The kitchen steam faded behind them like a warm breath let go, clinging faint to Moon's robes as Hui-lan adjusted the stack of towels on her arm, the linens soft and sun-faded under her fingers. The air in the hallway cooled quick, carrying the sharp tang of polished wood and distant pond water, the palace's morning rhythm pulling them along—maids' footsteps echoing soft from side paths, a gong tolling low like a lazy heartbeat. Hui-lan walked with that steady grace, her steps measured, basket swinging light, glancing back at Moon with eyes that held a mix of patience and quiet command.
"Come, child," Hui-lan said, voice prim but gentle, like wrapping a scold in silk. "Palace mornings begin with water and order. And your face still bears flour." with soft smile.
Moon wiped her cheek instinctive—fingers coming away white-dusted, the fine powder sticking to her skin like a badge from the morning's mess. "I thought I was doing great..." she muttered, rubbing harder, the hall's light catching the streak and making it glow ridiculous. The kitchen's chaos flashed—sugar jar tipping wild, her hands flailing to catch it, Hui-lan's sigh heavy as the spilled grains. Great. Covered in breakfast like a kid finger-painting.
Hui-lan motioned for her to follow with a tilt of her head, the stack of towels shifting secure. "and you have poured half the jar of sugar," she replied, tone dry but laced with that granny fondness, the one that scolded without sting. "Great is for the noble ladies. For us, it's clean."
Moon sulked a step—lips pouting, sleeves slipping long again—but fell in beside her, the hallway unfolding deeper into the palace's heart. The path curved gentle, passing lotus ponds where leaves floated like jade coins on the water's surface, their edges curling green against the blue. Carved beams rose above them, painted in red lacquer that gleamed deep as blood, golden ornaments twisting in vine patterns that caught the sun and threw it back in sparks. Servant girls in pastel robes hurried past, whispering behind sleeves as the strange newcomer walked by—their eyes flicking quick to Moon's messy hair, the flour smudge she'd missed, murmurs low like rustling silk: "The girl with madam Hui- lan like we have never seen her before and look …like she fell from a cart."
Moon slowed—steps dragging, eyes widening as the familiarity hit again, tugging at her chest like a loose thread. Why does this look... familiar? The thought bloomed unbidden, warm and insistent, pulling her gaze to the panels of cranes taking flight on the walls, wings spread mid-beat, feathers etched so fine they seemed to ruffle in the breeze. These carvings... these colours... these halls... A memory flickered faint—ink-stained pages under a lamp, worn edges soft from too many turns, illustrations of palaces with curving roofs and crane carvings, words whispering of intrigues and herbs that healed or hid. Her breath hitched—sharp pull, the book flashing clear in her mind: Why does this sound like—?
Hui-lan glanced back—brow furrowing, hand on Moon's elbow light. "Child! Do not mumble incantations in public!" Her voice pitched low, eyes darting to the passing maids, fan half-raised like a ward.
Moon jerked—head shaking fast, cheeks flushing hot. "I'm not chanting!! I'm thinking!" The words came out defensive, pitched high, her hands waving quick to chase the thought away.
Hui-lan glared—stern line to her mouth, but the eyes held that crinkle of worry. "Both look equally dangerous on here." She ushered on, elbow guiding gentle, the hallway opening to steam-warm air drifting from ahead.
The bathhouse doors slid open with a low rumble—wood on track groaning like an old door woken too early—and warm steam rushed out, greeting them like a soft embrace, thick with jasmine mist that curled lazy in the light. Inside, the space unfolded serene: lanterns glowed amber on low stands, their paper shades casting warm pools on the polished stone tiles that shimmered like wet obsidian underfoot; water rippled gentle in a large sunken bath at the centre, surface broken by steam rising in slow spirals, the edges carved smooth with subtle waves that seemed to move if you stared. The air hung heavy, humid and clean, jasmine blooming from hidden vents, mingling with the faint mineral tang of the hot spring fed below.
Moon stepped closer to the water—slow, pulled by the heat's promise, her reflection wavering on the surface, breaking into fragments as ripples danced. "...Whoa," she whispered, voice lost in the hush, leaning in till her hair brushed the edge. The face staring back distorted—stretched tall then short, waves pulling it apart—settling again into pale skin and dark eyes that looked too big, too lost for the frame. Unsettled, she leaned back—heart thump quick, the steam wrapping her like a blanket too close.
Then—a faint flute note... fwooo—soft, distant, familiar as a half-remembered dream. It curled through the mist, silver thread on the air, pulling at her chest like the wind on the mountain. Moon jerked upright—head snapping, eyes darting wild to the corners, the lanterns, the empty benches lined with folded towels. Nothing. Just steam swirling thicker, water lapping soft against stone.
"...Brain, stop hallucinating," she muttered, hand on her chest, breath coming short. "This is bath time, not ghost time."
Hui-lan side-eyed her from the towels—brow arching, stack balanced easy. "Ghosts? Child, the bathhouse is blessed clean. No spirits linger here." Her tone held that prim edge, but her eyes searched Moon's face, concern deepening the lines.
Moon forced a laugh—short, shaky, waving it off. "Yeah. Just... steam playing tricks." She turned back to the water, the flute's echo fading to nothing, leaving her skin prickling.
