The invitation from Shishou is about as expected as it is unwelcome.

The lord of the northern province is influential enough in the court to know that the tale of the imperial brother wiling away his days in solitude is entirely a ruse, and that the strangely powerful eunuch running the rear palace is not who he claims to be. He was privileged with that knowledge from the beginning 'him and a select few others, the most powerful in the court. And given that knowledge, it makes sense that Shishou would want to keep up relations with the imperial brother, even despite his disguise. Currying favor can be done in relative secrecy.

That doesn 't mean Jinshi is particularly happy about this, though.

The letter arrives via Shishou 's personal messenger. It smells like the rich, dense forests of the north, and the paper is the finest quality Li has to offer. The quickly-dashed brush strokes invite the imperial brother for an excursion, to the northern province of Shihoku-shu, with the promise of fine hunting and an escape from summer heat.

And no matter how much he wants to, Jinshi knows this is a letter he cannot just tear in half and throw away. Burying his head in his hands and groaning is about the only thing he can do. It does not help.

'Will you accept, sir? ' Gaoshun asks, peeking over his shoulder at the letter.

'I don 't think I have a choice, ' Jinshi grumbles. 'Not without Shishou kicking up a stink. '

And so, for the next few weeks, there is a frustratingly drawn-out exchange of letters. The contents of them are too baked in formality to be interesting to go through, so Jinshi would summarize the frustratingly drawn-out exchange as follows:

Lord Shishou, I would be honored to accept your invitation. However, I have a few concerns.

Your Majesty, we are humbled that you would so kindly grace us with your consideration. Please name your concerns, and we will account for them fully.

The 'imperial brother ', as I am sure you are aware, is supposedly cloistered away in the palace, horribly disfigured. If I were to show my face, or even to simply come openly as my true self, there may be those who can piece together the ruse, and my safety and the security of the rear palace both may be placed at risk. A mask at least would be necessary in order to not raise suspicion, but I fear more countermeasures may be required, as other nobles who are not in the know may have questions.

I hope that Your Majesty would still consider the invitation. I can assure you we have but the finest guards in all of Li in my manor, and they will be under the strictest of orders to prioritize your life above all else. You need not fear using your true name here.

I fear that is the issue at hand 'showing my true self will draw much intrigue, much of it untoward or even disruptive. It may be easier if I were to guise myself as an entirely different noble to ensure my own safety, and use that name in most company 'even if some of that company does know my true identity.

I suppose I can see Your Majesty 's logic.

Let me use a different name and wear a mask, and I 'll come to your dumb hunting trip.

Deal.

And so a compromise is hammered out.

Is it a lot of trouble to go through? Yes. Will having a different name really lower the risk to himself? Almost certainly not. A high-ranked noble is a high-ranked noble, no matter how you slice it. But at least this way he can have some semblance of a disguise.

As for what name he will choose? Well '

'Is this

really

the best way to choose a name, sir? ' Gaoshun says wearily.

Jinshi draws a black

go

stone from the bag. 'Do you have any better ideas? '

'I think most methods may be more effective than this. '

'I already chose

this

name. ' Jinshi flicks his thumb, and the stone goes flying, landing on the paper on the desk with a loud

clack

. The stone doesn 't land on any of the characters he wrote, though. He draws another stone, this one white. He 's never liked

go

, but at least these stones he keeps around are useful for something other than entertaining Lakan whenever he visits unannounced. 'I don 't see the point of putting thought into a name I won 't use for more than a week. '

Clack.

He flicks another stone 'and it lands on one of the characters on the paper. Excellent, he has the first half of his name decided.

'Some of the more knowledgeable bureaucracy may be suspicious if a high-ranked noble they 've never heard of is the guest of honor. '

'On the contrary, I think that they 'll stay quiet from the embarrassment. I certainly would, if I were the only one who 's never heard of the noble ' ' The stone lands with a

clack

on the character for

kou.

