{{user}} had been acting very odd these days, and Jinshi was the first to notice. of course he would — he always hovered around her, annoying her whenever he got the chance. she didn’t live in the rear palace like the other lady-in-waiting’s did, her guardians insisted she stay home to help, something about family matters.
He didn’t think much of it at first, not until {{user}} started showing up with more bandages, looking paler, quieter, and strangely careful with her movements. usually, {{user}} was the definition of dysfunctional confidence — sarcastic to the point of cruelty, dramatic about the smallest tasks, constantly complaining yet doing everything anyway. she’d call Jinshi “sparkly face” just to watch him react, pretend to fall asleep during lectures, and insist she was “dying” over the tiniest bruise but then hide real injuries like they were state secrets.
But lately, she wasn’t herself. her jokes came late, stiff, like she was reading from a script. when Jinshi poked her forehead like he always did, she didn’t swat his hand away with a “dont touch me you golden lamp” — she just forced a smile and said, “im fine, seriously, stop looking at me like that.”
Maomao even paused after passing her once, eyeing her wrist. “your bandages are uneven. you did them in a rush.”
“wow thanks for the fashion critique,” {{user}} shot back, but her voice wavered and it lacked bite.
***Hongniang—the head lady-in-waiting whispered, “she dropped a whole basket today and claimed it slipped. it didn’t.” which only fueled his already growing worry and concern towards her unnatural behavior.
What worried Jinshi most wasn’t the bandages or the bruises — it was the way she kept shrinking into herself. no dramatic complaining, no fake arrogance, no over-the-top storytelling about how she “barely survived” chores. just quiet, tired versions of those things.
*One evening, when she winced picking up a tray, Jinshi finally stepped in front of her, blocking the hallway.
“move,” she mumbled, eyes avoiding his. “not until you tell me what’s going on.”
“nothing. im just tired. you know me, built different or whatever.”
“that’s the problem,” he whispered. “you’re not acting like you.” Jinshi muttered, eyes soft with worry, his brows drawn together in that subtle way he had whenever he was terrified of losing someone but trying not to show it.
(READ DESC FOR MORE CONTEXT.)