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crsssie · 1 year ago

Text

and i wouldn't marry me either

word count: 20.1k

warnings: ANGST. hurt/comfort, over the seasons/winning you back

summary: You come to a slow realization in one spring, and a revelation in another.

春

To be plucked, nurtured, raised, and presented on a platter all for the sake of securing someone's position for the throne. To be placed beside said person and never used. To be nothing more than a tool perfected only to be abandoned before use.

Your lashes flutter as you wander around the palace, pausing to stare at the lotus in the pond, and you ponder the whereabouts of your betrothed. The wind flutters behind you as you stare pitifully at the lilypads, stepping down from the path and onto the grass to touch the water. The dress around your body is tucked behind you by a maid as your fingers brush the water, and you pause, heart rippling in your chest. Something. Anything. You have fulfilled your duty as the most ideal woman in the palace, and now you were to be wed and desired. Yet, one whom you were prepared for did not desire you.

You stay crouched by the pond, and the maids to the other palaces bustle behind you as you stare into nothing.

A quiet woman is to be desired. A gentle woman is to be adored. An obedient wife is every man's dream.

You get up after a while, and you stare at the robes on your body. Pink for the lotus flowers. You wonder how many times you have worn the dresses prepared by the late empress for her ideal daughter in law only to never have been seen by the man you were nurtured for. You hear word of your betrothed and his new maid, and you hear tales about how he desired her and approached her with all these thoughts in mind. You cannot help but wonder what you were created for prior to being picked by the empress.

The wind rustles the leaves above you as you get up, and someone bangs a pot in the background.

Somewhere, there is a rope fraying.

You step back onto the pathing, and you head off to continue wandering. You know the path, each stone and slot of wood stained with a memory that you could never erase from the back of your mind. In your palace that you are to share with your betrothed, there is something staining your fingertips and heart. In the palace of your future and past, there is a drop of your sweat on each tile and piece, each plank and pillar, every color and china. In the palace of the present, you embody everything you can touch and feel. Your skin and body lives in the palace, a shell for your hollow heart.

You wonder if your courses on decorating a house according to what is best for fengshui were helpful. What was the point of decorating a residence if your betrothed never visited you? You wonder and think, fingers swiping to check the maids' cleaning, and you leave the room to return to your tea room, enjoying a cup of tea. You plant so many flowers only to never be visited. You decorate each room to perfectly only to be never seen. You fan yourself with your hand, almost as though you were fanning such pointless thoughts away. A house is to represent its owner. It is not a shell for your hollow heart, it is an abode that will be filled with love one day.

It is an abode that will be filled with love one day, an abode that is currently hollow.

You retire for the night, and the maids leave you to rest as Jinshi enters his corner of the palace, lashes fluttering and his heart souring as he looks at you with something akin to pity. He brushes your hair to the side as he looks down at you, closing his eyes to listen to the summer breeze whisper secrets of his into his ear. The flowers blossom outside, and his shoulder sink, his head heavy as you breathe quietly without a care in the world.

His bride to be.

His wife to be.

A girl picked carefully out of a field and nurtured to be the greatest empress one day. he pities you. You will never be chosen, and it hurts him that you were promised something you could not have nor be loved by. He glances around the room at the decorations, and he hums, lips curled into a sweet smile. It's homey. It's clear you had put thorough thought into where you were told you were to spend your future with him in, but it hurts him that he would not be here with you in the future. Too selfish to throw you away, yet too selfish to fall in love with you.

His heart belongs to someone else.

So, as he slides the door shut behind him to head back to his room, he can't help but wonder what is to become of you when he finally marries someone else. Perhaps you will find yourself, or maybe you will become a shell of what you were made to be, hollow from the inside out and unsure of what to do with the rest of your life. To be a doll and to be grown all for his sake only to be never touched... Jinshi wonders if you know what you want to do if you were to have had a choice in the matter. You did not pick to be as delicate as a flower, after all.

The moon is gorgeous, just a shame that he could not make you the center of his affections.

So Jinshi leaves, wind rustling the tree you planted in your sixth year of life's branches, the lotus flowers planted recently bobbing in the water as the pond rustles from the goose lands on the water, and he closes his eyes, listening to the crickets and noticing the lights in the hallway. A maid nods at him as he passes, and the wood of the residence creaks under his feet, almost as if to warn him to stay away if he would only hurt you.

It was neither of you's choice to end up where you are.

So his only choice made will be to pick his wife.

夏

In summer, you swap the warmer blankets to silk, and you change the coloring to something brighter. It did not matter if Jinshi did not visit you. It only mattered that the residence were still run like a residence. So, the maids swap everything out as you are left to your own again, and you wear lighter clothes, drinking tea alone in your tearoom as you watch the ducks kick in the pond. The residence lacks life. You have no child as you are unmarried, and you are stuck in some sort of crossroad of destiny as you wait for your betrothed to do something.

He does not want you. You know that at the very least.

So, you spend your days drawing, brush wet against the paper as you draw, and you spend your days singing, hoping that somewhere along the lines, you would find something that made you shine in a glass cage. You are nothing if Jinshi does not treasure you. Yet, you do not speak or dare to make more of a sound whenever the maids from the other palaces drop by to request of your presence for their consorts. You are something. You are worth something. You are only worth something because you are still Jinshi's most anticipated betrothed. Yet, all the consorts know that you are not the ideal choice.

You glance at Maomao, lips spreading into a smile as you greet the consort Gyokuyou.

You have tea with her, updating her about the latest news that her maids cannot reach, and you blink at the flower in the tea, smiling apologetically as you ask if you could share another drink. Your eyes trail to her developing baby bump, and you switch topics to how her health has been lately. She tells you it has been fine. A green tea is brought in, and you press the drink to your lips as she continues talking to you.

"Ah, did you hear? Your betrothed has recently taken in a new maid."

"I know." You smile, eyes landing on Maomao. "I heard he had been making unwelcome moves on her as well."

Maomao nods.

"Well, the man's want needs to be placed somewhere." She smiles. "I do hope you take no offense in that."

You laugh. "None taken. He does not want me. I am aware of that much."

Maomao looks at you almost with pity. You do not mind, much used to the look already. Neither of you chose to end up where you currently are. You suppose the difference between her and you is that she is knowledgeable in something specifically while you are knowledgeable in everything generally. It is who you are, and it is who you were raised to be. There is no you without the title of betrothed attached to it. You will be forced to live how you were raised unless you had a reaction and changed. What is there to change in an unchanging environment? Even if you were to change, there would be no difference around you. You are born and raised to be Jinshi's wife. That is all you ever will amount to.

"Then, what do you suppose will happen?"

"The betrothal is simply a formality." You smile bitterly. "I shall simply wait for him to break it."

"He is far too selfish to let go of you."

Your gaze averts to the teapot on the table. "I know."

"Do you truly wish to stay here forever?"

There is no amount of improvement you could pour into yourself to possibly be set free from the palace. You are Jinshi's betrothed. You have been his betrothed, and you will continue to be his betrothed. You have never belonged to yourself as one would have belonged to themselves. You were simply created to be a person that was never your person. You are everything to be desired by the noble worth nothing to the people. You were groomed, grown, nurtured, and ruined for the sake of someone who would never touch you. You are a porcelain doll trapped in a wooden cage with the key around your neck.

You are worth nothing without your title of betrothed.

You have been taught to never escape even when given the chance. You are not to touch the key around your neck. For if you don't, you will be rewarded with riches beyond the comprehension of the common man. For if you don't, the boy you were coerced to crush on will look back at you for once. For if you don't, the world will be a better place all thanks to your small sacrifice. You are to hold the earth up to the sky and die in order for everyone else to live. Then, you will be remembered for the rest of your life.

You are an obedient doll on display for the dignity of the royal dynasty.

"So?"

You laugh dryly. "Where else do I have to go?"

A nameless bride from a nameless family. A dressed up doll on display.

The consort's face weakens in pity.

You can only smile bitterly at her.

There is nothing else you can do. There is no one else you can rely on. You have the key around your neck but you do not know how to use it.

That night, you return to your room, resting on your bed under the summer warmth, silk cool against your skin as the moon shimmers, stars twinkling as you grimace, heart heavy in your chest. You are not loved. You are not loved, nor chosen, nor cherished. You were picked from an empty field and nurtured to become someone you were not simply because there is never a person you were. You are put into the skin of another because you do not have your own. You will never be yourself is there was never a you to begin with. You will never know the warmth nor happiness of being your own person. All you know is to devote yourself to Jinshi.

All you know is that in a field of flowers, you will never be picked by the one you were grown for.

秋

Colored leaves detach from the branches during the season of fall. You change back to warmer blankets, clothing a little more warm, and you arrange for the incense scents to be changed to something else. The bedding becomes thicker, the colors become redder, and you watch the flowers around the residence lose life with each day. The winter is getting colder, and your heart is only further breaking, cracking ever so slightly with each creak of the wood when you step around the place. You are not loved— not by the maids, nor by your soulmate. You are not loved.

You do not have a soulmate.

It is painfully evident when you visit the noble consorts, lips curled into a sweet smile when you drink tea with them. It is painfully obvious when the emperor refuses to let you leave Jinshi when you bring it up as a joke. You are not allowed to do anything in the palace. You are handed a key as a necklace but you do not leave. You are the display at the center of a traveling performance crew. You are a doll that will never be purchased because of your value. A doll that will never be touched because you are too prideful to offer yourself to anyone who is not Jinshi.

The sun may rise and set and the stars may twinkle and sparkle, but you will never be worth anything in the eyes of Jinshi. You are worth nothing. In the eyes of the emperor, you are worth nothing. In the eyes of the other consorts, you are a pitiful child that will be inevitably thrown away. In the eyes of Maomao, you are Jinshi's unfortunate betrothed whom she wishes he would pay more attention to. In the eyes of your maids, one day Maomao will take over as the owner of the residence and you will be left behind. You do not matter in the eyes of anyone.

Somewhere in the distance, a rope frays further.

Somewhere in the distance, in another universe, in every universe, you are cursed to love and never be loved. You are forced to hold the hand of a man who does not want you. In this universe and every other one, you are stuck wallowing in self-hate, pitied for the way you are treated, despised for being the one who stands next to your husband. You are not a person. You exist only as a shell to embody other people. You will never be yourself. In every other universe and yours, you will be the shell that a hermit moves into only to be abandoned when they outgrow you. You will never be someone of value.

You call the maids to remove the tea, and you wander out into the streets of the capital.

Warm colors of red yellow and orange litter the streets with each step you take, and you purchase a quick snack, chewing on the sugar as you consider how you would need to starve yourself in order to lose the weight gained from the sugar. It makes you sick. You do all these things because you were conditioned for no outcome. You love Jinshi with your whole heart only for him to be in love with someone else. You cannot compare to her. She cannot compare to you. You are too different from her. You wonder if Jinshi simply desired a woman who could not be attained. You were too easy. Too simple. You were created and made in order to be perfect for him.

You purchase peanut treats, chewing on the treat as you watch the sun start to set.

A maid tells you it's time to go home.

You only nod.

You stare at the courtesans in the brothels, and then at your own skin. Perhaps that would be a way out. Perhaps if it were ever to come to it, you would pick that. It is not undignified. You would be sold for a good price, and you would have a rich husband. Perhaps the only downturn would be that the man would sleep with you day and night, but you wonder if that would be better than the bitter loneliness that your years of solitude have left you with. Perhaps you would be worth something in the eyes of another man if you just let go of your pride. Perhaps you would be of worth.

You are just an empty shell, after all.

You find yourself stuck in place as you blink quickly, realizing there are tears on your cheeks and splattering onto your chest. Your maid hands you a handkerchief, and you wipe them away, wiping again and again and again until the fabric is drenched and you no longer can wipe your tears. You stay like that, an anomaly in a bustling street of happy people, your emotions tucked behind your mind as your eyes form a mind of their own as you cry. You are not sad. You do not know how to feel sad. You only know how to cry. You are a doll. You should not know how to cry. You were erased of that ability years ago.

Yet, the tears do not stop, and you cry until the sun is no longer visibly, tears splattering still even when they wash you up for the day. It makes you unwell. It makes you feel sick. You should not know anything so unbecoming of a lady like this. You should not know how to cry. You should only know how to smile and wait for your betrothed to come home. You should not know how to be human. You should not know anything in this wretched world other than the happiness that being married could bring you.

So, as the maids clean you up and let you rest for the night, you dream of a happy marriage with Jinshi.

It is the only thing you know, after all.

冬

Winter comes and you dress warm. The fur rests on your shoulders as you sit down for tea with Consort Ah-Duo, wine pressed to your lips as she lets out a heavy sigh.

"It is a pleasure to receive your visit." You smile.

"Jinshi, that child, he's quite the handful, isn't he?" She gets straight to the point, mumbling. "Had I been more upfront about it, perhaps I could have stopped your demise."

You laugh, lips curled into a bashful smile as you try to hide it with your sleeve, but Ah-Duo sees right through you.

"You are hurt."

"It is hard not to be." You hum, letting your sleeve down as you stare at the drink. "But I have grown used to it."

"The residence must be empty without a master."

You shake your head. "I have grown used to it."

"I could ask the emperor to give you to me." She offers, hand held out to you.

You turn her down. Your role in this world is not to be a servant to the late consort. Your role in the world was already predestinated. It is fate for you to end up with Jinshi in every universe. "I would become a servant. That is not my role in the palace."

Ah-Duo grimaces. "Is your role to wait until Jinshi is forced to throw you away?"

You laugh, lips curled into a gentle smile this time. You do not bother hiding this one. She shakes her head in disagreement, but she does not speak up. You are stuck in your role just as she is stuck in hers. She has retired from the main palace now. You will retire from being Jinshi's betrothed when he deems it fit. You will not be the decider of your fate.

"Let us drink. I missed this."

You are her daughter just as Jinshi is her son. You are the child she watched grow up in another consort's palace, your pinky linked with Jinshi's when the two of you were scared of official events, your shoulders straightening through the years as your education furthered, until you were an undeniable presence in the royal court, your words like law, just and righteous as you argued against the old men who would stop at nothing to prove a woman like you wrong. You are her daughter the same way Jinshi is her son. You are her daughter simply because you grew up with her son.

"I did too." You press the wine to your lips, bitterness sliding down your throat as you swallow, that faux happiness dropping almost instantly. You are not a lightweight. You are trained to drink well in order to talk to guests well. You despise it. You have learned that. You have learned to despise things.

You despise yourself.

You despise the people who pity you.

You despise the maids who whisper behind your back about how you would be replaced one day.

"I do not expect you to forgive Jinshi." Ah-Duo speaks. "I would not forgive him either."

"There is no forgiving to be done. He is simply making his own choices." You nod as the maid refills your drink. "I am not a woman to be desired by him. He is the type to pick a chicken leg over an abalone. He is the type to pick a stick rather than a flower. I am simply what the late empress thought of as desirable to him but ended up not to be. I am not something that Jinshi believes is desirable in his eyes. It is that simple."

"You are desirable." The consort refutes you. "You are educated in everything there is to educate someone in. You are smarter than the majority of eunuchs and workers in the palace. You are someone who is the most desirable person there is to be. Your worth does not lie on Jinshi alone."

"That is what I have been conditioned to believe."

"It is not the truth. Ah-Duo presses the liquor to her lips. "You are just as much of a person as Jinshi is. Perhaps, because of your upbringing, you are more noble than him in antics."

"He is more noble than I." You shake your head. "He is more noble simply because his position allows for him to make his own decisions regardless of who he hurts in the process."

"You may make your own as well." She hums. "Regardless of who you hurt in the process."

"I do not know how to do that." You close your eyes, exhaling. "I am not someone with that capability. I must carry the weight of being unwanted for the dignity of the royal family. I am the doll created to keep the royal family desirable. I am an exotic flower planted in a field of domestic ones, dying to be picked, only to never be touched."

"That is a lie." Ah-Duo frowns. "You are not a doll. You are just a girl."

You laugh. "I am not just a girl."

"You are just a girl." She repeats herself, staring into your eyes. "You are a just a girl. You are a girl who does not deserve anything that is happening to her. You are a girl who was picked out of the hundreds of thousands of girls abandoned on the streets because your family could not afford to raise a girl. You are not a flower curated for the betterment of a boy who would never pick you. You are a girl, not a flower. not a doll."

Your eyes do not waver, and you break the silence with another dry laugh.

"I am a doll on display with the key around her neck." You smile. "But I thank you."

You miss the way her features soften with the pity you despise.

春

When spring comes back, you watch the merchants bring in new silk and the streets fill in with the season's specials. You pick out the fruit and ingredients for the newer dishes, testing them out after they are made, and nodding in approval for them to be tasted by the rest of the consorts. Maomao helps you compile a list of ingredients that are not healthy or safe, and you look through them. Then, you send the ingredients out to the rest of the palace alongside the supplier.

Some days, you forget that you are an existence. Some days, you forget you have influence in the palace.

"Madam, what about this one?"

You turn to Maomao, and she shakes her head.

"No." You reject right away.

You wonder what made you change your mind about Maomao. You suppose it is pity that you do not have to give. You pity her for having to put up with Jinshi. Yet, it is not something you worry about for the time being. You squat down as you take your feet out of your shoes, grimacing at the sores on your feet from the shoe size that is too small.

Maomao takes note of it, shaking her head.

"You do not bind your feet, but you force them to stop growing."

"It is no different." You smile. "Your feet remain unbound, do they?"

"They do. I have no need to bind them. Granny did not request of it either."

"That checks out." You smile. "I do not bind them but keep my shoe size small out of my own volition.

"You should stop doing that." She pauses. "Not to sound presumptuous, but shoe size does not matter to Jinshi."

You blink, eyes going wide in amusement as you laugh. "You are as straightforward as the maids warn me."

Maomao bows her head in apology.

"Don't worry about it." You smile. "You are to be the lady of this residence soon, after all."

"I do not wish to." She shudders. "Ever since he... I do hope he regains interest in you."

"There is no way he was interested in me in the beginning." You hum. "It is really that simple."

"You have stopped deluding yourself—" Maomao slaps a hand over her mouth. "Apologies."

You laugh more, lips pulled into a wide laugh. "I quite like you."

She blinks at you cattily. "Please do not."

You shrug. "I understand why Jinshi would find you entertaining. I heard he proposed to you. One of the maids overheard it."

"I do not want him, if that soothes you. It is an honest statement as well." Maomao nods.

"I know that much." You hum. "Unfortunately, men in power tend to coerce women for their gain. If you do not wish for it, you may always let me know. I hold little power over Jinshi, but I hold heavy power over the words heard by these walls."

"You are powerful." She points out. "Yet you are so empty."

"So I've been told." You hum. "Those go over there. Keep that one away from the pure consort. She is unable to have those."

"Yes madam."

"Is there a reason you lack?"

"I do not know how to be anything but empty." You shake your head. "It is one of the many reasons Jinshi does not desire me."

"I believe he seems parts of you in me."

"No." You reject the idea near immediately. "We are not similar to that degree. Jinshi does not have the brain to think of us in that way. He is better than his father."

"The late emperor."

"The dead one."

Maomao shudders. "Children."

"Those poor children." You snort. "I was almost one of them."

"You are not that old."

"The late emperor saw me in the same way he saw the late empress. He was on his last years when the late empress took me in and raise me beside Jinshi." You shake your head. "Had I been born just a little earlier, I would have been sent in as a poor girl to be defiled by the emperor."

Maomao grimaces. "Did you fall in love with Jinshi at first sight?"

"No. I had just been taught that the only man I should look at is Jinshi." You hum. "Halt. What is that?"

The merchant shows you the signed form and hands you a sample, and you frown at the taste, handing the other half to Maomao.

"No."

"You heard her. No." You wave the merchant off, and he gasps, frown on his face.

"It is incredible." Maomao looks at the guards drag the man away. "A single word from you is the equivalent of a royal decree."

"The late empress had this power bestowed on me, after all." You mumble. "I am not someone who has ever had power that belonged to me."

"Can you eat poison?"

"The vast majority of them." You hum. "I was fed them while growing up."

"You seem to be everything at once. You are constituted with all the knowledge there is to offer, yet you are empty inside."

"I am composed of materialistic things." You hum. "I am composed of knowledge. I am the closest thing to perfection, I suppose. Whatever that means."

"A subjective perfection of the late empress regnant."

"Yes." You laugh. "I am a shell created to hold things. I am not constituted of anything that makes a person a person."

"Other than the physical features, I suppose." Maomao mumbles. "Yet, you are quite the enigma. You have a personality and something. You are like a dam that is waiting to explode. You are a pot of medicine simmering, waiting to boil over and become what you need to be. Ah. My apologies. I must have come off as rude."

You shake your head, lips in a smile. "So? Did you understand what to do?"

"I did." She nods. "My greatest appreciations for you for showing me. I hope I never have to take over this position."

You only laugh.

That is inevitable. The pin had already been passed on to her, after all.

But as your eyes trail to her and then to yourself, you wonder. Perhaps the two of you are just parallels of each other.

Maybe you are.

Who knows.

夏

In summer, you see Maomao again, going for tea with consort Gyokuyou.

"I missed you." She smiles. "Sit."

"How is the baby?"

"Good." She nods. "Ah. Your shoes have changed."

You smile. "You can thank your maid for that."

"They must be much more comfortable."

"Yes." You nod. "I will never be desired by Jinshi, yet he will never throw me away, so I may as well give myself a little more leeway."

