The sliding door closed softly as Gaoshun-sama stepped into the fading dusk, his footsteps fading down the corridor like a heartbeat slowing to rest. The paper screen settled still, the lantern's glow catching the last of the evening light in a warm amber haze. Moon stared at the door for a long moment—blank, unblinking, the tea's steam curling forgotten between her fingers.
Then at the tea.
Then at Obāsama.
Then at nothing.
Her expression slowly twisted into a single, powerful emotion: absolute confusion. Eyes wide, mouth half-open, brows drawn together like she was trying to solve a math problem written in another language. Her thoughts were basically: …I understood… NOTHING.
Obāsama glanced at her—took one look at Moon's dazed, scrambled-egg face—and sighed, the sound fond and long-suffering, like watching a kitten fall off the same table for the third time. "Yēgo, mago… look at the face your making," she murmured, voice warm with that grandmother tease, setting her cup down with a faint clink.
Moon blinked—cheeks puffed, lips downturned in defeated despair, the blanket slipping off her shoulder in her slump. "…Obāsama… did he just speak in riddles? I feel like I attended a lecture but forgot the language halfway." The words came out whiny, her hands flopping dramatic to the mat, the tea rippling faint in her abandoned cup.
Obāsama chuckled softly—round sound, warm as the steam—and patted the cushion beside her, the motion gentle, inviting. "Come. Sit here."
Moon scooted over obediently—robes tangling at her knees, the mat sighing under her shuffle, settling close enough that Obāsama's sleeve brushed her arm. The older woman turned her sideways slow, gathering Moon's long black hair with careful hands, smoothing the tangled strands like untangling a favorite scarf. Her fingers worked patient—loving, the way only grandmothers could, combing through the waves with light pulls that chased the day's chaos away.
Moon melted slightly—eyes half-closing, shoulders dropping as the touch soothed the knot in her chest. Ahhh… soft mode activated… brain shutting down… The thought floated lazy, the warmth spreading from her scalp down her spine, the palace's hum fading to a lullaby.
Obāsama began combing lightly with her fingers—slow strokes, the hair falling smooth under her palm. "Very well, child. Let Obāsama explain thy queries—one at a time."
Moon perked up like a sleepy kitten hearing the treat bag—eyes snapping open, leaning in eager, the blanket pooling forgotten at her waist.
Obāsama held up four fingers—steady, the lines on her hand telling stories of years. "This place is not a single palace… but many halls and quarters woven together. What we call the 'Inner Court' is where His Majesty's family and the women reside. Within the Inner Court are the four great quarters."
Moon squinted at the fingers—like they were some kind of algebra formula, head tilting as she counted them slow. "Four...?" The word came out doubtful, her mind spinning the numbers, the palace's vastness pressing in again.
Obāsama continued patient—voice even, fingers still smoothing her hair. "The southern quarter holds several pavilions: Crystal Pavilion, Jade Pavilion, Garnet Pavilion, Diamond Pavilion. Each belongs to a noble lady."
Moon frowned hard—brow furrowing deep, the names landing like gems in a crown she couldn't wear. "…Crystal… Jade… Diamond… Garnet… Why do you guys name places like jewelry shops…?"
Obāsama flicked her forehead lightly—gentle tap, no sting, but enough to pull a squeak. "Hush, child."
Moon rubbed her head—pouting dramatic, but the warmth held, the touch chasing the confusion a little further back.
Obāsama continued, fingers resuming their calm strokes. "The Northern Quarter holds the clinic, the Institute of Practical Studies, and the Shrine of Choosing. Many workers there are skilled with herbs, treatments, and innovations."
Moon blinked twice—eyes glazing a touch, the words piling like homework she hadn't studied for. Clinic... institute... shrine... Her mind wandered four seconds, staring at the lantern like it held life answers, the flame flickering innocent. Obāsama tapped her cheek—light, pulling her back.
"Attend, mago. That must not float away."
Moon nodded violent—head bobbing quick, hands clapping once. "I'm here! I'm here! Continue!"
Obāsama's lips curved faint—amusement crinkling her eyes. "The Eastern and Western Quarters also exist… though but you shall not go wandering there yet."
