The path curved gently, and the garden opened like a secret kept too long. Lanterns hung from low branches, their soft golden light spilling over stone walkways and turning leaves to shadows that danced in the breeze. The air felt alive—cool and heavy with scents that wrapped around you like an old friend's arm. Sweet jasmine mixed with the sharp tang of fresh earth, and somewhere deeper, a hint of spice from blooms just waking under the night sky. Hundreds of flowers stood in neat rows and hidden nooks, petals glowing pale or bold in the light, like stars fallen to ground. Paths twisted between them, lined with smooth pebbles that crunched soft under feet, and every few steps, a small wooden bench waited for tired walkers to sit and breathe it all in.
People moved slow, like they didn't want to wake the place. Nobles in silk robes paused at clusters of bright hibiscuses, their red petals wide and fiery. "Look at those," a lady whispered to her friend, fanning herself lightly. "From the south—said to warm cold bones and chase away fevers with just a sip of their nectar."
Nearby, evening primroses nodded yellow heads in the shade, simple and glowing. A scholar bent close, voice low. "These open at dusk... good for soft skin and easing women's pains. Nature's quiet helper."
Foxgloves stood tall with purple bells, pretty but with a wild edge. Maomao had slipped ahead, her plain green robe standing out among the fancy silks. She stared at them, eyes wide like a kid finding candy. "Foxglove... strengthens the heart if you get the dose right," she muttered, almost to herself. "But mess up, and it stops everything cold. Deadly fun."
Jin-shi walked past, catching her grin. He smiled back, soft and teasing. "You look like you've found a new toy, Maomao."
She shrugged, but her cheeks pinked a bit. "Better than toys. This could save lives—or end them. Perfect."
The crowd flowed on. Peonies bloomed fat and pink, heavy with promise. "Those roots mend broken bones quick," a merchant said to his wife, arm around her waist. "And bring good luck to new homes."
Marigolds dotted the edges, gold and crisp. "Chases bugs and cuts alike," a maid giggled to another. "Smear the petals on a scrape—gone by morning."
Yarrow grew feathery white, tough as grass. "Battle healer's friend," an old guard rumbled nearby. "Stops blood fast, knits wounds like magic."
Chrysanthemums burst in red and gold, holding on past their season. "Long life in a cup," a lady sighed, touching one petal. "Clears the blood, sharpens eyes gone dim."
Calendula turned sunny faces to the lanterns, ruffled and bright. "Rashes and burns?Gone," a healer-type voice called from the group. "Cheap salve from heaven."
Verbena trailed purple along a low wall, sweet and sleepy. "Headaches flee from this," someone laughed. "Or weave it for dreams that stay sweet."
Azaleas flushed soft in pots, shy pinks. "Calms jumping nerves," a tired scholar noted. "One whiff, and the world's steady again."
Mullein rose fuzzy tall, yellow spikes like torches. "Lungs breathe free after dust or smoke," a voice carried. "Steep the leaves—cough says goodbye."
Monarda bobbed scarlet, minty sharp. "Fever's enemy," a mother told her child. "Bees love it, sickness hates it."
Daisies scattered simple white, hearts gold. "Tummy troubles? Chew a few," a kid piped up, making adults chuckle.
Camellias shone waxy red, strong and still. "Steady heart, long days," an elder said. "Tea from leaves—time slows a step."
Sages grew gray-green, wise-looking. "Cleans body and bad luck," a group murmured. "Smoke it for peace inside and out."
Basil hid tiny stars in green, fresh and holy. "Blood stays strong, spirits lift," a cook boasted. "Pinch a leaf—day feels brighter."
Lavender swayed purple spikes, soft as a sigh. "Burns cool, sleep comes easy," a lady breathed. "Pillow stuff—nightmares run."
The paths led to a wide clearing at the heart, where fifteen rare blooms waited on raised wooden stands, like kings on thrones. Each had a jade plaque with its name and gift, guarded by silent gardeners in gray robes. High nobles settled on cushioned mats around the circle—lords and ladies in deep silks, fans still, eyes keen. The air hummed quieter now, excitement thick as honey.
An old gardener stepped forward—tall and bent like an ancient tree, white hair tied back, face lined with years of soil and sun. His voice rumbled low, steady as earth. "Honored ones, the viewing ends.Now the choosing begins. These fifteen are the garden's rarest—pulled from edges no map touches. Bid true, for their properties heal or hold as only nature can."
He pointed to the first stand, a single ghost lily in mist-glass, pale as fog. "Ghost lily—air-fed, unbound. Calms wandering spirits, eases lost hearts. Start at fifty silver taels."
Bids rose quick—sixty, eighty—a lady in blue won at one hundred twenty, for her temple altar.
Next, middle mist red—crimson tight, rarer than dawn. "Deep love's anchor, unbreaking. Start at two hundred gold."
Voices called—two fifty, three hundred—a lord claimed it for three eighty, eyes soft for his wife.
Blue punya spiked turquoise, fierce and loyal. "Guards peace in wild places. Start at one fifty silver."
A warrior-type bid sharp, taking it at two hundred for his border home.
Aconite hooded blue, sweet death in disguise. "Wolfsbane—neuralgia's end, heart's halt if wrong. Start at one hundred gold."
Maomao's eyes lit again, leaning forward. "That's the one... refined right, it saves more than ittakes."
The old man nodded to the next. Yarrow cliff strain—twisted white, scar-mender. "Flesh knits fast.Start at eighty silver." A physician won at one ten.
Evening primrose gold-throat—night softener. "Skin heals in twilight. Start at ninety." A beauty from the outer court took it at one twenty.
Foxglove ancient wood—purple peril. "Heart's rhythm or grave. Start at one eighty gold." Healers pushed to two fifty—a guild elder claimed it.
Peony mountain deep—pink root-strong. "Bones mend, fortune follows. Start at two hundred." A family head bid to three hundred.
Marigold flame-edge—gold infection-chaser. "Wounds ward clean. Start at seventy silver." A traveling merchant at ninety.
Calendula double ruff—sun rash-banisher. "Everyday miracle. Start at sixty." An apothecary's maid at eighty.
Verbena moon-silver—sleep weaver. "Dreams hold sweet. Start at one hundred." A sleepless lord at one forty.
Azalea mist white—nerve calmer pure. "Minds steady in storm. Start at one twenty gold." A consort's advisor to one sixty.
and the show carry on like that .....
Jin-shi watched Maomao the whole time, her face alive with that rare spark. When the old man reached the aconite again—repeating its deadly promise for final bids—he caught her lean, breath quick.
He stepped forward, voice casual but clear. "Should I gift you this one, Maomao? It suits your... interests."
She blinked, then snorted, voice dry as always blunt, a little grumbly like she couldn't believe the fuss. "Price like that? Way too high. And if you buy it, I'd have to work even more under you—mixing poisons just to pay it back. Pass."
Jinshi's smile tugged wider, violet eyes warm. "Work or not, it's yours."
The old man nodded to his bid—four hundred gold. No one topped it.
The aconite already belonged to someone
Bids wrapped soft, the clearing emptying like a sigh. Lanterns dimmed. Guests drifted out, carrying wrapped cuttings, voices fading into night.
The garden started to fold quiet.