The servant quarters were a world away from the garden's open sprawl—a tucked-away nook of quiet wood and paper screens, where the morning light filtered in soft slats, painting the tatami floor in warm stripes.
The air smelled of cedar and faint rice steam, the kind of simple scent that settled you without trying too hard.
Moon sat stiff on the cushion, knees locked awkward under her, back straight like she was afraid the mat would swallow her if she relaxed.
Sweat beaded at her temple, a single drop tracing slow down her cheek. Her mind raced circles: This is real. This is not real. Say the wrong thing and they lock you up. Or worse, wake up back on the mountain with a hangover and no job.
The door slid open with a soft shh—paper rustling like a held breath—and Gao-shun stepped in, his presence filling the room without crowding it.
He stood near the doorway for a beat, posture sharp as ever, eyes sweeping the space once before landing on her. No rush in it, just that calm assessment.
"Madam Hui-lan," he said, voice low and even, turning slight to the hall. "Warm tea."
Moon's heart skipped—Madam who? —but before she could spiral, an elegant older woman glided in, tray balanced perfect in her hands.
Hui-lan moved like water over stones—smooth, unhurried, her robes greyed soft from years of wear, hair pinned in a knot that looked effortless but probably took an hour.
She bowed shallow as she entered, eyes kind but distant, setting the tray on the low table with a faint clink of porcelain.
"This humble one presents the tea," Hui-lan said, voice smooth as the steam rising from the pot.
She poured first for Gao-shun—dark liquid filling his cup neat, no spill—then for Moon, the pour steady, aroma blooming green and bitter-sweet. The cup slid toward her across the wood, warm through the clay.
Moon stared at it—cup steaming innocent, but her mind flashed poison plots from the book, maids with hidden daggers.
"...It's not poison, right?"
The words tumbled out flat, no filter, her voice pitching high on the end.
Gao-shun paused mid-sip—cup halfway to his lips, eyes lifting slow over the rim.
"...Why would we poison you?"
The question came even, no edge, just genuine baffle.
Moon shrugged—shoulders hunching, hands fidgeting the robe sleeve.
"People in old-time clothes are unpredictable."
Says the girl in silk pajama's from nowhere.
She reached for the cup anyway, fingers wrapping tight, the heat chasing the chill from her palms.
Gao-shun blinked—once. Just once, slow and cautious. Then, gentle as the steam,
"I assure you, this is simply tea."
He took his sip—calm, no show—and set the cup down precise, steam curling lazy between them.
Moon took a careful sip—liquid hot on her tongue, bitter chase with a sweet undercurrent that settled her stomach's knot.
It worked, a little—the warmth spreading, easing the shake in her hands.
She set the cup down, glancing between them: Gao-shun straight-backed across the table, Hui-lan hovering near the door like a shadow with kind eyes.
Questions coming. Brace.
Gao-shun straightened his back slightly—subtle shift, posture sharpening without tension.
"I will ask only a few questions," he said, voice low but clear. "Answer whatever you can. If you are unsure... say so."
Moon nodded—quick jerk, cup gripped tighter.
"Okay. But I swear I don't remember anything."
Gao-shun rested his hands neatly in his lap—fingers laced loose.
"Question 1. Where were you before you woke in the garden?"
Moon exhaled slow—breath fogging the cup's rim.
"...On a mountain. I... I think. I was upset. I drank too much."
Gao-shun nodded once—absorbing it, no flinch, eyes steady on her face.
"Question 2. Do you recall meeting anyone? Any traveller? Any carriage passing?"
She shook her head—hair shifting soft.
"No. Just wind. And... some weird sounds."
His eyes narrowed slightly—subtle crease, interest sharpening.
"What kind of sounds?"
Moon hesitated—fingers tracing the cup's edge.
"...Like a flute."
Gao-shun looked at her for a full two seconds—quiet stretch. A shift in his expression—not fear, not suspicion—just... awareness.
"I see," he said softly. "Flutes are not common in that mountain range."
Moon glowered—brow groove.
"Yeah well, neither is waking up in some... historical drama set."
Her laugh was short and dry.
Gaoshun's lips pressed together—thin line—but he didn't correct her. Just nodded.
"Question 3. Do you have any family nearby? Anyone who might be searching for you?"
Moon looked away—gaze dropping to the tatami weave.
"...No."
Voice flat, small.
Gao-shun let the silence stay, respecting the weight. Finally, he spoke again—tone even.
"Final question."
Moon braced—spine stiffening.
"Until your memory becomes clear," he said, leaning forward a touch, "can I trust that you will follow the rules of this place and remain here?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"You're basically asking: Will I run away?"
"Yes," he replied simply.
Moon leaned back, thinking it through with a slow sip of tea.
"No food at home, college sucks, people suck, rent sucks... I think staying here is better for now."
Her laugh was short but real.
Gao-shun's expression didn't change, but something eased in his shoulders.
"Very well," he said, bowing his head slightly. "Then I will continue ensuring your protection."
Moon blinked.
"From what?"
Gao-shun lifted his eyes to her—calm, serious.
"From misunderstanding. And from people who may not welcome someone... unfamiliar."
Moon swallowed—throat clicking dry.
"Oh."
Gao-shun stood slowly—robes shifting smooth.
"I will return shortly. If you need anything, call for Hui-Lan. She is trustworthy."
He turned toward the door, but paused.
"If you remember even a fragment more," he said quietly, "tell me. Even the smallest detail may matter."
Moon nodded—quick.
"I will."
Then Gaoshun left—the door closing with a soft hunk, the paper screen settling still.
Moon leaned back, exhaling shaky.
"This place... is weird," she muttered to the empty air.
Her eyes drifted to the steaming tea.
"Weird... but kind of nice...?"
The words hung, small admission. The garden hummed outside. For now, it was enough.