The hallway after the confrontation felt quieter than it should have, the echoes of the middle-rank maid's scowl and the dispersing whispers fading like mist under the climbing sun. Moon walked beside Hui-lan toward a smaller courtyard tucked away from the main paths, the older woman's arm brushing hers now and then, a steady presence that grounded the swirl in her chest. The air carried the faint tang of steamed rice from distant kitchens, mingling with the jasmine vines climbing the red pillars, and the light slanted warm across the lacquered floor, turning every step into a soft glow. Moon's robes felt lighter now, the bath's steam still clinging faint to her skin, her hair tied neat in a simple knot that pulled back from her face, letting her see the world a little clearer. But the warmth in her chest—the fierce spark from standing up for Hui-lan—lingered too, a small fire she poked at, wondering if it would burn or just fizzle.
Hui-lan walked with her usual unhurried dignity, towels stacked neat on her arm, the linens smelling of fresh starch and sun. She hadn't said much since Gao-shun left, her face smoothed to that practiced calm, but Moon caught the faint crinkle at her eyes, the way her steps had slowed just a touch, like carrying something new and fragile. The courtyard opened ahead—small and shaded, a stone bench under a willow tree heavy with green, the pond's edge lined with pebbles that skipped light in the breeze. Lunch waited there: a simple tray left by the kitchen staff, covered with a cloth to keep the flies away—steamed rice white and fluffy, pickled vegetables crisp in a bowl, warm broth simmering gentle in a clay pot, sweet lotus chips fanned out like delicate fans.
Moon glanced at Hui-lan as they settled on the bench, the older woman's hands unfolding the cloth with careful fingers, the steam rising lazy to warm their faces. Something inside Moon's chest felt different—warm, protective, familiar in a way that tugged at the edges of her fogged memory. Like the stand-off in the hall had cracked something open, letting light slip through. She inhaled deep—the jasmine sweet, the broth savory—and the word bubbled up, shy but insistent, slipping out in her broken: "Um… Obā-sama."
Hui-lan stopped mid-reach for the rice bowl—hand hovering, her eyes widening just a fraction, the lines around them deepening with surprise. The courtyard hushed further, the willow leaves rustling soft overhead, a koi splashing faint in the pond like punctuation. "…O…bā…sama?"Hui-lan repeated, voice slow and careful, tasting the word like a new herb, her head tilting as if to see it from another angle. The steam curled between them, the tray forgotten for a beat.
Moon nodded quick—heart thump loud in her ears, cheeks warming under the older woman's gaze. " grandmother," she said, voice soft, the explanation tumbling gentle. "It suits you. You feel like one." The words hung simple, honest, the warmth in her chest blooming fuller, like a knot loosening after too long tied.
A soft warmth bloomed in Hui-lan's expression—barely there, a faint curve at her lips, the lines around her eyes crinkling deeper, not with tears but something close to them, real and unguarded. For the first time since Moon arrived, the hall didn't feel intimidating with its high pillars and whispering maids; the palace didn't feel strange with its silk curtains and carved beams; she didn't feel lost in the endless corridors and unfamiliar scents. A tiny thread tied itself quietly around her heart—a connection, fragile as willow silk, but holding. A beginning.
Hui-lan gently touched her sleeve—a rare gesture, fingers light on the fabric, warm through the silk. "…Child, you may call me that, if it brings you comfort." Her voice came out softer than her prim tone, laced with a tenderness that cracked the morning open, the pond's water lapping gentle like agreement.
Moon smiled so softly it hurt—lips curving small, eyes glistening with the ache of it, the warmth spreading to her throat. For the first time since the mountain's cold rock and the stars' indifference, she didn't feel like a ghost drifting through someone else's world. Felt like... wanted. Seen.
The courtyard's quiet wrapped them as they ate—Hui-lan doling rice into bowls with careful spoons, the steam rising to fog their faces, pickled vegetables crunching sharp against the soft rice, the broth warm and savory with hints of ginger that chased the morning's chill. Moon ate happily, legs folded under her on the bench, cheeks puffed with rice as she chewed, the lotus chips sweet on her tongue like a treat she'd forgotten she liked. Hui-lan ate properly beside her—slow bites, chopsticks precise, her posture straight but relaxed, the willow's shade dappling their laps.
After a few bites—the bowl half-empty, the broth's warmth settling deep—Moon tilted her head, glancing at Hui-lan with that curious spark, the question bubbling up natural as the steam. "So Obā-sama… why did that maid earlier say she's 'middle rank'? What does that even mean? Like—you guys have ranking? Levels? Like video game tiers?"
Hui-lan blinked—once, slow—her chopsticks pausing mid-air, the rice grain dangling precarious. "I do not know this 'video game' that speak of... but yes, child." She set the sticks down gentle, folding her hands in her lap, voice shifting to that patient teacher tone, warm but clear, like explaining rain to a child who'd only known sun. "In this palace, servants are divided by houses and duties. High-rank maids serve the noble ladies directly—attending their teas, their robes, their whispers. Middle-rank maids oversee tasks and discipline, like that one with her brocade sash and sharp tongue. Low-rank servants tend to the cleaning and kitchens, the unseen work that keeps the air sweet."
