A long wooden corridor stretched beside the palace garden—
pillars lacquered glossy under the pale dawn,
bamboo blinds swaying gently,
their shadows sliding over the floor like whispered secrets.
Footsteps echoed—steady, sharp, disciplined.
walked with hands clasped behind his back,
deep-blue robes brushing lightly,
expression carved calm but ever-alert.
Every movement precise.
Every breath controlled.
"Lord Jin-shi wanted the incense ledger from the outer pavilion…"
he muttered under his breath, voice clipped, responsible.
"It should be just ahead."
The morning breeze carried faint jasmine, cooling his temples.
Gaoshun's brow tightened slightly.
Always the details.
Always the order.
A sound drifted from the garden's heart—
faint at first, then sharp:
A maid's startled shout.
A panicked gasp.
Feet scraping against gravel.
A fan snapping shut too fast.
froze mid-step.
Still as carved stone.
His eyes narrowed.
"…The maids?"
Maids never raised their voices.
Not in the Inner Court.
Not unless something was truly wrong.
He angled his head toward the sound—
measuring it, mapping it, reading the disturbance.
His first thought:
Disturbance?
Intruder?
Spy?
He turned sharply—robes whispering—
and headed toward the garden.
The maids flinched at the curse, eyes going wider, but the one with the dropped fan recovered first, scooting closer on her knees. "Miss, please—don't move too fast. You look shaken. Here, lean on me." She offered an arm, sleeve embroidered with tiny lotuses, her touch hesitant but warm. The other nodded, picking up her fan with trembling fingers. "Yeah, the mornings are chilly here. Did you wander from the outer paths? They're easy to get turned around on."
Moon shook her head—slow at first, then frantic, hair whipping her cheeks. "*No, I... I wasn't wandering. I was..." On a mountain. Drinking alone. Begging the stars. The truth stuck like thorns. These women looked at her like she was a puzzle, not a threat—their worry real, eyes soft with that human kind of care she hadn't felt since... ever? No suspicion, just help. It made her chest ache worse, tears pricking hot again. "I don't know how I got here. One minute I was... somewhere else. And then... poof."
The maids exchanged a glance—quick, loaded with that unspoken what now? The kneeling one tilted her head, voice dropping gentle. "Poof? Like... magic? Oh, miss, that's not funny—the court's full of stories about spirits, but..." She trailed off, biting her lip, clearly wanting to believe but too practical to chase ghosts.
Before Moon could answer—if she even had one—footsteps approached from the corridor beyond the silk curtain. Steady ones, not the maids' flutter. Heavy, but not rushed. The air shifted with them, like the garden itself straightened up.
The curtain parted with a soft swish, sunlight spilling in a gold arc. A man stepped through—tall, broad, robes deep blue that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. His hair was tied back neat, face calm as still water, but his eyes... they cut through the scene like a blade through silk. Sharp. Assessing. The kind of look that saw everything and gave nothing away.
The maids jumped to their feet—robes snapping straight, heads bowing low. "Gao-shun-sama!" The one with the fan squeaked, voice pitching high. "We—we didn't mean to make a fuss. It's just... we found her. In the grass. Like she was sleeping there."
The other nodded frantic, twisting her hands. "Yeah, she just... woke up. Says she doesn't know how she got here. We were going to get help, but—"
Gao-shun raised a hand—simple motion, palm flat—and the words died. The maids fell silent, breaths held, eyes on the ground like scolded children. He didn't scold, didn't snap. Just was—his presence filling the space, turning chaos to quiet without a word. Moon watched from the grass, heart thumping harder. Who is he? Guard? The way they look at him...
His gaze swept the garden—quick, thorough: trampled grass patch, scattered petals, maids' flushed faces. Then landed on her. Locked. For a beat, the world narrowed to that look—Gray eyes like storm clouds over a calm sea, seeing her mess of hair, her rumpled robes, the dirt smudged on her cheek. No judgment. Just... seeing.
He walked toward her—steps steady but cautious, boots barely crunching the gravel, like he didn't want to startle whatever fragile thing she was. The maids parted without a word, giving him space. Up close, he was taller than he looked from afar, shoulders broad under the robes, face lined with the kind of quiet strength that came from carrying too much for too long. But his expression softened—just a fraction—as he stopped a few feet away, crouching slightly to her level. No looming. No power play. Just two people in a garden that suddenly felt too big.
"...Are you alright?" His voice was low, rough around the edges like gravel underfoot, but warm underneath—like he'd asked that question a hundred times and meant it every one.
Moon's breath caught—stupid, unexpected. Those eyes held no suspicion, no "who are you really?" Just concern, plain as the grass under her hands. She rubbed her arms, hugging herself tighter, the silk robes suddenly feeling too thin against the morning chill. "...I... don't know." The words came out small, cracking on the end, her voice still thick from whatever the petal poof had done to her throat. She glanced around again—the pond's shimmer, the lanterns' carved faces—hoping it'd click, make sense. It didn't. "This... this isn't... I was somewhere else. And now..."