"That is good. "She smiles. "The new dish you approved for eating was delicious, for your reference."

"I'm glad." You smile. "Maomao helped make that one."

"Oh, really? I am so lucky to have such a capable maid next to me." She giggles.

"Yeah." You hum, lips curled into a smile. "She's great. I'm sure she'd make for a great lady of the house."

"Are you to leave?"

"You heard of the proposal, yes?"

She doesn't react, but that itself is an answer.

"It is only a matter of time." You hum.

"I speak for all the consorts, but we will miss you."

"Thank you." You smile pitifully. "I am grateful for your care over the years."

"We are grateful for your management." She smiles. "So? Have you planned for where to go?"

"The streets." You wink at her, laughing.

She does not reciprocate, and you stop your laughter, eyes closed and lips pulled into a smile as you hum. "It's a secret. Though, I will be around."

"Will you?"

"You will see me in the trees, the breeze, and the wheat." You hum. "I will be in the wind, the sky, the clouds. You will see traces of me everywhere, simply because my blood and sweat has been poured into the imperial palace."

"Perhaps it is time for you to be freed." She hums, lips pulled into a smile. "A journey for the self."

"Rather than that." You hum. "Perhaps it is simply time to let go of Jinshi."

"Does the empress still haunt you?"

"No." You hum. "I am slowly unlearning the need for a husband."

"Then you will become a courtesan?"

"Perhaps I shall simply be employed as a maid instead." You mumble. "I would not be against such."

"Dress as a man and become an assistant." She laughs.

You smile. "Perhaps that is my new role in this narrative."

"Or, perhaps it is simply time for you to be freed from the grasps of the palace." She smiles. "Please take care of yourself."

"I will. After all, I am still a doll for the royal family."

"Darling. You are just a girl."

You do not answer to it this time.

秋

In fall, you have tea with Maomao.

The two of you sit in your tearoom with snacks, and she looks around anxiously, almost as if she were worried about something pouncing on her.

"There have been more assassination attempts on Jinshi lately." She mumbles.

"And you?"

"and I." She mumbles. "I do not understand why."

"Perhaps the emperor is making a move." You hum. "Or perhaps it is one of the consorts."

"I do not know." Maomao mumbles. "It is almost as if it were the calm before the storm."

You hum. "There is a storm brewing, alright."

An arrow pierces through the window as you knock the tea to the ground to hide Maomao with your body. Another one misses you narrowly, and you reach for the blanket on the bed, thick with cotton and warmth as it stops the arrow. Maomao stares up at you, heart racing in her chest, expression unchanging. This is what she meant. You are a force to be reckoned with. You possess the knowledge far beyond the abilities of the average consort, yet you are not acknowledged simply because the one to acknowledge you does not do so. You reach behind her for the sword under the bed, unsheathing it with ease as you slide out of the blanket, jumping out the window to chase after the assassin.

You are everything at once.

Your footsteps are light with each jump, and you swing from the branches as you knock him onto the ground, sword pressed to his neck, slicing through clean as you land with a thud in the pond. The ducks fly away as you land, water all over your robes, the blood from the decapitation bleeding into the water. The water stains your dress red from the blood, and you pant above him, pulling the sword away as you stand up to run a hand through your hair. The sun burns against your back as you throw your head back to breathe, eyes closed as Maomao's footsteps catch up to you.

"Are you injured?"

"No." You shake your head, showing her your hands. "though, these are roughed up."

"I will prepare ointment." She nods.

"Madam!" The maids yell. "Are you alright?!"

"Fine." You nod. "Fetch a change of clothes."

"We shall prepare it. Do you need to be bathed?"

"No." You shake your head. "No need. Perhaps just wash my feet."

They nod, and you hold your hand out for Maomao to apply ointment.

"Maomao!" Jinshi calls. "There you are! What are you doing here?"

You glance at him, nodding, head held down as he excuses you.

"Your sleeves are bloodied!" He reaches for her wrists, and she pulls away with a harsh tug.

"An assassin was after me." Maomao continues sliding the balm against your palm. "Your betrothed saved me."

"...thank you." Jinshi nods at you.

"You owe me one now." You nudge Maomao with a raise of your brows. "Better find a way to pay me back."

"I'll let you marry Jinshi." She deadpans, shuddering.

"Maomao!" Jinshi's jaw drops in hurt.

You laugh. "He won't let me marry him."

"Tsk. Worth a try." Maomao grumbles.

"Madam! The clothes!"

You nod in response, smiling as Maomao is taken away once the maids pull you to rid you of the blood.

You do not despise Maomao, but you do not deserve that lack of attention that Jinshi gives you either.

You are just a girl. You do not deserve this.

冬

Jinshi talks to you this time.

He comes to the residence after being ordered to by the emperor, and he stares at you with your sleeves rolled up in the winter snow arranging the flowers. He does not know what to feel for you. You are his betrothed whom he does not visit, but he is your betrothed whom you do not talk to first. Perhaps it is simply excuses on his end. You do not know what he would think, after all. He was clearly in love with Maomao.

"You could have a gardener tend to such flowers." Jinshi speaks up, and you jump in your skin, visibly surprised to see him in the residence.

"J-Jinshi." You mumble, eyes wide.

"You are dirtying your clothes." He mumbles.

"Is it despicable?" You look up at him, eyes tired.

"It is foreign." He whispers back. "Though, it is not unwelcome."

"I see." You go back to the plants, tending to the roses.

"The emperor... is requesting the two of us for tea."

"I figured you have come for something and not for me." You stand up, dusting off your dress as Jinshi offers his hand to help you back onto the pathing.

You do not take it.

"What have you been up to?"

Jinshi tries to make small talk. You chuckle.

"Not much. I have only been tending to the plants in the garden."

"What about the rooms?"

"They have been filled with warm blankets for the winter." You hum. "The lanterns are all lit since it would be darker earlier in the day, and the walls have been repainted for the season."

"I see." He pauses. "And the salaries of the maids?"

"I have already taught Maomao. Fear not." You glance at the passing maids whisper to one another about you. "When will you be announcing it?"

"I will not be announcing it." He shakes his head. "Once my position is stable, then I will announce it."

"I see." You hear something rustle in the distance, choosing to ignore it as the two of you stop before the emperor's tearoom.

"Announcing the arrival of the second prince and his betrothed!"

"Enter." The emperor speaks from the inside.

The two of you step into the room, bowing to the emperor as he orders for you both to rise.

"Princess." he nods at you. "You have grown yet again."

You nod back. "I have."

"It is great to see." He nods. "Take a seat."

The both of you sit as the doors are shut, and you wait for the emperor to drink his tea.

"Did Jinshi tell you what we are discussing?"

"No." You shake your head.

"Jinshi wishes to marry Maomao." The emperor addresses the problem immediately, and you are reminded of Lady Ah-Duo.

"I am aware." You hum.

"Yet, he does not wish to break off your engagement."

"I am not as open minded to accept a second wife despite the allowance of a harem for the royal family." You chuckle dryly. "Besides. Jinshi only wishes for Maomao to be his wife."

"Yes. I only wish to be wed to Maomao."

"Well, Jinshi." The emperor sighs. "It's a shame, but we cannot break off your engagement to..."

"I am aware."

You hear something rustle again, and a flurry of footsteps rush outside of the door.

The servant yells.

"Maomao has been kidnapped!"

Somewhere in the distance, a rope snaps.

You are a girl You are just a girl You are just... a girl.

You get up and apologize for Jinshi's behavior as he runs out of the room to grab the servant to ask for details, and the emperor shakes his head. You hand Jinshi the seal of his army to him from your pocket, and you watch as he rushes off without a thank you. You stare at him bitterly and miss the way he turns back to look at you. Instead, you turn back to see the emperor staring at you pitifully, and you nod as you call for a maid to bring you into the bathhouse. You need a massage and a break. You need a moment to yourself. You need to relax. Your blood pressure was rising and you were struggling to gauge your importance.

You can say you know Jinshi does not care all you want, but living it is still a different experience.

So, as the maids leave you alone in the bathhouse, you cry, hurricane of tears breaking past your eyes as you cry into the bathwater, years of pain and anguish ricocheting off the walls as the birds outside the bathhouse fly away from your heartbreak. You are just a girl. Why does it have to be you? You are just a girl. You are a girl with no background or home or past but you are just a girl and you should not have to let the world be carried on your back just because you are a girl. You should not be defined by the feelings of a man who does not care about you. You are a girl. You are a simple girl who does not deserve anything that is happening to you.

You are a girl who was stolen from her family because the royal family desired a perfect empress. You are a girl who should not have to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders just because she was unfortunate enough to be picked for a job that did not suit her. Why did you have to be the one who has to fall in love with a man who does not love you back and be stuck being in love with him? He does not want you. He has made that clear enough. It does not matter if he would turn around to look at you one day. You would never be picked first.

You are just a girl.

You do not deserve any of this.

So, you stand up in the bathwater as it splashes with your movement, and you rearrange your robes into something moveable before you break past the doors of the bathhouse, footsteps heavy and undignified as you run through the pathing that you've stained with your sweat and love, past the gates that had welcomed you since birth, and you run, wind in your hair icing your scalp in the summer breeze, panting and gasping for air as you run through the streets and cry, losing a shoe on the way, tears still spilling past your eyes, mouth open to breathe, ignoring all the weird looks from the people on the streets as you run into the pathing in the forest and leave. You are free.

Free from the cage you had been locked in since birth, key left behind on the door as you end up somewhere you know will be better.

It does not matter to you anymore.

You are free.

冬

Jinshi does not know what prompts him to visit you when he returns with Maomao. Perhaps it was because of the pain on your face when he had run away from you in order to go save Maomao. Perhaps it had been the realization while saving Maomao that you had given him one of the only powers you held over him without hesitation. Perhaps you had just handed it to him because you wanted him to see you once he returned. Regardless of your mission, he visits you.

When Jinshi steps foot into your residence after saving Maomao, your maids are rushing around the palace yelling at one another.

"Jinshi-sama!" A maid catches him, grabbing onto his armor in a panicked state as he blinks down at her in surprise.

"What?"

"Do you know where the young madam went?!" She cries, genuine fear and worry leaking all over her face as her cheeks are red from the cold and running around. "We've been searching all over for her since she disappeared from the bathhouse while we weren't looking! She's been missing since your leaving, and we assumed that she would return since she had been visiting the streets more and more often and perhaps had gone to visit her parents' graves, but it has been long and she still has not returned! Do you know where she could be?!"

Jinshi furrows his brows.

Missing. You're missing. You are missing.

You, who did not step foot outside of the residence unless it was to have tea with the consorts, was missing.

"I do not know." Jinshi shakes his head. "Where does she frequent in the streets?"

"We sent maids, but they—"

"We finally found the madam's shoe!" A maid yells from the entrance, holding up something in her hand. "Come!"

The maids all crowd around her as she reveals your shoe, and Jinshi grimaces.

It is your shoe. Your shoe, muddied, bloodied, wet with water. Your shoe, that was typically a size too small.

The maids all grimace at the sight, staring up at Jinshi for confirmation.

"Keep searching. She must be there somewhere." He turns away, brows furrowed. "She could not have gotten very far. She has been nurtured by the palace, so surely she is somewhere within reach."

The maids scramble to look, the sun turning it morning, Jinshi searching with them, quietly praying that you would return once the sun did. The sun returns once, twice, and then too many to count with his hands. The sun returns time and time again, and you do not.

You do not, and the maids sent to the streets also come back with no avail.

Even with Maomao asking the lower-ranked maids, you do not return.

You are gone.

Whether it is you have passed or you are missing, it makes no difference.

You are gone.

"I shall prepare for her ceremony." He closes his eyes, brows furrowing.

That is all they need to hear.

春

You haunt every corner of Jinshi's life.

He moves into the residence you left behind shortly after your burial ceremony, and he brings everything with him. He touches nothing you arranged, only bringing his personal items and work, and he sits in your tearoom each afternoon to work on the papers handed to him by the emperor. He drinks your favorite tea because he finds himself slowly losing his sanity with each passing moment that you do not manage the residence.

He is fully capable, but he is just not as well-versed in it as you are.

It drains him more than he'd like. Maomao is still a maid despite the purchase of her as a consort, and he does not wish to overwhelm her. He still very much loves her, he believes, but he supposes losing a huge part of his childhood is even worse in some way. He had chosen to neglect you, but it did not mean he did not cherish you. He could not count the times when you had linked pinkies with him at formal events with the emperor and empress while the two of you stood tall all because you were to be a certain way at a certain place.

Eventually, the two of you had outgrown the need to hold hands or pinkies in official events.

Though, that wasn't the only thing he had to thank you for. He was not a gifted child. He watched you speed through the materials and still have time to play with him, and it made him bitter. He was bitter. You had always been groomed to be perfect and desirable, and it only made him despise you more. Perhaps he had avoided you because you were too put together and perfect. He did not despise you. He does not despise you. In fact, dare he say it, he might have even loved you and forced himself to bury it away.

He could not love you the way you deserved to be loved. You deserved the position of empress, not the position of a eunuch's wife. You did not deserve to be warped into the madness of the royal family in the way that you did. He had made the mistake with you, so he would not make the mistake with Maomao. His heart sours in his chest. Perhaps he had been a liar. He had only avoided you to avoid the pain in his heart. He had been a coward afraid of hurting you only to hurt you more. He is a coward.

He groans, head buried in his papers as Maomao comes in with his dinner.

"You look awful."

Jinshi shifts his head to the side to look at Maomao, closing his eyes again afterward. Her filter around him had disappeared ever since you had left. He does not know if he is thankful or not.

Things have changed since your disappearance.

The maids have all stopped referring to anyone as the madam of the house, only waiting for Maomao to officially give Jinshi an answer to his proposal, and Jinshi has become the master of the house, much different to when they referred to him as Jinshi-sama. He is no longer someone underneath you in the residence that he was to live in with you. He is now the only person who was given a proper status in a palace of such. He groans when he remembers that he has more paperwork. Perhaps you should have been given less to do in the residence.

"Still no news?" He grumbles.

"No." Maomao hums. "She would hate you if you starved yourself like this."

"She did not even know I skipped meals occasionally."

"She did." Maomao refutes. "All of your meals were looked over by her. Your meals had the highest nutrition out of all the meals."

"She did not do that." Jinshi sighs, getting out of your desk to sit at the table. "She did not do that for me."

"She did." Maomao sets the food before him. "It could have only been her. She was the one who let things in and out of the kitchen. She had your allergies memorized like the back of her hand."

"I was such an asshole to her." Jinshi groans.

"You were."

"You're supposed to comfort me as my betrothed!" Jinshi cries.

"I am not your betrothed." Maomao shrugs. "Please get back to work once you finish eating. Gaoshun is asking when this month's report will be ready."

"Please tell him his master is going to kill himself." Jinshi groans. "I can't even bring in an aide because this residence is so secretive."

"I may introduce someone to you." Maomao offers.

"You know people other than me? It cannot be a woman."

"It will not be." Maomao affirms.

Jinshi contemplates it. You had been bred and raised for the purpose of being an ideal wife, so you managed all the numbers and reports of your shared residence despite Jinshi being in charge of a handful of matters. They seemed trivial to him back then, but now that he has to wait for those numbers to reach him, he finds that perhaps you were going through much more than you letting him know about. Not even the maids would tell him how often you were holed up in your office.

Though, according to your maids, you had barely struggled with it, your estimations always on point, even when Jinshi handed you bills late.

For you to be so much better than Jinshi.

How infuriating of you.

夏

"Jinshi." Maomao speaks from the door. "I have brought a eunuch as your new assistant."

"I do not need one." He grumbles. "I am fine on my own."

"No. He is to help manage the estate." Maomao doesn't let him argue, opening the door to reveal his new aide.

The man nods at him, bowing his head. "I greet my new master. My name is Diu."

"There is no need for that." He shakes his head. "Are you well versed in the matters of the house?"

"There is no person who is better versed than I am." He nods. "I assure you."

Jinshi sighs. "Training shall start tomorrow."

"Yes, master."

Jinshi finds that his new aide is just as quick with numbers and things of the residence as you were, fingers fast and calculations smooth, speeding up the process for Jinshi. When he asks how he knew, he smiles at him, telling him that he had helped his wife with her household matters in order to alleviate the stress of being pregnant. Jinshi doesn't pry, but his aide looks too young to be a man capable of such wise thought. He looks too delicate, jaw too smooth and lashes too long. Had Jinshi been any more manic, he might have accused his aide of actually being a woman.

He tilts his head as he watches his aide look over the papers and speak up.

"Master Jinshi, do you have the scroll for the reimbursement report?"

Jinshi nods, handing him the scroll as Diu scribbles down the numbers, handing it to Maomao with a nod as she wanders off to hand it off to another official.

"Please call for me when the next report is due." Diu nods, about to follow her out.

"Are you not a personal aide?"

"I was told by Sister Maomao that I am only to help with the matters of the mansion."

"You... should arrange the guest rooms." Jinshi grumbles. "Please. Are you well versed in the other matters of the house?"

"I am." Diu nods. "Leave the matters of the estate to me."

"Maomao." Jinshi calls for her as she appears at the door. "Diu will be helping you with the affairs of decorating."

She nods. "Shall we go?"

"We shall." Diu smiles, and Jinshi's stomach churns uncomfortably.

He smiles the same way you do.

How nauseating.

How long had it been since you had smiled at him? You had only smiled at Maomao, lips curled into a teasing one, never staring at Jinshi when you had. Perhaps that was his flaw. He was cursed to see parts of you in other people until he could own up to his own emotions. Perhaps he was much too similar to you. Perhaps he is just a boy. Perhaps he just misses what you could have been had he spoken to you. Perhaps he should have reminded you that you were not alone.

You left him, but he forced you to the door, giving you the key you had been taught to never use.

Perhaps he had been the push to force you to leave.

How sickening.

秋

Jinshi finds that Maomao gets along with Diu much more than makes him comfortable.

Maomao discusses and lingers around Diu often, fingers brushing his skin as he leans down to let her wipe the fallen lash from his cheek, a flirty smile on his lips when she pulls away. Maomao does not react. She never does. Yet, it makes Jinshi uncomfortable. He no longer knows if it's how eerily similar Diu is to you or how Diu keeps making a move on Maomao, but it makes his skin crawl uncomfortably each time he comes to Maomao's aide, reprimanding you and reminding you to keep your hands off of her as she was his only love.

"My apologies."

It is the same thing over and over again.

Jinshi finds that the more Diu flirts with Maomao, the less he wants Maomao, his jealous streak overtaken by habituation, and eventually he finds himself just staring until the two are uncomfortable. Maomao seems far too comfortable with Diu's movements, and Jinshi finds it infuriating. So, Jinshi steps in one day, pulling on Diu's wrist as he cages Maomao into the wall.

"Perhaps the master would prefer for me to romance him instead?" Diu pins Jinshi to the wall instead, tilting his head with his fingers, lips curled into a teasing smile. Jinshi flushes red, a shudder rippling down his back at the sight of the shorter pining him to the wall. Maomao watches from the side in amusement, lips curled upward with a cheeky grin as Jinshi eyes her for help.

"My eyes are here, young master," Diu tilts his head again, lips curled into a sweet smile. "Cheating on me already? I'm your servant before I am hers, you know?"

Jinshi shudders, cheeks red as Diu turn to Maomao, a victorious smile on his face.

"Master, it is time for..." Gaoshun trails off, pulling Diu off of Jinshi. "What are you doing?!"

"The master got jealous I was hitting on Maomao." Diu smiles.

Jinshi leaves, glancing behind him at Diu, heart racing in his chest as he tries to calm his cheeks. He is breathtaking, that eunuch. His aide has a beauty that could rival his. He would stop interfering. If he were to get hit on again... heavens knows what kind of atrocities he would commit. Diu is too strong. No wonder the maids in the palace had been flocking to get a look at his face. Maybe that was why he was dethroned as one of the most attractive men in the court. Diu was simply too attractive for his own good.

God, maybe he is a homosexual.

The thought rips through his body as his lips pull down in concern, blinking slowly at the revelation. Damn. Has he stooped this low? Was he willing to go so low as to fall for a man who reminded him of you? Maybe Jinshi was losing his mind. Perhaps this is what the matchmaker meant by he would suffer greatly if he were to lose his yin. He had tried not to touch you, but he had only hurt you instead. He was losing his mind to the point that he was getting flustered over men.

Diu really does things to him. You do things to him.

The man's fingers remind Jinshi of yours as well, reminders of years that are lost in his memory, years when the two of you would hold hands under tables and before the empress, years when he would watch you practice dances with your teachers, hair fluttering in the wind as you moved like a princess. It reminds him of years when you would be able to fit in your shoe size and walk without pain, when you were still young and a child, crying about not wanting to bind your feet.

You got your wish, but your shoe size had still been shrunk one size down to try and prevent your feet from growing.

Sooner than later, you lost your ability to dance.

Jinshi wonders if Diu would be able to do it. His body is slim enough for the dance, and had he been there when the foreign envoys were visiting, perhaps he could have taken Jinshi's place. Swimming in the dress was a nightmare. Perhaps Diu could have worked the same. He has the face for it. Oh, how convenient. Jinshi would no longer need to dress up as a woman with Diu around.

"The next time we have to do female imitation... we are calling Diu." Jinshi shudders.

Gaoshun raises a brow.

Jinshi shakes his head.

