Chapter Text
“Oh, my Xiaomao, you know I would much rather you remain my sweet princess, but you are now nineteen, do you truly not have any idea of even the type of man you might wish would court you?” He father asked her as she lazily thought through her move.
“Papa, we have talked about this. What better life could I have than here with my poisons?” she returned the question.
Her father had a point. He was the head of a named clan, and the grand commandant, Kan Lakan, was a feared and cunning fox of a man —a master strategist whom no one in court could read. Her, his precious daughter, his only child by blood, should have been wed years ago in some political move. Maomao was lucky that he had no such intention. Once he had taken control of the La clan, he made a point of not making such matches. Her cousin, Lajun, had a match all but arranged with the daughter of a well-to-do merchant family, but he had not wanted it. The second he had said that her father had put a stop to any more talks of the matter.
Maomao knew she was spoiled, she had heard all the rumours about the cold and mysterious La princess. She even boasted the La character in her official name, Lamao, an incredible rarity for a woman. What would she truly gain from marriage, short of a means to gain a child. She could hope to gain someone who cared for her well-being even a quarter as much as either parent did, but that was rare. Rarer still, someone who would indulge her hobbies. Junjie was smart to wed a girl who had a love of hunting, he himself had quite the propensity for it as a sport, and his wife found joy in the hunting trips they took. Odd individually, but together a good match.
She wouldn’t have that, and she didn’t need it, let her languish a poison maiden.
“I know, and you are quite right, but we worry your mother and I.” He tried to placate her while making his own move, “There are many suitors that send letters with all sorts of promises, and while I still very much agree you are my little girl, how long will those offers last?” he asked with a sad smile.
It was maybe the hardest he had ever pushed for her to consider a match.
She couldn’t help but worry she was the cause of her mother's latest stress illness. It’s not like she had never considered what she would do if push came to shove and they demanded she, at the very least, attended a matchmaking event, or if they forced her to a dinner with some other clan and a son of marriageable age. Would it truly be the worst thing in the world if she went ahead with the trial she planned to offer? Realistically, once she provided the rules, they’d all change their minds. Even if some poor soul tried anyway, they wouldn’t win. She made her move, a pang of hurt in her chest at the pain she had no doubt caused her parents with her actions, something she didn’t intend.
“I guess I could entertain the notion,” she offered gently. Her father made his move quickly with a joyous look, before he could say anything, she continued. “That said, I am no small prize, they need to prove themselves.”
He agreed, muttering ‘obviously’ under her words. "Pick a day and tell everyone that the La princess is offering a challenge for her hand.” She declared with what she thought just might be a winning move.
“And pray tell what this challenge will be, dear daughter?” he made his move with a laugh, did he not notice her trap, or did he wilfully ignore it?
“Well, I can’t tell you,” he made a hurt noise as she made the claim, “You were the one to teach me about compartmentalisation,” she reasoned, and he grumbled, as she made her next move.
“Once I speak the challenge out loud, people will find out. I would rather you not give your favourites a leg up,” she shrugged, words slowing as they both focused far more on the endgame.
“I am your dear papa, you can trust me,” he whined like a child.
“It's not a matter of trust, it's merely a precaution, besides, I think you’ll rather agree with and enjoy the plan once it is announced.” She studied the board state, she very rarely won against her father, it was about one to twelve. It seemed today was the one.
“Alright then,” he stood from the match, conceding her victory. “How does ten days sound?” He agreed to her challenge, she nodded.
Now she just had to prepare.
~~~
The ten days had passed, somehow too fast and entirely not fast enough. Maomao wanted the matter dealt with and for her life to be freely her own now.
The morning of her challenge, she could hear even through the walls the chatter of the suitors already gathered at the early hour. She couldn’t help but chuckle, a low laugh. Oh, the way they would flee! She let her scant few ladies get her ready for the day.
