Claimed By the Mad Emperor

“Thank you for the help, dear.” 

“Of course, Madam.”

The elderly woman groans as she shuffles out, closing the clinic door with a loud creak. Her footsteps disappear into the crowd of the bustling market outside.

Jia Yi breathes out, flexing her stiff shoulders to try to keep her bones from aching. Three fractures, two fevers treated, and one case of nightshade poisoning finally stabilized. It was a pretty hectic day for the small clinic she runs.

Her hands still smell of crushed herbs and the bitter wormwood she has tried to wash off at least ten times today.

While humming an old tune, the one her late mentor would always sing, she tidies the herbs scattered across the wooden table. Then, after, she stands back, immediately scanning the room for any tasks still waiting to be completed.

The mortar and pestle require washing, and–oh. She stops, seeing a silk pouch left behind by the last patient. She opens it, taking a sniff to identify the medicine.

Peony roots: Used to calm patients before sleep.

She must remember to give it back tomorrow.

Finally stepping away from her work, she briefly presses her palms against her lower back and stretches, letting out a relieved sigh.

“Xiao Mei?” Her voice rises and carries beyond the bamboo screen partition where her assistant is busy arranging the dried chrysanthemum stems. “Could you–”

Before she even completes the sentence, a clay jar falls and breaks, followed by the sound of fast footsteps. The young 16-year-old girl shows up wearing an apron smeared with turmeric, her sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

“You sound like you’ve been wrestling a bear,Xiaojie,*” Xiao Mei mocks while she takes the mortar off the counter without being asked. She wrinkles her nose at the hardened, smelly paste inside. “Ugh. Nightshade residue?”

Jia Yi nods before throwing a glance at the pouch containing peony roots and then pushes it toward her. “And this has to be given back to Madam Liang by tomorrow. She was so troubled by the pain in her joints that she couldn’t even remember it. I’m worried she won’t be able to sleep well tonight.”

She keeps an eye on Xiao Mei’s skillful hands scraping the mortar clean while the girl’s braid swings back and forth like a horse’s tail, all messy from a full day of work.

“Would you like me to tie your hair up again?”

“No, I’m okay, Xiaojie. Should I boil water for your shoulders?” Xiao Mei asks suddenly, as she notices the stiffness in Jia Yi’s figure. “You’re as stiff as a board.”

Jia Yi chuckles, surprised. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only to somebody who sees you grind your teeth while going through patient papers,” Xiao Mei mutters, getting the kettle at the same time.

Right on time, as it has been every day for the past three years, the clinic’s door slowly slides open, revealing a tall, broad silhouette against the light of the sunset.

A young man comes through the door, holding a pouch in his hand, scholarly, long robes of blue linen covering his broad shoulders. The delicate features of his face appear even more beautiful today.

He is illuminated by the warm light, resulting in the sharp contours of his face being softened. His dark, gold-rimmed eyes were immediately on Jia Yi, then after a few seconds, flickered to Xiao Mei.

“Apologies for intruding during closing,” he says very quietly, bowing just enough to show respect without being too formal. The tone of his voice carries the cadence of someone used to being overheard, powerful but strangely warm.

A warmth reserved only for this clinic.

The pouch hanging from his hand sways as he straightens, and out trickles beautiful garden herbs. There were fresh ginseng roots still dirty with soil, their leaves carefully wrapped in waxed paper.

“Qing Yuan! ” Jia Yi smiles widely, running over with her arms wide open.

The moment Jia Yi’s footsteps rush towards him, his heart starts beating wildly. As she comes nearer, he finds himself even leaning toward her, before quickly stopping. His fingers were clenching tightly into a fist as if to restrain himself.

“Jia Yi...” his voice comes out low and rough. She wraps her arms around his torso, sighing relaxedly. As if on instinct, his hand lifts, fingers combing once through her hair.

When she finally pulls back, Qing Yuan extends the pouch he was holding, letting their hands brush for a few seconds.