Perhaps if Jinshi were desperate enough, he could doll Diu up to resemble you and hold him for the night. As long as the words did not get out, he would be alright. If he were desperate enough, he would sleep in your room, covered by your blanket, engulfed by your faded scent. The scent of summer flowers and a young love. If Jinshi were desperate enough, he could send more soldiers to find you. But Jinshi is not desperate enough.

Not yet. He is not desperate enough yet.

He may be sick to his head thinking about you, but he is not desperate.

冬

There is a crowd of consorts outside of Jinshi's window.

No. Not for him, surprisingly. For Diu.

"Diu-sama!! Look our way!!" The women yell, and Diu looks up from his desk, a smile on his face, waving gently. Both Jinshi and Maomao grimace, frown on their faces at his friendliness. Jinshi finds that Diu has an effect worse than he does. Perhaps this is his karma for playing along with the consorts every now and then. No wonder Maomao found him infuriating when he did so.

"Diu." Maomao hisses.

The man nods, leaning out the window to smile at the women, sighing. "Do you mind giving us some space? We need to finish the report for this month and my master is having quite the moment, you know?"

A girl faints, but the rest of them ultimately scatter off, and you hum, shutting the window.

"The total has been written down."

Maomao hands Jinshi a scroll, and Jinshi nods.

"Diu, is there a reason you never write the reports?"

"Whatever do you mean? I wrote them during summer, no?" You tilt your head. "Master Jinshi, you told me to stop writing them because my writing was not legible."

Jinshi does not remember that, but doesn't argue.

"Let's go for a break today." You pull Maomao out of her seat, smiling at Jinshi. "Master, will you be joining us?"

Jinshi groans. "please."

Diu offer him a hand, and he takes it, his hand strangely familiar in his grasp. It makes him feel nostalgic, almost. It feels like when he used to hold your hand during ceremonies with the royal court. Yet, he is not you. Diu is not you. So, Jinshi pushes the feelings back as he is led through the streets, lights vibrant as he stops at stalls for snacks and food.

Maomao runs out of coins at one point, and Diu offers him more, but she shakes head. She has some things she could trade for coins. She does so, pulling a pin out of her pocket and exchanging it for a bag of coins, a grin on his face. "let's get going."

"What do you even need so many coins for?" Diu raises a brow, picking one up.

"Master doesn't have copper coins."

"Excuse you! I do!" Jinshi tries to argue.

"It's why he has not yet bought anything."

Diu purses his lips in amusement, laughing.

Jinshi thinks he sounds like bells ringing.

How nostalgic.

Almost as if you were there standing there before him. He misses you, perhaps. He misses what the two of you were, and what you could have been had he picked you first. The guilt eats at him more and more, and it seems as though he could open his mouth and confess that he had a burning desire for you. It was almost as if he could have picked you from the start and none of this would have occurred.

"Diu." Jinshi calls. "Are you married?"

"Why? In love with me already, master?" Diu winks, blowing him a kiss.

Jinshi shudders, cheeks red, head ringing. Flirt.

"No. You have the same mannerisms as someone, and many say that a husband resembles his wife." Jinshi shakes his head. "You remind me of someone."

"The one that got away? I will be." Diu laughs as Maomao grabs him and runs off as Jinshi chases them. "Perhaps that is simply my role in this narrative!"

You.

Diu reminds him of you. So Jinshi finds it ironic that he chases after a man who resembles you in the streets of the city outside of the palace walls. Perhaps the two of you would have done something similar in another universe. He would have chased you in the streets, and the two of you would have been free to do whatever without the weight of the palace. Perhaps you would have been worth more in your own eyes, and he would have cared more for you during the time you would have been with him.

Perhaps you would have chosen to stay with him in that universe.

Perhaps he would be less bitter then, too.

春

In spring, the silkworms produce new silk, and the products from the merchants come in. Jinshi observes them, ultimately unable to tell the difference between certain ones because of his lack of practice, and Maomao can only stand and blink, unused to picking them herself. Instead, she steps back for Diu to look at them, the man's fingers feeling at the fabric as he raises a brow.

"These seem to be cheap quality. Are you trying to rip off the palace?" The man raises a brow.

"N-no way!"

"The threading is different one from the one currently present." Diu clicks his tongue. "This is the one commonly used for the middle class."

"A-are you not middle class? The funds mentioned to me a-are less than before." The merchant cowers slightly as Maomao hands Diu the invoice.

"No. The funding has not changed this season."

"Ah, well, surely the inflation has—"

"Nope. The economic state of the capital has not changed either. If you want a couple extra coins just say it." Diu groans. "We can always change suppliers. My family has quite the good one, you know?"

The merchant rolls his eyes. "These are the same blankets as the rest of the palace. If you don't want them—"

Maomao steps up. "The empress uses different ones from a different supplier. Had we needed low-quality textiles as this, we would have talked to the maids."

The merchant scoffs in offense. "What do you know—"

"I know that the palace uses a different supplier because you started cheating the main palace years ago." Diu speaks up, stepping close to the merchant. "Would you like us to switch too? We could formally decree you to be banned from the palace."

"Y-you're a mere servant. You wouldn't dare!"

Diu gives the man a closed-eye smile, and he grumbles, handing over the better blankets buried under the bad ones. The servants bring them in as Diu handles the money, and Jinshi blinks in surprise. He did not know the rest of the palace started using a new supplier. He had only known that Gyokuyou had changed merchants. Diu must have done very thorough research prior to picking up blankets.

"How could you tell?" Jinshi raises a brow.

"It wasn't imperfectly perfect." Diu shrugs. "Also, hand woven silk by the skilled is bound to have flaws, but this one had too many. They may have flaws, but their edges do not fray to this extent."

"Wow." Jinshi hums. "That is impressive."

"In order to be a husband deserving of my wife's noble title, I have to make up in other ways."

"Does your wife not have brothers?"

"No, she simply fell for my charm." Diu winks.

Maomao gags from the side. Though... not surprising.

"A shame you are a eunuch..." Jinshi trails off, eyes wandering. "You seem to be the type to have many sons."

Diu holds a hand over his mouth and his crotch, pretending to be scandalized. "Master! Are you... into me?"

"Nope." Jinshi turns on his heel. "Let us go."

"Where to?" Maomao follows anyway, shrugging when Jinshi doesn't answer Diu's question.

"Who did you hear palace affairs from?"

"I was wandering." Diu shrugs.

It's suspicious, but Jinshi doesn't pry further. After all, Maomao brought him in.

No matter how much Diu is suspicious, Jinshi could never bring you back anyway.

So even if Jinshi begged and sobbed and cried to the moon to return his lover, he could not have it. You had left him. You were gone. No matter how hard he looked, your body could be out in the cold and abandoned, eaten by the wolves or some other sort. It is awful. He could search all he wanted, sending all the guards he wanted, but he would not have you back. He could not live in such a way. You were gone, only your shoe left.

Perhaps Diu was sent by the heavens to remind him of you for the rest of his days.

It is his fault, after all.

夏

There are reports of your ghost haunting the walls.

First, one of the younger ranking maids hear a girl crying in your old room, then an older maid sees a woman rush through the halls at night. Eventually Gaoshun spots a woman clothed in white dancing on the outer walls with Maomao. It is truly a terrifying sight. Jinshi tries his best to ignore it, but ultimate he sees you dancing on the outer walls of the palace as well. It is same position of the moon when Gaoshun and Maomao saw it, but you are dressed in red this time, wedding gown fluttering from your figure, phoenix crown pinned in your hair.

Jinshi stands and stares.

You dance, footsteps light as they used to be when you were but a child and Jinshi watched you in your classes, and your dress flutters in the wind, silk probably cool against your skin, and Jinshi stops to stare, some wretched form of longing on his face. It is nostalgic. It is everything he had once seen in you, your art, your beauty, your existence, all tucked into the back of his mind, threatening to spill over and ruin him. He watches you as you make the same steps you had so many years ago, your memory burning into his mind through his eyes as his conscious forces him to engrain every detail of your ghost into his mind.

The paleness of your skin to the sunken eyelids, to the bloody red that was on your lips with the red on your body. The makeup is fitting of a bride, yet the moon shining behind your body makes you look a mixture of grief and regret in Jinshi's eyes. You do not look down at him, almost as though lost in your own dance, too enthralled with the moon and its secrets as you kick your leg to spin and flutter through the air. Jinshi can do nothing as he look sup at you, exhaustion creeping up his body slowly, almost as though you were the moon herself despite the red on your body.

Your ghost is haunting him as a reminder that you are his wife. Your ghost is dancing to remind him of the day the two of you had been told to bed, but had not. Your ghost is driving him into a corner the same way he had driven you out the entrance. His mind is stuck staring and engraving it into his mind to forever regret you. His mind is stuck holding his chin up to stare at you as the metal in your hair jingles in the wind. His mind is stuck, and he refuses to fight against it.

Instead of stopping you, he stares, fingers stuck to his side as you spin and fall off the wall, and he climbs up, lashes fluttering as he stares down at where you would have fallen, only your dress remaining. He stares down, legs hanging from the wall, something pulling him to fall down with you, something urging him to leave with you. Your ghost tilts its head to run your fingers through his hair, lips brushing his as it urges him to fall down with it— fall down with you. Maybe that would be a way to right his wrongs and wash away his sins. He leans forward into your touch, fingers loosening on the wall.

"Master." Diu's voice breaks him from your trance, the man climbing up the wall after him. "Is something wrong?"

Jinshi blinks at where your ghost was, your fingers no longer on his cheek and your lips no longer brushing his. Ghosts do not exist. He was simply falling to an evil spirit's intentions. Diu had simply freed him. You would not have wanted him to pass away as easily as this. You would have wanted him to suffer through what you did. "I saw the madam."

"The previous owner of the residence?"

"Something like that." Jinshi mumbles. "Do you miss your wife?"

"More often than not." Diu sits next to the man, pulling out a bottle. "Wine?"

Jinshi accepts it, pressing the wine to his lips, legs hanging over the railing as he stares down, blinking slowly at the fabric. Your ghost is gone, yet the fabric still reaches for him. He could see you wearing it. Perhaps it was just a heavy memory of seeing you in all red, gold embroidery on your gown, lips pulled into a sweet smile despite the ever crumbling relationship that was threatening to snap between the two of you. Perhaps Jinshi had a rope somewhere as well.

"How do you cope with missing your wife?"

"She writes me letters." Diu smiles. "I simply reread them when I get lonely. Or, I send a bird for her."

Jinshi grumbles. "Must be nice to have a loving wife."

"A happy marriage goes both ways, master." Diu offers him more. "You must take care of your wife before she takes care of herself and leaves you."

"Do you think someone is doing this to mess with me?" Jinshi rests his cheek on his legs, pulling them closer to his chest as he holds his cup to the man. "I grieve for her loss. Is that not enough?"

"Perhaps they simply miss their madam." Diu hums. "Did the madam teach the servants?"

"There is no servant in the house who could dance the same way she did." Jinshi closes his eyes, wind rustling the branches behind him. The summer breeze is warm but not too warm. In the distance, in the residence, he can still hear the sound of your laughter as a child. You did not laugh enough as an adult around him. He does not know what you are. What does your laughter sound like now? Maybe you stopped laughing because of him.

He misses you.

"Master?"

"Diu." Jinshi mumbles, eyes closed. "If she comes, please wake me."

"Will do, master."

You never return after that, and Jinshi feels sick.

秋

In fall, foreign envoys bring new mirrors. Diu accepts them and lead them to Jinshi, lips curled into a sweet smile as the mirrors are placed within the residences. The old mirrors had been ruined by a maid on accident, but it was not something worth fretting or worrying over. Jinshi stands in front of the mirror, looking at himself, raising a brow when Maomao and Diu peer from behind him at the reflection.

"I have not seen one in a solid minute." Maomao mumbles. "Diu, how about you?"

"My wife has one at home, but this small mirror would be helpful." Diu hums. "She will like it if we have a covering made for her as well."

Jinshi huffs dramatically loud at the word wife.

"What is not too light?" Maomao raises a brow.

"Perhaps a hollow metal." Diu hums. "I shall check the items she owns."

Jinshi huffs again.

"Sorry, master." Diu smiles, eyes closed, teeth out. "I forgot the madam is gone."

Jinshi is going to have an aneurysm because of Diu.

"I am convinced you are mentioning your wife to drive me insane."

"Perhaps." Diu hums. "I miss her very much, after all."

"Then why did you work here?"

"Master." Diu deadpans. "The pay here is incredible. My wife now has the ability to spend my wealth rather than her family's. Is every husband's dream not to spoil their wife rotten?"

"No." Jinshi grumbles. "Perhaps I should do that for the madam."

"The madam is gone." Maomao deadpans. "Perhaps focus on repainting the walls of the residence first."

"Was the report sent?"

"Not yet." Diu shakes his head. "We are missing a fund as the money has grown to be less."

"Perhaps it is for the repainting of the walls."

"I would assume that the repainting must be done during spring." Jinshi frowns. "Was it during fall?"

"I am not sure." Diu shakes his head. "Did the madam ever mention such?"

"It was fall." Maomao hums. "She complained that it should have been spring once, but she never changed it since it rains more in spring than in fall."

"How do the foreigners put it? April showers do bring May's flowers." Diu hums. "Perhaps the Madam had a reason."

"We can repaint it some other time."

"She would kill you." Maomao deadpans.

"She is not here."

"Does not change that she would kill you." Maomao deadpans. "Perhaps her ghost will return and ruin your life again."

Jinshi pauses. "Well, I do miss her."

Maomao blinks at him in concern.

"I shall put it on the report." Diu nods. "Anything else?"

"I believe that is it."

"Then, may I be released after? I would like to drop by somewhere."

Maomao raises a brow, but Jinshi does not question it.

"Of course. You are free for the rest of the day."

Maomao springs up in her seat. "May I follow?"

Diu nods.

"Going without me?"

"You will stand out too much." Diu deadpans. "We are visiting a teahouse."

"You have a wife!?" Jinshi shrieks, confusion all over his face.

"Not that kind." Diu deadpans.

"What will you be trying?"

"I heard they have a new treat." Maomao hums. "We have been saving for it."

"If you let me go I will pay."

"Hard pass." The two of them grimace.

"We don't lack the funds."

"We can pay."

Jinshi gasps, frowning as he watches the two leave the room when Diu finishes the report.

A plate of the new pastries rests on his desk the next day, but he still pouts and frowns.

He later realizes it's because you had once made the treat for him as kids. That was why he was so upset. Your memories with him haunted him each step he took in the mansion. Perhaps he should have reached for your ghost that day and fallen. Perhaps that would have sped up his fraying string, holding onto nothing as he had lost you.

Perhaps then, he would feel less awful.

冬

In winter, Diu and Maomao help set up the new blankets. The wool is warm, and Maomao sighs, cheeks red from the cold. Diu takes off his coat, wrapping it around Maomao as she blows into her hands and sighs.

"Thank you." She mumbles. "It is cold."

"It is." Diu stares at the floor, pulling out a stone from his pocket to hand to Maomao. "A heated stone, perhaps?"

"Thank you." She mumbles, pulling her clothes open to pop the stone in with the rest. "It is cold. I do not remember the palace being this cold."

Diu goes quiet, glancing around.

"There used to be heated bricks underneath the wood here."

Maomao's eyes widen, neck snapping to look at her coworker.

"That was what I heard from the maids, though. I do not believe the maids told the master either." He shrugs. "How's the master?"

"It is report week." Maomao grimaces.

Diu shudders. "I am surprised he has not called for me yet."

"You remind him too much of the late madam." She shares a look with the man, only turning away when Jinshi yells from inside his office. "He prefers to not—"

"Someone call Diu!" He sobs, and Diu snorts.

"Late madam or not, perhaps desperate situations call for desperate measures." Diu nods, knocking on the door. "Master, I am outside."

The door opens, and Jinshi groans. "Diu! Why is this season's reimbursement report so much lower compared to the previous ones?!"

Jinshi's hair is disheveled, the poor man looking as though he hadn't slept in days. It is a new look to Diu, and it makes Maomao laugh. Diu steps next to him, observing the differences, pointing at the cost in insulation. "I heard from the maids the late madam heated bricks for winter underneath the wood."

"She did?"

"The maids mentioned it." Diu shrugs. "So?"

"Is that the only cost? Who is in charge of the bricks?"

"I am not aware." Diu shakes his head.

"The head maid refuses to tell me. Diu, please." Jinshi cries. "I am not well versed in this."

"In my residence, my wife would hire one of the servants to do so. Perhaps it could be found in their salaries."

Jinshi flips through the book as Diu checks everything over, and he cheers when he finds the maid. Jinshi misses you. You did this much better than he did, and though he had neglected you and the whole situation was his fault, it did not stop him from missing you. Your presence in the residence had simply been enough to him. Now, he had to live without you or your presence in a residence that was meant for two.

"Thank you, Diu." Jinshi grumbles, writing down the note on heating bricks, head slamming into the wood of your desk as Diu takes the report. "God, I miss her."

Diu smiles back, eyes closed, almost as though he were insincere.

In the shadow of Diu, Jinshi sees you.

That smile with his eyes closed reminded him of all the times you had smiled at the officials insincerely, abusing your power as the empress' favorite in order to get them rid of. Perhaps Jinshi is simply going insane because you are gone. The ghost of you haunts him everywhere, including in the body of the new aide. Perhaps it is simply divine punishment from the heavens above.

In the closed-eyed, tight-lipped smile of his new aide, he sees the ghost of you whose smile had changed from a sweet smile with your eyes on him, cheeks flushed, to a smile in which you had not even bothered to look at him, eyes closed and lips pulled upward, lacking the flush that he had grown up seeing. His fault. It is always his fault. There had not been a single moment in which he was right when it had come to you. He is to be despised. You had been right to run away. He will never deserve the love you had given him in the past.

Even if he were to cut his own string and tie it to yours, you could always cut him off of you, simply running away as you had previously. Perhaps it was simply his curse to be this way. He could never love you now that you were gone, and he was the only one to blame. He is the culprit of his own demise.

How loathsome of him.

春

In spring, Jinshi attends the royal court's meeting, lashes thick and full, blinking quickly to blink away his exhaustion. Waking up before the sun was never something worth it. He eats the dishes prepared, listening to the ministers and eunuchs talk about everything. Had you been next to him, he would have had a better time, at least focused for the sake of you, but you are not. Instead, he has Diu who has been testing his dishes, pretty face charming even the married men of the court. Had Diu been born a woman, perhaps he would have been stolen away instantly. Tis a great day for his personal aide to be a man.

Now that Jinshi thinks about it, it was the same with you.

You would be busy reading the material and participating, and the rest of the men would be busy ogling at you. You, who had been raised to be the palace flower, a woman in power worthy of standing next to the second prince. You had been worth far more than what those men could have paid to own you for. Perhaps the late empress was right to make you unattainable to the men of the court. It was disgusting— the way their eyes raked Diu's figure the same way they raked yours at the time. In his eyes, the men are no better than rabid animals. At least rabid animals were put down.

"Master?" Diu's voice snaps Jinshi out of his thoughts. "Is the dish not to your liking?"

"It is." Jinshi shakes his head. "I have not much an appetite."

"I see." Diu hums. "Shall I request something else?"

"No need." Jinshi finishes the rest of the dish, sighing as he puts his chopsticks down. "What is the next dish?"

"I believe it is pheasant."

Jinshi frowns staring at Diu's lips.

"Did Maomao put lipstick on you?"

"Hm? Is it strange?" Diu smiles, holding his cheek. "She said I should doll up a little as your personal attendant. Though, this isn't lipstick. I believe Maomao simply put something on my face."

Jinshi blinks slowly, mentally swatting away all his thoughts as the next dish arrives and Diu presses it to his lips, biting and chewing slowly. Jinshi stares at his lips, pale and pink, and he swallows unconsciously as Diu licks his lips, lips curled into a smile similar to Maomao's. The men of the court pay attention too, a strange charm emitting off of the servant's body. Enthralling. He looked enthralling, lips curled into that sinful grin. Next thing Jinshi knows, Diu is probably going to tell him it's poisonous like Maomao did years ago.

"You can't have this, master." He hums.

"Why not?" Jinshi swallows, throat dry all of a sudden.

"It is poisonous."

Called it.

The royal court goes into chaos as all the men spit it out, fooled by the way Diu had looked so elated at the flavor, and a handful of servants rush to their aid. Jinshi lunges at Diu as he bites the rest of the meat, punching him in the gut as Diu spits the meat out into Jinshi's hand.

"Are you crazy?!"

"Master, poisons do not affect me." Diu tilts his head, eyes wide. "Rest assured. The one who has tried to harm you will not get off free either."

Jinshi stares at him incredulously, lips pulled into a frown as he calls for a doctor to check the man. He taps his table impatiently as he waits for Diu to return, a new poison tester confirming that the pheasant was indeed poisonous. Jinshi watches as the new guy passes out and white foams from his mouth. How did... how did Diu almost swallow the pheasant without issue? Jinshi tries his best not to think about it, closing his eyes. Perhaps Maomao is just accustomed to people who taste poison without any effects.

Diu returns a little before the final dish is served, giving Jinshi a closed-eyed smile before he tastes the new dish. It is a palate cleanser this time. Jinshi watches in worry as Diu presses the spoon to his lips, eyes opening as he raises a brow. Jinshi cannot tell if it is a good raised brow or a bad one.

"Servant, is it poison?"

