Prologue
The nightmare refused to end.
Still slung under an arm, Maomao was dragged into the next room. She couldn't even fight.
Her heart pounded. Jinshi, the one who was holding her, had a fresh burn on his side. Although she could well be in danger here, as an apothecary, Maomao was drawn to the injury.
It was a good, clean burn. No blood... She racked her brain, asking herself which medicines she would need. Purple Cloud salve, that might be simplest. Purple gromwell, touki, and
beeswax, I think I can get those. Sesame oil, maybe not.
No, this was no good. Maomao shook her head. Purple gromwell was only effective on relatively minor burns, as she'd confirmed on her own arm. It could actually have the opposite effect with more serious burns, she recalled.
Things that work on burns. What works on burns?
At the very least, she would need a balm to prevent the skin from drying out. She would have to find more oil and beeswax.
As she was trying to decide how to treat Jinshi, he finally put her down.
"Master Jinshi," she said. He had collapsed onto the bed, grimacing. "Does it hurt?"
"I must say it does."
And indeed it would. It might be slightly numb now, but pressing a burning brand to your own skin was always going to be painful.
Jinshi's pain, however, appeared to be something else.
"Feeling a wave of regret, sir?" Maomao found herself asking. The man who until moments ago had seemed in control of everything was leaning his forehead against the bed and weeping. Maomao could see no expression on his face in profile, and he himself might not have been aware of the tears pouring from his eyes.
Even as Maomao spoke, she went around the room, wondering what medicines might be available in here. She quickly found a mortar and pestle that she commandeered, along with several trays. She wanted to go to the brazier, try to warm some water, but she wanted to keep it as far from Jinshi as possible. In fact, she moved it to a far corner of the room.
"What would I regret?"
What? It was hard to put into words. Even Maomao understood that Jinshi had absolutely no interest in the throne. Otherwise, he would never have had such good relations with Empress Gyokuyou. If solidifying such relations had been one of his goals here, he had chosen a hell of a way to do it.
Neither did he appear to regret his injury. Much like when he had sustained the wound to his cheek, he had actually seemed pleased. He was not, in fact, as attached to his looks as people around him thought, and he seemed to resent their assumptions.
So why was he so depressed?
Maomao located a spoon and placed it on the table by the bedside. There was a pharmaceutical spatula for stirring medicine, but no bladed instruments.
"His Majesty looked less enraged than...sad. May I take it, sir, that grieving the Emperor was not your intention?" "That's right... I only needed him to get angry."
So was it the Emperor's bereaved look that had so disturbed Jinshi?
I suspect the Emperor...
Maomao thought this had to do with the relationship between Jinshi and His Majesty. And Ah-Duo as well. It was only a distant guess in her mind, but the more she'd had to do with all of them, the more certain she had become—even if she would never have spoken the secret aloud.
It hurts to have your father get angry at you.
Supposedly, one needed objective proof to change a hypothesis into a certainty. Maomao was trying to find that proof among human emotions. What a very vague and unscientific place to look.
And yet, having seen the Emperor's eyes fill with sadness, and the way he hesitated in front of Empress Gyokuyou, Maomao could think only that Jinshi was the current Emperor's eldest son.
I just keep learning things I'd rather not know, she thought. She sighed as she looked at Jinshi. Things seemed to have calmed down a bit, so she made to go to the other room. But Jinshi immediately grabbed her wrist. "Where are you going?"
"To get medicine. The ingredients are in the other room."
Jinshi rose and began opening the drawers of a cabinet along one wall. There were enough medicines in there to make Maomao's head spin, components of every conceivable kind.
"Ngghaa!" She thought she might devolve into waving and drooling. She wanted to burst into her happy dance, but she fought the urge and took a deep breath instead. Jinshi's eyes on her were piercing. Among the variety of things in the drawers was salve, already prepared. She opened the large clamshell and took a sniff. She was greeted by the aroma of honey and the unmistakable scent of sesame. It didn't seem to contain any other ingredients.
She also located disinfectant alcohol and bandages. Then she took the balm and stood before Jinshi. "Master Jinshi, I'm going to treat your injury now. Please let me see it." She tried to get him to sit back down on the bed, but he spun around and sat her down instead. "What do you think you're doing, sir?" She looked at him, hoping her displeasure was evident.
His fingers brushed her chin. She raised her head, trying to avoid him.
"You're going to pretend you can't imagine, when we've come so far? No one else can serve as my nighttime companion now." Jinshi smirked, but fat droplets of sweat showed that he was reaching his limit.
Maomao simply refused to speak. Annoyed, she grabbed his robe, which he was still only half wearing.
"Which of us is it that lacks imagination? Did you think I wouldn't be angry to be put in this position?" She stretched until they were almost nose-to-nose. "What you're doing is tyranny, Master Jinshi. A damn, dirty trick meant to tell everyone what you want. You don't care about anyone else. You don't care about your status. What you've done is self-centered and masochistic and so deeply exasperating that I don't even know what to say about it!"
Jinshi didn't answer, but his face spoke clearly: You obviously do.
"Empress Gyokuyou's son—the Crown Prince—and Consort Lihua's son are both hardly a year old..."
Children were weak. Until they were at least seven, you never knew if they might die. Even if you weren't using a poisonous face powder, they might succumb to illness. Some accident might befall them. They might even be assassinated.
"What exactly is your plan if something happens to the
Emperor?"
"I'm working very hard to make sure nothing does." Jinshi's voice was low and rumbling, nothing like the syrupy nymph's voice he sometimes used. His eyes were dark, and he was obviously clear on what he intended here. Maomao was about to say something else, but the words caught in her throat.
What Jinshi had done was insane. That, at least, was the only thing Maomao or Gyokuyou could have called it. She didn't know what His Majesty must think, but it seemed to have been a bolt from the blue for him.
But then, was it any less mad, what Jinshi had been forced to live with? He had the power; he could have done any number of even crazier things. That he had the generosity of heart to listen to Maomao's words made it hard to shout at him now.
Young women are sometimes described as sheltered, but Jinshi had been similarly isolated, packed into a little box until he had been crushed. Many might have simply died, smashed by the pressure.
I sure as hell wouldn't have put up with it.
Neither, it seemed, would Jinshi. Just like Maomao, he would fight back, try to escape. But unlike Maomao, he would do more than simply let his emotions run away with him, let his feelings dictate his actions. He was a person who thought things through, and at the end of all his thinking, he had come to a most Jinshilike conclusion—and had acted on it.
Maomao was a swirl of emotions. She didn't know what to do. She wished she could have been someone more ignorant of the situation, of human nature. How much easier her life would have been if she could have just stood stupidly to one side and watched.
This son of a...!
She raised her hand, stopping it just in front of Jinshi's forehead. She made a circle with her pointer finger and thumb, then tensed the muscles of her hand and...
"Yowch!"
...gave his forehead a good flick. She could have slapped him, but it would have left a mark, and she didn't want that. She knew very well that this was the height of disrespect, and that it could cost her her head if she wasn't careful. But she figured Jinshi would permit her this much.
Hell, I'm the one being generous, here!
Jinshi had a hand to his forehead and was looking at her, amazed.
"Shut up and let me treat you. Sir."
Jinshi stuck out his lower lip. "I've got a lot on my mind, you know."
"Well, that's not my problem; I'm an apothecary. Let me do my work." On this point, she wouldn't budge. It had been Jinshi's show earlier, but she wasn't going to let him push her around now.
Maomao picked up the spatula she'd found. "I'm running out of time because you won't leave me alone. I'd hoped I could give you some sedatives, but that ship has sailed." She slipped past him, came around behind him, and pressed down firmly.
"Hrgh!" he said, a very un-nymphlike sound. Maomao somehow managed to flip him onto his side on the bed, a pretty good trick considering how large and heavy he was.
She breathed a long breath out as she heated the spatula in the brazier in the corner of the room.
"Please don't move," she said.
"What the hell are you doing? You're not planning to grill me, are you?"
"I'm not grilling anything! I need searing heat to disinfect things." She fluttered the spatula to cool it a bit, then wrapped it in a clean cloth. "We aren't going to burn it away. We're going to cut it."
"Cut...?" Jinshi's face twisted, and then he went pale. But it was too late. He'd done this to himself. Now he would have to live with the consequences.
"If we don't get rid of the charred skin and flesh, the poison will spread from there. I wish I could get rid of all of it, to keep it from festering, but since there are no knives here, this will have to do."
She would use the metal spatula to cut away the ruined flesh.
It would be painful, but he would just have to bear it.
"N-Now, just a minute. Aren't you more worried about some made-up excuse for a knife?"
"I don't want to hear any complaining from the man who burned a brand into his own skin! I don't have any knives here, and shaving the stuff away is the only effective first aid. We can do more long-term treatment later."
She wasn't actually sure that was true—whether she would be able to treat him once they left this room. She wanted to make sure she at least salved the burn to prevent poison from spreading in it.
It's a question of whether we can make time for treatment later.
The night was already late. Maomao had work the next day, as did Jinshi. She had a suspicion he wouldn't take the day off even if she ordered him to. After work tomorrow—well, really, today— she would have to get tools and medicines together and redo her treatment.
In her mind, the biggest question was whether Jinshi could really live his life without anyone discovering his scar. "Can you even change your own clothes?" she asked.
"I'm not a baby."
"I'm sorry, but which of us gets help dressing themselves every day?"
Maomao dipped a bandage into the alcohol from the drawer and pressed it against the wound. The charred flesh had an unmistakable smell.
Maybe I can get some grilled meat for dinner tonight.
"Hey! Did you say something?"
"No, sir. Nothing."
Jinshi winced as she disinfected the area around the wound.
"Keep a stiff upper lip, sir. You can bite on, I don't know, a blanket or something." She turned up the blanket on the bed and pushed it toward him. He reflexively backed away, his lovely countenance twisting in disgust. "You'll bite your tongue," Maomao said.
"I won't," he said. Suddenly—what was he thinking?—he was upon Maomao. He bit into her shoulder.
"Stop that, sir. My hand will slip."
He made a noise that might have been a response. She no longer felt his teeth through the fabric, but he didn't lie back down. She felt only a gentle tugging at her shirt.
"Just don't get any drool on me," she said.
"Mrn..."
Was that a yes? Or a no? She wasn't sure.
Very well. Maomao took this as justification not to hold back. She pressed the spatula to the burned skin. A muffled scream came from right by her ear, but she conducted her work smartly and professionally.
I have to make sure no one else hears him yell like that.
The hand that sneaked around behind her gripped harder and harder. She kept working, even though he seemed bent on making it as difficult as possible.
Chapter 1: Yao's Request
Utterly exhausted or not, morning still came. And with morning came the need to go to work.
Maomao was so tired, she didn't want to think. She was dogged by sleepiness, but the insuperable proposal she faced forced her mind to work.
I wonder if I'll be summoned after I'm done today. I have to think about what medicines I need to treat a burn...
She pondered as she organized a cabinet drawer. The end of the year was approaching, and the apprentice physicians as well as the court ladies assigned to the medical office were cleaning the place top to bottom.
"Phew! Boy, am I tired!" said Yao, giving a big stretch. She had a rag in her hand and was diligently cleaning the shelves.
"You think that about does it?" En'en asked. She wrung out the cloth that she, likewise, was using. The apprentice physicians were mostly handling the heavy lifting; cleaning the room itself was left to Maomao and the others.
"Oh, it's fine," Maomao said, returning the drawers. When they were done cleaning, they would be off of work. Court ladies got vacation over the end of one year and the start of the next. The doctors took shifts staying at court, but there was no need for Maomao and the other women to stick around. Word was that if the young ladies weren't given time off, their families objected vociferously.
Most of them are just here to learn to be decent homemakers, anyway. Or find a husband.
Yao and En'en, however, were here to work, so Maomao doubted they would spend their vacation at home. Yao's father was dead, and control of her family had passed into the hands of her uncle, who was bent on marrying Yao off. En'en, who lived for her young mistress, regarded him as an archenemy.
"Maomao, what are you going to do on your vacation? They
said you were called home yesterday. Are you going to help out with work there?" Yao asked as she dried out her rag and washed her hands.
Being "called home" was a convenient cover for being summoned by Jinshi. The story, she surmised, was that an emergency case had turned up at her father's apothecary shop and she had been called away to help. After all, there had to be something to excuse Maomao's late-night disappearance and predawn return.
So he was planning this all along! She felt anger bubbling up in her, but she knew she had to stay calm for the moment.
The answer to Yao's question was no. Maomao could only wish she was going home for a few days—she would be lucky to get a day trip. A certain idiot nobleman had inflicted a major burn on himself. In fact, he seemed likely to come for her this very day once work was over.
The honest answer, unfortunately, was not one Maomao could give. She tried to think of what she could say instead. Probably best to pretend she would be going back to the pleasure district.
"Yeah. In fact, I expect us to be raking it in this time of year," she said.
"You do?"
"Not every lord with a bulging purse goes home. The more customers who show up, the more the shop profits. We could be very busy."
Yao looked perplexed, but En'en took Maomao's meaning and glared at her. With her information network, she probably knew very well what Maomao's "family home" did. Maomao hardly expected the two of them to show up at a brothel in the pleasure district anytime soon.
"Maomao, if you'd kindly refrain from saying uncouth things in the young lady's presence," En'en said.
But it's true!
In simple terms, men with ample salaries would come to spend them on the butterflies of the night—and because doctors took this time off just like everyone else, the madam insisted that the apothecary shop remain open. Maomao had been planning to go home, since she didn't know if her father would be able to. So much for those plans.
The old hag's going to give me a piece of her mind again.
Maomao was particularly curious how the still-amateur apothecary Sazen was getting along, but she wouldn't get to find out this time. I'm sorry, Sazen! Hang in there!
Even the madam would have to respect orders handed down by an important noble. (Although she might squeeze something out of them for it.) She was a sharp old battle-axe; Maomao would have to be careful not to give her any hint as to the true import of the command.
I entrusted the shop to Kokuyou, so it should be fine...I hope. She thought of the cheery man with the bandage on his face. His knowledge of medicine was trustworthy, but his somewhat lackadaisical personality was less confidence-inspiring.
To these concerns could be added her little patch of medicinal herbs and the madam's various unreasonable requests.
"The poor don't take vacations, I'm afraid. I'm going to stay busy," she said. Yao was silent at that.
"Sounds like you've got a lot going on," En'en said.
"Sure do," Maomao replied without hesitation.
En'en looked at Yao. The young mistress seemed to want to say something, but unfortunately, Maomao couldn't guess what. She put away the cleaning implements, and when she looked at Yao again, she could see the young woman's mouth almost moving. "Is something the matter?" she asked.
"Um... You live at an apothecary's place, right, Maomao?"
"Yes..." Maomao said cautiously. She'd told Yao about that. The other woman seemed impatient about something.
Maomao looked at her, puzzled, and Yao finally summoned the resolve to come out with whatever she was thinking. "D-Do you think maybe we could come to your house on vacation? I mean, tto learn something about medicine!"
"Y-Young mistress!" said En'en, shocked. She couldn't believe Yao had said that.
Well, considering where my house is...
En'en wouldn't want to let her precious mistress take a single step into the pleasure district. She was looking at Maomao, silently begging her to come up with some reason to refuse.
"I don't think you should, Yao. It's not very safe there. And besides, it's full of men who smell worse than the soldiers around here. I think it could be a little risky for you." Maomao had already established that she was going to be busy. She needed to put Yao off, and now.
"But you live there, right, Maomao?" Yao wasn't deterred; in fact, she seemed more determined than ever.
"Yes. I was born there and have lived there my whole life. I know how to handle myself. Not all of us do."
That seemed like common sense to Maomao, but it only made Yao even more set on not losing this argument. "Then I'll just have to get used to it too!"
"Young mistress, it's dangerous! Be a good girl and spend your vacation at home."
"If I do that, he'll come around—you know who!"
Maomao didn't necessarily know, but she could guess: Yao's uncle.
She's looking for sanctuary somewhere, Maomao realized. Bringing Yao and En'en to the Verdigris House, however, would pose far too many problems. Maomao had to be available to attend Jinshi, and she couldn't let anyone know. If worst came to worst, they could shut the madam up with a few coins, but Maomao wasn't sure the same thing would work on Yao. She had to find some way to deflect the eager young woman.
"But where would you sleep? It is a lodging of a sort, but not the kind of place you'd want to stay."
Customers were forever coming and going at night, and Maomao's residence amounted to no more than a shack. A shack in which Sazen and Chou-u were currently living. No, Yao couldn't stay there.
"I don't think you could cope with Maomao's house, young mistress. It's not, ahem, actually a fit place for human habitation." "And how would you know that, En'en?" Yao asked.
Hey! I'm a human! And I habitate there!
So En'en had even investigated where Maomao lived. Talk about your thoroughgoing servants. Maomao wondered if she might even have her suspicions about Maomao's absence last night. She felt a trickle of sweat roll down her back.
"Don't you know anyone else around here? You know, a friend you could stay with?" Maomao asked. It must have been the wrong question, because Yao blanched and she looked like she might, just perhaps, start to cry. En'en snapped, "Apologize right now!" Oops...
Now Maomao realized: Yao didn't have any other friends. It was Maomao's fault for not figuring that out. This was going to take some professional backpedaling. "Of course, with it being the new year, everyone is going to be getting together with their families. Even your friends might not have room for you..."
"That's exactly right. And she thought maybe you would,
Maomao, since you've got work. Right, mistress?" En'en flashed Maomao an approving thumbs-up. Maomao wasn't so sure about this, though. This looked like it was going to end with Yao being invited to the pleasure district.
Worst-case scenario, I guess I can rent them a room at the Verdigris House.
No, that would never do. There were too many customers for there to be any vacant rooms. And even if they had any, the crusty old madam would expect to be handsomely compensated for it—and after all that, Yao would have to endure hearing patrons moan and grunt all night long. Maomao questioned if she would hang onto her sanity. Or for that matter if En'en might simply murder the moaners before the night was out.
The biggest problem, though, was that then Maomao wouldn't be able to hide her absences. Wasn't there some place that could solve everyone's problems?
"So you're looking to stay somewhere other than a typical inn, right?" Maomao said.
"That's correct," En'en replied on Yao's behalf. "She tried to move to a different house once before, but her uncle found her the next day."
Who or what is this uncle? Maomao wondered. If En'en was good at information gathering, maybe that was where she'd learned it.
"You aren't afraid he would find my place just as quickly?"
"No, I think anything in your vicinity would be safe."
What was that supposed to mean?
"Because there's someone who would crush any nasty little bugs who showed up," En'en clarified.
Ah...
She understood: En'en was referring to the strategist who shall not be named.
Maomao felt her blood run cold. Did he suspect anything about last night? If so, the situation had the makings of a civil war.
No... I think I'm still safe.
If he'd had any idea, he would already have smashed through the walls of the medical office. He would be here right now.
Fortuitously, the thought gave Maomao an idea: the perfect place for Yao and En'en to stay. Somewhere safe, somewhere they wouldn't be detected by Yao's relatives, and somewhere they couldn't be extricated from even if they were found.
Yes, such a place existed—but Maomao could hardly bring herself to say it.
"It looks like you've got something in mind, Maomao," En'en said, leaning in. "Won't you share with us?"
Her nose was barely an inch from Maomao's. At this distance, Maomao couldn't even avert her gaze.
Thankfully, Yao stepped in. "En'en, give her some space." Phew. "So, where is this place?" Not phew.
"Where is it?" Maomao asked, holding up her hands in surrender. "Well, it's the house of someone you both know. I absolutely refuse to ask him for this, so if you want his help, you'll have to ask him yourself." Yao came from a good enough family that he wouldn't begrudge them a room, at least. "And by him, I mean a certain penny-pinching, tousle-haired spectacle-wearer."
She spoke, of course, of the freak strategist's nephew, Lahan.
Lahan's house would be a dicey place for Yao and her companion to stay. It certainly met their needs, but at the same time, there were some problems.
Problem one: it was the freak strategist's house.
Problem two: they would be staying at the house of a strange man.
It was, in essence, a widower's house. Hardly the sort of place people would expect some young women to want to spend their time...
"Ahh, what lovely flowers," Lahan said, straightening his glasses.
Immediately after talking to Maomao, they'd written to him and convinced a serving man to deliver the letter. He'd come that day after work, slimy-looking, narrow-eyed, and grinning in the entryway of the dormitory.
Maomao slid away from Lahan. "Are you sure about this? He is, after all, a male of the species," she said.
"I think it should be all right. You can see it in his eyes—he doesn't look evil," Yao answered, unconcerned. In Maomao's opinion, Yao should give it more thought. Lahan could be much more forward than one might expect when it came to women.
"I agree. I think we should be safe with Master Lahan." En'en, whom Maomao had expected to be against this, turned out to be in favor. The reason? "Master Lahan has never had any particular trouble with women—and always picks older women, anyway." I didn't need to hear that.
He was a playboy, if a faintly ridiculous one, and Maomao did not want to know about his taste in women. There were men out there who got their popularity with the ladies by being good talkers, not by being handsome, and Lahan seemed to be one of them.
So it was that Yao and En'en would stay at Lahan's house, just like that.
Lahan picked a moment while Yao and En'en were off preparing and came over to Maomao, smiling contentedly. "I'll be perfectly hospitable to them, don't you worry." He tried to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she batted it away. "You wound me, little sister."
She considered crushing his toes, just a little, but thought better of it.
"Just see that you're more accommodating than that to the Moon Prince," Lahan said, rubbing his foot even though Maomao hadn't stepped on it. What a drama queen.
This son of a...
Maomao glared at Lahan, but he only gave her a meaningful
grin. "Now then, I think you'll soon have another visitor, so I'm going to take these two and be on my way." He winked. Did he know Jinshi had summoned Maomao the night before? For that matter, did he still maintain some secret connection with Jinshi? Maomao wanted to corner him about it, but she didn't want to draw Yao and En'en's attention by making a scene.
This guy is too smart for his own good.
She decided she had better change the subject. "I know it's a little late to ask, since you've already agreed, but did you get permission to bring the two of them home?"
Permission from whom? Why, from the one whose name she didn't wish to say.
"You needn't worry on that count. My honored father is out, and won't be back for several days. Hence why they were able to keep last night a secret too."
Just how much does he know?! She doubted Lahan had all the details, but she was afraid of what could turn into a very unpleasant misunderstanding.
Deliberately or not, Lahan chose that moment to whisper in her ear, "And when can we expect the pitter-patter of little feet?" His glasses flashed.
Maomao balled up her fist, all but overcome by the urge to punch him, but she knew she would only regret it if she got angry here. Instead she forced herself to give him her least interested look. "Heh," she snorted. "I don't know what you're talking about
—you can see I'm completely fine."
She was going to play dumb to the bitter end. Nothing had happened, nothing at all, and she could hold her head high.
"Perfect health...? Wait—does that mean... Have you been taking customers at the Verdigris House?"
Before she could stop herself, Maomao had crushed Lahan's toes underfoot. And there was nothing gentle about it.
"Yowch!" Lahan squawked, his normally narrow eyes going very wide for a moment. He looked up, then rotated his neck. After a second, he clapped his hands. "Ah... Ahh, I understand...
You only have eyes for the Moon Prince!"
He still seemed to be under some kind of delusion, but then, she'd sort of tried to lead him this way. Lahan was grinning an extremely disturbing grin. "Well! If that's how it is, then so be it! If you just keep at it, something will happen. I'll be sure to obtain a guidebook and the most efficacious medicine for you."
