In a dark, musty room somewhere in the Western Capital, Maomao stares into a candle flame stock-still in the stagnant air and forces herself to think.

It 's not like her environment is particularly distracting. The smoke from the candles hang still in the air like gossamer without any airflow to disturb them. The only noises are Xiaohong 's light snores on the bed and the occasional shuffling from the next room where father and son rest.

Whatever this was, Maomao thinks, it can 't be unplanned. There are beds provided for the four of them to sleep on. They have been provided meals better than one would expect for a captive, and medicines are scattered around the rooms. Maomao already put many of them to use in treating Shikyou 's wounds. Now with everything she can do done and the others resting, Maomao is now putting to good use the wine that was set on the table when they arrived. It 's dry, just how she likes it 'a nice balm to put on this bitch of a day.