"No." Diu smiles. "It is simply delicious. You may have it, master."

Jinshi only has half, cheeks flushed as he hands the rest back to Diu, covering his mouth with his sleeve as he mouthes words at the man.

'Finish the rest.'

Diu does not complain, drinking straight from the bowl as he licks his lips, eyes bright and happy as he hands it to another servant.

"Thank you, master." He beams, smiling.

Jinshi's heart skips a beat.

How dangerous.

The rest of the court proceeds as normal, the report given by the workers, and the emperor nodding at the report. Nothing out of the ordinary. though, he notes the new numbers in spending. When you were there, they were lower. Perhaps a handful of officials are using the chance to steal money from the royal family now that you no longer look over the ledger before each payment. Jinshi should start investigating. Surely the crushing of the Shi clan should have served as a fair warning. Perhaps not.

Jinshi looks back to glance at Diu, the servant's eyes oddly sharp. Usually servants would have gotten bored at this point. Instead, Diu looks almost intrigued. He wonders what kind of an upbringing would have created a man who cared so much about monetary affairs of a palace. Though, it should have been clear since Diu had been the one hired to help with monetary affairs. His mathematical ability was incredible. Had Jinshi a child, he would have hired the man to teach his young his ways.

But in the same, Jinshi knows he would have not needed an outside teacher when you were right there. Should he had kids with you, you could cover the vast majority of teaching have you the time. You know the palace better than him at times. He wonders how you are, lips pulled into a frown as he focuses back on the minister. Perhaps Maomao had given Diu the same makeup you used to wear to mess with him. How mean of her. It pains him in the heart that he had been the one to cut your rope and now was burning his own.

He misses you.

夏

Summer is great.

Jinshi has less work during summer as a result, and Diu and Maomao cover the affairs of rearranging the residence. The two are still close. It makes Jinshi bitter, but not bitter in the way he would have been seasons ago, he is bitter that Diu is spending less and less time with him. Perhaps he is bitter that Diu, a man who reminded him of you, spends more time with Maomao than he. It is a reflection of himself, yes, but it does not stop the childish jealously that bubbles in his chest.

"Diu!" Jinshi whines, calling for the servant as he throws open the man's room.

The room is empty, but a familiar scent flutters through the air, knocking the nostalgia right into his lungs. The incense sticks burning are the ones you used to put in the residence. During the few times Jinshi would visit, this scent would always be present in your room, your hair, and your being. This scent was you to him. He finds it strange that Diu would have it in his room, but he does not question it. Perhaps it reminds him of his wife.

"Master? What are you doing in my room?"

Jinshi freezes, caught red-handed. "...I was looking for you." He coughs. "Where were you?"

"I went to run errands with Maomao." Diu bows. "Is something wrong? You were looking at the incense sticks."

"They remind me... anyway." Jinshi tries to stroll out casually. "Is that your favorite scent?"

"My wife." Diu smiles. "It reminds me of my wife."

"I see..." Jinshi trails off. "Whatever! Be sure to tell Maomao to bring me dinner."

Diu calls an affirmative after Jinshi as he rushes out of the room. Too much like you. The scent smelled too much like you. You, who had used perfume oils because you liked it. It reminded Jinshi of your scent for as long as he had known you, the signature smell that brushed his nose apparent for as long as his memories with you would run. Perhaps he would forget about you at night.

Night strikes slowly.

The grief of losing you hits Jinshi slowly.

First, he looks around the room you had prepared for the two of you, the room you had stayed in alone, fingers brushing on the paint on the wall, a reminder that he needed to call for the painters to repaint the residence. Then, he sits down in bed, robes warm on his skin, eyes tired as he lays down. His fingers brush the silk the same way you would have while inspecting the quality, the same way he had seen Diu do so to the blankets, and he holds it to his forehead, heart stuttering and stumbling, pain in his chest too much to bear. It was simply too much.

Then, he cries.

Jinshi cries, tears slow as he lays in your bed, holding the blankets to his chest as he whimpers, missing you. You. You who had lived in the residence for years without a visit from him. He is undeserving of you. Perhaps he would be cursed to live the rest of his days crying in the same bed you had to cry in. He would be dammed for all of eternity to never see you again. Perhaps that is his curse. He is simply too weak to admit his love, too prideful to bend down first, too lost to find his way again. He wanted nothing to do with you when you traded the whole world for him. His curse would be to never hold you again, even when he needed you the most.

He sniffles, brows pulled together as he clings harder onto the blanket.

He does not notice the footsteps outside the door nor the knocking from Diu.

"Master Jinshi? Are you alright? I hear crying." Diu's voice rings from the door. "I may bring tea if you would allow it. That helps me when I am hurt."

"It is fine." He speaks, voice oddly even.

"I shall bring you a cup of tea and towel to help freshen up. We could not afford to let the master of the house's beauty be wounded." Diu speaks, stepping and walking off.

Jinshi wipes his tears with his fingers, heaving. When Diu returns, he opens the door after a quick knock, setting the tea on the table as he sits by his bed, helping Jinshi up, eyes gentle, hands wiping at his tears with the cloth, and Jinshi sniffs. Diu's eyes remind him of yours, even. The same gentle shade he had grown up seeing, the same shade that sparkled under the sun's light or the moon's reflection. It is a haunting memory of you. Perhaps the two of you are from the same lineage. Or perhaps Jinshi was simply losing it.

"Diu."

"Yes, master?"

"Are you this gentle with your wife?"

"But of course."

Jinshi sighs dramatically. "Maybe in another life I was born your wife."

Diu snorts. "That would be quite hard, master."

"Why?"

"What if I were born a woman as well?"

"Then I would be born your husband." He pouts, eyes red as he stares at the man. "What tea did you bring?"

"Green tea." Diu hums. "Will you drink it?"

"Please." Jinshi frowns. "Could I meet your wife one day?"

"That would be quite hard." Diu frowns, carrying the tray over and setting it down by the bed.

"Why so?"

Diu does not speak, handing the cup to Jinshi instead, smiling.

"Is she gone?"

"It is hard to explain." Diu hums. "Master, let me know if you require anything else."

"No." Jinshi shakes his head, drinking the tea. It's slightly sweet and brewed to perfection.

It tastes like the tea you used to brew.

It brings tears to his eyes unconsciously, a frown on his face. You had learned to brew tea to perfection. The temperature had been right, you had served them in their little cups, lips pressed to the edge of the cup as you tested it for heat, and then set it before Jinshi, offering him a drink. You had brewed green tea without the bitterness that other consorts had, and you had served tea to even the emperor when it was permitted. Jinshi might just be losing it. No, he has not been in a regular state since your disappearance. He is simply reaping the seeds of his actions.

"Is something wrong?"

"You brew tea like someone I used to know." Jinshi shakes his head. "It is a shame she is gone."

"Maomao is not gone, though?"

"My wife." Jinshi purses his lips. He had mentioned it perhaps once or twice, but it had never been more than that. It is not the madam of the house this time, it is his wife. He misses his wife. You, his beloved who had been betrothed to him. He misses you. You were his wife, not his betrothed. He had seen you in red twice now, that was surely confirmation. Even if you were to forget, he fears that he could not. You are his wife, that much is clear. "That is enough for the night. Thank you."

Diu nods, taking the tray out and closing the door with his foot, leaving Jinshi alone with his thoughts.

It is scary— how much Diu resembles you.

Perhaps your ghost is really haunting him through his aide.

秋

"Maomao." Jinshi hisses.

"Yes, Master Jinshi?" The girl turns to look at him.

"Where did you find Diu? He seems as though he yields from an elite family, yet there are no records of him anywhere." Jinshi raises a brow. "He is far too trained in arithmetic to be from a middle-class family as well."

"Oh, his family records were burned." Maomao shrugs. "He helped me once when I was about to be scammed by a merchant, so I decided to pay him back by employing him. He is good, is he not?"

"He is, but it is highly suspicious." Jinshi grumbles. "Who is his wife?"

"I have never met her."

Jinshi blinks. "You know nothing about him other than that he is good at math and has a wife, and you hired him?"

"Master Jinshi, he is not good at just math." Maomao argues. "She—"

"She?"

"I mean," Maomao sighs. "He is good at arranging the interior of the residence, is he not? He is highly trained in both what the women wield and what the men do. I hired him because he was capable in such areas. Are you doubting my loyalty? I value my head, you know? Diu is a great servant."

"That cannot be refuted, but—"

"I heard my name." Diu flicks Maomao's forehead. "And heard myself get misgendered. I am a man, Maomao. Must you hurt my pride further? I am already a eunuch. My poor wife will never get to experience penetrative pleasure from me because of the profession I have taken."

"Do you have children?" Jinshi raises a brow.

"No, master." Diu shakes his head. "My wife and I are perfectly content with no children. After all, I married into my wife's family."

"Oh, so you yield from nothing?" Jinshi interrogates, leaning onto his palm as he stares the man down.

"Yes." Diu nods. "I yield from nothing. Apart from my wife, I am nothing."

"Suspicious."

"Master." Maomao sighs.

Jinshi holds a hand up to signal for her to stop speaking. "Are you sure you do not yield from money?"

"I do not." Diu nods.

"Then why did Maomao call you a she?"

"Perhaps because I am pretty as one?" Diu winks at Jinshi, blowing a kiss.

Maomao hunches over in laughter as Jinshi fans his face.

"Fair point."

"You are gorgeous too, master." Diu hums. "Pretty like the lilies in the pond... dazzling like the stars in the sky. Surely, if you were a woman, the men would flock to your like bees to a flower."

Jinshi takes a moment to recover, holding his hand up. "The same would go to you, Diu."

"They already do." Diu hums. "I have submitted the report for the season."

"That is good." Jinshi sighs. "Maomao, do not hire random people from the street next time. I am starting to believe you only hired Diu because he is attractive."

"Attractive people need an attractive servants." Maomao shrugs.

Jinshi can't argue with that one.

"Or, perhaps similar people tend to flock to one another." Diu hums, picking up the flower pot with ease.

"Or haunt each other." Maomao mumbles, nodding as the two of them leave the room with the flowers.

It does not take two people to arrange flowers.

Yet, Jinshi pays attention to Maomao's words.

Haunt. Similar people haunt each other.

Maybe that is why he sees you in Diu.

冬

Jinshi finishes the affairs for the day, groaning and rolling his shoulders back as he returns to your office, expecting the rest of his papers to still be there. Instead, he finds Maomao knocked out on the tea table, a finished stack of paper next to her, completed and only left behind for him to sign and seal. He takes the papers, reading through the contents, writing eerily similar. You are not here, yet the writing mirrors yours perfectly. It is your writing down to the bone. It is the same writing that he had read in your reports and invoices for the residence's monthly fees. Furthermore, it was not Maomao's handwriting.

Something is wrong.

The writing is yours. You are present in the mansion. You had danced on the walls, haunted his life, brewed him tea, and done so many things to him. It was not your ghost. You were there to haunt him. It infuriates him to no end, but you had to have a hand in the residence to be able to do so. You may not be there physically, but surely someone would have been sent to do the dirty work for you. There seems to be someone new doing the dirty work for him, and who else than his new aide? Perhaps this was some twisted divine punishment in the worst way. Perhaps he would not see the end of the world as he knows it, and you would crawl out of your grave to wrap your fingers around his ankle and drag him to hell with you.

Or perhaps Diu was out for revenge on your behalf.

"Hm?" Maomao wakes up first, jumping in her skin when he stares into her eyes harshly.

There are three people in the residence allowed to write reports.

"Who is Diu."

It is not a question. A command. It is a command.

Maomao stares into Jinshi's eyes, sighing, clicking her tongue in disdain.

"I shall rid of him."

"No. Who is he. Answer." Jinshi curses out. "You brought him in. Who is he."

"I owed him a debt so I hired him." Maomao speaks. "It is that simple."

"Who is he."

"Someone you lost."

"Master!" A maid calls. "Come out to the entrance! There is a maid claiming she knows the madam's whereabouts!"

Jinshi glares at Maomao, pointing down to make sure she stays put.

Maomao watches Jinshi rush out, and she sighs, taking the ointment from her pocket. Now to find you. No way in hell she was listening to him in this situation.

Jinshi meets the maid, and he sees through her immediately. A ploy. This is a ploy. This is some cruel set up by fate who wishes for him to be miserable, and the maid did not know where you were at all. Maomao did. Maomao probably knew exactly where you were, and she had probably known for a while now. He was foolish not to realize it, but he knows it now. He is no longer mad, simply exhausted. He misses you. How he wishes you would just appear out of nowhere. That would fix him.

Jinshi looks up when he hears something above.

Something snaps.

冬

Your lips quirk up from the roof, humming as your voice returns to normal and Maomao wipes the makeup off your face. Your brows are less bushy and your lips turn more delicate. Your lashes remain the same, and you thread your fingers through your hair, smiling as Maomao stares down at the random woman. Talk about timing.

You're sure Jinshi is somewhat aware by now.

You stand up, the tiles clattering under your feet, and you laugh as you stretch your arms above your head, catching the way the woman at the gate pales in horror at the sight of you on the roof. Maomao sits behind you, same wind in her hair, leaning on her palm as you look down at Jinshi with a brow raised, Diu's clothes still on your body. Jinshi's eyes widen as he yells for you, leaving the other woman.

"With that, your debt is paid." You smile at Maomao. "I'll see you around, Maomao."

Maomao watches as you jump over the wall to the residence and Jinshi chase after you.

You sprint through the streets, Jinshi hot on your tail as you weave through the crowds swiftly, leaving Jinshi no chance to catch up to you. You really did think dressing as a man was fun, however much of a shame it was that Jinshi found out that you were the same eunuch hitting on everyone in the residence. You wonder if he'll catch you. At some point, you manage to ditch the outer coat to your shirt, only pants left and the wrap around your chest, throwing the coat at Jinshi to stop him as you rush into the forest.

It does not stop him, and when you dive into the water to get to the cave, a hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you to the surface with it as you kick to be freed. The hand lets go, but not before grabbing your face with a second hand, lips pressed to yours, the two of you float out of the water as Jinshi holds onto your face, legs kicking to keep himself afloat. His grip on your face is solid, no strength spared as he keeps you in place.

"Are you stupid?"

"Me? Stupid?!" You scoff, hands gripping his wrist to try to pull him off. "You're the one who said you would marry no one but Maomao! I simply left because you left me behind!"

"I went back for you!"

"How the hell was I supposed to know that?!" You scream, thrashing against his grip as it tightens, your nails digging into his wrist as he remains unbothered. "You've left me behind so many times! You left me during tea with the fucking emperor so you could save Maomao you nitwit!"

"I needed to save her! You would have done the same! You gave me the army seal!"

"But I would not have neglected you in the outer walls of the palace!" You shriek, finally breaking from his grasp as you dive underwater to swim away.

Jinshi follows after you, hand wrapping around your ankle to pull you to him, hands finding your waist as he pulls you with him to the cave, holding you down on the ground as water drips from his hair onto your face, his vision blurry from something he doesn't know anymore. You make him feel things. The dam holding back all of his emotions for you shatter as he pants, mouth open and chest heaving as he cries, hot tears splattering onto your face, his head hung as you resort to your fate, annoyance all over your face as you wait for him to cry it out.

"Jinshi. You love Maomao. We both know—"

"I don't." He whimpers. "I don't. I don't love her."

"Jinshi—"

somewhere in his subconscious, a rope snags.

"I love you." Jinshi whimpers, tears hot and warm on your cheeks now, dark eyes murky and cloudy, desperation bleeding past his fingers onto your skin as his grip on your tightens, a sob breaking past his lips, almost as if he had been in the same boat as you, the two of you both needing to break in order to be fixed. You had jumped off first, leaving Jinshi on his own as he had to figure out what he needed to do to get you back. You had floated off, lips curled into a peaceful smile and your eyes full of light, only to leave him behind. "I love you." Jinshi repeats again, voice cracking. Deep down, he is still that same child that held hands with you. Both of you were born and bred in order to grow quickly, not spared by the rapids of the palace as you both grew and grew and grew until you were perfect on the outside and hollow on the inside. "I love you." He sobs. "I have loved you for longer than I have been conscious. I did not pick to love Maomao because she had been perfect for me. I had picked her because she had been so full of life and full compared to the both of us. I can't love the same way everyone else does. I have given up my right as emperor, do you not know?! Do you know why you had to treat my wound when Maomao was gone?! I gave up the title! I cannot offer you what you were born and raised for. You deserve—"

You slap him, breathing heavy as the sound echoes through the cave.

"I deserve far more than you can give me." You speak, voice oddly even. "I deserve the world, but there is no point taking someone else's world when all I have ever been raised to know as my world is you. You should have spoken up and done something to communicate. I deserve the title of empress only because I was raised to become one. Beneath the title, all I deserved was for my childhood friend and the anchor of my life to stare at me just once outside of the royal court."

Jinshi whimpers, head still hung, cheek stinging from your slap.

"I was scared. We both cannot afford to have such weaknesses in the royal palace." Jinshi's voice goes quiet. "If I had revealed that I had an attachment to you, then the assassinations would have targeted you. I do not wish for you to drink more poison than you can take. I already know the previous empress made you swallow and swallow until there was nothing left. You are not a doll to me. You are something precious."

"Well you didn't choose me." You sigh. "We are getting nowhere—"

"I love you." Jinshi says it again.

"You do not—"

"I love you." Jinshi stares you in the eye, breathing slowing down and his eyes clear. "Until I stop chasing you under the sun and until the world ends, I love you. Until the heavens themselves strike me down, I will be in love with you. I do not deserve to love you right now, but it does not stop me. I will keep loving you until we return to the dirt of the ground. You may hate me for the rest of your life, despising everything that the royal name I own has put you through, but I will love you. Until I am bleeding my heart out and I become a star in the sky, I will love you. The moon is only gorgeous because it reflects the light from the sun. I am only the moon prince because the sun stands next to me in every event. Without you, I am worth nothing."

"That is a lie and you know it!"

"It is not!" Jinshi yells, lips pressing to yours to shut you up, even when you thrash against him, he holds you down, want and passion rippling through his lips to yours, and even when you accept his kiss, he does not stop, teeth gnashing against yours in something akin to a burning passion. He loves you. You are the sun to his moon, the light that he reflects in his day to day. He may have despised you, but the want that bled through his body at the sight of you was not something he could have ignored either. He loves you. He loves you until he returns to the dust of the world and both of you are lost to history. He loves you until the world caves in on itself and the royal family collapses.

When he finally pulls away, he notices the tears in your eyes and rolling down your cheeks.

"I love you." He whispers.

"Your mother was right." You whimper, voice frail and broken as you cry. "I am just a girl. I did not deserve the fate of the universe to rest on my back. I did not deserve for you to neglect me only to cry to me about loving me all alone. I do not deserve this, Jinshi."

"You are just a girl. I am just a boy." He whispers. "Neither of us deserved what we went through. I have never been in the right when it came to treating you. I will spend eternity trying to win you back after losing you. It will be my divine punishment, and the two of us may enter the afterlife, but I will continue to follow you. I have never been right when it has come to you, and I will spend my life regretting that."

And you cry, chest hurt from the years of pain, heart free from the years of hiding.

You are just a girl, and he is just a boy.

Neither of you deserved what you have been put through in the name of a better nation.

And as he ties his burnt rope to your frayed one to fix the gap, neither did he.

You are just a girl, and he is just a boy.

Alone in a royal palace with no real family.

You did not deserve it.

春

Jinshi brought you home.

His hand on your lower back as the two of you were drenched from head to toe, he brought you back. Maomao wiped your hair down as you thanked her, same dignified smile on your face as always, thanking Maomao for bringing you back. She helped you clean up, and you were returned to your room, the papers of the residence now split between you and Jinshi. Jinshi helps with what he is capable of, papers on his desk split with yours as you help him sort through the affairs of the residence. You are much more well-versed in it than he is.

"Beloved." Jinshi groans. "I need a drink."

You snort, sliding a paper to the side. "Ask Maomao for a drink. I need to make a round in the residence. The new blankets are coming today."

"When will we be wed? We must celebrate your return."

"I find no reason to if I never left." You hum. "You are still yet to propose to me. Not to mention how Maomao still has the hairpin you have given her."

"She does not." Jinshi raises a brow. "She traded it for wen at the pawn store when we went to the streets to get coins."

You raise a brow incredulously.

"You can ask her." Jinshi goes back to whining, Gaoshun sighing.

"Madam." Maomao knocks at the door. "Do you have time?"

You nod, closing the door behind you, and one of the maids hands you something with a bow and runs off when you accept it. It is a treat. Your lips quirk up as you unwrap it, handing Maomao one as you press the other one to your lips. The two of you chew quietly, and you stare at the pond. The red is all gone. You're not sure how Jinshi did it, but he had gotten rid of the blood you stained in it three winters prior. It had been gone for a while now. Yet, you do not say much, chewing on the peanut treat, tossing some at the ducks in the garden as you squat down.

"When is your wedding?"

"There is no need for one." You mumble. "Jinshi may not remember it, but we had been wed already."

Maomao blinks. "You were?"

"It was a simple ceremony. I had no family, so the empress had the two of us wed in secret before her death." You hum. "They dressed me up in red and proceeded with customs, but we continued to refer to each other as betrothed simply because it would be been troublesome for us to be married with no children."

"I see." Maomao mumbles. "Does he remember?"

"I do not believe so—"

You jump in your skin when Jinshi brushes his fingers over the nape of your neck.

