#basen

[zentriii]

jofu my beloved agent of chaos / part time emotional support duck <33

[kqtaswyq]

A NOBLE MASQUERADE

main pairings :: maomao x jinshi, xiaolan x basen

genre :: mystery, romance, fluff, angst, denial // dense protagonists !

PROLOGUE : In the empire’s quieter provinces, noble houses rise and fall with curious speed, their fortunes tied to marriages that seem too convenient, too well-timed. When strange rumors reach the palace, Maomao is sent under a false name, part of a small, disguised household led by the ever-unsettling “Master Enji.” What begins as a simple favor soon pulls them into the quiet rot beneath polite society—where nothing is quite what it seems.

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Chapter Two — Poison Petals, Velvet Thorns

The carriage had not stopped in two days.

That wasn’t an exaggeration. Maomao had counted—at first, out of curiosity, then in rising irritation, and finally, because it was the only thing keeping her from gnawing on the leather seat cushion out of sheer frustration. They paused just twice: once to swap horses in a silent transaction at the edge of a misty ravine, and once to hand over a box of provisions from a second, faceless traveler who said nothing and vanished into the woods like a ghost.

No inns. No lantern-lit towns. No fires. No signs. Just trees. Miles and miles of black pine and silver-barked birch, pressing in so close that at times, Maomao was certain they were moving through a tunnel of limbs rather than a road. The wheels crunched over gravel and dirt, up winding inclines, then down into moss-damp hollows. The sky turned slate grey and then pitch black. Repeat.

It wasn’t the strangest journey she’d ever been on, but it certainly ranked. Inside the carriage, the air had gone from stale to soupy. Chou-u was curled like a cat across her lap and Xiaolan’s, his face pressed to Maomao’s side, drooling blissfully. Xiaolan, poor thing, had long since nodded off, her hair mussed and head lolling against the window. Only Basen remained upright—riding silently just outside, his outline visible through the window flap, stiff-backed and vigilant. The man looked like he was ready to dive through the door at any moment and stab someone, which Maomao was beginning to appreciate more than she wanted to admit.

“Are we lost?” she asked finally, voice dry from disuse. “No,” came the answer from across the cabin. Jinshi sat with one leg crossed elegantly over the other, arms folded. The makeup was still on—plain, almost bland, erasing his celestial glow and replacing it with something oddly forgettable. And yet, in the flicker of passing lantern shadows, his eyes still gleamed too sharply for a common merchant. Too knowing. “You're sure?” she said. “We haven’t passed a village. Or a farmhouse. Or a single pig.”

“We’re expected,” he said mildly. “Expected by who?” “That’s classified.” Maomao gave him a thin smile. “And if I start classifying my cooperation, will we be turning around?” His lips twitched. “You’re free to walk, of course. I imagine we’re only another ten ri from the middle of nowhere.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”

Outside, the wind picked up again. Leaves scraped across the window, sharp and dry. Somewhere in the distance, a night bird cried once, then went silent. The next time the carriage stopped, it was without ceremony or fanfare. No shouted commands, no warning. Just the jolt of brakes, the clop of hooves slowing to a standstill, and Chou-u’s mumbled, “Are we there?”

Maomao pushed aside the curtain and peered out. A tall iron gate stood before them, half-hidden in ivy and hanging moss. Beyond it, a long drive curled through misty grass, leading to a house that loomed like a crouching beast on the hillside. Not a manor, she thought at once. It lacked the ornamental flourishes and bright paper lanterns that marked the homes of officials or titled nobles. This was older. Squatter. Thick-walled and fanged with black eaves.She could smell the damp stone from here.

Jinshi stepped out first. A servant emerged from behind the gate to open it—not the driver, not anyone they’d seen before. This man was dressed in grey, face bowed, and said nothing as he ushered them forward. Basen dismounted with a quiet grunt, giving the grounds a once-over. “No lights on the south wing.” “Good,” Jinshi said. “They were told not to wake the household.” Maomao narrowed her eyes. “What exactly is this household?”

“You’ll see soon.” Of course she would. Heaven forbid someone simply explain things. She helped Xiaolan out of the carriage while Basen scooped up a half-asleep Chou-u. The boy blinked blearily and then, with no warning whatsoever, clung to Maomao’s neck and said in a sweet, sleepy tone:

“Mother, are we there yet?” She froze. So did Xiaolan. Basen looked away with the expression of a man trying not to choke on his tongue. Jinshi only smiled faintly and stepped through the gate.