He nodded—slow, like he was giving her room to breathe the words out. Studied her face a moment longer: the way her eyes darted, huge and shadowed with that bone-deep confusion, the tremble in her fingers twisting the robe hem. No recognition in her stare—no courtly poise, no hidden agenda. Just pure, raw lost. It tugged something in him, faint echo of memories he'd buried deep—young faces in old wars, fragility he'd failed to shield once or twice.
He tried again, gentler this time, voice dropping even lower, like sharing a secret with the wind. "Do you know how you got here? Fell? Wandered off a path?"
Moon shook her head—slow at first, then sharper, hair whipping her cheeks. "I... I don't remember. I think I fell asleep somewhere else." On a rock. Crying to stars that didn't care. Begging for anything but this. The truth stuck half-swallowed, too wild to spill. She hugged her knees closer, grass cool against her skin, the maids' stares prickling her back. "It was cold. Dark. And then... I woke up here. Like... like I was dropped."
The maids shifted behind him—one whispering to the other, "Dropped? Like from a cart? Or... worse?"—but Gao-shun ignored it, his focus all on her. He glanced at the grass around her—no bent blades leading in, no scuff marks of a stumble, just a perfect circle of untouched dew where she'd lain. It was as if the garden had cradled her, set her down gentle as a petal. His jaw tightened faint—puzzle deepening—but he kept his face open, no frown to scare her off.
He crouched a little lower, elbows on knees, bringing himself eye-level, the blue of his robes pooling like ink on the path. "This place is... private," he said, tone even, like explaining a simple truth to a child who'd wandered too far. "People don't usually end up here by accident. So I need to understand if you're hurt... or if someone brought you. A friend? Family?"
Moon's chest tightened—family? The word stung, fresh as the mountain's echo. She bit her lip, tasting salt from earlier tears, eyes dropping to the grass. "...I swear I don't know how I ended up here." Voice came honest, small but steady, no lie in it. The maids exchanged worried looks—one twisting her fan again, the other biting her lip—but Gao-shun held her gaze, searching for the crack in her words. Found none. Just honesty, raw as a scraped knee.
Something in her trembling— the way her shoulders curled in, not defiant but defeated—made his own shoulders relax, just a little. He'd seen fear in the court before: sly, scheming, layered with agendas. This? This was different. Pure, like rain on stone. "Alright," he said quietly, the word landing soft as the petals drifting down. "If you don't know, you don't know. We'll figure it out."
Moon stared at him—relief flickering in her eyes, mixing with the confusion like cream in tea. No questions barked, no demands for proof. Just... okay. It hit her soft, unexpected, after years of "prove it" and "try harder" and "you're overreacting." Her breath eased—small exhale, shoulders dropping a fraction. The maids hovered still, one murmuring, "Gao-shun-sama , should we fetch the physician? She looks pale..." but he waved it off gentle, eyes not leaving hers.
The morning light warmed the garden then, brushing over them both like a soft beginning—petals catching in her hair, the pond's koi flashing gold. Gao-shun straightened slow, but kept low enough not to tower. "Can you stand?" He extended a hand—not forceful, simply offering support, palm up like an invitation to trust. Calluses rough from years of quiet work, but steady. Real.
Moon hesitated—fingers hovering, heart thump loud in the hush. Stranger. Palace. Dream? But his eyes held no trap, just that same calm we'll figure it out. She nodded—small jerk—and reached. Her fingers shook against his—cold tips meeting warm grip. He steadied her gentle, the way someone steadies a lost traveller rather than a suspect: arm firm but not pulling, letting her find her feet on the uneven grass.
The world wobbled once—robes tangling, knees weak—but his hold anchored, pulling her up smooth. She stood, brushing grass from her sleeves, the silk soft under her palms. Up close, he smelled of pine and ink—clean, grounding, like a library after rain. The maids sighed relief behind him, one whispering, "Thank goodness—she's fine," but Moon barely heard. Her eyes met his again—huge, searching, a spark of something like hope flickering in the daze.
"Thank you," she whispered, voice steadier now, though the tremble lingered. "I... I really don't know what happened."
Gao-shun nodded—small, but real, releasing her hand slow. "Then we'll start there. Name? Or... something to call you?"
Moon's throat closed—Moon sticking like a thorn, too tied to the hurt she'd left behind. She shook her head faint. "I... can't... not yet."
He didn't push. Just nodded again, like it was the most normal thing. "Fair. Come—let's get you out of the grass. There's a place nearby, quiet. Warm tea. We talk when you're ready." Turned slight, gesturing the path, but stayed close—shield without saying it. The maids fell in behind, chatter dying to murmurs, the garden seeming a little less vast with him there.
Moon followed—steps shaky but forward, the silk whispering against her legs. The light caught the petals in her hair, turning them gold. For the first time since the mountain, the world felt a little less like falling.
Disclaimer
This work is a fan-made story inspired by The Apothecary Diaries. The world, its canon characters, and original setting belong to their creators.
Moon, her journey, and all new scenes written here are entirely my own creations. This story is shared purely for love of the universe and for personal enjoyment. No copyright infringement is intended.