"How could I not?" He pouts. "Though, you deserve a bigger wedding. It is the least I should do after putting you through so much."

You grimace at him. "Perhaps we should start from the beginning. Best of luck sending a proposal letter to my nonexistent family, Jinshi."

"No, we should pick up from the wedding." He frowns. "The bed. We never shared a bed."

"Because the empress passed away that same night so no one was there to watch us to rest together." You roll your eyes. "Treat?"

He takes one, humming. "I would prefer to host the wedding again."

You shrug. "The one to plan shall be you, despite the traditional way to go about it. It is not like I can bed you, anyway."

Maomao blinks slowly, cogs turning in her head. You watch, lips curled into a smile when it clicks for her.

"He's a eunuch." She pauses. "Which is why they did not make him bed you."

"Bingo!" You grin. "The second prince officially has one spouse. Master Jinshi has none."

"...then why do the maids here refer to him as master?"

"We force them to be tight-lipped." Jinshi hums. "Anyone who lets a word slip is executed. You live longer when you are tight lipped in this residence."

"I kill at least three maids a year." You hum. "You should watch. I line them up and shoot arrows at them."

Maomao blinks at you in concern. She supposes it is adequate since revealing Jinshi's true name would be like selling him out, but the idea of you wielding a bow... She pauses. No. You've cut a man's head off clean before. It is not out of character. It is simply out of character for the persona you display in front of the royal palace. Huh. Amusing. The contradiction of your quiet personality and the reality of your abilities. Perhaps you had been groomed in such a way to prevent your turning on the late empress.

"You are strange."

"Yes." You smile. "Very strange."

"You know what is strange? The fact that you are not my wife yet." Jinshi sighs dramatically.

You snort.

"Shall we get married in fall? When the harvest is most bountiful?"

"Perhaps." You yawn. "Though, you are to prepare everything."

"Except the dress?" Jinshi pauses. "No. It would be best if I pick the dress. I would simply—"

You smack him in the back of his head. "Bad. Leave the dress and decorations to me. You will simply plan the day and time."

"Yes, beloved." He pouts.

In the distance, a maid waves her hand, and you nod at Jinshi heading off.

Maomao's gaze lingers on you, only speaking up when you are out of earshot.

"Perhaps a new hairpin for her would be good as well."

"Well obviously." He pouts. "Perhaps you know what gem she would prefer?"

"Perhaps out of jade." She turns to look at Jinshi. "And hand carved."

Jinshi spits out blood.

Alright. For you.

Jinshi finishes the hairpin surprisingly fast, going home with ash on his face more often than he liked, but the hairpin is finished, jade shiny under the sun, pearls fastened with red silk, perfect for you to wear. It weighs light in his hand, but the metal is precious. So, he waits for a nice spring day, the sky clear and blue, sun in the sky, and he calls you out for tea.

This time, it would be his turn to chase after you, and he was determined to get you back.

After all, by the stars and the moon, by your birthdays and luck, you were destined.

And even if you were just a girl and he was just a boy, at least he was your boy.

If you would let him, of course.

After all, his rope is fastened to yours forever now.

#guys I need a beer /hj #jinshi x reader #☾.fics #the apothecary diaries #the apothecary diaries x reader #jinshi #reader insert #kusuriya x reader #Kusuriya no Hitorigoto x reader #Kusuriya no Hitorigoto #personally this fic killed me (and jinshi. i made him go through it)#also killed a couple ppl on ao3 (my comment section)

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lacamorte · 5 months ago

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~ The White Lotus of Shuang Hua

Luo Binghe, being the Emperor of the united realms, has to congregate not only with the demonic aristocrats, but also the human ones. Seeking assurance that he did indeed unite the realms with good intentions, they urge LBH to take a spouse from among their own high-ranking families as a gesture of good will. At this point LBH has accepted that this will be another instance of the world throwing one pretty sister or another into his lap, and agrees to have a meeting with the female aristocrats.

When they arrive at the venue, LBH takes note of a group of very well-dressed young women in a courtyard, each holding fans of varying make in their delicate, manicured hands. In front of them is a lady wearing a lightly beaded weimao, who moves her fan between her fingers with remarkable skill, tapping it and flicking it with ease. She stood out for the simple design of her robes in comparison to the others who wore more ornate clothes — that, and the immense spiritual presence that she had. A cultivator, no doubt. She spoke clearly and sternly, sleeves gently swaying with her movements as she seemed to instruct the other ladies.

One look is all LBH needs to know that yes, this is the one he's here for.

She was quick to notice their approach, the bead strings of her weimao lightly clinking as she turned and raised her cupped hands to salute. The other women copied her example, but with not nearly as much elegance.

"This one greets the Emperor," one of the ladies spoke demurely, the others following suit in quiet murmurs.

Instead, LBH turns to the veiled woman, who after rising from her bow swiftly opened her fan in one smooth movement as if to cover her already veiled face, before pausing and lowering it as she realized the redundancy. LBH suppressed a wry smirk. A shy one, huh?

"Are these the flowers from which this lord is to make his selection?" He inquires politely, attempting to meet the lady's eyes from behind her veil. He catches a glimpse of pink lips before the fan is raised again.

"Merely buds as of yet, I'm afraid," her voice is very soft, a contrast to her earlier demeanor, as if speaking for him alone to hear with his demonic senses. Binghe notices the glint of a spiritual blade resting on her hip, almost hidden by her robes. Binghe's eyes glint with intrigue.

"The young mistresses await further inside, my lord," the aristocrat beside him explains. "If Junshang would follow this one—"

Binghe hums. "No need. I'll take this one."

Everyone seems to take a second to process his statement. Then, they collectively turned to the object of Binghe's attention — the lady in the weimao. The lady herself can only squeak in surprise.

The aristocrat startles, before laughing nervously. "Ah, Junshang, that is—the White Lotus of Shuang Hua is only temporarily in our employ, but—"

Ah, so she is a renown cultivator — and with a title, no less. Perhaps he'd spent too much time away from human society, to have not heard of her. "There is no need for further discussion. This lord has come to select a wife at your abode, and now I have." Then, he archs a brow imperiously. "Or are you refusing my choice?"

The man is sweating. "By no means, my lord! Rather, er, my lord seems to have misunderstood, Shen-xianshi is a ma—"

Master cultivator? Binghe scoffs. As if he hadn't already sensed the woman's immense spiritual presence. "Yes, I had noticed. It is of no concern to me." He waves a hand dismissively. "Send the other women home. Xianshi will be returning with me."

The aristocrat lights a candle in his heart in despair for his fellow men — especially for Shen-xianshi. Lord Luo, that's no sister you're taking as your wife — that's a man!!!

aka: LBH mistakes SY for a woman and says he'll take cultivator SY as spouse in compliance with a political arrangement. Not wanting to anger the demon emperor, the aristocrats quickly find a genderbending artifact for SY and send him off to join LBH's harem.

#mxtx svsss #shen qingqiu #svsss #bingqiu #shen yuan #bonus points if instead of an aristocrat its just sqh guiding lbh #luo bingge #binggeyuan #kind of #can you tell that i couldn't think of a town name for sy's title

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modistas · 2 years ago

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#Lotus Flower Dress

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ceilidho · 7 months ago

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take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 14)

first chapter >> last chapter

It’s you for once crawling over him in the dead of night and stroking your hand down the side of his face.

Any other night, you would be able to brush off the urge to curl yourself around him and press your lips into the bristly corner of his jaw, but after a long day of waiting and worrying, and a week’s worth of pent up stress and guilt, you have no choice but to succumb to your urges. It’s burrowed so deep inside of you that it’s almost a base need now. You need to be as close to him as possible.

John coaxes you to bed once you finish bandaging his hands. It’s not meant presumptively; you can tell from the deep bags under his eyes that he needs sleep more than anything.

For a spell, you sleep with the comfort of your husband by your side. After a week of keeping to your side of the bed, body stiff to keep from turning over in your sleep and curling up into his—committed, in your ire, to punishing both him and yourself—you relish the opportunity to snuggle up under his arm.

The ache between your legs only becomes unmanageable somewhere around the middle of the night. You wake in a daze, sweating profusely, cheek pressed to a hard chest that rises and falls with his breaths. It takes a moment for the fog to clear, but once it does you realize that you’ve rolled on top of him, legs spread on either side of a thick thigh and your sex pressed tight to the muscle, your hips undulating.

Your lips part enough for your tongue to slip out and wet them. Another wave of need washes over you, making your breath come out ragged. Your vision is still spotty, sleep half-crusted into the folds of you, and with the room still ensconced in darkness, no amount of blinking ever clears it out.

The air around you feels hot and humid; your skin sticks to his when you lift your head up, your face damp with sweat. John’s hand is loose at your bottom, curved under a cheek to hold you to him. The other is nestled against the small of your back. Your shift is drawn up around your waist, likely riding up when you crawled over your husband in the middle of the night, but it means that only the thin fabric of your underwear is pressed against John’s thigh. Every roll of your hips rubs your clit in just the right way.

You pant against his chest when you roll your hips again. You’d be humiliated if he woke up to see you humping his leg like a puppy, but you can hardly control yourself. In the month since marrying him, you’ve grown accustomed to a certain amount of relief at your husband’s hands, and to suddenly lose that in one fell swoop has left you, for lack of a better word, frustrated.

“Hmm…darlin’…” John suddenly groans, hand gripping into the flesh of your backside and grinding your sex down against his leg.

You still at the sound of his voice, biting back your moan when he shifts his thigh and presses it up into you. He wakes gradually, blinking down at you when you peer up at him. The blood rushes under your cheeks, growing hot when he blinks at you again slowly, realization unfurling behind his eyes like a lotus flower blooming under moonlight.

“I’m sorry, I’m just…” you whisper, choking back a moan again when his hand slides down your bottom and in between your legs, fingers rubbing against the wet seam of your cunt.

John chuckles, the sound raspy with sleep. “Christ, honey, you’re wet…should’ve told me you needed a good fucking.”

“You n-needed to sleep,” you say, gasping into his chest when John strokes his fingers up and down between your thighs. The sensation is mildly dulled by the fabric covering your center, but his prodding fingers make you jolt anyway.

“Darlin’, If I’d known, I never would’ve let you go to bed wanting.”

He maneuvers you onto your side for long enough to let him draw your underwear down your legs before rolling over onto his back again and balancing you over his lap. With your knees on either side of his hips, your cunt is spread wide open for his gaze, the soft, dewy folds parting to expose your slick center.

Words are silken in your head and they slide from side to side as you watch John lift his hips and reach down to pull himself out. He moves with a practiced ease, but the flush high on his cheeks betrays his eagerness. You run your hands through the pelt on his chest as you stare at the glistening tip of his member poking out the top of his grip.

“We’ve never done this,” you remark, almost a casual observation. Despite your heart beating rabbit-quick, the words aren’t caught behind your tongue. Instead, John's presence acts like a balm, nervousness bleeding away to anticipation.

“First time for everything, isn’t there?”

“I suppose,” you murmur, eyes locked on the turgid length that he notches against your entrance, impaling you on it so slowly that it almost doesn’t register at first.

You feel the stretch when he bottoms out though. The last inch comes all at once, winding you. It is a frightening, soaring sensation; a blunt intrusion that takes you to another place. No pleasantries this time because you’re an old hat at this now, you suspect, but still you gasp when his girth stretches you beyond what you recalled.

“Fuck…there it is,” John grunts, transferring his hands to your waist. “Christ, tightened right up since we last made love, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

His words, while crass, hold true. You can feel every throbbing inch of him.

“It’s not like—” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment, sweat beading around your hairline. “I wasn’t about to, ah… fool around with anybody else.”

“‘Course you wouldn’t, darlin’,” he croons, stroking his hand up your side. “We just had a little spat, is all. I know you’re my good girl.”

His words make you clench up tight, drawing a rumbling groan out of him.

“N-no, I’m not a good…—I’m just…it just wouldn’t be right. We’re married. I’d—I’d never…” The words come out shaky, punched out because he takes that moment to help guide you up, nearly pulling out of you completely before bringing you back down.

“Knew you were my good girl soon as I saw you,” John muses, his voice low and husky, hands gripped tight at your waist. “Couldn’t wait to make you mine. Wasn’t even supposed to marry you right away—thought we’d get to know each other a bit, but then—”

“You—oh, unf—you dragged me to the courthouse.”

He smiles roguishly. “I couldn’t let you go after I saw you. Had to make you mine, darlin’.”

You ride him carefully at first, unsure of yourself.

It’s strenuous work taking his cock this way, doing all the heavy lifting yourself. You almost think you’d fight him if you weren’t lost in pleasure, eyes defocusing as you stare down at him. Each time you impale yourself on his length, your breath hitches out of you. A sharp oh, oh, oh; chasing something elusive that wants you after it.

When your thighs feel strained to the point of burning, you beg him to hurry up. Enough, you blubber, the word almost subsumed into a guttural moan. That makes him grit his teeth, a dark look coming over his face. You hiccup when he plants his feet against the bed and his hips buck up into you, the squelch of your own cunt making your fingers dig into his chest hair.

All you can do is take it, your hands planted on his chest and jaw dropping open on a moan that you can’t hold back.

Tears clumping your eyelashes together, a single drop landing in the middle of John’s chest when he forces you all the way down on his cock and holds you there, jiggling the pearl at the apex of your sex with his thumb until you almost struggle to pull away. He always has to fight you through an orgasm, the stubborn thing trapped behind your teeth, begging him to use you how he wants.

When it hits you though, it’s sharp and hot. It makes you reel backwards, your control slipping out of your grasp so suddenly that the sharp buck of his hips nearly knocks you clean off. He holds you down tight though, keeping you impaled on his shaft.

“There we go,” John rasps. “That wasn’t so hard, huh?”

After making you come, he rolls you over until your back is pressed against the bed and he hovers over you, nestled between your thighs. He drops down until his face is buried in your neck, a big arm wedging under your back and hooking over your shoulder, the other sliding under your low back and clutching your waist. When he thrusts into you, you realize with a start that he has you locked to his chest. You aren’t going anywhere.

“Christ, keep squirming like that,” John growls into your neck, sucking at the sweaty patch of skin between your neck and shoulder.

Each thrust knocks the air out of you. Where your skin isn’t slick with sweat, you itch. Overwhelmed by touch and taste. Teeth clacking when his hips speed up, driven into a frenzy by his own urge to come. And again, there’s nowhere for you to run, not with his arms wound tight around you, all of his strength concentrated on holding you to his chest. You don’t think anyone could pry him off you.

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna—” you gasp, feeling it brewing under your skin again. The feeling makes you panicky this time though. He’s made you come plenty of times, but never in such quick succession.

The pitch of your moans goes breathy and high, rising to nearly a caterwaul.

He licks into the shell of your ear. “Got a little tighter there, sweetheart. Gonna give me another?”

You can’t answer him. Only intelligible babbling, a high, reedy plea whistled through your teeth. Your hands rake down his back, scoring red lines into the skin, and clutching helplessly, trying to both pull him closer and push him away. It’s almost too much, too soon.

“Almost there, almost there,” he pants, the sweat on his brow dripping down onto your face. It nearly drips into your eye. You wish he’d pull back and kiss you, sooth the panicked staccato of your heart, but he’s lost in his own need, bucking into you like a beast. “C’mon, give me it, sweetheart. Be a good girl.”

You’re on the precipice of it, hanging on with clawed hands dug into the muscle of his back. In danger of tipping over, a gale at your back. The intensity frightens you though. You cling to him like digging your hands into the earth to root you in place.

John’s arms tighten around you as he nears his end. You feel compressed, choked, only a warm slippery thing for him to plant his seed in.

His breath is hot in your ear when he rasps, “Where the fuck are your manners, darlin’? I said, give me it.”

Then he arches into it, spine going stiff when he empties himself into your cunt. His arms squeeze all the air out of your lungs. You must come more than once, a record, because by the time he pulls out of you, you practically sink into the bed, sapped of energy. Not enough strength to even twitch a finger.

John collapses onto the bed beside you, tugging you into his chest. It feels so intimate, lying on your side with a leg draped over John’s hip. You shiver when the sweat begins to cool.

He drags a finger through your puffy, raw sex from the back, scooping up his essence with two fingers. You go cross-eyed when he pushes it back into you, hissing and pushing against his shoulders, trying to dislodge him from between your legs. John doesn’t budge; his eyes barely even flick down to meet yours as he pushes more of his spend back into your hole.

Your chest goes tight at that.

After, he sits you upright with your back to his chest and holds a glass of water up to your lips, making you drink until it dribbles down your chest. A big hand rests on your belly.

“Why do you like touching there?” you ask, taking another sip.

“This is where my babe will sit,” he says, and you choke on your water, coughing until your lungs are clear and your eyes water. “Soon, with any luck.”

“You sure know what you want,” you wheeze, eyes still watering from your coughing fit.

He presses a kiss into your hair. “That I do.”

Two days later, John wakes you up with the news that an incident on a farm a few towns over will take him from you for the next few days.

You frown into your oatmeal. “Why so long?”

He sits at the table across from you with his chair pushed out, scraping off the mud caked on his boots with a dry brush. He sucks his cheek when you ask that question.

“Bit unpleasant to bother you with the specifics, darlin’, but, uh…suffice it to say that it’s not something we can wrap up in just one day.”

“Did someone die?” you ask bluntly.

John looks over at you from the corner of his eye, unimpressed. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Was it violent?”

“Jesus Christ, woman, you don’t need to go poking your nose into all of that.”

You roll your eyes at that. If he knew even a fraction of the things you’ve seen, he wouldn’t be nearly so askance at the thought of upsetting your delicate constitution. “But it’ll keep you there for some time?”

He nods. “At least a couple days. Maybe more. There’s matters to be dealt with, arrests to be made…won’t be easy work.”

“Is Simon accompanying you?”

“Both him and Kyle. I’m leaving Soap behind to keep the peace.”

“So you’re expecting to come back to the town in complete disarray then?”

John laughs at that, a big bellowing sound that makes you flinch and then warms your belly with delight.

Summer is well on its way to being flush with itself now. Katydids in the bushes outside whistle and burr, a raspy, percussive sound. Long strands of high cirrus clouds stretch across the clear blue sky. Spiders weave thick webs into the corners of the windows on the outside of the house, thin, filamentous strands of silk woven over each other until it’s a dense, compact web. Even the sound of the bees buzzing through the air sets you at ease.

The sound of your husband’s laughter seems to carry all of that in it, all of the fat, flushed joy of summertime.

“I might need a list of what to take care of around the house while you’re gone. I’ve never…I’ve never managed a house on my own before,” you say into your oatmeal, taking another bite.

You don’t know why it embarrasses you to admit that. John may not know about your previous circumstances just yet—you’ve never divulged stories of your time working at the estate or the years you spent living with your aunt and uncle—but he must certainly have guessed by now that you didn’t own property back east.

“The boys and I aren’t heading out from here; gotta meet them in town to settle a couple of things first, but that wouldn’t take too long.” He takes a long sip of coffee before continuing. “Planned on asking Soap to check on you a couple times while I’m gone. He could help with the chores.”

Your irritation flares up at that. You put down your spoon sharply, the metal clanging against the porcelain bowl. “Do you still think I’m going to run away?”

He cocks an eyebrow at that, but doesn’t respond.

“So nothing’s changed then, even after I’ve already apologized. You still don’t trust me,” you sigh, your appetite suddenly gone. You push the bowl away from you, taking a sip of coffee instead.

John sighs. You glance down at his hands instead of looking up into his eyes. His hands are still lightly ink-stained from reading the paper. The ink imprints onto your hand when he pulls his chair in and reaches across the table to lace your fingers together.

“You might just see my concern for what it is, instead of fighting me at every turn,” he drawls.

“Suppose I should say thank you then. I really appreciate being kept under lock and key,” you deadpan.

“Oh, and I suppose you’ve done so much to prove that you’re the staying type?” he teases.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“By my count, you’ve tried to run off twice. You sayin’ you won’t go for three?”

You stay mulishly silent, again going cold instead of deigning to have a conversation with the man. Your hand pulls from his grasp when you go to clean the table, taking the plates with you to the sink to wash. The brisk scrub and rinse betrays your mood, your shoulders tense with displeasure. You feel his gaze heavy on you from where he still sits at the table.

John catches you before you have a chance to skitter off, hooking an arm around your waist to reel you in.

“I never get off easy with you, do I?” he murmurs.

You harrumph, scrunching your nose when he nuzzles into the side of your head. Squawking when he plants a wet kiss there too.

John sees you off at the door with a kiss to your lips and then one to your forehead. His farewell kiss always seems to linger, as though he were reluctant for it to ever end. A disconcerting ache in your belly follows his departure. More than anything, you wish he’d turn back around and come home. Instead, you’re forced to bite your tongue and watch him leave because there are things more important than your desperate, cloying need for attention from a man that you once swore you’d run away from if given half a chance.

Now, as you stare at the shadow of him disappearing beyond the horizon, you can barely force your feet to take you back into the house.

The ache is a perturbing reminder of the seeds of trust and affection you’ve planted here. Now, they’ve begun to sprout, the buds opening up to tender, fragrant flowers. Those are the thoughts that occupy your mind when you go into the garden to harvest the lettuce heads and tomatoes. You think about all of this while staring down into the garden that John started so very long ago and now you tend. The earth here yields in abundance, but it requires a sure hand, and it rewards your joint efforts with a harvest that’ll last you through the winter if properly cultivated.

