Chapter Text
The moon was high.
The wind howled in his ears as he fled, ducking and weaving every obstacle that threw itself in his path. There was shouting behind him, men’s voices, ill intent mixing with barked orders and clanging steel. He could no longer tell any of them apart. Boots thundered across the ground, making the earth rumble beneath his clawed feet.
His head pounded. Every step ached and burned, his vision swimming and his nose choked with blood. His trembling limbs smarted with pain, just barely able to keep his body aloft. There was fire in his belly, something cruel and insatiable and devouring, pure torment for a creature of water. He could barely see where he was going, the light of the full moon his only saving grace.
The poison had yet to leave his system.
He spotted a hole in the outer wall. A thrown sword stabbed into grass at his side, spraying him with dirt. A gargantuan shadow lunged after it, gloved hands grasping for his lithe form, a furious face baring its teeth like a grotesque theatre mask.
He dove. The stone bit into his face, his arms, his sides, scraping glittering amethyst scales from his body and tearing his flesh asunder. He grit his teeth through the pain, tasting blood on his tongue.
It was torture, forcing himself through that tiny gap. Something seized his tail, a cruel vise that tightened like iron, and he heard something snap. Agony exploded through his veins, punching out a choked cry.
There was a whistle, then a soft thok, then a gargled shout. His tail was released. Someone shouted his name– no, not his name. His title. The blood roaring in his ears warped the sound, turning it demented and garbled, spurring him forward. With one last, desperate push, claws scrabbling over stone, he forced himself free.
He didn’t dare look back.
No-one saw him disappear into the night, a bleeding, broken mess. Only the moon was his witness.
He’s late.
Maomao paused in her grinding, looking up from her mortar towards the door. It hadn’t budged, and when she listened, there were no approaching footsteps. The Verdigris House had grown steadily busier as the day progressed, the nocturnal roar of the pleasure district gradually waking from its day-long nap, but to her, it was all background noise. She’d grown up in these halls, catcalling customers and lascivious giggles were as common as chirping cicadas and morning birdsong.
What did stand out, though, was a certain absence of something. Someone.
He’s never late.
Ever since the quelling of the Shi clan’s rebellion, a certain Moon Prince had deigned to visit her lowly shop like clockwork. Once every two weeks, he’d arrive just after noon with a suitably fat purse, masked yet devastatingly handsome, before wasting the rest of the day lounging around on her cushions. He claimed to just want his new scar tended to, but by this point it had long healed over, and he was already running out of viable excuses. It perplexed her, this behavior, but she found she didn’t mind it so much.
He wasn’t too overbearing and he never interfered with her work. He just sat at her table, sometimes with tea, sometimes with snacks, and watched her bustle about the shop, as happy as can be. Some days, he even asked her questions about her medicines, or relayed going-ons from around the palace. If she was lucky, he’d come with a problem. Maomao liked those kinds of visits best. It was refreshing, getting to puzzle out palace mysteries and secrets. Familiar.
Maomao prided herself on being flexible, but in truth she was a creature of habit, and thrived when allowed to settle into routine. Jinshi timed his visits down to the minute. He always stayed well after dark, drifting off through idle conversation on her floor, and by the time the sun sank below the horizon, he was out like a light.
Whenever he appeared at her door, it was with a haggard look in his eye, framed by deep bags and accentuated by dry lips and red eyes. So she made sure he slept through the entire night each time.
He was overworking himself, as she feared, but that was to be expected the moment he cast off his eunuch disguise. Even though one full night of rest couldn’t fix the root cause, it was better than nothing. Better to treat the symptoms if one couldn’t reach the source.
Maomao set down her pestle. It was well past his usual visitation time. The day was almost over. And yet there was no sign of him.
Had he forgotten? Did something come up? It had to be his work, since he so loved to complain about it. Whatever his princely duties were, they took up a significant portion of his time. It made sense they’d take this away from him too.
Still, though. There was an uneasy feeling in her gut, one that twisted and writhed like a drowning worm. She wasn’t hurt by his absence, no, but the more she thought about it the worse she felt. Strange.
What if it wasn’t just work?
Maomao shook her head, standing up to retrieve her paper packets. If anything, he was probably swarmed by eager court ladies and ambitious young nobles. There was no man in the nation more desired than the Moon Prince, even sleep-deprived and scarred. It was only a month or so after her termination at the rear palace, so it’d make sense if more than just work had begun to pile up. Some people liked to bide their time.
Yet, as she slowly poured the powdered medicine into their packets, measuring the amounts down to the grain, she listened.
Nobody approached her door. A low-rank courtesan and her customer stumbled by, giggling and groaning, but other than that, her little shop stayed silent. By the time Maomao herself began to feel her head droop, not a single soul came to disturb her. So she cleaned her worktable, packed her things, and went home. She passed Meimei in the hall and tried not to pay attention to the gentle concern on her face, but could nonetheless feel her sister’s eyes on her as she turned the corner.
The uneasy feeling followed, persistent and heavy. Before she went to bed, Maomao took a pill for indigestion, swallowing it dry.
He couldn’t stay here. His wounds were too great, his energy too sapped. His blood stained the grass, sinking into the earth and infecting the breeze with the suffocating scent of iron. If someone found him like this, he was as good as dead.
She would know what to do. He had to find her.
Choking down the nausea bubbling up his throat, he abandoned his hiding spot and pushed on. His arms and legs wobbled and shook, bending under his weight like willow branches. He could feel them start to shrink with every step. His attempts to outrun his own weakness were failing fast.
His head pounded, his breaths shallow. He was gulping in air like every breath was his last. He had to find her.
His horn caught on a fallen branch, wrenching his head backwards. His claws slipped in the rain-soaked grass, snapping like twigs. He tried to scramble for purchase, but tripped over his own tail and rolled down into a ditch, beneath the jagged roots of a rotted tree. Splintered wood cut into his scales like daggers.
His body screamed for rest, every touch to his cuts like a brand to his flesh. His mind begged him to stop, to let his dragon take control. But he couldn’t stay here. He had to find her.
He forced himself upright and pushed on.
A knock at the door interrupted Maomao’s morning routine.
She looked up, hair half-done. That was odd. A patient? This early in the morning?
“Would you mind getting that for me, Maomao?” Her father asked gently, from where he was knelt counting their firewood.
“Yeah, sure thing Pops.” She said absently.
It took another minute and another knock for her to finally get her hair sorted out. She didn’t usually care about her appearance, but she could at least look presentable for a customer. It was bad taste for an apothecary to be unhygienic.
When she pulled open the door, she found herself face-to-face with a bald, hunched over old man. He gave her a peaceful smile with cracked lips, his wispy beard barely clinging to his chin like moss. Knobby, root-like hands clutched the old branch he used as a walking stick.
“How are you, Maomao?” The old man asked.
“I’m alright, Gramps. Was there something you needed?”
He was one of her many neighbors, a regular customer who occasionally stopped by to treat his aches and pains. He was a kind old man, supposedly a farmer who came to the pleasure district to help out his grandson, but ended up staying after a nasty fall made leaving on his own nearly impossible. At the present, the two loaned one of their fields to Luomen so they could grow their herbs. She never remembered his name, but he didn’t mind when she called him ‘Gramps’, so Gramps it was.
“Nothing for me, but I may have found something you’d like. You love to catch snakes, don’t you?” He said.
Maomao immediately perked up. “I do.”
Gramps turned away and gestured with a weak hand toward his own shack. “Well, my grandson found an odd one on the rocks near our field. Small, but a very bright color, with these strange knobs growing out of its head. I think it’s dead, but my grandson won’t go near it. He thinks it’s cursed.”
“An unusual snake?” Maomao’s hands were shaking before she even realized it.
Gramps continued to smile at her. “I take it you’re interested?”
“I’ll be over in a bit. Let me get dressed first.” She was still in her nightclothes. If she was going to catch something new, she needed to be ready for it.
The old man nodded and began to hobble away at a snail’s pace.