Now his expression outright infuriated her. Maomao thought she might be the very embodiment of an enlightened being, having somehow managed to do no worse to him than crush his toes.
"We're ready," said En'en, who emerged carrying two clothwrapped bundles and three oblong chests. She looked like she was ready to move house, not stay over for a few days.
"Will that all fit in the carriage?" Maomao asked Lahan, meanwhile grinding his other foot under her heel.
"Of course—ow! Women always bring plenty of—ow! ow!— baggage. There's more than enough room—ow, ow, ow!"
At least he could be counted on to prepare for something like this. Maomao withdrew her foot and gave Lahan a slap on the back as if to order him to get going.
"Maomao?" Yao gave her a confused look.
"Everything all right?" Maomao asked.
"You're not coming with us?"
What could the dear young mistress be talking about?
"I'm certainly not. In fact, I can't fathom what you're thinking, staying with a man like this."
"If En'en says it's okay, then it must be, don't you think?"
She trusted her attendant—and Maomao granted that it was true: En'en would never let her near a man of ill repute.
Rehashing the argument here would do Maomao no good. If Lahan thought Jinshi's messenger was coming, then she wanted him and the girls out of here—but there was one thing she wanted to be very clear on first. "You really don't care if strange rumors start about you?" she asked Yao and En'en. Two unmarried women staying at a man's house—it was as good as inviting the gossips to draw their own conclusions.
There was a beat in which Yao looked at Maomao, conflicted. She seemed to want to say something, but couldn't manage.
En'en, unable to bear it, finally spoke up. "There's nothing wrong with visiting a friend's house!" "Excuse me?" Maomao burst out.
"Y-Yeah, so if w-we can make out that that's what we're doing, no one will spread any rumors. You have to come with us, Maomao!" Yao stuttered.
"Like fun I do. Anyway, I'll bet that house smells like old person."
"Maomao, you would be surprised how little my honored father smells for his age."
"Excuse me?"
"Maomao," En'en said, massaging Maomao's face again. Yao watched them, on tenterhooks. "We know his 'honored father' isn't there, so you can relax. And don't make that face. It's scary."
"Excuse me? 'Isn't there'?"
"You remember the Go Sage, yes? He's taken my father on a little trip. To another Go contest. Our household has extensive debts to pay off, so we need to earn something."
This was Lahan they were talking about—Maomao was sure he'd made arrangements to sell the strategist's Go book wherever this other contest was being held.
"You sure about that? No telling what he'll get up to. He might come back in more debt than when he left."
"I'm not worried about that. Sir Rikuson's successor has recently begun to settle into his duties, and anyway, the Sage is with him. He knows how to handle my father."
Maomao wasn't clear on what kind of person this Sage was— but if he could beat the strategist at Go, then he must be pretty clever.
"Come on, Maomao, which is it? Are you coming or not?" Yao finally said.
"Yao, my dear, I believe Maomao is otherwise occupied today. Perhaps you would content yourself with me as your guide for the time being."
Lahan looked back. A man in servant's garb was running toward the dormitory—one of Jinshi's messengers. He would summon Maomao elsewhere, put her in a carriage, and take her away.
"I'm very sorry," the messenger said, "but your apothecary skills are needed again today." He was careful to be circumspect about how he spoke with other people present, but he knew his message would get through to Maomao.
"Very well, sir," she replied.
Yao gave her a strange look. "I see... Well, it looks like that's that." She turned away, her expression cold. En'en sighed, but nodded respectfully to Maomao. "We'll see you when we see you, then..." Yao said, but she couldn't quite seem to bring herself to leave.
"Certainly. And if that little man looks like he's going to do anything inappropriate, please run away. Do you have a cleaver to protect yourself with?" This question was directed not at Yao, but En'en.
"I certainly do. Right here." She produced something like a crowbar from the luggage.
"I like the form factor. Short. Useful."
"It won't be useful, because I won't do anything. Nothing to deserve being hit with a crowbar, anyway..." Lahan was holding up his hands in a please-don't-hit-me gesture. Maomao decided to trust him. For the time being.
"And don't you dare try to extort money from them for staying with you."
"I won't! I swear I won't!"
Then again, Maomao reflected, if they paid for lodgings, it wouldn't leave any questionable favors owed. The whole thing stank, but she could only watch the three of them go.
Chapter 2: The Villa
The messenger didn't take her to Jinshi's usual palace, but to a villa outside the court proper.
How many villas does the Emperor have?
Admittedly, it was probably easier to get Maomao into a place like this, given all the stuff she was bringing. Just here in the capital, the Emperor had another villa, the one where Ah-Duo lived. Nobility like him could probably construct a new building or two just to kill some time.
The guard was lighter than usual, and Maomao was brought to a room where Jinshi, Suiren, and Gaoshun all waited.
Not Basen? she wondered, but then she realized this was His Majesty's doing. Basen was smart enough, but he was stubborn. Gaoshun was much more likely to keep his thoughts to himself if she and Jinshi ended up alone together. He might guess something he wasn't supposed to know, but he wouldn't pursue it.
And what's the old lady think of this?
Suiren was smiling like she always did, but her smile could be frightening—precisely because Maomao didn't always know what was behind it.
There seemed to be someone else there too. Maomao could hear the clattering of dishes from within. Had they found someone who could endure Jinshi's beauty and Suiren's severity?
"Is there anything you need, Xiaomao?" Gaoshun asked.
"No, thank you." She'd prepared all her tools herself, along with most of the medical components she might need. She thought it would be best not to give Gaoshun too many clues as to what she would be using. Then, however, she realized there was one thing she did want. "If you happen to have any ice..."
"Certainly." It was not Gaoshun, but Suiren, who answered.
"Chue, bring us some ice, please."
There was a name Maomao didn't recognize. Shortly,
accompanied by distinctive footsteps, a woman emerged holding a large bucket. Her face was tan and her nose low. She was roughly Maomao's age, perhaps a year or two older. Many of the servants of the Imperial family were physically beautiful, but when it came to serving Jinshi, looks were less important than job skills.
Like her namesake, the sparrow, Chue almost looked like she was hopping as she moved; her footsteps made a squeaking sound as she walked.
"I could only find a big block of it. Do you want me to break it up?"
In the bucket was a huge chunk of ice wrapped in reeds. It had probably come from some distant mountain, kept frozen in order to make the long journey to the capital. It was still the cold season, and they could have gotten ice from some local lake, but they would have gone out of their way to get it from somewhere far away.
It's not like I'm going to drink it... She felt a little bad, using something so rich for this purpose, but it was all that she had.
"Do you think you could smash it into quarters?" she said.
"Understood!" Chue produced a mallet from the folds of her robe, rolled back the reeds, and cracked the ice. Maomao rubbed her eyes. She doubted what she had just seen; it seemed like it should have been impossible to do so casually. "Will that do?" Chue asked.
"Thank you. It will," Maomao said with a respectful bow of her head, which Chue returned. She set the bucket of ice in front of Maomao, then wiped the mallet with a handkerchief and returned it to its hiding place. Afterward, she hop-hopped back the way she had come.
"Her name might mean sparrow, but you could take her for a squirrel," Suiren said, looking right at Maomao. She seemed to mean that there was no way a person should have been able to hide a mallet that large in her robe. Then she asked, "Is there anything else you need?"
"No, thank you."
"If you'd come this way, then, please." Suiren led Maomao to an inner room. "You come over here. You can taste-test these new snacks," she said, pulling Gaoshun aside. He didn't question her, but nodded respectfully and sat down where she indicated. Maomao even thought she caught a twinkle in his eye. She gave him a very conflicted look and closed the door.
Jinshi, looking distant, immediately flopped onto the bed. Maomao wasted no time; she put the ice she'd been given in a leather bag and handed it to him. "Press that on your wound, please. Cool it down." Chilling the abdomen could upset the stomach, but it would be better than administering this treatment with nothing to blunt the pain. "If you find yourself wanting to go to the bathroom, tell me right away."
"Is that all you have to say to me?" Jinshi pressed the bag against his side, looking put out.
After a second, Maomao asked, "What should I say to Master Gaoshun and Mistress Suiren? I suppose I can feel free to ignore the...other person out there."
Maomao took out the medicines and instruments she'd brought along, which included a small knife for cutting away the burned skin. The people out there might trust her, but if they had any idea she was carrying what amounted to a weapon, they would never have left her alone with Jinshi.
What would they do if they thought I was an assassin? True, Jinshi could overpower her if he had to, but it still seemed impossibly incautious.
"Gaoshun is here on the Emperor's orders," Jinshi said. It wasn't really an answer, but Maomao understood what he meant. If His Majesty had told Gaoshun to be here, he had probably also informed him that Jinshi's body effectively had become a bomb, and that no one but Maomao was to touch him. Gaoshun might or might not know the details, but unlike Basen, he would do his duty faithfully. "And," Jinshi continued, "it was Suiren who prepared the brand."
Maomao froze. "Why in the world would she do that?" Had
Jinshi deceived his caretaker, duping her into making the brand somehow? Maybe not; Maomao doubted whether he was capable of outwitting the old woman. Neither option seemed possible.
"Suiren is my ally," Jinshi said. Maomao found it hard to comprehend. If Suiren had really been Jinshi's nursemaid, contributed to his education and upbringing, how could she possibly countenance what he had done to himself?
I can't imagine what Suiren is thinking. Was it possible that Gaoshun was here not just to keep an eye on Jinshi, but to monitor Suiren as well? Stop. Don't think about it. That's not what
matters now.
Maomao brought over the candle that served as the room's illumination and put the dagger in the flame to sanitize it. She shook the knife to cool it a little, then prepared to resume the previous day's work.
Jinshi was still chilling his side.
"Loosen your belt, please," Maomao said.
"Er... Yes, of course." There was a swish as Jinshi undid the belt and removed the bandage. Under a thick layer of salve was burnt flesh that Maomao had been unable to remove before.
"You've eaten?" she asked.
"Yes, I'm done."
"Take this, then." She mixed medicine into some hot water, drinking a mouthful for his benefit.
"A painkiller?"
"It's to stop infection. Do you need a painkiller?" "I do."
"Huh! I wouldn't have expected it. Here I thought you did this sort of thing for fun."
It was a joke, albeit a barbed one. She added some analgesics to the cup. Even if he drank it now, though, it wouldn't stop the pain he would feel when she started cutting.
Maomao wiped the balm off Jinshi's side, then rubbed the skin with alcohol. It was very cold to the touch thanks to the ice; when she poked it with her finger, it was slow to bounce back. She passed Jinshi a handkerchief. "It's going to bleed. Could you wipe it for me? And get off the bed. You won't do any of us any favors getting blood on it. I've got it—lie here, on your side."
Maomao lined up three chairs, and Jinshi lay down as she asked. His feet stuck off the end, but they would just have to live with it. Maomao covered the area around Jinshi's wound with oil paper, spreading some on the ground as well.
Jinshi and Maomao were the only ones in the room. She couldn't ask anyone to help her. Jinshi nodded that he was ready. "Here I go."
Jinshi, anxiety written on his face, sucked in a breath but said, "All right." Concern was, perhaps, the natural reaction when someone was about to plunge a knife into your skin, but nonetheless his expression seemed odd.
Maomao dug the knife into the burned skin. Blood bubbled up immediately.
Don't tell me he's a little...excited?
Jinshi's pallor was good, showing he had excellent blood flow— but that defeated the purpose of chilling his skin. She would have to work quickly.
She started cutting away the remaining charred flesh. Blood poured out, and she relied on Jinshi to keep it at bay. She was making every effort to keep the cuts as shallow as possible, but this wasn't like filleting a fish. Blood dripped onto the oil paper on the floor. Ploop, ploop.
After Maomao had removed the last of the burned skin, the shape of the brand and the details of the crest stood out all the more.
I wish I could just cut that straight off, she thought. Removing all the burned skin so the brand could no longer be seen would cut her troubles in half at the very least. At this moment, however, she had to prioritize proper treatment. Her specialty was herbs and medicines; when it came to what she was doing to Jinshi now, she was barely better than an untrained amateur. She didn't want to do anything that would provoke more bleeding than necessary.
She stanched the blood with puhuang, then pressed gauze covered with oil paper to the wound. She cinched the bandage down tight to help stop the bleeding.
Maomao exhaled heavily, then wiped up the rest of the blood with a handkerchief. Jinshi's hand where he had been holding the cloth in place was filthy.
"Here." Maomao wet a rag and passed it to him. "I have medicine for you to take each day, and a salve to put on the wound. I've also prepared coagulants, in case the bleeding doesn't stop. I have ten days' worth of fresh bandages and gauze." She patted a small chest containing the supplies. "Since I know you're a quick study, Master Jinshi, may I assume you've already picked up how to secure the bandage?"
"As far as it goes, yes..." Jinshi looked like there was more he wanted to say.
"And you can dress yourself?"
"Yes," he said with profound annoyance. Maomao suspected she knew what it was he was holding back.
"I wish I could come to check on your progress every day, but I think the best we can hope for is about once every three days. Daily would be asking too much. That's why I need you to be able to change your own bandage."
During the vacation, it might be manageable. As long as Yao and En'en weren't around, she might even be able to keep them in the dark about her nighttime excursions. But there were too many eyes and ears out there to keep things completely secret.
The rumor mill was already working the last time he came to the pleasure district.
Back then, he'd appeared every ten days so she could check on the scar on his face. He'd worn his mask, but that had only made him more provocative and mysterious. The signs had been obvious: from his clothing and perfume, everyone in the pleasure district had been able to tell he was somebody important.
But what the hell am I supposed to do about it?
Considering the severity of Jinshi's current injury, he should have had a proper doctor look at it immediately. Maomao specialized in herbs, internal medicine. She was no expert when it came to surgery. Yes, she'd once helped amputate an arm when a soldier had been wounded in a bandit attack, but that was because her hand, as it were, had been forced.
"You've gone quiet. Anything else you need to tell me?"
"I'm thinking, sir. I have a lot on my mind."
Curse this root of all evil! And now the root was talking to her?
Jinshi came closer to Maomao, who immediately backed away.
"What?" he asked, disappointed that she should run.
"Don't get so close. I stink. I've been sweating."
"It can't smell that bad."
"It's enough to bother me."
She'd wiped herself down before setting out for Jinshi's
chambers, but she had been sweating from every pore and felt disgusting. Cutting away Jinshi's burn had been nervous work. This wasn't exactly the fine sweat one produced from exercising either; it was oily and stank.
Maomao took another step back. "What do you intend to do in the future?"
"Healing people is an apothecary's job, isn't it? Good thing I have one right here."
The way he said it, so casually, made her want to punch him right in his beautiful face. Instead she took a deep breath, poured some water from a carafe into a cup, and took a drink. She didn't bother asking Jinshi for permission.
Calm down calm down calm down!
"You're right, sir, apothecaries do treat illnesses and injuries. But that burn is beyond my abilities. When it comes to surgery, I can only ape what I've seen others do—I've never formally learned. I'm not even certain that what I've done to treat you is correct."
"You just did it, didn't you? I don't suppose you intend to stick any more bladed objects into me?" Jinshi rubbed his side jovially.
Before she could stop herself, Maomao slammed both hands on the table. It made her palms tingle, and she glanced around to see if anyone outside had noticed the noise. The chambers were spacious enough that she hoped not.
"First you put a scar on your cheek, then you put a burn on your belly—and you expect me to just trust that you won't do any more harm to yourself after this?!" She shook out her hands even as she yelled. She wanted to believe that Jinshi wasn't simply being overoptimistic, but once he did something, it would be too late. In short, Maomao was feeling her own powerlessness, and feeling it keenly.
I have to do something about this!
She thought of her old man. He'd taught her a great deal about herbs and medicines, but of surgery he had taught her only the barest facts. He had ordered her sternly never to touch a human corpse.
Maomao's lips pinched together and she looked at Jinshi.
"Master Jinshi," she said.
"What?"
"I am currently one of the court ladies assigned to assist the physicians. I'm not sure I'm the most suited for the job, but I passed the test and earned the position on merit. How much privilege does it give me?"
For the moment, Maomao's work consisted mostly of washing bandages and mixing simple medical concoctions. Maybe administering first aid for the mildest injuries. Those with serious afflictions were always sent to the veterans. Maomao wanted to know how much treatment she would actually be allowed to do, providing her abilities were up to the task.
Jinshi put a hand to his chin. "There is no official line in the sand. I suppose it would depend on the higher-ranking physicians' caseloads."
"Is that so, sir?"
Maomao thought of Dr. Liu. Of the ranking physicians, he was first among equals. If she was going to beg anyone to teach her, it would have to be him, or perhaps—
My old man would be pretty sad if I asked him to teach me to do surgery.
Not mad, sad. Her father, Luomen, was just that sort of person.
On some level, she thought she understood why he didn't want to teach her surgery. It involved much that people considered impure, and even other doctors acted like it was something wholly different from treatment with medicine. She'd heard that it was worse in the west—that there, barbers doubled as surgeons!
Luomen had been persecuted himself, and had seen it happen to others. No doubt he had raised Maomao in the apothecary's tradition to save her from such calumny.
And I'm grateful for that. But...
Maomao's life had turned out far more full of drama than even Luomen had probably expected.
"Master Jinshi, I'm going to try to ask my father to teach me. You have no objection, I trust?" It would be best, she figured, to ask her old man first.
"Sir Luomen?" Jinshi feigned a moment's thought. "Very well."
Luomen was a man of deep insight, and if Maomao came to him asking to learn surgery, he might suspect that something was up. At the same time, he would never speak of anything he only assumed.
I'm sorry, Pops, Maomao thought. She felt so anxious she thought a hole might open in her stomach, but staying silent would be even worse. You can blame it on him. She glared at Jinshi.
As for Jinshi, he gazed up at the ceiling. "It will be well if Sir Luomen agrees..." Jinshi started. Maomao, cleaning up her workspace, nearly said that it wouldn't be well at all. She pulled up the bloody oil paper and put it in a leather pouch. She wiped up the blood that had gotten on the chairs and floor. She made her own eyes bloodshot trying to make sure there wasn't a trace of the stuff left anywhere.
By the time Maomao was done cleaning up, Jinshi seemed to have reached his conclusion.
"I'll be going, sir," Maomao said.
"Already?"
"I've done what I came here to do."
The nobleman gave her a beseeching look, but she couldn't stick around and entertain him forever. At this hour, she might still be able to get back to the dormitory.
She picked up the last of her tools, then fixed Jinshi with a look. I have to make sure this part gets through to him. "What you have to bear, Master Jinshi, I don't believe I could ever carry. Perhaps that's why you did what you did." She took a deep breath, let it out—then grabbed Jinshi by the lapels. "But you will
not do it again."
It was a miracle that she didn't sound enraged.
Jinshi awkwardly avoided her gaze.
Is he going to be all right? she wondered. She was still anxious as she took her belongings and left the room.
Chapter 3: Kada's Book (Part 1)
The next day, Maomao was awoken by a shout from the woman who ran the dormitory. "You've got a visitor!" she called.
Maomao got changed, rubbing her eyes all the while, then went to the front door to see who it was. She found a gentle but perpetually worried-looking old man—her adoptive father.
"Wh—" She was about to ask what was wrong, but then she remembered. She'd spoken to Jinshi about contacting Luomen the night before.
He works fast!
Judging by Luomen's expression, Jinshi's letter had explained exactly what Maomao wanted to know.
"Um, so, Pops..." She wasn't quite sure how to explain, but her father narrowed his eyes and let out a small sigh.
"Perhaps we should have this conversation somewhere else." He plopped a hand on Maomao's head.
A carriage stood ready outside. With his bad knee, even walking around town was almost more than Luomen could manage. But where did he intend for them to go?
As they bounced along in the carriage, Maomao talked, but she felt ill at ease the whole time, having to keep secrets. "Are you on vacation too, Pops?"
"For today, yes. I have to work tomorrow. There are no extended breaks for medical staff."
True, nor for pretty much anyone at the court. A minimum number of medical personnel had to be present at all times. Certainly there would be trouble if there wasn't at least one qualified doctor to attend all the high muckety-mucks.
Wish I could have been part of that, Maomao thought, even though she knew there were limits to what court ladies like her would be allowed to do. Never mind the fact that she was pretty sure she was working harder than some of the less committed young physicians.
After a bit more being rattled and bumped by the carriage, they reached a mansion that inspired a nameless but unpleasant feeling in Maomao. They were on the eastern edge of the capital, not quite where the nicest houses were, but still, this one was quite large. It must have been a striking building in its time, but it was old now.
The first thing she noticed was a strange monument near the gate. It looked like a giant Go board, and there were big, round, black and white stones nearby. You could have used them to play an ordinary game, except for their massive size.
In addition to the black and white stones, she saw what looked like Shogi pieces. These were made of wood rather than stone, and the color of the ink used to inscribe their names was faded. If the characters hadn't been carved into the wood, it might have been impossible to know which piece was which.
The board had carefully wrought lines, and appeared to be intended for both Go and Shogi. Its size suggested it was a single hunk of rock. She couldn't imagine what it had cost to get it there. A waste of money if there ever was one.
Had the owner of the house commissioned it himself, or had someone given it to him? Whatever the case, the way it stuck out into the road made it an obstacle and nothing but.
At this point, surely we need not explain further whose house they had come to.
Maomao and her father passed through the ruined gate, whereupon he emerged with a vile grin on his face.
"Granduncle! Maomao! Welcome home!" It was Lahan, his already narrow eyes narrowing further with his unctuous smile.
Yes: they were at the house of the freak strategist.
"This is a stranger's house," Maomao said.
"And I was chased out," Luomen said, each of them rebuffing Lahan's welcome in their own way.
When Luomen had suggested a change of location, Maomao had never imagined he would bring them here. Worse, it so happened that two other people were there at this moment as well.
"Good morning, Master Luomen. Maomao, how nice of you to join us," said En'en, approaching from behind Lahan. She gave Luomen a respectful bow, while to Maomao she offered a brisk nod of the head and a reproving look.
"It was never my intention, believe me," Maomao said.
"Well, it certainly should have been. You belong here." En'en kept glancing back. Maomao followed her gaze to see Yao hiding behind a post. En'en's eyes said: One does feel sorry for the
young mistress. But she's so cute!
Lahan, perhaps aware of En'en's proclivities, looked at her with something critical in his glance, then turned to Luomen. "How many years has it been since you lived here, Granduncle? You left before I can even remember—and I don't think you've been back since, no?"
"Let's see, now... It must be at least eighteen years. I returned once to collect my things, but no more than that." Maomao's father was looking fondly into the distance. His banishment from this house would have corresponded roughly with when he began raising Maomao.
"Your room is still here, Granduncle, although one could wish you'd informed me a little sooner that you would be coming." He scratched his cheek. "I just lent your annex to these two. The library's still here—but if you're going to be staying, I can prepare a room in the main house. How would you like that?"
"No, thank you, you needn't go out of your way. I won't be staying over. I only came to give Maomao a bit of homework. I must say, though, the place has rather gone to seed since I saw it last."
"Don't worry, we clean it regularly."
Homework? Maomao thought. It seemed Luomen was going to do what he could to maintain face in the teeth of Jinshi's request. If this homework had to do with surgery, then Maomao would gladly play along. But she had a sense it wasn't going to be as straightforward as that.
Quite apart from Maomao's ruminations, Lahan continued to speak with Luomen. "In any case, I'm sure my honored father would be overjoyed if you were to come live with us."
