “The name had to come from somewhere.”

Jinshi pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. “Do you think you could ask for something else? Anything else?”

Maomao frowned. “But–“

“No, Maomao.”

She pouted. It was an honest request. It wasn’t like him having special compounds in his saliva was any more outrageous than… everything else, regarding his condition. She’d already gotten him to bite her, and that test had left her with no notable results besides a sore arm for a few days. If she really wanted to test her ambergris theory, she would need a much bigger sample.

Maybe when he’s sleeping…

Then it hit her. Her eyes flicked to her worktable, where a folded letter sat– delivered to her just a day prior.

“If I may, sir,” She began. Jinshi immediately perked up. “I’d like to make a request.”

---

 

When the young archer stepped out of the carriage, he looked just as bad as Maomao expected. His face was pale and drawn, the scar on his chin was a concerning shade of red, and his left eye was swollen and bruised black. He was still clad in the same black robes he wore on the day of his arrest, only now they were stained, visibly worn, and even ripped in some places. His hands were bound with scuffed iron shackles, his wrists rubbed raw and lined with dried blood, and his fingernails were caked in filth.

Two burly-looking guards accompanied him, their faces severe and focused. Maomao felt it was a little overkill, when the poor man looked one good breeze away from tipping over. He seemed to be resting most of his weight on his right leg, too, wincing visibly when he had to lean on his left. Even standing still, there was a faint tremor in his limbs.

She knew he wouldn’t be faring well, but she still felt a pang of sympathy for the young soldier. There was no way he would be left unscathed until the day of his execution, not when his crime was so severe, and against the esteemed Moon Prince no less. It had only been a few weeks, and yet he looked like he’d been dragged through a war. Maomao felt even worse when she realized she couldn’t remember his name.

Scar-man swayed where he stood, blinking up at the clear blue sky, until his unfocused gaze landed on her. His good eye widened.

“Oh. It’s you.” He croaked, his voice dry as dirt and cracking like a twig. Apparently they’d been withholding his water, too.

Maomao gave him a short bow, before turning toward the tall villa behind them. “If you’ll follow me, sir.”

The archer looked puzzled, but hastily limped forward when one of the guards roughly shoved his shoulder. It took her some effort to remain cool and collected when the action resulted in a hiss of pain. They had only taken a few steps, not even past the gate, but his breathing was already labored. She wished she’d brought more than just some bandages and an antipyretic. 

“What’s this about?” The man asked between pants as he struggled to keep up with her. “Did— does the Moon Prince— need anything from me?”

“No.” She replied simply. “You’ve given more than enough information.”

He sighed. “Did they move up the date, then?”

She hummed. “No.”

He squinted at her. “Then what is it?”

She stopped at a tall, elegant building, around the corner of which sat a wide courtyard. The space was framed by well-tended gardens and elegant pathways, with a small pavilion off to the side, where a handsome woman in purple sat. She smiled when Maomao walked into view, offering a short wave. Next to her, an equally handsome woman in men’s clothes stood stiffly to the side, resolutely looking anywhere but her.

Scar-man only looked even more confused, but with a glance at the guards, kept his mouth shut. He followed her in silence, eyes to the floor in a respectful manner.

“It’s good to see you again, Maomao,” Lady Ah-Duo said cheerfully when she bowed in greeting. “I feel like it’s been too long already.”

Maomao nodded. “It is good to see you too, my lady.”

“You know, Sui won’t say it, but she was most intrigued by the letter you sent.” She shot a smile at the woman standing off to the side. Suirei only offered a slight incline of the head, but Maomao caught how her gaze kept flicking to the archer standing behind her. She looked… uncharacteristically nervous.

“So, who is our guest?” Ah-Duo asked.

The man bowed. He didn’t do a good job hiding his wince. “I am called Wu Gang, my lady.”

Lady Ah-Duo hummed. “You know, that sounds familiar, somewhat. What do you think, Sui?”

Suirei was watching him more intently now. She inclined her head. “It does.”

Wu Gang blinked between the two of them, clearly no less wary than he had been at the start, but his distant gaze landed on Suirei with something akin to recognition. He shifted his feet nervously, the shackles clinking while he picked at his nails.

Lady Ah-Duo’s smile never faltered. She inclined her head to Maomao. “Yue explained everything to me. You’ll find the little ones out playing in the gardens. I’ll still be here if you want to stay a while, though, I’d love to catch up.”

“As would I, my lady.” She replied evenly, before jerking her head to Wu Gang, a silent gesture for him to follow. He obediently clinked after her, but his head turned over his shoulder as he walked, watching Suirei until the winding garden path took them out of sight.

