Ka Zuigetsu is born the son of god.

He knows this from the instant he learns the shape of those words and the meaning they carry. Born to Heaven Itself, high above all others, he is close enough to touch the stars. His mother names him for the moon. From his birth, the court speculates about the kind of man he will become, and whether fate will carry him to the peak of the country.

However, it takes time for him to learn all of this. The words they whisper, their meanings, and the implications of his position do not dawn on him until he is much older. High above others as he is, most of the people in his life do not 'cannot 'call him by the name he is given, so he never learns it properly. He is not a particularly gifted or intelligent child.

Some of the people in his life, unable or unwilling to speak his Imperial name, call him Yue. Yue decides to call himself that, too.

For the first years of his life, his world is limited to the palace of his mother. It is a fine, beautiful palace, colored crimson and maroon and navy and gold. The rooms are constantly lit by dim candles. Besides the internal garden of the complex, he is not allowed to go outside, and the rooms he is kept in lack windows. The ceilings are high, but the world is cushioned. He is rarely left alone, even for a moment.

He is attended by a few trusted, loyal confidants of the royal family. A woman named Suiren is a frequent attendant of his, but there are others who visit as well. They keep their heads bowed to the young prince. His mother lives in the complex, but she only visits once a day, and spends little time with her son. The attendants tell him that she is important, and busy as a result. Her smile is kind, but her eyes are always distant.

'Play? ' Yue plies her, once he learns the word.

The Empress Dowager shakes her head with a vacant smile. 'Not today, dear, ' she tells him with a pat on the head.

'Play? ' Yue asks the man who comes visiting sometimes, about as frequently as his mother. His voice is low and doting. He always bounces Yue on his knee when he comes visiting, and will sometimes bring gifts of toys and treats.

'Sorry, Yue, ' the Crown Prince replies. 'I have to get back to work. '

Yue is used to this answer. He can play alone.

He has so many toys, all kept in a little woven box in the corner of his cushioned room. Most of them lay forgotten, though, no matter how much Suiren or the others try to ply him into playing with the others. There 's one he adores above all, a little carved wooden figure. It has two triangle ears and a little swirly line for a tail. There are more lines carved into its face, stretching out from its cheeks. Its eyes are painted a dull yellow, and its pupils are slitted.

'It 's a cat, ' one of his attendants tells him, pointing at the creature. 'Can you say 'cat '? '

Yue ignores her, crashing the little figure into a stack of wooden blocks. The attendant gives a long, weary sigh.

He plays with that little toy for hours every day, always under the watchful eyes of an attendant. Today, it 's that younger woman again. It 's nearly evening now 'the light coming in from the internal garden is the only indicator of time for him, and that light has grown crimson in dusk. Yue 's starting to get sleepy. He yawns.

There 's a knock on the door. The young woman starts and answers it. There are some words Yue can 't make out, then she nods a few times and steps out of the room.

This has happened before. Yue 's used to playing alone, anyway. It 's not so different. He keeps fiddling with the little toy in his hands.

Then, a man that he has never seen before shuffles into his cushioned, dark, secluded room.

This man looks different from others Yue has met before. His hair is long, but it is a pure, stark white, hanging in limp strands. His hands are wrinkled and he is hunched, like a thousand weights hang from his shoulders. His skin droops off his face. His eyes are deeply empty.

He totters forward into the empty room.

Yue holds up the little wooden toy. 'Play? ' he asks.

The man cocks his head. A faint glint sparks in his vacant eyes.

'Of course, ' the Emperor says, and kneels beside his son. Yue smiles and offers him the little wooden figure.

In that moment, the door opens, and his attendant shrieks an alarm.

Many people storm in after her, all shouting panicked, angry words that Yue hasn 't learned the meanings of yet. The man keens like some wild animal, backing into the far corner of the room.

Yue turns to see his mother at the door, a fan clenched in her fists. Fire blazes in her eyes.

She steps forward with righteous fury, raises her hand, and strikes the man across the face once, twice. The man whimpers with every strike, but she keeps going, shouting something harsh and horrible that Yue cannot understand.

If she is trying to drive him out, the man is too frightened to move towards the door. Her shouts rise in volume. Another

crack

of her fan against the man 's face.

He doesn 't want to watch anymore.

Yue clenches his favorite toy in one hand and cowers into the corner, face pressed against the wall. He squeezes his eyes shut, but it does not stop the noise. The shouting and the sound of wood on flesh does not stop for some time.

He only raises his head when it finally does. Tears track down his face as he surveys the room. The man is gone. His mother stands at the door. Her fan is still clenched in her fist, so tightly her hand shakes.

'Mama '? ' Yue whispers.

His mother turns slowly, as if her body is here, but her mind is somewhere else, somewhere far away. She blinks, eyes far away and unseeing, before her gaze focuses on her son. The fire in her eyes is gone. Her face is streaked with tears.

And for a moment, she looks at Yue with unbridled, icy disgust.

The flash of emotion is gone as soon as it comes. Her eyes soften, and her fan clatters to the ground. She brings a hand to her mouth to muffle a sob. Another tear trails down her face.

Yue reaches for her blindly 'his mother is hurting, he wants to help 'but she flees from the room, hand pressed over her mouth, eyes wide and unseeing. Yue is alone again.

Suiren comes five minutes later with a warm handkerchief and many whispered apologies. It 's her who cleans the tears off his face that night.

'Young Master, ' she says, voice graver than he has ever heard. 'You are never to play with that man. If he comes near you, come find one of us. Do you understand? '

He doesn 't understand, not really. Isn 't that man supposed to be his father?

He sniffles and nods anyways.

Yue is five years old when Suiren hides that little wooden cat for refusing to focus on his lessons.

'I 'm sorry, Young Master, ' she tries to soothe as he sobs and sobs and sobs, 'but you must focus on your studies now. ' She holds up the book in her hands. 'Now, can we ' '

'No!! ' Yue yells. 'Those books 're confusing! I don 't wanna read them! '

'I know they are, ' she tries to soothe, 'but they 're things you must learn if you want to ' '

'I

don 't

want to! ' Yue protests 'he wants the comfort of that little toy, not the weird numbers and letters and stories that make his head spin. Suiren sighs, soft and long-suffering.