"I'm afraid not. My bad leg makes the dormitory much more convenient—closer to court. This house would be a bit far for me."
"Simple enough—just use a carriage."
Maomao suspected that Lahan's true motivation was to rope Luomen into helping him look after the old fart, which had to be a lot of work all on his own.
Luomen kept smiling, but gently refused. Lahan, for his part, wasn't going to push the matter too hastily—but he seemed likely to continue mulling it over.
"Yao. En'en. I'd like to go to the annex; is that all right?" Luomen said.
"I don't mind," En'en said, "but..." She looked at Yao, who, to answer a question from Luomen, was willing to come out from behind her post.
"It's...all right with me too..."
It sounded like there was something behind her words; she glanced at Maomao, but Maomao limited her response to a polite bow. She was more interested in whatever this homework was that Luomen had mentioned.
Yao said, "What's this homework thing? Is Maomao going to get special instruction that we don't?" Her face was a little bit scary. En'en was gesticulating from outside of Yao's line of sight, trying to communicate something to Maomao.
Sorry... I don't understand.
Luomen looked troubled by Yao's critical tone, but he replied,
"A fair question. In fact, I thought it was perfect timing, when Lahan told me you were here. It wouldn't be good to teach certain things only to Maomao."
"Then you'll teach us about medicine, sir?" she asked, the clouds she was under parting ever so slightly.
"Not immediately. One must prove oneself worthy to learn the secrets of medicine. I want to make sure the two of you—really,
the three of you, for I include Maomao—are prepared to do what it takes. If that's all right?" Prove oneself worthy?
That sort of talk wasn't like her old man, Maomao thought. He loved sharing his knowledge and gave freely of the store of his wisdom to anyone who asked. He resisted privileging anyone over anyone else, or considering one person more deserving than another.
"I'll explain once we get to the room. I know Maomao is ready.
What about the two of you?" "I'm all set," Yao said.
"If Lady Yao is prepared, then so am I," said En'en.
They followed Maomao's father, as, needless to say, did Maomao.
So they're coming with us? Maomao felt a surge of anxiety. She knew what "medicine" her father was to teach them about— but the other women had no idea. Yao was a young lady of respectable upbringing, and En'en was her servant.
I know we're not going to teach them to make bold, new concoctions or anything, but still... En'en might be flexible, but Yao could be stubborn. Maomao continued to feel uneasy as she followed Luomen. There was scant conversation, so she busied herself looking around the grounds. There's nothing as weird as
the giant Go board outside, she thought.
She saw a garden, but it was rather bare of ornamental plants. There were a few large rocks around, arranged in a way that had a certain elegant simplicity. It looked like Lahan's work to her.
She couldn't help noticing an unsettling collection of scorches and cut marks on the house's posts and railings. She wondered if there had been a melee in here.
I guess he did chase his family out, and make plenty of political enemies. Maybe she shouldn't have been surprised if he'd found himself having one or two running battles on the grounds of his own home.
As a matter of fact, this was the first time she had ever been to the freak's house. He'd tried to carry her off several times when she was little, but each time the old madam had beaten him with her broom and freed Maomao. Not to mention the various times Lahan had had to come cart off the hog-tied old fart.
"Do you get a lot of bandits around here?" Maomao grumbled, running her fingers along one of the scorched posts. The vermilion lacquer had been stripped off, and it was obvious no one had seen any benefit in trying to repair it.
"Oh, you make it sound like such a pit," Lahan said. "Use your eyes! My honored father made those scorch marks, and can't you tell how old the sword gouges are? There haven't been nearly as many break-ins over the last decade."
That caused Yao and En'en to take a step back.
So they still get a few, I guess?
Maybe the scorches had been caused with fire powder or the like. Talk about being a neighborhood nuisance.
"You just leave it to your big brother. I've hired twice as many guards as usual!"
"Meaning you normally hire half as many as you need, I'm sure. There are to be no burglars around here," En'en muttered. She hadn't gone to all this effort to get Yao away from her awful uncle just to be attacked by brigands.
Lahan smirked in response. They passed the main house, making their way toward the annex. It was less expansive than the main building, but still better appointed than the average commoner's dwelling.
"Here it is," Lahan announced.
Maomao looked inside. It was hardly ostentatious, but it wasn't plain either. If En'en had decided it was an acceptable place for her young mistress to stay, it couldn't be that bad.
"Did you both sleep well last night? If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to let me know," Lahan said to his guests, rather more obsequiously than he had spoken to Maomao. Maybe
they need a place where there aren't any break-ins! Maomao
thought.
"Thank you. Yes, we slept quite well. It was an unremarkable night, and so long as no burglars show up, I think we should be fine," En'en said, not neglecting to slam the point home even as she offered Lahan a respectful nod.
"And you have enough servants?"
"Yes. As long as she has me around, the young mistress doesn't need anyone else to take care of her." En'en puffed out her chest; Yao looked away awkwardly.
"Well, if there's nothing else, then I'll go back to the main house," Lahan said.
Maomao took another look at the garden. There were very few servants here, relative to the size of the estate. The only people she saw were a man doing some repairs on the house, and three little girls somewhere around ten years of age. Wait, maybe one of them was a boy.
"You hire children?" Maomao asked, stopping Lahan before he could make his exit.
"I think of it less as hiring and more as making an investment," replied Lahan.
"Oh, for..." Maomao said. Yao and En'en now also listened with interest.
"My honored father sometimes takes in children with nowhere to go. He claims to think they'll be useful."
"Ah. I see."
The freak strategist was a write-off as a human being, but he was an excellent judge of character.
"We were only trying to take in the one child," Lahan added. "But the other two came along themselves, and we ended up with all three of them." He didn't appear to feel it was a bad deal— raising three children to get one excellent functionary later. It might mean three mouths to feed now, but the investment would pay off years in the future.
"Um," Yao said, hesitantly raising her hand. "When will the owner, Master Lakan, be home?"
Maomao had very much wanted to know exactly that.
"He's away for at least three days. Probably longer. He said something about a best-of-three competition with the Go Sage, and they can't finish a single game in a day." Lahan looked directly at Maomao as he spoke, as if to reassure her that the freak really wasn't here. "It might not be an official engagement, but there are sure to be spectators. They'll probably rent a building where everyone can stay."
"He didn't do that just for us, did he?" Yao asked, surprised.
"No, this is something they do annually. Surely I can be allowed to get out from under my father's thumb for a few days a year? Your letter just happened to arrive at the perfect moment." "You're sure about us, then?" Yao asked.
"It's all right. As long as you don't mean any harm, my father won't care. Even if he gets back while you're still here, you're welcome to stay. Notwithstanding his tendency to pick up stray children, he doesn't have a very good memory for who he's brought into this house."
There was something within the freak that enabled him to distinguish friend and foe almost immediately. So long as Yao and En'en showed no hostility toward him, there wouldn't be a problem.
"Now, as I think my continued presence can only hinder you, I'm going to make myself scarce. Good to see you again, Granduncle. Let me know when you want to go home and I'll have a carriage made ready."
"Certainly, thank you."
Lahan was about to head back to the main house when he stopped and said, "Ah, that's right. Maomao." Maomao didn't say anything.
"If you ever decide you want to live here, you're welcome anytime."
"Let's not waste our time talking about things that will never happen," she said, giving him a glare as if the bespectacled buffoon might as well have been talking in his sleep.
"Never? I think you might find yourself wanting to stay for a good, long time. We have something you want, and anyway, this place is full of fun surprises."
And with that moderately sinister comment, Lahan was gone.
"Like hell," Maomao grumbled, and looked around the annex. It was an antique. As they proceeded down the hallway, she found a kitchen and a living area to the left, while the bedroom was to the right. The one thing that struck her as strange was the walls. They used two kinds of wood to create a two-tone color.
She opened the door at the far end of the hallway and stopped. She smelled paper.
The room beyond was full of shelves lined with old medical treatises, and against the opposite wall was a chest of drawers of the kind used to store medicine. The walls in the room had the same two-tone pattern as the others, while the floor was covered with a faded carpet, and the ceiling contained a mandala-like image divided into nine segments.
She didn't have enough attention, however, to take all that in.
Now I get it. She looked at Luomen, whose hand brushed the shelves nostalgically.
"This is amazing. I can't believe something like this here. It has to be at least as good as the medical archives," Yao said, but it went in one ear and out the other for Maomao. She was pulling out the drawers of the medical chest, her eyes shining. There was nothing in the drawers, as she'd expected, but the odors of old medicines that had permeated the wood tickled her nose.
Next she took down one of the books, an old thing nibbled by silverfish. Her old man had moved to the pleasure district to raise her; the elderly eunuch, late of the rear palace, must have left with hardly more than the clothes on his back.
Maomao spotted plenty of books she'd gotten in trouble for trying to peek at in her younger days. She could feel the drool dribbling from her mouth.
En'en sidled up to her. "I could hardly believe it when I saw this yesterday. All notable books on medicine."
"Huh!" Maomao wiped her mouth and tried her best to look cool and collected, but the grin quickly overtook her face again.
"There's no way you could ever read all of these in one night," said Yao. "You probably couldn't even get through them if we spent the whole break on it."
"That's so true. It's such a shame. If you were to stay here with us, Maomao, you could read them." En'en gave Maomao a pointed nudge.
Now Maomao understood what Lahan had meant. He was hoping to appeal to Maomao's personal interests to hook her.
Maomao gave herself a hearty slap on both cheeks and looked at Luomen. "So, uh, Pops. How exactly do we prove ourselves worthy?" Despite Yao and En'en's presence, she lapsed into a familiar tone.
Luomen, his brow still furrowed, touched one of the bookshelves. "It's quite simple. You must be able to take up a certain medical treatise that is somewhere in this room."
"Take up?"
What an odd way to put it. Did he mean, not pick it up physically, but accept its contents? Was he saying they needed the knowledge to show they could understand this book?
"What's this about a certain treatise?" Yao asked, focused on the issue at hand.
"It's called Kada's Book," Luomen said. Kada—that was the name of a legendary physician. He was said to have had inestimable medical knowledge and the ability to heal any affliction. Many of the stories made him sound less like a real man and more like a mythical immortal.
"I don't understand, sir," Yao said. Her forthrightness was one of her strengths.
"Then I suppose this task will be very hard for you," Luomen said. It was strange for him to be so cold; normally he would never be so unkind.
All this stuff about being worthy... I think he doesn't want to teach us, Maomao thought. She was starting to think it had been a mistake to have Yao and En'en here. Luomen might have made the challenge even more difficult than he'd originally planned in order to save them from whatever was going on. For the sake of their futures, he didn't want Maomao or either of her companions to continue down the path of medicine.
So out of all the many books in this room, they were to find Kada's Book, whatever that was, and grasp its contents.
That's a fiendish job. A kind of problem quite different from the ones Jinshi usually caused for her.
Luomen was about to leave the room, as if to signal that he was done here, when En'en raised her hand and said, "Pardon me, sir. There's something I'd like to be certain about."
"And what is that?"
"This book... It is in this room, isn't it?"
"That's right. Or at least it was when I left this house. Assuming no one has been mucking about in here, it should be here yet."
"And the book is named after Kada?" En'en said, writing out the characters with motions of her finger, just to be clear.
Luomen's face drooped slightly.
I knew En'en was a sharp one, Maomao thought. That slight shift of the features was Luomen's tell when he felt his back was against the wall. It was as good as announcing that En'en had put her finger on the heart of the problem.
"Yes, that's right," he said. "Although I make no guarantees that the book carries that exact title. But yes, Kada it is."
Maomao searched her mind for anything else she might ask her father, but En'en had more or less covered the bases.
"I have a question too," Yao said, raising her hand. "Go ahead."
"Is this a task Maomao could complete by herself?"
After a beat, Luomen replied, "I doubt it. To be quite frank, the two of you being here was something of a miscalculation on my part." He said no more, but limped out of the room, leaning on his cane.
"I have no idea what he's talking about," Maomao grumbled, even as she picked up a book. It was thoroughly insect-eaten, having sat for nearly twenty years. Between the humidity, the sun, and the bugs, some of the books were starting to fade, while others were nearly in tatters. Most of them were made of paper, rather than being written on rolls of wood strips, which would probably have been too bulky to store many of in one room.
"They've never aired these things out. Look at the state of them," Yao said.
"Yeah. I wish I could copy them out—I'd hate to lose all these books," Maomao replied. She imagined getting the quack doctor to procure some top-quality paper from his hometown so she could make nice, clean copies. Most of the books contained useful information, and if it hadn't been for Luomen's "homework," she would gladly have perused them all at length.
Ooh, here's a concoction I've never tried!
She shook her head, trying to convince herself not to get lost in the tome she was holding. She didn't have time for this. By evening, she would have to go back to Jinshi. She wanted to do this and be done with it.
"So, uh, you two. You said you've been reading these books since yesterday? What do you make of them?"
"I mean... They all seem profitable," Yao said.
"I agree. All very helpful. But we didn't see anything that I would characterize as Kada's Book," said En'en.
The first problem was understanding what "Kada's Book" even was.
One thing I'm sure of: my old man wouldn't give us a problem with no solution. He said there was a book that met his
description—and he had told them to "take it up."
Maomao looked at the shelves with a Hrm. Luomen was a genius—give him one and he would deduce ten. He would know perfectly well what was likely to have happened to these books over the previous twenty years. Even if, as Luomen suggested, no one had touched them, they would still be bug-eaten and coming apart at the seams. Some of them might not even be readable anymore.
"Yao, En'en. Do you think we could go over our facts, just for starters?"
Luomen had said Maomao couldn't figure this out by herself. She'd assumed that was because there were so many books that one person could never search through them all alone, but three people together didn't seem to have much more hope. Which meant there was some hurdle besides sheer quantity.
"What do you mean? Like, talk about what books there are?" Yao said.
"The shelves are organized by subject. Would you like me to sketch it out?" En'en said.
"If you'd be so kind."
En'en began to write on a piece of paper in neat letters, giving the location of each shelf and the subject of the books housed there. "That reminds me—there are numbers on the spine of each book, to help catalog them," she said.
Maomao looked at the book she was holding. The cover was made of a good, sturdy material, so it had resisted the bugs. She could still clearly read an inscription on the spine: 二—1—I.
"I don't, uh, exactly get it, but you said these are numbers, right?" Yao said. No wonder she was confused; she couldn't read any foreign languages. Maomao and En'en were both familiar with the basics, so they could follow the numbering system.
"Yes, those are western numbers," En'en said, adding the numbering on the spines to her diagram.
Maomao looked closely at the book, and then she noticed something. "I'm sorry, but did one of you take the book that belongs here?" She pointed in between two books on the shelves.
"No. I put back everything I took out," En'en said.
"Me too," added Yao. "The one I have right now, I got from another shelf. Why? What's the matter?"
"One of the numbers seems to be missing."
The books were lined up according to numbers on their spines, but one of them wasn't there.
"Which number is it?" En'en asked.
"一-2-II," Maomao replied. "I'm going to check the other shelves." She proceeded to do just that. Yao moved to help, but since she couldn't read many of the numbers, she was mostly left to watch Maomao work. Finally Maomao said, "Nothing is missing over here."
"Anywhere else?"
"I'd have to look... But I doubt it." One single, missing book.
Did my old man take it? Maomao hrmed again. She didn't remember any books in their shack in the pleasure district.
"Do you think we should check with Master Lahan?" En'en asked, adding the number 一-2-II to her notes. Then she set down her brush. En'en was very good at finding things out, and Maomao had high hopes for this. "He'll probably be by around noon," En'en said, looking out the window to check where the sun was in the sky.
"So he comes to tell you when lunch is ready?"
"No, he comes to eat. Speaking of which, I should start cooking."
"You do the cooking?" Maomao asked, incredulous.
"He said he would provide meals for us, but En'en insisted on doing it herself. Master Lahan provides ingredients and a kitchen to work in, but he seems quite taken with En'en's cooking. He was here for dinner last night and breakfast this morning," Yao said.
What useful exposition.
I get it...
Lahan loved beautiful things, lovely things—and that extended to flavor. If he could enjoy sumptuous tastes in the company of two beautiful women, he must be on cloud nine.
What a scumbag.
Maomao thought En'en was giving too much ground here. She should know that the tousle-haired spectacle-wearer couldn't get enough of beautiful women.
"I'll be going, then. I'm making your favorite, young mistress— duck! Kindly take care of things here, Maomao," En'en said, and then she showed herself out of the room.
Guess En'en's a lot more interested in her young mistress's nutrition than in being worthy or whatever. Maomao was starting to regret trusting that En'en would help her learn what she wanted to know.
"She didn't have to ask you. I can look through bookshelves perfectly well," said a sullen Yao. En'en's Young Mistress Sense must have been tingling, for despite having just left, Maomao noticed her peeking through a crack in the door. She decided to do her a favor and not say anything. En'en was studying Yao intently, as if engraving her expression into her memory.
"We're going to ask Master Lahan about the missing book, so maybe we should look at the ones that are left?" Yao said.
"Well, about that..." Maomao had been considering a great many possibilities. She knew far more about her father, Luomen, than either Yao or En'en—so she had a better chance of guessing what he was up to. She took a book off the shelf and flipped through it. Pieces of some of the age-worn pages were missing, while others were stuck together from the humidity. Trying to force them apart would probably render them unreadable. "I have a suspicion that Kada's Book isn't a book book, like this." "What do you mean?" Yao asked.
"My old man—er, I mean, Luomen said to take up Kada's Book. I don't know exactly what he meant by 'take up,' but if we can't even read what's in it, we won't get anywhere, right?" She pointedly spoke not of Luomen the physician, but Luomen her father, a member of her family.
"Well, yes..."
"If Luomen doesn't want to do something, he might give us a very difficult task. But he wouldn't give us a problem with no solution. That's why I don't believe the answer is in a book that's been sitting around for twenty years with no one to look after it.
At the very least, not one written on such fragile paper."
Yao looked at her. "Maybe he just didn't think the books would be in such bad shape. Aren't you overthinking things?"
"I doubt it. My father is a genius—that much, I can say with certainty," Maomao replied.
Yao looked a bit exasperated at that, but she said, "Okay, suppose it's not a normal book, then. What kind of book is it?"
"That's a good question." Maomao picked up one of the scrolls of wooden strips from the lowest shelf. To save space, there were far fewer of them than there were paper books. Whether such a scroll was made of wood or bamboo made some difference, but both were longer-lasting than low-quality paper. "I think this would be more durable."
"Yeah, so?"
Something still felt off. Maomao undid the tie on the scroll and opened it with a gentle clatter. Yes, it would last a long time, but paper was easier to write on, and this scroll contained nothing of special interest.
There were few enough of them that by each tackling a pile, they were able to quickly go through everything that was there.
"Looks like that's not it," Yao said.
"Doesn't seem like it."
They both sighed and put the scrolls back.
"Kada's Book! What does that even mean?!"
"I agree. What's so Kada about it?" Maomao would have liked to press the subject of En'en's question to Luomen a little bit.
"Why not Genka?"
"That's another name for Kada, isn't it? In fact, that's the one you hear more often," Yao said. She had enough acquaintance with medicine to be familiar with the name. She also knew that the legendary Kada was more often referred to as Genka. As to why...
"Names with Ka, the character for flower, aren't smiled upon.
Even if he did live long before Li's founding," Maomao said. By and large, in Li, only the Imperial family was allowed to use that character in their names. Sometimes an illiterate farmer might inadvertently give the name to his child, or someone might deliberately use it as a provocation...
Like my sister Joka.
She'd taken that name, which meant "flower woman," when she became a courtesan. There she was, doomed to live a life inimical to someone who hated men—no doubt she resented those who lived in a world that was granted "flowers." The name was her little strike back.
"A court physician serves the government. In principle, he shouldn't even speak the name Kada," Yao said, and she was right. It was a fact that would certainly not have been lost on Luomen.
In which case... Maomao felt herself getting closer and closer to unraveling Luomen's riddle. She still didn't know where this book might be—but she was starting to get an idea of what it might be.
If it's what I'm thinking, then it won't be anywhere obvious. They could rule out everything on the shelves, including the scrolls.
So where was it?
Chapter 4: Kada's Book (Part 2)
Maomao and Yao had been scouring the bookshelves for a while when En'en returned. "Food's ready!" she said. She'd brought a nice, hot meal. A small man followed behind her, carrying what she couldn't hold. The annex had a kitchen of its own, but for serious cooking, she must have borrowed the kitchen in the main house.
They moved from the library to a living area, where the meal was placed on a table.
"My apologies for intruding on your afternoon. Thank you for inviting me," said Lahan with a smile. He showed no sign of actual contrition.
No one invited you! On this one point, Maomao and En'en were in perfect accord. Lahan had, however, brought a gift. Maomao didn't know how he had figured it out, but he'd brought hasma— Yao's favorite. He must have pulled a few strings.
Incidentally, whenever Yao tried to ask about what it was, En'en dissembled. It seemed the young mistress still didn't know that her favorite snack was made of frogs.
Lahan really must have raked it in at the Go tournament. Plus he seemed to be into some sort of business involving sweet potatoes, and had other hustles besides. It seemed like enough work for several of him, yet he somehow kept all the plates spinning. That much, she had to give him.
"I'm so happy to have all these lovely flowers around me as I eat. A rose, an iris...and wood sorrel." He didn't have to explain who that last one was.
"It's a little early, but why don't we eat?" Yao said, gesturing at the food on the round table. There were four chairs around it, and they sat with Yao facing En'en and Maomao facing Lahan. That put a "flower" at each hand for Lahan, but every time he looked up and saw Maomao, he looked vaguely annoyed. Frankly, Maomao could barely restrain a derisive snort herself.
In the center of the table, glistening with its own juices, was the main dish: a whole roast duck. Maomao found herself swallowing heavily. If it was as good as it looked, then by the end of this meal, Yao wouldn't be the only fan of this dish.
Lahan's eyes were also glimmering. He was still a young man, just twenty-one, and there was so much more to eat in his life.
En'en, observing the scene, stood up from her chair. "I'm going to chop some more vegetables. Maomao, would you help me?"
Did she think they didn't have enough? She looked rather displeased—and well she might be. Here she'd thought she was going to enjoy a little break alone with her mistress, only to find intrusive insects crawling about.
"I'll help too!" Yao said.
En'en, however, was adamant: "You needn't, young mistress. I won't be long. Please, eat up, before it goes cold." Sigh...
Yao pouted. For all her devotion, En'en had some strange blind spots when it came to the young mistress's feelings. Maybe there was such a thing as being too close to see.
The vegetables were in the next room, a simple kitchen. Maomao wondered to herself if Luomen had prepared medicines here long ago, and smiled at the thought.
"Shall we?" she said. She started mincing some leeks while En'en cooked more flatbread. It didn't take long; the fire in the oven had been left burning for heat. "Are you sure about leaving Yao with tousle-glasses?" Maomao asked. She just wanted to be sure. Even if they were just in the next room, they were still a young man and woman alone together.
"Mister Tousle-glasses wouldn't lay a finger on the young mistress. He would never meddle in her affairs, unless he thought there was a political marriage in the offing. And as long as they're simply going to talk, then he's a better conversationalist than the average oaf. No, I'm not concerned."
Lahan could be perceptive at the strangest of times. Yes, Yao had some family members who could mean real trouble for him if he pulled anything—and a servant who could mean even worse.
Nothing would happen, not even for a single night.