“We found it on the south side of the field, near that cluster of rocks. I don’t think it’ll be going anywhere anytime soon, so take your time.” He called over his shoulder.
“Sure thing!” Maomao replied giddily, giving him a small wave before ducking back inside.
Luomen watched her as she bustled about their shack, flinging off her sleepwear and shoving on her usual robes and skirt with reckless abandon. He raised an eyebrow when instead of her herb basket, she grabbed a small hand-made wooden crate and made a beeline for the door.
“Now what has you so energetic this morning? Was that a customer?” He asked.
“It was just Gramps. His grandson found a weird snake by the fields, I’m going to go check it out.” She replied absently, tugging on her shoes. “I’ll be back before noon!”
“Take care then.” He said after her, only slightly raising his voice. Maomao raised a hand in a half-wave, acknowledging her father’s warning, before she was out the door.
When she approached the fields, she found Gramps’ grandson hovering impatiently by the dirt path. He was a well-built young man, with a long face that reminded her of a horse. He frowned when he saw her, eyeing the crate in her hands warily.
“You’re actually going to try catching that thing?” He said, nervously kicking the ground with his foot.
“Of course.” Maomao chirped, pushing past him to the cluster of rocks. “It might be a new species! I could even make some money, if it’s really as odd-looking as you say.”
Gramps’ grandson sighed, ducking back into his shack. “Do whatever you want. I don’t trust it.”
A flash of light caught her eye as she rounded the building, reflecting off something near the base of the field’s barebones fence. Slowly, she approached the rocks, holding the crate off to the side. The second she saw it, she understood why Gramps’ grandson might be wary of this creature.
Maomao had never before seen such a vivid shade of purple. The snake lay on one of the larger stones, basking in the morning sun, its body twisted like a half-coiled rope. Its scales shimmered in the sunlight like gemstones, faceted and casting colorful geometric reflections over her face and robes. They overlapped in a bizarrely artful manner, like handcrafted fish’s scales rather than the typical leather-like smoothness. It more resembled a drawing or a fine sculpture rather than a living animal. Its head was also oddly shaped, with a square-ish snout and a pit below each nostril, as though something had been pulled out of its face. And on said head, just like Gramps said, were two strange, bony knobs.
It truly was beautiful, with a sort of regality to it that had Maomao hesitating in her approach. Were she of the superstitious sort, she’d be swearing up and down that this was a serpent straight from myth. Some kind of spirit creature, all kinds of trouble packed into a snake as long as her torso. Something to be beheld only by royal eyes.
However, the effect was only slightly marred by the massive bloody patches of bare skin that splattered its body, where scales had somehow been scraped off. Rotten splinters stuck out from some of the scrapes, ranging from needle-thin to long and flat, dulling the torn flesh with dirt. There was also a painful-looking kink in its tail, like someone had stepped on it, and its clear lethargy indicated those wounds had to be severe.
The poor creature was in truly rough shape. Not only because of its injuries, but because of the filthy coat of dried blood, dirt, and dust that dulled the shine of its scales. The fact that the larger cuts weren't flushed with infection was a miracle of its own right. It might not be long for this world.
Something else nagged at her about this snake. She felt she ought to have seen it somewhere before. One of the encyclopedias at the stronghold had a section for snakes, and she recalled marveling at the detailed sketches and colors. Maybe that’s where she encountered this creature.
Odd. You’d think I’d remember seeing a snake with horns.
Giddiness and excitement bubbled up within her. If this snake had appeared in an apothecary’s book, then it must be worth something– if not for its scales, then perhaps its venom. Now that was something she simply had to know.
In the animal kingdom, it was sort of an unwritten rule that the more brightly colored the animal, the more likely it was to be poisonous. With how brilliant this snake’s color was, even covered in filth, and in such a rare shade, that meant she could likely look forward to a truly wonderful afternoon.
Grinning, Maomao put her crate in the grass, knelt down, and hovered above the sleeping serpent, arms poised to snatch it before it could wake up. It was pretty small despite its odd features, just slightly larger than a common rat snake, so capturing it should be no problem.
Oddly, the snake didn’t react. It just lay there, flat on its belly, staring off into the distance. She lowered her hands closer. Its eye flicked toward her, and something unusual shone in them– a spark.
In her experience, snakes were very difficult to read. Their eyes were glassy and belied no real intelligence, their faces stiff, so in order to discern their next move, one had to watch their body language. They could strike without a hint of warning, their simplicity making them equal parts dangerous and unpredictable.
This snake, however, felt different. When it looked at her, Maomao actually felt like she was being watched, and intently at that. There was something behind those obsidian eyes, and it only fed her curiosity like wood to a wildfire. And to her surprise, instead of moving away, when she brought her hands closer, the snake visibly relaxed.
There was some decent muscle in its coils, enough to make her worry it wasn’t venomous, so she could see the tension flow from them. Its head lolled to the side, lifting part of its belly from the rock.
Maomao could practically hear the last of her restraint snap. She lunged forward and seized the snake with practiced ease, one hand below its head and the other around its lower body, carefully avoiding its injuries. The snake’s mouth snapped open in response, a strangled squeak! escaping its throat, thrashing and twisting like a caught eel. She was granted a full view of its toothy maw– far more complex than she expected, structured moreso like a dog’s mouth, with two pairs of long fangs heralding rows of dagger-like teeth.
Maomao’s grin was positively manic. She couldn’t wait to feel their bite. Whatever venom this serpent carried, it must be potent.
As quick as she could, she dumped the snake into her crate and slammed down the lid. She could hear it banging against the inside, shaking the crate with surprising strength for its small size, but she simply sat on top of it and waited for the creature to calm down. She had built this crate herself and caught many snakes with it, as well as lizards, frogs, and some larger insects. The gaps were thin enough to let air in without allowing anything to escape.
“Did you get it already?”
Maomao turned to see Gramps’ grandson watching her, looking apprehensive. He stared at the jumping crate with no small amount of fear, but that fear seemed to increase tenfold when he glanced at her face.
She slapped her hands on her cheeks. Shit, I’m smiling too much.
“I-It was no problem. It appears to be wounded, so it didn’t put up much of a fight.” She said, struggling to keep the excitement from overtaking her. The crate let out a particularly loud thump at her words, as if the snake were protesting her assessment. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it for you.“
If it wasn’t venomous, then she could probably still sell it. An animal this beautiful and rare, there was bound to be a noble willing to shell out some silver just to have it as a pet. Maybe the Verdigris could put it on display, to entice customers with certain tastes. She’d have to see if its wounds could be healed, but even if the scales didn’t grow back, its value was still apparent. If it died, its skin would fetch a fair price, and she’d get a nice meal out of it. Either way, for her, it was a win-win.
Maybe I could get it stuffed… She thought. Taxidermy wasn’t a common practice, but it might be worth looking into. The madame might be willing to fund some of it if she played her cards right.
Gramps’ grandson didn’t look convinced, but nodded anyways and ducked back into his shack. Maomao let out a gleeful cackle the moment he was gone, kicking her legs against the ground like a cheerful toddler.
The shop could stand to wait a little longer before opening. She had a new poison to test.
Jinshi was slowly coming to realize he had perhaps not thought things through.
He’d gotten some rest, a meager dual-hour, and he’d found his apothecary before the men after his hide could. The bleeding had largely slowed, the sickly burn of infection kept at bay, and when he awoke to panicked voices, the incessant pounding in his skull had subsided. His body was finally given a chance to settle down and start healing.
But, in his haste, he’d somehow forgotten what he looked like. Not only that, but he’d forgotten a very, very important fact about Maomao. A fact he was violently reminded of when she’d seized him by the neck like a mad strangler.
“I’m home, Pops!”
Her voice rang clear and bright, like the chime of a bell through the gaps in his prison, tinkling with laughter. Muffled bumps, the clunk of wood on stone, rustling fabric, then the slow thump-thump-thump of Luomen’s cane.
Oh, that’s right. We granted him some time off, didn’t we? Maomao had insisted.