When he faced forward again, it was with an unreadable expression, but the severe lines of his face, carved by starvation and stress, seemed to soften a little. Perhaps he knew Suirei. If his sister had lived in the fox village, then they could have met at some point. Dumb luck was what had saved him in the end, but the same couldn’t be said for the sister. She had confirmed that detail herself.

As they walked, the sounds of high laughter gradually got louder and louder, ringing out like the tinkling of bells echoing off the stone floor. Rounding a small building, they were greeted with the sight of four children chasing each other through the garden pathways, ducking and laughing behind flowering bushes and elegant trees. Seated on the steps, a woman watched on from the shadow of a nearby eave, mending a pair of pants.

Maomao heard Wu Gang shuffle to an abrupt halt. She stopped as well, but didn’t turn around.

“Yina…” She heard a croaky voice breathe in utter disbelief.

One of the boys lunged and smacked his tiny hand on the back of a short girl with a bright, round face. The girl stumbled at the force, then tripped and went tumbling into the grass. She briefly looked like she was about to cry, only to immediately pop back up with a devious smile on her face, now with sticks and strands of green mixed into her black hair.

“I’m getting you for that!” She cried, shoving her dirt-covered hands at the boy, who shrieked and dodged out of the way.

“No! Jiejie just cleaned these!” He yelped when the girl grabbed a fistful of his shirt. “Stop it, you’re getting me all dirty!”

“You pushed me!” The girl shot back, clearly believing herself to be fully justified in her heinous crime. 

At Maomao’s back, there was a quiet snuffling sound. An exhale, wet and shaky. The clinking of shackles. The children played on, heedless of their audience. The boy had taken a clump of dead leaves and thrown them at the girl, only for them to dissipate mid-air and flutter uselessly to the ground. One of the other kids, a pre-teen girl sitting off to the side, burst into giggles.

“How…” She heard him start to say.

“They lost their memories.” Maomao said mildly, as though discussing the weather. “The Moon Prince had them sent here in secret. As far as the world knows, they’re dead.”

Her words were met with a choked sob. When she chanced a look back, she found his gaunt, pale face flushed red and his eyes red-rimmed and shining, cheeks wet with tears. 

“Thank you, apothecary.” Wu Gang said, voice raw and hoarse. He smiled at her with cracked lips, his black eye pulling painfully. “Thank you.”

It wouldn’t change anything. He was set to die only three days from now. He would be hung, and the public would only recall his name as one belonging to a horrible criminal, given relevance only by the man he had tried to kill.

Maomao gave him a short bow. This was the best she could do.

---

The incident involving Jinshi’s mad dash through the pleasure district’s back streets was officially explained as the result of a western noble’s escaped pet. 

The animal people had seen tearing past their homes and leaping over children’s heads was actually a rare beast known as a giraffe, brought to the capital as a gift for the imperial family. It had broken free from its cage while it was being moved, escaped out of the district gates, then fled to the small forest a half-hour away from the city limits. Soldiers were sent to capture it, but they had to kill the poor beast when it suddenly became aggressive.

Jinshi had never seen a giraffe in person. He had seen an illustration, however, and if he tried, he could maybe convince himself that it looked like a dragon. It was certainly an unusual animal, with a long neck, two stubby horns, a short mane running down its spine, and four tall, spindly legs. Its face didn’t scream “aggressive”, however, and he was fairly confident they weren’t purple.

Regardless of his skepticism, the explanation seemed to stick. He caught the story being tossed around as he walked the pleasure district streets, masked and cheerful with Basen at his back. Most of the folks around them spoke of the “giraffe” with a sense of wonder. It wasn’t as though the common man had seen a giraffe before, much less knew its name, so hearing that it was supposedly a long-necked animal with horns and a mane seemed like a decent explanation. 

His outburst, perhaps less convincingly, was explained as an explosion that had occurred at the abandoned lumber mill. The soldiers sent after the giraffe had tried to repurpose one of the millhouses, and in the process, accidentally set off a blast when they sparked a campfire near some forgotten stored chemicals.

What kinds of chemicals? That detail wasn’t known. All they knew was that some of the men ended up injured, the house was destroyed, and a loud explosive sound rang out in the night.

It was a shaky story. Maomao would probably scoff and say “Really? That’s the best you can do?” if he were the one to propose it. But it was the Emperor’s call, and few cared to look into it too much, not when everything had been mostly resolved in less than a week. The rumors and skepticism eventually died down as details dried up and people moved on with their lives. The escaped giraffe and mill explosion was relegated to an interesting blip in history, then quickly forgotten.

