The corridor outside the Jade Pavilion stretched like a breath held in silk—wood pillars carved with lotus blooms that seemed to unfurl in the slanting sunlight, their petals etched so fine they caught the light in a shimmer of gold and shadow. Bamboo blinds swayed lazy along the walls, casting the floor in dappled patterns that danced like fish in a shallow stream. The air hung still, scented with the faint smoke of morning incense from the halls beyond, and the distant hum of the palace waking—maids' footsteps soft on gravel, a gong tolling low like a heartbeat far off.
Gao-shun's boots tapped steady against the planks—tap... tap... tap...—each one measured, pulling him forward without hurry, but his face betrayed the quiet storm inside. Calm as ever on the surface, that unreadable mask of duty and watchfulness, but a tiny bead of sweat traced his temple, cool against the warmth of his skin. He adjusted the incense box under his arm with a subtle shift—the small case heavy with scrolls of rare scents and ledgers, fetched from the outer gate as Jin-shi had asked. Simple task. Should have been quick. But the girl... Her wide eyes, the flute's echo in her words, the way she'd gestured wild like a bird caught in a net. Ridiculous situation. A girl falling from nowhere, claiming mountains and strange sounds. Odd. Very odd.
He rounded the corner to the pavilion's canopy—silk banners in crimson and jade fluttering gentle in the breeze, embroidered phoenixes soaring mid-flight, their threads catching the sun like fire. Attendants bowed as he approached—quick dips, heads low, robes whispering in unison. "Lord Jin-shi is waiting," one murmured, voice hushed as if the name itself carried weight. Gao-shun nodded—brief, no words needed—and stepped under the eaves, the shade falling cool on his shoulders.
Inside the Jade Pavilion, the air shifted thicker—incense heavy, mingling with the sharp tang of fresh ink and the subtle floral of Lady Gyokuyō's favourite blooms in a vase by the window. lord Jin-shi sat at his desk, a low ebony thing carved with waves that seemed to ripple under his fingers, long hair cascading like spilled ink down his back, unbound for the morning's work. He signed documents with that bored grace of his—quill scratching elegant across rice paper, stacks of reports rising around him like a fortress of officialdom. Two eunuchs hovered at the edges, faces pale with the terror of serving someone who could smile and destroy with the same breath, hands clasped so tight their knuckles whitened.
Jin-shi didn't look up as Gao-shun,s entered—the quill paused mid-stroke, ink beading dark on the tip. "Gao-shun," he said, voice smooth as polished jade, laced with that lazy impatience that hid sharper edges. "You're late."
Gao-shun's bowed deep—hands pressed flat to his thighs, head dipping low enough to show respect without submission, the incense box set careful at his feet. "My apologies, Lord Jin-shi." His face stayed unreadable, the mask holding firm, but inside, the hesitation tugged like a loose thread. Tell him now? The girl in the quarters, her mountain tale, the flute that rang too clear? No. Not yet.
Jin-shi set the quill down—deliberate, the click echoing in the hush—and finally lifted his eyes. Golden, sharp as hidden needles, framed by lashes too long for fairness, his gaze cut through the room like sunlight through mist. Beautiful in that painful way, the kind that made people forget to breathe, but today it held a glint of curiosity, the bored expression cracking just enough to show the mind whirring beneath. "I only asked you to collect incense from the outer gate," he said, leaning back in his chair with that elegant slouch, fingers drumming light on the desk. "What took this long? A dragon in the path? Or one of lady Gyokuyō's cats blocking the way?"
The eunuchs froze—breath held, eyes on the floor—but Gao-shun rose smooth, posture straight as the pillars outside. The incense box sat perfectly aligned now, scrolls peeking neat from the lid. "A minor disturbance near the garden, my lord," he replied, voice steady as the pavilion's beams, no hitch, no lie heavy on his tongue. "But it has been handled. No threat remains."
Jin-shi's eyes narrowed—not angry, just that suspicious tilt, head cocking like a bird spotting something out of place in the grass. "...Handled?" He drew the word out, lazy drawl hiding the probe, fingers stilling on the desk. The room waited—eunuchs like statues, banners fluttering faint beyond the screens.
Gao-shun met the gaze—Gray to gold, unblinking. "Yes, my lord." Inside, the decision settled: If I tell him now, he'll worry. He already has imperial inspections looming, court reports stacking like storm clouds, and Lady Gyokuyō's requests pulling him thin. And that girl... she doesn't seem dangerous. Just... odd. Very odd. Flutes in mountains, eyes like she's seen too much for her face. Let me hold the line first. Sort the pieces.
Jin-shi sighed then—dramatic exhale, hand rubbing his temple with that flair he loved, the boredom settling back like a favorite cloak. "Fine," he said, waving a lazy hand, quill picking up again with a scratch. "Just don't let it interfere with today's schedule. The empress's envoy arrives at noon, and I need those ledgers balanced before I smile my way through another round of 'delicate negotiations.'" His lips curved—charming half-smile, but the eyes stayed sharp, lingering on Gao-shun a beat too long.
