Gao-shun's slid the door shut behind him with a soft hunk, the paper screen settling into place like a breath held too long. The corridor outside felt cooler, the garden's jasmine fading to the sharper tang of polished wood and distant charcoal braziers. His steps were steady as always—boots quiet on the planks—but his mind turned over the conversation like a stone smoothed in a river. Mountain. Flute. No family. The pieces didn't fit the court's usual puzzles—no scheming consort, no escaped servant with a grudge. Just a girl with eyes too wide for the weight they carried, words slipping strange and honest. Unfamiliar, he'd said. But that was the hook: she felt less like a threat and more like a wind that had blown off course, fragile but stubborn.
He paused at the corner where the hall met the garden path, spotting Madam Hui-lan lingering near a lantern post. She was folding linens with that efficient grace of hers—hands quick but gentle, her Gray robes tied practical, hair knotted back without a strand out of place. Older than most in the rear palace, with lines around her eyes that spoke of years watching secrets bloom and wither, she had a way of being there without intruding, like the lanterns themselves. Gao-shun's cleared his throat soft—not a bark, just enough to pull her attention.
Hui-lan straightened, linens tucked under her arm, bowing shallow with the ease of habit. "Gao-shun-sama she said, voice warm but measured, eyes lifting to meet his without challenge. "The new girl... she rests?"
Gao-shun's nodded—small dip, hands clasped behind his back. "For now. But keep an eye on her until I return." He kept his tone even, no edge, but the weight landed clear. "Make sure she doesn't leave the room until I say. She's... disoriented. No harm meant, but the court has eyes."
Hui-lan inclined her head—slow, careful, the bow deeper this time, respect woven in without fuss. Her expression stayed calm, those kind eyes crinkling faint at the corners, like she'd heard variations of this request a hundred times and knew the unspoken: protect without smothering. "This old lady will keep that in mind, Gao-shun-sama," she replied, voice steady as the lantern's flame, a touch of dry humour lacing the formal "sama"—old enough to use it without deference, loyal enough to mean it. "No door will open without your word. Tea and quiet, that's all she'll see."
Gao-shun's lips twitched—ghost of a smile, gone quick. Hui-lan had been in the rear palace longer than some concubines stayed; she understood the balance: watch close but not cage, listen but not pry. "Good. If she asks questions, answer simple. Food if she eats. No more." He turned then, robes whispering against the wood, but paused at the path's bend—glancing back once. The door to the quarters stood shut, paper screen glowing faint with inner light. Safe, he thought. For now.
Hui-lan watched him go—steps fading down the corridor, the garden swallowing his shadow in petal drift. She exhaled slow, linens shifting in her arms, and turned back to the door. Knocked gentle—tap-tap—voice calling soft through the screen. "Miss? Tea's fresh if you want it. Or a comb for that hair—it's fighting the wind today." No answer came right away, but she waited, patient as the koi in the pond, knowing girls like this one needed the quiet to uncoil.
Inside, Moon heard the knock—heart jumping, but the voice beyond was kind, no demand. She curled tighter on the mat, blanket pulled to her chin, the tea's warmth from earlier fading to a dull ache in her chest. Disoriented. That's what he called it. Like I'm a bird with a broken wing. The room's hush pressed in—tatami soft under her, paper walls glowing with late light, but it felt less like a room and more like a holding pattern. Stay put. Don't run. Gao-shun's words echoed, not harsh but firm, like a hand on her shoulder steering her from the edge.
The knock came again—lighter. "No rush, miss. Just letting you know I'm here if needed." Footsteps faded then, soft shuffle down the hall. Moon let out a breath she hadn't known she held, rolling onto her side, eyes tracing the screen's weave. The blueprint of this place swam in her head—unregistered, unfamiliar, protected from "misunderstanding." What does that even mean? Guards? Gossips? Or just... me? Her fingers twisted the blanket edge, wool rough under nails, the mountain's cold seeping back in memory. Flute. Wind. Here. No answers, just the quiet doing its work—settling her pulse, slowing the spin.
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.