Gaoshun cocks an eyebrow. '

Senkou

, sir? I don 't know if that sounds much like a name. '

Jinshi puts a finger to his chin. 'No, flip them. Kousen. '

'That still doesn 't sound like the name of a noble. '

'Plenty of nobles have climbed their way into the upper ranks through merit nowadays, ' Jinshi protests. 'I can be of common birth. It adds to the backstory. '

Jinshi rises from his chair and does not give any further acknowledgement to Gaoshun 's weary sigh. He rolls his neck and winces when it twinges 'it 's become quite stiff from sitting all day.

He wonders if his apothecary might have a treatment for it, and 'not for the first time 'wishes he hadn 't sent her off to Gyokuyou 's palace.

Jinshi stops, mid-stretch, and cocks his head.

'I 'm not sure that 's the best idea. '

'I didn 't even say anything. '

You don 't need to,

says the look on Gaoshun 's face. What comes out of his mouth, though, is, 'You assigned Xiaomao to Consort Gyokuyou 's palace on account of her pregnancy, did you not? What would the consort, in such a delicate state, do if her poison-tester left her side? '

'It 's fine! I 'll just send Suiren over in exchange for a few days. '

Gaoshun sighs and puts his head in his hands. Jinshi summarily ignores him and trots off to the Jade Pavilion.

He should be able to take back his favorite apothecary from the Precious Consort without any fuss, right?

Unfortunately for Jinshi, his apothecary 's presence can only do so much for his morale.

Shihoku-shu is several days from the capital, and that means hours and hours of bouncing around in the carriage, trying to breathe through the cloth mask over his face and not die of heat exhaustion.

The temperature is truly horrible. The rainy season is over now, and proper summer has taken its place. The moisture remaining from the month of near-constant rain hangs stiflingly heavy in the air 'it reminds him of the air in the greenhouse they used to grow the blue roses, except constant and inescapable. It 's hell.

And Jinshi knew it would be hell. This is why he didn 't want to come in the first place, and why he invited her to come along to boost his spirits. Of course, though, there 's not much she can do for him now. She was assigned to another carriage with Basen, leaving Jinshi alone in a carriage with Gaoshun.

It 's too hot for either of them to feel like speaking, especially on day two of the grueling carriage ride. A bead of sweat runs down Jinshi 's neck, and his ass is sore from bouncing around in a carriage for a day and a half. Maybe it would be better if he

did

actually get heat exhaustion, just so Maomao will have to come running to rescue him.

Until the heat takes him, though, all Jinshi can do is languish.

With a long sigh, Jinshi rests his cheek in his palm and stares listlessly out the window. They 're passing rice field number sixty-five, by his count. Number sixty-six follows right after it. Jinshi resigns himself to a day more of a bruised ass and a longing heart.

Hopefully his fortunes will turn once they arrive at the villa.

His fortunes do not turn when they arrive at the villa.

Shishou is a slimy, manipulative bastard always hungry for more power. Jinshi knows this. So maybe he should have expected this nonsense, but it 's hot and horrible and Jinshi is exhausted already, and even the

food

is coming to him with an ulterior motive.

Soft-shell turtle? Wine? Jinshi is many things, and while 'intelligent ' may not be on that list, 'plainly stupid ' isn 't either. He knows what it looks like when people are trying to drug him, and this is one of the most insultingly blatant attempts he 's seen so far.

It 's just a surprise that Shishou hasn 't sent serving girls knocking on his door already, Jinshi thinks as he takes another bite of rehydrated rice.

At least Maomao seems to be enjoying herself. Her cheeks are a little flushed 'from the turtle? The wine? The excitement of eating such fine, medically-potent food? 'and the tips of her ears are the slightest bit more pink than usual.

Her dark eyes shine with glee 'seemingly at getting all the food for herself. They 've the same starry glint in them as when he gave her the cordyceps, or when he mentioned the bezoars.

Jinshi smiles to himself, remembering the little package tucked away in his luggage. It took time to source the bezoars and quite a bit of coin, but if her reaction will be anything like this, it 's well worth the trouble.

Maomao notices his stare as she chews another bite of turtle. The spark in her eyes goes the slightest bit dimmer, and when she swallows, she asks, 'Are you sure you don 't want any of this, sir? '

'Positive, ' Jinshi replies. 'It 's all yours. '

The shine in her eyes returns to its full, brightest glory, and Jinshi can 't keep the grin from his face as she lifts another bite to her lips.

The rehydrated rice and oversalted fish he had for dinner isn 't the most filling, but he only supplements it hours later, with the medicine he takes every night before bed. He pinches his nose as he swallows the horribly sweet potato flour mixture in one gulp. Shishou provided him juice and water garnished with fruit in his rooms, but Jinshi only trusts the plain water he brought personally to wash it down.

The water washes out the stickiness of the medicine 'the worst part, in his opinion 'but it leaves behind the cloying, oversweet taste behind. Jinshi grimaces and wipes his mouth, which does little to get rid of the taste.

Shishou might be the bigger fool here, wasting all his most vigor-inducing foods on someone who won 't even eat it. Jinshi 's heard that lust is a thing with fangs, but even when he was drugged when he was younger, overtrusting, and foolish, the increased blood flow and flush never bothered to direct itself at anyone in particular.

All Shishou succeeded in, Jinshi thinks smugly as he lies down to sleep, is make his apothecary very, very happy.

(He 'd love it if the joy she felt came directly from him, though, and he hopes the little pack of bezoars in his luggage will make her even happier.)

(Maybe they 'll even get her to listen long enough for him to explain his situation.)

Even Maomao can 't be the perfect reprieve, though.

There are other nobles milling about, so the stifling cloth mask is firmly fastened to his face. Even just a few hours after first light, it 's already hot and stuffy. The humidity makes his mask already feel damp to the touch, promising a truly miserable afternoon.

'Could you fetch some water for me? ' Jinshi asks, when one final check of his equipment reveals that the container on his hip is already half-empty. 'From the stores we brought. '

The stores they brought, of course, are not twenty feet away in one of the carriages, in plain, unmarked barrels and constantly watched by multiple guards. Jinshi 's longer legs could carry him there in five seconds, and he could probably part the crowd blocking the way to it easier, too. He knows exactly how she would react if they were in his palace, alone 'she would glare daggers at him.

Get it yourself!

Her eyes would cry, even if she would ultimately obey. She would grumble all the while.

With the heavy mask over his face, he could use the normalcy. Jinshi forgets, of course, that they are surrounded by strangers. Maomao, of course, does not.

'As you wish, Master Kousen, ' she replies with a low bow and not a hint of her usual disdain. She takes the container from his hands and obediently trots off.

Jinshi watches her go, hand hovering uselessly in midair like he 's still holding the gourd. Something in his chest cracks right open.

Once she 's disappeared into the throng of people, Jinshi buries his face in his hands.

Oh, he

hates

this.

Jinshi 's mood only worsens on the long ride on horseback from the villa to the hunting grounds. The nobles all take it at a leisurely trot, basking in the heat of the sun and bragging to each other about the craftsmanship of the arrows they brought, or what quarry they 've caught in the past.

Can we not go faster?

Jinshi thinks, swaying in his saddle. The sun is already beating down on them, and the thick weight of his dark hair absorbs it all 'with how the mask fits, he couldn 't even tie it back to get it off his neck.

A bead of sweat runs down his cheek, but at least there 's a breeze coming down from the mountains. One particularly hard gust comes rushing down, and Jinshi slaps a hand to his face to keep it from lifting his mask. Can 't have that.

He 's riding at the front of the group, in the position of the guest of honor 'only Shishou rides in front of him, the portly man swaying in his saddle. Behind him are Gaoshun and Basen, and behind them countless other nobles deemed less important.

The skin of his neck rises in goosebumps, though 'he can feel their gazes on him, and the wind carries their quiet whispers.

Masked again.

What are we to supposed to call him? Kousen?

Why the secrecy?

Who 's he trying to keep in the dark?

Jinshi tugs the cloth of the mask tighter around his face.

They finally arrive at the hunting grounds, deep in the forest, around mid-morning. Countless other men meet them there with equipment and refreshments. A few retainers have falcons perched on their arm. Shihoku-shu is known for its falconry.

Jinshi himself will not be partaking. After the few days he 's had, he 'd quite like to shoot something.

Before he dismounts, he scans the crowd of retainers for a thin figure a head shorter than the rest, one with crimson and turquoise beads in their hair. He finds none, and allows himself a pout 'the mask hides everything but his eyes, after all. A few servants approach him and offer tea and juice, but Jinshi waves them off and accepts his equipment from a retainer.

His bow is wrapped in a vermillion cloth, and when he removes the cover, the gold embellishment at each tip shines in the dappled forest sunlight. The bow is made of fine, carved wood. It was a gift from his brother when Jinshi came of age. Another retainer holds his arrows, perfectly sharp and fletched with hawk 's feathers.

'Is it to your liking, sir? ' asks one of them as Jinshi pulls the bowstring to his cheek.

'I 'm a bit out of practice, ' Jinshi confesses. The muscles in his back pull with the strain. He runs drills with the sword with Basen nearly every day, but it 's been a while since he used a bow. 'But nothing unmanageable. '

The group they 're currently in is much too large to get any effective hunting done, so they quickly decide to split into groups of three or four nobles each, plus their guards and servants. Jinshi, as the guest of honor, finds himself grouped with Shishou and Gaoshun, as well as Basen in his guard and two retainers to collect their quarry.

Perhaps as a show of good faith, Shishou doesn 't elect to bring any guards with him.

And it 's the northern lord who gets the first kill, sending an arrow cleanly through the eye of a pheasant.

'A good shot, ' Gaoshun says, as the first retainer 'a boy not yet of age 'sets off racing through the underbrush. Gaoshun catches Jinshi 's eye and gives him a meaningful look.

Right. Flattery. That 's something Jinshi has to do, too.

Before Jinshi can say his own piece, though, Shishou 's head whips around. In an instant, he nocks another arrow and sends it whistling through the air. It flies past the cheek of the young boy, who gives a startled cry and leaps back. Red is already bubbling through his fingers as they all hear a

thwack

and the cry of some dying creature.

The second servant rushes off, leaving them alone.

Jinshi swallows the lump in his throat. 'Impressive, ' is all he can manage. The first boy staggers through the underbrush, hand over his ear.

Shishou huffs a quick laugh and takes a swig from the container of water at his hip. 'You flatter me. Pheasants are easy enough. '

Without waiting for the retainers, the northern lord continues down the path. As he scans the forest, Jinshi fiddles with the archers ' guard on his wrist 'another tight, suffocating layer of fabric. The skin beneath is itching, and he can 't get his fingers beneath to scratch it.

'I prefer hunting deer, myself, ' Shishou continues. 'They make for more interesting quarry. Harder to bring down. ' He takes another drink. 'What about yourself, Your Majesty? '

Jinshi 's fingers still.

'I thought we agreed to use another name here, Lord Shishou, ' Jinshi replies, voice low.

Shishou bows at his own indiscretion, but it 's only a nod of the head, not deeper. 'I apologize, ' he says, 'but we 're only in the company of those already in the know, aren 't we? ' He gestures at Gaoshun and Basen. The servants are still gone.

Gaoshun 's eyes are narrowed, and his fingers clench rhythmically around his own bow. Basen looks openly furious. Jinshi catches Basen 's eye and gives him a look.

Don 't start.

'You never know who 's listening, ' Jinshi replies. His eyes catch on movement in the far distance 'a deer, young enough that its back is still dappled white. It dips its head to graze, and Jinshi crouches as well. He draws an arrow and nocks it on the bowstring.

'Your guard is capable enough to notice an enemy, isn 't he? ' Shishou retorts, nodding at Basen. 'I 've heard legends of the Ma clan, and we have not one but two among us. '

Both retainers are coming dangerously close to earshot, now. As he draws, Jinshi 's thumb brushes against the cloth of the mask. The muscles of his back flex until they ache.

Shishou continues, 'Why keep up a farce among friends? '

Farce,

Jinshi thinks sardonically.

Friends.

His cloth mask flits in the breeze. He exhales, and lets the arrow fly.

It 's too hot.

Jinshi is out of the sun, now, in Shishou 's villa instead 'but despite the shade, and the fans, it is brutally warm. The food in front of him remains untouched. Maybe another time, the smell of fresh meat would be appetizing, but now the greasy, sticky heat of the food hangs in the air, clings to every pore. It 's hard to breathe. The mask doesn 't help.

Shishou is still in his ear. The words dull into a monolithic buzz. Jinshi blinks hard, nods. Something about 'about arms dealing? Some deal to be struck?

A bead of sweat rolls down Jinshi 's cheek, soaks into the mask at his chin. His entire body is drenched. His head pounds in his ears. His throat is thick.

Apothecary 'where 's his apothecary?

There she is, standing behind Gaoshun. Her eyes narrow at him. She leans forward to whisper something into Gaoshun 's ear.

'You look quite warm, Your Majesty, ' Shishou whispers in his ear at that moment, and a chill runs down his spine. 'Wouldn 't you be more comfortable if you took that mask off? '

And in that instant, Jinshi turns from his apothecary and looks around the table.

All eyes are on him.

Sharp, hungry eyes surround him, all turned in his direction. Whispers carry through the thick air. Eager to see the imperial brother 's face, of the disfigurements that mar him. Ravenous for just a glimpse.

Jinshi realizes in that moment that his hands are trembling.

He rises from his seat, poorly hides the stagger in his step with a hand on the table. 'I apologize, Lord Shishou, ' Jinshi hears himself say, but his own voice seems far away now. 'I 'm 'I 'm afraid I need some air. '

He thinks Shishou replies with an affirmative. He doesn 't stay for the answer. The table is deathly quiet as he leaves, but the buzzing chatter rises again as he leaves as quickly as could be considered polite.

Which is not quickly at all. He sways out into the corridor, shoulder bumping against the wall. It 's not as oppressively warm out here, though. There 's less clinging heat in the air without the warmth radiating off the many bodies and all the food. It feels good.

He wants to breathe that air properly. His mask blocks the air, though. It 's soaked.

Outside lies the forest. It looks cooler. Jinshi stumbles out of the villa and into the woods beyond. It 's not as warm in the shade. The wind of the lake whistles through the leaves of the trees. It can 't carry away the heat trapped beneath his robes, but it 's something.

Good, he thinks. That 's good.

He blinks, and the world swims. He 's seen this path before. There 's a waterfall somewhere down it, right?

He takes a step down the path, then another. At the third, his leg twists beneath him, and he staggers into a tree, slumps against it.

The parallel tree trunks are starting to bend and sway. He realizes he is open-mouthed panting beneath his sweat-soaked mask. Jinshi digs his fingers into the bark of the tree, rough under his hands, but the scrape of it against his palms isn 't enough to ground him. His legs are trembling.

Jinshi shuts his eyes against the pounding in his temples, and his balance gives completely. Leaning against the tree is the only thing keeping him upright. His stomach is churning.

He just 'he just needs a few minutes. Out here. And then he 'll be fine.

Down the path towards the villa, a twig snaps.

Fuck.

Jinshi squeezes his eyes shut and bites his tongue against the rising nausea and forces himself to his full height, only allowing himself a single hand against the tree 's trunk.

'Who 's there? ' he rasps. His voice comes strangled and high and barely audible. Another swell of nausea comes as soon as he opens his mouth, but 'no, he can 't show weakness among these snakes, he can 't '

'Master J 'Kousen, ' comes a voice Jinshi would recognize anywhere.

'Oh, ' he sighs. He slumps again against the tree. 'Oh, it 's 'it 's just you '. '

Maomao sways in his vision like a desert mirage. Done up like a princess in beautiful green robes. Forest-dappled sunlight catches glints of silver at her throat, playing in the dark of her eyes. A glass bottle flashes in her hands. His salvation.

His lovely apothecary marches right up to him and reaches for his face. Jinshi leans into her hand on instinct. The shine in her eyes looks like little stars.

'You need to take this off, ' comes her beautiful, scolding voice.

Jinshi snaps out of his haze and snatches her hand away. 'You can 't. '

Maomao scowls at him. 'Of course you can 'there 's no one

here.

'

She doesn 't understand. Of course she doesn 't.

Jinshi leans his forehead on her shoulder and takes as deep a breath as he can manage, slow and shaking. She smells sharp, like medicine. Jinshi would appreciate it more if his entire body wasn 't threatening to collapse against her. Maybe that wouldn 't be so bad, though.

