Apo

by hea25

123

30. Chapter 30

Prologue

"Are you quite serious?" Jinshi asked. Across from him, a man reclined on a couch. A middle-aged ruler with a prodigious beard, who now nodded slowly.

They were in a particular pavilion in the outer court. Small, but with excellent visibility; a mouse couldn't have crawled in without them seeing it. The ruler leaned on his ivory-bedecked couch and poured grape wine into a glass vessel. Although he was sitting with the most august personage in the nation, Jinshi had also been quite at his ease. At least, until a moment ago.

The Emperor stroked his beard and grinned. Would it be rude of Jinshi to suggest he didn't like it? But the beard looked very good on His Majesty. Jinshi couldn't beat him in the facial hair department.

"So, what are you going to do now, O groundskeeper of our garden of lovely blossoms?"

Unwilling to rise to His Majesty's bait, Jinshi held back a wry smile, instead offering one like that of a heavenly nymph—an expression that could have melted any heart he chose. It might not sound very humble, but Jinshi was confident in his own looks if nothing else.

What a great irony, then, that the one thing he truly wanted, he could not get. No matter how he strived, his aptitudes were hardly more than ordinary. Yet outwardly, if in no other way, he was utterly exceptional.

It had always used to eat at him, but he had come to accept it. If his intelligence and physical prowess were to be irredeemably average, then he would do all he could with the one advantage he did possess. Thus he came to be the gorgeous overseer of the rear palace. His looks, his voice, seemed too sweet to be those of any man, and he would employ them to the fullest.

"Whatsoever you wish, sire." Jinshi, with a smile at once graceful and determined, bowed to the Emperor.

The Emperor sipped his wine and grinned in a way that invited Jinshi to do his worst. Jinshi knew full well that he was no more than a child. A child dancing in the Emperor's great palm. But he would do it. Oh yes, he would. He would entertain even His Majesty's most outrageous wishes. That was Jinshi's duty, as well as his wager with the Emperor.

He had to win that wager. It was the only way Jinshi would be able to choose his own path. Perhaps other ways existed. But a man of ordinary intelligence such as Jinshi couldn't imagine them.

Thus he had chosen the road he now followed.

Jinshi brought his cup to his lips and felt the sweet fruit wine wet his throat, the heavenly smile never slipping from his face.

"Here you go. Take this, and this—oh, and you'll need one of these."

Maomao winced at all the stuff that came veritably flying at her. The one flinging the rouge and whitening powder and clothes in her direction was the courtesan Meimei. They were in her room at the Verdigris House.

"Sis, I don't need any of this," Maomao said, taking the cosmetics one by one and returning them to their various shelves.

"Like fun you don't," Meimei said, exasperated. "Everyone else there is going to have even better stuff than this. The least you could do is try to look decent."

"Only courtesans get this tarted up to go to work."

Maomao had just glanced aside, privately wishing she could go mix those herbs she'd collected the day before, when a bundle of wooden writing strips came flying at her. Her esteemed older sister was solicitous, but sometimes short-tempered. "You finally get a job worth having, and you won't even try to act like you belong there? Listen, the world is full of people who would kill to be in your place. If you aren't grateful for what you've got, your hard-won clientele will run out on you!"

"Oh, very well..." Maomao said. Whether administered by the madam or Meimei, education in the Verdigris House could be a bit rough. But there was truth to what she said.

Maomao picked up the writing strips a bit sullenly. The wood was dark where it had been written on and then erased over and over; currently, it bore the words of a song, written in a delicate hand. Meimei was old enough to be thinking of retiring from courtesan's work, but her intelligence saw her popularity continue to flourish. She could write songs, play Go and Shogi, and thereby entertain her clientele. She was one of those courtesans who sold not so much her body as her accomplishments.

"You've got a plum job now. Save up all the money you can make." The wood-strip-flinging woman of a moment ago was gone, replaced by Maomao's sweet, caring older sister. She stroked Maomao's cheek with a manicured hand, tucking some errant hair behind her ear.

Ten months before, Maomao had been kidnapped and sold into service as a maid in the rear palace. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that after successfully making her way back to the pleasure district, she would once again go to work there. To those around her, it must have seemed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Hence the stern look in Meimei's eyes.

"Yes, Sister," Maomao said obediently after a moment, and Meimei smiled her graceful courtesan's smile.

"I hope you'll make more than just money. Make yourself a nice match with a fine man too, eh? There must be plenty of them just bursting with cash there. Oh, and I would be thrilled if you'd bring a few of them by to be my customers." The smile this time wasn't so gracious; there was a distinct element of cold calculation to it. Her chuckling older sister looked a bit like the old madam who ran the place, Maomao reflected. A girl had to look out for herself to survive in this line of work.

Ultimately, Maomao found herself sent on her way with a large bundle packed to bursting with clothing and cosmetics. She worked her way back to her simple house, stumbling under the load.

The day when the gorgeous noble had appeared in the pleasure district two weeks after Maomao's departure from the rear palace was still fresh in her memory. The eunuch, with his very particular proclivities, had—thankfully—heard the words Maomao had spoken half in jest and taken them in earnest. He had confronted the madam with more than enough money to cover Maomao's debts and had even had the decency to bring a rare medicinal herb as a gift. It hadn't taken even thirty minutes to stamp the contract.

So it was that Maomao was to resume her employment at that most renowned of workplaces. She was somewhat reluctant to leave her father again to go live in her place of employment, but the conditions imposed by her new contract were, as far as she could tell, much more lenient than before. Moreover, this time, she wouldn't be simply disappearing without a trace. Her father had told her with a gentle smile to do what she wished, but then his face had briefly darkened when he looked at her contract. What had that meant?

"Looks like they were very generous," Maomao's father remarked, a large pot of medicinal herbs boiling nearby. Maomao finally put down the cloth-covered bundle and stretched her shoulders. Their ramshackle house was so drafty that it was cold even with the fireplace lit, and she and her father were each wearing several layers. She caught him rubbing his knee, a sure sign that his old wound was paining him.

"I can't take much of it with me," Maomao said, looking at the cargo she'd already prepared. The mortar and pestle are musts,

and I can't do without my notebook. And I'm a little leery of getting rid of any more undergarments...

As Maomao frowned and grumbled, her father took the pot off the fire and came over. "My Maomao, I'm not so sure you can bring these with you," he said, and plucked her mortar and pestle out of her bundle, earning a glare. "You're no doctor. Try bringing these in, and they might figure you're planning to poison someone. Come now, don't look at me like that. You made this decision, and you can't take it back now."

"Are we sure about that?" Maomao slumped down onto the dirt floor. Her father deduced at a glance what she was really trying to say.

"All right now, finish your preparations and then get yourself to bed. You can ask them to let you have your tools, just over time. It'd be rude not to be focused on your work, at least on the first day."

"Yeah, fine..." Maomao grudgingly returned the apothecary's implements to the shelf, then picked out a few of the most usefullooking parting gifts she'd received and put them in her bundle. She scowled at the whitening powder and the seashell full of blush, but eventually included the latter, which didn't take up too much room. Among the gifts was an excellent padded cotton jacket. Maybe they'd taken the opportunity to foist something on her that a customer had forgotten; it certainly didn't look like anything a courtesan would wear.

Maomao watched her father stash the pot away and put some wood on the fire. Then he hobbled over to his bed, a simple reed mat, and lay down. His bedclothes consisted only of another mat and a poor outer robe.

"When you're finished, I'll put out the light," he said, pulling the fish-oil lamp close. Maomao packed the rest of her things, then went to tuck herself into her bed on the other side of the room. She was caught by a passing idea, though, and dragged her sleeping mat over toward her father's.

"Well, now, it's been a while since you did that. I thought you weren't a child anymore."

"No, but I am cold." Was it a little too obvious, the way Maomao averted her eyes? She'd been, she recalled, about ten when she started sleeping by herself. It had been years. She stuffed the new cotton jacket between herself and her father and let her eyes drift shut. She rolled to one side and rounded her back, assuming a fetal position.

"Ah, it's going to be lonely around here again," her father said calmly.

"Doesn't have to be. This time I can come home whenever I want." Maomao's tone was short, but she couldn't help noticing the warmth of her father's arm against her back.

"Yes, of course. Do come back anytime." A hand tousled her hair. Father, she called him, Dad, Pops, but his appearance was closer to that of an old woman, and everyone agreed that his manner was motherly.

Maomao had no mother. Not as such. But she had her father who cared for her, and the yammering old madam, and her endlessly lively older sisters.

And I can come back and see them whenever I want. She could feel the warmth of her father's hand, withered like an old branch, still stroking her hair as her breathing fell into the steady, even rhythm of sleep.

Chapter 1: Serving in the Outer Court

"I was under the distinct impression that I would be going back to the rear palace." Maomao found herself wearing an outfit made of cotton. When she recalled the crude hemp dress she'd been allotted as a maid in the rear palace, it seemed awfully sumptuous.

"You were let go, I'm afraid. You can't go traipsing right back. No, this is where you'll be working from now on." Showing her around the palace was Jinshi's aide, Gaoshun, who was instructing her in the names of the various buildings and the offices that resided within them. Given the size of the palace proper, it was bound to be a dizzying tour.

The rear palace was part of the inner court, where the Imperial family resided. Her workplace now, though, was to be the outer court. In short, the same place as all the many functionaries who staffed all the many administrative organs.