Part of you anticipates company, waiting for Kate or Soap to come down the path on horseback, but when hours pass and neither show up, you have to admit to yourself that perhaps John hasn’t left a guardian to watch over you this time. Your heart trips over itself at the thought.

Trust is a precious, easily spoiled gift. You know it is not given lightly, and you’ve not put in the effort to engender it in recent weeks. You wonder if John wrestled with the decision to leave you alone, weighing your hurt feelings against the assurance of keeping you at home and found the latter wanting for once.

You spend the better part of the morning gardening and cleaning. It muffles the longing. It’s entirely antithetical to the way you waited for John during the train robbery, but the different circumstances have you less on edge. The situation doesn’t seem as precarious. Never free of trouble, of course, but John hadn’t seemed too worried at breakfast, so you tell yourself that you shouldn’t worry either.

In fact, finding some way to occupy yourself proves the greater challenge. You hadn’t realized how much you’d grown to expect the company of others. The silence swells to a bubble that you itch to burst.

It takes a great deal of courage to talk yourself into riding Buttercup into town. You hold the reins so tight that your knuckles ache when you finally let go. Still, when the sun-bleached town comes into view and you no longer need to swat repeatedly at the horseflies pestering you, you celebrate the little victory.

You find Kate in the saloon enjoying a little brandy with lunch. Her eyes crinkle at the sight of you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here so soon,” she says when you take a seat across from her.

“I couldn’t clean the house for a third time,” you shrug.

It’s not an exaggeration. You spent the better part of the morning yesterday scrubbing the floors and sweeping the leaves and mud from the foyer, paying special attention to the caked mud on the sill, where John has a habit of wiping off his boots. You’ll have to remember to pick up a mat for the porch on the way back home.

“You just missed my company so?” Kate teases.

You roll your eyes. “Who else do I have to talk to?”

“Well, don’t flatter me too much.”

“Anyway—no one, well…no one understands me…quite the same.” You speak evasively because you’re still too much of a coward to just say it outright. Nevertheless, Kate understands, and nods with a gleam in her eye that says as much.

“Probably best to keep it that way.”

You don’t know why her words make your chest ache. For a beat, you keep silent, ordering a drink and a small meal for yourself from a passing waiter.

“I’ve considered…telling John,” you start, a hesitant thread in your voice begging to be unraveled.

Kate glances up at that. “Why would you do something like that?”

“I thought that maybe…well, maybe he might understand…if I explained the circumstances to him.”

Her hand stills over her glass, face screwed up like she’s tasted something particularly unpleasant. “Seems like a dangerous game to play—risking your freedom on a maybe. It’s better to keep private matters just that. Private.”

Worry makes you wring your hands under the table. “You think he’d turn me in if he knew?”

Kate shrugs. “John’s a good man. He’s a good sheriff too. It’s a risky gambit. I can’t imagine what the trade off would be—I happened to find out by chance, but if you have the option to let buried dogs lie, I would take it.”

“Isn’t it ‘let sleeping dogs lie’?”

Her smile is not cruel, but it cuts. “Not in this case, hun. ‘Fraid we both know that.”

“Oh,” you murmur.

Her lack of faith leaves you at a loss. It takes you so long to come to terms with it that by the time you open your mouth again, you’re halfway back to the shop, following her step for step. Dark clouds loom ominously off in the distance, just far enough away that you don’t expect for them to reach town for another hour or so, but the sight of them compounds the somber mood you’ve fallen into since Kate’s words.

You don’t bring up the subject again until the rain begins to fall outside, slate grey like a gauzy veil. From the window, you peer down the street towards where Buttercup stands under the roof of the sheriff’s office, shielded from the rain. You stare morosely at the dirt ground; the rain will make walking anywhere after a hassle.

Kate must notice the general air of malcontent hovering around you because she apologizes to you when the ensuing silence from the morning’s conversation becomes unbearable. “Now, I don’t want you to think I hold John in poor esteem, hun. He’s a good man; I have no reason to think he’d ever turn you in for putting down the man that tried to…well, the man that tried to do you harm. I just don’t want you to regret your decision if I’m wrong.”

You shrug, bad mood not in the least assuaged. “It’s fine. It was a foolish idea. Why invite trouble when I’ve escaped it thus far?”

She doesn’t seem reassured at that. If anything, her scowl deepens. Instead of addressing it, you offer to help clean the shop, sweeping the back room and dusting the shelves. There are items on the shelves that look like they haven’t been touched in years, and you wonder whether Kate holds onto things after they’ve outlived their usefulness out of habit or an unwillingness to part with them. Then you shake your head of the thought. It shouldn’t matter to you.

Around midafternoon, a few trappers come in to stock up on supplies and spend the better part of an hour talking to Kate. You flatten your lips together to keep from cursing them out for tracking in mud and rain with them, but they studiously avoid looking at you.

“Morning, Mrs. Price,” one of them says, still keeping their gaze politely trained on the floor.

You roll your eyes internally. Not surprising that news would spread eventually of John’s new wife.

The conversation is of little interest to you, but you eavesdrop anyway because the rain hasn’t relented yet and there’s little else to do. Most of their conversation goes over your head, but some parts stick out. They tell her about a mutual acquaintance waylaid by a mountain slide up north forcing them to take another route home, and another who’d recently perished of consumption. Kate seems particularly upset by that, the lines around her mouth more pronounced than ever when she offers her condolences.

They stay until the rain lets up and then say their goodbyes before heading out.

“G’day, Mrs. Price,” the same one says to you before departing.

You smile bemusedly at the door. “I don’t suppose I’ve met either of them before and don’t remember it?”

Kate shakes her head. “Unlikely. Alex and Frank spend most of their time up north hunting and fur trapping. One of them has a cousin in town, but they visit only seldomly. It’s been a year or so since I last saw either of them.”

“Then how’d they know who I am?”

“Well, I imagine they probably read about it.”

“Read about it?” you repeat confusedly.

“In the paper. The county sheriff got hitched—of course it’d be a story.”

That unnerves you. Somehow, you thought you might fold into history like you’d always been there, but a marriage announcement in a newspaper punctuates the present. Your only reassurance is that the story ran over a month ago and therefore of little interest to anyone these days, at least from what Kate tells you; overshadowed by subsequent issues and stories. Old news, she tells you.

“What’s new news then?”

She ponders that for a bit. “Aside from what Frank mentioned? Hm…Farmer Shepherd’s ewe had a lamb the other night.”

“Who’s that?”

“A farmer, I reckon.”

You deadpan. “Funny.”

She laughs at that, a husky, amber sound. “Shepherd’s got a farm in the next town over. Kyle and I always stop to buy mutton whenever we’re in town.”

“Oh, that’s right, you were just there recently. Do you visit that often?”

“From time to time,” she says, vague enough to pique your interest.

“Must be good mutton.”

She snorts. “He’s not as good a butcher as Simon, but he’s alright. It’s worth stopping by. I wouldn’t call it a reason to make the journey though.”

“Then why do you go?”

She smiles a bit wistfully. “I have…a friend in town. It’s worth the trek.”

“Oh. A… male friend?”

You say the word tentatively, gauging her reaction in case you’ve overstepped. Usually you wouldn’t be so inquisitive. In fact, you’ve made it a habit to know as little about the people you keep company with as possible. But Kate is different. This place is different. Time in this town moves at a slower pace, and it swells in the moments where it seems endless. It makes you talk slower, chew the fat. You spend so much time around these people that it almost feels like a lifetime has passed in their presence. You feel close enough these days that asking doesn’t feel as forbidden as it used to.

“No. Not a man.”

It could mean nothing at all, but her words have just enough inflection in them that you can't help but meet her gaze.

“A woman?” you ask, caught between embarrassment at having to ask and curiosity.

She nods, her smile strained.

“Oh,” you say dumbly.

You can’t really think of what else to say in response to that revelation, but leaving it like that also feels wrong. It’s nothing you haven’t heard whisperings of before. Boston marriages. Sentimental friends. Spinsters cohabitating in virtuous friendship. It’s perhaps only shocking to finally put a face to the rumors.

“Well, that’s nice,” you say after another awkward pause. Kate rolls her eyes and her nonchalance vexes you. “What? It is!”

“You don’t need to get all twisted up. It is what it is. There’s no need to go making a fuss about it.”

You frown at that. “I would never.” Then something dawns on you. “Have other people made a fuss before?”

“…A few,” she answers, looking troubled when old memories flicker behind her eyelids. “A long time ago, in another place, but when I…well, I trusted more. There’s no one that could make a fuss about it these days.”

“But surely Kyle knows? He accompanied you to town last time.”

“Kyle does not know.”

“Then why tell me?” you ask, dumbfounded.

She holds you in her gaze for a few moments at that question, then comes out from behind the counter where her notebook still lies open, a thin strip of fabric acting as a bookmark.

“You have your secrets and I have mine,” Kate says, leaning back against the counter and clasping her hands loosely in front of her. “The same reason I won’t tell John what you’re running from. The less people that know the things that could hurt you, the safer you are.”

“You think John would do what—run you out of town if he knew?” you ask, hardly able to convey your disbelief.

“The point is that neither of us know until the very moment when it matters most.”

“But that’s not John,” you stress.

“It’s the same John that you won’t trust with your secrets either.” And that strikes true. It dumbs you into silence, mouth opening uselessly for words that don’t come. The battering behind your lips like an inch of give, opening then to silence across the open plain.

You want desperately to say something that just won’t come. But how can you say anything at all these days? How does your voice not give out at the slightest quiver of emotion? You speak with a voice plump like fig skin, easy give, and violet bruised. It is always tender when you bite it through.

When Kate notices the way you struggle for words, she takes pity on you, her smile more sympathetic than you’ve ever seen it. “Enough about that though. What say we get you something to eat before you head home?”

When the path of least resistance beckons you forth, you run towards it.

Your troubled conscience persists however, speaking into your ear even as the first shaft of sunlight pierces through the slate clouds and illuminates the town in a soft glow. It troubles you so fiercely that all you can think about is retreating home and burying yourself under the warm quilt draped over your bed. It has you hastening to say your goodbyes, excusing yourself on the basis of taking Buttercup home.

Bidding Kate farewell, you step out of the shop to see that the rain has cleared. Everything after that dispels into the thinly perfumed air.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #price x you #price/reader #john price/reader #captain john price #captain john price x reader

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shixcherie · 1 month ago

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Gut Feelings Got Me Here (pt.1) | Song Mingi ☆

◂◂ Part one of Little Miss Strategist series ▸▸

~ ~ call me chérie ☆

Navigation | Kinktober List | Little Miss Strategist series (coming soon...)

☆ Day 28 : Impact Play

↬ [ Synopsis ] : As a princess, you were not accustomed to hearing “NO” from anyone in the kingdom. That changed when you had your first encounter with Mingi, the royal sculptor, whose silent, mysterious, and dark personality drew you in like a curious kitten. Will curiosity kill this kitten, or will a love so powerful emerge from all the painfully pleasurable and torturous intimacy that even death itself would step aside?

☆Word Count : 11.6k (yup, i went fucking overboard..sry ;P) ☆Genre : Smut with alot of plot, Angst, Royal Au, Historical Au. ☆Pairing : Royal Sculptor! Mingi x Youngest Princess! F.Reader

☆☆☆ WARNINGS : mdni!, Historical setting, Pure Smut(18+), some royal-ish plot, impact play, Reader is masochist while Mingi is sadistic, pain play, angsty atmosphere, knife usage (mild), mentions of blood, Mingi is holding a secret , bondage, use of bondage gear, oral (ffem recieving), Mingi is tough nut to crack, reader is a menace but quite intelligent (when the situation demands), praise, pet names ( darling, little princess, honey) mentions of traumatic past, deadly royal punishments, self submission, pain play, nipple play, something secret plans are being carried out against the royal family.

NOTE : Yes… I’m going to continue and complete Kinktober, even though we’re way past the 31st. I really want to finish this challenge and not leave it incomplete, so I hope ma chéries will enjoy this royal love between a princess and the royal sculptor.

p.s: I was gonna post this on 15th nov but then my brain went "no no no...add more stuff!" so i-uhh well..fucking did that and now its kinda super duper long.

↬ Also, turning this into a mini series cuz I cannot for the sake of my freaking life write a plot heavy one shot..so hope you will become a part of this mini series. Enjoy ma chéries.

The grand hall glowed under the soft light of lanterns wrapped in red and gold silk, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. Ornate wooden screens, carved with intricate dragons and phoenixes lined the walls, while tall pillars adorned with lotus flowers and mythical creatures stretched up toward the ceiling. The faint scent of sandalwood and jasmine lingered in the air, carried by the smoke of incense burning in bronze holders.

Members of the court gathered quietly, their rich robes were a sea of deep greens, dark blues, and royal reds, each shimmering with golden and silver embroidery.

All eyes were fixed on the man in the center of the room, the royal sculptor, Song Mingi. The fifth-generation sculptor of the Song lineage knelt on a woven mat, working carefully on a block of marble. With each tap of his chisel, he carved a likeness of your mother, the Empress. His movements were slow and deliberate, his focus entirely on the task at hand.

Seated near the front, you tried to maintain a composed expression, though your patience was starting to wear thin. Art could be beautiful, yes, but this endless tapping and chiseling ? It felt tedious, even unnecessary. You had far more interest in the kingdom’s politics and the strategies behind running the empire. The court’s art was all well and good, but it wasn’t what you spent your time studying.

You glanced at your father, the Emperor, dressed in indigo royal robe embroidered with golden dragons. His expression was one of complete absorption, as if he had no other thought in the world.

“What an exquisite talent,” he murmured, his deep voice carrying through the hall.

Beside him, your eldest brother, Chan, nodded thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on Mingi. “Indeed, Father. Each stroke reveals more than just an image. It’s as if he’s capturing mother’s essence.”

Your mother, the Empress, wore a faint smile, her hair pinned with golden lotus-shaped pins that shimmered in the warm light. Her expression softened as she gazed upon the developing sculpture. “To see beyond the stone… It takes more than just talent,” she remarked. “It’s rare to find an artist who can capture not just a face, but the spirit within.”

Another tap of the chisel. You fought the urge to sigh. It’s just a statue, you thought. Why does it need all this reverence or this much silence?

The Emperor leaned forward, his voice both commanding and gentle. “Mingi,” he called, drawing the sculptor’s attention. “You capture the likeness with great skill. But tell me, what is it that inspires you ?”

There was a slight pause before Mingi looked up from his work, meeting the Emperor’s gaze. His expression was unreadable, the lines of his face set in a stoic mask. His deep voice was low, but steady. “Your Majesty,” he replied, “the Empress’s strength and loyalty to the kingdom… these are what guide my hand. Only by capturing the heart behind the face can the sculpture come to life.”

Another long pause, and Mingi returned to his chisel, not showing the slightest sign of being affected by the royal presence. You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Strength, loyalty, heart… How dramatic, you thought, tapping your fingers restlessly against the chair.

If I had that much time on my hands, I could come up with something more exciting to focus on, like the political affairs in the council.

Your father’s voice cut through the stillness again, his tone suddenly darker, though you paid little attention to the words. “Mingi,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, “you have until the end of the month to finish. I trust you understand the importance of the deadline.”

You didn’t hear the slight tightening of Mingi’s jaw, nor did you notice the brief flicker in his gaze. You were far too absorbed in your own thoughts, eyes glazing over as you glanced around the room, your patience stretching thin.

Another chisel tap. Another pause. You sighed, tapping your fingers lightly against the armrest of your chair.

How much longer could this go on ?

Mingi’s voice, calm and composed, replied in a steady rhythm, “Yes, Your Majesty. I understand.”

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier with the exchange, a subtle shift that you couldn't quite place, but you remained too disinterested to care.

Your gaze wandered over the court members, the lavish tapestries, and the flickering lanterns, anything to distract you from the monotony of this sculpting demonstration. Your mother, beside you, seemed content enough, her gaze soft as she watched the work take shape. Your father, too, was absorbed, his eyes locked on the sculptor.

Why can’t they just see it for what it is ? you thought. A statue. A simple statue. What’s all the fuss about ?

You shifted in your seat, supressing a yawn as you leaned back. The tension in the room was palpable, but it had no effect on you. Whatever hidden meaning there was in your father’s words didn’t matter,not when the only thing you could focus on was the mind-numbing repetition of Mingi’s chisel.

The Emperor’s next words were softer, quieter, and you almost didn’t hear them. “Make sure you do not fail,” he said, his gaze lingering on Mingi, the weight of the statement settling into the silence.

Mingi responded with another brief, “I will not fail.”

The room returned to its tense stillness, but you were still lost in your own boredom, oblivious to the gravity of the exchange. It was a moment that would have been heavy with meaning for anyone paying attention, but to you, it was just another moment in an endless sea of dull ones.

Chan noticed, a quiet chuckle slipping from him. Leaning toward you, he whispered, “Finding this all a bit dull, little sister?”

You shot him a wry smile, grateful for the distraction. “Is it that obvious ? I mean, I don’t see how you and Father find all this so thrilling.”

Chan raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “Art is more than just entertainment. Discipline, focus… there’s beauty in it.”

You tried to look thoughtful but knew you probably just looked bored. “Maybe. But why does he have to be so serious ? It’s just a statue.”

Your mother’s soft voice caught you off guard. “One day, my dear, you may find that focus and patience are beautiful in their own right. There is a quiet power in restraint.”

You gave her a polite nod, but inside, you couldn’t help but disagree. Your gaze returned to Mingi, who was still working with that infuriatingly stoic expression, seemingly oblivious to the admiration around him. It was as though he existed on another plane, one where he didn’t feel the need to acknowledge anyone watching him. He was as much a part of the stone as he was its sculptor. Hard, unmoved, and silent.

You slumped back in your seat, determined to endure this as best you could. But for all your efforts to ignore him, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of curiosity.

Who was this man, this royal sculptor, who could stand so unmoved before the royal family ?

As soon as the sculpting session concluded, you leapt from your seat, eager for a more exciting ways to spend your time. A group of maids hurried after you, struggling to keep up as you moved from room to room, as each maid follow behind you. They whispered gentle protests as you made your rounds, but they knew better than to try stopping you. Even when they did, you always managed to slip past them with a playful grin on your face which was both charming and unstoppable.

Being the youngest of the three royal children, you were treated with an abundance of care, and no request that left your lips was ever refused. As the Emperor’s darling little princess, you were never burdened with any royal duties. You were your mother’s most precious child, especially since you had been born premature and required constant attention from the very beginning. This made your parents cherish you even more.

Though all this love and attention spoiled you, it also motivated to gain knowledge in various fields. Growing up, you observed your eldest brothers, Chan and Minho, as they became powerful figures. Chan, the Crown Prince, was groomed to rule, while Minho served as the Kingdom’s general, leading the army at the northern borders of your vast kingdom.

As their baby sister, you were showered with love and affection, and they never hesitated to help you with your studies.

Breezing from one room to room, nothing seemed to peak your interest until you reached the royal kitchen, where two of your favorite chefs , Wooyoung and Yunho were engrossed in preparing the dessert for the royal banquet.

The smell of sweet pastries and savory stews filled the air while Yunho and Wooyoung were absorbed in their work, carefully arranging fruit tarts and custard buns on silver trays. As you tiptoed up behind them, your maids tried to hold you back, whispering, “Princess, please, the chefs are busy preparing for the banquet…”

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” you said brightly, startling Wooyoung so much that he almost sent the whipped cream flying.

“Princess!” he gasped, clutching his chest. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that!”

“Oh, Wooyoung, you’re too jumpy,” you laughed, sneaking a finger into a bowl of honeyed custard. “And who could resist all these treats ?”

Yunho gave you a playful glare. “And there goes the custard,” he said, clicking his tongue. “You’ll spoil your appetite before dinner, princess.”

“Not if I keep it a secret from everyone,” you replied slyly, reaching for a spoonful of candied fruit.

With mock horror, Wooyoung moved to block the tray of ingredients. “No, no, no! You’ve already sabotaged half our desserts!”

You leaned in close, smirking. “Not my fault, its just that my favorite chefs make the best deserts in the world that I can’t contain myself.”

Yunho chuckled and shook his head. “Remind me never to let you in here while we’re working.” He tried to shoo you out, but you swiped one last piece of fruit, grinning triumphantly as you left the kitchen, their playful grumbles reaching your ears as you walked to the banquet with your maids trailing behind as they sighed at your antics.

The royal banquet in evening was a grand success, with the chefs’ culinary creations earning well-deserved praise. You swarmed through the crowd, exchanging warm greetings with friends and royal guests from neighboring kingdoms. All the while, you felt Chan’s watchful gaze on you, ensuring you wouldn't try any mischief in the midst of the gathering.

As you savored the delicious food, your eyes landed on Mingi, the royal sculptor who was standing a corner, but he was not alone. He was deep in conversation with an elderly man who looked to be a high-ranking official. The discomfort on Mingi’s face was unmistakable, and there was a hint of fear in his eyes as he listened to the older man. His hands fidgeted nervously, confirming your suspicions.

What is wrong with him ? Who is that official ? Why does he look so scared ?

Your thoughts were interrupted and your feet lifted off the ground, when your second brother, Minho, swooped you up into his arms. You gasped, playfully swatting at his shoulder.

“Brother!” you gasped, squirming in his grip. “When did you get back ? And put me down, would you ? What kind of behavior is this ?”