The interior of the house was dim, cold, and echoing. It smelled faintly of herbs and soot, like someone had tried to burn incense over mildew and failed. The entry hall stretched longer than it needed to, with polished stone floors and arched beams that cast shadows like ribs. Servants appeared quietly from side doors, bowing, never speaking. None made eye contact.

Maomao’s instincts twitched like antennae. She’d barely crossed the threshold when a middle-aged woman in dark robes approached them. She bowed to Jinshi, then turned to Maomao with a smile far too stiff to be sincere.

“Welcome, Madam Enji. Your quarters have been prepared.” Maomao blinked. “I’m sorry, what?” The woman’s smile didn’t move. “Madam Enji. Your room—” “She heard you,” Jinshi said calmly. “She’s just surprised. My wife often is, these days.” He stepped forward, taking Maomao’s elbow lightly. His hand was warm. Infuriatingly warm.

Maomao didn’t slap it away, which was a small personal victory. “Wife,” she hissed under her breath. “It’s part of the cover,” Jinshi murmured, just loud enough for her ears. “Surely the most brilliant woman in the Rear Palace can improvise.” “I’m going to poison your shoes.” “I look forward to it.”

Xiaolan let out a tiny squeak behind them. Chou-u, now wide awake and clearly thrilled with the situation, skipped ahead toward the stairs. “Where’s my room?” he asked brightly. “You’ll be with your nurse,” said the housekeeper. He spun around and pointed at Xiaolan. “With her?”

“No,” Jinshi said smoothly, placing a hand on Basen’s shoulder. “With him.” Basen looked alarmed. “Wait—” “Excellent,” Jinshi said, ushering Maomao forward before anyone could object. They followed the housekeeper down a long hallway lined with shuttered windows. Every door they passed was closed. No chatter. No laughter. No children. The place didn’t feel lived in—it felt watched.

Their assigned room was at the end of the west wing. It had one futon. One. Maomao stared at it. Then at Jinshi. Then back at the futon. Jinshi took off his overcoat and hung it on a peg by the door. “Don’t worry. I won’t ravish you.” “Oh, how reassuring.” “I’ll take the floor,” he said, already pulling a spare blanket from a chest in the corner. “Unless you’re the generous type.”

Maomao walked over to the window, tugged it open with a creak, and leaned on the sill. Cool night air slid in—cleaner than the stifling interior, but thick with something she couldn’t name.

She muttered, “Sleeping outside might be safer.” “I don’t doubt it,” Jinshi said softly behind her. “But I doubt we’re alone out there.” She glanced over her shoulder. He was standing still, half-shadowed, arms folded. The plain clothes suited him too well—he looked like a ghost of himself. No rings, no silk, no gold-threaded hair ornaments. Just… Jinshi. Unadorned. Watchful.

“I suppose this makes us a family now,” he said. Maomao snorted. “Do I get to claim your inheritance when you mysteriously fall off a roof?” “Sadly, I’m not the kind of man who can die in such an ordinary way.” He said it like a joke, but something flickered behind his eyes. Brief. Unreadable.

Maomao turned back to the window, her fingers brushing the sill’s warped edge. In the distance, the forest shifted again. Trees rustled. Something moved behind the treeline—too big to be a fox. Too quiet to be a man. She said nothing. Neither did he.

Morning arrived in shades of grey. The sun barely cleared the trees, casting long shadows across the stone paths winding through the estate’s interior gardens. Somewhere, a bird chirped once and thought better of it. Maomao emerged from the west wing rubbing her neck, a yawn caught halfway down her throat. She’d slept. A little. Jinshi had actually kept to the floor—though whether out of courtesy or caution, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she appreciated not waking up with his elbow in her side.

Now, wrapped in her outer robe and trailing behind a silent housemaid, she followed the scent of fresh ink. The estate steward—a tall, meticulous man with prematurely white hair—was already waiting for them in the study. Jinshi sat at the head of the low table, posture straight, eyes unreadable. The steward bowed deeply.

“We are honored by your presence, Master Enji,” he said. “As requested, I’ve prepared the family registers, land claims, and trade documents.” He gestured to several stacks of scrolls. Jinshi gave a courteous nod. “Excellent. I’ll review them personally,” he said. “My wife will assist.” That was Maomao’s cue.

She sat beside him, lips pressed in a polite, neutral line. As the steward bowed and exited, she reached for the top register and opened it, eyes flicking across the neat brushwork. The first few entries were unremarkable: dates of birth, marriages, titles, property transfers. Then she frowned.

