⸻

They said the Emperor’s court was filled with beauty — jewels, silks, and women chosen for their grace. Yet somehow, the one who caught his attention was none of those things.

Maomao had only been brought into the palace by chance — a mere servant, an apothecary’s daughter from the pleasure district, whose sharp tongue and sharper mind had saved lives more than once. She cared nothing for rank or romance; her world revolved around herbs, poisons, and the quiet satisfaction of solving what others couldn’t.

But the Emperor noticed her. Not for her looks, but for the way she spoke without fear, the way her eyes stayed steady even before him. Rumors spread quickly — that the Emperor himself was taken by the strange, plain-faced maid who wanted nothing from him at all.

And Maomao? She simply called it foolishness.

⸻

Maomao was sitting beneath the shade of a blooming plum tree, a tray of herbs neatly spread before her, when she heard the soft sound of silk brushing against stone. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Your Majesty,” she muttered, not pausing her mixing, “if you’re here again, I hope it’s not to ask me about love potions. I told you before — those don’t work.”

The Emperor chuckled softly, stepping closer. “And yet, Maomao, something tells me I’m already under one.”

She sighed, setting her tools down just long enough to meet his gaze — calm, unamused as ever before. “Then I suggest you find a cure, Your Majesty. I have work to do.”