After months of this, they reach a compromise 'if Yue pays attention during those horribly boring, long-winded lessons, she will allow him to play with the little toy once he 's finished.

The lessons are so, so boring, though.

He has several teachers. One comes in with a brush and inkstone and teaches him how to write. The teacher is strict, and if there is a single brushstroke out of place, he makes Yue redo the entire set.

Another shuffles in every few days with a map and books and tries to get Yue to repeat after him each province of Li. There are too many, and the names are all too long. Too many of them end in '-shu '. How is he supposed to keep track of all of them?

A third tries to teach him about the great literature of the courtly men before him. They 're all just stories about the court 'Character X did A, Character Y did B. Some of the ones he 's told are really influential talk about this weird red string that binds them together. It 's boring!

He has no interest in any of this, and he 's not good at it, anyway. So one day, when he is six years old, Yue makes his grand escape. He 's 'going to the bathroom ' 'so he tells his teacher 'but slips out to his rooms instead and searches for that little wooden cat.

His teacher comes searching thirty minutes later. The scolding he gets does not stop him from repeating it again, and again, and again.

Taomei, Suiren, and Gaoshun become very adept at chasing him down. Yue refuses to let them win every time, though.

A few years further into his studies and bored to tears more and more every day, Yue manages to talk Basen into escaping out of their shared swordplay lessons together.

'Are you

sure

this is a good idea? ' his milk brother protests, as Yue conspiratorially peers around a corner to check that no one 's looking. Basen is finally allowed to play with Yue more, now that they 're grown, but too much of the time they spend together is dedicated to sword training. More playtime would be much better, Yue thinks.

'Sure it is, ' Yue replies, as they sneak across the hall and out into the garden. 'Do

you

want to do another round of that boring training? Master Zhou just makes us swing the sword around! We don 't even get to

hit

anything. '

'Mom 's gonna kill us both if she finds out we sneaked out, though. '

Yue grins back at him. 'Nah, I 'll just get yelled at. ' Then he pauses for a moment, thinking very hard. 'Taomei might kill

you

, though. '

'Hey! ' Basen shouts as Yue runs away, giggling all the while. Basen has always been the stronger of the two, but Yue is faster.

Yue darts down the pathway, his fine shoes already stained with dirt and mud, and Basen comes crashing after him, not bothering to be quiet now. Yue dashes towards the maple tree in the center of the yard and puts one of those silken shoes on the bark, reaches for a branch, but Basen tackles him before he can get out of reach. They fall onto the ground in a giggling heap, and Basen pins him easily.

'Ow, ' Yue grumbles once Basen lets him up, shaking his shoulders out and leaning against the bark of the tree. 'How 'd you get so strong? I can never beat you! '

Basen leans against the tree, too, and shrugs. 'Dunno. Dad says I 've always been strong 'nearly broke his fingers when I was a baby. Was just born with it, I guess. '

Yue goes quiet for a moment. He thinks about the writing drills, and the confusing maps, and the family he was born into, and says, 'I don 't know if I was born good at anything. '

The next day, he throws himself into his studies. He cuts into his playtime to copy down scriptures, review maps, and refresh himself on clan names and their recent histories.

Suiren, Gaoshun, and Taomei are grateful for his sudden change in attitude. Little do they know that Yue still thinks all this stuff is boring.

He just realized that he is somehow behind.

Yue is ten years old when he tires of the seclusion of the Empress Dowager 's palace.

For his entire life, he has been kept cloistered. If he was allowed outside, it was to the interior garden the palace is built around, or to train with Basen in a nearby courtyard 'and when that happens, the entire area is abandoned. The trusted eunuch guards clear the entire place out. He has not been to the rear palace, or the palace where the Emperor himself resides.

But that won 't do anymore 'Yue is grown, now, and he needs to see how the court runs. His brother navigates it so smoothly, from what he 's seen, and yet to Yue, it 's still a confusing mess. He spent so long paying little attention to his lessons, and even now that he 's listening, he can 't seem to get it through his skull.

He 's wasted so much time.

That is what drives him to confront his brother, on one of the Crown Prince 's visits to the palace. Yue marches up to his brother and cranes his neck up 'not as far as he needed to, once upon a time 'and all but demands, 'I want to sit in on an audience with the Emperor. '

His brother pauses with his cup of tea half-raised to his lips, and cocks an eyebrow. He puts down his cup. 'It 's very boring, ' replies the Crown Prince, sounding quite nonchalant.

'I don 't care. '

'The ministers will drone on for hours. '

Yue grits his teeth. He is not an easily bored child anymore. 'I don 't

care

. '

'They 'll talk about things you won 't understand. '

'That 's

why

I need to go, ' Yue protests.

His brother gives him a long, unreadable look. Yue shifts from foot to foot, casting his eyes down. Finally, the Crown Prince sighs, and says, 'Let me bring it up with our grandmother. '

Yue waits with bated breath. When the official summons arrives, bearing the seal of the Empress Regent, he rejoices.

It 's a massive affair 'despite his position in the royal family, Yue has not attended a public ceremony in any official capacity. If his attendance was somehow necessary, he was always cloistered behind screens or masks. He never really understood why.

He also doesn 't understand why Suiren 's lips are drawn into a thin line as she dresses him in his most formal robes, yet-unused. They are stiff and itchy and boiling hot for the summer weather, but Yue doesn 't pay them any mind.

His brother comes to pick him up for the audience, and Suiren is the one who sees him off.

'Be safe, Young Master, ' she implores him, looking oddly worried.

Yue doesn 't understand what she 's so worried about 'this is a thing for celebration, isn 't it? His first official attendance of court. A mark of his coming of age. He 's ten years old and more than ready for it.

'I will, ' Yue replies absently with a wave, and he does not look back.