She made it clear they were to take all the time they needed. She had an even longer bath than usual and had them use every product they wanted. The water filled with flowers and scented oils, her skin scrubbed and plucked, her hair combed until it ran like silk, dressed in silks that ran water turned green with lively algae billowing out from the ties at her waist, perfumed with patchouli and mint.
In her hair are two bright red poppies. Her hair wasn’t piled high but rather intricately twisted into several smaller loops and buns atop her head, tendrils held with finely worked metal cuffs over her shoulders, and running down her back - her hair turned to a flower at the intersection on the back of her head, short hair sticks strewn about to hold things in place, so short one couldn’t even see most the stick, only the delicate chain that connected to white crystals that caught the light.
She was a dream.
A figure painted on a storied scroll of some far off land. A beauty timeless and classic, as her mother always told her, the curves and height she neither of them had might be preferred today, but the slender, slight frame they shared was not without merit. In fact, it was far more prized only a few generations ago.
When she left her rooms, she had to school the smirk off her face, she was brimming with a mischievous joy. She had almost managed it, too, until Junjie met her at the table.
“With a face like that, everyone will catch on, you know,” he half-joked, pushing a bottle she had tasked him with acquiring for her quietly this morning.
“This is why you're my favourite, Jun,” her slight smile earning a raised brow from him.
She pressed the backs of her hands against her cheeks to cool her face, excited that her plan was coming together. Honestly, she was half tempted to take a few sips, she wasn’t going to get to drink any of her latest experiment after all.
She reasoned it probably wouldn’t even be all that good, she had to keep it relatively safe, all things considered. Even the Grand Comandamant's daughter couldn’t just let a bunch of people die, this should count as a duel and have some amount of exemption, but it is what it is. It would probably also smudge her lip rouge, and that wouldn’t do well.
It was another hour until she walked outside, eyes half closed and face half obscured by the fan that Lahan gifted her after his latest trip west. A beautiful, painted silk, mounted on strips of wood thick and lacquered to shine like gems. It folded from something no bigger than a single wooden writing block to a half circle, it was trimmed with a series of carefully woven lace. It was very unlike the circle fans of Li, and she rather enjoyed having something no one else did. Sure, there were fans of paper and feather quite alike to hers, but she had never seen one that offered such a silk-stained story between its panels before.
She was sure that after today, Lahan would start selling them thanks to her. He was always looking for an option to promote and trade, whether it was favour or coin, he didn’t see much difference.
To him, good numbers were good numbers.
She heard all the chatter, turn to silence at her appearance, only to turn to a roar once they caught their glimpses of her. Let them swoon over the mystery princess, she attends only at the most important events of court, and even then, never speaks when there is nothing to say.
She is a cold, calculating mystery, in other words, a La.
And it is for precisely that reason she says nothing as she approaches the small open-air pavilion in the garden. Her mother and father were already there, along with Han and Jun, after all, who would want to miss the best part of the show?
She turned to face them from behind the slight railings around the raised edge of the structure, closing her fan with a practised and dangerously slow precision. Drawing a silent anticipation from the crowd, all while her face remained impassive, something that was no easy feat considering what she was about to announce.
“My, so many fine young men all here for my hand?” It almost sounded like a jape, in a way it was.
It was a fact, a pathetic one at that.
Honestly, it was as if any young man who thought he had a single marketable skill was here, it was as though she were a celestial or an immortal. She was not worth this attention or acclaim, not one of these men knew anything more than her last name. It left a bad taste in her mouth.
“I am sure you are all intrigued by my challenge, and well, it's rather simple. I hope no one expected something too grand,” she teased, watching smiles that reeked of a lust for power, for status, for money, for her all overtake the crowd, every last one of them.
Well, all that she could see. Her eye faltered on a masked man for just a fraction of a second longer than anyone else, he intrigued her for that addition alone. Maybe he’d stick around…
“Just a game of go with one addition to the rules,” she watched tension ease from shoulders and the corners of her mouth turn the slightest bit up at what came next, “the loser will drink a cup of poison.”
Chaos.
The screaming.