Two sons were listed under the same mother—born only six months apart. Peculiar. She flipped a page. Another name appeared, scribbled and re-inked over a faded one. The birthdate had been altered—clumsily. She slid a finger along the margin. The fiber was newer. Replaced. Jinshi murmured, “Anything interesting?” “In the way a broken tooth is interesting.” He didn’t smile, but his eyes narrowed slightly, like he appreciated the metaphor.

Meanwhile, Xiaolan was doing her part. She wandered the kitchen wing with a friendly smile and wide eyes, cooing over porcelain and complimenting the tea blend while the servants whispered around her. It didn’t take much effort—her face was pretty, her manner sweet. People forgot to be cautious around girls like that. One maid leaned in as she poured water into the wash basin. “Did you hear about Lady Rong’s child?”

“Was something wrong?” Xiaolan asked softly. “Oh no, no,” the maid said too quickly. “Just… she changed after her illness. The fever, you know. She was so quiet before, but now she talks like a little prince. Even corrects the steward sometimes!” “Children grow in strange ways,” Xiaolan said gently.

The maid gave her a look. “She used to be afraid of dogs. Now she teases the mastiff.” Outside, Basen leaned against a tree near the training yard. He wasn’t trying to listen. But guards spoke loudly when they thought they were alone. “Boy’s got noble blood, no mistake,” one was saying. “Look how he holds his brush.” “Doesn’t mean it’s his blood,” said the other, more gruffly. “They said the real one had a birthmark.” “And this one doesn’t?” The first shrugged. “Didn’t say where.”

Back in the study, Maomao was reviewing another scroll when a soft knock came at the door. A servant entered, leading a woman with lacquered nails and sad eyes. She had a little girl clinging to her skirts, pale and fidgeting. “She’s been sick for days,” the woman said. “They said you’re skilled with medicines.”

Maomao raised her brows at Jinshi, who gave a slight nod. She knelt beside the child and gently touched her wrist. Pulse fluttered too fast. Skin pale but not cold. Gums slightly inflamed. She asked a few questions, then peeled back the girl’s eyelid. The sclera had a faint yellow tinge. “Has she eaten anything new lately?” Maomao asked.

The woman shook her head. “Only porridge. Boiled roots.” Maomao lifted the girl’s hand, inspecting the nails. She tapped one gently. The child didn’t flinch. No pain? Something was wrong. “She’s been dosed,” Maomao muttered. “Someone’s been giving her poppy extract.”

The woman went pale. “But—but she’s only five—!” Maomao nodded toward Jinshi. “Have your steward check the food storage. Quietly. Someone’s covering up an illness.” Jinshi’s voice was low. “Or a switch.” Maomao looked up sharply. The girl blinked at her. Her expression didn’t

match her age—too composed. Too flat. She’d seen that look before. In children trained to forget what they once were.

The dining room was made to impress, not comfort. High-backed chairs, a long lacquered table with gold inlay, calligraphy on scrolls so perfectly placed they may as well have been printed. Maomao didn’t like it. Nothing here felt lived in. It was the sort of room used once every year to perform wealth before locking it behind a screen again.

“Smile like a woman whose husband hasn't dragged her into a nest of lies,” she muttered. “I can’t hear you,” Jinshi said without looking at her. “But I assume it was affectionate.” They sat at the head of the table, with Maomao at his left, dressed more richly than she’d ever been in public—hair in tight coils, robe patterned with plum blossoms. It didn’t feel like her skin. It felt like someone else’s life.

Guests arrived slowly, one after another, with deep bows and polite voices. Lady Rong, the woman from earlier, entered last, holding her daughter’s hand. The girl gave Maomao a single blink before sitting down across from her. No smile. No greeting. Just the look of a cat who already knew what poison you were hiding under your sleeve.

The steward cleared his throat. “Honored guests. A toast, in welcome of Master and Madam Enji.” Wine was poured. Maomao took a sip. Her cup had the faintest tang of metal. She didn’t flinch. Across from her, the child stared. Not drinking. Beside her, Jinshi raised his cup and smiled faintly, the perfect host. “We’re pleased to be among family. The estate is lovely.”

Lies, all of it. The steward chuckled. “I trust it will feel like home in time.” “I doubt it,” Maomao said sweetly. “Our last home had fewer rooms and more rats. I find I miss the company.” That earned a strained chuckle from one guest and a cough from the steward. Jinshi gave her a sideways glance that said: Behave. She sipped again.