Still, Maomao was surprised to realize he could have a proper conversation with a young woman. I would have assumed he
would bore her to death with talk about numbers. Yao would have a hard time contributing to the discussion, but she would just have to try to offer a hmm or an uh-huh as best she could.
"If you don't mind my asking, is there something on your mind?" Maomao said. En'en was too scrupulous to have really messed up the amount of vegetables. It had to be a pretext to talk to Maomao about something. The fact that she'd waited until Lahan was present meant it was something she didn't want Yao to hear.
"On my mind? I thought there might be something on yours." En'en adroitly turned the question back on Maomao as she continued working on the flatbread. Maomao put the leeks on a tray and started in on some daikon.
Maomao decided to take the opportunity to clarify something. "Yao is really set on standing on her own two feet, isn't she? She wants to be one of the assistants in the medical office, but I can't believe that's her final goal." If it was as Maomao imagined, then she absolutely couldn't let Yao see Kada's Book. "If what my father proposes to teach us goes against your morals or ethics, what would you do?"
En'en put the finished flatbread on a tray and looked at the ceiling. "You mean it's that kind of book?"
"I suspect so."
The two of them shared an assumption that enabled this conversation.
"I appreciate your consideration, Maomao, but I'll respect the young mistress's opinion."
"Even though you guided her to it?" Maomao studied En'en closely; the other woman started baking more bread as if she didn't know what Maomao meant.
"My mistress can be quite willful. Once she gets an idea in her head, she'll see it through—it doesn't matter what I say. When she saw the announcement of the new post, she swore she would get herself appointed. She spent every day at her desk studying."
En'en expertly flipped the bread over with a pair of chopsticks.
Maomao considered herself a decent cook, but she couldn't hold a candle to En'en.
"She was bent on not even being beaten by the men, so it must have stung when you outscored her on the entrance exam.
She was acting quite out of character."
Did that refer to tripping Maomao and generally harassing her? It had really been more her hangers-on who had done that, so Maomao didn't hold it against Yao and hardly thought about it anymore.
"I do feel sort of bad about that." Maomao had never expected to score as well as she had. The madam's educational methods were a force to be reckoned with. "Uncle or no uncle, why does Yao feel she needs to work so hard?" Maomao asked. Partly, of course, it was because if she was at home, her uncle would be forever pressing her to get married, but Maomao sensed there was something more at play.
"It's...her mother. She's the reason," En'en said after a moment. "To Lady Yao, her mother is as good as dead. She often says she disappeared the same time her father died."
"Why is that?" Maomao asked. She didn't have a lot of what you would call empathy on the subject of mothers, but she knew she and Yao had been raised in very different situations.
"I'm sure you understand what happens to a widow who can't manage her own household."
"You mean Yao's uncle took over."
"Yes, but Lady Yao's mother remained head of the household."
The wife of the former master of the house remained the wife. Presumably that meant Yao's mother had then married the uncle. It wasn't that unusual—but for a young woman, it could cause a lot of conflicting feelings, and resentment or even hatred might be among them.
Yao would also have learned that women who couldn't work had few options. If she simply went along and did as her uncle said, she would end up just like her mother.
"I see," said Maomao. She could understand why En'en didn't want Yao to overhear this conversation. She'd known it might go somewhere like this and had wisely chosen a change of venue.
Maomao put the sliced daikon on a tray. That'll do, I think.
She wanted to hurry up and eat before everything got cold.
Just as En'en had predicted, when the two women got back to the living room, Yao and Lahan were engaged in a lively conversation.
"Our capable En'en's cooking is the stuff of rumors, and I hoped I would have a chance to try it. So strangely enough, this turn of events is quite congenial to me," Lahan was saying.
"Yes, her cooking is wonderful. She could hold her head up anywhere as a chef, and it's nutritious, to boot!" Where'd he hear rumors about En'en's cooking?
Maomao's question was soon answered.
"Her older brother's restaurant is very popular, and word is that his little sister is nearly as good as he is."
"Yes, I think she's every bit as skilled as any head chef," Yao said, the acclaim coming easily to her lips. Maomao remembered hearing that Yao had helped En'en's brother, making him her family's chef. Apparently he'd struck out on his own sometime after that.
Was it because of the change in family headship? If En'en's brother had been let go by Yao's uncle, that would do something to explain her antipathy toward him.
"I've had the privilege of dining three times at his restaurant.
Ahh! It was a meal to remember each and every time."
"Three times? When did you go? The menu changes every season, right, En'en?"
"Yes. In fact, he finds the freshest ingredients each month." Talk of En'en's brother was enough to get Yao really engaged. She passed the conversation to En'en, who joined in. So far from delivering a lecture about numbers and calculations, Lahan turned out to be quite the conversationalist—a fact Maomao didn't necessarily like.
Instead, she focused on savoring the crispy duck skin. The mixture of oil and herbs was caught up in the flatbread, which she topped off with some sweet, spicy jiang. Each bite filled her mouth with the rich flavor of meat, the herbs providing a pleasing texture, all complemented by the sublimely simple flatbread. It was enough to make her mouth water.
It was, in a word, delicious.
"Ahh, that's wonderful," said Lahan, evidently of the same opinion. He was, as we've said, an excellent talker. He must have been, to have gotten the reticent Yao to open up to him so readily. If anything, the conversation had gone a little too well, and En'en was somewhat perturbed.
For a while, the only sound that came from Maomao was chewing. Her plate was empty before she knew it, and there was just enough space left in her stomach for dessert.
"I'll go get some fruit," En'en said. She left the room and returned with a glass vessel containing tangerines. The peels had been removed, the seeds carefully extracted, and they'd been steeped in sugar water. The acidity would work wonders in cutting through the fat and oil from the duck.
"That was delicious," Maomao said as she set down her chopsticks. She was eager to get to the real topic. "Lahan, you haven't taken any books off the bookshelves, have you?"
"Books from the bookshelves?" he asked, giving her a questioning look as he took another scoop of fruit. "No, I haven't. And I'm sure my honored father wouldn't do anything with my granduncle's possessions. In fact, he sends servants into that room to clean regularly."
That was an unusual show of consideration by the freak strategist. No wonder the annex looked so clean.
"You think there's something missing?" Lahan asked. "It would be natural to assume one of the servants was involved, but my father would never hire anyone less than ethical. He's much too dangerous an enemy for that."
Books were valuable objects, and as such liable to be stolen, but would any of the servants who worked at the strategist's estate be capable of such a thing?
This is a tough one, Maomao thought.
"What is it that's missing?"
"This." En'en handed him her list. It bore the code of the missing book, 一-2-II.
"Just the kind of classification system my granduncle would devise. I have to admit, it's the perfect way to organize the more than a thousand books in there."
At the realization that Lahan could read the numbers too, Yao
shot En'en a frustrated look. She hated being the only one who didn't know what they meant.
En'en seemed to understand, for she started writing numbers on some new sheets of paper:
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX
Yao's expression softened, no longer quite so angry. She was staring hard at the numbers—trying to memorize every one of them. Finally, the paper covered with "I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX" seemed to click for her. "Would the next number be written like this?" she said, tracing an X on the table with her finger.
"Yes! Excellent job, Mistress!" En'en said, applauding. Yao looked a bit awkward.
"The books were lined up neatly on the shelves, though..." Yao said. At least, they had been when she and En'en had arrived.
"Yes, and there didn't appear to be any obvious gaps. Now that we look at the numbers, though, one is definitely missing," En'en added.
"Is it, now?" Lahan studied the number of the missing book.
"I thought a number-cruncher like you would have noticed right away," Maomao said with a touch of vitriol.
"Sadly, I all too rarely come into this building. I have other things to do. Interesting though this place certainly is."
"Other things to do, like eating a leisurely lunch? Or did you have something else in mind?" Oops. Her true feelings were showing.
"Maomao, please be more respectful in Lady Yao's presence," En'en said, entering her teacherly mode. Maomao had let her etiquette lapse because she was with Lahan.
"If the books are numbered, that must mean they go in order, right?" Yao said.
"Yes. The first two volumes are basic information. Volume 1 was about the anatomy of the human body, and volume 2 was about surgical treatment." Maomao's specialty was herbal medicine, but those were still subjects one would want to be familiar with as a practitioner of the healing arts.
The question was, where was the missing book?
Maomao stopped and looked at Lahan. "You said this was an interesting building. What the h—ahem. What, may I ask, did you mean by that?" she said, catching herself just in time. She thought she remembered Lahan saying something about the library in particular being an intriguing place.
"Oh, that? Don't the walls and ceiling of this annex seem unusually lavishly decorated to you?"
"They do, now that you mention it," Yao said, looking at the ceiling. The library had its own decorations; here in the living room, the ceiling was covered in paintings of all kinds of animals.
"And it's not just the ceiling." Lahan rolled back a corner of the rug on the floor to reveal a complicated pattern of wooden boards.
"Somebody put a great deal of craft into this," En'en marveled.
"Before my granduncle lived here, it was the home of a rather eccentric architect. He was the one who built this house. He had a fondness for unusual patterns—and he loved gimmickry."
"Say what you will about the La clan's personalities, they do have a tendency toward genius," En'en said, nodding. So had the architect been a member of Maomao's family?
"Most unfortunately, in the grip of an idea for a new device, the architect got a little overeager and ended up...well, in the grip of his new device. By the time they found him, he was practically mummified. People had just been saying they hadn't seen him around for a while, and there he was, a dry husk."
Neither Maomao, Yao, or En'en said anything. Their gazes swept the room.
"Oh, relax. It wasn't in this building—it was a different one. And we managed to sell it off. No mummies are going to pop out of the woodwork here." That was reassuring as far as it went, but they were now doubly sure that this was a very strange place.
"There aren't any, uh, mummifying gadgets in this house, are there?" Yao asked with an anxious look at Lahan.
"Nothing life-threatening, or so Granduncle said. Even I wouldn't put a couple of young ladies up in a potentially murderous house."
"Do you think these walls have some special meaning, then?" Yao asked.
"It's possible. Maybe you can explore them, if you have a few minutes."
"We really don't," said Maomao, who wanted to mop this up before the freak strategist came back. During the day today would be exquisite.
"Any other questions? I don't know about your book, but I'll try asking the servants." Lahan straightened his glasses and got up from his chair. "I've got something to do tomorrow, so if you need anything, just shout for someone. Any of the servants can get in touch with me."
"Thank you," En'en said, though no more.
"Thank you for the meal. It was excellent. I'm sure you must be tired. You can leave the dishes—I'll send someone to take care of them."
Maomao had been planning to help clean up, but if she didn't need to, then so much the better. She wanted to get back to looking for the book, and fast.
Chapter 5: Kada's Book (Part 3)
Maomao went back to the library and looked around again. Haven't I seen this design somewhere? she wondered. The twotone pattern on the walls tugged at something in her memory, but she couldn't quite think of what.
Yao and En'en, like Maomao, were ignoring the bookshelves and instead looking at the walls and ceiling.
"If what you said is true, Maomao, there's no point checking the shelves," Yao said. She must have told En'en what the two of them had talked about together, because her servant was studying the walls intently.
"I can't shake the sense that that wall looks familiar," Maomao said. The pattern was slightly different from those on the other three walls—although it was also mostly hidden by the bookshelves. "So... A book on human anatomy." That, she surmised, was what the missing volume was, given its number.
Her muttering was interrupted by a crash. She looked over in surprise to find that Yao was flat on her bottom and one of the bookshelves had fallen over.
En'en paled and rushed over to her. "Lady Yao!" Her mistress didn't seem to be hurt; she got to her feet, patting away dust.
"Looks like you're all right," Maomao said. "But what happened? How did you manage to knock over a bookshelf?"
Chances were nothing was damaged—the books were sturdy enough—but the shelf was heavy. It would take an effort to stand it up again.
"Here, look at this," Yao said. She held out a book with the code 一-2-I. It was the number before the one that was missing.
"What about it?" Maomao asked.
"Look at the last page," Yao said. She opened the book to show them a small circle drawn on the edge of the final page. It was divided in two: half black, half white.
"Is that a taiji symbol?" Maomao asked.
A taiji symbol: a diagram of the Great Ultimate, sometimes called the yin-yang, and sometimes taken to look like a black fish and a white fish swimming after each other. It was a common image in fortune-telling, and it had a connection to "five elements" theory—which, yes, was related to medicine, although Maomao, being of a more pragmatic bent, didn't know much about it.
"But what's it doing there?" She gave it a perplexed look.
"There's another one," En'en said. "Here." She brought over a book numbered 一-2-III. "Here, it's written on the first page."
Maomao lined the two books up and pondered them. "And the book we're missing is the one that belongs right between them."
"That's right. So I had an idea," Yao said, giving the wall a confident smack. "I think the missing book is hidden."
"What makes you say that?"
Maomao wanted an explanation. En'en, however, clapped her hands, her eyes wide. "Of course! Lady Yao, you're brilliant!"
Even En'en wouldn't flatter her mistress simply because she was adorable. What was so brilliant about her suggestion? "These walls show the eight trigrams!" "Yes! That's what I thought!" Yao said.
"The eight trigrams?" Maomao, puzzled, searched her mind. She ate...a gram of what? I guess you could...try... No... Oh! "You mean those diagrams?" she said. They had something to do with the taiji, she recalled, but unfortunately she didn't remember what. This wasn't her specialty—and her ability to remember things dropped precipitously when she wasn't interested in them. At least it explained why the patterns had looked so familiar.
My old man did tell me to at least learn them. But it hadn't seemed as practical as herbal theory, so she'd mostly ignored it. Forget having an acquaintance with them; she'd barely said hello.
"Yes! You know. This pattern here, I think it's supposed to be a yao," said Yao.
"Yao?" Maomao asked. It clearly wasn't the other woman's name, but she was damned if she knew what it was.
"Don't tell me you don't know about them?" Yao looked surprised—but also, maybe, just a little bit pleased.
"I'd guess people who know about them are in the minority," Maomao grumbled, feeling a rush of petulance. Now she wished she'd paid a little more attention to the subject.
"Do you recognize this sort of pattern?" Yao asked, running her fingers along the walls. There were whitish planks and blackish ones; she touched only the black ones. Unlike the other boards on the wall, which all ran vertically, the ones Yao touched ran horizontally. "Trigrams are made up of yao, which are either a single long line or two short ones. The patterns are said to represent yin and yang, or sometimes hard and soft."
Maomao crooked her fingers, counting. By having three sets of two yao, you could make eight possible combinations; hence, the eight trigrams. "So, you knocked over the shelf to..."
"Be able to see the entire wall. And one other thing." Yao peeled up the faded carpet—showing that there were trigrams underneath it, just like the wall.
"Luomen said the book was somewhere in this room," Maomao said, remembering. In this room, but not necessarily on the shelves. "And the architect who lived here loved little tricks." That was what Lahan had told them. There was a good chance this room contained one of those architectural contraptions. "And then there's the taiji symbols, and the trigrams..."
Not a subject she was very interested in. And her father had said she wouldn't be able to solve this riddle alone.
"So that's what he meant," Maomao said, clapping her hands.
"It all makes sense!" said En'en, catching on.
Once they had the idea, Maomao and En'en worked quickly.
They started trying to move one of the bookshelves.
"Hey! I found it first!" Yao said.
"You just sit quietly, Lady Yao. This is dangerous. Plus, it's very physical labor."
I think Yao is probably the stronger of the two of them, Maomao thought, although she had just enough sense not to say it out loud.
Even working together, it proved impossible for them to move the bookcase. Instead they emptied it, then slid the empty case into the hallway. Over and over they did this. Yao helped by taking books off the shelves, although she didn't look very happy about it.
When all of the bookshelves had been removed, the walls were revealed in their entirety. It was enough to make the women's heads spin, but when they took up the carpet as well, the sensation became downright vertiginous.
"Is this it?" Maomao said, looking at the floor. Right in the center was a white piece of wood, in the middle of what was otherwise a standard trigram. Like the painting on the ceiling, it was divided into nine parts.
"It's showing the Primordial system!" Yao said, her eyes sparkling. Once again, they were venturing into vocabulary Maomao didn't recognize. She almost asked about it, but it occurred to her that doing so would only slow things down, so she decided to play along instead.
"Yes, of course. The Primordial system. So, where's the book?" Yao was silent. Evidently that was as far as she'd gotten.
Luomen had given them this task, which meant that there was an answer to be found somewhere. Maomao looked at the two books with the taiji symbols. They were both about human anatomy, one detailing the hands and the other the feet.
"Yao," Maomao said. "Does each of the trigrams have a specific meaning?"
"Lots. They're associated with directions, animals, and even family relationships."
"Are they ever associated with parts of the human body?" "Yes! Yes, they are!" Yao said, turning quickly to the books.
"Excepting the missing volume, there are eight books with the code 一-2," said Maomao. They were missing the second volume, but all the rest, including volumes four through nine, were still on the shelves. The numbers were divided the same way as the pictures on the floor and ceiling.
"We've already got books on the feet and hands," Yao said. "That would imply the others are about the head, mouth, eyes, thighs, ears, and stomach. Six volumes."
"I brought them," said En'en, ever the quick study. They opened the books and found it was exactly as Yao had predicted.
"In terms of the theory of the taiji, nothing is missing," Yao said. And yet they were short one number. Did the book not relate to a specific part of the body?
Maomao stood smack in the middle of the room, where there was no trigram. On a hunch, she looked up. "Someone drew a lot of animals up there," she said.
"You can tell what they are if you take a good look. I see a horse, and a dog, and a pheasant, and... Does that one kind of look like a dragon? You think that's all right?" Yao said.
"It does seem like a questionable choice," Maomao said. The dragon represented the Imperial family, and using it without permission could get people in trouble.
"You know what? Even the ceiling pictures are related to the trigrams," said Yao.
Maomao squinted. The pictures were faded with age, but still visible. "Right in the middle of the ceiling, I see one horse and two sheep. Does that mean anything to you, Yao?" The horse was drawn above and the sheep below.
"The trigram associated with the horse is called qian," Yao answered. "According to the Primordial system, qian's direction is south, its familial relationship is the father, its body part is the
head, its element is metal, and its number is one."
"Number? Well, how much is a sheep?"
"A sheep can be two or eight, but under the Primordial system it's two."
"So we have one one, and two twos."
Maomao looked at the books. Mysteriously—or perhaps not— the missing volume bore the number 一-2-II. One, two, two.
Had Luomen tried not to make the problem too hard? It could, after all, be solved simply with knowledge of the trigrams, whether or not you noticed the books. Conversely, without that knowledge, the challenge would have been insuperable.
Maomao looked back at the floor; it bore a more complex pattern of white and black planks than the ceiling did. "Yao?" she said.
"Yes?"
"Which are the trigrams representing one and two?"
Yao moved over to two spots on the floor. "One is this one, with three long lines. For two, the topmost line is broken, while the bottom two are long."
and , then. Maomao looked so hard at the wall it seemed
like she might burn a hole through it.
"What are you doing?" Yao asked.
"Trying to see if there's an arrangement of one, two, and two." It made her head hurt; all the combinations looked so similar. Worst of all, with the slightest lapse in concentration, she would lose her place and have to start again.
"I'll start looking on the opposite side," Yao said.
"And I'll cheer you on! I'll go make a snack," En'en said, and made her escape. Maomao wanted to chase after her, but she didn't dare take her eyes off the wall. She wished she could mark the trigrams off, but she couldn't go writing on the wall. The headache continued.
Maomao didn't say anything.
Yao didn't say anything.
En'en didn't say anything, since she was preparing tea.
With so many trigrams, one would have expected there to be an arrangement of one, two, and two somewhere—but it didn't look like it. One, then two, Maomao found repeatedly, but never with that elusive second two.
It's got to be around here somewhere! she thought—and at exactly that moment, she bumped into Yao.
"Did you find it?"
"No, it's not here," Maomao said.
"How can that be?"
"Maybe we missed it?" Maomao blinked several times and looked at the walls. She would have to go through everything again, see if they had overlooked anything, but she really didn't want to.
"Who wants tea?" En'en asked, coming in with a clatter of drinkware. "I do!"
"Yes, please!" Yao and Maomao spoke simultaneously.
Since all the furnishings had been moved into the hallway, they unrolled a rug on the floor to have their drink.
"Thath's delithiouth!" Yao said, very happy, but when they were done, they were going to have to check the walls again. If they still couldn't find what they were looking for, they would have to admit that Maomao's guess had been wrong. "It's frustrating how many times one and two show up, but then the last number is different."
"Yeah. We never find that last two. We only need it to show up once!" Maomao said.
"That's right, but one different line makes it another number.
Like here—if only this yin were a yang."
Yang was a single long line; yin was two short ones.
"If yin were yang?" Maomao said, and looked at the trigrams on the floor. If you took the uppermost yang line of and changed it to yin, it became .
She stood up and looked at the walls again. It was right around here...
She found a one, two, and one. She didn't think this was a pattern that was repeated anywhere else. She went to the third one, the , and touched the uppermost line.
She could feel something under her fingers. She pressed firmly on the middle of the line and it gave way, receding inward.
From yang to yin!
There was a mechanical bump, and something came jutting out of the wall—a drawer.
"You're kidding," Yao said, her eyes wide.
"That's a surprise," said En'en, staring at the drawer.
Maomao pulled it out, and found a book within.
一-2-II.
The construction of the missing book was much less sophisticated than that of anything else on the shelves; the thickness of the pages wasn't quite uniform.
"Is that sheepskin parchment?" En'en asked.
"From the feel, I would say so," Maomao said. Sheepskin lasted much longer than crude paper.
With much trembling, Maomao turned the pages. The text was written not with a brush, but a western-style pen. Very little of it was written in the Li script. Instead it was in the spidery, flowing characters of the west, with occasional glosses in Linese.
This must be from when he was studying there. Her father had lived and studied in the west when he was younger, an experience that had bestowed upon him much of his extraordinary medical knowledge. Maomao muttered to herself as she deciphered the foreign text. There were plenty of words she didn't understand, but she could work her way through it if she took her time.
Then the blood drained from her face. She'd found exactly what she'd expected.
"Maomao..." En'en said, looking anxious.
"What is it? What's it say?" asked Yao, the only one who couldn't read western letters. Maomao stood there, not moving.
"What's wrong?" Yao reached out and turned the page instead.
There, Maomao and En'en saw what they had feared.
"What is that?" Yao asked.
There was a carefully wrought drawing of a human body. That wasn't, in and of itself, a problem. But this picture showed the person without their skin, revealing the details of the flesh underneath.
Yao caught her breath and averted her eyes, looking sick. The image was far too realistic to have been drawn from the imagination. The artist must have had an example in front of them.
Still fearful, Maomao turned to the next page. This one showed a human stomach, sliced open, the guts within depicted in detail.
My old man used the medical expertise he learned in the west to slice open the Empress Dowager's belly. It was how he had
delivered her child. Normally, when mother and child were both in danger, a physician would endeavor to at least save the baby—but Luomen had managed to save them both. It wasn't a feat mere knowledge alone could accomplish. He must have done it before— who knew how many people he had cut open? How many bodies he had cut into in the name of practice?
Now Maomao saw why her old man had always tried to keep her away from corpses. Why he'd raised her as an apothecary instead of a physician.
This explains everything.
Maomao closed the vile book. She didn't censure Luomen for what he had done. If you wanted to practice medicine, you had to know about the human body—even Maomao experimented on a real person, namely herself. But most people? They would react the way Yao had.