Moon stuck out her tongue thoughtful—leaning back on her hands, the mat cool under her palms. "You mean this place is like… a giant maze?"
"Indeed,"Obāsama replied simply, folding her hands neat in her lap, the hair now smooth and shining under the lantern glow.
Moon's soul slumped—dramatic flop back to the mat, arms spread wide. "Nooo... I'm terrible with mazes."
Obāsama lowered her voice then—leaning close, the steam from the forgotten tea curling between them like a secret. "There is also the residence of… the high official who governs the Inner Court."
Moon tilted her head—curious spark cutting the slump. "The what now—?"
Obāsama's fingers stilled in her hair, voice dropping softer. "He is a man who must pretend to be a eunuch so he may work safely among the women's halls. He uses a different name whilst working."
Moon's eyes widened—huge pools, the words landing like a plot twist she hadn't seen coming. "So… he's like a super-manager undercover?"
Obāsama hesitated—then nodded slow, the corner of her mouth twitching faint. "Aye… if that helps your strange mind."
Moon whispered—leaning in conspiratorial. "He sounds… important."
Obāsama smiled faintly—eyes distant a beat, then back on Moon warm. "And Gaoshun-sama has his own quarters nearby. He serves that high official with almost loyalty. He is married, with a family outside the palace walls. Only during work must he live as though he were… altered."
Moon's eyes widened fuller—altered? The word tugged, her mind flashing Gaoshun-sama's steady hands, the way he'd held the cup without flinch. "So Gaoshun-sama… isn't actually…?"
Obāsama waved her hand—gentle dismissal, fingers light in the air. "He only pretends, child. No unaltered man may stay in the Rear Palace otherwise."
Moon nodded slow—pieces slotting awkward, the palace's rules piling like a tower she couldn't climb yet. "So many rules… so many words… Why is everything named like an RPG map?? Crystal Pavilion?? Shrine of Choosing?? Who picked these names???" She stared at the roof with a tragic expression—eyes wide, mouth downturned, the lantern light catching her face in dramatic shadow.
Obāsama placed a hand on Moon's cheek—warm palm cupping gentle, thumb brushing the flour smudge she'd missed. "And mago… this place… is the Inner Court. The Rear Palace."
Moon blinked—again, slower, the words sinking heavy as the mat under her. Then nodded—small, the weight settling but not crushing, the warmth from Obāsama's hand holding it steady. "…So basically… I'm in… a fancy restricted zone with… hundreds of women… and jewel-named houses… and silent ninja servants… and undercover officials."
Obāsama nodded proudly—eyes crinkling full now, the hand on her cheek squeezing once. Moon's soul slumped again—dramatic lean forward, forehead to the table with a soft thunk. "…Obāsama… this sounds like my math equations."
Obāsama laughed softly—round sound, warm as the steam long gone cold, her hand patting Moon's back gentle. "This hopeless child ."
Moon collapsed forward dramatic—arms spread, face in the mat, voice muffled but laughing too. "Completely." The palace's hum wrapped them—the corridor's quiet, the lantern's steady glow, the warmth between them blooming fuller, the confusion still there but lighter now, shared.
Obāsama rose from the cushion—pat on Moon's hair gentle, fingers lingering a beat. "Enough for today, my mago. The mind is full. Rest now." She slid the door open soft—warm lantern glow lighting her silhouette, the hallway's dusk spilling in purple.
Moon rubbed her eyes—already drooping, the day's weight pulling heavy but sweet. "Goodnight… Obāsama…"
Obāsama paused at the threshold—smile faint, voice soft as the closing night. "Sleep well, child. May sweet winds guard thy rest." She stepped out—the door closing with a gentle thunk, the room falling to darkness deepened, the lantern trimmed low.
Moon lay down on her futon—the mat sighing welcome, the blanket pulling up warm to her chin. Confused. Overloaded. Mind buzzing with courts and ranks and undercover men and jewel houses. But under it all—the warmth from Obāsama's hand, the word "mago" echoing soft, the palace's hush wrapping her like a promise. She didn't know what she'd stepped into yet—the rules, the eyes, the stories waiting to unfold. But for now, the quiet held her gentle, the dream's flute fading to a lullaby, and sleep came easy, the confusion softening to something like peace.
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.