The accusations of cheating, lying, scamming, fraud, an unwinnable situation.
Her, watching it all, hiding the smile behind her fan.
A single pair of eyes undeterred among the flailing crowd. Eyes that met hers with a raised brow. Scepticism glancing mirth.
“Silence!” her father yelled the demand like the rumoured ruthless strategist he was, a voice saved for squabbling ministers in the war room. Not the kind of tone suitable for a matchmaking event.
“Who exactly is holding knives to your throats?” He mocked the men who would be lucky if he considered them pawns.
“My dear daughter is quite the accomplished player,” the praise made her heart flutter just a beat. She was proud that he would say such a thing with such a dark tone, as though his confirmation of her skill were a threat.
In a way, today it was. It made her feel like the La she was.
“A man who can not best her is not worth standing beside her, much less even asking for her hand,” his tone turned lighter, mocking the still simpering men, remembering what it meant to challenge the most formidable family in court, perhaps short of the imperial family themselves, “nor is the coward shaken by this rule of hers.” He added plainly.
“If you do not wish to participate in this competition, you may leave,” he offered.
The viscous eyes, with pupils slit like and gleaming golden from the shadows cast by the pavilion roof and the high midday sun behind them, looked down on every wasted soul that thought for a moment her hand was winnable. They were foolish chickens that had followed the seeds right into the fox's den and were looking up with fearful remembrance at just who they were dealing with, as the foxes wet their lips in preparation for the greatest meal of all.
Absolute victory, with a side of complete humiliation.
“Now.” The old man said sharp, with canines shown and the air thick with the taste of anticipation.
They watched as men began to turn towards the gate. Maomao could almost see the tail between their legs as they sulked away back to whatever place they wasted away in regularly. She smirked as she watched the crowd thin and thin some more, and then still.
Why had it stilled?
The Go sage himself, the greatest ranking player in all of Li and advisor and tutor to the Emperor, only beat her father in one out of every six matches, or so, and that was with several tricks. Without them, it was far closer to her one in twelve, and the threat of losing wasn’t silver or pride, but rather poison and hardly half had left?
HALF?
She was not that desired, surely?
She turned with a practised and polished flourish. Her back to the crowd, she took a breath and then took her seat at the small central table set up precisely for this, a go board having been placed and prepared by her ladies. Her family took up seats on the benches that rested pressed against the low railing of the edges of the pavilion.
The men who remained approached the edges of the pavilion, but none stepped up to challenge her. Not yet. They had decided to stay, but to decided to play, and first no less, when she would be at her best was another matter.
“Honestly, she might be a La but not even she would steep bitter enough to poison any number of merchants, officials, and named,” an arrogant man scoffed, stepping up to play.
She sneered on impulse, he was repulsive. Perhaps not in the typical ways, he dressed well and smelled clean, not covering something with expensive incense. He approached with confidence that suggested success in his life, too. Many would think he was a good potential match, but all Maomao saw was a man who thought she was not a woman of her word.
All she saw was her first spectacular prey.
She played without reproach while he tried rote joskei. It was not a win, that, implied the other party was worth keeping score against, and quite frankly, she was sure the wind could have played a more riveting game against her. He was back into a corner soon enough, and if there was any joy to be had, it was as he realised the barbed noose was around his neck and with every struggle, every tug at his collar or hair that left him more and more dishevelled, tightened his own painful death.
All, as she barely even looked at the board when placing her stone. The wild fear in his eyes wasn’t unlike that of a wild caught hare, the type that considered chewing off its own leg to live one more day. To see that expression of a man was almost as good as the high of a toxin leaving her spasming on the ground, writhing in delicious pain.
Culminating in the moment that the fear broke, realising there was no struggling left, and an empty acceptance of impending death took its place. A hollow glassy look that reflected on the surface of the drink presented to him.
It was actually almost redeeming the way he squared his shoulders and looked right at her, before downing the cup with no hesitation. Either so sure there was no true poison that he’d be fine, or accepting that he had lost and this was the cost.
