The hall to Lady Lishu's rooms felt peaceful, bathed in soft morning light coming through high paper windows. Tiny bits of dust floated slow in the sun rays, and the air carried a light warmth from the nearby baths—clean steam mixed with far-off smells of flower water, wood chips, and a hint of salt from the hot pools deep below. It was a path smooth from many steps, walls lined with plain scrolls of ink drawings—mountains hidden in fog, like quiet hints of far places. No hurry here, no noise from trays or loud calls; just the steady wake-up of the palace, like a cat stretching in the warmth.
Jin-shi walked at a relaxed speed, his fan held loose in one hand, the painted cloth on it—birds flying over tall grass—catching the light in gentle folds. His robes moved with him, dark blue layers with silver edges that brushed the floor soft, his steps light and sure as always. He had heard early about the young lady's stomach pain—a tight ache in her belly, not deadly but bad enough to bring him from his morning reading. Not a big emergency, like poison or high fever, but enough to make him come. Lishu was the smallest flower in the inner court's garden, her young age like a soft petal among sharp edges that hurt without warning. He came not only for his job, but for the quiet care he felt—the kind that stayed behind his easy smiles and careful talk. Another small hurt in the games, he thought, fan tapping once against his hand like a calm heartbeat. The fights for attention turn on things like this: a missed look, a bad cup of tea. I'll see her myself, calm the maids' worry. And maybe find out if someone else played a hand in it.
As he turned the corner, where the hall opened a bit wider with small trees in pots—their leaves fresh green, tips turning red like small flags—a known shape appeared.
Maomao walked toward him, her little basket of herbs held under one arm like a hidden package, eyes locked straight ahead, sharp and steady, as if telling the world to stay out of her way. Her plain green robes hung easy, sleeves rolled up from some early work, a lost leaf stuck in her dark hair like it didn't matter. She moved with that straight-forward walk—fast but not rushed, head up in quiet push-back, the basket's stuff rustling light: dried roots and leaves that smelled of dirt and strong fixes.
Jinshi's mouth curved up right away, a smile coming easy as sunrise, the kind that covered deeper layers like folds in cloth. "Well, if it isn't Maomao," he said, voice light as wind through grass, stepping just close enough to her path to make her see him without full stop. "Up early again. Hunting clues in the herb spots?"
She stopped quick, her nose twitching once—like a small animal catching a strange smell—clearly thinking if skipping his talk would get her in trouble. Her eyes lifted, flat and not impressed, the basket moving on her arm with a soft crinkle. "...Lord Jinshi," she said after a beat, nodding her head in the smallest bow, more a quick dip than a full one. "If you're done talking, I have jobs to do."
"That's cold," he said back, putting a hand to his chest like it hurt, eyes bright with their usual game—the back-and-forth like fish in a pond, one playing, one like rock. "That's cold," he replied, wounded only in tone. "I was worried about Lady Lishu and thought I might seek the wisdom of the palace's finest apothecary."
Maomao let out a small sigh, like air from a full bag, her free hand going to her forehead. "If you already know the answer, don't take my time asking."
"And if I don't?" He leaned in a little, fan opening with a quick snap, hiding part of his grin behind the painted cloth.
"Then quit blocking the hall and let people go by." Her words stayed even, but a tiny turn at her mouth showed the spark—mad but with the old beat, the one that made these random meets his best break.
Jinshi laughed then, true and warm, the sound bouncing soft off the walls like notes from a quiet string instrument. "Still sharp as a knife. Hits right every time."
She waited, sighed again—longer now—and nodded her head just enough to be proper, her eyes rolling a bit behind dropped lids. "...Lord Jinshi. If you're done, I really have work."
"So cold," he pushed, hand still on his chest, but his laugh stayed in his eyes, wrinkling the sides like light on waves. "I was just concerned. A leader's job, right—checking on his soft flowers."
"You hoped for pity in the wrong spot," she fired back, voice dry as old leaves, already moving her feet to go around him. "No soft feelings on my list today."
He opened his mouth for the next line, the words half-ready on his tongue—something fun about her heart being harder than spice root—when something moved at the side of his view.
Two shapes came closer from behind her, steps soft but steady, coming out of the hall's easy curve like shadows into sun.
One he knew in a second—Hui-lan, the reliable helper from the back kitchens, her face marked with the quiet strength from years of working without complaint. Her robes were plain work greys, sleeves still wet from morning jobs, hair tied back tight. She saw him mid-step and stopped fast, moving to the side quick, head down in a deep bow that let her sleeves touch the floor like dropped cloth.