The meal began—bowls of seaweed soup, steamed duck, wild vegetables. Maomao watched the girl across from her pick at each item without eating. No child held chopsticks so precisely. No child ignored duck. Unless— “Is the food not to your liking?” she asked gently.

The girl looked up, eyes cool. “I don’t eat unfamiliar meat.” “Very wise,” Maomao said. The steward spoke quickly. “She was sick last winter, it made her cautious.” Maomao met his eyes. “And who treated her?” “A traveling healer,” Lady Rong said. Her voice was too smooth. “He didn’t stay.” Of course he didn’t.

Jinshi turned to the steward. “We’d like to meet the rest of the children tomorrow.” A beat. “Of course, my lord.” The rest of dinner passed in false smiles and hollow courtesies. By the end, Maomao’s cheeks hurt. As they left the dining room, Jinshi offered his arm like a proper husband. She took it. Once they were out of earshot, she whispered, “That girl was trained. She’s playing a role.”

“So are you.” “I’m better at mine.” He huffed a breath. “You’re enjoying this.” “I enjoy puzzles. Not pretending to be your wife.” “Yet you’re very convincing.” They reached their room. Maomao paused at the door. “This estate is rotten.” Jinshi’s face sobered. “Which makes us the maggots.” She looked at him. Then pushed open the door.

The night air outside their room was thick with stillness. Inside, Maomao sat by the window, her legs tucked under her as she quietly watched the grounds below. The moon was hidden behind clouds, leaving only the faintest outline of trees against the sky. Jinshi had already stripped off his outer robes, seated at the small desk, reviewing more scrolls. The faint friction of the brush against the paper was the only sound in the room.

She could feel his presence behind her, but the silence stretched too long. There was something too unnatural about it. She stood, her robe rustling softly, and walked to the door. With a brief glance over her shoulder to make sure Jinshi was absorbed in his work, she cracked it open. The hallway was dark, lit only by faint lanterns. A soft breeze drifted in through the cracks, carrying the scent of damp earth and old stone.

“Where are you going?” Jinshi’s voice was low, sharp, cutting through the quiet like a blade. Maomao froze. “I’m going to get some fresh air,” she lied, already stepping into the hallway. “Don’t wander too far,” he warned. “I’ve heard... unsettling things about this place.” She didn’t look back, though the weight of his words made her pulse quicken. Instead, she moved with purpose, her steps light and careful, slipping through the darkened hallways like a shadow.

The servants’ quarters were on the other side of the estate, far enough from the main house that they wouldn’t notice her slipping past them. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for—answers, maybe. Or perhaps just the relief of movement, something beyond the thick silence that clung to her like a second skin. But it wasn’t the servants she heard first.

It was the faint murmur of voices, low and conspiratorial, coming from just beyond the parlor. Maomao crept closer, sliding into a narrow passage that ran behind the walls. She pressed herself against the stone, straining to hear. “I told you to keep the child in her room,” a voice hissed, sharp and angry. “She’s restless,” another replied. “She won’t stay quiet.”

“Her behavior’s unnatural. And you were sloppy with the last switch.” Maomao’s pulse spiked. She recognized the voice—the steward. “I’m sorry, Master,” the second voice said, and Maomao caught the undertone of fear. “Sorry isn’t enough. You’ll need to do better. This plan depends on every detail. Every—” Maomao’s breath caught.

Footsteps. Too close. She darted back, her heart pounding in her chest. The hall narrowed ahead, the end of the corridor almost at her fingertips. She pressed herself against the wall, praying the sound of her breathing wouldn’t give her away. The footsteps paused just outside the room.

“I’m telling you, that woman—” the steward’s voice faltered. “Don’t underestimate her,” another voice cut in sharply. It was a deep voice, steady and cold. Maomao couldn’t place it, but it made her spine stiffen. “She’s clever. But she doesn’t know what’s coming.” The air in the hallway seemed to thicken, like the entire estate had drawn a breath. Maomao held hers, every nerve alert, every sense sharpening.

“There’s no room for error. No more mistakes.” The voice softened. “Understood?” “Yes, Master.” The footsteps moved away, and the voices faded. Maomao waited, her hand pressed against the cold stone, willing herself to breathe steadily. She couldn’t stay here. Not now. She backed down the corridor, away from the sounds, and slipped back to her room. The door closed quietly behind her, and she sank against it, her heart still racing.

Jinshi didn’t look up when she returned. He was still at the desk, carefully adding ink to his documents, as if he hadn’t noticed a thing. “I’m back,” she said, her voice rough. “Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked, his tone casual but with a strange undercurrent. “I’m not sure,” she replied, her gaze drifting to the window. “But I think the game’s much bigger than we realized.”

