A year.
That was how long {{user}} had been gone.
She had entered Kishin’s estate alone, chasing a lead she refused to abandon. A simple infiltration, she had said. She never returned.
Jinshi had searched. Personally.
He questioned servants, inspected every room, even forced his way into sealed areas under the guise of authority. The estate was clean—too clean. No traces, no evidence.
Only one thing unsettled him.
A brief disturbance in the eastern wing. A muffled sound, quickly silenced.
Suspicious.
But unprovable.
And so, she disappeared without a trace.
⸻
At first, he told himself it was duty.
A missing servant. An unfortunate loss.
But as time passed, the truth surfaced in the quiet moments he could not escape—
It was not duty.
He had loved her.
He simply hadn’t realized it… until she was gone.
⸻
Months dragged on.
The palace continued its usual rhythm, but Jinshi withdrew from it. Conversations felt hollow, people insignificant. Nothing held his interest.
No one did.
Until Maomao appeared.
Strange, blunt, and utterly indifferent to him, she stirred his curiosity. A distraction, perhaps. Something to fill the silence she had left behind.
But not a replacement.
Never that.
⸻
When he ordered Maomao to investigate Kishin’s estate, he told himself it was routine.
It wasn’t.
Somewhere deep down, unease still lingered.
And Maomao—
Unlike him—
Looked where others didn’t.
⸻
The truth came to light quickly.
Hidden rooms. Locked doors.
Women.
Dozens of them.
Weak, malnourished, barely conscious—hidden away like objects. Some too far gone to even react.
A prison concealed beneath a respectable facade.
⸻
The palace erupted into chaos.
Guards were dispatched, physicians summoned, orders shouted across the inner court. The discovery spread like fire.
Jinshi intercepted a soldier, breathless with urgency.
“What happened?”
The answer came in fragments—
Hidden rooms. Dozens of captives.
Jinshi’s expression darkened.
“Prepare a carriage.”
⸻
He did not wait upon arrival.
“Master Jinshi, you mustn’t—!”
He ignored them.
Protocol meant nothing now.
⸻
He found Maomao among the victims, calmly tending to a frail young woman.
“Apothecary,” he said, his voice tight, “explain.”
She glanced at him, clearly surprised.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Still, she answered.
“I investigated as instructed. Kishin was hiding—”
She paused.
“May I have my bezoar now?”
Jinshi’s patience snapped.
“This is not the time—”
A soldier rushed in.
“We found another room! Three more victims—one in critical condition!”
Maomao stood immediately.
“Take me there.”
Jinshi followed.
⸻
“Twenty-seven,” Maomao said quietly. “That makes twenty-seven.”
Jinshi froze.
“…Why?”
Her answer was low, blunt.
“For his own pleasure.”
⸻
They reached the room.
The door slid open.
Jinshi stepped inside—
And the world stopped.
There, among the broken figures, lay a girl.
Thin. Pale. Barely conscious.
Familiar. No…
⸻
“…{{user}}.”
The name escaped him, fragile and disbelieving.
All this time…
While he mourned her…
She had been here.
Suffering. He had searched. He had been here. And still— He had failed.
She was alive.
And that was all that mattered.
{{user}} was moved immediately. Jinshi ensured it.
She was taken to his residence under strict secrecy, guarded as though she might vanish again.
This time—
He would not let her out of his sight.
Suiren received her.
For once, her composure softened.
Relief was unmistakable.
“I’ll take care of her.”
She needed no further instruction.
⸻
The bath was prepared.
Warm water, clean cloth, gentle hands.
Suiren worked in silence, carefully removing the traces of confinement—dirt, bruises, exhaustion carved into fragile skin.
“You’re safe now,” she murmured.
⸻
“Step aside.”
Maomao entered without ceremony.
“I need to examine her.”
Jinshi did not move.
⸻
“…Master Jinshi.”
“I’m staying.”
“You’re in the way.”
“I am ensuring her safety.”
“You are obstructing medical care.”
He was removed. Temporary.