"Over to the east from here you'll find a great many soldiers and military types, so I would suggest steering clear."

Maomao nodded even as she eyed the nearby plant life. I knew it. Lots more ingredients growing in the rear palace. She suspected it was her father, Luomen, who had planted the wide variety of useful herbs during his tenure there. It would explain the profusion of medicinal plants in an otherwise limited space.

As they walked along, Gaoshun explaining this, that, and the other thing, Maomao felt a peculiar prickling along her neck. She shot a glance behind her to discover some of the women who served in the outer court looking at her. Or more properly, glaring at her.

Just as there are things among men that only other men understand, there are certain things for which only women have a shared sense. Men have a tendency to resolve their differences physically, whereas women often resort to emotional means.

These women seemed to be taking stock of the newcomer.

Don't like this one bit, Maomao thought. She stuck out her tongue at the other women, then scuttled after Gaoshun toward the next building.

It turned out Maomao's duties in the outer court would be much the same as those she had performed in the rear palace: clean the rooms she was told to clean and do odd jobs and little chores when and as she was instructed to do so. Jinshi, she gathered, had had bigger plans for her, but never got the chance to implement them: Maomao failed the test.

"How could you have failed?!" Why should I have passed?

Jinshi and Gaoshun had both been stunned. Apparently they had simply assumed that Maomao would succeed. Being brought up in the red-light district, Maomao could read and write, and had received at least a baseline education in singing and playing the erhu. The test in question was not as difficult as the civil service examinations, so they seemed to have figured that with a little studying, she would pass easily.

Gee, excuse me for not living up to your expectations, Maomao thought as she wiped angrily at a window frame. She was in the hallway of Jinshi's office. The architecture was plainer than that on display in the rear palace, though the building was perhaps a little taller. The vermillion-lacquered walls were a brilliant red, evidently refreshed each year.

The truth was, Maomao didn't like studying, and was probably less adept than average at remembering things she wasn't interested in. Drugs, herbs, and medicines were one thing, but why would anyone bother to learn history? What good would it do them? And as for the law, it changed constantly. What was the point of memorizing it? Maomao, sadly, was incapable of investing much effort in that direction. It was only natural she should fail the test.

She had, at least, opened the materials she'd been given to study with every intention of reading them through, but the next thing she knew it was morning. This happened several times in a row. So Maomao consoled herself that the outcome had been inevitable. She nodded in agreement with her own conclusion.

Didn't expect this place to be so dirty.

On the one hand, such a big space had many spots that were hard to reach and easy to miss—but on the other, Maomao didn't

not suspect that there might have been a little slacking involved. The women who served here earned their place through the test, very much unlike the maids recruited, sold, or stolen to serve the rear palace. The women here had families and educations, and the pride to go with them. They probably saw maids' work as beneath them. Even if they noticed some dust, it was unlikely they would lift a finger to do anything about it.

To be fair, it's not their job, she thought.

The ladies of the outer court were something like secretaries. Cleaning was certainly not part of their portfolio, and there was no need for them to do it. But that didn't mean they shouldn't. The government had ceased to own slaves during the time of the former Emperor, and bureaucrats began hiring menservants and maidservants to do odd chores instead.

Maomao was now such a maidservant, serving directly under Jinshi.

In Maomao's experience, women who served in the rear palace were widely referred to as palace women, while those who worked in the outer court were frequently called court ladies. She might or might not have been exactly right about that, but it was a distinction Jinshi and others like him seemed to observe when they spoke.

All right, what's next? She turned toward Jinshi's office. The room was large but not luxurious; in fact, it was quite spare. Its chief occupant was a busy man; once he left his office, he rarely returned to it quickly. That made it easier for Maomao to do the cleaning, but there was one problem.

"Excuse me, but what precisely do you think you're doing?"

She registered that a number of unfamiliar ladies had surrounded her. They were all bigger than Maomao; one among them stood a full head taller than her.

The better they eat, the bigger they get, Maomao thought, her glance unconsciously taking in both the girls' height and their bustlines. The one who had spoken to her was noticeably tall, implying an excellent upbringing.

"Are you listening to me?" the woman demanded while Maomao entertained these somewhat untoward thoughts.

In a word, the ladies were upset that Maomao was serving Jinshi personally; they wanted to know why she should have received such a privilege. Unfortunately, she wasn't privy to the inner workings of Jinshi's mind; she only knew that he had hired her. If Maomao had been a well-connected foreign gentlewoman like Gyokuyou, or if she had been as luscious as Lihua or as sexy as Pairin, no one would have objected, nor would they have had grounds to. But Maomao looked like nothing more than a scrawny, befreckled chicken. The girls couldn't stand it. It drove them mad to see Maomao by the side of the gorgeous eunuch; they would have given anything to trade places with her.

Hrm, Maomao thought, what to do now? She was hardly the world's fastest talker; often, in fact, she would think hard but ultimately leave her mouth shut. But silence seemed likely to irritate these ladies as much as anything Maomao might actually say.

She decided to cut to the chase. "Do I understand correctly that what you're saying is that you're jealous of me?" It was more than enough to anger the ladies. It was only after she had been slapped across the cheek that Maomao started to reflect that maybe she'd chosen the wrong words.

There were five women around her, and Maomao hoped to avoid them killing her on the spot. But they herded her inexorably toward a dark corner of the hallway. She didn't have much to lose at this point, so Maomao decided to see if she could talk her way out of this. "You can't possibly think I'm getting special treatment somehow?"

The ladies' faces distorted further. Maomao kept talking before she suffered another blow. "That's absurd, and we all know it. What could a distasteful wench like myself have to do with one who could well be one of the heavenly nymphs incarnate?" She cast her eyes on the ground as she spoke, but the slight twitching of the ladies' cheeks didn't escape her notice. This might just

work, she thought. "Is this noble man you so desire a person of

such poor taste? When fine abalone and boar's meat are laid before them, who would deliberately wish to gnaw on a discarded chicken bone instead? One would have to possess very specific proclivities."

Those last words elicited another twitch from the women.

"I myself would not know, but do you believe that one of such beauty, with his ethereal smile, would possess such proclivities? I see, so his proclivities are—"

"N-Nothing of the sort! That's ridiculous!"

"Yes, ridiculous!"

A general hubbub ensued among the women. Maomao thought she'd escaped by the skin of her teeth, but one of the ladies was watching her skeptically. "Yet none of that changes the fact that you were hired, isn't that true?" the comparatively calm woman said. She was the tallest of them, her face cool and composed. Now that Maomao thought about it, she realized this woman had remained detached throughout the preceding argument. Like the other women, she'd taken a half step back, but she continued to watch Maomao closely. She seemed like the type who might follow a mob just to see where it went, though not be a part of it herself.

Well, if that's not enough to put them off... Maomao thought, and then she said: "This is the reason." She held up her left arm and rolled down her sleeve. Then she began to unwrap the bandage that ran from her wrist to her elbow.

"Eek!" one of the women cried, and they all looked at her, speechless. Cruel scars covered Maomao's skin.

Those experiments with burns I did recently left some good, nasty ones too, Maomao thought. The aristocratic young women must have been disgusted.

"The heart of that most beautiful object of your affections is as celestial and pure as his smile. I can attest to it, for he has given even one such as me food and board." Maomao re-wrapped the bandage as she spoke. She was careful to accent her remarks with a demure glance at the ground and a gentle tremble of her body.

"Let's get out of here," one of the women said. Thoroughly relieved of any interest in Maomao, they promptly left. The tall one glanced back at her, but was soon gone as well.

There. Finally over, Maomao thought to herself. She cracked the joints in her neck and picked up her dusting rag again. Just as she was about to go find the next place that needed dusting, she discovered a gorgeous eunuch standing with his head pressed against the wall.

"Might I inquire as to what you're doing, Master Jinshi?"

"Nothing at all. And you, are they always after you? Those types? Say, were you holding up your left arm?"

"It's fine. Frankly, they're less trouble to deal with than the girls of the rear palace. Incidentally, if I may ask, why are you standing like that?"

Maomao ignored the question about her arm. It seemed Jinshi had been unable to see everything from his vantage point. The position he had adopted wasn't particularly suited to nobility, Maomao thought. Judging by the way he was holding his head in his hands, Gaoshun, behind Jinshi, seemed to agree.

"If you don't mind, I'll be about my cleaning, sir." With Jinshi back again, it wouldn't be possible to clean the office. She would have to find somewhere else that needed dusting. Maomao went off with her rag and a pail, but from behind her she heard Jinshi mutter: "Proclivities..."

I don't think I said anything wrong, Maomao told herself. Even if Jinshi had witnessed the last moments of that confrontation, she saw no special reason for him to be upset. Instead, she focused on her cleaning.

Not much around here in winter, is there?

Sitting cross-legged in her room, Maomao folded her arms over her chest and grunted to herself. She'd stolen a moment here and there in between jobs during the afternoon to collect some herbs, but pickings were slim, and she still didn't have nearly enough to properly work with. Left with scant choice, she simply cleaned them, patted away as much of the water as she could, and then hung them on the wall of her room to dry. She had been doing this ever since she came to the outer court, and Maomao's room had turned into quite a sight to see. Drying herbs hung everywhere.