"Lord Jinshi," she said, voice kind but careful, the respect deep like stitches in fabric.
Jinshi nodded back, smooth as grass bending. "Good morning, Hui-lan. Kitchens running smooth?"
"Yes, my lord," she said low, eyes on the floor, hands together just right. "The food trays went out fine."
Next to her walked a girl.
She did not stop.
She did not move aside.
She did not raise her eyes.
Moon went by at Hui-lan's side, her steps even and light, eyes straight on the hall ahead—as if the most important man in the Inner Palace, the one whose say could change lives and plans, was just another person or a quick light on the wall. Her dark hair lay neat in its loose tie, catching the sun in soft glows; her shoulders stayed easy under the pink silk of her robes, the faint smell of morning plants hanging on her like a half-forgotten dream. No jump, no fast bow, no wide eyes of wonder or scare. Just quiet walk-by, a small wave in the air that hardly moved the dust.
Jinshi's words stopped in his throat, the fun lines gone without sound. His eyes followed her without thinking, drawn like metal to a pull—quick, not planned. Dark hair, yes; calm like quiet water, yes. But that face... a smooth shape with simple hair edges, eyes steady under straight brows, lips closed in a line not happy or sad. Not a face from the helper lists, not one seen in garden walks or food lines. Unknown. New as a blank page. But it hit him strong, like a wrong note in a known song—known in its odd way, tugging at some string he couldn't grab. Who...? The idea grew fast, warm in his chest, fan forgotten in his hand. Not a lady's helper, not a kitchen lost one. But she walks like the hall belongs to her breath.
She kept going without a slow step, the hall taking her and Hui-lan around the next bend, their foot sounds fading to whispers on wood.
Maomao caught the quiet first, her head tilting like a bird seeing wind change. "...Lord Jinshi?" she said, voice bringing him back, one brow up in that way that said she saw his slip.
He didn't full hear her—not yet. The girl's form stayed in his mind, a soft leftover picture.
Moon and Hui-lan were gone, the hall empty except for the settling dust and Maomao's question echo.
Maomao frowned more, basket moving restless on her arm. "You listening at all? Or did the warm air fog your head?"
Jinshi blinked then, quick as coming out of a light sleep, his eyes jumping back to her like a line pulled tight. The easy smile came back smooth as cloth on skin—charming, light, the face he wore like extra clothes. "Of course," he said, voice flowing warm, fan closing with a smooth click. "Just... deep in thought. Lishu's hurt pulling at me, you know."
She looked at him a second, eyes tight like she could smell the not-true in the air, then shook her head with a small puff. "If that's it, I'm off. Herbs wait for no one."
"So quick?" he joked, slipping back to the beat, leaning a bit to block her path fun-like. "Hoped to walk with you to the Diamond rooms? Your smart words could make it lighter."
"I'd keep my job over your walk," she said even, going around him with the skill of someone used to skipping rich folks' ideas. Her shoulder passed near his sleeve, close but not touch, and she was away—walking down the hall with that no-look-back aim, basket swinging easy.
Jinshi turned the other way, to lady Lishu's doors, his path splitting from hers like always—their ways crossing short, then going different like streams to big water. But as he walked, the hall's peace felt thinner, the light a bit too bright on the windows. His thoughts wouldn't go to work, catching instead on that walk-by shape. That girl... no bow. No look my way, not even a quick one. Not the empty stare of a fresh helper, mixed in the palace paths. Not the mean ignore of a bad one, eyes down in fake quiet. Something other—steady, like she saw the full game and picked her spot without show. Never seen her before. Not in food rows, not following ladies in gardens. Faces don't hide from me here, not in these walls that catch every low talk.
His hand squeezed the fan a little—the smooth handle warm in his palm, the tap of it on his leg a small hold. New? Kept back? Or... from some old hidden spot? The Inner Palace was a net of known lines—helpers listed like plants on a shelf, their bows regular as rising steam. This one? A free thread, brushing near without knot. It bothered, that not-known, like a game missing its middle part.
When he got to Lady Lishu's doors—sliding wood panels of light tree, cut with diamond shapes that caught light in small sparks—Jinshi's face was calm again. Hard to read as smooth stone, fine lines straight, the perfect stand of the man who held the court's secret strings. He stopped there, hand up to knock soft, the sound quiet like a shared secret. Inside waited Lishu—small and pale, her pain a soft storm—and maids moving nervous like scared birds, ready for his asks, his kind words.
But under the calm, the question twisted tight, no answer like a closed box.
Who was that girl?
The door slid open smooth on good tracks,
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.