He follows a step behind his brother towards the audience chamber. His brother walks with pride and confidence, and Yue mimics the same elegant glide. He 's successful, too 'at least for a few moments, until his brother 's longer legs take him too far away, and Yue has to dash ahead to catch up.

His brother finally turns to him when they arrive at the doors. 'Ready? '

Yue gives a confident, proud nod, and the doors before them crack open.

Behind his brother, he can 't easily see into the room, but the first thing Yue hears is the shuffling of bodies, as every single person in that room rises at once, bowing low.

Except for one.

As he follows his brother into the room, Yue sees the man he now knows as his father, the Emperor. He has only seen him a few times in his life. Busy, is what they always told him. Too busy to play.

His eyes are just as vacant as Yue remembers.

Behind him sits the Empress Regent 'whatever that title is supposed to mean. While his father does not rise with the rest of the ministers, she does. His grandmother 's bow, though, is shallow. She only gives the slightest nod of the head.

That 's a little strange.

He follows his brother to stand before the Emperor and copies his bow. Yue 's eyes lock with his grandmother when he rises. Her brow and hands are wrinkled, and her hair falls in white and grey streaks, but something mad flickers in her eyes.

He 's only met her a few times, but Yue does not like the woman. He shudders and takes his seat next to his brother. Anshi, from across the room, gives him a vague, vacant smile. Yue glances at his brother next to him and tries to sit up as straight as him.

After much preamble, the meeting begins.

And to Yue 's horror, it is even less interesting than his books.

The other ministers do much of the talking. They report on the stock of the granaries for winter (why? There 's a whole four months before the cold season comes), give an overview of the taxes collected from each province (if there 's enough money 'which there seems to be, as far as Yue can tell 'why does it matter?).

None of it makes sense, and by the time the meeting is dragging to afternoon, Yue finds himself fighting sleep. The Minister of War is about to speak, and they are only halfway through. Yue 's posture is starting to slip, and he lets himself slouch for a moment, wishing he could just curl up on the cushion he sits upon and go to sleep.

His brother, beside him, nudges his leg with a clear, unspoken message:

Get up

.

Yue grumbles to himself but sits up straighter and forces his heavy eyelids open. His mother gives him a disapproving frown. Yue 's eyes flit away, hoping to find something else to look at.

He turns his eyes to one of the officials sitting across from him, only to find that the man is already looking back. Their eyes lock.

The man 's gaze is uncomfortable. Yue shifts in his seat and casts his eyes away again, towards those seated near the Emperor.

When he raises his head, his eyes lock with someone there, too.

He glances away again, towards someone else. Their eyes are on him, too.

He 's never been in a room with this many people before. And despite the (allegedly) important goings-on, despite how the minister of war 's words rise into a monotonous buzz, few of them seem to be listening.

They are all staring at him.

A bead of sweat runs down Yue 's neck. He sits up straighter, copying the posture of his brother beside him.

The eyes don 't leave.

Yue 's not listening to what 's being said, now. Desperate, he glances at his brother next to him for some solace. The crown prince stares straight ahead, back as straight as an arrow, looking every bit as noble as his position demands.

But his hands are clenched so tight the knuckles are white.

Those eyes are still on him, as if trying to burn holes in his clothing with just their gaze. The Emperor is speaking now, and his weak, thready voice rises into nothing but a mosquito 's buzz. Yue tries desperately to pay attention to focus on something except those prying eyes 'something about the Yi clan ' 'vacuum ' 'whispers all around them ' 'chaos in the West ' whispers one ' 'plague ' '

Slam.

Their grandmother slams her hand onto the table. Yue flinches. The room goes deadly silent, and all eyes at last turn away from him.

Lip curled in disgust, his grandmother leans into the Emperor 's ear and whispers something, her wrinkled, cracked lips mouthing around inaudible words. The Emperor, with his vacant eyes and drooping skin, nods along uselessly. His vacant eyes are full of fear.

When the Empress Regent finally pulls away from his ear, he declares in a frail, thready voice, 'What 's done is done. We did what we must. '

The Empress Regent nods in apparent approval. The Emperor looks like nothing more than a puppet on a string, knuckles clenched desperately tight. Yue can see the veins in his hands bulging a sickly blue, and his skin is old and wrinkled.

Yue blinks and cocks his head.

He looks to his brother 'and his fists are clenched, too, but his skin is not wrinkled like their father. He looks to their mother, seated across from them. Her lips are drawn into a thin line, and her hands are folded neatly in her lap. There isn 't a grey hair on her head.

Yue isn 't particularly good at math, but he decides to give some simple arithmetic a try.

The Emperor has just entered his sixties. His brother is in his late twenties. Yue himself has just turned ten.

'How old is their mother, again?

Yue gets older. He begins to attend court regularly, just to try to understand how it works. He is careful to not nod off during them, not again, even if the ministers ' long, droning speeches are excessively boring.

The staring only gets worse. It takes him a while to understand

why.

It was such a vague thing before, when he was younger. Those in his circle would casually comment on his looks sometimes 'on the sheen of his hair, on the dark of his eyes, on the roundness of his face 'but they would never dwell.

Now, though, it is inescapable.

People tell him he is beautiful

constantly.

The face of a nymph, the court whispers. Eyes like obsidian. Hair of black silk. Perfect, stunning, gorgeous. They tell him that he is lovely, and he is powerful, and they speculate on where his gifts will take him someday. Already, the court jostles restlessly over whose hand he will take. Already, the court wonders who Yue will choose.

They praise his beauty, and his beauty only, uncaring or unnoticing of what lies beneath. Yue can 't blame them. What lies beneath isn 't much.

All he has to his name are the flaws few get to see. Papercuts from tomes of politics and splotches of ink from writing practice stain his fingers crimson and black. Calluses litter his sword hand, and bruises scatter across his body from getting knocked on his ass during training over, and over, and over.

And people tell him he is beautiful. As if that has

anything

to do with it.

'You have a gift, ' is the advice his brother gives him one day as they take tea together. Yue is much too old to beg his brother to play, now, and the gap between their chairs yawns like a chasm.