She had been assigned a relatively nice room for the quarters

of a live-in maid, but there was no getting around the fact that it was still a little cramped. Really no bigger than her quarters in the rear palace. The difference was that at the Jade Pavilion she had been able to ask for permission to use the kitchen, and combined with the abundance of available resources, producing her concoctions had been a simple matter—all of which had taken the sting out of the size of her accommodations.

What to do, what to do? Maomao regarded the paulownia chest she'd placed carefully on top of her wicker trunk. Tucked inside the chest, which was sealed with a silk cord, was the herb that grew from an insect. It was called dong chong xia cao— winter worm, summer weed—otherwise sometimes known as caterpillar fungus, and Jinshi had brought it with him along with the money when he came to the pleasure district. The mere sight of it had induced Maomao to sign the contract without a moment's further reflection, but now she wondered if she had let herself go too cheaply. She could never have overcome her desire for this uncanny herb, though.

She opened the lid and looked at the fungus within, and an unconscious smile spread over her face. It turned to a grin, and her cheeks veritably started to twitch.

No, no, must stop. The day before, she'd let the twitch turn into such a great yawp that her neighbors two rooms over had come pounding on her door to object. Apparently you weren't supposed to go shouting in the middle of the night. Allegedly, people were trying to sleep or something.

Maomao pressed her fingers into her cheeks to relax the smile, then lay down on her bed. A serving woman's work started early, even before the cock crowed. The person she served might have been missing something very important, but he was still gorgeous and still of high station. One ought not to displease him.

Maomao pulled up her thin sheet along with several layers of outer clothing that doubled as bedding and closed her eyes.

"Is your current room not somewhat small?" the gorgeous eunuch inquired over breakfast.

Maomao blinked, then replied, "I dare say it's more than generous for a serving girl like me." Even she understood that she could hardly voice her true feelings. ("Yes, it damn well is small. If possible, I'd like to request a room with a generous fireplace, located next to a well.")

"You mean it?"

This time she simply didn't say anything.

The eunuch had just woken up and hadn't entirely made himself up for the day yet as he enjoyed his breakfast. His otherwise tousled hair was held back with a simple tie. It was a bit problematic, how lurid it looked.

Gaoshun was in the room along with Maomao, as was a ladyin-waiting in the first flush of old age. They were the only ones allowed here, and Maomao could understand why. A woman might be driven mad with lust by what Maomao was currently seeing, and even a man might forget the boundaries of gender. This esteemed personage, she concluded, could be downright sinful.

He's like a bug in heat. Some female insects produced exotic scents to attract mates. A single female could draw dozens or hundreds of males. Maomao herself had been known to take advantage of this characteristic to collect insects she needed as ingredients.

From that perspective, Jinshi's constitution might be considered extremely interesting. If I could capture that subtle aroma and

turn it into an incense, I bet it would sell. Such was the mindset

with which Maomao regarded her potential love-potion ingredient —ahem, that is to say, Jinshi. It was an unfortunate fact that when Maomao was focused on a particular thought, something not having to do with the situation at hand, her attention tended to wander from the present moment. It frequently prevented her from following conversations going on around her, a tendency that was compounded by her habit of nodding along whether or not she was actually listening.

"If you wish, I shall have a new room prepared for you."

Huh?

Jinshi, looking inordinately pleased with himself, was requesting more porridge from Suiren. She was one of just a few ladies-in-waiting ever to have served Jinshi. From her looks, Maomao guessed she was well past fifty. Suiren's face remained impassive as she doled out a new bowl of porridge, topping it with black vinegar.

Maomao hadn't exactly followed the conversation, but Jinshi seemed to be saying that he was willing to give her a nicer room; that much she understood. Then, though, her eyes met those of Gaoshun, who had his head in his hands again. Jinshi's everweary aide seemed to want to communicate something to Maomao, but she only cocked an eyebrow in response.

If he wants to tell me something, he has to say it, she thought. I'm not a mind reader. She refrained from saying this out loud, though, because she knew that she herself frequently failed to be articulate enough.

"Perhaps a stable near a well, then," she offered, and there it was: her true desire was out in the open.

"A stable," Jinshi repeated.

"Yes, sir. A stable."

To her, this represented the place she was least likely to be intruded upon as she cooked up her concoctions, but she couldn't help noticing that Gaoshun was shaking his head and forming an emphatic X with both hands. So the guy has a playful side, Maomao observed to herself.

"No stables," Jinshi said flatly.

Yeah, uh, I guess that makes sense, Maomao thought, but she said only, "Of course, sir."

After breakfast, Jinshi went out to work. He was frequently in his office during the morning, and cleaning his private residence often fell to Maomao.

"I am so very glad you came, my dear. I start to feel my age when I have to clean this whole place by myself," Suiren said, smiling openly. Before Maomao's arrival, she'd been responsible for the entire large building, but at fifty, a person's body started to get sore. "You're not the first new girl we've had here, I might add. But, well, you know. Things happen, and none of them have ever stayed. I think you're going to be fine on that point, Xiaomao." The cheerful lady-in-waiting seemed to have picked up Gaoshun's nickname for Maomao.

In addition to being quite a talker, Suiren's wealth of

experience had made her a quick worker as well, and her hands never seemed to stop moving. She polished some silver eating vessels quick as a flash. Cleaning the bedroom came next. Maomao went to stop her—this was all obviously maid's work— but Suiren only said, "Well, but then we'd never have time for our afternoon tasks."

There you had it. It seemed Suiren had held herself solely responsible for the cleaning of the rooms ever since some blunders with those earlier maids and ladies-in-waiting.

Incidents of theft, maybe? Maomao thought. And probably not just of money, she surmised—she could easily imagine other targets of such activity.

According to Suiren, things didn't only disappear; sometimes she discovered they suddenly had more possessions than before. "Anyone would be upset to find underwear they didn't recognize in the dresser," she said. Made from human hair, at that! And with a name carefully embroidered on it. Maomao got goosebumps. This was not quite the explanation she had been expecting. "That must have been very difficult, ma'am."

"I tell you, I was traumatized!"

As Maomao industriously polished another window frame, she reflected how life might be better if that eunuch were to wear a mask anytime he went out.

They finished cleaning Jinshi's private quarters and took a late meal. Next would be his office. This was, in principle, easier than cleaning his personal chambers because the room itself was less elaborate. But because they couldn't be seen wiping and polishing by anyone too important, it required a degree of discretion.

What shall I do today? Maomao wondered. When Jinshi had visitors at his office, Maomao had time to kill. At such moments, she often wandered the grounds of the outer court on the pretext of having some kind of business. I've covered the western side

pretty thoroughly by now.

A map unfolded in Maomao's mind. She would have loved to check out the eastern side, but something held her back. That was where the military was based. They might not smile upon a serving girl sniffing around in the bushes near their camp. She could all too readily be mistaken for a spy and arrested. And then there was the fact that Gaoshun had specifically recommended she avoid the place.

Besides, she thought, speaking of the military... Involuntarily, every muscle of her face tensed into a scowl. It was a measure of exactly how strong a reason she had to stay away from the place, but at the same time, an area unexplored was an area that might yet hide new herbs.

Maomao was standing with her arms crossed, deep in thought, when she felt something hit the back of her head.

The hell? She turned, rubbing the back of her head and glaring, to find a tall, refined lady of the outer court. I feel like I've seen her somewhere, Maomao thought, and then she remembered the woman from the crowd that had accosted her a few days before. She was wearing only the most minimal makeup, but Maomao noticed that she had drawn on thick eyebrows. She had full, pouting lips, and yet she had only dabbed them with rouge. Her overall look was tidy, but oddly disappointing.

She could do so much better, Maomao thought. She had perfect bones and a beautiful face, but the makeup left her less remarkable than she was. If she would make the eyebrows thinner, use plenty of light rouge on her lips, and put up her hair in an ostentatious bun, then she could easily have been taken for one of the flowers of the rear palace. Then again, most people probably wouldn't have noticed the potential for such beauty in this woman. Maomao, who had spent her life watching dirty street girls turn into captivating butterflies of the night, could see the possibilities.

"The likes of you aren't supposed to go any farther," the woman said, very blunt but sounding somehow tired. Maomao only wished she had started by talking instead of hitting.

Then the woman walked past, as if to communicate that as a certified lady of the outer court, she had nothing more to say to a maid like Maomao. In her hands she carried a small, clothwrapped package, clutching it protectively.

Huh? Maomao sniffed the air. There was the aroma of sandalwood, accompanied by a distinct bitter odor. She cocked her head curiously, looking in the direction the woman had gone.

Maybe she serves one of the soldiers? she wondered. The woman had come from the direction of the military camp. And indeed, if she was spending time there, then modest makeup might be the wise move. The camp might not be as dangerous as the back streets of the pleasure district, but there were plenty of young (and not-so-young) men with their blood up there, and an attractive young woman would do well to avoid them.

What Maomao was really contemplating, though, was what that smell had been. Her reverie was broken by the ringing of a bell. Guess I'll have to forget about it for today, she thought. She did an about-face and headed back toward Jinshi's office, hoping the master of the place would be absent when she got there.

Chapter 2: The Pipe

The gorgeous noble—that is, Jinshi—was busier than Maomao had realized. As a eunuch, she'd assumed the rear palace represented his entire workload, but it seemed he had much business in the outer court as well.