If he hadn’t believed her above poison and simply accepted his deadly fate, she just might have considered an actual chance for the man. Alas, he had shown his colours, and when he slurred words of confusion and slipped to the ground as she reset the board and bowls, she simply relished the gasps of all the rest who shared his stupid notions.
“Would anyone like to reconsider?” She taunted, voice loud enough to carry through the crowd.
Some amount was left, maybe a quarter or so, remained. It was still entirely too many games to play in a day. Hopefully, more would give up and leave after she had played some more games.
“Han, would you indulge a wager?” She asked quietly to keep out of the ears of the suitors.
“You can play fourteen straight games, for a favour,” he offered the answer and the cost.
“Easily,” she retorted. “Jun?” she offered the other an in to their game.
“You children have fun,” he refused with a gleam of enjoyment in his eyes.
He probably still owed Lahan one too many favours to risk an increasing debt to his brother, who would have no qualms sending him on some far-flung errand regarding some investment.
No one had come up to play, and it was taking rather long for someone to try. It was irritating.
She looked to her papa, and he immediately got the message.
“You, play or leave,” he demanded, pointing at some random man in the crowd.
After a moment, he cautiously approached. It took everything in her to not laugh at the rather pitiful display, even a perfectly polished mask like hers had faults and to watch such palpable, pathetic fear was always going to amuse her.
Honestly, the La’s were eccentric, sure, but also a military family. Their precious princess should at least be able to wed a man with enough courage to face her.
It was a quick game. Her sure confidence and quick moves, only worsening his shaking and poor decisions. It would have continued to be funny if it were not so sad, right down to the pale green colour he took on as he drank the poison with such a trembling hand it threatened to spill over the entire board.
Things continue in a far too dull and familiar manner.
She plays at high speed and with little care, it is almost too easy the way in which the interchangeable go stones, as her father would call them, fold at the clear divide in their skill and hers. Occasionally, she feels a little bad, but then there is a laugh or a cough concealing some criticism or slander, and she remembers who and where she is, and it feels right once more. She was an untouchable and entirely unique specimen not meant to be plucked from wild growth and tapped in some pretty vase.
Go was fun, but these players were boring, thinking they could defeat her with rather simple joskei. One particularly weak man dropped straight to the ground after drinking the poison, not even finishing the cup. One of the guards on staff took him away - she was sure her great-uncle would deal with him well.
But then something fun, after her tenth game.
The man in a mask comes up to play for her.
She can’t see his mouth, but she is sure he is smiling, rather something more like a smirk.
He takes his seat, and she conceals her face behind her fan.
“Am I not permitted to see such a beauty up close?” His voice was sweet, far sweeter than any mans had the right to be.
“Not when you hide your own,” she retorted, watching the slight movement in his brows as they raised. “It puts me at a grave disadvantage to not read your face as you can mine,” she laced her voice with a matching sweetness.
Honey, deadly to those too new to his words.
Syrup, hiding nutty poison of fruit pits, or tree resin.
But was it his intention or ignorance?
“Well, if there is no way I might be able to keep this, I must relent.” The words felt performed but somehow not for her.
This man was increasingly odd. Not caring in the slightest about her performances, or at the very least not falling for them, simply regarding them with a detached intrigue. Then, playing his own scheming games, complete with what was perhaps the most beautiful face she had ever seen, hidden behind cloth that obscured all but his eyes.
“What might I call you?” She asked as he made the first move, as every challenger had been permitted.
The click of the black stone sounded almost like the snap of broken tension on water. It was odd, but she actually wanted to hear the answer this time, to know the name of this enigma of a man.
Maomao was very much like her namesake in that regard. Curious to a deadly fault.
“Anything you wish,” he claimed with a false smile that creeped her more than she cared to admit. Did he frequently get away with such base flattery?
Stones continued to clack against the board, finding purchase far slower than in her previous games. Her mind split between the game and conversation, yes, but also the puzzle before her, and his actual skill.