Yue pouts. He takes a sip of tea and makes a face. The stuff is so bitter it makes him sick. Juice is much better, sweeter and easier to stomach, but it is 'childish ' 'or so he 's heard. So he makes the adult choice and asks for the gross tea.

'I don 't want it, ' Yue says in a small voice. 'It 's not a good gift. '

The Crown Prince sighs to himself, looks into his teacup, and falls silent for a moment. 'But you have it, whether you like it or not. And when you have something at your disposal, you must use it. That 's the world we live in. '

Yue stares into his own face, reflected in his cup of tea, and remembers something from his lessons. In the far West, his teachers said, there is a theory that the moon does not glow on its own. It merely reflects whatever is shone at it, and holds no light in itself.

The Moon Prince raises his eyes to his brother, named for the sun, and wonders if that theory rings true.

Not even sleep becomes a respite from the eyes, after a while. It becomes a frequent nightmare 'not the only one, but a turn in the frequent rotation.

Hands reach for him, whether he wants them to or not. They stroke his face, no matter how he tries to pull out of their grasp. Disembodied voices whisper in his ear no matter how much he tries to drown the voices out. They tell him how beautifully he has grown, and speculate what flower he will pluck for himself in the future.

They try to ply him with their daughters. Yue is uninterested. People see him and claim attraction. He has never felt that pull himself.

When he tries to run away, though, the hands stretch into ragged claws.

So Yue learns, over the years, to grin and bear it. His brother 's voice echoes in his ear, but he is not ready to wield his 'gift ' as a sword, rather than a shield 'not yet. So he grits his teeth, he endures, and for the most part, that particular nightmare stops.

Sometimes, though, it blends with others and rears its ugly head.

One night, the hands claw him back into that dark space, and whisper:

You look so much like your father.

Yue jolts awake with a bitten-off shout.

Eleven years old and already above the age of his father 's conquests, Yue presses a hand to his racing heart to try and calm his breathing. It comes ragged and choked around the lump high in his throat. His bedsheets are soaked in sweat. As soon as his hyperventilating calms, Yue chokes out a sob and buries his face in his knees.

Yue knows he doesn 't resemble his mother, or his brother 'the court whispers about it sometimes. Others, though, claim he looks just like the Emperor, and that thought is too much to bear.

If they look at him and see his father, what is it that catches their eye? Is it truly the beauty that the Emperor once had, before he aged?

Or do they see the incompetence?

Or do they see the monster?

It 'it can 't be that last one. Yue has not loved anyone in his life. Part of him hopes he never will.

He stares blankly out the window, face growing tacky with drying tears, until he realizes the moon is beginning to set. He is awake, and the lingering panic thrumming through his veins tells him that sleeping will be impossible.

He shouldn 't waste these hours.

Yue rises into the moonlight spilling into his room and dresses himself in something simple and easy to move in. He draws his practice sword from its place by his bed and ignores the tears still lazily streaking down his face as he gathers his hair back with one hand, reaching for a cord to tie it with the other.

His hair reaches his waist now. Suiren spends so much time every day with a comb, trying to tame it into something presentable. It pays off. It is one of the aspects of him that people always comment on.

Yue wishes he could cut it. He could use that time she spends combing his hair out for better things 'things to sharpen other aspects of himself. Maybe if he cut it, too, people would stop telling him he so resembles the Emperor. Yue is still not allowed near that man. He understands why now.

But then there would be scandal. Even for a commoner, cutting one 's hair is taboo 'it spits in the face of one 's family, disgracing the body one was given. For Yue, born into the damned family he is, it would be impossible.

Besides, he 'd then lose the only surefire tool he has to his name, the only value certain enough to let him bargain his way through court.

And he can 't have that, now can he?

Yue takes his sword, marches to the training grounds, and runs drills alone until sunrise. His calluses have begun to bleed by the time Gaoshun finds him.

Once Suiren has fussed over him for his disappearance and cleaned the blood off his hands, Yue sits and waits as she combs through the tangles in his hair, working out the knots put there during his thrashes in the night and the hours of training after. He waits silently, just as he does every morning. Suiren, ever the loyal servant, spends a full hour taming his hair, turning it back into something sleek and shiny 'something people would call beautiful.

She dutifully sharpens the one weapon he has to his name. Yue tries not to hate it.

Yue is thirteen when his grandmother passes. She is given the honors due to her official station as the mother of the emperor and no more. Yue 's father retreats to his chambers, holes himself in, and follows her not a month later.

Yue stands stone-faced next to his brother throughout the funeral. The entire palace wears black for months, any color at all leached away in a socialized display of grieving. And it is a

display,

and no more. For nearly all of those who live and work in the imperial palace, the two deaths, one after the other, are a relief. They certainly are to Yue.

There are bigger things to worry about, anyway 'namely, the cleanup of the rear palace.

It was the Empress Regent 's idea to expand the rear palace greatly during her puppet reign. The former Emperor left behind consorts, of course. Many of them. Some of them are entering their twenties, locked there by a visit over a decade ago. Most are younger than Yue himself. None have done the job of a consort in bearing a son. By the time they would be able to, the Emperor had lost interest.

It falls now to the current, ruling generation to continue the imperial line, and speculation begins immediately. His brother has Ah-Duo installed immediately into the palace, but other seats of honor remain empty, and she is no longer able to bear children.

As the Crown Prince, now, the eyes of the court fall to Yue once again. This poses a problem 'he has no interest in whatever this 'romance ' thing is, and the thought of letting anyone near enough to do more than stare makes him ill.

He decides to act swiftly.

Click

.

'Hm, ' his brother hums, stroking his beard. 'An interesting strategy. '

'One I 've practiced with my teacher, ' Yue replies, wiping his sweaty palm on his robes beneath the table. (This

was

a trick his

go

teacher taught him, right?)

His brother leans back in his chair, loose and casual, but Yue sits ramrod straight on his side of the board. There is too much riding on this game for him to relax 'it 's his one chance at freedom.