“Sorry about the mess,” He glances down at a spilled ginseng root on the floor, dirt littering it.

“No, no. It’s okay, we’re closing up soon anyway.”

At her words, he continues. “These were picked just this morning by the imperial physicians. They are quite potent, not suitable for the delicate constitutions of the court ladies.”

A lie, of course, he had uprooted them himself at dawn, dirt staining his knees like a common gardener.

Near the mortar, Xiao Mei snorted. Qing Yuan briefly looked at her, brows furrowed at the disturbance, but then just as quickly, his face softened as he looked back at Jia Yi’s hands.

“You’ve been standing too long,” he remarks. “The kettle’s steam will not undo those knots between your shoulders.”

“Am I that stiff? Xiao Mei said the same thing.” A worried expression filled his face, causing her to squeeze his hands in reassurance.

“I’m okay, really! Come!” Jia Yi is still holding his hand as she guides him towards a stool near the back of the clinic. “Besides, what did I say about calling me Jia Yi?”

She playfully smacks the back of his head scoldingly.

The hit makes him tense, a natural response to an action no one has ever dared to commit. But he smiles sheepishly, letting out an exhale through his nose, before allowing himself to be dragged toward the stool.

His fingers tighten around her wrist, feeling her pulse.

Abnormally fast. Is it simply from her exhaustion, or could it be– excitement?

"A-Yi,*” Qing Yuan corrects, still not used to the nickname. The stool creaks under his weight, a suspicious sign that collides with what is supposed to be Han Qing Yuan’s frailty. He watches obediently as she fiddles with the ginseng. “These roots must be sliced thinner than lotus petals. It seems your knife’s gone dull again.”

As if on cue, he takes a whetstone out of his sleeve. It was beautifully cut, the palace-forged steel shining in his palm before he gave it to her. “The imperial blacksmith owed me a favor after I reviewed some documents for him.”

“Huh? Why are you giving me this? If this was from the imperial blacksmith, you should have asked for something else, not a whetstone... maybe– maybe a beautiful dagger or something! ” Jia Yi can’t help but blush, her words leaving her mouth before she could think it through.

Qing Yuan found it adorable how hard she was trying not to let him know how much she liked the gift.

The whetstone gets warm in his hands, as Jia Yi still hasn’t taken it yet. Her blush makes her face look like crushed peach blossoms, and Qing Yuan is hardly able to control himself from rubbing the sweet color with his thumb.

Instead, he wraps his fingers around hers, guiding them to close over the stone.

“A blade is only as beautiful as its edge,” he murmurs, watching her lashes flutter in surprise. “And yours deserves to cut cleanly.”

Xiao Mei clears her throat near the kettle, breaking the moment. He withdraws his hand immediately.

“We can talk about the dagger later,” he adds quietly, like he’s sharing a secret with her. “When you’ve worn this one down to nothing.”

“Thank you, Qing Yuan.”

At those words, Jia Yi turns to Xiao Mei, still lingering in the corner. “Can you go deliver the vial of green ox herb to the Shang family for me now? You know where to find it, right?”

Xiao Mei looks between Jia Yi and Qing Yuan, sees the whetstone in her senior’s hand, and then how close Qing Yuan is to her. She smirks, as if she knows something.

She wipes her turmeric-stained hands on her apron very slowly, just to see Jia Yi’s ears turn pink.

“Of course, Xiaojie. I’ll take the green ox herbs to the Shangs now,” Xiao Mei says, taking the vial from the shelf, purposefully making a lot of noise with it. Finally, the door closes as she leaves.

All that is left is an awkward silence between the two. After a few seconds, Qing Yuan studies Jia Yi’s profile, watching as she bites her lower lip nervously, while turning the whetstone over in her hands.

“You’ve been favoring your left side,” he nods towards her stiffened shoulder. His fingers twitch with the urge to rub the tension away, but he curls them into fists instead.