He couldn’t see much from within the crate, as Maomao had thrown a blanket over it after dumping him in an unused corner of her shack. All he had to work with were audio cues.
Jinshi lifted his head to try for a better listen, but immediately stopped with a hiss. Some of the deeper gashes had reopened during his prior thrashing fit. They wept sluggishly, sticky against his scales in the humid air. The burning pain that seared through his nerves made his first scar feel like a shallow cut. It struck him, then, how Loulan could have easily done far, far worse.
”You closed up shop early today?” He heard Luomen say, in that gentle grandmotherly voice.
“Yep!” Maomao chirped back. Was it just him, or did she sound closer? “I told Grams I might have found a good money-maker, and she let me leave to test it out. All I had to do was mention silver and pay some of the rent early.”
“Hmm. And if your new friend doesn’t prove worthwhile?”
Maomao hummed. “It will. There’s no way it won’t. Even if it’s not venomous, I’ll still be able to sell it. I’m not letting such a rare specimen go without checking every avenue.”
Jinshi shrank into himself, coiling his body tight. He really didn’t think this through.
“May I have a look at this ‘rare specimen’?” Luomen asked. “If it really is rare, you could be handling someone else’s property.”
“Oh!” It sounded like Maomao hadn’t considered it. “O-Oh, you might be right.”
“If you’ve brought in someone’s injured pet, I believe it may be in your best interest to tend to it before running any experiments.”
There was a beat of silence, broken only by quick footsteps. Someone was probably pacing. When Maomao spoke again, she sounded positively crestfallen. “You’re right, Pops. I’ll ask around at the Verdigris tomorrow.”
Something in Jinshi twinged, upset, before he caught himself. Why was he feeling bad for her, when she wanted to use him as a test subject? When she wanted to sell him?
A vision appeared to him, of himself in his frail state, locked in an iron cage while his Maomao hawked and bartered with faceless noblemen. Completely powerless as silver changed hands and contracts were signed. Shipped off to an unknown fate, never to see her or the palace ever again.
Jinshi shivered, and then became even more distraught when he realized a tiny part of that dire future didn’t seem all that bad. There had to be something deeply, deeply wrong with him.
”Very good.” Luomen replied with approval, an answer to a question Jinshi’s panicked mind had missed. “I understand you have your passions, but you mustn’t be so hasty, Maomao.”
“Understood.”
More footsteps, then a rustle of clothing.
“Alright, c’mere you precious little thing.” He heard Maomao giggle (She giggled, he’d never heard her giggle before, not over him), before the lid was suddenly lifted and the crate was flooded with light.
All at once, his senses were immediately and wonderfully overwhelmed.
Maomao.
The way she smiled at him, it was a look he’d only ever seen directed at rare medicines. He’d seen something similar when he gave her that ox bezoar, all those months ago. Jinshi tried not to stare, but he couldn’t help soaking in the sparkle in her eyes and the sheer blinding joy radiating off her like sunbeams, the happiest he’s ever seen her in his presence. Heavens above, there was even a trickle of drool running down her chin.
Jinshi wondered if she’ll ever look at him like that. The real him, instead of what he is now. He wondered if she’ll ever call him precious and actually mean it. What a thing that would be.
He doubted she ever would. In her world, medicines and poisons were her one and only love. She mostly tolerated his presence, despite his best efforts. It’s a hope as faint as it is unlikely.
Lost in his musings, he doesn't notice she’s reached into the box until her fingers were wrapping around his throat.
Jinshi snapped back to reality and began to struggle, but her grip was rock-solid. She held him down with ease that indicated clear experience, deceptively strong. When he tried again to move, she squeezed threateningly, cutting off his breath. He stopped trying after that.
“Here it is, Pops.” She said, presenting his stiffened form to the elderly doctor. Jinshi tried not to squirm under the extra attention, gritting his teeth through the pain as his injuries were jostled.
“Hmm.” Luomen calmly looked him over with narrowed eyes, from his distinctly not-snake-like snout, to his bleeding wounds, to his plum-colored scales. His gaze stopped briefly on his head, on his shrunken horns, before smoothly moving on. The doctor’s face was unreadable, and if Jinshi could sweat like this, he would be drenched from snout to tail.
Finally, he pulled away. “My girl, I believe you have found something very rare indeed. It’d be in your best interest to treat this creature with care.”
Maomao audibly deflated, her grip on him loosening.
He fixed her with a knowing look, smiling placidly. “Even if he doesn’t belong to anyone, I would advise against dissections. No pickling or scraping either, for that matter.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the apothecary frown, clearly displeased. But she nodded anyway. “Fine.”
“I have a patient who wishes to see me before my return to the palace. When I come back, Maomao, I expect to see him cleaned up and alive. Am I understood?”
“Yes, dad...”
Luomen’s smile grew a fraction. He patted her on the head, before taking his cane and hobbling to their worktable to gather his things. When he left, Maomao let out a long, dramatic sigh.
“You’ve got to be special if even Pops wants you alive. He never really cared before.” She lifted him to her face, deep blue eyes searching. Jinshi tried to keep as still as possible, resisting the urge to swallow.
After a beat, Maomao shrugged and briskly walked over to the worktable. She gently set him down on a rolled-out piece of cloth, keeping her hand on his neck as she reached into her robes for something. Jinshi felt a little too much like a fish on a chef’s table, moments away from being carved up. The sharp glint in Maomao’s eye and the twitching smirk on her lips didn’t help.
With one hand, she withdrew a shiny pair of tweezers and slowly began to pluck the splinters from his flesh, one by one. Jinshi winced and flinched, eyes starting to water, but each attempt to move was met with another warning squeeze. So he swallowed his protests and complied best he could.
“Normally, I’d expect more fighting,” Maomao muttered to herself as she worked. “Interesting…”
When she finished, depositing the bloody shards of wood off to the side, she gently dabbed at the weeping cuts with a damp cloth.
He shouldn’t have been so twitchy with the splinters, because cleaning felt significantly worse. It stung like no tomorrow, punching a grunt from deep within his throat, but he bit his tongue and rode it out. Maomao gave him another curious look, one he tried to ignore by staring straight ahead. When the dirt and crusted blood had been thoroughly wiped away, she closed the whole ordeal off with a rough bandage.
“I suppose I can’t have you dying before I can use you.” Maomao said to herself as she turned him over, a devilish smile twisting her lips.
Pinned by the neck while she moved on to the next injury, Jinshi’s stomach flipped at her remark.
Hm.
He’ll have to unpack that later.
His head had begun to grow foggy. He felt oddly safe, despite the hand on his neck and the constant smarts of pain as Maomao worked. Her fingers were soft, yet at the same time rough, honed by years of physical labor and hard work. She wasn’t trying to be accommodating, absolutely not, but every time one of those lovely hands brushed against his scales, it soothed him better than any tea or balm. If he tried, he could pretend she meant every accidental gesture.
It should be concerning, how easy it was to give up control. Every stimulus was muffled, save for Maomao’s touch. His mind had sunken into an almost pleasant haze, like she’d taken his brain and dunked it in honey. A far cry from the muddled confusion that had wracked his mind when he was first poisoned.
Whatever toxin they used, it likely would have killed him, if not for his other self. It was a subtle killer, one that waited hours until it struck. It wasn’t until he was dragging his feet home from an audience with the Emperor, utterly exhausted and irritable, that the first symptoms had started to appear.
First his skin began to heat, his heart beating so quickly it threatened to shatter his ribs. Then his mouth began to tingle, drying up like he’d stuffed it full of cotton. His thoughts began to slow, his vision blurring, and his breaths came short and shallow. His arms and legs started to seize, joints locked and muscles spasming, as if alive and begging to be free from the confines of his body.
By the time the poison’s fire had started to eat through his veins, a searing, agonizing pain that made him want to claw his skin apart just to let the blazing heat out, Gaoshun had sounded the alarm. And as soon as the call left his lips, almost half of the guards stationed around him suddenly turned on their compatriots.
