Gaoshun-sama lifted his cup—delicate hold, pausing halfway as if tasting the air first—then set it down again, his gaze steady, sharp, assessing Moon across the table like a scroll unrolled slow. The lantern light caught the gray in his eyes, turning them to storm clouds at dusk, the lines around them faint from the day's pull but holding firm. "You," he said, voice low rumble, even as the mat. "Answer my questions plainly."
Moon straightened nervous—spine snapping straight like she'd been caught doodling in a ledger, the blanket slipping off her shoulder, chopsticks clattering faint to the tray. Her heart thumped quick, the tea's steam fogging her lashes, Obāsama settling beside her with a quiet fold of robes, her presence a warm anchor in the hush. "First:" Gaoshun-sama continued, brush uncapped from his sleeve, ink gleaming dark on the tip. "Which house do you serve?"
Moon blinked—eyes wide, the word hanging odd in the air like a riddle without clue. "...House? Like… a literal house-house?" The question tumbled out, modern confusion lacing her tone, hands gesturing vague at the room's walls, the paper screens glowing soft.
Gaoshun-sama stared at her for a long moment—gray eyes narrowing faint, the brush hovering, ink beading patient. "...Which noble lady do you serve?" He clarified, voice even but edged with that disciplined calm, like smoothing a wrinkle in silk without pulling the thread.
Moon's eyebrows pulled together—furrow deep, her mind racing the day's fragments: courtyard stand-off, lunch's warmth, the word "mago" still blooming in her chest. "…Lady… who?" The words came out flat, honest baffle, her cup forgotten in her lap, steam curling up to frame her face in mist.
Obāsama turned away—sleeve rising to hide her mouth, shoulders shaking faint with laughter she muffled quick, the tray's edge catching the lantern glow. Gaoshun-sama's expression stayed neutral—mask holding, but the corner of his mouth twitched once, gone before it could settle.
He pressed on—brush dipping to the paper, ink flowing dark and neat. "No one enters this palace without introduction. Which court assigned you here?" The question landed clear, his gaze holding hers without pressure, just the weight of expectation, the room's hush amplifying the steam's soft hiss.
Moon shook her head helpless—hair shifting soft, hands spreading open in her lap. "I wasn't assigned. I just… woke up on the other side of the mountain." The truth slipped simple, the mountain's rock biting her palms in memory, the flute's note echoing faint like a half-heard warning.
Gaoshun-sama's eyes narrowed a fraction—subtle crease, the brush pausing mid-stroke, ink beading dark. He nodded once—absorbing, no flinch—and continued, voice steady as the tatami weave. "Who escorted you into these halls?"
"No one," Moon said, voice dropping smaller, fingers twisting the robe hem. "I think I fell." The word hung awkward, the dream's wind pulling at her again, petals glowing in her mind's eye.
Gaoshun-sama inhaled slow through his nose—the sound a quiet pull, chest rising measured, patience holding like a bowstring drawn but not loosed. "The inner court maids founded you asleep in the inner palace garden. Could you Explain how you ended there in the sleeping state."
Moon rubbed the back of her head—fingers tangling in her hair, the motion pulling a wince from the knot. "Honestly? I think I was drunk. And the ground… moved weird. And maybe the mountain has two sides?" The words tumbled defensive, her laugh short and dry, cheeks heating under his gaze, Obāsama's sleeve still hiding her delight.
Gaoshun-sama blinked once. Then again—slow, deliberate, the brush set aside with a faint tap, his face the picture of a man holding onto composure by a thread. He looked like he needed a temple massage, the Gray in his eyes flickering with that rare confuse, the lantern light carving faint lines deeper.
"Your manner of speech is unfamiliar to any region," he said, voice lowering calm but edged, leaning forward a touch. "Explain your dialect."
Moon shrugged helpless—shoulders hunching, hands spreading wide. "I don't know! I just talk like this!" The words burst out, frustration bubbling with the confusion, her modern clip clashing the room's hush like a dropped spoon.
Gaoshun-sama's expression stayed neutral—mask holding firm, but on the inside, his soul sat down heavy, the day's weariness tugging harder. He exhaled slow—the sound a quiet release—and his voice dropped lower, calm but edged with the weight of it. "Then tell me: Do you know where you have come to?"
Moon glanced around—the silk curtains billowing faint at the breeze, the polished wood beams twisting vine-like overhead, the twilight glow from the screen painting the tatami in purple hues. Then out the window—the courtyard dark with willow shadow, pond still as ink. Then back at him—Gray eyes holding steady, waiting. "…Somewhere fancy?" I guess. The answer slipped honest, her grin wobbly, the room's beauty overwhelming in its strangeness.