She was pressing her hands to her mouth, looking at the awful text with repulsion. Maomao didn't know how it was in the west— but the average person in Li would never be able to accept what was in this book. There was faith; there were taboos. This went against both of them.
Maomao looked at the back of the book, which bore spindly letters reading:
t
She didn't know what it meant, but she knew why Luomen had hidden the book. If anyone found out about it, it would be burned. It couldn't be allowed to exist.
Accepting Kada's Book was the condition of Luomen's tutelage. They would have to cope with what they had found here—be willing to live with it.
If any book could be called Kada's, this was it.
Chapter 6: An Invitation to the Western Capital
"I'll keep this," En'en said, wrapping Kada's Book carefully in a cloth. She and Maomao had guessed what kind of book it was likely to be—but Yao hadn't. Yet she had seen it. For a few minutes, she sat frozen with the shock.
Still, I guess it shows she's grown up a little bit. When Maomao had first met her, Yao would have made far more of a fuss about the book. Six months as a medical assistant seemed to have enabled her to accept ideas she might not have before.
Lahan sent word to Luomen, who would come for them the next day. Maomao hoped she could get her thoughts in order before then.
"I'm afraid there's something I have to do," she told Yao and En'en. She was concerned about how they were doing, but she had another problem to deal with, one she couldn't get away from.
Soon she was bouncing along in a carriage, returning from the freak strategist's house to her dormitory. It would be a lot faster if I could just go straight there, she thought. She didn't want to take a carriage Lahan had procured for her directly to Jinshi's villa, however. A different carriage would collect her at the dorm. The woman who ran the building gave Maomao a doubtful look, but didn't ask any questions. Maybe her salary included a little something extra to make sure she wouldn't.
As soon as Maomao arrived at the villa, she felt the tension in the air. The atmosphere was so dark Jinshi might have been trying to grow mushrooms; Gaoshun was going around with his brow in a perpetual furrow, and Suiren looking disturbed and murmuring, "My, my..." The only bright spot in the room was Chue, the serving woman. She brought Maomao tea, making that characteristic squeaking sound as she walked.
"This is fermented tea from the west," she said. "It smells nice and is lovely with a drop of distilled alcohol in it, but they told me not to let you have anything to drink." She shot a glance toward Suiren. Maomao wished she could have the alcoholic tea. In fact, she wished they would hold the tea.
After a moment's hesitation, Maomao said, "Should I ask?" She didn't really want to know, but Jinshi looked ready to spore at any moment, and she didn't want any of it to land on her.
"If you'd be so kind?" Chue said, and Gaoshun came hustling over. There was no sign of Basen, and it seemed likely there wouldn't be while his father was on the job.
"Yes, well... He's to go to the western capital again," Gaoshun said.
"Oh. Really. The poor guy."
Jinshi's face puckered in annoyance. From behind him, Gaoshun was making an emphatic no, no gesture by crossing his arms in an X. For some reason, Chue was mimicking him, although with her it looked almost like she was dancing. She made it look sort of fun.
"Who is she, anyway?" Maomao asked Suiren before she could stop herself.
"If I told you she was Gaoshun's daughter-in-law, would that help?" Suiren replied.
"In-law? So that would make her his son's wife?"
"Yes. Not Basen's—there's another older sibling, in addition to the older sister."
"I see."
While Maomao talked with Suiren, the metaphorical spores had practically become a cloud around Jinshi. Maomao turned back to him, resigned that she was going to have to hear the rest of the story.
"So, uh, why is that? Didn't he just go last year?"
"Sir Gyoku-ou requested it. He wants Master Jinshi to see how smoothly things are running even in Sir Gyokuen's absence."
"Goodness," Maomao remarked mildly, but in her head she thought, Sounds like a pain in the ass.
Gyokuen was Empress Gyokuyou's father, currently in residence in the capital. Unless Maomao was misremembering, the Empress's older brother Gyoku-ou was the one currently overseeing matters in the western capital.
Reaching that far city took more than two weeks by land. A round trip, including time at the destination, could easily see Jinshi away from the capital for more than a month and a half.
"Perhaps it's not my place to suggest, but is it possible that someone else could go on Master Jinshi's behalf this time?" Maomao said. It was an admirable idea, and Gaoshun and Suiren both acknowledged it with a nod. Only Chue shook her head, continuing to dance.
She's very, uh...noticeable. I'm not sure what to do with her, Maomao thought. She was trying to be serious here, but with Chue hopping around at the edge of her vision, she felt like she might burst out laughing. Maybe that was the idea. Especially since she was doing it where only Maomao could see her. Not very nice. I know you're trying to make me laugh. She tried her best to look somewhere she wouldn't see the other woman.
Maomao's look must have tipped off Suiren, for Chue soon found the old lady delivering a blow to the back of her head. Gaoshun had a most unusual daughter-in-law. He apologized to Suiren on Chue's behalf.
"I'm sorry, but I think we had better go somewhere else," Jinshi said, inevitably distracted by the kerfuffle.
"But of course, young master," Suiren said. She went into the next room to prepare drinks. That was perfect for Maomao, who was eager to get down to the business of treating Jinshi.
She followed him into the next room and closed the door. Now bereft of his matron and his minder, Jinshi heaved a sigh. "May I continue the conversation?" he asked.
"Be my guest. May I have a look at your injury while you're doing it?"
"Be my guest."
Maomao took out bandages and medicine. Jinshi stripped off his overrobe to reveal the bandage around his abdomen.
Chue had practically caused Maomao to forget what they were talking about. What was it, again? Thankfully, Jinshi jogged her memory; she listened as she removed the dressing.
"Sir Gyoku-ou himself asked me to return to the western
capital. I thought I might well decline, considering I was just there. But first Empress Gyokuyou, and then His Majesty himself, asked me to go, so I suppose that settles the matter."
"The Emperor and Empress both? Do you think they were planning it, then?" Maomao felt herself break out in a cold sweat. The exposed wound was still red. She had succeeded in stopping the bleeding, but it was clearly still fresh.
"Sir Gyoku-ou's letter arrived last night. He wants someone to come see how things are going in the western capital without Sir
Gyokuen present."
Maomao didn't say anything. Jinshi already seemed to be mentally preparing himself. If he was going to the west, then Maomao would have to go with him. She inspected the injury to make sure it wasn't festering, then applied more salve.
I need to get my old man to teach me some surgery, and fast. The matter was even more urgent than she had realized. If I knew how to replace damaged skin with fresh... Jinshi was trying to hedge her in, but she refused to simply let him have his way. I
wonder if anyone's ever done that successfully.
She searched her memory for any mentions in the books she'd read. In the past, there had been attempts to graft teeth and skin on slaves, but all of them she'd heard of had ended in failure. However, there had been some successes in moving a person's own skin from one part of his body to another.
Maybe if I could pick a part of Jinshi's body where it wouldn't stand out...
The buttocks, perhaps. She tugged idly at Jinshi's trousers.
He nearly jumped out of his skin. "Wh-What do you think you're doing?!"
Guess I can't tell him I was trying to get a look at his rump.
"Sorry. I needed to loosen your trousers a bit to reach with the salve."
"You could at least warn me. Have you no shame at all?" He looked at her with the oddest expression.
"Now you worry about shame, sir?" Maomao had been somewhat frazzled recently thanks to Jinshi's explosive antics, but now she was in her element. When she got a new method of treatment into her head, her mind began to work very fast.
She rubbed medicine into the wound, then bandaged it carefully. "I really need you to learn to do this yourself, sir," she said, showing him the method once more for good measure.
She stepped away, and Jinshi pulled on his robe, looking somehow forlorn.
"This means I'll have to accompany you to the western capital, doesn't it?" Maomao asked.
"Yes, that's what it would mean."
On their last trip there, she was fairly sure there had been a real doctor among the staff, although she hadn't paid them much mind. Maybe there was... Maybe there wasn't. Maomao's memory was not to be trusted in such cases. It would be so convenient if she could remember people after seeing them just once. And as a matter of fact, she knew someone like that.
Rikuson—that was it. The freak strategist's aide was in the western capital now. Perhaps she would see him.
"Understood, sir. How long will we be there?" If it was about the same length as last time, she thought she could swing it, somehow.
"I don't know. I would expect a minimum of three months."
"Three months?" That was a long time—and that was at a minimum? Suddenly she had a thought: this was a punitive assignment. He'd done something unthinkable in front of the two most important people in the nation. Of course there would be repercussions.
"Master Jinshi..."
"I know. Don't say it."
Did he know what she was thinking, or was he imagining something else? He could tell her not to ask, but ask she must— though she would settle for a comparatively easier question.
"I have a lot of questions, but let me pose this one: Why would
Lady Gyokuyou insist that you go?"
The Emperor she could understand, but even the Empress had told Jinshi to go to the western capital. Why? That area was ruled by her family, and Jinshi had just sworn fealty to her.
"I don't know for sure yet, but I have an idea," Jinshi said, half to himself. "Sir Gyoku-ou's daughter will soon enter the rear palace."
"Oh?" Maomao nodded, but she was also puzzled. Entering the rear palace meant the girl would become the Emperor's bride. Even His Majesty would be hard-pressed to turn down the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the western capital.
One of his relatives is already the Empress—His Majesty's proper wife, Maomao thought. Was Gyoku-ou trying to shore up his family's power base by insinuating yet another blood relation into the court?
"I have no idea what Master Gyokuen must think of that, but don't you suppose it puts Empress Gyokuyou in a rather difficult position?" Maomao said. The daughter of her older brother would be the Empress's niece. Political marriages often involved partners with close blood ties, but Gyokuyou couldn't be pleased at the prospect. What about Gyokuen? With his daughter's position already secured, would he really want a grandchild to join the court as well?
That's if she's really a blood relation.
Maomao thought she was seeing cracks in the facade of Gyokuyou's family.
"Is the Empress opposed to her niece's admission to the palace?" she asked. Jinshi didn't reply immediately, which Maomao took to mean she had the right idea. His expression told the story.
Finally he said, "True, she is not eager. However, she can't chase the girl out of the rear palace either. Which means there must be a compromise."
There were a scant few princes in the current Imperial line. Just three of them, in fact—and two were infants. There was only one serious candidate.
"Congratulations on your marriage, Master Jinshi!" Maomao said, clapping her hands.
Without a word, Jinshi grabbed her by the head and squeezed. She yelped in surprise; when he released her, she rubbed the side of her head and reminded herself that sometimes it was better to keep her mouth shut.
"You think I'm getting married—with this body?!"
It's the body you gave yourself! Maomao objected privately, but this time she was clever enough to keep it to herself. Instead she asked, "Purely as a point of reference, is there anyone else besides you suited to marry her?"
"You'd have to go back several generations in the Imperial family. The kinds of people who spend most of their time these days cooped up in temples reading holy texts and keeping their distance from the common world. Assuming none of them has started to harbor such outsize ambitions that they're ready to foment rebellion, I don't see any candidates there."
"And I suppose she and her father wouldn't settle for a worthy retainer?"
If, however, Jinshi were to be leaving for the western capital just as the young lady arrived, the wedding could be delayed for months. The father of the bride couldn't even object, because he was the one who'd summoned Jinshi.
I feel bad for the girl, dragging herself all the way here just to sit around and wait.
Sympathetic though she might be, however, there was nothing Maomao could do. Anyway, if Jinshi had been willing to marry a girl just to make her happy, there'd have been no end of young ladies with sob stories showing up at his door.
Can't be overly concerned with other people's affairs.
Maomao had other things to do. "When do you think you'll be leaving?" she asked.
"Two months from now," he replied.
Not much time. She had so much to learn, and she would have to do it in a hurry.
Jinshi looked like he wanted to say something else, so she asked, "Is there anything else on your mind, sir?"
He paused, then said, "I don't have enough information yet. I'll get in touch with you another time."
"Very well, sir." Maomao gathered up her medicines and bandages, confirmed when she should come back next, and then left the villa.
Chapter 7: Taboo
The next day, the library at the freak strategist's house had been conscientiously cleaned up. The carpet was back in place, the bookshelves were where they belonged. If anything was different, it was only that the faded carpet had been replaced with a new one.
"Master Lahan told one of the servants to clean things up," En'en reported.
"Is that right?" Maomao said with relief. She'd left immediately after the events of the previous day and had felt bad leaving Yao and En'en to un-tear the room apart.
"I did indeed, and the least you could do is be grateful, Little Sister," said someone to whom she very much did not wish to be grateful. He was presently sitting in a chair.
"What the hell are you even doing here?" Maomao asked.
"What a way to talk! With my honored father away, I'm in charge of this household."
"In other words, you've got plenty of time on your hands. Is my father coming or what?"
"Maomao, watch your tone," En'en said. Yao was already seated and waiting eagerly.
Luomen arrived, announced by the tapping of his cane on the floor. As he entered the library, he thanked the servant who was aiding him.
En'en closed the door. The windows were shut as well; candles had been set out for light, and filled the room not just with illumination but also a sweet smell of honey.
I'm not too keen on using fire in a library... Maomao would make sure to put the candles out and change the air in the room the moment this conversation was over.
She pulled out a chair for Luomen. "Thank you," he said, but he looked troubled. It probably had to do with the book sitting on the table.
"You don't mind if I'm here, Granduncle?" Lahan asked.
"You might wish to reconsider where you stick your neck, Lahan," said Luomen.
"I take your point, but I'd like to be aware of what's going on in my house. It's not my style to duck responsibility by saying I didn't know."
In some respects, Lahan had a personality the polar opposite of Maomao's. Perhaps he was simply confident that he would be able to handle any problems that arose from his approach.
"Are we right? Is this Kada's Book?" Yao asked, rising and propping up the sheepskin tome.
"Yes... I compiled it while I was studying in the west."
Yao's face tightened. En'en remained impassive, and Lahan, if anything, looked downright intrigued.
"Did you also make these illustrations, then, Master Luomen?" Yao asked. She flipped the pages, showing the depictions of open human bodies.
"I did. I drew those illustrations, and I did the dissections as well."
At the word dissections, Yao's face got even stiffer. Human dissection was not many people's idea of a good time. Desecrating a dead body was considered immoral, and was forbidden.
"Were they...criminals?" Yao asked.
Luomen shook his head sadly. He stood up and turned to the last page of the book, where there was a picture of a woman. She appeared to be a foreigner; her hair billowed, and her light skin tone was depicted in delicate brushstrokes. Her internal organs were drawn in a realistic fashion, but her face bore the stylized, serene expression of a bodhisattva. There were ink stains here and there; this page was noticeably less clean than the others.
"The land to the west knows much that we do not, and there is a great deal we can learn from them. But it doesn't mean that everything they do is right. I often saw them mete out punishment to people who had committed no crime." There was grief in Luomen's eyes; he seemed to be gazing into the past. "This woman was said to be a witch. To test whether the accusation was true, they tied her to a boulder and threw her in the water, where she sank."
Maomao shivered.
Luomen didn't speak much of the time he had spent studying beyond Li's borders. When he did, it was chiefly to share stories of injuries and illnesses he had encountered.
"If she didn't float to the surface, it would prove she wasn't a witch. If she did, it would show that she was a witch, and they would burn her alive. They determined that the woman was no witch, but it didn't put the breath back in her lungs."
Yao was pale and her hands shook. She seemed to be debating whether to plug her ears, feeling that she had to listen but not wanting to hear.
En'en asked the question that was on all their minds. "These witches... Are they criminals?"
"No. They might have been adherents of a different faith. Socalled heretics. Students of medicine. Sometimes wandering commoners were treated as witches too. In that sense, perhaps I was one of them." Luomen closed the book, his fingers brushing the word witchcraft on the cover. "She understood why they would accuse her of being a witch. She was the one who taught me the ways of western medicine. She asked me herself to use her for dissection when she died. For the advancement of medicine, she would offer up her own body..." There was the slightest tremor in Luomen's voice. "Because of her, I was able to save the Empress Dowager and her child."
The Empress Dowager had become pregnant too young, and hadn't been able to deliver her child—they had had to cut her belly open.
Yao struck the table with a still-trembling hand. "Then you abandoned your own teacher, Master Luomen?! That's horrible!"
There was a charge in the air. Luomen didn't deny it. En'en stayed silent as well.
"No—" Maomao began, but she was interrupted by none other than Lahan.
"I believe my granduncle did the right thing," he said. "Consider the factors at play. If the woman fled, it would mean she was a witch. If she was rescued, it would show she was a witch. And the one who rescued her—just an itinerant scholar come to their land to 'learn.' Witch material, no question. Even if this was back before Granduncle was castrated, what could he have done all by himself? You seem to be imagining something out of a picture book. One man against the world, riding in to rescue the captured princess and defeat the evildoers, and they all live happily ever after. Is that what you've got in mind? That's not what would have happened. The only thing that would have been different is that there would have been two corpses instead of one."
"But... But..." Yao understood intellectually, but emotionally it was hard to process.
Maomao reached for the book, trying to open to that last page again, but Luomen kept his hand on the cover, holding it shut. "That's right," he said, "I was powerless. My teacher would do anything in order to save people. She would dress as a man to attend convocations of doctors, participate in the dissection of criminals. Some people she was able to help, but there were other lives she couldn't save. She was always asking what more she could do, and she begrudged no answer. The very day before she was arrested as a witch, she was summoned as a physician. She went to the next town to help an injured child, and someone there claimed her methods were unnatural. Her accuser was a woman who was herself suspected of being a witch. To prove her innocence, she offered up my teacher as a sacrifice."
The story might have seemed like a digression, but Maomao saw what Luomen was trying to say. Two things, in fact. First, that dissection might be anathema, but it was a way to save lives.
Second, that heresy would be persecuted.
Kada's Book, the one my father speaks of, is heretical, but it's not evil. Yet people insist on equating the two.
When he told them to take up Kada's Book, he meant that they had to accept the "deviant" practices within it, yes, but also that they must take in that they themselves would step outside the accepted ways of their society.
Women had little status in Li. They couldn't become doctors, and if they somehow got involved with a dissection, there was no telling how they might be treated. Luomen was worried, not only for Maomao's future, but Yao's and En'en's as well.
En'en's expression was hard to read. She'd said she would
abide by Yao's choice, but Luomen's story appeared to shake her deeply. Yao was equally troubled. As for Maomao, she already knew what she had to do.
"Right! Granduncle, a question," Lahan said, thrusting his hand in the air hard enough to cut the tension in the room. Maomao would have liked to chase those spectacles and that tousled hair right out. "Was this autopsy the reason you came back from your travels?"
"Yes, it was. I dug up her grave and dissected her, and when I attempted to return her to her resting place, I was discovered and nearly killed. If a fellow student hadn't helped me, I would probably be at the bottom of a river by now. My friend stole a horse and saw me safely to the estate of a merchant with ties to
Li. That's how I survived."
It turned out Luomen could be quite brave sometimes.
"This friend of yours. Would it be Dr. Liu?" En'en asked.
"I must say... I've caused Dr. Liu quite a lot of trouble over the years."
Dr. Liu! Maomao could picture the physician's careworn face. She'd always known he was hard on her because she was related to Luomen, an understanding that was now reinforced.
"Another question, if I may," En'en said. "If I'm not mistaken, Li's laws only permit the dissection of executed criminals. Yet you make it sound like Dr. Liu has experience with dissections himself." She sounded like she was choosing her words carefully. To Maomao, it seemed she was already mostly sure about this—but wanted to ask just the same.
"I can say nothing of what's to come after this. But let me ask: If you are gifted at needlework, does that mean you can sew human skin the first time you're called upon to do so? Could you cut human flesh as readily as you slice into a fish in the kitchen?"
The answer, of course, was no. En'en perhaps found the questions foolish; she went quiet.
There was a long moment in which none of them spoke. Lahan broke the silence.
"Perhaps a doctor ought to do at least a little dissection, hm? We know for a fact that my granduncle's experience in such things enabled him to save the Empress Dowager and her child.
Naturally, that's unlikely to be the last time a member of the
Imperial family finds themselves in dire straits—ill or injured."
Maomao wanted to yell at him to shut up, but she had a question of her own that she wanted to ask, so she kept her peace. An injured member of the royal family, huh? It reminded her of something she very much wished not to remember.
Luomen looked troubled again. "I think this requires another story," he said. Maomao well knew that stories sometimes took detours. "Long, long ago, there was a physician named Kada. Not the Kada of legend, but a real doctor of unparalleled skill. His name came from both his gift for medicine and a distant connection to the Imperial bloodline."
Was this one of the things that had inspired Luomen to call this text "Kada's Book"?
"And what happened to him?" En'en asked.
"He did many dissections, or so it's said, in the interests of medicine. He wasn't afraid to use his authority as a member of the Imperial family, however marginal, in order to further his work. He didn't limit himself to criminals; he collected the corpses of any people who had died of unusual illnesses. He trusted to his abilities and his conviction that what he was doing was right."
Luomen continued. "But he made one miscalculation. Among the bodies he gathered was that of a young prince—the son of the reigning monarch and the apple of his father's eye. The prince had died young of a mysterious illness."
Most of the people around the table were quick to see the implications of whatever they were told—only Yao looked like she was having trouble keeping up.
The remains of members of the Imperial family were supposed to stay in the mausoleum for a year after death. It was only too clear the emperor would be furious to discover that Kada had not only spirited the body from its resting place, but then dissected it.
"Kada was expelled from the royal family and executed. His real name wasn't left to posterity, and even the physician of legend was called Genka from that time forward. Every scroll, every note Kada had made was burned, and doctors were forbidden from practicing dissection. Considering the emperor's state of mind at the time, I doubt anyone dared to object."
In those days, it was forbidden even to speak the name Kada.
"Thus this man was wiped out of history—except among physicians themselves, who continue to talk of him and tell each other his story. His actions were the salvation of many patients. But he was neither a god nor an immortal, just a human like you or me."
Luomen, Maomao saw, was praising the great deeds of this nameless doctor while at the same time censuring his arrogance. "Did that cause medical methods to become dramatically more crude?" she asked, careful to take a polite tone so En'en wouldn't get upset.
"Very much so. Otherwise, we might have saved the former emperor's honored siblings. People whisper that the former empress dowager had them assassinated, but we have written records indicating that in fact it was tuberculosis."
Tuberculosis? Maomao was surprised; she'd heard only that the brothers had died of a spreading sickness. Tuberculosis was notably deadly, yes, but for it to have killed all of the former emperor's brothers—treatment must've been abominably delayed.
Either they failed to isolate the first patient, or they mistakenly thought it was just a cold.
She'd always assumed it was a matter of bloodline that had prevented the former emperor from catching the illness, but perhaps it was because he'd spent so much of his time apart from the other princes. She'd heard that his mother, the one often called the empress regnant, had been one of the lower consorts.
"When study is neglected, there is no limit to how low a discipline can sink. I went to study in the west because the former empress dowager was alarmed by the paucity of medical knowledge we possessed."
I'm sure she hoped her own son wouldn't succumb to some illness.
"Much as she liked to make revolutionary changes, though, Kada still made it impossible for her to openly reverse the ban on dissections. I suppose she understood the feelings of a parent whose child had been so deeply disrespected."
She couldn't openly change the laws. That was the key: behind closed doors, in secret, doctors were conducting autopsies even now for the advancement of medicine.
"Perhaps we could conclude this conversation here?" Luomen looked at each of them as if it were a genuine question.
Yao didn't answer.
"Yes, sir," said En'en, still bothered but drained.
"Very well," Maomao said, more firmly. There were still so many things she wanted to know, but Luomen looked like he was done answering questions.
"Hmm. So that's the story," said Lahan. He had begun this conversation as a third wheel and ended it sounding no more involved.
"If you don't make this decision, then I urge you to forget everything you heard here today. You'll be happiest that way," said Luomen, still conscientious enough to leave them a way out. He trusted that Yao, En'en, and even Lahan would keep the secret to themselves. "I'll be going back, then. Is there a carriage, Lahan?"
"I'll have one made ready immediately."
Luomen tucked the book gingerly among the folds of his robes. "This can't stay here anymore," he said, and then made to leave the library, his cane tapping on the ground. Maomao took a handkerchief from her own robes and handed it to him.
"You can't leave a book that valuable just hanging out there. Someone will steal it," she said, quietly enough that En'en wouldn't hear her.
"True, true. Thank you; I'll be careful."
She watched him go, the tapping of his cane the only sound. She could have excused herself to see him safely to his carriage, but Lahan went with him, so Maomao elected to stay. She was more concerned about the other two in the library at that moment.
I'm hungry, she thought. The sun was high in the sky by now, but En'en showed no sign of preparing a meal, so Maomao resigned herself to doing some cooking.
"All right, food's ready," Maomao said. They'd been making buns in the main kitchen, and she'd induced them to share some ingredients with her. She'd added meat filling to turn them into proper dumplings—and she hadn't done a bad job of it, if she said so herself. She could have stopped there, but there had been some other interesting ingredients around, so she'd decided to make one more dish too.
Now she stood in front of the other two women, neither of whom seemed to have much appetite, holding the dumplings and something they'd never seen before.
Yao was the first to react. "What's that?"
"Perhaps we could call it basi hongshu—silk-reeling sweet potatoes," Maomao replied. In other words, sweet potatoes with a starchy sauce over them. She'd diced the sweet potatoes, peels and all, fried them in oil, and then covered them in starch syrup.
"There seem to be a lot of sweet potatoes in this household.
It's practically a staple food around here," En'en said.
"I have a relative who's a potato farmer," Maomao said.
Specifically, Lahan's biological father.
"I thought I'd been seeing a lot of them in the marketplace. I wonder if Master Lahan is putting them out there."
"Huh! Basi, is it?" Yao took a piece of potato in her chopsticks. She seemed amused by the way it trailed long threads of starch syrup after it. It looked like Maomao had successfully distracted her.
"They'll go cold if we don't eat them. How about we get started?" Maomao took one of the buns from the steamer and took a big bite.
"Here, Lady Yao, use this." En'en handed Yao a dampened handkerchief. Yao took it, wiped her hands, then picked up a bun.
"It's good, but I feel like it's missing something," she said.
"Please don't compare my cooking to En'en's."
"It's a very good effort for a layperson, Lady Yao." Even En'en's remark was, well, a little bit rude.
I mean, I am a layperson.
Maomao had hoped that the food would provide a bit of conversational lubricant, but the talk never came; they ate in silence. En'en seemed even more shocked by the earlier discussion than Yao.
What would she do if her precious young lady took up dissection?
En'en, Maomao knew, always thought of Yao first and
foremost. For the time being she batted away every man who got close like a pesky bug, but one day her thoughts would turn to Yao's marriage.
I can see it now.
If some lordling appeared who could weather En'en's gauntlet,
Yao would probably be perfectly honest with him about her work —but even a man enlightened enough to accept a woman working would likely struggle to accept the idea of her doing dissections.
Besides, we can't have her blabbing about the physicians' secrets.
There was also the question of how long she could continue to be attached to the medical office as a court lady. Newly created posts often vanished again within a few years.
Lot of obstacles ahead, Maomao thought. There were challenges in store for her as well—but she was who she was. As long as she had medicinal ingredients and sick people, she would stubborn her way through.
The three of them were still munching away when the door opened. "Having a snack without me? Now, that's not fair." Tousleglasses was back. Lahan helped himself to the empty seat as if it were the most natural thing in the world and grabbed one of the remaining dumplings.
"Hrm. It's missing something."
"Keep it to yourself."
Why was everyone here so obsessed with flavor?
The sweet potatoes seemed to be received favorably; no one criticized them. En'en's throat must have been dry, however, for she took a sip of tea. "What are your feelings, Master Lahan?" she asked as she set down her cup.
"My feelings on what?"
"What Master Luomen talked about. To put a finer point on it, I'd like to know what you think about young ladies receiving an education equivalent to a physician's."
"Do you want to know what I think, or what people will think?" "Both, if possible."
Lahan looked at the ceiling and mulled it over. "As far as dissection goes, I believe it's necessary. If you fail to move forward, that's the very definition of stagnation. Water that doesn't flow begins to rot." A notably progressive viewpoint. "However, making such a practice public at this moment would invite persecution. People fear the unorthodox and they hate minorities. If you want a nice, quiet life, I would suggest quitting this harebrained practice of involving yourself with the medical staff immediately."
"I thought you at least would be above such things, Master Lahan! So you believe women should stay at home, then?!" Yao jumped to her feet, incensed. The table shook, and Maomao grabbed the teacups to steady them. "I thought you would judge people on their merits—not their sex!" "Lady Yao," En'en said placatingly.
Lahan, for his part, wasn't bothered. "You're correct: it's more difficult for a woman to work than a man. A man can't bear
children—although he can raise them." That's stating the obvious.
Men and women were biologically different, and the roles they took on were likewise different.
"It's fundamentally not possible for men and women to do the same work. I recognize, however, that there are a great many women of exceptional abilities out there."
"Then why would you tell them to stay at home?!"
"You haven't heard all I have to say yet. If you'd be so kind. I believe I prefaced my remark by saying that this was if you want a nice, quiet life. Men and women are not and cannot be on equal terms in the workplace—non-business-related burdens inevitably fall more heavily upon women. If you're both going to walk down the same road, and one of you is in shackles, then you'll need something to help you make up the difference: vastly greater knowledge, or physical strength, something. You'll need more simply to stand on the same ground."
"That's right."
"You already understand, then. Being a doctor is considered demanding work even among men. For a woman to enter that field, she would need much ability and more conviction. Meaning that if your decision can be swayed one way or the other by my opinion, then I think you had better quit and go home."
Lahan was usually so decorous around women—but when he decided to speak his mind, he certainly did so. Yao and En'en sat frozen.
"I'm in favor of women being allowed to do the same work as men. Yet not every woman can or should go into the working world. Anyway, our society as it stands isn't very welcoming to working women. There are plenty of incompetent men out there— and women too. Even within a given group there are individual differences, so there's no way everyone is going to be able to work when they're already shackled. If you think it sounds too difficult, if you don't think you can hack it, then isn't it logical to suggest you should find something else to do with your life?"
Maomao actually found herself agreeing with Lahan, but with Yao there, she decided not to nod openly.
"To hear it from you, Yao," he went on, "one might believe that going to work is the one true path, and looking after the household is pointless and insignificant. But I think that itself might be a mistake. One often witnesses hardworking officials at a drinking party deride their wives as useless, yet more often than not, they're actually in the palms of their ladies' hands. The higher you rise in the world, the more you need class. Clothes, as they say, make the man. Yes, there are exceptions. Of course. A man without any distinguishing talents, however, needs to look good instead, and the less talent he has, the better he needs to look. So his wife puts together an ensemble, puts his shoes on for him, and sends him out the door. If anything, I think you may be a bit too contemptuous of women who can't or don't enter the workforce, but stay at home."
We won't say exactly who he had in mind when he spoke of exceptions. Yao's mouth worked like she wanted to say something, but she couldn't respond.
"My mother was chosen by my grandfather to be my father's bride. Pride she has in spades. Any tasteful furniture you see left around here, she paid for out of her own pocket, with the last of her financial resources. What grieved her more than anything when she was chased out of this household was that she would no longer get to enjoy the sparkling life of the capital. You might think at first glance that she had no redeeming qualities, but she had good taste. When furnishings from this household were sold off, many of them fetched nearly the same price they had new— some of them had even appreciated! If I'd been a little more clever at the time, I might have found some other means of employment for my mother rather than letting her be shuffled off to the countryside. She would have been much more successful as the wife of a merchant—or as a merchant herself—than married off to a homespun man of the La family. Although to be fair, my mother is much too strong-willed a person to have entered merchantry, or to have ever consented to marrying a mere businessman."
Lahan had turned quite voluble, yet somehow nothing he said caused Maomao to want to jump in with a sarcastic interjection.
"What exactly are you getting at, Master Lahan?" En'en asked.
"Hah, I've been a little too roundabout. My point is simply that I've become rather stubborn myself, and hate to see capable people embarking on a path that doesn't suit their talents. It's very inefficient, and not beautiful. Both of you are talented, so whether you work in the public eye or offer support from the wings, I'm sure you'll do well. Whether you'll achieve mastery is another question. To see someone pursue what they really want, though—questions of efficiency aside, the passion itself makes the pursuit beautiful."
In sum, for Lahan, the matter seemed to come down to whether or not it agreed with his aesthetics.
He sipped some tea, then rose from his seat looking quite pleased with himself. "If you don't mind, I'll excuse myself now." He wiped his glasses and promptly made his exit.
Maomao rested her chin on her hands and watched him go. No one scolded her for her uncouth behavior—En'en was looking at the ground. Yao, though, was staring straight ahead; she offered Lahan's departing form a small bow.
I see. She thought she saw which of them Lahan had really been expounding to. How very thoughtful of him.
Maomao knew what she was going to do, no matter what answer Yao or En'en gave Luomen. She had no right to intervene in their lives, whatever path they chose.
She took the remaining piece of potato, which sat untouched,
and ate it up, then drank the last of her tea.
Chapter 8: Secret Lessons
Maomao went to the pleasure district to check on Sazen, and to Jinshi's villa to look after him, and then her break was over. She wrote a letter to Luomen telling him that her determination remained set, and she wanted to learn more of the medical arts.
The vacation ended before she received an answer.
When she returned to the medical office, she discovered a mountain of laundry waiting. There's nothing worse than work that's piled up over a long break.
"Do the laundry. Right away, if you don't mind," Dr. Liu said. He made it sound so simple, but doing laundry in winter was a cold prospect. Her hands were going to go numb. She would have liked to give him a good glare, but now that she knew how much trouble Luomen had put him to in their younger days, she felt like she couldn't say anything—except "Yes, sir."
There was only one thing to do: what she was told. The pile of laundry revealed that while Maomao and the other ladies had been on break, the physicians had been working.
"Guess I'd better get to it," Maomao said.
The bulk of the laundry consisted of dressings that needed to be disinfected. The first step would be to separate them into bandages that were relatively clean and those that were filthy with blood or bodily fluids. The dirtiest would be thrown away, while they would cut the stains from the cleaner ones and reuse them. Bandages were consumables; it was expected that they would be discarded after enough use. Maomao especially didn't want to use anything with blood on it—human blood could be a source of contamination.
"What's this?" Yao said, chewing worriedly on her thumb. She was looking at someone's white coat. They must have been treating a severely wounded patient, because it was covered in blood. It smelled faintly of alcohol, perhaps from an attempt to disinfect it.
"We can't have the doctors throwing their coats in this pile. Whose is that?" En'en said. She looked at the lining—all the doctors' outfits looked alike, so their names were embroidered on the inside. She didn't say anything, but her brow furrowed. Maomao looked over her shoulder to discover the name Tianyu. One of the young doctors, a rather...freewheeling man. He'd tried to ask En'en out several times, but she always ignored him.
She just flung it aside...
En'en continued sorting bandages as if nothing had happened.
Both of them had been troubled by the conversation with Luomen, but as far as Maomao could see, it looked like En'en had recovered over the remainder of the break. I don't know what
answer they gave him, though.
Luomen hadn't even replied to her yet; she doubted he had answered En'en and Yao.
"Since we're doing the laundry anyway, En'en, why don't we go ahead and wash it for him?" Yao said.
"Lady Yao, you mustn't indulge these people, even if they are doctors. Rules are rules."
Specifically, the rule in question was that the physicians were to wash their own medical attire.
"But they were working while we were on break..."
En'en adopted a most uncharacteristic expression of restrained anger. No doubt she was unhappy to hear Yao giving Tianyu any benefit of the doubt.
"I'm not sure how to get the bloodstains out, though," Yao said.
En'en made no move to solve that particular problem, so Maomao stepped forward. "Give me that for a second," she said. She looked at the faded bloodstains. Enough time had passed that they had taken on a dark crimson color. Maomao wasn't sure they would come out, but nonetheless she filled a bucket with cold water and dunked the coat in it.
"What's your plan? Are you going to use ash?" Yao asked. That was a common tactic for getting filth off of laundry. The young mistress had learned a thing or two in her months of doing the wash. Something else was called for here, though.
"I'm going to go get some materials," Maomao said. She
headed back to the office and started rifling through the stock of medical supplies.
"What are you looking for?" asked Dr. Liu, who was in the room.
"I was thinking of daikon to help get some stains out."
She knew the oversized radish was also used as a cure for a cough. It wasn't just a delicious vegetable, it was also a salubrious medicine.
"Stains? Ah, you mean the blood." Dr. Liu, of course, was quick to connect the dots at the mention of daikon. "If you're doing that anyway, then wash these too." He handed her another bloodstained white jacket—then another, and another. Soon she was holding five or six of them.
She didn't say anything.
"Got a problem?"
"Perish the thought, sir."
He was such an ogre, this doctor—she could hear the barb in his voice. The strong features of his face must have made him quite the popular guy in his younger days, but with age they simply made him a harsh-looking old man.
Yet, she'd heard how he had helped Luomen, and for that she would put up with this.
"Was there a major surgery?" she asked.
"Eh."
With that ambiguous answer, Dr. Liu went back to working on the daily report.
To have soiled so many jackets, there must've been several people who needed surgery—or one person who needed it very, very badly.
Were they even wearing the smocks? Maomao wondered. The actual quantity of blood wasn't that great, but some of the stains bothered her. And that smell. She knew the laundry service was closed over the winter, but she wished the doctors hadn't left these so long.
She put the jackets in a laundry basket and grated some daikon.
"Just take the whole thing. We don't need half a daikon sitting around," Dr. Liu said.
"Yes, sir... Should I take this to mean we're to get all the stains out?"
This was a direct order from a superior, so there was nothing to do but obey—but it made Maomao regret that she hadn't simply come in, grabbed the daikon, and ducked out again.
Yao made a sour face when she saw all the new work Maomao was carrying.
Sorry...
Maomao dunked the white coats, then placed fabric under the stains. Then she began pounding the stains with a cloth ball—a piece of cotton filled with grated daikon.
"And this is going to get the stains out?" Yao asked, peering down at her.
"Yes. Daikon has nutrients that break down blood. It also works if you've wet the bed or spilled some egg."
"Huh! I never knew that."
Maomao pulled out the cloth she'd put under the coats, making sure the openly impressed Yao could see. The bloodstains had faded from the white jackets and transferred to the cloth beneath. The real question was whether they could get the stains out entirely given how much time had passed.
"See how it works? If it's making sense, then help out, if you'd be so kind. We need to do this while the radish is fresh."
"R-Right, of course."
En'en pitched in as well, and they started pounding grated daikon into the soiled garments.
"I'm done!" Yao said.
"Then let's wash them. It defeats the point if we just replace the bloodstains with daikon stains."
"Right!"
Yao was a quick study. As long as she understood what someone was doing and why, she was happy to go along with it— although by the same token, if she had any doubts, she could dig in her heels and hold everything up.
They had finished the washing and hung the bandages up to dry when a young doctor came walking by. It was Tianyu, the apprentice physician.
"Excuse me?" Maomao said. En'en took a dim view of Tianyu, and nobody wanted him to start talking to Yao, so by process of elimination Maomao became the group's spokeswoman. "I'm sorry, but I think your jacket got mixed into our load of laundry."
"Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry about that. Think you could wash it for me?" The response was light enough, but Tianyu seemed subdued compared to his usual self.
"Did you have to help with a surgery?" Maomao asked.
"Yeah... I mean, I guess."
The vague answer nagged at Maomao. First the bloodstained coat, now the obviously fatigued Tianyu.
"You seem very tired. Please understand that we won't wash your coat in the future. As for today, it's hanging over there. Take it when it's dry, if you would."
"Yeah. Sure," Tianyu said with minimal enthusiasm, and then he went off somewhere.
"I've never seen such a listless doctor!" Yao said, angrily cleaning up the bucket they'd used. The jackets were out to dry, but the bandages still had to be boiled to disinfect them. From a sanitation standpoint, it might have been a good idea to boil the jackets as well, but it would damage the fabric, and they weren't consumables. Ironing them would be a better choice, but Maomao didn't feel like going to that much effort.
Sigh. Fine. When they dried, she would at least put them under the cots in the medical office.
She was spent from doing all that laundry and wanted a break. "Since we'll be boiling things anyway, how about we cook up some potatoes too?"
"Potatoes!" Yao said eagerly. She and En'en had brought back armloads of potatoes from Lahan when they returned to the dormitory. So many, in fact, that they had brought some to supply the medical office.
Guess it was a bumper crop this year, Maomao thought. Sweet potatoes yielded a larger harvest than rice, but didn't store as well. The starch syrup she had used to make the basi hongxiu had been made from sweet potatoes too—the kitchen servant, who had been finding all kinds of uses for the sweet potatoes including grinding them up into powder, had told her as much.
But making them is easy and delicious. The thought put a bit of the spring back in Maomao's step. Yao's eyes were shining.
"Better keep up, Maomao!"
"Coming!"
With her arms full of sopping bandages, Maomao followed after Yao and En'en.
The sun was already starting to get low in the sky by the time they were done disinfecting the bandages and hanging them to dry.
"I didn't have a chance to do anything..."
The time had vanished partly to the quantity of laundry, but also to cooking potatoes. As the three of them were enjoying their snack, a parade of other physicians had appeared to request some for themselves.
Wish I could mix up some medicine, Maomao thought. As long as she was in the medical office, she wanted to experiment. Unfortunately, as soon as it got dark, the ladies would be sent home. Not to mention that once the bandages were anywhere near dry they had to be brought inside, lest they frost during the night.
Maomao looked at the white coats drying along one edge of the laundry area. There was one fewer than earlier—somebody must have come to collect his garments. Would it have killed him
to take in the rest with him? she thought.
She checked the linings of the coats, curious to see whose jackets were still there. She found Dr. Liu's coat. That wasn't so surprising—but the names on the other jackets made her stop and think.
He did say something about surgery, right? A major surgery would require a large team of doctors—but why was Dr. Liu the only experienced physician among the entire group? All the other names on all the other jackets belonged, as best Maomao could recall, to the apprentice physicians.
"Don't tell me..."
Could the doctors have been doing a dissection? The apprentices had begun to settle into the work; it would be reasonable for them to take the next step.
If that was what they were doing, Maomao absolutely had to be a part of it. Any chance my old man got in touch with Dr. Liu? With some trepidation, Maomao took the white jackets back to the medical office.
Tianyu was the only one there. He was ironing his jacket, which he had collected. Couldn't be bothered to do anyone else's?
Maomao thought, but took care that her vitriol didn't escape her mouth. Instead she said, "I'll leave these here."
"Sure. Right," replied Tianyu, who looked just as tired ironing as he had walking by earlier. He might not be enthusiastic about ironing, but Dr. Liu would chew him out if his uniform was wrinkled, and it was probably more convenient to use the iron here than to get one going at home.
He didn't so much as look at Maomao—was he concentrating that hard, or did he just not care enough to look up? Either way, it didn't bother Maomao, who put Dr. Liu's jacket by his desk. It was still a bit damp, but there was nothing she could do about that.
Hm?
On the desk was the daily report he had been writing. Maomao picked it up and paged through it. Nothing incriminating. Then, however, she looked back over the entries for the past several days.
There are none...
If she was to take Dr. Liu's words at face value, a surgery had taken place, one that had required the attention of a veritable crowd of doctors. She would expect at least a word about it in the report. Instead the entries for recent days each read simply:
Nothing unusual.
He's got to be hiding something, she thought, looking at Tianyu.
"That surgery must have been a real nightmare, huh, Tianyu?" she said.
After a beat he said, "It sure was. I've never worked so hard in my life." Was the slight delay because he was ironing, or was it a second of confusion or hesitation?
"What kind of surgery was it?" Maomao asked as she folded the jackets.
"What's it matter? Nobody likes doing surgery," Tianyu said, his reaction still indeterminate.
Did they do something to shut him up? Maomao wondered. Tianyu's attitude toward En'en made him seem like a jackass incapable of taking a hint, but he was at least intelligent enough to pass the medical exam—and he did talk more than the other apprentice physicians. He could probably manage a lie or two if he needed to.
Maybe I should have talked to someone else, Maomao thought —or at least used En'en to get to Tianyu. Feeling a pang of regret, she patted the folded jackets. I'll try one of the other apprentices.
She looked out into the gathering dark, then went to collect the drying bandages.
Maomao was sure of it: the doctors were secretly doing something that everyone around them considered taboo. Even with this certainty, however, she hadn't yet found out precisely what was going on. She couldn't exactly walk up to one of the apprentices and say, "Are you doing dissections?" It didn't help that few of them were as gregarious as Tianyu; most were quiet and reserved. Then there was the rumor that talking to Maomao could draw the ire of the freak strategist, which left most people unwilling to speak with her one-on-one.
Maybe I could get Yao and En'en to help me somehow?
No. She couldn't involve them in this when she didn't know what answer they had given Luomen. Her father had told them to forget all about the subject if they chose not to pursue it.
So time passed, wasted and meaningless.
When will we be going to the western capital? Jinshi had said two months—Maomao was starting to feel the pressure. However, she couldn't let it get in the way of her daily duties. Today, Yao and En'en were doing the laundry, while Maomao stayed to watch the medical office.
Huh? She realized that one corner of the office suddenly looked quite empty. Once crowded with equipment, books, and other supplies that one of the apprentices had been using, it was now neat, orderly, and much less cluttered than before.
"Somebody decide to do some cleaning?" she asked. "He was transferred," said Dr. Liu.
"He finished his apprenticeship?"
"More or less," Dr. Liu replied as he made some notes in a book.
In point of fact, the medical office near the military camp was a prime place for doctors to work. There were always plenty of injuries, giving them a chance to hone their skills. Thus, apprentices were sent here first, to reap the fruits of ample practice, and then after an apprenticeship of several months, they would be transferred to a different medical office. The more talented a physician was, the busier a place he could expect to be posted. If you're curious, the reason Maomao's old man—that is, Luomen—wasn't stationed near the military camp was due to the intervention of the freak strategist.
I'd like to get out of here, myself...
The monocled old fart had shown up nearly every day since Maomao's assignment here. Lately, she was pleased to note, there had been less of him, perhaps due to his Go game with Jinshi. Then again, he'd seemed quite busy with something since the tournament. She didn't really care what it was; she was just glad not to see him.
Thankfully!
She knew how to be grateful when it counted.
She finished cleaning, as well as restocking some salves they'd been low on and changing the bed sheets. "There's nothing else for me to do, so may I use the stove?" she asked.
"Planning to boil something up?"
"I want to heat some wine to extract the alcohol." She needed enough to use on Jinshi.
"Luomen had the same idea once, quite a long time ago," Dr. Liu said, the mixture of frustration and bitterness on his face bespeaking a woeful tale. "But then he stepped out to relieve himself, and some fool walked into the room with a lit pipe."
"Yikes! I'll bet he was a very singed fool after that."
Anyone knew there could be just one outcome: boom! The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself, but Dr. Liu scowled. "It's Luomen's fault for not posting a warning!" His distress made it obvious who the fool had been. This time, Maomao was at least wise enough to keep her mouth shut.
Incidentally, the medical office bore a prominent sign forbidding smoking.
Maomao was happy for these occasional glimpses into her father's past, courtesy of another physician who had known and worked with him for so long. She started to wonder if he might possibly tell her a little something about their time in the west.
I wish I could just bring it up with him... She knew, though, that if she broached the subject in the wrong way, it might do just the opposite of what she wanted. Better to wait and let things play out a little more.
"Anyway, it's better not to use the stove. You never know when some idiot cutting work and smoking away might walk in. Here,
use this brazier. Take it to the other room."
"I don't think it's going to get hot enough, sir..."
"We don't need that much. Besides, I know you. You're wondering if there's something you might be able to mix up to pass the time." Bull's-eye...
He was sharp, as she would have expected of anyone who had studied alongside Luomen.
"You might also be thinking no one will notice if you help yourself to a cup of the wine."
Why did he have to be so damn sharp?
Maomao took the large-ish brazier; she also got a teapot, a distilling device with a pipe coming out of it, some disinfectant spirits, and a bucket of cold water.
"Ah. Take these too," Dr. Liu said, piling on scissors, medicine packets, and some powders. "Make up a hundred packages."
"Yes, sir..."
Some make-work for her. He obviously didn't intend to give her the chance to have any free time.
Maomao added some charcoal to the brazier and placed the distiller on it. Unlike the jerry-rigged distilling device she'd made in the Jade Pavilion using whatever was at hand, this was a distinguished piece of equipment. There were two things that appeared to be stewpots with upside-down teapot spouts attached to them, one above and one below. Wine was put into the lower one, heated to make it evaporate, and then it cooled in the upper pot, producing the distilled alcohol.
Wish I had one of these at the dorm, she thought. It was pretty specialized, so building one would take a lot of money. The device in front of her was made of ceramic; obtaining one made of metal would only add to the cost. Maybe they'd give me this one when it gets old and they don't need it anymore?
Well, it was nice to want things. She let the thoughts amble through her mind as she packed the medicine into the packets. It would be given to the officials who inevitably came in with colds at this time of year. Medicine, like food, went bad if it wasn't used promptly, but she expected these packets would be gone before long.
While Maomao was busily stuffing the little envelopes, she thought she heard someone arrive in the next room. Maybe someone with injuries! She tried to go back, but Dr. Liu was standing at the door; he met her with a sharp "Stay there and do your job." Then he went on, "We have a visitor, but we won't need
tea. You don't have to prepare anything for us." Someone he'd rather not see too much of?
Or perhaps someone he didn't want to waste the tea on? Maomao was puzzled, but went back to stuffing envelopes...for exactly as long as it took Dr. Liu to turn around.
I sure hope it's not the freak strategist, she thought, pressing her ear to the door. She could hear Dr. Liu talking, although he sounded uncommonly respectful and polite. It would seem to indicate he was speaking to someone more important than he was.
"You want another capable physician, sir? I'm afraid you're really squeezing me dry..."
Who could he be talking to? Maomao wondered. Her question was soon answered.
"I realize I'm asking a great deal. In fact, however, I could do with two more physicians."
Even through a door, she recognized that gorgeous voice. It wasn't quite as honeyed as it had been in the rear palace, but in place of honey it had some ineffable quality that drew people to it.
Less of a heavenly nymph and more of a heavenly immortal, huh?
It was, needless to say, Jinshi.
"I've been giving the apprentice physicians the best training I can, just as you asked, but they're still only halfway to full competency at best. They have the fortitude but not the skill, or they have the skill but not the mind. Developing the skill and the mind takes time, if I may say so."
Strength, mind, and skill? Those were the proverbial ingredients for becoming a doctor...
"Is it not possible to let them learn through, er, practical experience?"
"Hah! Practical experience? Please, sir, spare a thought for the patients they would be learning on! It's true, practitioners of medicine seek to save people, but most unfortunately we have no guarantee of success. Sometimes we fail, and then the patients— or their next of kin—sometimes have very unkind things to say to us. If you don't have an exceptionally strong heart, such moments will soon break you."
Jinshi wanted a physician, but Dr. Liu was stonewalling him, claiming they didn't have enough people. There were fresh young doctors learning their trade, but it wouldn't happen overnight.
Is this about finding people to go with him to the western capital? Apparently Jinshi felt the need to take matters into his
own hands. It wasn't easy being at the top.
"Stronghearted people? I should think you have a few of those," Jinshi said, almost lighthearted. Maomao began to suspect that the request for more medical personnel was a pretext to get Dr. Liu to send her with Jinshi.
Dr. Liu normally attends the Imperial family, Maomao recalled. If Jinshi suddenly stopped summoning him, he might start to suspect something. She knew how perceptive he was; that was what made him so formidable.
"If I had to choose, I'd pick someone without too many ties to the capital," Dr. Liu said. "If they were to have, say, an overprotective parent, it could only make things more complicated. Besides, no one is eager to go that far away."
His remark started rather...pointed. In fact, he seemed to have a very specific person in mind. They were talking about personnel for the trip to the western capital. Maybe getting Maomao into the entourage wasn't the only reason to have more doctors around—it was, after all, a larger-scale trip than the last one.
The last time it was almost covert. Maomao had found herself brought along almost without knowing what was happening. The group hadn't been small, but considering that Jinshi was a member of the Imperial family, well, it hadn't been very large.
Shaoh was in the west, and Hokuaren was in the north. Li was separated from Hokuaren by a large mountain range, peaks several li tall, said to be all but impassable. The vast majority of armies from the north actually appeared from the northwest, where the mountains ended. That, at least, had been the claim of one of the reading problems on the court ladies' exam.
In short, if Hokuaren were to make a move, they would appear north of the western capital.
I can't believe I still remember that. I guess I can thank that old hag. The madam had not been about to allow Maomao to try to simply cram everything in a single night.
Maomao was so busy trying to listen in that she didn't notice that the distiller was empty and had begun to produce a strange smoke. Until, that is, she sniffed the air and slowly, fearfully looked back. The moment she saw the smoke, she rushed over and dumped water on the brazier to put the fire out. Her reactions were swift, but there was no way the people in the next room would miss the noisy splash of water.
"What's going on in here?" asked the exasperated visitor— Jinshi, as Maomao had guessed.
"Uh, just sort of fell asleep on fire watch," said Maomao, who was gloomily using a handkerchief to mop up the water.
"Interesting! Does fire watch involve leaning against a door?
Because I can clearly see the imprint of one on your cheek," said Dr. Liu. Maomao slapped her hand over her right cheek, but it was too little, too late.
She didn't say anything.
They didn't say anything.
She'd been caught eavesdropping red-handed—or perhaps redcheeked. She averted her gaze from Dr. Liu, but he refused to take his eyes off her. Instead he grabbed her and put her in a choke hold.
Yow ow ow!
She scrambled back onto her haunches. They couldn't have been that concerned about being overheard or they wouldn't have left her in the room right next door. Apparently it was the principle of the thing.
Jinshi looked like he was about to burst out laughing and was trying very hard not to. Basen stood beside him along with two other men Maomao took to be guards. Apparently, it wasn't easy being handsome.
Jinshi successfully quashed the hilarity and coughed in his most somber manner. "Dr. Liu. May I ask you something?"
"Yes, sir?"
"You told me the apprentice physicians were still only half ready, but what's your opinion of the occupants of the newly created post? The court ladies assigned to your office?"
"I'm not sure what you mean. They're...well, they're court ladies, sir."
"Yes, but from what I've heard, the work they do is very nearly the same as that of the apprentice physicians. Meaning that if they had the mind, skill, and strength you spoke of, they could conceivably be promoted to be physicians themselves, could they not?"
The people around Jinshi looked at him in astonishment.
Court ladies promoted to doctors? It wasn't theoretically possible. There was no way Dr. Liu would stand there and let someone dictate such things to him, not even the Emperor's younger brother. Pressing the point, however, would only make things harder for Maomao, so she kept quiet.
Over the course of her acquaintance with Jinshi, she'd come to have a fairly good understanding of how he thought. Not everything he did made sense to her, but she saw what he was trying to say here.
What should she do? How could she help?
"One such lady is right here, sir. If you would have her," she said.
"Hoh. Well, how strong of heart is she?" Jinshi leered at Maomao, not a friendly smile but a mischievous one.
This son of a...! Whose fault was it that she had to be wiping his ass? Actually, maybe the skin of his ass would be the perfect
solution...
She resisted shooting back at him out loud.
"Maomao here is audacious, and that's it," Dr. Liu said. "Above all, she's a woman. She can never be a doctor."
He's got me there, she thought. She didn't even specifically want to be a doctor—she'd just been cornered into needing a doctor's skills. I'm an apothecary! That was how Luomen had raised her. She wanted surgical training in order to save more people, but it wouldn't distract her from her true calling.
Meanwhile, she did have her pride as an apothecary. "Didn't I hear you say I'm even better at mixing medicines than some of the apprentice physicians, Dr. Liu?" she asked.
He gave her a withering look. She trembled with the frustration of knowing this was not a situation where she could talk back to him—knowing she just had to ride this out.
"I don't need a physician proper on this occasion. As long as they possess equivalent skills, I don't care if it's the town sawbones or even an apothecary. I can grant them special permission. Are you certain you can't find me at least two more people under those conditions?" Jinshi said. It was clear he meant more than he was expressly stating. Maomao was quite familiar with this tone; in the rear palace, it had always presaged his most bothersome requests.
This was going to be as much of a nuisance as anything he had ever asked her to do, but at the same time, it promised to satisfy Maomao's intellectual curiosity. She wouldn't get another chance like this. If they could prevail upon Dr. Liu, she would get an opportunity to learn something entirely new. She felt her heart start to race, accompanied by a pleasant thrill and a decidedly less pleasant cold sweat.
She clenched her fists. Dr. Liu gave her a long, hard look, a look that clearly told her to refuse.
I can't do that, she thought. Instead she knelt on one knee before Jinshi. "I'm an apothecary, sir, if you would indeed accept me."
The corners of Jinshi's mouth twitched upward. "You heard her.
What's your professional opinion, Dr. Liu?"
For a moment, Dr. Liu gave Maomao a silent glare. And here she'd expected that he would give her work a fair shake in comparison with the apprentices and the other assistants. Was it really that much of a problem that she was a woman?
Finally he said, "She is, as she says, an apothecary. But there
are some problems that cannot be treated with herbs."
"Isn't it the job of her medical superior to do something about that? If she must know about more than herbs, can she not be taught?"
Maomao couldn't see Dr. Liu from her obsequious bow, but she knew at that moment he had to be gritting his teeth and suppressing his rage.
"I'm sure I can trust you to do what needs to be done, doctor," Jinshi said, and then he left the room. Basen obediently followed him, but not without a sympathetic glance at Dr. Liu.
With Jinshi gone, the silent stare only intensified. All Maomao could offer was a weak smile.
"Give me your head. One time, and we'll call it even." "Yes, sir..."
His knuckle slammed into her skull. Actually, it was pretty painful—he could have given the old madam a run for her money.
"I'll let you off with that. Argh! Curse that Luomen. He's stuck me with a real troublemaker!" Dr. Liu fell into his chair and sucked angrily on his pipe. So he had heard the story from Luomen!
Maybe he was planning to play dumb.
In a way, then, it was very good luck that Jinshi had come.
Dr. Liu continued to puff away, still openly annoyed.
"Should you be smoking, sir?" Maomao asked, gesturing at the sign.
"Right now? Yes! Be good enough to look the other way this once. Don't you have some cleanup left in the other room?" Oof, look who's feeling salty.
Still, Maomao knew better than to needle him further. She went into the next room, looked at the inundated brazier and broken distiller, and put her head in her hands.
The still alone was worth six months' salary for her.
Chapter 9: The Message
At his villa, Jinshi received a letter. It was written not on wood strips nor on paper, but on parchment, rolled up and tied, and sealed with wax. Different lands had their different ways of sending letters; this was characteristic of the west.
Gaoshun bore out Jinshi's suspicion: "It's from the western capital," he said.
"Yes, from Sir Gyoku-ou. I know perfectly well they have paper over there these days..."
Even in the west, where trees to make paper were scarce, it was still cheaper than parchment. Jinshi took another look at the seal, confirming it was the one he expected. It had become quite familiar to him recently—it looked very much like the one now burned into his flank.
He tugged at the tie, trying to break the seal, but it resisted him. The material looked delicate enough. It could be cut, surely.
"You have scissors, Gaoshun?" Jinshi asked.
"Here, sir."
Jinshi broke the seal—and sighed. If Basen were here, he would have immediately begun questioning Jinshi about what could inspire such a reaction, but Gaoshun knew better. He waited for Jinshi to speak.
"You want to read it?" Jinshi asked. Gaoshun glanced at the parchment but shook his head.
"What does it say, sir?"
"His daughter will enter the rear palace just about the time we're leaving court—as planned. Awfully imperious letter for a man who's simply confirming a schedule." Did Gyoku-ou think Jinshi was still in charge of running the rear palace?
"Practically speaking, her admission to the rear palace will have to be postponed until you get back," Gaoshun observed. Jinshi felt bad for the princess who would have come all this way, but she would have to stay in a separate villa somewhere and wait. Given Empress Gyokuyou's objections, she couldn't enter the rear palace.
There was an obvious compromise: make her the consort of the Imperial younger brother. The catch being that Jinshi, of course, had no intention of marrying her.
Jinshi, for his part, knew exactly how close the matter had come, and it made the hair on his neck stand on end. If he hadn't branded that crest on his flank, even the Emperor would probably have ordered him to suck it up and marry the girl.
Jinshi didn't say anything, but he tapped his temple. He went back over the matter in his mind—something still felt wrong. Empress Gyokuyou knew about Jinshi's brand. The secret was a weapon in the Empress's hand, but it was a double-edged sword. It must not become public knowledge that Jinshi bore the Empress's own crest on his body. The Emperor and Empress had seen him do it and knew what it meant, but anyone else would assume it was proof of adultery. Adultery involving some very strange predilections, no less.
As potential marriage partners went, even the Empress's own niece was too dangerous.
From Gyokuyou's perspective, it would have seemed less detrimental simply to take the high road and accept the girl's entry into the rear palace. So what if the Emperor visited her a few times? The Empress would never be so petty as to be jealous over such a thing, not now. Was there, then, something about the girl herself to which the Empress objected?
"Gaoshun... Is Empress Gyokuyou close to Sir Gyoku-ou and his daughter?"
"I should think Lady Suiren would be better placed to answer that question than I am, sir."
Jinshi looked at the old lady-in-waiting. She said, "I doubt it.
Master Gyoku-ou didn't have this daughter when Empress Gyokuyou was still in the western capital. I suspect they've never even seen each other."
Suiren placed some rice crackers in front of Jinshi. They weren't his favorite; she was getting ready for Maomao, who would be here soon. The young woman wouldn't eat anything while she was at the villa, but Jinshi knew she would be happy to be able to take some snacks home.
"This is as good as an order to go to the west, eh?" Jinshi said. Yes, the suggestion could only have been intended to chase him out. He'd known the Empress since she had been only a consort in the rear palace, and she had always been a shrewd woman. "I'd like to believe she has good intentions at heart," Jinshi muttered to himself. Good intentions could of course be defined in many ways, but the point was that he hoped she had some sort of plan.
Simply as a matter of politics, however, he couldn't trust her uncritically.
Jinshi skimmed the letter again. The seal was authentic, but it appeared to have been written by an amanuensis. The wording was forthright, impetuous—but really what it came down to was only that Gyoku-ou wanted to make sure everything was in order. It was somewhat baffling, this mismatch between form and content. Whatever; Jinshi would have to retain it in his files. He passed it to Gaoshun to put in his letter box.
He was just about to throw the severed tie away when he stopped. The string, he noticed, was made of twisted paper. That was why it had felt so delicate. He was surprised: a paper tie seemed like a strange thing to use to tie a parchment roll.
He began to inspect the paper string, gently working it loose. It turned out to be a letter on a single sheet of paper. When unfurled, it revealed a lengthy series of numbers.
"Moon Prince," Gaoshun said. He no longer used the name Jinshi, and never would again.
"It seems there's something going on in the western capital that I need to investigate," Jinshi said. He didn't know what the numbers meant, but something was obviously fishy. To reiterate, the seal was authentic; at the very least, the letter itself was real. As for the tie, had it covertly been changed? Or had someone other than Gyoku-ou sealed the letter? It was, of course, theoretically possible that Gyoku-ou himself had done this, but Jinshi doubted it very much. "But why?" he wondered aloud. "Is this some sort of coded message to me?"
Gaoshun said, "It seems awfully roundabout for that, but perhaps if the sender had no other options..." He stopped short of saying anything definitive.
It had been a gamble. Jinshi might find the message, and he might not. If he didn't, what then? Another message, perhaps.
Several more, perhaps, until Jinshi finally noticed.
"I have no idea what these numbers are supposed to mean. I think we had better call in an expert," Jinshi said. Luckily, he knew just the person.
Gaoshun furrowed his brow. It was a familiar gesture, but the furrows seemed deeper than usual.
"You look like you have some idea what's going on," Jinshi said.
"No, sir," Gaoshun replied. "However, I recall something like this happening before."
"When was that?" Jinshi asked, looking at the parchment.
"Seventeen years ago. A secret message precipitated the extinction of the Yi clan."
The Yi clan. They had ruled the western capital before Gyokuen had come to power. Indeed, the area had formerly been known as I-sei Province, or the "Yi Western Province," after them. But they no longer existed, since the empress regnant had had them destroyed. Supposedly they had been plotting rebellion. Jinshi had been just four years old at the time and had no memory of the events.
"Wiping out the Yi clan was one of the empress regnant's most notable acts, along with her work on the rear palace," Jinshi said.
The empress regnant: that is to say, the former empress dowager. She was never able to occupy the throne herself, but had conducted politics on behalf of the former emperor in a capacity much like a prime minister.
"Her Majesty the former empress dowager managed to involve herself in politics despite being a woman, and she was anything but a fool," Gaoshun said.
"I'm aware. I know who the fool was in those days."
The former emperor—Jinshi's father—had had no interest in politics. As far back as Jinshi could remember, the man had been weak with illness; the closest he came to being involved in government was when he would totter about the palace from time to time. In his last years, he hardly ever left his room, but stayed shut up with his paintings.
The empress regnant had made some forceful moves, but almost all of them had been for the people's benefit. She raised up those who were capable—but at the same time, she earned the antipathy and even hatred of high officials who prized bloodline above merit.
Even the empress regnant's most seemingly inscrutable moves had turned out to have a logic behind them. So it had been for the expansion of the rear palace—perhaps it was so for the destruction of the Yi clan as well.
The story was simple: the Yi clan had plotted rebellion, and had been punished with extermination. Yet exactly what manner of rebellion they had been plotting had not been handed down— and more troublingly, this was the first Jinshi had heard of any secret messages.
So he asked: "What kind of rebellion was the Yi clan planning?"
The Yi were not the last clan to be destroyed; the fate of the Shi clan was fresher in his mind. Jinshi brushed the scar on his right cheek as he relived the memory.
"If that were known, I'm sure you would have been told, Moon Prince," Gaoshun replied. A euphemistic way of saying that the Yi clan had been annihilated before it was known what they were scheming.
"And you approved of this?" Jinshi asked.
"No," Gaoshun replied with unexpected honesty. Jinshi realized his question had been unfair. Gaoshun would already have been Jinshi's minder by that time; he would have had no hand in politics. "The empress dowager was only human. That would have been around the time that the former emperor lost his mind."
That was the only former emperor Jinshi remembered, haunted and incoherent.
"I'm sure you'd like to learn more, but Xiaomao will be here soon."
"Are you still calling her that?" Jinshi narrowed his eyes. "If I stopped now, I'm sure she would have questions." He was right, of course, but it still stung.
"Why not call Maamei Xiaomei, then? To match." Maamei was Gaoshun's daughter, and Jinshi was well aware of how forceful she could be with her father.
Gaoshun looked tired. "I used to. But I've been forbidden from doing so—so my apologies, sir, but I cannot."
"Forbidden? What, did you slip up and call her that in public?"
"No... I developed the unfortunate habit of calling the other one Damei."
"Damei..." In other words, "Big Mei" as opposed to "Little Mei." Gaoshun's daughter was Maamei, and his wife was named Taomei. It might not ordinarily have been such a big deal, but Gaoshun's wife could be as fearsome as his daughter.
"Remind me, how far apart are you?"
"Six years," Gaoshun said, crooking his fingers for emphasis. A marriage in which the man was six years older than the woman would hardly have seemed unusual, but the other way around, that wasn't common. Even if Gaoshun hadn't meant anything by it, it was easy to imagine how it might have gotten awkward.
"Hm, I see. Yes, I believe we should leave Maamei's name alone."
"Of course, sir. Thank you." Gaoshun bowed deeply.
Jinshi put the letter in a locked drawer. They heard a bell ring in the hall, the signal that there was a visitor.
"The cat has come," said Jinshi. Maomao was still checking on his injury every few days. Since she was coming straight from the medical office, he expected to get an earful about whatever problems she'd had at work that day.
The letter still bothered Jinshi, but he would deal with it later. For now, he let his face relax into a smile and waited as Maomao's footsteps approached.
Chapter 10: Practical Exercises
They started with chickens. Still warm, in fact, not yet stiff. Only the breast and abdomen had been plucked; the birds hadn't even been bled. When Maomao stuck the sharp, carefully polished knife into it, blood sprayed out.
"Take out the internal organs—carefully. I don't want to see a single scratch. Those are going to be dinner, so be gentle with them."
Have to be careful to drain all the blood or the meat will smell bad, Maomao thought. The task of bleeding had been left to them to force them to hone their skills.
There were five or six other people there besides Maomao. From the faces she recognized, she concluded everyone else was an apprentice physician.
She'd been told to come along on a medicine run, but she'd found herself on a chicken farm some distance from the capital. It started with catching one of the free-range birds, which would be nearly impossible in physician's clothes. Instead they were given farm clothes with grimy leather aprons and set to work. When they caught a bird, they had to wring its neck, then proceed into a nearby hut to start cutting.
Who would have imagined that these were doctors, the elite, the cream of the capital's crop?
"Just be grateful we aren't asking you to vivisect them," Dr. Liu said. He almost sounded like he was enjoying himself. Having delivered his instructions with all the pomp he could muster, he began haggling with the chicken farmer. They were working out the value of everything medicinal that might come from a chicken, from its liver to the dried lining of its stomach.
Maomao had the distinct impression that she was more used to jobs like catching and butchering chickens than the rest of the apprentice physicians—which made it sting when Tianyu was the first to grab a bird. The annoyance spurred her to ask, "Say, did you grow up on a farm?"
"No. This is my third time through this training, so I'm starting to get the hang of it. Never feels good, though."
She'd been right: the bloodstained outfits had shown that the apprentices had already started real-world practice.
"Now I've got a question for you, Niang-niang," Tianyu said. Maomao twitched an eyebrow at the name. She didn't like it very much, but he'd only started using it more since he'd seen it got a rise out of her, so the best thing she could do was not say anything. "How'd you get Dr. Liu to come around?"