Minho only laughed, ignoring your protests as he carried you effortlessly through the crowd. “What, no warm welcome for your favorite brother ?”

“You’re the general, for heaven’s sake!” you huffed, still trying to wriggle free.

But your attempts were futile as Minho simply laughed and carried you through the crowd, drawing amused glances from nearby guests who were well-accustomed to his playful antics. He winked at you before delivering you directly to your mother, where the two of you were swept into the flow of conversation with family and friends.

The concerning thoughts about Mingi faded to the back of your mind as night settled around you.

—

The next day you embarked on another one of your side quest. On your way you passed Mingi’s sculpting chamber, he was carefully chipping and giving a shape to yet another statue. His face as usual was stoic, giving away no emotion as he engrossed in his work.

As you were about to leave for the training grounds, a small scar on his hand caught your eye, it was definitely from working on the sculptor. Suddenly his scared face from the yesterday’s banquet flashed infront of your face as you slip into deep thoughts.

Why be soo serious and engrossed in a work of this sort where you don’t even have time to take care of yourself ? You thought before making your way to the training grounds.

Carefully skipping the Apothecary in the way, where the royal doctor Yeosang, who also happens to be your master who taught you medicine was busy working with some herbs. Quietly, you slipped out to the training grounds, where San and Jongho, your brother Minho’s right-hand men, were practicing their sword skills.

Their movements sharp and focused, their wooden practice swords clacking as they clashed. As you approached,your maids came running to you, whispering, “Princess, it’s dangerous…” You thought you had sneakily escaped their watchful eyes.

“Go easy on him, Jongho! He’s not used to winning!” you cheered from the sidelines.

San’s face twisted in a mixture of shock and slight annoyance as he looked over his shoulder. “Princess! Are you here to distract us or give encouragement?”

“Oh, I’m here to keep things interesting,” you replied, grinning.

Jongho chuckled and gestured for you to join. “How about you, Princess ? Want to show us your swordsmanship ?”

You raised your hands, laughing. “I wouldn’t want to kingdom in your safe hands”

You clapped your hands, watching as the two resumed their practice, but you couldn’t help tossing out little comments to keep them on their toes. “Jongho, don’t let San get the better of you! And San, maybe try not falling for the same move twice?”

San sighed in mock defeat. “I’d be doing so much better if I didn’t have a certain royal running commentary,” he muttered, though the glint in his eyes said he didn’t mind one bit.

As they resumed their sparring, the faint smile did not leave their lips despite their best efforts to focus. The maids behind you exchanged worried looks, but they knew better than to interrupt. They could only sigh as you moved on to go back to your chambers in order to do your daily studies.

On the way to your chambers, you noticed the royal apothecary doors were open, and with Yeosang nowhere in sight, you welcomed yourself inside despite your maids’ protests urging you to go back to your room.

After about thirty minutes, you emerged from the apothecary, casually wiping your hands clean. Just then, you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Princess,” Yeosang’s calm yet stern tone stopped you in your tracks. You turned, attempting an innocent smile as he raised an eyebrow at you. “And where were you today instead of attending our teaching session ?”

“Oh… umm… I was just studying in the library,” you replied, attempting to sound convincing. “Librarian Seonghwa gave me a few books about political alliances and strategies… so…” You tried to keep a straight face, concealing the fact that you had actually been at the training grounds with San and Jongho.

Your maid sighed behind you, which caught Yeosang’s attention, but he let it go this time.

Yeosang’s gaze narrowed as he looked at the apothecary, then back at you. “And what exactly were you doing inside the apothecary?”

“Oh… well, I was just… um… looking for some rare herbs…umm.. for tea! Yes, I wanted to surprise my mother with a new blend,” you replied, hoping it sounded convincing.

Yeosang’s expression softened slightly. “Alright. That’s good. But try not to skip the class again,” he said, his tone both kind and unwavering.

With a sheepish nod, you promised to be there next time before making a quick escape.

Meanwhile, far from the apothecary, Mingi sat in his sculpting chamber. A small jar of ointment had arrived, sealed with the royal doctor’s distinctive stamp. Attached was a short note, instructing him on how to apply it to reduce scarring.

Mingi turned the jar in his hands, his brow furrowing as he wondered who could have sent it, especially with such precise instructions. Deciding not to question the gesture, he applied the ointment to his scarred hand, feeling a faint relief as the cool medicine soothed his skin. Setting the jar aside, he resumed his work, his usual stoic focus slowly returning.

—

Next morning, the palace courtyard bustled with the lively early morning activity, sunlight filtering through the trees and casting long shadows on the stone path. You were just moments away from the library for your morning session with Seonghwa, the royal librarian and your master who taught you royal etiquettes, when a familiar voice cut through the air.

You stopped in your tracks and turned to see a frowning Minister Hongjoong and your brother Minho who was lounging in a chair with a smug grin on his face. A finished chess game board rested between them.

“Well, if it isn’t our little strategist,” Hongjoong greeted, his tone light but laced with frustration. His brow was furrowed in a mix of annoyance and amusement, clearly because Minho had bested him again.

You greeted them both, and Hongjoong glanced at the chessboard between them, shaking his head. “That’s eight matches, and eight losses. I’m beginning to think your brother is impossible to beat.”

Minho smirked, leaning back in his chair with a confident grin. “Impossible ? Not at all, Minister. Maybe you just need someone who won’t make it so difficult for you.” He glanced at you with a teasing gleam in his eye. “My sister, perhaps ?”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Your sister ? Do you really think she'd be an easier challenge?"

Minho laughed softly, clearly enjoying the banter. “I’m pretty sure she’ll be just as much of a handful as me, but who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky."

Hongjoong’s eyes sparkled with challenge as he turned to you. “Oooooh ? Is that so ? Well then, Princess, how about a match?”

“I’m so sorry, Minister Hongjoong, but I have to be in the library. Master Seonghwa will be very angry if I skip the lesson,” you tried to excuse yourself.

But Hongjoong pressed, “I’ll speak with Seonghwa, don’t worry, Princess Y/n. Defeat me, and I’ll grant you three wishes of your choosing.”

“Three wishes ?” you repeated, lifting an eyebrow as you exchanged a glance with Minho, whose smirk widened at the challenge.

Minho chuckled softly, thoroughly entertained. “Oh, don’t worry, Minister. It’ll be over in minutes. Today your luck seems extra bad with chess.”

Hongjoong’s pride flared at Minho’s words, and his smile sharpened. “Perhaps you are too confident in your sister’s abilities. I won’t make it easy.”

Minho leaned in, his voice thick with playful mockery. “Don’t go easy on her, Hongjoong. It’ll make it all the more fun when she beats you.”

The gauntlet was thrown, and there was no turning back now. You took a steady breath and nodded, accepting the challenge.

“Alright, three wishes if I win,” you agreed as your pulse quickened. The game began with the pieces set on the board.

As the game unfolded, Hongjoong’s moves were calculated, each one sharp and deliberate, his gaze never wavering. You matched his intensity, your mind working at its full speed, weighing every possibility.

But as you considered your next move, something caught your attention.

Across the courtyard, Mingi stood in quiet conversation with the same high-ranking official you had seen at the banquet. His posture was tense, his usually stoic expression strained, and the exchange between them seemed uneasy like something was off. Mingi’s hands fidgeted, and the official leaned in close, his words low and firm. Mingi’s eyes flicked away, his jaw clenched before he nodded reluctantly.

Your heart skipped a beat. Why does he look so unsettled ? The uneasy feeling you’d dismissed at the banquet two nights ago resurfaced, gnawing at you as you watched him, unaware of Minho’s watchful gaze on you, as your eyes lingered on the royal sculptor.

“Princess ?” Hongjoong’s voice cut through, drawing you back to the game. His brow was furrowed, waiting for your move.

You focused back on the board, shaking off the unease that had distracted you, and locked into the game again. The moves began to fall into place, and soon Hongjoong’s defenses started to crack. His confidence wavered as the pieces shifted in your favor.

It was clear that Hongjoong had no chance of winning now. His gaze hardened while Minho chuckled beside you. With swift precision, you moved your bishop into place, trapping his king in the corner, making it impossible for him to escape.

“Checkmate,” you said softly, meeting the Minister’s gaze, victory twinkling in your eyes.

Hongjoong stared at the board, disbelief flashing across his face. Minho burst into laughter, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, completely unfazed.

“See, Minister ? I told you it’d be over in minutes,” he teased, his grin wide. “Looks like my little sister knows a thing or two after all.” He reached over to gently ruffle your hair as he admired your game.

Hongjoong managed a faint chuckle, though the blow to his pride was clear. “Well played, Princess. I seem to have underestimated you,” he said.

Minho didn’t miss a beat. “Better luck next time, Hongjoong,” he teased. “Perhaps you should find a gentler opponent next time.”

Hongjoong gave a rueful smile. “I’ll remember that, General.” he muttered. “And as promised, Princess, three wishes are yours to command. Use them wisely.”

As Hongjoong walked away, Minho leaned in with a grin, his voice low but amused. “Impressive work,” he murmured. “Just don’t ask for anything too easy. Okay?”

You smiled slyly in return. “I’ll make of that.”

But as Hongjoong disappeared into the distance, your gaze drifted back to where Mingi had stood. The unease that had been creeping up on you during the game returned, stronger now. There was something more to his conversation with the official, something you didn’t fully understand.

What was going on? And why did Mingi seem so unsettled? More importantly, why am I so concerned about him anyways ?

In the evening, after finishing your studies and wrapping up the day's tasks, you decided to take a stroll through the garden. The evening sky had begun to change, painted with soft oranges and purples as you savored the peacefulness that came with the beautiful sunset, with no maids trailing behind you. It was just you and the cool evening breeze, uninterrupted.

As you wandered, your gaze fell upon Mingi’s sculpting chamber, tucked away in a quiet corner of the palace. You had often wondered what went on behind its stone walls, curious about the man who worked in such isolation. Mingi rarely spoke to anyone, kept to himself, and seemed detached from the world around him.

You’d seen him pass by occasionally, his usually calm expression betraying nothing of the thoughts that lay beneath.

What was it that made him so distant ?

You had heard nothing concrete, but sometimes, when you caught him in a rare moment of vulnerability, there was an almost visible tension around him. It was as if there was a weight on his shoulders, as if something inevitable that he couldn’t escape was waiting for him. He was always buried in his work, meticulously carving away at his sculptures for the royal family and higher-ups.

But tonight, something felt different. A strange impulse stirred within you to check up on him, to see how he was doing. You knew he had been working tirelessly for days, never leaving the chamber except to eat or sleep, and you couldn’t help but wonder if the toll was starting to show.

Was his hand okay ? Has he eaten yet ? Why am I even concerned about him ? He never interested me in the first place, nor is sculpting any of my passions, so… why am I concerning myself with such trivial matters ? You brushed the thoughts off, thinking it was your doctor instincts kicking in.

With a steady breath, you approached the chamber door and pushed it open.

The air in Mingi’s workshop was thick with the scent of freshly carved stone and the faint scent of sweat from hours of labor. The light was dim, casting long shadows that stretched across the cold floor, making the room feel both alive and suffocating at the same time.

He stood at his workbench, eyes focused on the figure he was sculpting, the chisel in his hand moving with the kind of precision that only comes from years of practice.

But as always, he was alone.

You watched him for a moment, standing quietly in the doorway. There was something about him. Something so mysterious, withdrawn, that made you wonder why he kept so much to himself. The rumors swirled, of course, but none gave you a concrete reason for his strange demeanor.

You couldn’t stand it anymore.

And your curiosity got the better of you.

“Are you always this quiet ?” you asked, your voice breaking the silence as you stepped into the room. You didn’t wait for an invitation as there was something about him that made you want to push, to question, even if it irritated him.

Mingi didn’t flinch. His chisel paused mid-stroke, but his eyes didn’t shift toward you. The only acknowledgment was the briefest tightening of his jaw, a hint of irritation that quickly disappeared.

“I don’t need company nor do I like talking.” he said flatly, not looking up. His voice was deep and rough, the words blunt, as though he had said them a thousand times before. There was a coldness in them that sent a chill through you, but it only piqued your curiosity more.

“But why ? You’re always alone. Always working.” You moved closer, your voice soft but insistent. “Why do you keep to yourself like this ?”

There was a flicker in his eyes before he turned to face you fully. His gaze locked onto yours, dark and intense. The room seemed to shrink, the weight of his stare pressing down on you, almost suffocating.

“Because it’s none of your business,” he said, his voice sharp, as though he’d spoken those words many times to keep others at bay.

You weren’t satisfied. Something in you itched to know more, to unravel the mystery behind his detached behavior. “I don’t buy that,” you said, your voice rising ever so slightly. “Everyone has a reason. What’s yours ? Why do you act like this ?”

“I just hate people.” Another one of his dry and sassy replies.

“How’s your hand ?” you asked, a slight concern in your tone as as your eyes flickered to his hand.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” he replied slightly taken about by how you know about it but soon his voice went flat again. He rubbed the scared spot which seemed fine now but nervousness was evident in his body language as you mentioned his hands.

You caught it, the way his hand had trembled ever so slightly. His composure slipped, just for a moment, and that was enough to make you press harder.

“You don’t look fine,” you said, stepping closer, eyes narrowing at the sight of the cloth wrapped around his hand, a different spot from the scar though. “What’s going on with your hands, Mingi ?”

His jaw clenched tightly at your question, and for a split second, the room seemed to hold its breath. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words, and then he stepped closer, blocking your view of his hand entirely.

“Please leave, Princess.” he warned, his voice low, dangerous.

But you didn’t listen. You stepped forward, your curiosity ignoring the obvious warning. “You’ve been hiding it, haven’t you? Your hands, what’s wrong with them ? I am studying medicine, maybe I can help.”

His eyes darkened, the usual calm of his demeanor replaced with a cold, calculating glare as his tone went a notch up. “I told you to leave. No one can help. So let me do my work.”

Hmm…what does he mean by “No one can help” ?

His words hit like a slap, but you didn’t back down. Instead, you watched as the muscles in his neck tightened, his posture stiffening. You couldn’t quite place it, but something was eating at him, something far deeper than just the isolation he had wrapped around himself.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on ? Maybe I can help, you know I can talk to my father if someone is bothering you.” you said, your voice steady now, defying the uneasy feeling that crept through you as you refered to the higher up you had seen him with in the mroning.

The tension in the room grew unbearable, and with a sudden, violent motion, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you into him. His grip was so tight it nearly crushed you as you both stood chest to chest, pressing as your heart skipped a beat. His eyes were wild now, filled with a fury you hadn’t expected.

“You should’ve left when I told you,” he growled, his voice low, deep, and raspy. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the heat of his anger, but you weren’t afraid. No, something darker stirred within you, something drawn to the rawness in his eyes, the power in his grip. It was a strange, almost magnetic force, something you hadn’t felt before.

You barely had time to register the position you both were in when something cold touched your skin, a knife against your throat, the cold steel barely grazing your skin.

“Don’t test me, Princess,” Mingi said, his voice almost a whisper, but it sent a shiver down your spine. “I won’t hesitate.”

The shock of the moment hit you harder than you expected as you stood there frozen, eyes locked onto his, the world around you fading, and it wasn’t just fear that kept you in place,it was something else.

Something thrilling. A craving, maybe. To be handled like this, with power, with rawness….with anger which was a stark contrast to how you were oh so gently taken care of by everyone around you.

“You’re playing with fire,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you stared at the knife. “Do it. I’m not afraid.”You challenged him wanting to see how far he is going to go.

But for a long, tense moment, Mingi didn’t move. His gaze never left yours, the silence in the room suffocating.

Giving him a smirk, you moved your neck slightly as the knife gave a small slit on your neck and blood spurted out, nothing dangerous enough to kill you but enough to make Mingi pull the knife away as his eyes widened at the crazy act you just pulled, his grip loosening on your wrist though the soft and concerning flicker of emotion that was in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you but he soon composed himself into the stoic and cold god he is.

“Leave,” he said, his voice cold again as he recovered from slight shock you just gave him.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t argue. You turned and walked out of the workshop, your heart racing in your chest, your mind swirling with the intensity of the moment. You had pushed him too far, and yet, you hadn’t felt more alive than you did right now. You fingers ran on your neck smearing the blood off. If your maids or anyone else see it, chaos would unfold which you not hoping to cause.

Walking towards your chambers, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Mingi’s silence than you had realized, a secret you were fully sure he was hiding the after witnessing the softness in his eyes, even for a brief moment, it was enough to pull you into his dark world.

What was he hiding ? Is anyone bothering him ? And why did the knife on my throat make my heart race… with thrill ? Did I like it, his anger, his rawness…why am I suddenly admiring such negative traits ?

—

After that night in Mingi’s chamber, you found yourself avoiding him. It wasn’t intentional, but your feelings were too tangled to face him. His dark aura, intense and commanding, had a magnetic pull. The way he handled you, in such raw and unflinching way was a stark contrast to the gentleness you were used to, leaving an impression you couldn’t shake.

Yeosang and Seonghwa tightened your schedule, leaving no room for wandering thoughts. Still, you noticed Mingi’s absence.

When you asked, Minister Hongjoong mentioned he’d gone home for urgent family matters. The news left an unexpected ache in your chest, but you pushed it aside, telling yourself it didn’t matter.

Yet, no matter how busy you kept yourself, thoughts of Mingi lingered. His raw presence had stirred something deep within you, something real but unsettling. It made you question everything you knew about your desires, even though you didn’t fully understand why.

So, you buried your feelings and focused on your studies, too afraid to confront them.

After a long day full of tasks, you found yourself in the library, hoping to find some peace among the books. Going near Mingi’s sculpting chamber would only make you think about him, and you weren’t ready for that yet. As you wandered through the shelves, trying to distract yourself, Hongjoong appeared, his footsteps soft but noticeable. He greeted you warmly, but his sharp eyes quickly caught the sadness in your expression.

"Is something troubling you Princess ?" he asked, his voice was gentle.

You hesitated, unsure of how much to share. Your thoughts were tangled, and you weren’t sure if it was wise to speak about what had been bothering you. You hadn’t fully understood it yourself, let alone said it aloud. Finally, you spoke carefully, leaving out the incident with the knife, unsure how to explain the confusion inside your head.

"It’s... Mingi," you said softly. "There’s something about him, the way he keeps his distance, his coldness... It’s not just how he acts. It feels like there’s more to it. I can’t shake the feeling that something happened to him, and I’m curious. What’s his story ?"

Hongjoong paused, thinking before speaking. "Mingi’s... been through a lot," he said carefully. "His family’s past is not something people talk about. But it’s shaped him. It’s a heavy burden he doesn’t show."

You nodded, trying to take it in. Hongjoong’s gaze softened, but he didn’t say more. You understood—he wasn’t going to share everything, at least not yet. Some things were better left unsaid until the right time.

Then, Seonghwa entered quietly, sensing the mood. He smiled softly, his eyes full of understanding as he spoke. "I see you’ve been thinking about Mingi a lot," he said. "What’s got you so curious ? You’ve never seemed interested before."

You faltered, not sure how to explain. Why had you suddenly been so affected by him ? You didn’t even understand it yourself. The more you thought about Mingi, the more unsettled you felt.

"I... don’t know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just feel like there’s something beneath all that coldness. Something that makes sense, but I can’t figure it out. I... I just want to understand him better. Just out of curiosity. You know how I am with that, Master Seonghwa.”

As you spoke, you felt a strange warmth in your chest, something you couldn’t quite place. You didn’t want to admit it, but a part of you was becoming more drawn to him, even though you weren’t sure why.

Was it pity ? Curiosity ? Or something deeper you weren’t ready to face ?

Seonghwa simply nodded as he was fully aware of how engrossed you become when you get curious about something but his gaze stayed on you, full of quiet understanding, and Hongjoong didn’t press further.

For now, they accepted your answer.

But as the conversation ended, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Mingi wasn’t just a distant figure anymore. He had somehow crept under your skin, leaving you more curious and maybe more invested than you wanted to admit.

—

Next morning, after breakfast, you went to find your brother, Minho, who was busy sorting through a stack of papers in the royal study. He glanced up when you entered, his brow furrowing slightly. Even before you spoke, you could tell he wasn’t going to like what you were about to ask.

“Minho,” you started, trying to sound casual, “I was hoping I could get your permission to visit Mingi’s sculpting chamber today.”

He looked up fully, his expression wary. “Mingi?” he repeated, his tone skeptical. “What for?”

You hesitated briefly, then gave your prepared excuse. “There’s a figurine Mother received from Mingi’s father. It’s cracked, and it’s very delicate. I was hoping he could repair it. His skills are unmatched—I don’t think anyone else could do it properly.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You’re asking to go alone, to Mingi, of all people?” His tone was light, but there was something sharp underneath it.

You smiled, trying to appear unfazed. “Yes, it’s nothing to worry about. I just need to handle this. I’ll be careful.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, his eyes scanning your face. “Fine. But if anything happens—”

“I’ll be fine,” you said quickly. “Besides, you’re in charge of the kingdom right now with Chan and Father away. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

Minho paused, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he nodded reluctantly. “Alright, I’ll allow it. But be careful. Mingi is... unpredictable.” His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t push the issue.

With his reluctant permission, you left the room, a knot of anticipation tightening in your stomach.

The royal carriage rolled to a stop in front of Mingi's home, its wheels grinding against the gravel with a soft crunch. You stepped out, feeling the weight of your decision pressing down on you. The air around you was still, and the quiet seemed too loud, almost deafening in its silence.