'Someone might come, ' he protests, voice high and weak.

Maomao growls in frustration 'he feels it as much as he hears it, pressed against her 'and wraps one arm around his waist. His skin sears against her hand, even through his robes, but he doesn 't hate this heat. Her other hand bodily shoves his arm around her shoulders, and she begins to half-carry, half-drag him down the path.

Down towards the waterfall, not the villa, thankfully. Jinshi groans and hangs his head, shutting his eyes against the wave of nausea that lurches forward with the movement. He sincerely owes her those bezoars after this, he thinks. And a proper explanation.

He owes her many things.

His apothecary is silent as she drags him down the path. When the nausea recedes enough for Jinshi to open his eyes, her lips are drawn into a thin line. A bead of sweat runs down her forehead. Her eyes have the same hard, stubborn glint in them as when they 're working on a case together. Jinshi wonders if that 's just her face when she treats any patient, or if the kernel of disdain is reserved only for him.

She stops after a few minutes, and Jinshi lurches forward before she pulls him back, shoves him down to sit on a rock. It 's smooth and cool beneath his fingers 'it feels nice.

Her arms pull away, though which is less nice. He whines. Where is she going?

She pulls a handkerchief from her robes and dips it into the river. River? He looks up. There 's a majestic waterfall before him. Ah, they 've made it. So the roaring in his ears isn 't just his own heart pounding.

Maomao returns with the soaked cloth, kneels in front of him, slips it under his mask. It 's ice-cold, but once the shock of the temperature wears off, it feels so nice. He closes his eyes and leans into her hand.

'We 're fairly deep in the woods now, Master Jinshi, ' she says 'he missed the shape of his name on her lips so much. 'I don 't think anyone would follow us this far 'and if they did, we 'd have a few minutes before they come. ' She tugs on his mask. 'Can you take it off now? '

She sounds frustrated. Her voice is beautiful.

'Yeah, ' Jinshi slurs. Whatever she asks.

His fingers reach up to the clasp of the mask. They brush against hers, separated only by the cloth. It 's just the two of them, and he 's safe with her, isn 't he? 'Yeah, let me just ' '

There 's a crack, a faint whistling, and then the ground beneath their feet explodes.

Two near-drownings, an attempt at that explanation he owes her, a good few bruises to his ego and several rash decisions later, Jinshi collapses into bed with a groan.

His hair is still drying from their little swim, pleasantly cool against his neck and damp against the back of his robes. The shock of the

feifa

attack and their little adventure that followed has long worn off, now, and between the heat exhaustion and the crash after the fear of the attack, his limbs feel like they 're filled with lead. Jinshi rolls onto his back, stares listlessly at the ceiling, and decides he 'd rather do nothing more for the rest of the evening.

His mind is still spinning, though.

She was angry at him.

Which, admittedly, was understandable. After the

feifa

attack, and after their impromptu little swim, and after she almost drowned (and scared the life out of him, when he finally pulled her limp body from the water), her first response was anger. Justified anger, yes. In his defense, the heat had fully gotten to his brain. He wasn 't thinking straight when he jumped into that waterfall.

But it would have been

really

nice if she 'd been able to set that anger aside and even

try

to listen to what he was saying.

Jinshi sighs and turns onto his side, facing the wall, and shuts his heavy eyelids. Of course, when he does, the other memories of their little adventure come flooding back.

They come in flashes 'the way his skin blazed beneath her hands as she led him, how cool her hand was against his cheek; the shock of the cold water, and how warm her skin was after, through their drenched robes; the way their bodies slotted together perfectly; the pull of her hand against his '

Jinshi 's entire face flushes hot, like the heat exhaustion has returned. He heaves himself upright with a grimace. There is a nervous, buzzing energy in his veins that he 's not entirely sure what to do with. But after what transpired, he knows there 's only one thing he can really do.

The bezoars in his luggage were meant to be a thank you, but they 'll have to serve as an apology instead. After today, he owes her one.

And maybe they 'll manage to keep her attention long enough for him to give her that explanation he owes.