At the moment, Jinshi was making a face at some paperwork. He'd indicated that he was going to be stuck in his office the entire day, so Maomao had no option but to work around him as she cleaned. She was collecting scrap paper in one corner of the room. The paper was of excellent quality but covered with awful suggestions, ideas that were in the trash because they were hardly worth looking at. No matter how worthless the suggested statutes scrawled on them, however, the paper they were written on couldn't be reused; it had to be burned.

Think of the tidy bit of pocket change it would bring if I could sell it, Maomao thought. (It wasn't a very nice thought.) Still, she reiterated to herself that this was her job; she knew she had to burn the stuff. There was a fire pit for trash in one corner of the large palace complex surrounding Jinshi's office, over by the military training grounds and some storehouses.

Ah, the military... Maomao thought. Honestly, she wasn't eager to get anywhere near them, but she had no choice. She was just getting to her feet, resigned that this was her duty, when she felt something settle across her shoulders.

"It's chilly out. Please, wear this." Gaoshun, showing his thoughtful side, had placed a cotton jacket on her back. There was a dusting of snow on the ground, and the wind could be heard to rattle the desiccated branches of the trees. The warm room, heated by several braziers, made it easy to forget, but they were still hardly a month into the new year. It was the coldest season of all.

"Thank you very much," Maomao said. She really meant it. (It seemed such a waste to have made Gaoshun a eunuch!) That extra layer of insulation would make a lot of difference. As she ran her arms through the sleeves of unbleached cotton, she realized Jinshi was watching her intently. Practically glaring at her, in fact.

Did I do something wrong? Maomao tilted her head in curiosity, but then she realized it didn't seem to be her Jinshi was glaring at so much as it was Gaoshun. Gaoshun, noticing the gaze as well, flinched. "This is from Master Jinshi, I hasten to add. I'm only the messenger." For some reason, Gaoshun gesticulated broadly as he spoke. Suffice to say he didn't sound wholly convincing.

Is he being reprimanded for taking too much initiative? Maomao wondered, marveling that he should have to get permission for something so simple as giving a cotton jacket to a maid. It wasn't easy being Gaoshun either.

"Is that so?" was all Maomao said. She bowed in Jinshi's direction, then hefted the basket of paper scraps and made for the fire pit.

I wish you'd planted some here, too, Dad, Maomao thought to herself with a sigh. The outer court was many times larger than the rear palace, yet boasted far fewer herbs that might make worthwhile ingredients. She'd succeeded in finding little more than dandelions and mugwort.

Then again, she'd discovered some red spider lilies as well. Maomao enjoyed eating red spider lily bulbs soaked in water. The only caveat was that the bulbs were poisonous, and if the poison wasn't successfully extracted first, it could produce the mother of all tummy aches. More than once the old madam had snapped at her not to eat things like that—but it was Maomao's nature, and that wasn't going to change.

Guess this is about the best I can hope for, she thought. The dearth of plant life in winter made it hard enough to find anything; even with careful searching, she didn't expect to come up with much more than she had. Maomao started to consider planting some seeds on the sly.

As she walked back from the garbage pit, Maomao spotted someone she recognized. He was over by a row of plaster storehouses at some distance from Jinshi's office. He was a young military official with a strong, manly face that nonetheless showed an obvious decency, giving him something of the look of a big, friendly dog. Ah, yes: Lihaku. The color of his sash was different from before. Maomao discerned that he must have moved up in the world.

Lihaku was talking to what appeared to be some subordinates standing beside him. He's working hard, Maomao thought. Every time he had a little break, it seemed, Lihaku could be found at the Verdigris House, chatting with the apprentices over tea. Of course, his real objective was Maomao's beloved sister Pairin, but to call her forth required almost as much silver as a commoner might make in half a year.

Oh, woe betide the man who had tasted the nectar of heaven; now he sought even the barest, the most occluded glimpse of the countenance of that flower that grew on the high mountaintop.

Maybe Lihaku sensed Maomao's pitying gaze upon him, for he waved to her and came jogging over, bounding like the big dog he was. Instead of a tail, the kerchief holding his hair flapped behind him. "Hoh! How unusual to see you outside the rear palace. Accompanying your mistress on a day out?" He clearly didn't know that Maomao had been dismissed from service in her old workplace. She'd been back in the pleasure district only a very brief time, so she had never bumped into Lihaku there.

"No," she said. "I no longer serve in the rear palace, but in the personal quarters of one particular personage." It would be altogether too much trouble, Maomao thought, to tell the whole story of her dismissal and re-hiring, thus she reduced it to this single sentence.

"Personal quarters? Whose? Somebody must have very strange tastes."

"Yes, strange indeed."

Lihaku didn't know how insolent he was being, but his reaction as such was an understandable one. Most people wouldn't specifically seek out a thoroughly freckled, spindly branch of a girl to be their personal attendant. In fact, Maomao hadn't necessarily intended to continue with her freckles, but Jinshi had ordered her to keep them (though she didn't understand why), and if her master commanded, she had to obey.

I just don't know what he's after, that man. Maomao concluded that the thinking of nobles was simply beyond her.

"Say, I hear some important official just bought out a courtesan from your place."

"So it seems."

Guess I can't blame him for this one, Maomao thought. When the employment contract had been concluded and Maomao was to go with Jinshi, her overexcited sisters had prettied her up in every way they knew how, finding the most special clothes for her, doing her hair, and covering her in a mountain of makeup, until she looked like anything but an ordinary maid headed to an ordinary posting. She remembered her father, for some reason, watching her go as if watching a calf leave his barn.

To enter the palace looking like a tarted-up courtesan was bad enough, but Jinshi's presence attracted yet more attention, and Maomao found a very uncomfortable number of eyes on them. She'd changed as soon as she could, but no doubt quite a few people had seen her before then. Still, she was struck that Lihaku could be speaking of her, to her, and have no idea. But, she supposed, what more could you expect from a dumb mutt?

"If I may say so, you seem to be in the middle of something.

Do you really have time to be talking to me?"

"Oh, ahem... Heh..."

One of Lihaku's subordinates was coming over to check on him. He looked happy at first to see a woman there; a man living on a salary as poor as his was apt to be suffering from a drought of the fairer sex. But when he saw Maomao, his disappointment was palpable. She was used to this reaction, but it also showed some of what made the superior superior and the subordinate...not.

"There was a fire," Lihaku said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the storehouses. "Not a big one. They're not that unusual this time of year." Still, he had to investigate the cause, which was what he was currently doing.

Cause unknown, eh? Maomao thought. Now that she'd gotten a sniff of the story, she would have stuck her nose in even if someone had begged her not to. Maomao slipped between the two and headed toward the small building.

"Hey, better keep your distance!" Lihaku called.

"I understand," Maomao said, scrutinizing the building and everything around it. There was soot on one of the cracked plaster walls. It looked like they'd been lucky the fire hadn't spread to any of the other storehouses.

Hmm. If this was simply a small fire, then there were several unusual things about it. For one, why had Lihaku come to deal with it personally if it was so ordinary? Surely he could've ordered some lackey to do it. What was more, the building seemed substantially damaged. More like the effects of an explosion than a short-lived blaze. Maybe someone had even been injured. They must suspect arson, Maomao concluded. It would be one thing to burn down a random storehouse somewhere, but on the palace grounds themselves? That was something else.

Maomao's country was largely peaceful, but this wasn't to say no one had any grievances against the government. Barbarian tribes occasionally conducted raids, and droughts and famines did sometimes occur. Relations with other states were largely cordial, but there were no guarantees as to how long they would stay that way. And there must have been some inhabitants among the country's vassal states who were displeased with their status.

Most of all, the former emperor's practice of annual "hunts" for women had left the farming villages with a serious shortage of potential brides. It had been only five years since His Former Majesty had departed this world, and there must have been many who still remembered his rule all too well. As for more recent events, slavery had been abolished upon the accession of the current emperor, no doubt depriving more than a few merchants of their source of income.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing? I said stay back." Lihaku caught Maomao's shoulder, glowering.

"Oh, I was just curious about something..." Maomao peered into a broken window. Then she slipped neatly out of Lihaku's grip and scampered into the building. Scorched stores were everywhere. From the potatoes rolling around on the floor, she gathered that this warehouse had been used to store food. What a shame, she thought, that the potatoes had gone past the point of being well-cooked and were now hopelessly blackened.

Looking for anything else that might have fallen on the ground, Maomao discovered some kind of stick. The moment she touched it, though, it turned to ash, leaving only the carefully worked tip. Is this ivory? she wondered. It looks like a smoking pipe. She brushed off the decorative stummel and studied it.

"Listen, you can't just wander around in here," Lihaku said, finally (and understandably) starting to sound angry. But once Maomao was invested in a problem, she couldn't let it go. She crossed her arms, trying to put the pieces together in her head. An explosion, a warehouse full of food, and a pipe on the ground.

"Did you hear me?"

"I heard you."

Yes, she heard Lihaku; she just wasn't listening to him. Maomao was aware this was a bad habit of hers. She left the warehouse, heading toward the one directly opposite, where the goods that had been saved from the fire had been moved.

"Does this storehouse have the same sort of things in it as the one that burned?" Maomao asked the lower-ranking soldier.

"Yeah, I think so. Oldest stuff is farthest inside, apparently."