Gaoshun-sama's soul left his body for precisely three seconds—the brush hovering forgotten, ink dripping faint to the paper in a dark blot. He blinked slow—once, twice—then set the brush down deliberate, the clack echoing in the hush. "This is the Inner Palace. His Majesty's imperial residence."
Moon's eyes widened—huge pools, breath catching as the words landed heavy, the palace's weight pressing in sudden. "Ohhh. So like… a big VIP zone." The analogy tumbled out, her laugh short and disbelieving, hands waving to encompass the room—the screens, the tray, the man across with his unreadable calm.
Gaoshun-sama did not dignify that with a response—no nod, no sigh, just the steady gaze holding, the lantern flame popping once like punctuation.
Suddenly, Moon slapped her palm on the table—the wood thwack sharp, the tea rippling in the cups, steam scattering wild. "WAIT—my turn!! I have SO many questions too!" Her voice pitched high, energy bursting the hush, leaning forward with elbows on knees, eyes bright and chaotic.
Gaoshun-sama braced himself—like a man facing a natural disaster, shoulders tensing faint under the robes, gray eyes widening a fraction. Obāsama's sleeve rose again—hiding her mouth, but her shoulders shook harder now.
Moon barreled on—hands gesturing wild, sleeves flapping like flags. "How BIG is this place?! How many people live here?? Do you have MAPS?? Why does everyone have matching hair accessories?? Why do people walk so quietly—are they trained ninjas?? Who's the boss?? How many courts?? What are the ranks?? Where is the kitchen?? WHAT IS THIS PALACE CALLED AGAIN??"
Gaoshun-sama stared—long beat, the room's hush amplifying the onslaught, his brush forgotten, ink drying dark on the tip. Then he exhaled—the kind of exhale men give when they lose ten years of life in one breath, chest falling slow, patience fraying but holding. "The palace is called inner palace and the inner court ," he said out loud, voice even, ticking off the answers like items on a ledger. "There are six main courts. Hundreds of women. Servants are ranked. The imperial kitchens are large. Order is strict."
Gaoshun-sama (inside): Does she wish to rule the palace or destroy it? Why does she question everything like a general mapping a battlefield?
Moon nodded seriously—leaning back, chopsticks forgotten in her lap. "Okay good! So who do I complain to if someone bullies me?"
Gaoshun-sama blinked slow—once, deliberate, the gray holding steady. "That would be me."
Moon gasped—eyes huge, hands clapping once. "Sooo you ARE the palace police!"
Gaoshun-sama closed his eyes and counted to three—lids shutting, breath pulling deep, the lantern light carving his face in shadow. He stood smoothly then—dignity restored like a robe straightened, robes falling around him calm. "Enough for today. Hui-lan will teach you basic conduct."
Moon saluted like a soldier—hand to brow, grin wide. Gaoshun-sama's step faltered for a microsecond—heel catching faint on the mat—then he left, the door sliding shut softly behind him, the wood's thunk echoing final.
"Hui-lan." He called her outside—voice low rumble, the veranda's cool air brushing them as she joined, the door sealing the room's chaos behind.
Evening wind brushed lightly over the veranda—cool fingers through the willow leaves, fireflies flickering in the dark garden like stars fallen early, their green glow pulsing soft against the dusk. Hui-lan stood beside him, robes greyed in the light, her face calm but eyes thoughtful, the day's linens folded away in the hall.
"Gaoshun-sama… your thoughts?" she asked, voice gentle, head tilting as if to read the wind itself.
Gaoshun-sama kept his gaze on the horizon—the purple fading to black, the pond's surface still as ink below. "She is… unlike any girl I have encountered. Her answers do not match any logic of this palace." His voice lowered, edged with the day's pull, the questions still spinning in his mind like loose threads.
Hui-lan smiled gently—faint curve, lines crinkling deeper. "She is strange. But her heart is open." Her tone held that auntie wisdom, hands folding neat at her waist.
Gaoshun-sama's voice grew quieter—rumble fading to murmur. "No girl raised in any province speaks as she does. No lady behaves so freely. No servant stumbles into the Inner Palace alone." A small breeze stirred then—cool sigh through the veranda, carrying that faint, mysterious orchid scent again, velvet-dark and blooming unbidden from the direction of the quarters.
His eyes flicked toward the closed door—toward Moon, toward the mystery that had fallen—literally—into his world, her chaotic questions and wide eyes pulling at something he couldn't name. Gaoshun's Final Thought: This child… is human. Completely human. Yet absolutely unlike any woman I have ever met. He straightened—robes falling straight, the wind tugging at his sleeves. "Watch her carefully, Hui-lan. And do not let her wander."
Then he stepped into the fading purple dusk—the corridor swallowing his shadow, the fireflies blinking farewell, leaving Moon inside, confused, soft, safe... and entirely unaware of the truth waiting for her in the chapters ahead.
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.