His human body would have succumbed quickly. It was only because his dragon had come roaring to the surface, filling his veins with royal blood blessed by the heavens, blood he so hated for tying him down since birth, that he had managed to escape alive. Weakened and wounded, shrunken down to less than a twelfth of his dragon’s true size, and with his would-be killers hot on his trail, but mercifully alive.
Once he got back to normal, he’d have to find a proper way to thank her for this. Something preferably not poisonous, though, since she’d likely ask for a real snake to replace the one she’d lost.
“There!” Maomao’s voice broke through the fog, her hands suddenly pulling away, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. Instead of cloth under his belly, he felt rough wood. When had they moved? “Now don’t move. I’ll be back for you soon.”
Groggily he lifted his head, blinking the world back into clarity. Somehow he’d gone from the worktable to back inside the crate. The lid was replaced, plunging him into darkness. Once his eyes re-adjusted, he looked himself over, angling his long body into the slivers of light peeking through the gaps.
He was met with tight, yet soft and clean bandages, covering each patch of bare skin he’d scraped free of scales in his initial escape. He still smelled like blood, but he wasn’t sticky or at all damp. At the end of his tail, he saw a small splint crafted from a thick twig, correcting the break.
It was a damn good job. He felt Maomao‘s skills might be wasted living as just an apothecary, she’d make a fine physician if such a thing were allowed. Maybe he could pull some strings once this was all over…
The crate lurched. Someone, probably Maomao, had picked it up and was now carrying it somewhere. She appeared to be taking more care now, since he didn’t rock or slide about nearly as often as he had when she’d first captured him. Jinshi felt his eyes slowly start to close.
I wonder if she saw me blink… He thought as he began to drift. It might make things easier... she’s smart…
She’s… so smart…
By the time the lid opened again, Jinshi was sound asleep.
“I haven’t heard anything, no. Sorry, Maomao.”
“Eep! I’m sure it does belong to someone, but I have no idea who. Can you put the lid back on please?”
“I think we’d know if a man that rich spent some time with us…”
“Ew! Ew, ew, ew, you touched that thing? Wash your hands! Wash them right now!”
“If it isn’t a pet, do you think I could get some of those scales? They’d look so pretty sewn into the right garment…”
“AUGH! Get that nasty creature away from me!”
Maomao faked a sigh, trying to contain the unbridled joy that threatened to burst her heart like a balloon. None of her sisters had any information related to the snake. Not even the middle and lower-ranked courtesans could give her a hint of a lead. Most of them refused to even spare a look at her delicate cargo.
A serpent like this, if it truly were a lost pet, its owner would for sure be kicking up a fuss. Once, a minister from the west had lost a rare bird, and the news of it reached all the way to the central capital. There were guards combing the streets for days until it was eventually recaptured.
But barely anyone recognized her specimen. She had tried to be thorough, checking in at some of the other brothels outside the Verdigris, as dealing with missing property was no joke. There were rumors of an attempted assassination on a noble at the rear palace, but when she’d asked further, it didn’t seem to be founded in reality, and the sources were dubious at best. So she returned empty-handed.
It was, to put it bluntly, absolutely perfect .
Maomao took her time hauling the crate home, shivering through her coat as the evening frost crept across her cheeks. Its occupant had slept the entire day away, and strikingly, it did so with closed eyes. She was almost entirely certain this was a new species; Of a snake’s many most notable features, one such trait included eyes with no lid. They never blinked, and always appeared to be awake, even while resting. Many people found it creepy.
People who weren’t Maomao, that is.
Tomorrow morning, She thought to herself, pushing the crate close to the crackling fireplace, before adding an extra log. Winter was on its last legs, but the nights were still brutal to the unprepared, so she needed to take care if her experiment was to survive until morning. Tomorrow morning, you’re all mine.
When he was little, Jinshi used to hide inside closets to get away from his tutors.
They weren’t cruel, absolutely not, but some days he just didn’t want to be bothered and had no energy for lessons. So he hid, stifling his giggles while Gaoshun and his mother combed the palace looking for him. Sometimes they’d find him, but most of the time they’d sic Basen on his trail. That always had him springing from his hiding place, since Basen’s preferred method of searching was to dump out every closet, box, and drawer that wasn’t nailed down.
Back then, Jinshi had liked the feeling of being tucked away in a little box. The darkness was comforting, the closed walls around him sturdy and strong. It made him feel safe, as if nothing could ever reach him so long as he stayed hidden. He was in his own little world, all to himself.
Now, though, as he curled into himself like a pile of rope, the midnight chill brushing icy claws over his exposed skin, the darkness felt anything but safe.
The rough wooden floor of the box felt itchy under his soft underbelly, scratching and catching on his scales. There was no insulation of any kind, the thin gaps in the boards almost taunting as they allowed just about everything in, but nothing out. No matter how tightly he coiled, the thin wood and freezing wind drained his meager body of heat, his energy waning the longer he was exposed. Maomao had placed his box by the fireplace, a thoughtful move, but it had long since died down to embers. The paltry warmth it offered could be felt, just barely, but it wasn’t nearly enough.
Jinshi needed to get out of here before he froze to death. As he was now, he couldn’t regulate his own body temperature, and while other serpents could probably survive this, he very much wouldn’t. His dragon, for all its strengths, was still significantly weakened. It had spent so much energy healing his injuries, that once it was faced with a drastic drop in temperature, it couldn’t even muster a shiver.
And if the cold didn’t get to him first, something else surely would.
One could argue Maomao’s little home in the pleasure district was the perfect place to hide. Nobody would think to comb the brothels, restaurants, and slums for a royal dragon, nobody sane at least. It was dangerous on its own, but since he had his apothecary, he trusted she could keep him safe.
Provided she didn’t kill him first.
She wouldn’t do that, right?
He shivered. Maomao didn’t know who he was, but surely she wouldn’t kill such a ‘rare specimen’, as she put it. She’d at least want to study him or run experiments first.
An image flashed in his mind, of his lovely Maomao pinning him by the neck to her worktable, beautiful blue eyes glittering like the sharpest of daggers as she raised her scalpel, her face overcome with a grin fit for a demon. Not a hint of recognition in her expression, no matter how frantically he thrashed or loudly he shrieked. He pictured that scalpel cutting into his flesh, cold as ice, her movements methodical and calculated as she sliced him to pieces. Reducing him to a dissected lump of meat. Unrecognizable.
Jinshi shivered again, tucking his numb snout into his coils. That didn’t sound promising either.
He just had to hope his wounds would heal before she got any ideas. His dragon always healed fast, provided he got enough food, rest, and most importantly, warmth.
Maybe I could find a way to tip her off to my identity…
He trusted her, even though a not-insignificant part of himself screeched at the idea.
But despite his trust in her, there was always a risk. If someone ever broke into Maomao’s shack, he’d be powerless to protect her. Even at his pitiful size, he could still distract them, lead them away while she escaped somewhere safe. Now, though, he was as good as a sitting duck. He had no idea how close his pursuers were to finding him. He knew there had to be a counter-hunt led by palace guards, but it was all a matter of who got to him first.
He had to get better. For her sake, and for his.
Mind made up, Jinshi slowly raised his head. He was already sluggish, his thoughts the only part of him still running at top speed. Not good.
With as much effort as he could muster, he nudged the lid off his box with his snout. It took several tries, including an unfortunate setback when a splinter stuck itself into his lip, wasting a precious few minutes trying to dig it out. But eventually, he was victorious, pushing open a gap large enough to fit through.
Jinshi still had no claws to speak off, his body having shed them alongside his mane and whiskers to conserve energy. His brother said it was so he could hide easier, his body changing so it could be mistaken for a regular serpent and left alone while it healed. It was always a last resort.
He couldn’t think of any snakes that had purple scales and tiny horns, but whatever. It’s not like he could ask whoever designed his dragon.
His feeble body straining, he pulled himself up and out of the crate, tumbling to the floor with a quiet thump that made his head spin. When he recovered, he looked across the room, and his heart sank when he realized just how far he had to go. But no matter. It was quite literally life or death.