Maomao smacked a closely woven cloth sack, producing a cloud of white powder. Wheat flour, she presumed.

"Can I have this?" she asked, pointing to an unused wooden crate. It was well-built, with close fittings, probably intended for storing fruit or the like.

"Yeah, I guess. But what are you going to do with it?" Lihaku gave her a blank look.

"I'll explain later. Oh, and I'll take this too." Maomao grabbed a wooden board that looked suited to serve as a lid for the crate. Now she had everything she needed. "Have you got a hammer

and saw anywhere? And nails, I'll need nails."

"What exactly are you planning to do?"

"Just a little experiment."

"Experiment?" Lihaku looked befuddled, but his curiosity got the better of him. He was apparently going to cooperate with her, though still somewhat grudgingly. His subordinate was looking at Maomao as if to say, Who does this girl think she is? But when he saw his superior was going along with her, he had no choice but to get what she asked for.

Supplies thus provided, Maomao began to diligently arrange her materials. With the saw she made a hole in the wooden board, then hammered it down on the empty crate.

"That's weird. It's like you've done this before." Lihaku, watching her, showed all the interest of a dog spotting a new toy.

"I grew up without much money, so I learned to make what I didn't have."

Her old man had likewise built a range of curious things. Her adoptive father, who had studied in the west in his youth, drew on those long-ago memories to create tools and gadgets no one had ever seen in this country.

"There, finished," Maomao said after a few moments. "All it needs is a bit of this." She took some of the flour from the stores and put it in the box. "You wouldn't happen to have a fire starter on hand, would you?"

One of Lihaku's subordinates volunteered to get one. While he was away, Maomao got a bucket of water from the well. Lihaku, still totally baffled as to what was going on, was sitting on the box, his chin in his hands.

"Thank you very much." Maomao nodded to the subordinate, who had returned with a length of smoldering rope.

The underling could grimace all he liked, but he was ultimately curious about what Maomao was going to do; he squatted at a distance and watched them. Maomao went and stood in front of the crate with her wick, but for some reason, Lihaku was standing right there beside her.

She leveled her gaze at him. "Master Lihaku. This is dangerous. Might I ask you to keep a safe distance?"

"Danger, hah! If a young lady like you can do it, surely a warrior like myself is at no real risk."

He was obviously set on acting as proud and manly as he could, so Maomao gave up the argument. Some people just had to learn through experience.

"Very well," she said. "But there is risk involved, so please take due caution. Be ready to run away immediately."

"Run away? From what?"

Maomao ignored Lihaku's incredulous look, tugging on the sleeve of the crouching underling and advising him to watch from behind the storehouse. When all was in readiness, Maomao pitched the burning rope into the crate. Then she covered her head and ran.

Lihaku only watched her in perplexity.

I told him! I told him...

A second later, fire burst from the crate, burning hungrily. "Ahh!" Lihaku dodged the pillar of flame by inches. Or most of him did, anyway; his hair managed to catch the edge of the conflagration. "Put it ouuut!" he cried, panicking. Maomao picked up the bucket of water she had prepared and doused him with it. The fire went out, leaving only some smoke and the smell of singed hair.

"I told you to run." Maomao looked at Lihaku as if to ask whether he understood the danger now. As Lihaku stood with snot dripping from his nose, his subordinate quickly tossed an animal pelt on him. The man seemed to want to make some sort of comment, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Perhaps you would be so kind as to request the watchman of the storehouse to refrain from smoking tobacco on duty." Maomao's assessment of the cause of the fire was really speculation, but she felt safe treating it as fact.

"Right..." Lihaku replied, looking relieved. He was ghostly pale. However strong he might be, he would catch cold if he didn't warm up soon. He should have been hurrying back to his quarters to light a fire, but instead he was staring fixedly at Maomao. "But what in the world was that all about?" She could practically see the question mark above his head. His subordinates looked likewise flummoxed.

"Here's your culprit." Maomao took a handful of the wheat flour. A gust of wind came up and spirited the white powder away.

"Wheat flour and buckwheat flour are both highly flammable.

They can combust if there's enough in the air."

The flour had exploded: it was as simple as that. Anyone could understand it, once they knew what had happened. Lihaku simply hadn't been aware of the possibility.

There were few if any things in the world that were truly inexplicable; what a person deemed beyond explanation was only a reflection of the boundaries of their own knowledge.

"Pretty impressed you know about that," Lihaku said.

"Oh, I used to do it quite often."

"Used to do what?" Lihaku and his subordinate were looking at each other, confused once again. Fair enough: they'd never in their lives had to work in a cramped space full of flour. Maomao, meanwhile, had learned to be careful after she'd been blown backwards out of the room she had been borrowing in the Verdigris House.

I thought the old lady would have my head that day. Just thinking about it was enough to give her the shivers. She'd thought she was going to wind up hung upside down from the highest floor of the brothel.

"Please take care you don't catch a cold, sir. But if you do, let me recommend the medicine of a man named Luomen in the

pleasure district. It's quite effective."

Mustn't forget promotion. Lihaku might buy her father's medicine on one of his visits to Pairin. Maomao's old man was as terrible a salesman as he was brilliant a pharmacist, so if she didn't do at least this much, he might not make enough to feed himself.

That took longer than I meant it to. Maomao picked up the basket of scrap paper and turned once more for the trash pit. It was just nearby; she would hustle the attendant and then get out of there. Oops, she thought, looks like I unintentionally took a

souvenir.

She realized the item she'd picked up earlier was still at the collar of her robe. The pipe. This was the reason she'd said to warn the watchman about smoking. The stummel in her hand was a bit singed, but clearly of fine make, a rather finer piece than one would expect to be in the possession of a simple storehouse guard.

Might be important to him, she thought. A little polishing and a new shank, and it would be good as new. Word was that there had been injuries but no deaths in the explosion, meaning the pipe's owner was probably recuperating somewhere. He might not want it anymore—too many bad memories—but if nothing else, the stummel would sell for a decent price.

For the time being, Maomao tucked the soot-stained ivory piece into the top of her robe.

Going to have to work late tonight, she thought as she handed the waste to the trash-pit attendant.

Chapter 3: Teaching at the Rear Palace

"What in the world is going on in there?"

"No idea."

The question came from Gaoshun; the blunt answer, from Jinshi. They were standing before a lecture hall in the rear palace. Inside, the highest-ranking consorts were having some sort of lesson, supposedly in the interest of helping them fulfill their duties as concubines.

All around, eunuchs and lesser serving ladies who had been summarily driven out of the hall stood by, looking just as perplexed as Jinshi. A few even had their ears to the door; nothing makes a person more interested in something than being told it's a secret. But whatever could that secret be?

One special reason for the gripping curiosity was that the lecturer was a young, freckled womanservant. No one could say quite what she was doing there.

It had all started about ten days before...

Jinshi, still in his sleepwear, watched Maomao clean, just the prelude to another long day of hard work. "If you're looking for your breakfast, Lady Suiren is preparing it right now," she said. One person was more than enough to handle making the morning meal, so while Suiren did that, Maomao got a start on cleaning the room. Any wasted time meant she would never finish all the chores in this building before noon. The old lady-in-waiting certainly took full advantage of her new assistant.

I wonder if I did something to upset him, Maomao thought. If she had, it was probably that she'd quietly planted the seeds of some medicinal herbs in the garden—but she didn't think anyone knew about that yet. Her heart picked up speed all the same.

Then Jinshi said: "As the new Pure Consort has arrived, the rear palace has requested education of the consorts."

The Pure Consort was one of the four highest-ranking ladies in the rear palace, and the title had been vacated at the tail end of the previous year.

"Is that so?" Maomao replied without interest as she continued to dust. She ran the rag along the floor as hard as if the timbers had killed her parents and she was taking revenge. It had been part of her daily routine since she'd been assigned to Jinshi's personal service. There were probably other jobs she could have been doing, but maid's work was all she'd known, and frankly, she couldn't think of what those other jobs might be. So instead she threw herself into cleaning as if her life depended on it. Jinshi occasionally gave her disapproving looks, but Maomao was of the opinion that if he didn't give her specific instructions, she was under no obligation to do anything in particular.

Now Jinshi crouched down so his gaze was on a level with Maomao's. He was holding some sort of scroll. "They want a teacher."

"Oh? They have someone in mind?"

"You."

Maomao reflexively glared at Jinshi. It was not ideal, perhaps, for a cleaning girl to give her direct employer a look as if she were regarding some dirt in a corner, but old habits die hard. It provoked an inscrutable expression from Jinshi. "A fine joke, sir."

"Who's joking?" Jinshi showed her the scroll he was holding. Maomao's expression darkened as she read it, for what was written there was most inconvenient. Indeed, she would have liked to pretend the scroll didn't exist.

"You can't get out of this just by pretending not to look."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I know you read it just now. I saw you."

"That was your imagination, I assure you."

Jinshi unrolled the scroll and pointed directly at the most inconvenient part of all. He pushed the missive toward Maomao.

Most stubborn.

"Look here. A direct endorsement."

Maomao was silent. The words "Wise Consort, Lihua" hovered directly beside Jinshi's finger.

Now she's done it, Maomao thought. "Count me out," was all she said, and so, for the day, the matter was closed. But it couldn't last...

The next day, another scroll arrived with the same request.