Gao-shun bowed again—deeper this time, hands flat. "As you command." (He internally prayed Jin-shi never found out. His lord's curiosity was a nightmare—once hooked, it pulled threads till the whole tapestry unravelled.) He rose, incense box tucked under arm, and backed from the room—steps silent, door sliding shut behind him with a whisper.
The eunuchs exhaled—soft, relieved—and Jin-shi's quill scratched on, but his mind wandered already, golden eyes drifting to the window where cherry petals drifted lazy. Handled. Gao-shun doesn't say that lightly. What disturbance? The boredom cracked a hair wider, curiosity flickering like a candle in draft.
CUT TO MOON'S SIDE
The old servant quarters felt like a bubble in the palace's rush—a small, paper-walled haven where the world outside hummed distant, muffled by the screens that glowed soft with afternoon light. Moon sat cross-legged on the mat now, knees tucked under her, the wool blanket draped loose over her shoulders like a cape she'd forgotten to take off. Hui-lan had stepped out moments ago—"Towels from the line, miss ; call if you need"—leaving the room to her and the quiet, the air still scented with the tea's fading green bite and the faint cedar of the walls.
Moon looked around—eyes soft, tracing the tatami weave that gave under her fingers like forgiving ground, the low table scarred gentle from years of elbows and bowls, the paper screen where light pooled in honey stripes. This place... why does it feel... familiar? The thought slipped in unbidden, warm and odd, like recognizing a song from a dream. The beams overhead, curved just so; the way the light bent through the screen, casting shadows that danced like ink in water. Like I've seen it somewhere. Or dreamed it. Read it? Her hand brushed the mat again—rough-soft fibres, grounding her. The book—her dog-eared copy—flashed in memory, pages flipping wild to that glowing title. Apothecary Diaries. Palace gardens, silk robes, maids with jade pins... It tugged, familiar ache, but the why stayed just out of reach, like a word on the tip of her tongue.
She stood slow—blanket slipping to the floor in a wool puddle—and paced the small space, hands behind her back, steps careful on the mat that sighed under her. Okay, okay. I remember that mountain... that night... the wind whipping cold, the light swirling silver, the petal touching like fire without burn. Her mind replayed it in fits: sobs echoing off rocks, stars indifferent overhead, the flute's note cutting sweet. Maybe I rolled down the wrong side? Tripped into some hidden valley? The thought made her huff a laugh—short, disbelieving—pacing faster now, robes whispering against her legs.
"AAAAAGH—this is insane," she burst out, arms flailing like a confused sparrow, chibi-version of herself spinning in her head with sweat drops and panic lines. The room spun with her—tatami blurring, screen glowing mock—and she stopped sudden, hands-on knees, breath coming quick. Insane. Yeah. But... alive? A small, silly smile crept in—cracking the frustration, hope peeking shy. Or maybe... because that day was my birthday... maybe this is like... a weird heavenly holiday bonus?! God—or whatever—feeling bad, tossing me a magical spa retreat?
The smile widened—silly full now, eyes sparkling with the absurdity. She twirled once—robes floating light, sleeves billowing like wings—arms out, head back, the mat giving soft under her spin. "YES. Holiday. A god-gifted... magical... birthday vacation." Laughter bubbled—half-mad, half-free—echoing off the paper walls, the light catching her hair in a halo of dark waves. No rent, no classes, no Wèi Chén's ghost. Just... this. Weird, but mine. The twirl slowed, balance wobbling, and she collapsed onto the mat with a thump, grin lingering, chest heaving happy.
The door slid open then—shh—Hui-lan stepping in with fresh towels folded neat over her arm, her round face blinking surprise at the spinning girl now sprawled like a starfish. "Miss... why are you rotating?" Hui-lan asked, voice a mix of fond baffle and stern grandmother, setting the towels down with a thud.
Moon propped up on elbows—grin embarrassed, cheeks flushed from the spin. "I'm celebrating my survival!" The words came out bright, half-joke, but true under it—the mountain's cold a ghost, this room a strange win.
Hui-lan sighed—hands on hips, lines crinkling deeper around her eyes, but the stern cracked soft, a chuckle escaping reluctant. "...This is going to be a long day." She shook her head, but her gaze held warm—picking up the fallen blanket, folding it neat beside the towels. "Eat if you can. Gaoshun-sama said rest, but spinning's not rest."
Moon sat up full—grinning wider, the hope sticking now. "It's fine! I'm on vacation!" The words tasted silly, but good—birthday gift from nowhere, palace as prize. Hui-lan huffed another laugh—door sliding shut behind her—and Moon flopped back, staring at the beams, the light fading to amber dusk. Vacation. Yeah. Let's go with that. The flute's echo hummed faint in her ears, silver promise, and for the first time, the unfamiliar felt a little like home.
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.