So began the long, slow trek across Maomao’s frigid wooden floor, from his crate in the corner to where she dozed alongside her father. Perhaps he should thank the heavens she placed his crate on the same side of the room she slept in. He didn’t think he’d be able to make it if he had to go around Luomen.
Mind already fogging at the edges, he pushed his increasingly numb body onward. Every centimeter gained meant more strength sapped from his flesh, the elements uncaring in their assault upon him. Winter nights were always rough for those with dragon’s blood, but now they were downright punishing.
He approached Maomao’s sleeping form. Her face was turned away, her side rising and falling with her breaths. The blanket covered the lower half of her face, pulled up high to trap in as much warmth as possible. Her hair fanned out on the ground above her, the dull green almost shimmering in the moonlight. She was completely and utterly dead to the world.
Jinshi could already feel the blessed warmth escaping from a small gap in her blanket, next to her head. The heat brushed his face with comforting fingers, a siren’s song to his aching coils.
Part of him felt disgusting for even trying this, what little he could feel of his scales prickling with discomfort. She might kill him, if she wakes up before he does. Maybe he’d deserve it.
But if he wanted to recover to his full size, at least enough to where he could become human again, Jinshi needed heat.
So, muttering a quiet apology, he ducked his head and slipped inside.
Like most days, Maomao woke long before sunrise. She stared at the dim ceiling, her eyes tracing the rafters, blinking away the crust that had built up overnight. Her slow, shaky breaths misted in the brisk morning air.
Luomen dozed quietly beside her, his blanket pulled high. He didn’t stir when Maomao sat up, a shiver wracking her body as more of her bare skin was exposed to open air. Last night had to have been one for the record books, the temperature had dropped so fast she’d thought she was going crazy. She cast a glance at the fireplace, finding it a faintly smoldering pile of ash.
Hm. Maybe she should have added two extra logs.
Maomao yawned, so wide her jaw cracked. She blinked again, before reaching up to wipe the rest of the sleep from her eyes. Her left forearm ached.
She gradually stood up, wincing at the sensation of icy wood under her bare feet. As she pawed around for her robes, her tired eyes fell on a small crate in the corner. The blanket had slid off onto the floor, and the lid had been pushed askew.
Maomao stared at it, half-awake and uncomprehending. Her forearm ached again. Something smooth shifted against her skin.
She lifted her arm. Wrapped tightly around it, coils covering her bandage like a shimmering silk scarf, was her specimen.
Maomao blinked. The snake’s eyes were closed. It let out tiny, almost imperceptible snores with each exhale, its chin resting on her bicep. Just under its nostrils, she saw a single pair of tiny, barb-like growths, like catfish whiskers. The bony knobs had also somehow lengthened and grown a second prong.
The bandages she’d meticulously wrapped around its body had torn and slid down at some point, revealing smooth, unblemished scales where there had once been violent slashes and cuts. The splint was still in place, but the crooked kink in its tail had practically vanished.
It had been one night, just one night, and yet it looked fully healed.
She straightened her arm, watching the snake’s coils stretch out with the movement. Was it just her, or did it look bigger?
Maomao supposed she’d be forgiven if she were to panic. While she didn’t fear snakes, letting them wrap around your body and crawl all over you was a different matter entirely. Especially mysterious purple snakes with intelligent eyes, whiskers, and horn-like protrusions jutting from its skull.
To put it in simple terms, she didn’t panic, per se, but she did violently whip her arm to the side, flinging the clingy sleeping serpent across the room.
It hit the wall with a meaty thunk, its eyes flying open as it let out a startled yelp. It tumbled to the ground in a tangled heap, hissing and writhing, and Maomao watched it intently. Her brain was still waking up, but something told her to keep an eye on this creature.
The snake rolled onto its belly, shakily raising its head. Its huge eyes flitted about the room, unfocused, before it was suddenly overcome with a fully-body wince. A violent shudder wracked its coils, and it began to whip its head from side to side, as if urgently searching for something. Its gaze briefly rested on the dying fireplace, and another shudder punched a chatter from its fanged jaws.
Perhaps she was still not quite awake yet, because something compelled Maomao to kneel onto the chilled floor. She extended a hand, and the snake whirled toward her at the motion, and its slitted eyes locked onto her, unfocused. Her hand rested loosely on the ground, as if she were inviting it back. After a beat, the gesture somehow seemed to register in the reptile’s tiny brain. The way it visibly brightened was almost frightening.
In truth, Maomao just wanted it at a distance where she could properly handle it, instead of slithering freely around her house.
The snake didn’t know this, however, and eagerly slid towards her across the floor, like a dog responding to its master’s call. She resisted the urge to run at the sight of a gigantic serpent rapidly approaching, staying as still as possible, muscles tensed. When it reached grabbing distance, she did just that, quickly seizing it with both arms and holding it out at arms’ length.
The snake made another strangled sound, not quite a hiss, but made no move to bite. There was a look in its eyes that, if she weren’t of rational mind, might have appeared utterly distraught. If anything, it seemed even more disoriented than when she’d flung it into a wall, opening and closing its mouth like a gasping fish.
Its long fangs glinted in the blue light of dawn, smooth, sharp, and perfectly white.
An idea struck her like a rock to the head, knocking her into full awareness. A quick glance at her father’s sleeping mat told her he was still out. The sun was up, but the slums had barely stirred, only a few early-risers shuffling and creaking about outside. She had half an hour max before Luomen woke to go tend to their fields.
With one hand firmly gripping the snake below the head, ignoring the way its body twisted and wrapped around her arm, Maomao rushed to her worktable. She lit the lantern hanging above it, then pulled out a leaf of paper from one of her personal drawers. She quickly jotted some notes down on it, pressing the snake against the table to quell its struggling. Master Jinshi had generously brought her some scraps during one of his visits, after she offhandedly mentioned missing having it on hand, and they proved quite useful in recording her experiments.
Working quickly, she pinned her specimen with her elbows to free her hands and loosened the bandage on her testing arm. The snake, oddly, went almost completely limp. Maomao didn’t pay much mind. She had a time limit to keep track of. Once the preparations were finished, she re-adjusted her grip and lifted the snake into the air.
It was already agitated and confused, as well as seeking body heat. Her father was sound asleep. Maomao, meanwhile, was awake and alert. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
“Dose one,” She whispered to herself, swallowing down the tremble in her voice. Sweat had begun to bead across her brow, a broad smile tugging at her lips. She shook her left arm to let the loosened bandage slip the rest of the way off. “Administering the first bite, in three… two…”
Raising her forearm, she brought it to the snake’s head, just close enough to barely brush against its snout. Her grip on its neck loosened, allowing it to slip forward from her grasp and rear back. Maomao’s pulse jumped as it opened its toothy maw, long fangs flashing in the dawn light, and–
And nothing.
It stopped. The snake had stopped moving completely, frozen in place like a statue. And rather than bite like she wanted, like any normal animal would, it just stared at her scarred skin with wide eyes. Its mouth hung open, fangs tantalizingly close, its short whiskers twitching. But it moved no further.
“Come on,” Maomao urged, shaking it a little. The snake bobbed with the movement, but didn’t budge. Frustration clawed at her, building with every second the stupid thing refused to move. “Bite already!”
The serpent’s eyes flicked to her, then back to her arm. Maomao felt increasingly more upset, as if she’d been running a footrace she’d spent years training for, only to trip just before the finish line. Was there something wrong with it? Did she handle it incorrectly and break something?
Clicking her tongue in irritation, she thrust her arm into the snake’s face, slotting it roughly inside its open mouth. Its fangs grazed her skin, a delicious sting that promised so much more. Her heart sang at the contact.
But to her utter dismay, the snake actually pulled away . It closed its jaws, shaking its head and smacking its lips like it was trying to get the taste of her skin out of its mouth. Maomao could feel something snap inside her, a seething anger suddenly overtaking her senses.