This time, the endorsement was provided by Consort Gyokuyou. With two of the great consorts having affixed their names to these letters, even Maomao couldn't ignore them anymore. She could easily picture the red-haired concubine laughing merrily to herself. This time the request further stipulated that an appropriate honorarium would be provided.

Maomao was resigned to it now, albeit with many a sigh and shudder, so she sent a letter home—a necessary first step in preparing for the job she had been asked to do. By "home," though, she meant not to Luomen, but to the courtesans who had been like parents to her.

Several days later the items she had requested arrived, along with an invoice from the madam. Maomao thought the old lady had seriously inflated the price, but nonetheless she discreetly added an extra zero to the number before passing the bill to Jinshi. He scrutinized it but seemed prepared to accept the cost, when Suiren appeared out of nowhere and said with a chuckle, "I think the ink of this number is just a slightly different shade from the rest." She plucked the invoice from Jinshi's hands and gave it back to Maomao.

Wily old lady, Maomao thought. So long as Suiren was there, it would be a tall order for anyone to make a mark of her sheltered young master. Maomao was left with no choice but to admit the original price. If they'd had a mind to, Jinshi and Suiren could have argued that Maomao should cover the expense for herself, so she was just as happy when they complacently paid the sum.

When the goods from the courtesans were delivered, Maomao veritably shoved Gaoshun aside and took them herself. Jinshi was as interested as a nosy puppy, but Maomao steadfastly refused to break any of the seals, quickly requisitioning a cart and taking the items away.

"Shall I help you?" Gaoshun asked, but Maomao politely refused him, taking her acquisitions to her room. Jinshi demanded to see what she had received, but she opened her eyes as wide as she could and stared him down, and after a moment he quietly withdrew.

She could hardly show him her all-important teaching materials. Maomao had decided: if she was going to do this, she was going to do it right.

Finally, the day arrived. For the first time in a long while, Maomao set foot in the rear palace, in the inner court. She found the slight feminine fragrance that suffused the place to be oddly calming.

The lecture hall that had been prepared for her was in fact quite large, enough to seat several hundred people. It had been sleeping quarters for the maids under the previous emperor, when the population of the rear palace had ballooned and individual rooms couldn't be built rapidly enough to keep up. Now, though, it went largely unused. It was a complete waste to leave it standing empty, but it would have been an even greater waste to tear it down. Indeed, many such buildings dotted the rear palace.

I don't need all this space, Maomao thought. She wasn't teaching anything particularly important, so why was such a crowd gathering? Middle- and lower-ranked consorts and their entourages all but surrounded the lecture hall, while more than a few maids rubbernecked from a distance.

The subject of instruction on this occasion was of no small importance to the consorts and concubines. In some sense, it could even be said to bear on the future of the nation—but for Maomao, all it did was elicit a long sigh.

"All right, listen up," Jinshi said. "Only the high consorts are to receive instruction."

One might have expected disappointment among the lowerranking consorts at this pronouncement, but quite to the contrary, many of them were seemingly satisfied at having gotten a glimpse of Jinshi. At least half had apparently come only to see or even hear him; they clung to pillars and railings all around. It looked awfully overdramatic to Maomao, but more than a few such ladies were doing it. She sometimes wondered if this eunuch wasn't in fact some fell spirit who bewitched those around him.

When the moment arrived, Maomao entered the lecture hall to find Jinshi trotting at her heels. She set her jaw and glared at him. "What?" he asked, but Maomao only pushed him back out of the room. His willowy figure belied how much work it took to shove him out the door.

"But why?" he said.

"Because what will transpire here is secret, confidential, and positively not for outsiders. I was asked to instruct our honored consorts, and last I checked, Master Jinshi, you were not one of them."

Then she shut and barred the door.

She let out a long breath, then took an appraising look around the lecture hall. Nine people were present: the four high consorts, with one attendant each, and Maomao.

There was an audible murmur from the other side of the door. Because she had ejected Jinshi, most likely. She had the distinct sense that someone, or several someones, were trying hard to listen.

Maomao pushed her little cart to the center of the hall, then slowly bowed her head. "My cordial greetings to you, honored ladies. I, Maomao, humbly present myself to you as your instructor."

Consort Gyokuyou, looking as lovely as ever, gave a friendly little wave. Her attendant, her chief lady-in-waiting Hongniang, observed this dubiously.

Consort Lihua had finally gotten most of the meat back on her bones, and she was watching Maomao placidly. The same couldn't be said of the lady-in-waiting who attended her, whose face contorted when she saw Maomao. Maomao savored the moment.

As for Consort Lishu, she exuded the same slight air of nervousness as always. No doubt she was trying to take extra care with the three other high consorts around. The lady-inwaiting attending her didn't look any more comfortable than her mistress, but the way she was obviously set on protecting the consort brought a smile to Maomao's heart.

Finally, the last of the august ladies. A face Maomao hadn't seen before. The young woman who had replaced one of the former high consorts was about Maomao's age. She was Loulan, the new Pure Consort. She had her black hair tied up high on her head, and in place of a hair stick she used the feather of a bird from the southern reaches. Her dress suggested she might be a princess from the southern lands, but her physiognomy was more that of a northerner. Her lady-in-waiting looked the same way, and Maomao concluded that the style of dress must have been a personal preference.

Loulan was neither as alluring as Gyokuyou, nor as dazzling as Lihua. Unlike Lishu, she was of an appropriate age to share a bed with the Emperor, but for the moment, it didn't appear she would threaten the delicate balance of the rear palace.

That costume, though: it made her by far the most conspicuous of the four high consorts. In particular, her makeup accented the corners of her eyes so emphatically that it was impossible to tell what they really looked like. Maomao could hardly picture how the consort must appear without cosmetics.

Not that it matters to me.

With her little introduction complete, Maomao pulled a stack of textbooks from among her supplies and began passing them out, one to each consort. Each had her own reaction as she took her copy: widening eyes, an amused chuckle, a furious flush of the cheeks, a furrowed brow. About what I expected, Maomao thought. Next she produced a collection of tools. About half of those present regarded them with confusion, while most of the others seemed to know what they were for. The handful in between didn't know exactly, but seemed to guess, and blushed.

"I wish to stress that what I'm about to teach you are trade secrets of the garden of women, and must not be divulged to outsiders," Maomao said, and then she instructed her pupils to open their textbooks to page three.

A good two hours or so later, Maomao's lecture was finally finished. Maybe I tried to tackle too much at once, she thought; even Maomao was feeling a bit spent by it. She drifted over to the door of the lecture hall and undid the bar.

"That went on for a while." The gorgeous eunuch wandered in, looking quite at his leisure. He did seem ever so slightly annoyed, and for some reason, his left cheek and ear were red. Maomao was at least kind enough not to openly accuse him of eavesdropping.

Jinshi regarded the room he had entered with mute amazement.

"Is something the matter, sir?"

"You took the words right out of my mouth," he said, looking closely at Maomao.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." She had only given the consorts of the rear palace instruction in the necessary knowledge, as she had been requested. As for the individual consorts, their responses to Maomao's lecture were as follows:

Gyokuyou was enthused. "Finally, some new tricks," she was saying. Hongniang attended her with her customary expression of fatigue. She might also have been occasionally casting glares in Maomao's direction, but the lecturer chose to ignore her.

Lihua's cheeks were slightly flushed, but her finger traced down the page as she reviewed the lesson. She seemed quite satisfied. The lady-in-waiting with her was red as a beet and looking firmly at the ground, trembling.

Lishu was in a corner of the room with her forehead pressed to the wall, mumbling, "I can't. I couldn't. It's impossible!" All the blood had drained from her face. Her attendant, only recently promoted to her chief lady-in-waiting (Maomao believed she recognized the woman as Lishu's former food taster), patted her back consolingly.

As for Loulan, she was staring into space with a distant expression. Maomao couldn't guess what she might be thinking. Her attendant wasn't quite sure what to do with the textbook lying in front of them; with some embarrassment, she packed it in a carrying cloth.

I don't care what they do with it, Maomao thought as she packed up her things and accepted a cup of cool water. She let out a breath. She was tired, but the thought of the envelope full of money she would receive took the edge off her fatigue.

Each of the consorts was allowed to keep the instructional materials she'd received. Some clutched their books lovingly, while others touched them only with evident trepidation. In any event, Maomao urged them to wrap the items in traveling cloths so that they might not be seen, and further, reiterated that they should not be shown to anybody. Jinshi and the others who had been excluded from the lecture watched, mystified.

"What exactly did you teach them?" Jinshi inquired.

Maomao didn't quite look at him, but rather, somewhere just past him. "Next time you see the Emperor, ask what he thought of my lesson," she said.

As to the content of her instruction, she would leave that to Jinshi's imagination.

Chapter 4: Raw Fish

"Xiaomao, may I have a moment?" Gaoshun asked as Maomao was about to head back to her room after finishing the day's work. Their shared master Jinshi, evidently tired from his own exertions, had gone to take a bath directly after eating.

"What seems to be the matter?" Maomao asked, at which Gaoshun hesitated for a moment—stroking his chin to cover for himself—and finally let out a long breath. "There's something I'd like you to look at." Jinshi's aide seemed to have even more furrows in his brow than usual today.