Moon nodded slow—chewing a lotus chip, the sweet crunch grounding her, eyes lighting as the pieces slotted. "So… like a company. Managers, supervisors, workers." She waved her chopsticks for emphasis, rice grain flying faint, landing on the bench like a full stop.
Hui-lan blinked again—confusion flickering, but she nodded along, chopsticks resuming their path. "If that is your... strange-world analogy, then yes. The houses serve the ladies, and the ranks keep the harmony. One step wrong, and the whole balance tips." Her tone held no bitterness, just the quiet truth of someone who'd walked the tiers her whole life, the pond's koi flashing gold below like they understood.
Moon laughed—short bubble, leaning back on her hands, the willow shade cooling her cheeks. "Makes sense. Kinda. Back home, it's bosses and interns, same crap." She popped another chip, the sweet lingering, the courtyard's peace wrapping them like the steam from their bowls.
After finishing her broth—the bowl scraped clean, warmth settling full—Moon leaned forward eager, elbows on knees, eyes bright on Hui-lan's face. "Okay, then who decides all of this? Who makes the rules? Who checks if someone's misbehaving?"
Hui-lan sipped her tea—slow pull from the cup, steam curling up to frame her face—before replying, setting it down with a faint clink. "For matters of structure... that question should ask Gaoshun-sama. He oversees much of the palace discipline—the comings and goings, the whispers that turn to storms. If any soul can answer then the questions, it is he."
Moon blinked—Gaoshun-sama? The name tugged, familiar in a way that nagged, his calm face flashing from the hall's confrontation, the way he'd cut the maid's sneer without a shout. "...Really? That serious guy?" She tilted her head, grin tugging despite the flutter.
Hui-lan nodded—steady, eyes crinkling faint. "Indeed. Mago."
That One Word — "Mago." Moon Breaks. Quietly. Deeply. Beautifully.
The rice bowl in Moon's hands trembled—faint shake, the porcelain warm but suddenly too heavy. Her breath hitched—sharp catch, chest tightening like a string pulled taut. Her eyes widened—the emotion rising too fast for her to hide, glistening hot at the edges, the courtyard blurring to willow green and pond blue. "…M-mago…?" The word came out whisper-thin, cracking on the end, her voice small as the lotus chip crumbling in her fingers.
Hui-lan smiled faint—barely there, a curve soft as the steam, her eyes holding Moon's without pull, just open. "It is how one calls a grandchild.If you call me Obāsama... then this flower looking child would desever to be my mago." The words landed gentle, no fanfare, the pond's water lapping quiet agreement, birds calling distant like a song half-sung.
Moon's throat closed—full ache, not painful but blooming deep, the burn spreading to her chest like roots finding soil after drought. No one... no one had ever called her that. Grandchild. Family. Not in the apartment's empty echo, not in the dorm's cold bunk, not in the café's rush where everyone was "hey you." The bowl slipped from her fingers—clink faint on the bench—and she lowered her head quick, pretending to focus on the rice grains scattered there, but the tears slipped anyway, hot tracks carving silent down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook once—small hitch, breath ragged—and Hui-lan saw, the older woman's hand reaching slow, resting light on her knee, no words, just the hold.
True tenderness must be held gently, like the willow branch bending in breeze, and Hui-lan did—sitting still, tea cup forgotten, the courtyard's peace wrapping them close. Moon wiped her face rough with her sleeve—silk damp now—but the warmth stayed, full and aching beautiful, the thread around her heart pulling tighter, not to bind but to weave.
Moon swallowed hard—the lump easing slow, breath steadying as she looked up, eyes red-rimmed but shining. A warmth settled inside her chest—soft, fragile, healing like the bath's steam chasing cold. Maybe... that's why I'm here. The thought bloomed quiet, no fanfare, just truth slipping in. To find something—or someone—she never had. To belong. To be wanted. To be mago. And in this moment, Moon understood one thing clear as the pond's reflection: she didn't want to leave yet. Not now. Not when someone finally called her family, the word fitting like the robe on her skin, light and true.
Hui-lan squeezed her knee once—gentle press—then released, picking up her tea like nothing had broken. "Eat the rest," she said, voice even, but the warmth lingered in her eyes. "The day waits for no tears."
Moon nodded—small, wiping her cheeks dry, the smile creeping back fragile but real. She picked up the bowl again—rice warm still—and took a bite slow, the flavor sweeter now, the courtyard's willow rustling approval overhead. The palace hummed on—maids passing distant, water lapping soft—but here, on the bench with her Obāsama, it felt like home. Just a little. The seed planted deep, roots starting to hold.
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.