Walking through the streets of the pleasure district, Basen at his back and wrapped in the suffocating warmth of his mask, Jinshi could hear the waning interest himself. Just days before, the locals and shopkeepers couldn’t seem to stop talking about the incident. Some tried to claim their wares were related somehow, dropped “fur” from the beast having been woven into their textiles for good fortune, or vials of clear liquid proclaimed to be bottled giraffe sweat, auspicious in nature, so on and so forth. Some were selling ink portraits of the creature, and he had to give it to them; they had managed to strike a near perfect balance between draconic and mammalian features. It didn’t look anything like him, of course, but it was still a nice picture to have. 

Even street performers were acting out their own supposed “experiences” with the “wild giraffe”, with exaggerated effect and several added details that made him want to laugh at the absurdity. He was fairly certain he didn’t shed pearls from his maw or freeze a washerwoman solid with his glare. One child, a little boy he vaguely remembered seeing the face of, claimed to a wide-eyed crowd and a cup full of silver that he saw the beast steal an innocent girl away, surely to take back to its monstrous lair for evil deeds, but after a fierce battle the royal soldiers managed to save her from its clutches.

But now, the excitement had died down, so he was finally able to make his way to the Verdigris House without having to dodge vendors like an anxious child. Just because the gossip had outgrown the source didn’t mean it wasn’t extremely embarrassing having to hear the same inflated anecdote, over and over again.

Yet another reason why he needed to get away from that damn throne. This was a special flavor of hell, one he normally would have been able to manage back in the rear palace when it was just bored serving girls and gossiping concubines… but with the energy and backing of a whole city? Absolutely not. 

Jinshi shook his head, then winced, pinching the bridge of his nose. He waved off Basen’s concern as he made his way to the apothecary’s door, studiously avoiding the too-bright lanterns and burning pots of incense when he saw them. He was already feeling the first pulses of what was shaping up to be a horrible migraine, and if he didn’t sit down soon, the nausea was going to strike at the worst possible moment. He needed to talk to Maomao sooner rather than later.

“Good afternoon, Master Jinshi.” His apothecary greeted, giving him a single nod as he ducked through the doorway before turning back to her yagen.

“Afternoon,” He replied wearily, almost ripping the cloth mask apart in his eagerness to be rid of the infernal thing. Already, his head felt just a tad steadier. Something about the smell of this place never failed to put his mind at ease. He sidled up to where Maomao was standing at her worktable, leaning over her shoulder to watch the dark green mass of dried herbs gradually grind to dust beneath the heavy stone wheel. “What’s this you’re working on?”

“A headache remedy.” She said without looking up. She paused in her grinding briefly to pick up one of many small paper packets lying in a row near the back of the table, holding it out to him while her other hand tipped something yellow and dusty into the yagen’s well. “I’m still trying to work out the taste, the ratio isn’t quite right yet, but if you add this to your tea in the morning, your head should be clear by noon. It’ll improve your focus, too.”

Jinshi almost fell to his knees right then and there. He took the offered packet like it was made of spun glass, something precious and delicate, cradling it carefully in his hands. There was an odd pressure behind his eyes, one that had nothing to do with his oncoming ailment.

“You have been complaining about headaches, right?” Maomao continued, eyeing his dazed expression with some hesitation. “I apologize if I’m being presumptuous, sir.”

“No, no it’s okay! You’re correct, I’ll gladly take it!” He rushed to reply, waving his hands. He shoved the packet of medicine into his robes and tried to give her a reassuring smile in thanks, but it just made her frown deepen.

“Alright…” Maomao looked skeptical, but he couldn’t tell if she didn’t believe his words, or was simply off-put by whatever face he was making. She was regarding him like one would a delirious drunk with a head injury: Hesitant to touch or talk, but nonetheless deeply concerned for their well-being. “If you don’t mind waiting, sir, I’ll be finished with this batch soon. It’s supposed to take effect quicker, if my estimates are correct. You can try them out on different days and tell me which one is more effective.”

“So I’m to be your test subject?” Jinshi joked. When Maomao suddenly stiffened, he shook his head with a fond sigh, uncaring if the motion made him wince a second time. “Ah, don’t look at me like that. If it keeps me from throwing up in some noble’s vase, I don’t mind.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Some would call that ‘too trusting’, Master Jinshi.”