What Gaoshun showed Maomao was something written on a bound collection of wood strips, which he unrolled on a table. Maomao looked closely at them. "A record of an old incident," she observed. The strips recounted the case of a merchant who had contracted food poisoning some ten years before. The victim had allegedly consumed blowfish.

Maomao swallowed in spite of herself. Argh, I wish I could have some blowfish.

Gaoshun was looking at her, noticeably vexed. Maomao shook her head and wiped the grin off her face.

"Next time we have a chance, I'll take you to eat something of the sort," Gaoshun said, though he added pointedly that blowfish liver would not be served.

Maomao was a bit put out by that (Real gourmands know how to enjoy that unique tingle!), but nonetheless, there was nothing like the prospect of a good meal to get her invested in a project. She started studying the materials closely. "Why are we looking at this, if I may ask?"

"Long ago, my work happened to involve me in the matter of this case. A former colleague of mine brought it up to me again, because a very similar incident occurred recently."

Was this former colleague, Maomao wondered, someone from before Gaoshun had become a eunuch? So he really had been a military official or some such.

"Very similar?" Maomao said. "How so?" She mentally set aside the question of her companion's history. She was, quite frankly, more interested in this case of poisoning than she was in talk of Gaoshun's past.

"A bureaucrat ate a dish of shredded raw blowfish and vegetables, and now he's comatose."

Comatose? Maomao didn't like the sound of that. Gaoshun had never been the type to mince words, and she doubted he had started just now. She took a discreet glance at Gaoshun's face. He had the same wrinkle in his brow, the same somewhat wrung-out expression as usual—but he also seemed to be studying Maomao in much the way she was studying him.

"My apologies, Master Gaoshun, but might I ask for further details?" Despite her directness, Gaoshun didn't flinch, but only nodded slowly, his hands still resting in his sleeves.

"Yes, of course. I'm quite happy to tell you, Xiaomao. I'm confident you know where you stand." She wasn't sure that was a compliment. The meaning was clear enough: Keep your mouth

shut. "Besides," he went on, "could I really leave the story off

there?"

What a tease. He knew perfectly well that Maomao's curiosity would be fired by now. "Please, by all means, continue," Maomao said, frowning at how amused Gaoshun seemed by his own sudden importance to her.

Gaoshun pointed at the strips of wood and said, "In the current case, the dish included blowfish skin and meat, almost raw, just given a quick scalding. The victim consumed the dish and fell into a coma."

"Meat? You mean, not the internal organs?"

"That's right."

Blowfish poison couldn't be removed by heating it, but the poison was concentrated in the fish's organs, principally the liver, and the flesh proper was substantially less dangerous. Maomao would have guessed that any case of coma on account of blowfish poison would almost have to have involved consumption of the liver. Could that much toxin really have built up in the flesh? she wondered. Depending on the exact variety of fish and the environment in which it was raised, the meat could, on occasion, be poisonous. She didn't have enough evidence to be certain one way or the other, so she couldn't rule out the possibility.

When Maomao had eaten blowfish, it had always been the less poisonous meat. Well, almost always—every once in a while she got it into her head to put a bit of liver in her mouth, but it was a dangerous game. She well remembered the madam forcing her to drink water until her stomach practically turned inside out.

"To be honest, I'm not hearing anything unusual so far," Maomao said.

"Well, there's one detail I haven't mentioned," Gaoshun said, shaking his head slowly and scratching the back of his neck as if embarrassed. "The chefs involved in preparing the dishes insist they didn't use blowfish. Not on this occasion, and not in the incident ten years ago."

Gaoshun was frowning openly now, but Maomao simply ran her tongue along her lips. This was getting more interesting by the minute.

There were several points of similarity between the two cases. For one thing, both the bureaucrat of the present case and the merchant of the older one had been epicures with a taste for unusual food. On these occasions, they'd been consuming dishes of shredded raw fish and vegetables in which the meat had been gently scalded by dipping it briefly into boiling water, but they had each been accustomed to eating fish completely raw as well. The fresh taste of raw fish could be wonderful, but the uncooked meat all too often hosted parasites. Most people didn't much like it, and in some areas eating raw fish was outright forbidden.

Adventurous eaters like the victims in question would have been accustomed to consuming blowfish. And although they would all deny it publicly, some such people on occasion deliberately had a little bit of toxin left in their fish, in order to enjoy the tingling sensation it produced.

And people would judge them for it! Philistines, Maomao thought. She was of the opinion that people ought to be more or less tolerant of the preferences of others, at least when it came to food.

Neither of the chefs who had prepared the tainted food would admit to any wrongdoing; both were adamant that they hadn't used blowfish in the preparation of their dishes. And yet, the men who had eaten said dishes had nonetheless succumbed to food poisoning. Blowfish innards and skin had been discovered in the kitchen waste and submitted as evidence, but the fact that the internal organs were complete and accounted for was understood to show that no part of them had in fact been consumed.

They actually took this investigation really seriously, Maomao thought, finding herself oddly impressed. She knew there were far too many officials in the world who were happy to settle for pinning the crime on someone via circumstantial or, if necessary, doctored evidence.

Both chefs asserted that they had used blowfish in their cooking the day before the respective incidents, but not the day of. With the season as cold as it was now, it wasn't surprising that the trash might not be taken out for several days at a time— unlike, say, in summer, when it might have been disposed of more regularly. The dish in question had been prepared with a different fish, the remains of which were also discovered in the trash.

So this obviously isn't a setup by some official, Maomao mused, but that doesn't necessarily mean the cooks are telling

the truth. Unfortunately, there were no eyewitnesses to the meals

in question. Afraid of angering his wife with his outré culinary choices, the administrator frequently took his meals alone. The cook had brought in the dish, but the official's servant only saw him eat at a distance and couldn't identify exactly what fish had been used in the meal.

Moreover, the victim had succumbed only after he was well finished eating—the best part of half an hour after the meal was over. A servant bringing tea discovered the man twitching and barely breathing, his lips blue.

The symptoms are certainly in line with blowfish poisoning, Maomao thought. The information Gaoshun had given her, though, simply wasn't enough. She decided to give up trying to think the problem through for a while, until she could get more details from the eunuch. She was just mumbling to herself, "What in the world could have happened?" when an irreproachably handsome visage appeared beside her. Maomao felt the muscles of her face tauten reflexively.

"If you'll excuse me, perhaps you could not pull faces at yours truly? It wounds me." Jinshi's hair was still wet; Suiren was trying to wipe it with a towel, exclaiming, "Oh, goodness," as it dripped everywhere.

Maomao forced herself to resume a normal expression. It seemed she had been all but vibrating with distress.

"You were certainly hanging on every word Gaoshun said," Jinshi remarked. He didn't sound amused.

"I was only as engaged as anyone when a speaker has something interesting to say."

Jinshi looked scandalized. "Now, just a moment. When I talk, you never..." He couldn't even bring himself to finish the sentence, but for the moment, Maomao didn't care.

"It's gotten late," she said. "If you won't be needing me, sir, I'll be going back." She nodded politely to Suiren, still mopping at Jinshi's hair, and pattered out of the room. Jinshi seemed to be trying to say something else, but Suiren snapped, "Don't move," and Maomao heard nothing more from him. She was somewhat exasperated with herself, acting so helplessly fascinated by the matter of a person's death. She wondered what her father would think of her as she headed back to her room.

The next day, Gaoshun brought her a cookbook. "These are copies of recipes the chef commonly prepared. The servants testified that most of the meals served to their master came from this collection. This is the recipe the chef claims to have been following." He set the notebook on the table and opened it to a page with instructions for raw fish lightly scalded and then shredded. Maomao looked at it, stroking her chin.

The recipe called for the fish to be accompanied with minced vegetables and lightly vinegared. A few scrawled notes indicated modifications to the vinegar, but overall there was nothing unusual. Several different vinegar dressings were listed, presumably to account for the season and available ingredients. Exactly which fish and vegetables were to be used weren't specified in detail.

Hm. Maomao continued stroking her chin. "This doesn't answer the crucial question of what was actually used," she said.

"I'm afraid that's true."

Jinshi was watching Maomao with curiosity from a short distance away, although he didn't appear to be enjoying himself. He had longan fruit with him that he cracked open and ate listlessly. The dark, dry seeds emerged with each crack. Longan were like lychee, but smaller, and were normally a summer fruit.

When dried, the fruit was much valued in traditional medicine.

"You haven't figured it out yet?" Jinshi said, settling his elbows restlessly on the table and looking across at Maomao. He clearly wanted to be part of the discussion. Gaoshun frowned but didn't go so far as to reprimand him. Somebody ought to give him a

piece of their mind, Maomao thought, coolly regarding Jinshi as he leaned uncouthly on the table. At that moment, somebody plucked the longan from Jinshi's hand.

"Boys who can't comport themselves like gentlemen will go without snacks," Suiren said, chuckling openly from her place just behind Jinshi. Despite her laughter, Maomao felt the charge in the air. She couldn't shake the sense that she could see storm clouds rising up behind Suiren. Would it be strange to describe the ladyin-waiting as having the aura of a seasoned warrior?

"Yes, yes." Jinshi's eyebrows drooped, but he took his elbows off the table and resumed proper posture.

"Very good." Suiren nodded, placing the fruit back in his hand. Here Maomao had assumed Suiren was just a doting old lady, but apparently she could be a stickler for propriety.

But they were getting off track. It was time to bring things back to the subject at hand.

