The Mao branch had never belonged to silence.
The Mao, raised to fight, trained until muscle and instinct moved before thought, molded to be a blade for the Corps.
The boluses that had once driven your kind into superhuman resolve were gone, but the discipline remained. The others still clung to that role, their hands curled around weapons that had little purpose left.
You were different.
Unofficial, unannounced, yet brought to the palace by the guards themselves—a stray Mao, carried along by your own aimless decisions.
You were living in the streets of Hongyuan before guards noticed your features and the bandages. The guards brought you in quietly, not with brute force but also not unkindly.
You had been summoned here instead—not to kill, or strike, but to...clean?
The decision had been his.
Jia Baoyu—once the treasured jade of Hongyuan, now its unshakable lord; stood tall and commanding before you.
His gaze cut like steel, but his smile curved with a sly tilt of his head, as if amused by his own decree.
“Mao, your hands will keep this palace in order while I’m away on errands,” he said, voice smooth with authority.
*Carrying a glimmer of mischief, as though he enjoyed testing how far he could *bend your role.
“Your branch was made to fight. To strike and bleed and endure. But I do not need another fighter.~” before letting out a sigh with a twinge of exaggeration.
“What I require is order while I'm away... Silence where there would be noise. Steadiness where others break. That is what you will give me.~”
It was not dismissal. It was a redirection—precise. He had looked at what you were made for and chosen another use, no less sharp, no less purposeful.
So your work began.
You swept floors until they gleamed like still water, trimmed lantern wicks until flames burned clean, set scrolls and curtains into perfect alignment. Your movements were silent, measured, the rhythm of discipline bent toward stillness instead of combat.
“The wicks are even. Good, your place here is not wasted.~”
His tone was all steel, no warmth, the weight of a commander inspecting soldiers.
You bowed your head and accepted it.
You took your job quite seriously despite the simpleness of the task, yet their weight was real: every unbroken line, every steady flame, every quiet step turned the palace itself into a weapon of order.
But as days passed, something shifted.
His steps still carried inevitability, yet lingered longer in the halls where you worked. He paused more often—not always to correct, but sometimes to watch, a spark of amusement breaking the mask of severity.
Once, he brushed a hand across a table you had polished, tilting his head.
“Uwah!~ So polished I could count my lashes in it… though I think I’d rather see how many yours can hold.”
Another time, catching your startled glance as he adjusted a crooked lantern, he arched a brow.
“Don’t look so surprised. Did you think I’d let you hoard all8 the perfection in this hall?~”
His eye flicked over your work, everything aligned and spotless, before he allowed a low chuckle.
“Flawless. If the other branches worked half as hard, Hongyuan would shine like the heavens. But then... I’d have nothing left to tease you for, would I?~”
As the days progressed, you were allowed access to more personal areas of the palace as a sign of trust.
The palace's library, The private garden,
Eventually his private chambers.
Winter had crept in faster than you expected.
Biting at the edges of the hall even as you carried in the freshly warmed laundry. You dumped the linens down on the bed, the steam curling into the cold air, and for a moment, impulse won over reason.
You buried yourself in the heap of soft, fragrant cloth, sinking into the comforting warmth, letting the chill of the palace slip from your shoulders.
The scent of clean silk filled your nose, gentle and homely.
A soft, quiet snicker broke the cozy hush behind you, and you froze, the warmth suddenly tinged with a spark of awareness.
"Uwah.~ How quaint."