“What’s wrong with you?” She demanded in a hissed half-whisper, shaking it with a lot more force. The snake made a pitiful warbling sound, like a dying goose. It only made her madder. “What, do I need to starve you first? Do I need to skin you over a fire? Why aren’t you biting?”
She stopped shaking it. The snake blinked and swayed side to side, dizzy, but when it settled, its eyes met hers. She stared at it, just long enough to catch that something flashing in its gaze– that strange spark in its eyes, the one that made her feel uncomfortably watched– before the snake reared back once more. It opened its mouth, but squeezed its eyes shut, like it feared what was about to come next.
It stayed like that, unmoving. Then it cracked one eye open to look at her, almost pleadingly. Was it asking permission?
It wasn’t until Maomao snapped out an annoyed “ Well? ”, jerking her arm and fixing it with her harshest glare, that the snake broke out of its strange trance.
It made an odd sound, like a strangled whimper, before it suddenly lunged forward and sank its fangs into her arm.
Glorious, glorious pain shot through her like lightning. Maomao released a sigh at the familiar burning sting, a small giggle trailing at its edges. Her pain tolerance muffled the sensation, so it wasn’t nearly as severe as it could have been, but it truly never got old.
She watched the snake’s body twist and curl, latching tightly around her good arm like a living rope. A small trickle of blood ran down from its scaly lips, dripping onto her worktable. After a moment of relishing in the feeling (she hadn’t been able to run proper snakebite tests in a long, long time) she gave the unusual serpent a few tugs, and it promptly unlatched.
Interesting. She usually had to pry them off.
Maomao studied the bite with a pleased smile, admiring it in the way a court lady would admire a new manicure. Another rivulet of blood oozed from one of the larger punctures. Evidently, the snake had some decently-sized teeth.
She was correct in her earlier observation. The tooth structure was not like that of a typical snake. It had prominent fangs, but they weren’t slim and narrow, instead rounded and thick, like a dog’s. It seemed this animal was built not for quick strikes, but ripping and tearing.
When she glanced back at the puzzling creature, she found its neck wrapped loosely around her wrist with its head resting on the back of her hand, a positively miserable look in its eyes. It resembled both a deflated ox intestine and a depressed dog that had just been scolded.
Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t a snake. If she were not of sound mind, she might think it was some kind of dragon. A subspecies, maybe. It definitely bore a striking resemblance to the legendary beasts she’d glimpsed while at the rear palace, great snake-like beings that twisted and soared over imperial garments and grand tapestries. Rumors flitted about the palace and beyond that those with imperial blood were blessed by such creatures, able to call upon their power in times of need. But Maomao was not the type to believe in such fantasies. Nor was she the type to cry “dragon” when it was more likely a species of reptile she’d never seen before.
A limbless type of lizard, perhaps? If that were the case, it probably wasn’t venomous, but she’d heard of a lizard that lived in an island nation to the south, one with toxic drool that would slowly kill its prey after one bite. But those lizards were reportedly massive, able to take down and devour entire goats, if the trader she’d spoken to could be believed. Her specimen was decently large, sure, but only slightly longer than her torso. It wasn’t especially thick either, as she could wrap one hand around its body with little effort.
She could have sworn it was smaller when she first caught it, but maybe she’d been mistaken.
There was also its… awareness. The way it seemed to display emotions and intelligence, despite its stiff, scaly face. The way it acted as though it understood the words she spoke and the expressions she made. Like there was a conscious mind behind those dark, slitted eyes, a dancing spark that became harder and harder to ignore.
That was something she chose not to ruminate on.
Maomao studied her bite. There was no immediate swelling, nor a burning sensation at the wound site. There wasn’t the feeling of pressure or immense weight weighing her arm down either. The bite stung, and the edges of it were faintly numb, but the pain had mostly faded. That could be easily blamed on her pain tolerance rather than symptoms of an envenomed bite. She‘d bled freely after the creature first let go, but now it was starting to slow as her body worked to close the punctures.
Her expression twisted, unsure if she should be disappointed or intrigued. Regardless, it was entirely new information, so she picked up her brush and jotted her observations down under Dose one. Even if she didn’t get to endure a new type of venom, this was still a new experience, and the feeling was almost as good.
Maybe this type of creature had a painless bite, only for it to get worse when left untreated. Maybe it was a slow-acting poison. She’ll have to wrap the bite and give it some time. Maybe it’ll hit her later tonight, when she least expected it!
Reinvigorated, Maomao re-wrapped her bandage and took a firm hold of the creature’s head. It had barely moved, even when she easily shook it off to write and let it drop onto the table. It hadn’t tried to escape once in the two days since she’d caught it, so she was confident it wouldn’t try now.
It was this confidence that drove her to pry open its jaws with both hands, leaning in close to get a good look at its teeth.
The not-serpent’s whiskers twitched (had they gotten longer?), but it remained still in her hold. Two canines, on top and on the bottom, with a row of sharp incisors before and after them. The back teeth were flatter, like her own, indicating a diet of more than just meat. Its tongue was also, distinctly, not forked, but pointed at the tip.
Slowly, she traced the curve of a fang with her fingertip. Sharp, very sharp, but also smooth, almost like glass. When she pulled her finger away, a thin, clean, near-imperceptible cut began to grow red as blood welled to the surface. Maomao hummed, fascinated, and stuck her finger in her mouth to keep any more blood from getting onto her clothes.
Her specimen made a faint keening sound, its tail shifting restlessly. Maomao took pity on the creature and released it, letting it gather itself in a tight coil on her worktable, as if it could hide from her using its own body. She ignored its antics and calmly added the new information to her notes, flicking a watchful eye to her captive audience between characters.
“What are you, I wonder?” She muttered, when she saw it made no move to flee despite having ample opportunity to do so. The not-serpent just watched her with wide, unblinking eyes. Its slitted pupils slowly widened into a complete circle as it stared, gazing up at her while the spark of awareness shimmered.
Interesting. She’d never noticed that before.
Maomao added it to her notes.
Hell was real and tailored specifically for Jinshi.
Three days since Maomao’s first experiment, and not a single hour had gone by without some sort of surprise test. Each time, she’d wake up early, fish him out of his crate, check him over for injuries, then pin him to that damned worktable and begin for the day. Then she’d finish and head off to tend to her shop at the Verdigris, leaving Jinshi to endure the aftermath all on his own.
Sometimes the tests were as simple as weighing him or measuring the length of his canines, other days it was plucking off one of his scales or scraping a sample from his horn. The most disastrous experiment yet had Maomao attempting to “milk” his fangs for venom. It was a profoundly humiliating experience for Jinshi and a terribly disappointing one for Maomao, who only got a cup of spit for her troubles.
The worst part was, he didn’t even bother trying to hide or fight her whenever she came to collect him.
She wasn’t fully without ethics, as while being a test subject left him feeling awful and embarrassed in the moment, she made up for it with shocking kindness. She’d smooth down his ruffled scales with a warm, damp cloth, take him outside to rest on a sun-warmed rock for hours, or even let him curl over her shoulders while she got out her mortar and pestle. Evidently he’d proven himself to be a well-behaved serpent, to warrant such trust. The gestures, as small as they were, more than made up for any previous distress.
Most often, he was usually “rewarded” with something to eat afterwards, a fresh-caught mouse or squirrel. And though Jinshi would normally gawk at such a thing, his own hunger outweighed any objections, and choking down the furry pests got a little easier each time. If he was lucky, she’d bring him a lizard or two. His dragon certainly appreciated the nourishment, and his human side enjoyed eating from her hand a little too much.
Perhaps he should be concerned over how quickly he’d grown used to this arrangement.
As time passed, though Jinshi tried to ignore it, his body changed. With the gradual return of his strength, his size began to increase. His horns lengthened and branched, his whiskers grew longer and longer, and his snout extended. One morning, he awoke to an itching in his spine, and Maomao had picked him up with a fascinated gleam in her eyes.