Jinshi heaves himself to his feet and drags himself to the vanity. He picks up a comb and starts to run it through his hair, messy and tangled from letting it air-dry. It catches a few snags, but for some reason, the pull on his hair is less pleasant than whenever Maomao yanks at it, trying to tease the worst knots out.

And he remembers one more thing, too 'how her hand brushed the nape of his neck, one spring evening, as she combed through it. Goosebumps rise against his neck as he remembers the ghost of her fingers.

What 'what

is

this?

What is this pull he feels towards her? What is this odd, relentless gravity that compels him to seek her out, drag her into his messes?

Jinshi puts the comb down and stares hard in the mirror. His hair is more presentable, but there are still a few flyaways. His eyes are tired, and they hold no answers.

He still doesn 't look the most presentable, but he supposes he doesn 't have to be. He 's not even sure if she 'll open the door. She might well be asleep already, after the day they 've had.

It 'll have to be good enough. Jinshi heaves himself to his feet, takes the glass pitcher of water he had filled with his personal supply and drinks no less than three cups. Maomao warned him before they parted ways that afternoon to drink as much water as he could stomach, to combat dehydration, and Jinshi isn 't keep on passing out on her doorstep mid-apology, even if that would mean her hands on him again.

(He also remembers how she didn 't so much as look at him as she gave the advice, and wishes the water were liquid courage instead. He really should have taken Shishou up on that wine.)

There 's nothing else worth delaying his visit any longer, though. Jinshi digs the bezoars out from where they 're buried in his luggage, squares his shoulders, and takes a deep breath. He 's pushing the door open, but glances back into the dark room one last time and stops.

His mask sits on the table in the center of the room. Its thin fabric dried quickly in the heat of the afternoon sun after they managed to get themselves out of that cave, but the fabric is wrinkled. He has worn it every moment he stepped outside his rooms since he arrived.

It 's not worth putting on, he decides after a moment. Her rooms are just across the hall. He 'll only be talking with her.

Jinshi decides not to bother with the damned, suffocating thing. He turns and shuts the door behind him.

He spares a glance down the hall, but there 's no one around 'not even a servant. Everyone must still be at the banquet now. He crosses the hall, but pauses when he reaches her closed door.

It 's evening now. The sun is nearly down. After all the excitement of today, she may be sleeping.

Or she may not be.

Jinshi takes a deep breath, summons all his courage, and knocks thrice on the door, soft enough that it shouldn 't startle her.

There 's silence on the other side. Jinshi counts the heartbeat pounding in his ears, and after ten, shifts nervously on his feet. Maybe she 's already gone to sleep. Or she 's just ignoring him, hoping he 'll go away. He wouldn 't put it past her.

And then he hears shuffling on the other side of the door.

Jinshi 's heart leaps to his throat, and the pulse in his ears doubles in tempo.

The sliding door rattles in its frame and opens just a crack. A single dark, curious eye peeks out. It sees him, widens, and he sees a flash of a red bead in her hair as she retreats.

She doesn 't shut the door, though.

'You don 't have to let me in if you don 't want to. '

The cracked-open door says nothing. Jinshi sighs. Talking to a door doesn 't feel right, anyway 'so he turns and leans back against the wall. 'I 'm sorry I upset you. '

He 's met with a long silence, then more shuffling. He turns his head, and through the crack in the door, he can just barely make out a sleeve, a lock of dark hair, as she herself turns and leans against the wall.

(It 's

definitely

his imagination, telling him that their palms are placed in the exact same spot, with only the wall separating them. The heat he feels pressed against him is all a lie. Down, brain.)

Lost in thought, he startles when she replies. 'I haven 't given it a second thought. ' A pause, and then, 'I should apologize to you, instead. '

Jinshi gives a mirthless chuckle, but says little more.

Maomao, behind the door, is silent. He wonders what she 's thinking about.

No doubt her clever mind has put at least some of it together already. Even besides the

incident

in the cave, she 's been pulled into no less than two attempts on his life. She has seen the piles of paperwork on his desk as she tidied up, and if she looked closely, her sharp mind would instantly notice that the documents fall far above the scope of a mere eunuch 's duties.