Something she had yet to enjoy.
“You have no name and yet seek the hand of a clan princess?” She asked in turn, a devious smirk overcame his, and all it did was pull at her budding interest.
“None you may speak,” he clarified with a voice low enough that only those in the pavilion would hear, and a chill ran through her.
The temperature seemed to drop significantly, not in the shade of clouds passing over the sun, but in the weight of the current moment.
“Let's not make a scene, yes?” He requested, releasing the tension he had pulled taught in a half moment all at once.
“To think I find myself before such celestial wonder, and perhaps the only one who might have been able to ignore such games,” she asked the question without imposition.
If the crown prince wanted her, he needn’t even ask. She would be quite useful even as a hostage, rather than a wife or consort. Her family didn’t have an insignificant amount of power and influence in court, after all.
This man knew better than most just how much to fear the Grand Commandant, too, the scar he wore like a scratch on pearl, the only failing in the suppression of the traitorous Shi clan.
“I am,” he confirmed, hesitating with his stone betwixt his fingers but hovering in the air, “although how could I not find myself intrigued,” he confessed with a clink of stone.
“The rules shall not be waived for you, when sorry,” she corrected herself, “should you lose, you too must drink the poison of your own accord in your shame.” She drew out the words, watching his face with every syllable that fell from her mouth. Waiting for something, analysing what could be used or proved and leveraged.
“I understand,”
Click.
“Very well then, Moon Prince.”
Click.
“I must apologise for the unlucky day,” she began to probe, simply because he seemed fun.
Click.
“How could the day be unlucky when I got to witness such a challenge?” voice sweet like jasmine and just as calm. Was he that sure he’d win or that uncaring of poison?
Click.
“Well, it’s both the height of summer and the new moon, there is little celestial power in that, is there?” She joked, perhaps pushing the line further than she should. If he deems this too great an insult and snubs her, it would not exactly be the worst thing in the world.
Click.
“If the heavens approve, I’m sure they will overlook such a poor choice of day on your part,” he joked back. He was fun…
Click.
It is a game she has to play slower. He had clearly been watching her play, he isn’t making the same assumptions as others. She had heard conflicting things about the prince over the years, that he was sickly and frail, of a poor constitution and wit, and scarred with a burn. Then, in quite the contradiction, that he was a skilled swordsman, taught by the very same tutors as the Emperor at his request and that he was a renowned beauty.
She had to wonder just how much of his reputation was cultivated so that he might be required to do less, or perhaps be perceived as less, in court, clearly, but also in this moment, as the underdog. A dangerous concept, a dog that seemed weak enough for the fox to pounce with less than perfect precision, only to learn it was rabid beneath the bleary surface.
With every tile placed, she only becomes more intrigued by this man.
So she decides a trap is in order. An easy win for him that would show her and her parents, especially, how little he was worth her hand. It was something she had considered as some amount of additional testing if the need arose.
“Pass,” she said proudly, looking directly into his eyes.
The initial reaction is shock. Confusion, more so. It was still relatively early in the game, all things considered, and he recognised he could win right here. What was the crown prince to some other man, could any even compare? All he had to say was pass, and he had won her.
Or at least that’s what he would appear to think.
Until a smile came across his face, the almost boyish smile that peaked through the placating pleasant one he had been wearing during this match on a few occasions. Had he seen through her play?
Clink.
She would never have imagined he’d take the chance to lose. The possibility of drinking poison that had seen a man hauled away by staff, had one collapse sooner than finishing the whole cup.
He might just be fun. He just might understand what she values in life, her joys and passions. Something so few even expected a woman to have, much less so the richer ones' blood became.
To become an imperial princess would be just about the only real way to marry that would give her more power and freedom to do as she pleased. She didn’t love the thought of becoming the Empress, which required far too much work in her opinion, but the Emperor would surely have a son of his own at some point.
Was it wrong to pray against heaven’s favoured son for her own selfish hope to win?
Was it worse to pray against her pride in the vain hope she’d met her match?