Jinshi didn’t respond right away, but Maomao could feel his eyes on her. “They’re planning something,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “Not just something,” he murmured. “Something dangerous.” And for the first time since they arrived, the silence in the room felt truly suffocating. The walls seemed to press in around them, and Maomao couldn’t shake the sense that whatever was happening here—whatever dark scheme they’d stumbled into—it wasn’t just about impersonations. It was something far worse.

“You were right,” she said, her voice a soft admission. “This place is rotten.” Jinshi’s lips twisted into a small smile. “I know.” Then, with chilling certainty, he added “And I think someone just slipped up.”

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author notes :: SOOOO SORRY LMAOO !! originally i said this would come out friday est but when i came back from school i literally passed out.. like why did i join so many clubs but anyways i hope you enjoyed this chapter and please leave any suggestions thanks so much for the support i read every comment and really appreciate them ! also been working on a skip and loafer au so please check it out when it's released !! ✧.*

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[lithi]

LMFAOOO

[zuvi]

Really love how the anime shows MaoMao's strengths while setting up the gag well. For example, at this point, we're all puzzled why Rinshi and Gaoshun are both very wary of the food. But then this:

Without Jinshi and Lady Gyokuyou openly showing her favor, Maomao does fly under the radar with her appearance and demeanor.

Beyond appearances though, I love how she is truly the strong protagonist in many ways, which contrasts wonderfully with Jinshi's deuteragonist. I mean, who doesn't love an opposites attract trope? But like, with a murder mystery palace intrigue story structure and a huge sprinkling of neurodivergence.

[drcatco]

I just realized that they didn't include the turtle story. A sensible choice, I think.

The premise:

... and a few paragraphs later:

[onedivinemisfit]

Imperial prince meets the eccentric tactician’s daughter~

[methoxyacetyltryptamine]

Ma Clan appreciation post~

[instantcollectornerd]

[mudanonaito]

maomao and jinshi enjoying skewers

bonus: ....and basen

[kaorukaa]

I really want this scene in the light novels to be animated

I actually love this on so much ♡♡♡

(Sourced from the apothecary diaries, Vol 5, pg 135)

[amethystsoda]

he got yakitori!!!

[squishlamb]

the apothecary diaries LN spoilers

don't look at the clothes or anything for accuracy; i just needed to doodle this out of my system

anywayssss did we all see that anime s2 teaser..... so excited

listen to my jinmao playlist ♥

[a-ngel]

Not Basen thinking his beloved duck was going to be the next Virgin Mary and Maomao having to have the sex talk with him 😭🐣

(Also, in the next paragraph Gaoshun’s wife shoves him into a pond?!? 😂😂😂)

[inahochi]

THE APOTHECARY DIARIES  ⋆  薬屋のひとりごと (2025)

#35. the hunt ⋆ 狩り

[acemangan]

[nooneknowsme66]

Spoilers for the newest ep

Ok, I did NOT fucking expect to learn Maomao didn’t understand emotions because she was left alone even when she would cry for hours on end. I feel so bad for her :( it’s understandable though, if a child is neglected when they show emotions they learn to suppress those emotions early in life, or learn to show only the desired emotion until behind closed doors. Also considering I haven’t read the manga or light novels yet I probably am finding this out after every one else.

The frog scene…..was something. Genuinely I liked how Jinshi wanted to tell Maomao but it was ruined from the scene, meanwhile Maomao figured it out then afterwards. And she thinks she angered Jinshi because she called his “frog” somewhat large, like I don’t think that was the reason he was mad. Though after she got that Ox Bozear my girl DID NOT care what so ever about what else he wanted to say. She really said “I got what I wanted!” Then was being happy about it while Jinshi was desperately banging on the door to tell her what he was going to before.

And some Gaoshun lore, he’s unironically my favorite character after Maomao and Jinshi. Basen is tied with Lihaku tbh because on one hand, Lihaku has a dog, on the other hand I’m very attracted to Basen. Also I love that Jinshi’s name translates to “moon prince” and that’s only because I’m a sucker for astrology and the moon 💔. I also like how Gaoshun takes accountability for somehow angering the empress dowager (even if we have yet to find out why), but I feel so bad for him because he has loyalty to Jinshi and has to hear how others feel about him.

I’m finished with my hyperfixated analysis until next time, also rightful reaction to the first like five minutes of the ep: