Section 1: The Scent That Didn't Belong Here
The alarm didn't buzz. It screamed.
"Argh—shut up, shut up—!" Moon flailed in the tangle of her sheets, hand slapping wildly at the nightstand. Her phone skittered away, thudding to the floor with a clatter that only made the shrieking worse. "Oh my god, just die already!"
She lunged after it, fingers fumbling over the carpet until she snatched the thing up. Thumb jammed the screen—once, twice—until the noise cut off like a guillotine.
Silence.
Moon collapsed back onto the bed, chest heaving. "...What time is it even?"
She squinted at the cracked display through one bleary eye.
8:05 AM.
Her brain short-circuited. Blink. Blink. Blink.
"O—F***—NO. Not again!"
She bolted upright, blankets twisting around her legs like vengeful vines. Hair exploded in every direction—wild, dark waves sticking up like she'd lost a fight with a windstorm. Golden light slanted through the tiny window, lazy and mocking, painting her cramped room in warm stripes that clashed with the ice in her veins.
"Why is the sunlight so pretty today?" she grumbled, scrubbing her face with both hands. "Stop it. You're making me hate you. I'm late."
Feet hit the floor—cold, like stepping onto a frozen lake. "Ow—cold, cold—why is this floor Antarctica?!"
She hopped toward the bathroom, arms pinwheeling for balance. Flicked the light switch. Harsh fluorescents buzzed on, and there she was: reflection staring back, all sleepy eyes ringed in shadow, cheeks flushed pink from the pillow's crush. Hair a total disaster, like a bird's nest after a storm.
Moon pointed at the mirror, finger jabbing the glass. "Okay, Moon. Listen up. We have early class. Math. Professor Wángs got that glare that could curdle milk. Shower. Now. Or we're toast."
The faucet groaned to life, warm water hissing like an old friend finally waking up. Steam billowed, fogging the mirror in soft curls. Moon stepped under the spray, letting it hit her skin—hot needles chasing the night's chill away.
"Ahh... better." She sighed, shoulders slumping as droplets raced down her back. Sunlight filtered through the frosted pane, catching in her wet hair, turning the dark strands to shimmering silver threads. She pressed her forehead to the cool tile, eyes drifting shut. "Can I just... not go? Pretend the world's not out there?"
The water pattered on, indifferent. No answers. Just the steady rhythm, like a heartbeat she could borrow.
She lingered a beat too long—always did—before shutting it off. Towel wrapped tight, she padded barefoot to the kitchenette, feet leaving damp prints on the linoleum. The apartment hung quiet around her, the kind of silence that echoed. No roommates. No family footsteps. Just her, in this shoebox of a space, with walls thin enough to hear the arguments.
Cupboard creaked open. "Let's see... Bread? Nope, mouldy green. Cereal? Expired last month—great. Coffee... yes, coffee, my one true love."
She measured grounds with a shaky hand, the machine gurgling to life. Black brew dripped slow, filling the air with that bitter, grounding scent. Moon poured a mug, inhaling deep—ahh—before taking the first scalding sip.
Then—
Something else crept in.
Soft. Warm. Floral, like petals unfurling in moonlight.
Moon froze, mug halfway to her lips. "...What... is that?"
She sniffed again, nose wrinkling. Sweet, light—like a flower blooming secret in the dead of night. Orchid? No way. Not in this concrete jungle. "Coming from...?" She twisted, checking her damp towel, the counter's chipped edge, even burying her nose in her hair. Nothing. Just shampoo's faint lavender.
The scent hovered, teasing, then slipped away like smoke. "Huh. Weird. My brain's cooking up ghost perfumes now? Fantastic. Add 'hallucinating smells' to the resume."
She shook it off, grabbing her beat-up backpack from the chair. Stuffed in her notebook, a crumpled protein bar, and the book—The Apothecary Diaries. Pages dog-eared, spine cracked from too many late nights. Her escape hatch.
Moon ran a thumb over the cover, tracing the elegant title. "I want your life, Maomao," she whispered to the faded ink. "Sniffing out poisons, outsmarting snobs... no drama, just results." A pause, grin tugging her lips. "Actually, scratch that. I want Jinshi's life. Pretty face, everyone bowing? Yeah, that'd fix everything."
Sigh. Reality crashed back. She locked the door—click—and stepped into the hall. Down the stairs, boots thumping uneven.
Outside hit like a slap. Wind howled down the street, tugging her coat open. "Oh—okay—rude much?"
Puddles gleamed treacherous on the pavement, reflecting the overcast sky. Cars honked in a symphony of impatience—a taxi swerving wild, nearly clipping a pedestrian. Somewhere, a woman yelled into her phone: "Ma! I told you; the flight's delayed—yes, again!" A scruffy dog lunged at a man's sandwich, leash yanking taut. "Hey! Bad boy—drop it!" The street pulsed alive, chaotic manga backdrop: speed lines from rushing suits, sweat drops on frustrated brows.
Moon dodged a cyclist barrelling past—whoosh. "Sorry—my bad—!"
Her boot splashed a puddle, cold water soaking her sock. "Great. Wet feet. The cherry on this crap sundae."
The bus roared by without stopping, spraying icy mist across her face. She wiped it off with a groan, cheeks stinging. "Thanks, universe. Really feeling the love."
Subway stairs loomed next—dank mouth swallowing her down. The air thickened: metal tang, damp stone, chewed gum stuck eternal to railings. Train screeched in, brakes whining like a banshee. Doors hiss-ed open, spilling out a wave of coats and briefcases.
Moon squeezed in, claiming a sliver by the pole. Bodies jammed tight—a guy in a rumpled suit elbowed her ribs. He muttered, low and gruff, "Move over, kid."
She bit her lip, mouthing silent, "You move, fossil." Hugged her backpack closer, the book's edges digging into her side.
Okay. Breathe. "Just read," she whispered to herself, voice lost in the rattle. "It's fine. We're fine."
She cracked the book open, fingers finding the spot: Maomao bent over a bubbling vial, brow lazy charm, like the world's weight skipped him entirely.
Moon leaned into the page, murmuring, "Why is everyone in this novel gorgeous and employed? Maomao's got skills and zero student debt. Jinshi? Plot Armor thicker than my skull."
The train lurched—a sharp jolt—and the page crinkled under her thumb.
And there it was again.
The scent. Stronger now. Sweet, clean—like orchids after a summer rain, velvet-soft and pulling at her lungs.
"...Again?" Moon's eyebrows shot up, book dipping low. She sniffed discreetly, tilting her head like a confused puppy. The floral whisper curled in, warm against the car's stale sweat-and-coffee fug.
No one else twitched. The suit guy scrolled his phone, oblivious. A teen across the way blasted tinny music through earbuds, head bobbing. An old lady clutched her bag, eyes on the ads overhead—none sniffing, none glancing.
"Seriously?" Moon muttered under her breath, nose wrinkling deeper. "Am I... smelling ghosts? Or is some stealth-perfume bandit in here?"
She scanned the crowd—woman with floral scarf? Nah, that's lavender. Guy with cologne overload? Too musky. The scent settled in her chest, cozy for a heartbeat, like a secret hug. Then poof—gone, dissolving into the train's metallic hum.
Moon leaned her head back against the vibrating wall, eyes half-lidded. "Maybe I'm just wrecked. Late nights, bad coffee... brain's short-circuiting. Or—ooh, plot twist: I'm allergic to adulthood."
Her phone buzzed then—vicious vibration jolting her upright. Heart skipped, slamming against her ribs. Him? Wèi Chén? Birthday text?
She yanked it out, screen blooming bright. Thumb swiped frantic.
Nothing. Zilch. Just the low-battery icon winking red. 10% left. Great.
Moon deflated, exhale long and ragged. "Of course." Slipped it back into her pocket, the weight heavier now. "I should stop checking. Stop hoping. Like, yesterday."
The train screeched to a halt—brakes grinding like teeth on bone. Doors parted, wind gusting wild, whipping her hair across her face. Moon stepped off, boots echoing on the platform tiles, joining the herd surging up toward daylight.
Disclaimer
This story is a work of fan fiction that blends my original character with the world of The Apothecary Diaries. All canon characters, settings, and concepts belong to their respective creators and copyright holders. This is a non-commercial, fan-made reimagining created purely for entertainment. No copyright infringement is intended.