He huffed a laugh and hobbled over to her table, dropping down onto a cushion with a relieved sigh. He still felt a little dizzy, and some of the more pungent herbs hanging by the water barrel made his nose wrinkle and his stomach lurch, but the ache hadn’t become a full-blown migraine yet. He crossed his arms and all but collapsed onto the table, burying his face in his sleeves. Thank goodness he had the foresight to forgo his usual scents that morning.

He heard Maomao cluck irritably, but it was soon replaced by the sound of stone grinding on stone. If he listened closely, closing his eyes and letting his breathing slow, he could make out her murmuring quietly to herself. 

Jinshi didn’t need to lift his head to know what Maomao looked like when she was working. He could picture it clearly; the way her brows would knit in concentration, scrunching the skin above her nose and bunching up some of her freckles, her soft lips moving while she muttered and mouthed silent words, a conversation with herself, the determined glint in her bottomless eyes as she funneled every bit of concentration into her task. There were the gentle thump-thump-thumps of her bare feet scurrying to and fro, the clattering of pots, the rustling of herbs, and the crinkling of paper. 

The sounds of her life, mundane, simple, and busy, yet more beautiful than any grand concert he’d ever sat through. 

It really was pleasant here. The temperature was just the right balance between warm and cool, the table was just the right height to rest his head. A sunbeam from the cracked shutters hit the back of his hair just right, warming it up instantly.

Jinshi wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Maybe he really did doze off for a moment, because between one blink and the next, he went from merely resting his eyes to startling at the gentle clink of a plate touching down. He lifted his head, blinking groggily at the watery outline of his apothecary setting out tea and snacks. The sunbeam had shifted from caressing his head to warming his arms.

“You’re going to ruin your back if you sleep like that often, sir.” Maomao told him dryly, leaning over his shoulder to pour his cup. His eyes followed her while she worked, as if drawn by a magnet. 

“Then I suppose you’ll have to make a bed for me next time.” He mumbled in reply, voice slightly hoarse. He picked up his cup and took a sip, humming at the pleasant warmth as it soothed his dry throat. It tasted slightly bitter, so she must have added her medicine to it.

“I wouldn’t be able to fit one, sir. If you wanted to sleep, the Madame could have set you up with a better room.”

“Mm. And give up my favorite pillow?” Jinshi smiled cheekily at the scowl she shot his way. His jaw cracked with a yawn and he raised a hand to scrub the crust from his eyes. “Even without it, I think I prefer it here. There’s truly nothing you could do?”

Maomao sighed wearily, sitting across from him with all the propriety and manners of a seasoned court lady. How she failed that exam, he’ll never know. “Was there something in particular you needed from me, Master Jinshi?”

Oh. Right. He did have something to report, didn’t he?

Jinshi repressed a groan. He sat up and rolled his shoulders, sighing at the cracks and pops as his spine fixed itself, before straightening to match her posture. All traces of sleepiness in his expression melted away, replaced by sharp clarity. One would think he’d been awake the entire time.

“I have an update regarding the ban xia case.” He began, watching with some satisfaction as she seemed to perk up at the mention. “It took some time to get the details together, but to make a long investigation short, Zhou Dian still hasn't been found.”

Maomao immediately scowled. “Seriously?”

“Every road from the capital has been locked down, so we’re certain he’s still somewhere within the city limits, but yes, he’s still missing.” He continued. “Since we’ve found evidence of moles within the inner court, the emperor has declared the central capital unsafe for the time being. Certain individuals involved in the investigation are to be put under the protection of the royal guard until he’s caught.”

Maomao nodded, and with the motion, he could see how her jaw clenched. Certainly, she thought she was hiding it well. “I understand.”

Jinshi paused. No, hesitated. Here came the main reason for his visit. “Given that… I’m sorry, but I do have a request for you, apothecary.”

She picked up her cup and took a long, long sip. “Am I being transferred back to the rear palace?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

“Am I to be put under house arrest?”

“Not… exactly…”

Maomao put her teacup down, the ceramic gently clinking against the scratched wood of her table. Her hand didn’t leave the cup, one finger gently tracing the rim. She stared at him, her searching gaze pinning him in place, picking him apart. He felt like a butterfly in a display case. “Then what can I do for you, Master Jinshi?”

Here’s the thing: As much as Jinshi tended to think of his dragon as a separate being, a wholly different soul that happened to share his body, it simply wasn’t true. 

Jinshi the man and Ka Zuigetsu the dragon were one and the same. There was no place where his human side ended and his beast began. To refer to his dragon as something wild and foreign, something trapped under his skin to be locked away, would be akin to claiming one’s arm had a mind of its own. Sure, the arm automatically flinched from the pain of fire, stiffened and dropped brushes when tired, and twitched on impulse when confronted with wants, but at the end of the day, it was still fully under the brain’s control. It was a part of you, and you are just as capable of pushing it back into the fire, of picking up the brush, and of ignoring the impulse when it comes. 