If his brother wins, they agreed, Yue will do what the entire court has been clamoring for and take a consort. Several, in all likelihood. Apparently the northern lord Shishou has proposed one of his daughters as an option. Other lords from other clans have their own proposals.

Yue wants none of it. So if

he

wins, the imperial brother will retreat from public life, and Yue will enter the rear palace in the guise of a eunuch.

The plan has several benefits. First, it gets his own ass off the crown prince 's seat and buys him time to make his solution more permanent. Second, it lets Yue try to pressure his brother into doing his job of making more heirs and, with any luck, push Yue several rungs down the line of succession.

Becoming the emperor would mean a delicate, lifelong balancing act of power within the court, one that Yue is not nearly clever enough for. It would also mean the expectation of filling the rear palace back up with women, and that is even more difficult to stomach.

Click

, goes the

go

stone.

The Emperor crosses his arms and leans back, staring at the board between them. His eyes scan over the grid, looking for any more gaps in his defense to bridge, and says, 'Pass. '

Yue sighs in relief and puts down his own stone. 'Pass. ' He pauses. 'So the game 's over, right? '

'It is, ' his brother says, leaning forward. Reading his mind, an attendant rushes forward with a brush and parchment. 'Let me count. '

Yue sweats even more as his brother counts each bit of territory captured, straining his ears to catch the numbers his brother whispers beneath his breath. He loses track once the numbers go over the forties, and he can 't see what he 's writing at this angle.

Finally, the Emperor purses his lips, sets down his brush, and leans back.

'What 's the score? ' Yue demands.

'Fifty-nine for you, ' the Emperor replies. 'Fifty-eight for me. '

Yue leaps out of his chair so forcefully he knocks it over.

'Don 't celebrate quite yet, ' the Emperor warns as Yue pumps his fists in the air. 'This is just the beginning, you know. '

'I know!! ' Yue yells.

'We 'll need a cover story for what happened to you. '

'I thought of one! '

The Emperor cocks a skeptical eyebrow.

'I was thinking that, like, ' Yue starts, bouncing on his heels, 'there was some freak accident, right? There was a ceremony in that one creepy hall, and I was doing your job for the first time, reading that long thing you always do 'except those big pillars with the words on them crashed down. And I was quick and smart and jumped out of the way, but they knocked over a brazier and threw hot ash on my face, so now I 'm burned and too shy to show up to any events ' '

'A ceremony would be too public to fake an accident, ' his brother interrupts, raising a hand. He strokes his beard. ' 'the burn story might work, though. What if it was congee? '

'Huh? '

His brother grins. 'Simple. A freak accident. Some nameless servant tripped while she was bringing you breakfast and threw hot congee on your face. She was executed, of course, but that didn 't save your beautiful face from the burn scars. '

Yue wilts. 'That 's not as cool. '

The Emperor laughs. 'And here I thought you just wanted to dip out of the ceremonial obligations. Now you want to look 'cool ' in the rear palace? ' His smile turns wicked. 'That eager to find a consort already, Yue? '

'

No

! ' Yue squeaks in protest. His brother only laughs harder.

'But really, ' the Emperor says once his laughing has calmed, 'consider this a test run. '

Yue cocks his head. 'Test run? '

'You 're going to be locked in a palace with dozens, if not hundreds of women. If one catches your eye 'well, you have my permission to act. '

Yue narrows his eyes. 'I don 't think that 'll happen, ' he mumbles.

His brother grins teasingly. 'You never know. '

Yue

does

know, actually, but he bites his tongue.

'And one more thing, ' the Emperor says before he leaves. 'Think of a new name. 'Ka Zuigetsu ' or 'Yue ' won 't cut it. '

That night, he pours over the stacks of parchment he has used for his studies throughout the years, searching for a name that would fit. After much agonizing, he decides that 'Jinshi ' might have a nice ring to it. It 's simple to write 'which is good, since his penmanship could still use some work.

He takes the second character, 'shi ', from the name of his mother, Anshi. He rarely sees her nowadays, and she has always been distant.

Given what he now knows about his father, he cannot blame her.

Jinshi takes this new name and leaves 'Ka Zuigetsu ' far behind.

Life in the rear palace takes some getting used to.

Much of Jinshi 's routine does not change. He moves to his own villa in the outer palace, yes, but Suiren follows him to his new homes. His clothes change to simpler patterns, less flashy, but they 're the same nice silks as before.

The constant stares, the head turns, the suggestive gazes 'those don 't stop either. In this garden of women, all starved of affection and pining for the Emperor, they actually get quite a bit worse.

But the rear palace isn 't so bad, he thinks at first. It 's about the same as what he 's dealt with his entire life. He has several hard lessons to learn.

The first comes a few scant weeks in. A mid-level consort offers him a welcome gift of honey candy, and a yet-sweeter smile. Jinshi takes it with a bow and a smile and reasons that it 's a wonderfully kind thing to do. It isn 't such a bad thing to feel welcomed into his new position.

The candy becomes his first experience with aphrodisiacs, and sadly not the last. It falls to Jinshi to decide her punishment, once he has recovered 'though he doesn 't get much of a choice. Such a transgression by a concubine of the Emperor, even one who had never been visited for the night, demands banishment from the palace and punishment of her family, to be stripped of their wealth and many members of the family whipped.

Jinshi shudders and sets the piece of paper detailing the resolution of the case down on the far side of his too-broad desk, where he can 't see it from his seat, and tries to put the whole thing out of his mind.

As it turns out, it is not only the consorts in the rear palace who disappoint him in their behavior.

'There 's a new middle-ranking consort in the palace, ' Jinshi casually tells his brother one day.

The Emperor pointedly does not look up from his cup of tea. 'Is there, now? '

'She 's the daughter of an influential merchant in the west. Her name is Liying. '

'I see. '

'So if you 're looking to further ally yourself with the west, she may be worth visiting. '

The Emperor grunts. 'I 'll make a note of it. '

His brother visits her exactly once, only after she has been in the palace for a good few months. 'Was it to your liking? ' Jinshi asks his brother as he walks the emperor back to his palace.