Hui-lan placed soaps, towels, and a wooden bucket beside her—movements efficient, hands gentle with the items, setting them down like offerings to the steam. "Before you enter, here my words," she said, voice firming to that teacher tone, finger wagging light. "No splashing. No singing. No fainting. And no immodest flailing."
Moon blinked—staring at the lineup, the bucket's wooden slats worn smooth from years of hands. "...That last one was oddly specific." She glanced up, grin tugging despite the knot.
Hui-lan glared—stern full, arms crossing over her chest. "you will understand soon enough." She turned slight, giving privacy, but lingered by the door, towel in hand.
Moon removed her robe—silk whispering off her shoulders, folding it awkward on the bench, the air cool on her skin before the steam wrapped back in. She stepped to the edge—foot dipping tentative, water hot and welcoming, pulling her down slow. But the hem caught—robe trailing, stone slick under her toes—and she slipped half, foot sliding out, arms flailing like a startled crane taking off wrong. "AH—!" Splash echoed small, water sloshing up her calf, balance teetering on the edge.
Hui-lan pressed both palms to her forehead—sigh heavy, eyes closing like praying for patience. "You really an art of truly chaos incarnates..." The words came out muffled, but her shoulders shook faint, amusement cracking the stern.
Moon caught herself—arms windmilling to still, laughter bubbling up as she eased in full, water hugging her sore muscles, melting tension from her shoulders like wax under flame. "Sorry, sorry—slippery floor! My foot betrayed me!" She sank deeper, heat climbing her chest, hair floating dark around her like ink in milk.
Hui-lan shook her head—hands dropping, a huff escaping. "Feet do that when not minded. Breathe deep now—the steam clears the head." She busied with the towels, folding one neat, but her gaze flicked back—checking without staring.
Moon dipped slow into the warm water—the heat seeping into her bones, chasing the night's ache and the mountain's cold ghost, her skin prickling then softening as the steam wrapped her full. She exhaled deep—breath fogging the air, shoulders dropping as the tension uncoiled, muscles sighing in the hold. Her hair floated around her like dark silk, strands curling lazy on the surface, the jasmine mist blooming thicker, filling her lungs with calm she hadn't earned. The bath's edges curved smooth, stone polished to a sheen that reflected the amber lanterns, the water rippling gentle with each breath, the world narrowing to this: heat, hush, the faint lap against her skin.
"This place..." she whispered to the steam, voice lost in the mist, eyes half-closing as the warmth worked deeper. "The halls... the clothes... Gao-shun... Everything feels like..." She clenched the edge of the stone—fingers gripping cool marble, knuckles whitening faint. The memory tugged harder now, unbidden: paperback in her lap, worn edges soft from late nights, ink illustrations of palaces with curving roofs and crane carvings, words pulling her into intrigues and herbs that healed or hid.. pavilion... Why does this sound like—?
The pull sharpened—chest tight, breath hitching as the dots hovered, almost connecting. Like I stepped into a story. The water lapped louder, steam blurring the lanterns to glow, the flute's echo ghosting faint again, silver thread in the mist. But her brain rebelled—nope—shaking her head under water, bubbles rising frantic. The thought sank, rejected hard, leaving her floating in the heat, heart thump steady but unsettled.
She surfaced slow—hair slicking back, water dripping from her lashes—and stepped out, the air cool shock against her flushed skin. Hui-lan handed a towel—soft cotton, warmed from the steam rack—and Moon wrapped it tight, the fabric absorbing the wet like a hug. The older woman tied her hair then—fingers gentle in the strands, parting it neat behind her ears, comb gliding smooth through the tangles. Moon blinked at her reflection in a polished bronze mirror on the wall—skin glowing soft from the heat, eyes clearer, less shadowed, the flour gone and her face looking... lighter. Almost serene. Almost heavenly.
Hui-lan stepped back—appraising nod, adjusting Moon's collar with surprising tenderness, fingers tucking a stray damp strand away. Then she paused—nose twitching faint, leaning in closer. Her eyes widened slow, surprise blooming in the lines. "Child... you smell like of an old fragrance. One I recall from my youth. Faint, ancient... and yet... comforting."
Moon froze—hand midway to her hair, the words pulling her up short. "Huh? Me? I smell nice?Wait—like perfume nice? Or soap nice?" She sniffed her sleeve—jasmine faint, but under it, something velvet-dark, blooming from her skin like it had always been there.
Hui-lan shook her head slow—eyes distant, like chasing a ghost. "No... something from long ago. A scent I cannot name." Her voice dropped soft, hand lingering on Moon's shoulder a beat too long. "Like night flowers in a forgotten garden. Rare."
Moon swallowed—throat clicking, the flutter in her chest stirring again, a tiny pull like a memory trying to wake up from sleep. The bathhouse steam clung to her skin, the water's lap echoing faint, the flute's note ghosting one last time. But she rejected it—hard, shaking her head with a forced grin. "Weird. Must be the soap. Thanks for the bath, though. Feels... human again."
Hui-lan nodded—thoughtful, releasing her shoulder. "Human is good. Now, dry quick—the air turns chill." She gathered the used towels, door rumbling open, steam spilling out with them. Moon followed—fresh robe tied loose, hair drying in waves, the palace hallway waiting with its red pillars and golden beams. The scent clung—faint, unnamed—but for the first time since arriving, she didn't feel lost in it. Felt like she belonged, just a little. The morning pulled on, light shifting to noon gold, the story's pages turning silent in her mind.
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.