He pauses, thinking. Then he reaches into his satchel, taking out a small porcelain jar. “A balm made of camphor and saffron. Use this when the steam isn’t enough.”

She takes off the lid of the jar and examines the medicine, an instinct of a physician.

“Hmm... I’ll go ask one of the market aunties– maybe their son can help me massage it out first. This medicine works better when you do so.”

His teeth grit at the mention of another man’s hands on her. He reaches his fingers out to trace down the ridge of her spine, his other hand now digging into the porcelain jar. It nearly cracks beneath his grip before he forces his fingers to relax.

“That is unnecessary,” he says sharply, then quickly lightens the tone with a smile. “The pressure points behind the scapula require careful and precise hands. Let me.”

He is already standing, placing his hands over her shoulders.

Jia Yi’s face turns red at the contact. “Oh, thank you,Yuan Yuan.*”

She doesn’t know why calling him like that feels so embarrassing. They’ve been good friends for the past three years after all.

The way she called him so affectionately makes him stop breathing for a second. His thumbs suspiciously find the tense spots under her robe rather quickly, pressing down on them in slow circles.

“Do scholars learn how to do this in the palace?” she asks, confused.

He lets out a hum instead of saying ‘yes’.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, feeling her muscles tense further when he touches her.

Jia Yi tilts her head up to look at him, studying his face. “I think the pain in my shoulders has been coming from that bastard emperor recently... he keeps sending requests for me to be his concubine. It’s getting rather annoying.”

His fingers stop moving for a moment. The words ‘bastard emperor’ felt like someone cutting his chest open with a knife. He forces himself to start rubbing her shoulders again, trying to make the tension in the air go away.

"Annoying ?” he repeated, trying to sound calm. “How many times has he asked you?”

The question slips out sharper than the scholar that goes by the name of Han Qing Yuan should allow, so he tries to make it sound better by stroking her shoulder gently. He leans in closer, pretending to adjust his grip.

“Like five or six? That Xuanyuan Li Wei is a madman! He really thinks that if he is persistent, I will agree to his demands and become his concubine.”

“Will you, though?”

“Obviously not! I’m not going to just get killed like that. I bet he’s looking for concubines because he wants to...you know, noble men are always like that.”

His eyes widen, not in shock, but rather in an unhinged manner as if suppressing something inside. His fingers pressed down hard on her shoulders before quickly remembering to be gentle.

"Xuanyuan Li Wei, ” Qing Yuan repeats slowly, tasting the words like poison on his tongue.

It sure is funny... how ironic it is. The name.

For it was his own.

Her unknowing lips curse him while his hands knead the tension caused by her body. He chuckles lowly, sending a shiver up Jia Yi’s spine.

“Yuan Yuan? What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, his breath getting closer to her ear before whispering, “What if he wants something more than that?”

He says it, then immediately realizes it was a mistake. He quickly pulls away, clearing his throat before reaching for the porcelain jar.

His hands are shaking a bit. “Forgive me. I was just curious.”

“It’s alright. You say he wants ‘something more than that’? But wouldn’t consummation be the most intimate part of a concubine’s life...” She pauses, going through her thoughts. “Now that I think about it, they say he kills his concubines before the sacred day... I wonder why.”

Before he can reply, she shakes her head vigorously. “We shouldn’t be thinking about that. A madman is a madman. There is a reason the empire calls him a tyrant... I can only wonder why he pesters me, a common physician, so.”

His fingers stop moving against her shoulders, the smell of herbs suddenly too strong. He wants to tell her the truth. But like always, in the end, he holds back.

Instead, Qing Yuan slowly unscrews the porcelain jar, watching the balm glisten in the clinic’s lights.

“Perhaps...” He dips two fingers into the ointment, then pulls the hem of her collar down and presses them gently between her shoulder blades. “...he kills them because they aren’tyou.”