His brother gives a noncommittal shrug. 'I gave her father what he wanted, ' is all he replies.

The next day, Consort Liying 's ladies-in-waiting are in a tizzy, purchasing perfume and jewelry and all manner of fine robes for their lady. A consort visited by the emperor could become a mother to the country, after all, and the entire family is determined that Liying lives up to the role.

Months pass. The Emperor does not return. Dust piles on the robes. The silver jewelry tarnishes. The perfume goes unused, turning greasy and foul-smelling.

'Has His Majesty expressed any interest in another visit? ' the head lady-in-waiting asks him hopefully. 'We 'd be honored to welcome him. '

Jinshi plasters on that fake, sparkly smile he practices every day and replies, 'I 'll be sure to ask him. I have no doubts he took great pleasure in the consort 's company. '

The lie sits heavy on his tongue, because he knows the Emperor will never visit again. He turns out to be correct.

Consort Liying drinks a poisoned tea two years to the day after the Emperor 's sole visit to her. Jinshi 's investigations rule it a self-inflicted poisoning. The Emperor sends his formal condolences. Her family, in reply, sends her sister to take her place before Liying 's body is even burned.

Maybe there are others who see appeal in this garden of women, Jinshi thinks, as the doctor lowers a white sheet over her body, covering her sallow skin and hollowed cheeks, and carts her away for the final time.

But he cannot understand.

'Your medicine, sir, ' Gaoshun says to him that night, and hands him a cup of that sickly-sweet liquid they both drink before bed. As high-ranking as they both are, undergoing the surgery to truly become a eunuch would be untenable. This medicine is a primitive imitation of what the surgery insures. It suppresses libido enough to be ignored.

Wordlessly, Jinshi takes the cup, pinches his nose, and drinks the sweet, thick liquid down.

Hours later, he stares at the ceiling above his bed, mind whirring.

He helped clean up the rear palace in the early days after the previous Emperor 's reign. He doesn 't much like thinking about it. He hoped it would be better now, with his brother at the helm.

It is better, objectively. Anything would be, after the former Emperor 's reign of terror. That 's a low bar to clear, though. When he closes his eyes, he sees the consort 's gaunt face, hollow cheeks, and abject despair. She was tossed aside like she was worth nothing.

It must be a generational curse, he decides around two in the morning. All the emperors of the past had the rear palace. He 's sure they couldn 't keep every woman in there happy; there had to be some who fell through the cracks, who lay forgotten. If he went searching in the archives, there would surely be records of several of them.

The men of the imperial line must be destined to hurt. Destined to abuse. Destined to use, and suck dry, and toss aside when they 're done with them. Maybe some are better than others, but whether by some monstrous persuasion or by the sheer number of women they are expected to keep, it is inevitable.

Maybe Ka Zuigetsu was destined for that same fate, but that name 'at least to him 'is dead and gone, rotting in an empty room in the palace where the imperial brother has allegedly holed himself away.

Jinshi will be different.

Jinshi will be

better.

People in the rear palace speak about love as if it is this mythical thing.

There 's a story of a red string, which makes its rounds through the palace every few years, as waves of new serving girls learn about it for the first time and pass it on to the ladies they serve. Two people, tied by some invisible connection. It pulls them together regardless of time or distance.

They whisper about it in hushed voices like it 's something born from myth, like it might yet swoop down from the sky one day and pluck the consorts from their boredom, apathy, or loneliness. If they manage to spend enough time in the rear palace without being touched by the Emperor, they might just even get their wish.

Them going untouched makes his job much, much harder, though.

'It 's unbelievable, ' Jinshi huffs one night, a few too many cups deep. 'All these women, and he can 't even be bothered to

try

to keep them occupied? Some of them are turning to me 'which I expected 'but Gaoshun?

Gaoshun?

'

His drinking partner laughs merrily and refills his cup. 'His Majesty was never that good at multitasking, if you can believe it. ' She takes a sip of her own drink. 'Well, he can juggle political matters just fine 'we all had to learn how, when the Empress Regent was in power. Consorts were never his strong suit. '

'The rear palace

is

a political matter. '

'It is, ' she agrees. 'But knowing His Majesty 'he 's a deeply stubborn man. He 'll do what needs to be done, sure. Eventually. ' She chuckles again. 'And if he 's not happy about it, he 'll complain the entire way. '

Jinshi sinks into the sofa with a dramatic groan. 'How did you

stand

him? '

Consort Ah-Duo laughs again, throwing her head back in a most unladylike manner. 'After all these years? I don 't think I have much of a choice. '

Jinshi can hear the bitterness caged behind those words. He sinks a little further into his chair with a sigh. 'I suppose that 's true. '

Ah-Duo gives a wry grin and drains her cup.

She has been a comfort since his early days in the rear palace. As his brother 's first consort, Jinshi has known her long before he was called

Jinshi

at all 'she even slips, sometimes, and calls him Yue. He can 't bring himself to mind it. Back then, when he was young, he assumed their relationship was perfect. That maybe if there was a red string that tied anyone together, it would bind the two of them.

Nearly half a decade in the rear palace has changed his mind on it.

There 's a knock on the door, halfway through the evening. 'Come in, ' Ah-Duo calls, as Jinshi perks his head up 'who would come knocking at this hour, so unannounced?

He scrambles to his feet as the door opens and reveals his brother.

The Emperor grins. 'Having fun, Zui? '

Jinshi grimaces behind his sleeves. The Emperor refuses to call him

Yue

anymore. Not since he earned his place in the rear palace. Before he can reply, Ah-Duo rises to her feet as well, and says, 'Excuse us 'we were simply discussing the affairs of the rear palace. If you wish to speak with him, let me ' '

'It 's you I wanted to speak with, actually, ' the Emperor says with a smile.

Jinshi does not miss Ah-Duo 's grimace.