“I didn’t know reptiles could grow hair.” She’d muttered, running a finger down the baby fluff poking out from his scales like grass. Jinshi, meanwhile, avoided her probing gaze entirely and instead shivered at the touch, arching into it like a pleased cat.
This morning, that same itch had appeared on both sides of his chest, just above his belly. When he studied the areas, he found what looked like a pair of stuck-up scales, shaped like a leaf or flower bud. And as the sun rose, he found similar itchy scales sprouting near the base of his tail. His dragon was recovering fast.
I really should tell Maomao. He thought, watching her from his crate while she bustled about, getting ready for work. She’d already started leaving the lid off. How kind of her. The more I put this off, the more she’ll hate me. If she knew who she was messing with all this time…
Maomao was endlessly brilliant, though. She must have noticed his changes by now. Even if his apothecary tended to play the ignorant servant from time to time, she had no reason to, not in her own home. He also strongly suspected Luomen had an inkling of his true identity, but the old apothecary showed no sign of being in the know. Reading Maomao was like child’s play compared to him.
The day passed without any tests, to his surprise. And more concerningly, it passed without Maomao’s return, even when the sky began to darken and distant thunder rumbled through their tiny shack. Jinshi tried his best to stay awake, at least to ensure she came home safe and sound. But rain always made him drowsy. So by the time gentle pitter-patters began to echo across the roof, rolling roars billowing from the night-dark cloud cover, he was fighting a losing battle against his own body.
A sudden crash shoved him from his state of limbo. His head shot up, his upper half practically throwing itself out of his crate. When his eyes adjusted, he was greeted with a very sodden Maomao shouldering open her door, an unusually haggard look marring her intelligent face.
“The imperial guard is doing sweeps today and tomorrow.” She told her father, who hadn’t looked up from his yagen. Jinshi respectfully slung his tail over his eyes when Maomao began to disrobe, flinging the soaked garments to the floor as she hurried across the room. “They’re looking for someone, but wouldn’t say who or why. Not even Gaoshun could tell me anything.”
Luomen hummed, pausing in his grinding to gently brush the pulverized herbs into a cloth pouch. Jinshi perked up at the sound of the aide’s name, tail slipping, but kept his face turned away.
“They wouldn’t tell me a thing, but they still wasted my entire day asking me the strangest questions. They’re going to be moving door-to-door at some point once the rain lets up.” Maomao continued, unbothered. Clothes rustled as she hastily tugged on a dry set, and when they stopped long enough to sound safe, Jinshi dared a peek. He found her pacing back and forth like an agitated lion, roughly toweling off hair. She had a dedicated furrow in her brow and stern set to her jaw, a look she only got when her mind was working overtime.
Maomao stopped in front of his crate, one hand holding the towel to her head while the other rested on her chin. She stared down at him, her eyes almost glowing in the dim light. Jinshi curled into himself, squirming like a pinned insect. Her stare seemed to peel away every layer he’d built up, looking straight past his scaly guise and into the eyes of the hopeless man hidden within.
“The guards were checking for people with recent injuries. They’re looking for a man in purple. They’re also looking for any unusual animals that might have been spotted nearby.” She said, lowering into a crouch to look him in the eye. Even with his recent growth spurts, as he was now, she still towered over him like a giant. “Whoever this man is, he must be in rough shape. They’re certainly pulling out all the stops trying to find him. Something tells me he’s important.”
She tilted her head. Her next words were quiet, just barely a mutter. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard from Master Jinshi, hasn’t it?”
Here and now, Maomao was every inch the predator and he the prey. He trusted her, he trusted her so much, cared for her so deeply and intensely he feared it would kill him one day. Those weeks during her kidnapping, they were some of the most difficult of his life. He hesitated to call his attachment love, but it was the closest word he knew to this strange affliction that stole his breath every time she looked his way. She was the most perfect, frustrating, and beautifully unique woman he’d ever met. He respected her, he admired her, he adored her.
But now? Now, he feared her.
He didn’t fear for his life. He didn’t fear having his dragon exposed. What he feared most, looking into those cold, calculating eyes, was betraying the fragile trust she’d extended to him all those weeks ago, when they returned, battered and exhausted, from that damned fortress.
He should have let her know days ago. He should have found some way to tell her.
But no. He had to be greedy. Greedy, selfish, and weak.
If she knew, she would be far more than just angry. Not even claiming weakness from attempted assassination and grievous injuries would move her. As appealing as being regarded with disgust was, he didn’t want to drive her away. He’d had enough experience living without her during the Shi’s rebellion, and he was not eager to return to it. Ever.
The towel slipped off Maomao’s head and tumbled to the floor, breaking him from his spiral. When he blinked, he saw she had one hand on the edge of his crate, the other hovering above his head, poised to grab. Her face was completely unreadable, but her eyes shone, a cat’s eyes in the firelight.
“Maomao.”
Both apothecary and dragon turned to see Luomen watching them, looking over his shoulder. He smiled, as gentle and unassuming as ever, but his eyes were open and aware.
“I have told you many times, not to speak on conjecture.” He said. His knowing gaze slid pointedly to Jinshi. “Someone may get hurt.”
Maomao withdrew. Her eyes never left him as she started to get ready for bed, not even when she changed. Jinshi had looked away again, but he found her watching when he turned back around.
Even as Luomen blew out their lanterns, plunging the shack into darkness, the rain a dull roar on all sides, he swore, she was still watching.
Try as he might, sleep never came to him.
Maomao waited until her father fell asleep before confronting her specimen.
She understood his warning well– make a scene, and the wrong person might get the wrong idea. All of them would be compromised, if the situation was as serious as she suspected. She didn’t need to rely on conjecture to confirm her theory anyways, the serpent’s actions had all but told her everything. So she waited, head buried under the blanket, eyes locked on the wanted creature sitting just a few steps away. Once her father’s breathing evened out and the temperature began to drop, she wrapped her blanket around her shoulders, lit a candle, and kneeled in front of the crate.
”I’m very upset, Master Jinshi.” Were the first words to leave her lips, breaking the silence.
Jinshi ducked his head, avoiding her watchful eyes. His brilliant scales glinted like jewels in the flickering candlelight. At the very least, he had enough sense to be apologetic, even if he couldn’t speak. Instead, he cowered. A far cry from the man who regularly barged into her shop and spent months inserting himself into almost every aspect of her life.
Maomao studied the dragon before her. It was certainly the most unusual of Jinshi’s masks, but she greatly preferred it to the ‘heavenly nymph’ he tended to default to when things went awry. Perhaps she should be more shocked, learning that not only were the rumored imperial dragons real, but that she’d been working under one for the better part of a year. Perhaps she should be prostrating before him, begging forgiveness for using such a legendary beast to satiate her curiosity. A small part of her wanted to fling him out into the rain, to run away from all the trouble this secret would surely get her into. But right now, looking down at the tiny thing while he refused to meet her gaze, eyes roaming over long coils where there had once been bloodied cuts and broken bones…
“I should clarify, sir. I am not upset with you.” She whispered into the darkness. The dragon perked up when she spoke, dark eyes watching her intently, fearfully.
“I meant what I said before. No matter what, you will always be Master Jinshi to me. For better and for worse.”
It was the truth. She felt exasperated, maybe, and very tired, but not mad. A number of factors had brought him here against his will, and the more she recalled, the more her anger grew– not at him, but herself. Annoyance, that she didn’t put two and two together sooner (a mythically beautiful creature, appearing around the same time her correspondence with Jinshi dried up, covered in wounds?). Guilt, for her treatment of him in such a vulnerable state (what must he think of her now?), and dread, for laying her hands on a member of the royal family in such a barbaric fashion (if anyone learned of this, her head would roll faster than she could blink). And most of all, disappointment with herself, for deliberately going against her father’s instructions and acting without sufficient cause (he would surely scold her for lacking such obvious ethics).
The rain pounded relentlessly against the roof. It was accompanied by a steady drip-drip-drip, where water slipped through a crack in the rafters and dropped into a bucket. The wind whistled as it blew between the houses, making the walls rattle and groan.