"Wait here for me at the corner of the road," you told the carriage driver, your voice was more serious than usual. "It might take a while."

The driver nodded, his face unreadable, and the carriage slowly rolled away, leaving you standing infront of of Mingi's property. You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts, and made your way towards the door.

The door creaked open, revealing Mingi, his tall, broad frame filling the doorway. His dark eyes locked on you, their gaze sharp and assessing, but he said nothing at first. Behind him, the room was a befitting image of organisational chaos with sculpting tools scattered across a workbench, shards of marble dusted over the floor, and half-finished sculptures looming in various stages of creation.

“You came about the figurine,” Mingi said at last, his deep voice steady and calm.

Before visiting, you had sent him a letter, letting him know of your arrival. You waited for a few hours, expecting a refusal, but no reply ever came. That silence was all the answer you needed, and so you set out for his home.

“Yes,” you replied, holding out the small sculpture. It was a fragile piece, an intricate bird with its wings outstretched. “It’s my mother’s favorite. She would be heartbroken if it couldn’t be restored.”

Mingi stepped aside to let you in, his expression softening just slightly as he took the figurine from your hands. He turned it over carefully, his long fingers brushing along the cracked base and the damaged wing.

“It can be fixed,” he murmured, setting it down on the workbench. “The damage isn’t beyond repair, but it’ll take precision.”

You watched as he began gathering tools, his movements were methodical while his focus was intense. For the first time, he wasn’t keeping you at arm’s length. His quiet acknowledgment of your presence, of your request felt like a crack in the wall he had carefully built around himself.

“You’re truly gifted,” you said, your voice was barely above a whisper.

Mingi paused for a second, his fingers hovering over the delicate tools. “It’s not a gift,” he replied, his tone was thoughtful and gentle. “Just years of practice. Anyone could do it.”

“I doubt that,” you countered softly, catching a flicker of something in his expression — pride, perhaps, or even gratitude.

The moment was short-lived though.

Mingi’s shoulders tensed as his gaze snapped to the window. Following his line of sight, you spotted a figure striding toward the house with purpose. The official.The same one you had seen Mingi with in the banquet and during your chess match with Minister Hongjoong.

Mingi cursed under his breath, turning back to you with urgency in his eyes. “Hide. Now.”

“What ? Why ?”

“No time for questions.” His tone left no room for argument as he grabbed your arm and pulled you toward a door at the far end of the room. He opened it quickly, shoving you inside before shutting it firmly behind you.

You stumbled slightly, steadying yourself on the wall, and froze as you looked around.

The room was dimly lit, shadows flickering over walls lined with tools. Whips hung neatly alongside polished canes, their leather and wood gleaming faintly. Paddles of various shapes rested in perfect order, while chains with cuffs dangled from iron hooks. A dark wooden cross stood against one wall, its straps and buckles leaving no doubt about its use. Nearby, a leather bench with worn restraints sat waiting. The air was thick with the scent of leather, and the space exuded power and intimacy, every detail carefully curated for impact. A shiver ran down your spine as you took it all in.

Is this what he is really into ? Your cheeks flustered at the thought of those stuff used upon you by him. You shook your head as the sound of raised voices outside the door pulled you back.

“Mingi,” the official’s sharp tone cut through the air, “you’ve had more than enough time to reconsider.”

“I’ve already told you,” Mingi growled, his voice low and hard, “I won’t do it.”

“You’re being reckless,” the official shot back, his words cold and deliberate. “This isn’t just about you. Do you really think you can defy the royal court without consequences?”

“I won’t harm them!” Mingi’s voice rose, frustration and anger breaking through. “Whatever you’re planning, leave me out of it.”

“You don’t get it,” the official said, his tone dark. “Your creations aren’t just art—they’re tools. Tools that can change the balance of power. Think carefully, Mingi. The clock is ticking, and this choice is yours.”

A loud crash broke the tense silence as something heavy hit the floor.

“Get out,” Mingi snarled. “Now.”

“Very well,” the official said, his tone icy. “But don’t think your refusal absolves you. You’ll regret this defiance.”

The door slammed, and the sound of retreating footsteps echoed down the path.

Inside the room, your heart raced as you tried to make sense of what you had overheard. The tension outside had disappeared, replaced by an eerie silence. Slowly, you reached for the door, ready to face whatever awaited on the other side.

You didn’t have to open it. The door swung open abruptly, and Mingi stood there, his tall frame blocking the light behind him. He slammed the door shut after stepping in, the sound reverberating through the room. His chest rose and fell as if he’d just run a great distance, and his hand gripped the door handle tightly, knuckles white.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His eyes swept across the room, and then it hit him as he realized where he’d pushed you in his rush to hide you.

His face twisted, half-apology, half-irritation. “You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, the sharp edge of anger not fully gone from his voice.

Your eyes wandered over the assortment of tools neatly arranged on the walls, your cheeks flushing with heat.

“This… this is where you work?” you stammered, though it was clear the room held more than just the tools of his craft.

Mingi didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he brushed past you, grabbing a whip from the wall. The action was quick, and a slash went across his body, startling you. He maintained a safe distance from you as another lash traveled across his skin, pushing the delicate figurines in the room as the whip met them.

Was he punishing himself with the whip...why ?

“I’ll send the figurine back so you can leave now, Princess Y/n,” he muttered, his tone cold. He turned to face you, his eyes blazing with frustration. “I’ve had enough people meddling in my life today.”

His words stung, but you stood your ground. “I couldn’t just leave… not after hearing what he said,” you replied, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “What’s really going on, Mingi? What does he want from you?”

Mingi let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and mirthless. He lashed the whip against a nearby wooden block, the crack echoing through the room. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said bitterly, his back still turned to you. “None of you royal types ever do. You think I’m just your sculptor, a tool for your games.”

His words hit harder than the whip’s crack, but you refused to let them shake you. “That’s not true,” you said firmly. “I’m here because I care, Mingi. I overheard enough to know that whatever that official is plotting is dangerous. You don’t have to face this alone.”

Mingi turned sharply, his eyes narrowing as if searching for something in your expression. “Care ?” he scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh. Care doesn’t mean anything when you’re part of the system that’s made me this way.”

Your throat tightened, but you refused to look away. “You’re right. I don’t understand everything,” you admitted, taking a cautious step closer. “But I want to. If there’s even the slightest chance I can help, I’ll take it. Let me prove I’m not like him.”

Mingi stayed silent for a while, trying to say something but holding back. Only his grip on the whip tightened, and you took that as a chance to press on further.

“Instead of breaking those delicate figures and hurting yourself…” you paused, gently placing his hand, which held the whip, onto your shoulder. “Use it on me. Let my unbreaking resolve be the proof to you that I am here to help and not take advantage of you.” You took a deep breath, trying to make sense of the words that had just left your mouth. You were literally asking him to use you.

Why had you offered yourself? You had no idea.

One thing was clear in your mind: you wanted to help him, and maybe… a small part of your heart wanted to experience the rush again—the same feeling you’d had that night when Mingi had a knife at your throat.

But this scavenger hunt was going to be more painful. A hell of a lot more painful.

Mingi’s hand tensed, his grip on the whip faltering as his eyes locked onto yours. His anger, once fiery, flickered with confusion. "You don’t know what you’re saying," he muttered, his voice rough and shaky. "This isn’t something you can just offer. It’s not a game."

"I know it’s not," you replied firmly, heart pounding as you met his gaze. "I heard what that man said. Whatever this is, I can see it’s tearing you apart. If I can help—"

"Help?" he interrupted, a dry, bitter laugh escaping him. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair. "You think letting me take it out on you will help? It won’t fix anything. You don’t understand the weight of this, Y/N."

"Then help me understand," you said, stepping closer, refusing to back down. "You’re not just hurting yourself—you’re drowning. If you can’t trust me yet, fine. But don’t shut me out."

His fingers tightened around the whip, his jaw clenched as he fought the turmoil inside. The battle in his eyes was clear—anger, pride, and something softer, more vulnerable, that he was trying to bury.

He studied you for a long moment, searching your face. "You don’t know what you’re asking," he said, voice strained, the whip falling limp in his hand.

"Then show me," you whispered, voice trembling but determined. "Let me carry some of this with you."

Mingi exhaled sharply, his hand running through his hair. "You’ll regret this," he muttered, but his grip on the whip tightened, as if he’d already made his decision. "This isn’t something you can just endure."

"I’m not here to prove a point," you said, steady despite the storm inside you. "I’m here because I believe you’re worth helping, no matter what."

He opened his mouth to argue but stopped. Instead, he walked to the wall, setting down the whip and picking up a leather strap. He turned it over in his hands, his shoulders stiff with hesitation. "This is different," he warned. "You’ll stop if it’s too much. Tell me if you can’t take it."

"I will," you nodded, meeting his gaze.

He motioned for you to step forward. "Place your hands on the table. And remember... you can always say no."

The first strike hit your back, sharp and stinging. A gasp escaped your lips as the pain jolted through you, but it wasn’t unbearable. It was different, almost… inviting. Your grip tightened on the table, but you didn’t move. The sting was real, but there was something else, a rush that followed it, spreading heat through your body.

Mingi stopped, watching you with eyes that seemed to search for something. “Still willing?” he asked, his voice softer now, like the anger inside him was starting to fade.

You met his gaze and nodded. “I’m still here.”

He swallowed, conflicted. He raised the strap again, this time hitting harder. The pain cut deeper, but with it came a strange warmth that spread across your skin. The sting lingered, but instead of pulling away, you leaned into it. You could feel your body reacting, the mix of pain and heat building something inside you that you couldn’t ignore.

With each strike, Mingi’s face softened. The anger was slowly replaced with something else—something that made the pain feel like a release, both for him and for you. Every blow became more than just pain; it became a way to let go, to release tension in a way that felt almost necessary.

The strikes kept coming, steady and rhythmic. The sharp sting gave way to a deeper warmth that filled your back, spreading through your body. Each blow was a wave, washing over you, making the pain and pleasure mix in a way that left you breathless.

Your breaths became uneven, not from pain but from the pull of the pleasure that followed it. You were no longer just feeling the sting; you were feeling something deeper, something that made you crave the next strike. Mingi was no longer just focused on releasing his own anger; he was reading you, feeling you, paying attention to how your body responded.

After one particularly intense blow, his hand brushed your shoulder, lingering for a moment. “You’re shaking,” he said quietly, his voice soft.

“Not from fear,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the trembling inside. The pain was still there, but it didn’t matter. It was nothing compared to the warmth that spread through your body.

Finally, the strikes slowed, then stopped. The flogger slipped from his hands as he stepped closer. His touch hovered over your back for a moment before settling there, gentle and warm, a stark contrast to the heat still flooding your skin.

You closed your eyes and let yourself feel that softness, letting the pleasure linger in your body even as the pain began to fade.

"Why would you do this?" he asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper. His fingers traced over the marks he’d left on your skin, his touch soft, almost apologetic. "Why let me hurt you ?"

"Because you needed it," you answered, standing up to face him. "And maybe... maybe I needed it too. To show you that you’re not alone, even if you think you are."

For a moment, his jaw tightened, and you saw the struggle in his eyes, like he was ready to pull away again. But instead, he stepped closer, gently cupping your face. His thumb brushed your cheek as he looked at you, as if searching for something he wasn’t sure he could find.

His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, like he didn’t want to let go. The kiss that followed was slow, soft, a very short kiss but full of emotions. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His voice was quiet as he said, "You’re maddening. You make me want to trust again, even when I don’t feel like I deserve it."

You smiled softly, your hands over his. "Then trust me. One step at a time."

In that moment, you could feel his walls starting to break down, just a little.

The air between you was heavy with tension, each heartbeat feeling like time slowed. Something inside him was changing. Maybe he was starting to trust again after all these years of being alone. Maybe it was care or....love.

His fingers shook slightly as they touched your bruises, slow and careful, like he wasn’t sure you’d pull away. But you didn’t. When his fingers grazed the welts on your skin, you didn’t flinch. It wasn’t the pain you felt—it was something deeper, something real. His touch was gentle, and it made you feel like maybe everything was going to be okay.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, like the words were difficult to say but necessary all the same.

You swallowed, your body humming from the aftermath of what had just happened. It wasn’t pain anymore, it was something else. You couldn’t find the words, but your body knew what it was, a quiet yearning, a need to be close, to lean into the warmth of his touch. His hands moved slowly, tracing the scars along your back, each movement light but filled with purpose.

"Does it hurt ?" he asked quietly, his voice full of concern. There was no judgment in his words, only care.

“No,” you breathed, shaking your head. "It’s... it’s different. It’s not just pain. It’s…” You couldn’t quite explain, but somehow, in that moment, you didn’t need to.

His hands lowered, skimming over your sides, exploring with a kind of passion that made every nerve in your body come alive. Slowly, he began to undress you, his touch deliberate and slow, as if he was savoring each moment. He wasn’t in a hurry, wasn’t rushing to get to the end. His hands were soft, his movements careful, like he was afraid of breaking you.

When your gown finally slipped from your shoulders, his gaze dropped immediately to your back, to the marks still visible. The look in his eyes softened, and for a second, you wanted to hide, to cover the scars. But you didn’t. You let him see every part of you raw, vulnerable, but still here.

His hands moved to your arms, slowly trailing up, each touch deliberate, each movement meaningful. When his thumbs brushed over your collarbone, you gasped, feeling the tender sensation of his touch against your skin.

“Are you sure, darling?” he whispered, his voice low and filled with care. It wasn’t doubt, but a need to be sure, to make sure you were okay with what was happening.

You answered by, reaching for him and pulling him closer.

Words weren’t needed anymore as a silent permission to go ahead was exchanged between the both of you.

His lips met yours again, kiss started slow as he now with your approval was ready to savour every bit, every taste of your slowly. It wasn’t just passion, it was something deeper. A connection that couldn’t be put into words. His hands moved back to your back, feeling the rise of each scar, each mark. He touched you like you were something fragile, but also something he couldn’t help but want to hold.

As his lips trailed down your neck, you couldn’t help but gasp at the feel of his teeth grazing your skin. His breath was warm against you, his body pressing closer, the tension in the room thickening with every movement. His hands slid lower, gently caressing your body, every touch reminding you of his carefulness, his tenderness.

His hands slid under your waistband, pulling the fabric of your royal attire down with slow, deliberate movements, each tug filled with a quiet anticipation and care. It was a slow burn, building gradually, with no rush, no force.

When your clothes were finally gone, he stood before you, his eyes soft but heavy with a quiet hunger. His gaze moved over every inch of you, tracing the lines of your body with an intensity that left you breathless. There was no judgment, no shame in his eyes. Only reverence. Your naked form ignited a deep, smoldering passion within him, and he pulled you impossibly closer, until your bodies were tangled together, hearts racing in sync.

His lips found yours again, deeper this time, urgent, like he couldn’t hold back any longer. His hands roamed over your chest, fingers brushing against the soft curve of your breasts. He touched you with a mixture of gentleness and need, his palms warm against your skin as he cupped the fullness of your chest. His thumbs grazed over your nipples, a soft pressure that made you gasp, your body responding instinctively to his touch. His hands moved in slow circles, caressing, exploring, as if he was memorizing every part of you.

The sensation was overwhelming, a tender yet electrifying connection that made you feel both grounded and entirely lost in the moment.The warmth between you grew, but it wasn’t just physical. It was emotional, tender, an intimacy that seeped into your very bones.

His lips trailed down to the marks on your torso, each kiss placed with reverence, each one like a silent promise. You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation, your body responding to him in ways that left you breathless.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with emotion. It wasn’t possessive, but something deeper, more intimate. A declaration that felt like both a claim and an offering.

You replied, your voice steady but filled with warmth, “Mhmm...I’ll protect you, in every way possible. Always.”

The air felt alive between you, charged with something deep and unspoken. His hands slid down your sides, steadying you as he lifted you onto the edge of the workbench. The cool wood beneath you was a sharp contrast to the heat radiating between your bodies, and your breath hitched as his dark eyes locked with yours. They held something raw, something that made your pulse quicken with a mix of longing and love, as if you were the only thing that mattered.

Slowly, Mingi knelt before you, his hands firm on your thighs. The way you looked at him made his heart ache, as though you saw every part of him, the good and the broken, and still wanted more. His lips pressed soft, lingering kisses to your inner thighs, each touch sending a shiver through your body. He took his time, savoring the moment, letting the tension build until it was nearly unbearable.

His hands firmly gripped your thighs, pulling you open with the kind of deliberate care that sent a shiver up your spine. His eyes were locked on yours for a moment, dark and intense, before trailing down, his breath teasing your sensitive clit. It was almost unbearable, his warm exhale brushing against your slick heat, the tension coiling tightly inside you as he took his time, savoring every second of your vulnerability.

When his tongue finally flicked against your clit, your breath hitched sharply, a gasp spilling from your lips. The sensation was electric, sending a bolt of pleasure straight through you. He didn’t rush, he began with slow, teasing strokes, dragging his tongue over your most sensitive spot in lazy, deliberate circles. Each movement built on the last, the steady rhythm making your hips buck forward instinctively, craving more of his touch.

A low hum rumbled from his chest as he tightened his grip on your thighs, holding you firmly in place. The vibration of his voice against your clit made you moan, your head falling back as the tension in your core tightened further. He alternated between swirling his tongue around your clit and sucking it gently into his mouth, his pace maddeningly slow yet so precise it left you trembling. You tried to pull away for a moment, the sensation almost too much, but he wouldn’t let you.

Your thighs trembling as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. And just as you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, his mouth shifted, his tongue dipping lower, plunging deep into your core with a deliberate stroke that made your whole body jolt.

A broken cry tore from your throat as he fucked you with his tongue, slow and deep, each thrust of it drawing you closer to the breaking point. His nose brushed against your clit with every movement, adding another layer of stimulation that sent your nerves into overdrive.

Your body twisted under his touch, every nerve on fire, every gasp and moan spilling from your lips raw and unrestrained. He worked you with relentless precision, dragging you to the edge of release again and again, only to pull back just enough to let the tension simmer, teasing you mercilessly.

Each time you begged for more, your voice shaky and desperate, he only smirked against you, his tongue plunging back into your core, twisting and curling as if he were determined to make you fall apart completely.

Your hands flew to his hair, tugging hard as your thighs clamped around his head. He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core and sending you spiraling. Your breath came in ragged gasps as the intensity built beyond what you thought you could handle, your body trembling violently as he pushed you closer to the brink.

But he didn’t stop there. His tongue moved faster now, his lips latching onto your clit once more, sucking harder in a way that made your vision blur. The overstimulation was dizzying, every touch too much and not enough all at once. You were utterly at his mercy, your body completely his to command.

When your release finally came, it was devastating. A scream ripped from your throat as your orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave, leaving you shaking and gasping for air. Your thighs clamped around his head, but he didn’t stop, his tongue and lips coaxing every last drop from you until tears pricked at your eyes from the sheer intensity.This was the first time someone has touched and handled your body this way.

“Breathe,little princess.” he murmured against you, his voice rough, and it took you a moment to realize you were still trembling, your body barely able to handle the aftershocks. He slowed his movements, soothing you with soft kisses against your clit and inner thighs, grounding you as you came back down from the high.

Weakly, you reached for him, pulling his hands to yours. You kissed his knuckles softly, your lips brushing over the roughness of his skin as your chest heaved. It was a quiet, desperate act, a thank-you and a plea all at once.

Mingi sat up slowly, his eyes locking with yours as he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. The look in his eyes was intense, filled with a quiet sadness that made your chest tighten. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but heavy with emotion.

“I need to tell you something.”

His words, raw and hesitant, pulled you out of the lingering haze of warmth, dragging you into a harsh reality.

You met his gaze, worry flickering in your eyes. “What is it?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening like the words hurt too much to say. But he forced them out anyway, his voice cracking slightly. “When this is done... the royal family—they’re going to take my hands.”

It felt like the air was knocked out of you. His confession hit you like a blow, the weight of it settling heavily in your chest. You stared at him, trying to process what he had just said, your heart racing in disbelief.

“Your... hands?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He nodded, his gaze falling to where your hands rested on his, your fingers entwined as if trying to hold onto something that was slipping away. “They said it’s the price I have to pay. Once I finish the sculpture of the empress and meet the emperor’s deadline... my hands will be cut off.”

Your heart ached for him, for the burden he carried. The weight of the looming deadline, knowing that the very thing he was creating—the sculpture of your mother—would lead to his punishment. His reward? The loss of his hands. Why did your kingdom have such a rule? And on top of that, there were officials within your own kingdom using his art to harm the royal family. Mingi, caught in the middle of a storm he couldn’t escape, made you pull him into your arms.

Tears welled in your eyes as the full weight of his words sank in. He was so calm, so resigned, yet beneath his stoic exterior, you could feel the raging storm. The man who had just held you with such care, worshipped you with tenderness, was willing to give up the very hands that had brought you to life only moments ago.

With everything you knew now, there was no going back. You were about to plunge into the heart of your kingdom’s darkest secrets, fully aware of the cost. But one thing was certain — you would either save him, or burn everything to the ground in the process.

And that is how our princess Y/n fell of the royal sculptor Song Mingi.

~ ~ Chérie ☆ signin’ off

DISCLAIMER: This is totally fictional and not a real depiction of the ATEEZ members. It's all just for fun only so please don’t take anything seriously and keep the mood light around here.

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