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Jinshi’s fingers twine with the apothecary’s own. She looks up at him with those characteristic apathetic eyes and he resists the urge to crush their interlocked joints together.
“Perhaps you'd be so kind as to let go of me, sir?”
“But if I let go, won't you run away?” Jinshi knows how he wants her to respond. He also knows she would never say those words.
“Are you going to do something I'll need to run from?”
His teeth clench at her question. If that's what it takes. The thought is dark and it twists around their clutched hands. He should pull away from it but something inside him commands him to antagonize. To dig at her the way she has dug at him. She is the sharpest person he’s ever known, yet when it comes to him, she feigns ignorance time and time again.
“You do make me want to hit you sometimes.” He wants her to flinch, for her eyes to widen with shock. For her to reprimand him.
But she responds, stoic as ever, “Not in the face. It would be too obvious.” And flames of anger fan through Jinshi. Was she so concerned with her station that she wouldn't even fight him?
“I wasn't actually going to hit you.”
“I know, sir. I know you wouldn't do worse than pin me and force me to empty the contents of my stomach.”
“You brought that on yourself. Why would you even drink poison!?” Heat rises in him. Her maddening penchant for harming herself licks another dark thought through his mind. Was pain the only thing she would respond to? He didn't want to hurt her. But he wanted.
“I’m not sure I know how to answer that.” She sounds so serious, her eyes betraying not a flicker of emotion.
Jinshi’s heart races. His skin feels feverish. He feels out of control as he reaches up and strokes her hair, his fingers brushing metal. “You're actually wearing it.” He’d of course seen it dangling from her hair earlier in the night and it had mesmerized him- the rest of the partygoers as well.
“Oh, it was from you Master Jinshi? The moon is well and good but the poppy is a questionable touch.”
Jinshi rankles at the implication that the apothecary didn't think to consider that the hairpin was a gift from him. Or is this yet another self-effacing thorn she pushes under his thumb. He drops his chin to the top of her head. “Please. I had that made before we left on this trip. To replace the other one.”
“Master Jinshi, please keep your distance.”
“Why should I?” He retorts.
“What will you do if someone sees us?” There she goes again, obstinately reminding him of their stations. As if his opinion on the matter is moot. As if her value would be unfit for his own. He presses his chin more firmly against her.
“Sir, Consort Lishu is not your niece. You don't have to worry about closeness of blood.” She says calmly, matter of fact. This causes Jinshi to tense, drawing back to look at her. “Wouldn't that be the safest choice?”
“The safe choice.” Jinshi knows his voice is hard, biting. It's beyond the one he uses to threaten. “Like hell!” There was nothing safe for Jinshi in this life. He didn't want safe. He didn't want her looking up at him so dispassionately while she discussed the political ramifications of his supposed choice. An anger like Jinshi has never known burns through him. Did she really not get it? Did she really not see?
A recklessness grips him. His fingers trail through her hair, coil around the nape of her neck. She was so prepared to have no part in determining her future. He wanted to squeeze an ounce of participation out of her. And so he did. His long fingers tightening around her throat.
“It hurts.” But she raises no hand to stop him.
“Oh, does it?” He continues to press. Fight! Anything! His hand, still clasped with hers, climbs up her back. He can tell that it hurts from the way her face contorts but she does not react. How far would he have to push? Why wouldn't she relent? When tears prick her eyes, Jinshi returns to himself. He releases her arm, wrapping his around her waist instead. Unwilling to let her escape this confrontation. His hand moves from her neck to the back of her head. He wipes away her tears with a feeling that he has won…but exactly what and at what price he's not sure.
The apothecary's tone conveys the first hint of emotion. “I said that if you were going to kill me, you should do it with poison.”
Jinshi’s mouth tightens with displeasure. Always the same with her, so ready to throw away her life if he were to demand it. It’s all so infuriating. Her ignoring his intentions, her almost obsessive need to degrade her own value. He understood that she didn’t wish to have anything to do with the Strategist and his family, but did she think that was all that gave her value? A name she’d never sought to claim? A name Jinshi hadn’t even known of when he met her.
“I refuse to let you poison yourself.” He traces his fingers across her lips, imagining them turning blue, cold. “You can’t pretend you didn’t know that you were one of the candidates. As much as I’m sure you’d like to.” He didn’t want her to refuse him outright, but this dance of uncertainty is agonizing. Much like… “Who was that man, anyway? I’m sure you’re not a dancer.”
“I was just paying for my drink. It didn’t cost much.” Jinshi bristles at the words, at the thought of her paying for anything using her body.
“Exactly what use do you think I could be to you?” She asks flatly.
Now they could get somewhere. “Lahan accompanied you, didn’t he? That’s what everyone else will see.” If she needed to be convinced of her political value, he would oblige.
“You’d make an enemy of you-know-who,” she counters.
A brief shiver runs through Jinshi at the thought of making an enemy of the Strategist. But no one would deter him from what he wants. Not when he’s waited this long to want anything at all. And the more she tries to ply him with logic, the less he wants to listen. Another idea forms. He’d use the last tool at his disposal to earn her reaction.
“We were going to continue things later, weren’t we?” Jinshi challenges, reminding her of an earlier promise. He presses into her, pinning her back against the bench they sat on. He gazes down at her with his heart lodged in his throat. An all-consuming hunger envelops him, causing his hand to flex tightly in her hair. This was it. She would respond to him. She had to. He thought of the mob of people inside waiting to pin him down and a chaotic urgency overtook him.
Jinshi knew he was picking a fight the moment he approached her tonight. One he intended to win. But then a glint shows in the apothecary’s eyes, her body shifts closer to his, she opens to him, her lips parting… and Jinshi’s senses are overwhelmed. She pushes into him until their positions are switched. Her slim legs straddling him and her mouth moving against his with a frightening intensity. He can’t catch his breath. He’s still out of control of himself but in a wholly new and unnerving way. His body trembles with spasms and he frantically holds onto Maomao like she is a lifeline in stormy seas.
This is what he’d wanted, for her to be moved to action. Yet…as she pulls away from him, a thread of saliva breaking off between them, the dimness in her eyes sends a shock through him. Regret instantly douses any remaining flames. This is what he’d wanted, but not like this.
She stares down at him coldly, with disinterest. Much the way she always has. He will never be able to forget the way she looks right now.
Her hand lays against his chest. His heart pounds fiercely, almost painfully. But she looks as unfazed by him as ever. Jinshi has lost. Worse, he thinks, with an aching, creeping sense of dread as he loosens his arms around her. She excuses herself and walks away as if nothing has transpired between them. So much worse.