The Emperor comes towards her with a nearly goofy smile and a bounce in his step. Ah-Duo, in a show of incredible disrespect, turns her back on him to pour him a glass of alcohol. 'What did you want to discuss? '

The Emperor, somehow, doesn 't seem to mind the flagrant show of disrespect, lowering himself to the couch. 'It 's been quite a day. Am I not allowed to blow off steam with one of my consorts? '

Ah-Duo 's lip twitches.

The Emperor waves a hand. 'And Zui, you can go, ' he says.

Jinshi bows and leaves without another word. After the door shuts, though, he stares at the wood, and thinks of his brother 's smile, of the bounce in his step.

Love is a mystical thing in the rear palace. That doesn 't mean it doesn 't exist.

Jinshi just wonders if that little red string they whisper about can bind just one person of a pair.

'If only I had something to write with '.

'

Looking back, it 's like a physical thing, when those words drift into his ears 'like something invisible tugs on his hand, urging him quietly:

this is important. Pay attention.

He spins on his heel before he 's even aware of the action, scanning the crowd for 'something. He doesn 't know what.

'What 's wrong, sir? ' Gaoshun asks, as Jinshi 's mind sputters, like some thread has gotten caught in the cogs of his mind and thrown the entire thing out of wack.

' 'Nothing, ' Jinshi replies. 'Just the wind. '

'There must be a better way to find this person, ' Gaoshun protests one morning in late summer.

'Do you have any other ideas? ' Jinshi gripes back, massaging the palm of his hand.

'Tell the eunuchs to keep an eye out for a laundry girl with a tear in her skirt, perhaps. The warning was clearly written on fabric torn from that uniform. '

'Tears can happen in other ways as well. And it may not be as easy to spot. '

'But it would mean you could do your work, instead of combing through every girl with freckles in the palace, sir. '

Jinshi sighs through his nose. Through the screen, he hears one of the eunuchs knock on his office door and proclaim the next group is ready.

'Send them in, ' Jinshi calls. To Gaoshun, he says, 'If I don 't find her this round, we 'll try another method. ' Gaoshun 's mouth twists into a grimace, but he bows his head and reassumes his position at the door.

This was at least a nice break from his duties, he thinks, peeking out from behind the screen. Maybe the dramatic entrance for every group was unnecessary, though.

He peeks out from behind the screen and scans over the newest bunch just now entering his office 'they all look as plain as ever. They all gawk and gape at the rhododendron, at the grandness of his office. Just the same as the others, he thinks with a sigh. Surely when he writes the message, this group, too, will all simply cock their heads in confusion, and he will dismiss them, just as he had every time before '

His eyes catch on an odd girl at the back of the throng.

And suddenly, he cannot look away.

Jinshi has never understood what this thing called love is.

The legends speak of it. The consorts whisper of it. In the imperial palace, very few find it. Not the kind told in the stories.

Jinshi has known his entire life that love is not something he will ever find. His status as the Imperial Brother demands that he will take consorts, and many of them. High-ranking families would marry their daughters to him to strengthen their own hands, or he would take whatever calculated, political match his brother decides for him.

In response, Jinshi took a different name and ran as far as he could, for as long as he could, buying himself time until he can find a way to get out of this accursed family for good.

He is not good enough to be emperor, not shrewd enough to defend his position. He is too tired to grin and bear his way through sharing a bed with anyone for the rest of his life. People try to touch him plenty already. He knows what will be demanded of him and his consorts, and he refuses.

His best hope, he knows, is leaving the family somehow 'or, at the very least, holing himself into a position where he will not be expected to produce heirs. If he must take consorts, he does not want to touch them more than he has to.

So Jinshi has never felt the pull that people whisper of, when they see him. He does not know the fireworks or the beast with fangs or the red string. He has never known the pull, strong enough to pull the moon from its orbit. He doubts he ever will. Jinshi has long made peace with this.

But Maomao changes everything.

She does not come into his life like a hurricane, or a blazing fire, or anything so forceful. She is a fickle thing, brisk as a winter 's gale and biting if one stands too close for too long. In the rear palace, she is one star among the thousands scattered across the night sky.

She just so happens to become the one that guides him.

Maomao is brilliant, sharp, and clever in a way Jinshi could never be. In his hands, the mysteries that land upon his desk in the rear palace seem impossible, like a rock he simply cannot crack open. In hers, the cases crack open like sand crumbling between her fingertips. He hands her some thorn in his side, and she finds the answer as easily as breathing. Her eyes always hold that constant, glinting light that ticks and analyzes and categorizes so quickly that Jinshi struggles to keep up.

But more than that, she gives him an even greater gift.

After so long of the constant fawning, of the sickly-sweet coyness, of the tempting whispers, Jinshi is not his face anymore. He is not the prince, nor the beautiful eunuch, or whatever role others care to project onto him.

Instead, he gets to be a nuisance.

In the rear palace, Maomao looks at him like he is some miserable thing squirming beneath her shoes. As if those incredible, intelligent eyes see right through his mask, and react with deserved nonchalance at what she sees beneath.

Jinshi stands no chance.

The armor of the Imperial Brother was made for Jinshi when he turned sixteen.

'It 's a birthday gift, ' the Emperor said with a wry grin as Jinshi pouted.

'I 'm not going to need it, ' Jinshi protested. He had spent the last three years holed up in the rear palace as a eunuch just fine, thank you very much. He did not plan on shedding that disguise until his hand was forced.

But his brother insisted, and the Will of Heaven is not easily refused. Jinshi hated every step of the process, from the imperial craftsmen taking their measurements to the final fitting. The armor was stiff and heavy and constricting. Compared to his disguise as a eunuch, the armor felt impossible to move in. As soon as it was finished, the armor was stashed away in some dusty, dark corner of his villa, far away from his sight.

As Jinshi pulls it on now, in a cold carriage in the frozen north, he finds that his feelings towards it have not changed. The armor is finely crafted, but it is heavy enough that it becomes hard to move in. The thick cotton padding keeps the sharper edges from digging into his skin, but even in the frigid winter he is sweating by the time he 's put it on. The collar sticks to the back of his neck with sweat already.

