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This time Maomao wasn’t so quick to answer. A station equivalent to a medical official’s: in other words, one that would allow her some access to the drugs in the medical office. She tried to keep her lips in a neutral, straight line, but she couldn’t prevent a slight tremble. A glint entered Gaoshun’s eyes. “You could try out new drugs too. We have people who do that, you know.” Still Maomao was silent, but she felt her cheek begin to twitch and the corners of her lips start to edge upward. No! Don’t give in! There’s a catch. There has to be.
The more he talks, the more she starts looking like a literal cat. Ears perk up, tail starts to wag, whiskers twitch...
Gaoshun was holding three letters: from Jinshi, Empress Gyokuyou, and the Emperor. They might not be official communiqués, but nonetheless she felt she was being stared down by three of the least say-no-to-able people in the nation.
Maomao’s “older sister,” Pairin, couldn’t write very well; when she tried, the characters often came out backwards, as if in a mirror. The old lady had made several attempts to improve Pairin’s handwriting, but the quirk remained, and she always had to have someone check her writing or simply write for her.
Oh, Pairin is dyslexic, and probably dysgraphic.
Once in a while, pictures of Maomao the cat were mixed in with the letters; these came from Chou-u. In lieu of a personal seal, Maomao’s toe beans would be pressed on the pictures in scarlet ink. The scratches on the pictures suggested she signed them under duress.
“It’s amazing how easily such unsavory things roll off your tongue.”
Even after he had left the rear palace, women would sometimes sneak bits of their hair or nails into his snacks as a love charm, or simply charge in when he was alone and tear off their clothes. Nothing but trouble.
Somehow, food is never actually the first order of business at a formal dinner. Other things always have to happen before you can eat.
Shit. Now I’ve done it. She’d given him a piece of her mind, and he was about to give her one back.
He took a breath. He was looking at Maomao, but somehow he seemed almost embarrassed. Finally he managed, “Now listen to me, y—I mean, Maomao! Listen close! I am going to make you my wife!” He’d said it. He’d actually said it. To her, it sounded like a death sentence. All his vagueness, all his ambiguity had actually been a show of kindness to Maomao. For with her social status, the words once spoken were as good as a command. She couldn’t fight them, couldn’t contravene what he wished.
“For you, I will remove every obstacle that keeps us apart. One day. Just know that.” With that, Jinshi buried himself under the covers. “I won’t let what you fear come to pass. I swear it.” Soon she heard him breathing evenly in sleep. What I fear... Maomao pictured Empress Gyokuyou. I don’t think Master Jinshi knows, she thought. She didn’t think he was aware of the secret of his own birth. What about Empress Gyokuyou? Does she know? And what did His Majesty want for Jinshi? What about Ah-Duo? It’s never good to know too much.
Maomao didn’t blame her, as poisonous mushrooms could be surprisingly delicious, and she had been about to say so when her father had gently stopped her. He seemed to think it might not be as reassuring as she imagined.