It was a long, long moment before Jinshi gave any sign of understanding what she’d said. Slowly, so slowly, like dripping molasses, he lifted himself up, resting his upper body on the lip of the crate. Even locked up in a slapdash shack, nestled deep in the pleasure district’s poorest neighborhood, half-curled in a dirty crate hastily nailed together with scavenged wood, he looked impossibly regal. His neck curved like a swan’s, and his eyes sparkled, obsidian irises catching the reflection of the dancing candleflame. His mouth opened, a small sound escaping his throat, before he seemed to remember his lost voice and closed it again with a frustrated snap.
Maomao tried not to stare at his teeth, the very same she’d forced into her arm barely half a week ago. The same teeth she’d felt latch onto her shoulder, on his first visit to her shop. She wondered what sort of thoughts were running through his mind during that first experiment. Something confusing and inappropriate, no doubt. The more exposure she had to him, the more puzzled she became at his behavior. Surely, he had better things to do…
But that was neither here nor there. More importantly, “I would like to apologize, Master Jinshi, for how I’ve treated you these past few days. It was most unbecoming of me, and very unethical.”
She told him in an even voice, betraying no emotion. She set the candle on the floor and joined her sleeves, bending her waist into as low a bow she could muster while sitting. “I am deeply ashamed of my behavior, and if there is anything I can do to assist in your recovery, please, allow this lowly one to rectify her mistakes. I will accept any punishment as you see fit.”
It wasn’t quite begging for forgiveness, but he was no doubt very cross with her. At the very least he deserved a proper apology. He wasn’t the type of man to lay a hand on his subordinates, so she could probably escape this with her life intact, but handling the Moon Prince like a common garden snake could not go unpunished. She would accept her fate with dignity.
Her bow was met with a soft, low whine. When Maomao dared to lift her head a fraction, she found him sitting in front of the crate, his head raised as high as possible to look her in the eye. He definitely had gotten bigger.
If he were one of those spitting cobras she’d read about, she would surely be blinded by now. He probably wouldn’t blind her with poison even if he was, even if she really, really wanted to know what it felt like. Even if going blind would only be a hindrance in her line of work. It had to be an interesting experience. But unfortunately for her, he wasn’t a spitting cobra, and by now she doubted he was venomous.
Jinshi narrowed his eyes at her, regarding her skeptically. A short growl rumbled in his throat. Maomao realized she was smiling. She quickly wiped the grin from her face and refocused on him.
“Yes, sir?” She asked.
Jinshi hesitated, whiskers twitching as he thought, before bending his elegant neck and nosing at her clasped sleeves. Confused, Maomao parted them. Gently, he closed his mouth around the side of her hand, teeth barely pressing into her skin. He tugged, and she allowed her hand to be moved, until her arm was at a 45-degree angle with the floor. Then he let go and slowly twisted his body around it, climbing up to her shoulder like she was a tree branch.
“Is this my punishment, sir?” She deadpanned, watching him with a flat look.
He huffed and rolled his eyes, but curled himself over her shoulders like a scarf, tucking his snout over the junction between her neck and shoulder with a satisfied exhale. His whiskers tickled like loose twine dragged over her skin, and his belly brushed over her throat, but never tightened. More surprisingly, his scaly body felt soft and smooth to the touch, not a single scale catching as he shifted.
Even after everything, he was still the same Jinshi. The same mystifying, childish, and above all clingy Master Jinshi. Maomao would laugh at the absurdity of his actions if her father wasn’t fast asleep behind her. A treasonous thought occurred, the realization that if her “punishment” for all but torturing the Moon Prince amounted to no more than a glorified hug, then he really must be more unwell than she thought. He would make a fascinating case study.
”Is there a reason you haven’t notified the guard, sir?” She asked him, tilting her head when one of his horns poked her cheek.
Jinshi responded by going tense, his coils stiffening. He shook his head, burrowing his snout into her collarbone, and huffed again, frustrated at his lack of voice. So Maomao mentally catalogued his response, alongside the rest of the information rattling about in her brain, and she got to work.
She had spoken to Gaoshun, but while he sat her down and prepared tea, he had ordered his accompanying men out of the room. And when he began asking questions between inquiries after her health, he was frustratingly vague as to what he was after. She initially thought it was because he lacked real information. Some of Master Jinshi’s tasks were unsolved or abandoned precisely because of the lack of evidence. And, regrettably, Maomao was distracted by the specimen awaiting her back home.
But what if Gaoshun had held his tongue not because the investigation was incomplete, but because of a security concern?
Her mind went back to that one-off rumor from one of the brothels– that a noble had been attacked at the rear palace. The palace was kept locked tight for good reason, so outsiders would have a hard time getting in without being thoroughly inspected. There was no shortage of danger in the rear palace, but much of the corruption had been rooted out after Loulan’s escape, so most of, if not all, of said danger came from rival consorts. A male noble or eunuch would not be the first target of a woman seeking political gain.
The rear palace should have been safe, especially with the increase in security following the Moon Prince’s re-emergence. Jinshi was still working there, as there were many loose ends that needed tying before he could hand the position to someone else. Getting past the walls and close to the Imperial Brother would have been no easy feat.
Unless, She thought. The danger came not from outside, but from within.
The extermination of the Shi clan was still ongoing. The Forbidden Army had taken Lady Shenmei’s fortress, but the clan numbered in the hundreds, thousands if one included spouses, distant relatives, and associates. Their act of rebellion meant punishment would be dealt to every single soul they came across. It would make sense if some Shi had fled before the invasion or gone into hiding to escape their fate. Maomao in particular knew of a select few survivors doing just that.
What if, when those hypothetical Shi managed to escape the army’s notice, they sought retaliation against the man who had ordered their deaths? And what if those malicious actors could be found laying low within that man’s own ranks?
Jinshi whined. Maomao got the message. “You have my discretion.”
She would stop here for now. This was a dangerous path, but so long as she kept her head down and her mouth shut, her “guest” should be safe under her roof. Gaoshun had promised to return with more information, she could notify him of his missing master then. But until his visit, she had to keep Jinshi out of sight and firmly on the path to recovery, and that included away from prying eyes.
The imperial guard would be conducting sweeps tomorrow. She would have to find a way to speak with him before then and work out a strategy. If they were unlucky enough to encounter one of his attackers, playing him off as an odd snake wouldn’t work.
But, She thought, glancing down at the dragon halfway to snoozing around her shoulders. He should get some proper rest first.
The health and wellness of her patients took priority. Although…
“I do have to go to sleep tonight, Master Jinshi. This is very indecent.” She pointed out in a whisper, getting to her feet. Jinshi snorted, unwilling to budge, looking for all the world like he was ready to fall asleep. Maomao raised a hand to pull at the coils hanging over her chest like a necklace. “Sir, you’re going to get crushed. I’m not going to let the Imperial Brother get hurt because of his own stubbornness. You’ve been through enough already.”
She knelt on top of her bed, prying his loose hold off her and holding out her arm with a pointed look. The dragon responded with a sound suspiciously close to a groan, but begrudgingly uncurled his body, only to wrap around her arm instead. He twisted and climbed, adjusting his position until his head was near her shoulder. He squinted up at her, a smile in his eyes, chin resting on her shoulder. The tip of his pointed tongue poked out from his scaly lips, teasing.
Maomao, struck with deja vu and thoroughly unimpressed, frowned at him. But she allowed it nonetheless. It was only fair.
“This isn’t going to be a pattern, sir.” She grumbled, settling into her bed and pulling the blanket over them. Jinshi only replied with a happy sigh, his breath tickling her neck.
The rain had slowed into a gentle shower, the wind quieting. His weight was warm against her side. Somehow, it felt comforting, rather than overbearing like she expected. She found she didn’t mind the pressure.
In almost no time at all, her breaths evened. The sounds of the storm faded, and with a dragon’s soft snores in her ear, exhaustion quietly pulled her under.