Tianyu's eyes were gleaming. He was somewhere in his midtwenties, but at that moment he looked like a ten-year-old boy with mischief in mind. To think, he normally showed no interest in Maomao, reserving all his energies for En'en.
But he loves some gossip...
He'd peppered En'en with rumors as well, so at first Maomao had taken him to be simply quick-eared, but it seemed he had innate curiosity as well. For all his loquaciousness, though, he had never let slip a word to Maomao about what the physicians' practical exercises entailed. It seemed he didn't share the quack's loose lips.
In any event, Maomao didn't feel like talking to him, and knew she wasn't likely to get much useful information out of him if she did.
"Instead of talking, how about concentrating on the task at hand? I'll thank you not to split that gallbladder."
Doing that would get bile everywhere and make the meat taste terrible. Moreover, an animal's gallbladder was a potential medicinal ingredient, and so ruining one would most likely earn them a taste of Dr. Liu's knuckle.
Tianyu was a chatterbox and overall seemed like something of a worthless excuse for a man, but he at least seemed to be good with his hands. He cut through the slippery bird flesh with ease.
"As you work, consider how the organs correspond to their human counterparts," Dr. Liu instructed.
Humans and chickens were built differently, of course, but this was still a sensible first step. If you couldn't catch a fleeing chicken, how were you ever going to treat a thrashing patient? If you didn't have it in you to wring the neck of a live bird, where would you find the audacity to cut into a human being? And if you weren't adroit enough to cut up the bird even after it was dead, then you stood no chance working on a human body.
This practice was as basic as it got, but there were apprentices who couldn't handle this first stage.
"What do we work on after chickens?" Maomao asked—on the assumption that she would, in fact, make it to the next stage.
"Pigs," replied Tianyu. "They're big enough that we work in groups of three. When we get to cows, it's groups of five. But there's a lot fewer people by that point. Once you start to get the hang of it, they make you wear your doctor's uniform and tell you not to get any blood on it. There's another step after that, but I don't know what it is."
"You haven't gotten there?"
"No, they made me start again. They claimed I wasn't serious enough."
"I can see why," Maomao said before she could stop herself. Another thing she hadn't been able to stop herself from doing, ultimately, was reaching out to Tianyu—he looked so much calmer than the other apprentices. For that matter, everyone else except Tianyu—who had been here before—had blanched at the sight of the chickens' blood.
"It could be worse. If they decide you're just not suited to this work, that's pretty much it for you." Not suited, huh?
She wondered what happened to doctors who couldn't manage a bit of dissection—maybe they got transferred to other departments. They would be, as it were, severed from any potential career as physicians.
"I can't give my sweet En'en the life she deserves on an apprentice physician's salary!"
The guy still hadn't given up—didn't he know when to quit?
Hang in there, En'en!
As people cut into their chickens, the odor of blood began to pervade the room. One apprentice who couldn't stand it pressed a handkerchief over his nose and mouth, but the moment Dr. Liu got back the senior physician grabbed it away from him. "Wearing a mask is correct protocol when treating a patient. But not here," he said.
Under the handkerchief, the apprentice's face was as bloodless as his chicken. Soon he was too sick to stay in the shed and went running outside.
"Geez. How many times is that now? He's gonna run out of chances," Tianyu said as if it didn't affect him at all.
Maomao arranged the internal organs on a tray. The heart, the liver, the intestines, the stomach.
The intestines are easy to damage, but delicious. I could almost eat them right now. Chicken intestines were small and
delicate, though, frustrating to wash. What I wouldn't give to put
the gizzard on a skewer and grill it up. A dash of salt, that's all it needs. If they had gotten the blood out correctly, it would be delectable. And the gallbladder's in one piece. Perfect. Spilling bile everywhere would have ruined the entire bird.
She set the organs carefully on the tray. When she had finished, Dr. Liu came around to look. "All right. Put them back in and sew it up," he said.
"I'm sorry?" But she already had them arranged by cookability!
"I can tell you're eager to dig in—and I can't let you do all your work in that condition. You'll start to see patients as nothing but hunks of meat."
"I sincerely doubt that, sir," she said, but in fact he had seen straight through her.
She put all the organs back where they belonged, taking special care not to damage the gallbladder.
"You know what to do with this?" Dr. Liu asked, thrusting something under Maomao's nose. It looked like a fishhook and some thread, carefully wrapped in cloth.
"Yes, sir, more or less."
The thread was probably silk; that would explain the distinctive sheen. She threaded the hooked needle with the silk, then pressed the sides of the cut together with her fingers as she sewed it shut.
At least I've done sewing before. Always with a straight needle, but the hooked one proved easier to use than she'd expected. She could see how much more effective it would be once she got used
to it. They sure give you nice stuff when you're official.
Thus she went along, sewing and being impressed in equal measure. If she could have asked for anything, it might have been a slightly longer end to the hook—it was somewhat short and difficult to hold. This would have been easier with something she could grip tighter.
Tweezers wouldn't work to hold it. I need something I can grip better.
She was still thinking about whether they might develop a new tool just for her when she finished the job. She glanced over and saw that Tianyu had already finished. There was that frustration again.
"Let me see that," Dr. Liu said, inspecting the sutures. "Hmph. All right, you can do what you want with it after this. But I'm collecting the organs that we can use for medicine. You can have the rest." He turned away, not looking particularly impressed. This was what passed, it seemed, for his approval. "Make sure to wash those needles. Boil and disinfect them. They don't come cheap."
From their shape to their delicacy, the hooks were clearly the work of skilled craftsmen. Maomao had quietly been hoping to take one home with her—so much for that idea.
She cut the sutures and took the organs out once again so she could clean them off.
Maomao graduated from chickens to pigs, and thence to cows, and it was around that time that she received a delivery.
"Thank you very much," she said, taking it from the woman who ran the dormitory. It was already after dinner; work had run late. The woman had been waiting for her all this time. She was also...grinning a little? Maomao looked at the sender and discovered it was, of all people, Gaoshun.
I can guarantee she's got the wrong idea.
It might have come in Gaoshun's name, but only one person could have sent it. Jinshi. He could have used Basen's name as well, but that seemed likely to cause distress if Basen ever found out, so Gaoshun it was.
Maomao was still going to Jinshi's villa once every several days.
She'd worried about how she would hide that from Yao and En'en once the year-end break was over, but the problem turned out to solve itself.
"I know you think you're getting ahead of me, Maomao, but you're not!" Yao had declared. She evidently thought Maomao's visits to Jinshi were further excursions for "practical exercises."
I guess she's not entirely wrong, Maomao thought. In any case, she was grateful for Yao's convenient misapprehension. From the way Yao acted, it looked like she, too, had chosen to walk this brutal path.
Gaoshun's name on the delivery led Maomao to think of his son. I never see Basen around the villa. He was as strong as a charging boar and about as subtle. He was probably being deliberately distanced from Jinshi's personal life so that he wouldn't notice any change in his master.
Looks like he still accompanies Jinshi at work, though. To the medical office, for example. It was natural not to clue him in to what was going on, but even Basen would get frustrated if they didn't handle him carefully. Thankfully, Gaoshun would know how to do that. Or at least, Maomao hoped he would.
Once she was safely back in her room, Maomao opened the package. There was a letter and something wrapped in cloth, something with a faint scent.
"Elegant as always, I see." She undid the wrapping to reveal a ceramic vessel with incense inside. She brought it to her nose and sniffed.
Sandalwood base with some additions.
The mix-ins were probably all very fancy, but the smells didn't complement each other very well, and she couldn't escape the impression that the result felt cheap. A bit of a poor showing from Jinshi, who always had only the best.
No... Wait.
Had he purposely sent something not quite as good because it was for Maomao? She seemed to remember him saying something once about how you could tell a person's class by the incense they used. From that perspective, this was a little nicer than what one might expect for a court lady, but not too much.
That still left the question of why Jinshi was sending her incense at all. She sniffed her sleeve and discovered a faint odor of blood.
I thought I got the smell out before I saw him...
Lately, she had been covering for her dissection trips to the farm by claiming she was going out on house calls. The animals themselves were easy enough to explain—the organs were medicinal, and the meat was for food.
Today, it turned out, a hunter had had the good fortune to catch a bear, and the doctors were able to be involved in the dissection. Dr. Liu had been ecstatic; he'd told them that this was a very rare opportunity. The blood had to be drained quickly, lest it taint the meat, so the doctors rarely got to observe.
They'd changed into their dissection outfits and put on leather aprons. Once everything was over, Maomao had taken a bath before going back to court.
Nice to get out to one of the public baths every once in a while, she thought. There was no bath at the dorm, so this was a
particularly pleasant opportunity. One of the pleasure district's few luxuries, which Maomao had experienced growing up, was that people took baths every day. Even in the rear palace, she'd been able to wash up once every few days.
Did she like baths? If pressed, she would have to say that she did. This time they even paid for her admittance to the public bathhouse, and taking a bath in the middle of the day was a pleasure all its own.
Oh... Maybe it's my hair. There wouldn't have been time for her hair to dry, of course, so she'd gone without washing it.
She wondered if Jinshi understood what was necessary to become a real doctor.
Some of it, maybe. But I'm not sure he knows about the human corpse dissection.
Evidently he'd picked up on the odor she brought with her when she came to examine him. He could be fussy about the strangest things.
Still pondering the situation, Maomao took a teaspoon of the incense and lit it. Then she put a basket over it, and on top of the basket she set the clothes she would wear tomorrow.
Let's start with this. She used just a pinch of the stuff; she wasn't even sure if it would be noticeable.
Thus prepared for the following day, she decided it was time to go to bed. She was about to change into her nightclothes when there was a knock at the door. "Come in," she said.
En'en entered with some spring rolls in her hand. "This is left over from dinner. You want it?"
"Absolutely." Maomao would never pass up a chance for some of En'en's cooking. She wasn't that hungry right now, but it could be tomorrow's breakfast. What with all her outings these days, going to see Jinshi and doing medical practice, she hadn't had many opportunities to enjoy En'en's home-cooked meals.
En'en put the plate of spring rolls on the table—and then she spied the incense. "Now, that's not like you, perfuming your clothes."
"I have my moons. It just so happens there's been more blood than usual lately." It wasn't untrue; this was precisely that time of the month when she became rather melancholy for a few days. "I know Yao does it, and I thought it might be a good idea."
She knew, of course, that was probably En'en who was actually doing the work.
"Oh, I see." Maomao had expected some pointed comeback from En'en, but she said nothing more than that. Even though she had surely noticed how often Maomao was out these days.
So she's not going to try to sound me out about anything?
As long as Maomao wasn't dragging Yao into anything, En'en seemed content not to stick her nose into her business.
Maomao placed a cloth over the spring rolls and went back to changing.
When Maomao arrived at the medical office the next day, she found Yao talking to Dr. Liu and not looking very happy. The two young women often missed each other at work these days, so they hadn't seen much of each other—and it looked like the reunion might be a stormy one.
I hope she doesn't say anything suspicious, Maomao thought anxiously as she set herself to organizing the medicine cabinet.
"And you don't feel the need to send me out for anything?" Yao said.
Aaand there it is.
Yao was resolute, seemingly intent on looking every bit as fearsome as Dr. Liu.
"No, I don't," the senior physician responded, and then looked through the daily report as if to say that was the end of the discussion. The report reported only that there had been nothing much to report yesterday.
"Funny. You seem to have errands to run all the time these days, Maomao," Yao said. Great. Now Maomao was involved.
"Yes, it seems I do," she replied. There was no point arguing it.
"And where did your errands take you yesterday? To do what?"
"I was retrieving some bear gall," said Maomao. At that moment, in fact, she was putting away the gall she'd obtained the day before. The hunter had given them some, already processed. It was a lovely medicine; it looked sort of like a misshapen dried persimmon.
She thought she caught a hint of a glare from Dr. Liu, but he didn't say anything to stop her. He knew she wasn't saying anything incriminating.
"Gall is such an important medicinal component, I asked to be shown how it was prepared. I also helped with dissecting a cow to see if there were any stones in its gallbladder. Which, I'm sorry to say, there weren't."
"Stones in a cow's gallbladder—you mean bezoars? I hear those are found in barely one out of a thousand animals. Why would you go looking for something you know almost certainly isn't there?" Yao asked.
"Fair question. The chances of finding a bezoar are much higher if the animal displays symptoms of gallstones. The stones get much more expensive the moment they go on the open market, so if you see an animal showing the signs, it's perfectly logical to look on the spot."
Maomao walked a fine line, trying to prevent Dr. Liu from getting upset with her while also not saying anything strictly untrue. She felt a bit guilty toward Yao, but she needed to bail out of this conversation. I know it isn't quite fair of me...
She was hiding behind Jinshi. Yao might give her a hard time for dirty tactics, but Maomao wasn't in the mood to talk. She had other, more pressing things to do.
Yao looked at her and grimaced. Dr. Liu looked back at the daily report. He seemed to be saying he was satisfied with Maomao's answer.
I understand, Yao. Believe me, I do! Maomao knew what Yao really wanted to say. "Why can't I come too?" That's what you
want to know.
It was Dr. Liu who finally supplied the answer. "If you want some errands to run, start by going to the cafeteria."
"Th-The cafeteria, sir? Why?"
"Let me guess: you've never killed and plucked so much as a chicken in your life. You think Maomao was just watching them chop up that bear? That's what's going on here—and she's used to it by now." It was a rare compliment from Dr. Liu, but somehow it didn't bring Maomao pleasure.
"Well, what about En'en, then? She must be even better than
Maomao at butchering chickens."
"Maybe so, but why bring someone who's not interested in the errand in the first place? What, did you think En'en would go on ahead and leave you alone? I'm not going to press-gang anyone who lacks the ambition. You think it's unfair that only Maomao gets to go on these errands? You want things to be different? Then start by making sure you're not dead weight to the people around you!"
Ah, there was the usual Dr. Liu, relentless and unsparing.
Yao clutched her skirt; the physician's words obviously pained her, but she didn't say anything. She knew it was true—she'd never even held a cleaver in the kitchen. The spring rolls Maomao had eaten for breakfast this morning had been entirely En'en's work.
We've got something else to worry about...
There was an audible sound of teeth grinding from behind Yao. It was En'en, who was reaching for a bottle of disinfectant alcohol. Scary. Very scary.
Yao, however, reached out and stopped her. "En'en," she said. She so often seemed to do as her lady-in-waiting wished, but at this moment she showed that she knew how to handle an overprotective attendant. She turned back to Dr. Liu and said, "I understand what you're saying, sir. I'll learn how to handle a cleaver right away."
"Hoh! You will, will you? Well, start by beheading a live chicken."
"B...Beheading?"
It was true that if she couldn't manage that, she wouldn't be able to follow the path Maomao was on. Even one of the apprentice physicians had broken down in ugly, snotty tears as he killed the pig he would use for his dissection. If that was how farm animals affected you, you were never going to be able to work on human beings. After all, a physician might very well find himself having to amputate an arm or a leg without even an anesthetic for the patient.
Happens all the time on the battlefield.
In war, you didn't need your father's hidden anatomy books— you would see enough human organs for a lifetime. The ability to ban a book on dissection was, in its own way, a luxury afforded by a time of peace.
"I wonder if you've got it in you to hack at someone's organs while they're still alive," Dr. Liu said with a smirk.
"I do! I can! That's what I came here for," Yao insisted. She wasn't just trying to be contrary with the senior physician; she genuinely seemed to want to acquire the skills of medicine.
If Yao was only here in the medical office as a way of getting out from under her uncle's thumb, this would be an excellent time for her to give up and go home. In spite of the physical injury she'd suffered while tasting food for poison, Yao was still young, beautiful, and smart. There must have been plenty of suitors out there who would be eager to have her.
Stop that. I'm thinking exactly like her uncle.
Yao and En'en both despised Yao's uncle, but there was, admittedly, some level on which he was still thinking of Yao's happiness. Li was, by and large, not a place where a single woman could live comfortably. Too many habits, customs, and circumstances militated against it. It wasn't Maomao's place to say that to Yao, though. If she had decided that this was what she wanted to do, then Maomao would keep her peace.
That was when she caught a glimpse of En'en, standing behind
Yao and looking at the mocking Dr. Liu. Maomao knew that En'en would, like her, refrain from comment on whatever Yao decided to do. At that moment, however, there was uncharacteristic indecision in her eyes.
I wonder how this is going to play out.
However that was, though, it still didn't involve Maomao. She jotted down her freshly obtained ingredients as she put them in the cabinet.
Yao lost no time: come that night, she was standing in the kitchen. En'en watched her inexpert handling of the cleaver with trepidation. Maomao, who was home early for once, watched them both and waited patiently for dinner to be ready.
"So I take this, and—" Whack!
"M-Mistress..."
Yao brought down the knife like she was chopping wood; she looked like she could have cut through bone, not just meat. Even if Maomao had wanted to help, it didn't look safe to get too close.
"I-It's dangerous, working like that. You should start with something smaller!"
"No, meat! I need to cut flesh!"
En'en was distinctly panicked. She was normally so coolheaded that Maomao would have expected her to make a better teacher for Yao, but they weren't going to get anywhere this way. Maomao decided to pretend she hadn't seen anything and just leave the room—when, unfortunately for her, her eyes met En'en's. En'en gave her the look to end all looks, then pointed at the table. There was food there. Ready to eat. Chili shrimp, no less.
Maomao swallowed heavily. Had En'en prepared something ahead of time? Steam puffed from the fresh dish, which consisted of bountiful, huge shrimp and a whole medley of vegetables. Knowing En'en's cooking, Maomao was sure that she'd used soy paste to give it a kick, but probably also some fruit juice to round out the flavor. It would be heavenly over rice. She could almost feel the juicy shrimp in her mouth.
It was all too clear that En'en was sending a message.
"If you want dinner, then help us," huh?
Maomao scowled but went to wash her hands. She couldn't
beat puffy shrimp.
She began by selecting a cleaver a size smaller than the one Yao was holding. Then she put a single carrot on a cutting board.
"Start by chopping this, Yao," she said.
"A carrot? But I'm trying to learn to cut meat, here!"
"I think I can hear Dr. Liu now: You? Cut flesh when you can't chop so much as a piece of ginseng?" Maomao replied, substituting something more traditionally medicinal for the carrot.
"Fine," Yao said after a moment.
"Good. Now, take this cleaver. There are actually different kinds of cleavers, and you have to cut with them in different ways. The knife you're holding now is for smashing through bone. It's not meant for something as delicate as soft flesh. If you were practicing amputating a patient's arm, it would be perfect."
Yao didn't have anything to say to that; she bit her lip and switched knives. En'en looked relieved. Yao was dedicated to her studies, so she would know certain things that medicine had in common with the culinary arts—but that didn't include the types of cleavers. When it came to kitchen matters, she was more knowledgeable about eating than cooking.
"Okay, now let's work on how to hold the knife. Do it like this. And when you cut the carrot, it's like this." Maomao moved Yao's hand inch by inch. "Once you have it fixed in place so the carrot doesn't move, you can cut nice and slow; you don't have to hack. En'en takes good care of the equipment, so this knife has an excellent cutting edge. You don't need a lot of force. Remember that when you cut through festering skin or flesh, you're severing living blood vessels."
Thunk went the knife as Yao made an unsteady cut.
"All right. Now slice it into about five pieces."
Thunk, thunk, thunk. Yao was a perfectly capable young woman; she just needed someone to show her what to do. It was worth remembering that as grown-up as she looked, she was still only sixteen.
"There!" she said as she finished chopping the carrot.
"Okay, this next." Maomao set out a daikon.
"No more vegetables," said Yao.
"All you've done so far is slice a carrot," Maomao said. "Let's
work on peeling a daikon neatly before we move on to meat."
If anything, peeling the skin off a daikon was the harder task, but Maomao wanted Yao to do her learning on produce. She didn't want her charging into Dr. Liu's office just because she'd managed to chop a little meat. Well, to be fair, she would need to strangle a chicken first.
Yao looked unhappy, but resigned herself to working on the radish.
"Don't worry, I wouldn't make you peel the whole thing at once the very first time. Cut it into smaller pieces that will be easier to peel."
"Sure. That's exactly what I was going to do," Yao pouted. While she worked on peeling, Maomao contemplated what to do with the carrot.
"Maomao," said En'en, pointing first at the pork Yao had been attempting to chop, then at some dried shiitake mushrooms. The mushrooms were a luxury ingredient; Maomao decided not to ask how she had gotten them. The only other thing she saw nearby were some spices.
"Make sweet and sour pork," is that what I'm hearing?
In fact, there just happened to be sweet potato starch right there. Might be perfect for covering the pork, which could then be fried.
Maomao couldn't help longing for the shrimp, which was sitting there getting cold, but En'en was fixated on watching Yao to make sure she didn't hurt herself. Maomao was left with no choice but to go ahead and make the pork.
"Maomao," said Yao this time. "Just so you know, I'm not giving up on the physician's path."
"Women can't be physicians," Maomao replied, unwilling to lie to Yao. The most Maomao and her compatriots might be permitted at this point was to obtain equivalent knowledge. They would be given no title and gain nothing from it, other than to satisfy their own intellectual curiosity, and, perhaps, to know that they could respond should some emergency ever arise.
"But they're already teaching you the things you need to become a doctor, right?"
That brought Maomao up short. She didn't answer; if she was
set on not lying to Yao, then silence was the only response.
"I've been thinking hard about it," Yao said. "I mean, since we found the book in Master Lakan's house."
That wasn't a name Maomao liked to hear, but giving Yao a foul look wouldn't help anything, so she just listened quietly.
"It's true, I find it hard to accept that way of thinking, but I can understand that it's probably necessary for those who practice medicine. Master Luomen made that perfectly clear. I always assumed we would learn these things eventually, but now I see there's something else you need in order to put them into practice."
Intelligent girls were all well and good, but sometimes ignorance was bliss. If Yao hadn't known, or if she could have pretended not to know, then a simpler, easier path might have been open to her. Maomao felt the wish for Yao to be happy—and if even she felt it, how much more keenly must En'en?
If Yao was going to learn the same things as a physician, however, then ignorant, blissful happiness would only get further away.
"Yao," Maomao said slowly, "being a doctor will mean taking a knife to people sometimes. If a pregnant mother can't deliver her child, you may have to cut her open to get to it—and you may have to do it knowing that at best, only the baby will survive. You might have to amputate an arm or a leg from a patient begging you not to, and there might not even be anesthetics available to numb the pain. You may have to stuff spilling intestines back into an abdominal cavity and sew up the skin right over them."
"I know all of that."
"This is a bloodsoaked profession. It may mean there will be no one willing to spend their life with you. People might revile you because they consider blood to be impure. You have to really
want this life, or you'd be better off steering clear."
"I wouldn't be interested in any man who'd be frightened off by a little blood. Would I, En'en?"
"Y-Young mistress..." En'en, usually so eager to keep any man at bay when it came to Yao, looked conflicted.
Normally, someone like Yao would be walking a more proper path. Even Maomao could see the disappointment of it, but there
was no reason she should stop Yao. She could only pray that a little light might shine upon the path Yao chose.
"Oops, it broke. Peeling a daikon is a lot harder than it looks," Yao said, scowling and showing them a thick strip of radish peel.
"You're right, it's not easy," Maomao said.
"En'en can make them look like peony blossoms!"
"Yes, well, she's special." That was the honest truth. While she talked, Maomao dunked the battered pork in the oil and fried it up good. Yao was continuing to give the tattered radish peel a dirty look.
It looked like it was going to be a while before they got to taste that shrimp.