Jinshi’s dragon was just another part of himself— it had been since he was born. Changing skins was like changing coats or donning armor. The outer appearance may be different, new protections or skills may be afforded, but the core remained unchanged. He was still Jinshi, regardless of whether he had blunt hands or wicked talons, five fingers or four claws.

So, as a result, he could not blame his thoughts on some othering animal instinct overriding his human mind. 

It was a fact: Jinshi wanted Maomao. 

He wanted her, desired her, wished to have her more strongly than anything else he’d ever known. He wanted to walk by her side until his legs no longer worked, listen to her voice until his ears failed him, and greet every morning in her bed until he drew his final breath. He wanted to bury his face into her soft, smooth hair, fill his lungs with her bitter, earthy scent, get lost in his own head counting every freckle that dotted her face. He wanted to wrap himself around her, on top of her, under her, inside her, and never let go. To keep her, until his flesh rotted, his blood dried, and his bones crumbled to dust.

He wanted to protect her, with his power as a man and his power as a dragon. He wanted to poke and prod and tease her, draw out that exasperated huff, that roll of her eyes, that dry, muttering voice as it chided him. He wanted to surprise her with rare medicines, listen to her giggles while she worked, drink in the intoxicating sight of her joy from afar. He wanted to watch her thrive, to flourish and grow into the most intelligent mind of her generation with his care. He wanted everything she was, is, and could be, all to himself.

Jinshi wanted Maomao so badly it hurt. But he was not a slave to his desires. 

He was not his brother, who would cage his beautiful things and hoard them close, away from the sun. He would never— could never— take someone as rare and beautiful as Maomao and dare to clip her wings. He could never chain her to his side, drag her into his grave with him, force her to live a life of silk robes and painted rouge and practiced smiles. A life that would change her, inside and out, and smother the dancing spark within.

But what Jinshi wanted, more than anything, was for her to want him in return. He would wait as long as it took, until the day he could hold out his hand and watch her take it, not out of duty as his consort or obligation as his servant, but as herself. As Maomao the apothecary. His wife, his best friend, his confidant, and his equal. And if that day never came, so be it. A man could dream.

She was the only woman who ever saw him for what he truly was. Who looked upon his dragon, his long claws and sharp teeth and shimmering scales, and saw not the Moon Prince, not a divine beast, but Jinshi. Just Jinshi. 

What a rare thing, this woman. A rare and beautiful thing.

Jinshi looked at her, then. Maomao’s head was raised, her face blank and eyes focused while she waited for him to continue. Despite the intensity of her eyes, she seemed tense, her back stiff and her grip on her cup rigid, like she feared whatever he would say next.

He sighed, then steeled himself. He still had a long road ahead of him before he could even touch what he desired. The attempt on his life and the Emperor’s order, both were canyons blocking his path. But Jinshi had been falling since the day he was born. What were a few more drops to a man who had spent almost every waking hour of his life clawing his way down?

The gilded chains of heaven were determined to pull him skyward, but he would never turn his face to the sun. He would never abandon the earth that bore him for a vast, empty sky. To fly was to be free of all earthly attachments. Perhaps that was why he could never manage it, even after all these years. Jinshi could not bear to imagine such a horrible fate. Here, in her garden, was where he belonged.

A thousand li journey begins where one stands. All he needed to do was take that first step.

“It’s nothing too bad, I promise,” Jinshi assured her softly. He cleared his throat, shyly scratching a nail under the scar on his cheek, just a tad more pointed than normal. “Officially, I’m to relocate under the guise of attending a banquet."

 

Maomao’s eyes widened, just a fraction. He smiled with sharp teeth, sheepish all the same. “Unofficially, I would like you to accompany me to the Western Capital.”

---

 

 

Notes:

Happy 2026, and thank you all for sticking with me during the holidays! This fic fought me tooth and nail, this chapter especially, and getting sick from my little cousins on top of it definitely did not help lol.

Rest assured, I do have plans for more smaller oneshots in this universe, especially involving the elusive Zhou Dian... but that's for the future. Until then, canon after this point proceeds as it typically does, albeit with a little more tension in the background and some dragon-y flair during the Jinmao moments (and yes that includes LN5). Jinshi absolutely asks Maomao to yank his whiskers again in the future.

Thanks so much for reading!

Notes:

Comments and criticism are very much appreciated! They keep me going more than anything!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of This Palace is a Zoo