She accompanied him on this trip, where he took yet another false name because he doesn 't want to wear his real one, and the one he picked for himself wouldn 't cut it either. She 's seen him nearly die of suffocation and exhaustion because of that damned mask.

His secrets have almost gotten her killed. Twice.

And 'and maybe knowing will make her life harder, yes. This will only pull her further into the storm with him. But maybe dragging a companion into his mess, selfishly, isn 't such a bad thing.

He opens his mouth to speak, and the words are on the tip of his tongue:

I am not who I say I am.

'I ' '

'There 's nothing to say, ' she begins, in the exact same moment.

'As far as I 'm concerned, you are who you are, Master Jinshi. '

He freezes.

The mask on his bedroom table suddenly feels so far away.

'I am who I am, huh '? ' he asks the empty air.

He 'he had a reason for coming here. He has something he needs to tell her.

She always did surprise him, though.

After a too-long moment of staring dumbly, blankly ahead, and her words still echoing in his mind, Jinshi 's hands begin to dig through his robes of their own accord. He pulls out a cloth-wrapped bundle and, before courage can fail him, offers it through the door.

'It 's a gift, ' he assures, when he can practically

feel

her draw back. 'Don 't be afraid. '

Tentatively, her hand reaches out. Their fingers brush against his for an instant, slim and cool against his skin, as she takes it.

'I need to tell you something, ' he starts in a rush, before nerves can trip him up. 'It 's one of the reasons I brought you along 'I wanted to tell you sooner 'and I think you deserve to ' '

Maomao cries out on the other side of the door.

Jinshi spins on his heel. Is she hurt somehow? Did someone try to hurt her? He reaches for the door, but before he can do anything, it flies open of its own accord.

And there Maomao stands, smiling up at him with naked delight in her eyes. Her cheeks are flushed and pulled into a wide, exuberant smile.

Her unmasked joy steals whatever words were about to come off his tongue.

'Thank you

so

much! ' she cries, with a bow so low her unbound hair goes flying every which way. The glint in her eyes has brightened to a blazing star, and staring directly at it blinds him, but he can 't bear to look away. 'It 'it took a while, but I managed to source '

hey

'don 't close the ' '

Still grinning, Maomao slams the door in his face and bars it.

'No, listen, ' Jinshi begs, pressing up against the door. 'Listen, I need to tell you ' '

Silence.

With a disbelieving sigh, Jinshi leans his forehead against the door and shuts his eyes. His mind still spins with the smile she gave him, how the light caught in her eyes and how her joy shone.

And behind his closed eyelids, memories come flooding back.

The hard, determined look in her eyes as she half-dragged him to safety this afternoon, a bead of sweat rolling down her temple; how the summer sunlight caught in her eyes and in the silver at her throat; the cold of their soaked robes, and the blazing heat of her skin beneath them; how their bodies slotted together so easily.

How her eyes pull and crinkle at the corners when she smiles 'in that true, rare way she only does with rare medicines.

How her lips look so soft.

His heart is still pounding. He presses a hand to it. It 's beating twice a second, and his stomach feels fluttery; he can 't quite swallow down the lump in his throat.

Why? There is no adrenaline racing through his veins, no panic, no fear. He 's not out in the heat of the sun anymore.

He 's never felt this way before. The closest thing is when someone managed to slip an aphrodisiac into his food, but that flush, that heat, that pull 'it was nothing compared to this.

So what

is

this?

Jinshi stares again at the closed door in front of him. It does not open, and it holds no answers. But looking at it, the answer comes to him. He 's heard of it before.

It suffuses the most fantastical dreams, the most heart-rending tragedies. It is told in folktales and myths and legends passed down centuries. Some claim that it lights their path; others profess that it ruins nations. It is whispered about in the emperor 's garden of flowers as a fleeting, ephemeral daydream, and murmured into his own ear by countless, who claim the same flush, the same beat, the same pull.

He never understood what they claimed, why they used it as an excuse to creep closer, to take another mile if he gave them an inch. To him, their sweetest murmurs only tasted of poison.

He never understood a word of it.

Not until now.

Oh, he thinks, and something slots into place next to his heart. As natural as breathing.

Oh,

he thinks, and the implications hit him like a rockfall.