Jinshi spares one last look out the window as he fastens the arm guard on. Snow gently falls outside, and there is no moonlight to illuminate their approach. The night is silent and still. The Shi will not know what is coming.

The Moon Prince binds his hair back with a red cord, all hints of his eunuch disguise shed. His sword flashes gold in the dim torchlight. His heart pounds in his chest, but when he presses a hand to it, he cannot feel his own pulse through his armor.

He hates the gleam of the sword in his hand. He hates the armor. He hates the name.

But if he must become Ka Zuigetsu for the woman he loves, Jinshi thinks, he will do it in a heartbeat.

One day in late winter, Jinshi sits in the little apothecary shop tucked into the corner of the Verdigris House. His dear cat is ignoring him as always, her dark eyes focused on the work before her. With practiced, careful hands, she rolls out pills one by one from the thick paste he watched her make. The sunlight streaming into the room catches in the dark of her eyes, sparking in her eyelashes.

Maomao blinks and looks up at him. Her eyes narrow. 'What are you looking at, sir? ' she asks.

Jinshi smiles, resting his chin in his palm.

'Nothing, ' he says aloud.

Everything,

he thinks to himself.

Because finally '

finally

'Jinshi understands.

This is what the great poets of old write about. This is the feeling that sees nations rise and fall, the gravity that could pull the moon from the sky.

Jinshi loves her. As naturally as breathing, and just as involuntary. He doubts he could stop if he tried 'this love has already ingrained itself into the fabric of his being. To remove it would be to destroy a part of himself.

Jinshi is not a man with many skills, and he is not fit to be emperor. He has known this since he learned the meaning of those words and the position he was born into. He is not particularly clever or witty or warlike. He does not shine like his brother, named for the sun. He is not strong like Basen, who could fell a tree in a single strike. He is not brilliant like Maomao, whose intelligence ticks eternal in her night-dark eyes.

He does not have much of anything to be proud of.

After Jinshi draws his last breath, the world of the palace will stop. As the Imperial Brother, he could claim a burial nearly as grand as that of an emperor 's 'but Jinshi doesn 't wish for that. He is not good enough to claim the burial rites of heaven.

Instead, according to his wishes, his body will be burned. His ashes will rise to join the stars above. The scribes of the imperial family will take down his final words onto the scroll detailing his life and place it on the shelf next to those of his forefathers. Among dozens of men who came before him, spoken of in legend for their talents, Jinshi could never hope to rank as anything more than a footnote of history.

But this 'maybe

this

could be his legacy.

If the hands of heaven did not deign to shape him with charisma or strength or intelligence, maybe they created him to love her, instead. Maybe loving Maomao is what he is fated to do. Maybe this is what he was made for.

In a hundred years, if the name Ka Zuigetsu is not invoked for his brilliance, or his mirth, or his skill in battle, Jinshi hopes he will be remembered for how he loved.

Maybe loving her is the one thing Jinshi can be good at.

Maomao is still scowling at him. Jinshi can 't help but smile to himself 'she 's looking at him a bit like he 's a worm. It 's his favorite expression of hers. Truly lovely.

I love you

, he thinks, for the thousandth time.

In the back of his mind, a scared, doubtful, desperate voice whispers,

Please say it back.

'Basen, ' he calls one night.

The moon is high overhead, casting a gentle silver glow upon their final camp. At this hour, Jinshi should be sleeping and readying himself for the last leg of their journey. They will arrive in the Western Capital tomorrow, after all.

But with all that excitement, he can 't sleep. The finery he must wear and the mask he must don sit heavy in his mind, and he wants to put it off for a little longer. So Jinshi sits by the campfire with the man he thinks of as a brother, and pretends nothing has changed at all.

'Do you believe in fate? '

Basen starts awake 'he was dozing off. 'Uh, ' he begins eloquently, 'I mean 'maybe? I dunno, haven 't really thought about it. Why? '

Jinshi shrugs. 'I never liked the idea, ' he admits, staring into the flame. The name fate forced him to bear sits heavy on his shoulders. 'But I 've seen the appeal more, lately. '

Basen, perhaps understanding that his master has something on his mind, leans in. 'How so? '

'Isn 't 'isn 't there some comfort, ' Jinshi argues, 'in knowing that some things are predetermined? That no matter what strife you go through, the cards will always fall a certain way? '

Basen scratches the back of his head. 'I mean, I guess? But things could always go the way you don 't want, right? '

Jinshi grimaces. 'Don 't talk about that right now. I 'm trying to be romantic. '

'

You

? ' Basen bursts into incredulous laughter. 'I 'd sooner expect pigs to fly. '

Jinshi falls silent, pouting.

' 'you 're not trying to put the moves on me, are you? '

God, this man is dense sometimes. He squeezes his eyes shut. 'No. '

'Okay, good. ' A long, pregnant pause. 'That 'd be weird. '

'But ' ' Jinshi huffs. 'Isn 't it 'I don 't know. Comforting? To know that something 'someone 'out there is destined for you? '

'I mean, maybe. Hoping to meet them at the banquet? '

Jinshi touches the scar on his cheek with one hand and presses the other to his robes. There 's a long shape tucked into his sleeve 'a silver hairstick. Expertly crafted by the imperial family 's jeweler, as a favor for the Imperial Brother to give to any fair maiden who catches his eye. The court has been clamoring for him to take a consort for long enough.

The design bears a crescent moon and an opium poppy. The moon shape was a given, because of his title and status. The poppy, though 'Jinshi requested the poppy himself. He requested it with a certain someone in mind, because he knew long before this journey began who he would give it to. There could be no one else.

'You could say that, ' Jinshi says with a wry smile.

'Here 's the thing, though, ' Basen says after another moment. 'This whole 'fate ' thing. What if they 're a shitty person? Or they 're just not interested? '

A twist of ugly doubt squirms in Jinshi 's belly. His gaze drifts down to his pinky finger, bathed orange in the glow of the firelight.

Hoping against hope, he says,

'Then the red string will bring them together anyway. '