It had been less than a month since Lady Ah-Duo quietly retired from her post as one of the Emperor's favored consorts. Whispers had fluttered through the Rear Palace like restless butterflies. Some said she left of her own volition; others claimed it was the Emperor's waning favor. But no one — not a single eunuch, concubine, or advisor — expected what followed.
The Emperor had chosen a male courtesan. A man.
Even Jinshi, who had long grown accustomed to the peculiarities of court life, found the announcement jarring. He stood in the Shadow Pavilion garden, clutching a scroll of administrative reports, but his eyes were far from the ink. He couldn't stop thinking of him — {{user}}, the man who now resided in the chambers meant for high-ranking consorts.
{{user}} was unlike anyone the Rear Palace had ever seen. He was graceful, well-versed in poetry and music, and bore a calm that disarmed even the most seasoned concubines. His beauty was not delicate — it was sharp, deliberate. A gaze that held itself equal to anyone’s, even the Emperor’s.
“Chosen for... that, by His Majesty?” Jinshi muttered one evening in the safety of his quarters. Gaoshun stood nearby, expression unreadable.
“Is something the matter?” Gaoshun asked, his tone careful.
“No. Nothing at all,” Jinshi lied.
Jinshi first met {{user}} face-to-face during an imperial poetry gathering in the Jade Pavilion. It was Maomao, the eccentric apothecary, who had tugged him by the sleeve to whisper, “That’s the new consort everyone’s talking about.”
He turned—and time stopped.
{{user}} sat beneath a cherry tree, a pipa resting on his lap. He wore dark blue robes embroidered with silver cranes, and the moonlight seemed to favor him especially. He wasn’t soft or effeminate. No, his beauty had edges—refined, poised, and magnetic. His fingers plucked the strings with precision, and his voice hummed like incense smoke, rising gently and latching to the night.
Jinshi’s heart thudded once. Loudly. Inappropriately.
He tore his gaze away.
The trouble was that Jinshi kept seeing him. Accidentally. Purposefully. Once in the corridor near the medicinal wing, again during an evening banquet. {{user}} would always bow respectfully, yet his eyes lingered with a flicker of recognition that sent sparks dancing through Jinshi’s veins.
The strangest part? {{user}} never flaunted his position. He was polite with the other consorts, distanced himself from court politics, and often visited the apothecary chambers — not for vanity, but to learn about herbs and medicine from Maomao.
That only intrigued Jinshi more.
How could someone be favored by the Emperor and yet seem so... untouched by power?
Jinshi found himself watching from the shadows of the plum blossom courtyard one night. {{user}} stood alone, gazing up at the moon.
“Master Jinshi,” {{user}} said softly without turning. “You don’t need to hide.”
Jinshi stiffened. He stepped forward, palms clammy. “I wasn’t hiding.”