"This incident occurred just recently, didn't it?" Maomao said.

"About a week ago," Gaoshun replied. During the cold season. This dish typically used cucumber, but this time of year, they would have had to find something else.

"May I guess that it was prepared with daikon and carrots?" There were only so many vegetables that would be available in winter. To each ingredient there was a season, a window in which it could be best enjoyed.

"Ahem... The chef said he used seaweed," Gaoshun said.

"Huh!" said Maomao, her mouth opening in an expression of surprise. "Did you say seaweed?"

"Yes, seaweed," Gaoshun replied. Seaweed was a common ingredient in traditional medicine as well. And yes, it would make some sense appearing in this particular dish.

But a gourmand like that wouldn't want just any seaweed. He would want something different. Special. Maomao felt the corners of her mouth turn up. She suspected her front teeth were showing. Jinshi and the others looked at her with their own mouths agape.

Maomao, still grinning, turned to Gaoshun. "Perhaps I could inspect the kitchen of the house in question. If that's possible?" She wasn't sure he would go along with the idea, but it couldn't hurt to try.

Gaoshun acted swiftly, and the very next day, Maomao had everything she needed to get into the kitchen where the trouble had started. She was given to understand that obtaining permission had been a simple matter, as the official inquest was already complete.

The estate was situated in the northwest of the capital. The northern quadrant of the city was occupied primarily by highranking officials, and the area was packed with gorgeous houses. When they arrived at the particular mansion they wanted, the victim's wife (allegedly wasting away with the stress) was asleep, so a manservant showed them through the house. The wife had already given her approval, they were told.

A manservant, Maomao mused as they entered the kitchen. Gaoshun had arranged another official to accompany Maomao, but he spent most of his time looking at her doubtfully. He clearly didn't relish this assignment, but Gaoshun had told him to do it, and evidently he would obey, so there was no problem as far as it went. Maomao wasn't there to make friends with him, so it was all the same to her.

The man was with the military, but young. His body lacked the bulk of a long-serving soldier, but his movements were brusque and efficient. Under his furrowed brow was a face that was manly despite its remaining traces of youth. He looked oddly familiar, Maomao thought. She was just about to trot into the kitchen when a man came running up to her in high dudgeon.

"What do you think you're doing? You can't just wander around this house! Get out of here! Who let this riffraff in?!" He caught the manservant by the collar.

Maomao was fixing him with a glare when the young man accompanying her stepped forward. "The mistress of the household gave us her blessing. And this is official business." Maomao applauded the calm but firm tone he took with the overheated newcomer.

"Is this true?" The man relaxed his grip on the servant's neck. Through a coughing fit, the manservant managed to confirm that it was.

"Now, may we proceed? Or is there some reason we shouldn't?" the young official asked, at which the man made a sound of disgust and spat, "Pfah! What do I care?"

The manservant later explained to them apologetically that the younger brother of the comatose official was overseeing his estate in lieu of the man's indisposed wife; he was the one who had accosted them.

So that's what's going on, Maomao thought, but recognizing that it would be improper to insert herself into someone else's family affairs, she left it at that. Instead, she looked around the kitchen. As she'd feared, the chef had already washed and cleaned his tools; however, aside from the fish, which had been disposed of lest it start to rot, the majority of the ingredients still remained.

She began to explore the room, and there, on a shelf near the back wall, she found it, sitting right out in the open. Maomao's discovery, salted and stored in a small pot, brought a grin to her face. "What is this?" she asked the servant. He squinted into the pot, his face suggesting he wasn't sure. So Maomao took a bit of it and dropped it into a jug of water. "Do you recognize it now?"

"Oh! This is that thing the master liked." The servant informed them that the master had eaten it all the time; it couldn't possibly be poisoned. The servant's mistress evidently trusted him, and he didn't appear to be lying.

"You heard the man. Hurry up and go home," the younger brother snapped. He'd been watching Maomao at work for some time now. In particular, he seemed to be fixated on the jar she was investigating.

"Yes, of course," Maomao said, putting the jar back where she'd found it—and grabbing a handful of the contents as she did so, secreting it in her sleeve. "Our apologies for disturbing you."

She left the kitchen, but she could feel the man's eyes boring into her from behind.

"Why did you just run away like that? You hardly even objected," the young military man said to Maomao as they rode home in their carriage. She was surprised he was willing to initiate the conversation.

"Oh, I hardly think I ran away." Maomao produced the bit of salted seaweed from her sleeve and placed it delicately in a handkerchief. It had left her sleeve disgustingly salty, but the young man would probably get upset if she tried to shake it out right there. "This is strange," she said instead. "It's a little too early in the year to harvest this particular kind of seaweed. But I don't think a salt-cured piece from last year would have lasted this long." No, this ingredient was well outside its season.

"That leads me to think it wasn't harvested around here," Maomao went on. "That maybe it was obtained from the south somewhere, through trade, for example. You wouldn't happen to know where such a thing might come from, would you?"

The young man's eyes widened. He seemed to understand what she was asking of him.

That just left Maomao's own task to attend to.

The next day, at her request, Gaoshun arranged a kitchen for her to use. It was in one of the bureaucratic offices of the outer court, and included accommodations for someone to stay overnight. Maomao had prepared everything the night before; now, she started to cook. Well, cook might be a strong word. She was only steeping the seaweed in some water to get the salt off. It was a simple enough process, but things being what they were, she'd figured it would be better not to use the kitchen in Jinshi's building, hence why she'd asked for a different one.

Two plates sat in front of her, bearing her preparation. She'd divided her pilfered seaweed into two portions and soaked them in water. By now they were a rich, deep green.

Also before her were Gaoshun and the official who had consulted him about this case, along with the young soldier from the day before, and, for some reason, Jinshi. Maomao thought Suiren was likely to rake him over the coals again for being a rubberneck.

"I discovered you were right," the soldier said. The seaweed had been imported from the south. "I tried asking the manservant we met about it. He says that indeed, that seaweed was never eaten in winter. I inquired with the other servants as well, but the

answers were all about the same."

The stranger in the room, the man who had consulted Gaoshun about the incident, shook his head. "I already spoke to the cook about it. He says it's the same kind of seaweed he always uses. He swears it can't be poisonous."

In fact, Maomao agreed: it was the same kind of seaweed. But there was a difference. "One of them may yet be poisonous," she said. With a pair of chopsticks, she picked up one of the pieces of seaweed from its plate. "Tell me, do people in the south normally eat this kind of seaweed? Or could it be that a gourmand-official imported dried samples from the plant's native land, thinking there might be money to be made?"

"And what would be the problem if he had?" Jinshi asked. Today he had none of the loose, almost informal quality he'd sometimes demonstrated recently. Perhaps it was because there were other people present. Gaoshun looked as serene as ever, but the other two officials seemed somewhat uncomfortable in the presence of the radiant eunuch.

Maomao twiddled the chopsticks playfully as she replied,

"There are ways to make a poison not poisonous."

Several, in fact. Eels, for instance, were normally poisonous, but if one drained the blood and heated them enough, they became edible. To take another example, this particular kind of seaweed, Maomao recalled, had to be cured with quicklime. One of the two pieces before them was treated with quicklime; the other was not. At the moment, Maomao was holding in her chopsticks the piece she had been steeping in a quicklime solution overnight. She took a big bite of it, distressing the onlookers.

They crowded around and fussed over her.

"I'll be fine... I think," Maomao said. In truth, she only knew the theory; she wasn't actually sure if a single night's steeping would be enough to neutralize the poison. This was another important test for her.

"You think?" Jinshi demanded.

"Oh, calm down. I have an emetic right here." She showed them the pouch of herbal medicine hanging around her neck.

"Aren't we a little overconfident?!" Jinshi snapped. A moment later, Gaoshun had Maomao in a bear hug from behind while his master forced the medicine down her throat. Thus she ended her demonstration by vomiting in front of four important men. Lovely. What a thing to do to a young woman who had yet even to be married.

Worse, the emetic induced vomiting through its awful flavor, so it was a poor chaser for the seaweed.

And here I was trying to prove that seaweed was safe, Maomao thought. She wiped away the stomach juices, composed herself, and then said, "Here's the question as I see it: who suggested the idea to the tradesman to import this salted seaweed?" The merchant had gone to a foreign land, one where there was no custom of consuming this plant, simply in order to obtain it. Presumably he was at least aware of the potential danger. "The man who fell into a coma from it could be said to have reaped what he sowed."

But what if something else was going on? What if the possibility of poison had been well accounted for?

Here I go, speculating again.

There had been a similar case ten years before. What if it had given someone a hint—inspiration? Maomao had no way of saying whether the two were really connected. But as far as the current case, she trusted her intuition. Everyone here in this room with her was intelligent. She doubted she needed to say anything more, and she didn't intend to. Maomao was a person of such minor consequence. She had no desire to ponder anyone's particular guilt.

"I see." Gaoshun nodded slowly, evidently comprehending what Maomao was driving at.

She let out a relieved breath, then grabbed the seaweed in front of her and ate it—this time, from the other plate.

And thus, for the second time that day, Maomao was induced to retch by a pale-faced Jinshi and his companions.

The culprit turned out to be the younger brother of the comatose bureaucrat. Once they found out where he'd purchased the seaweed, he could hardly confess fast enough. So Maomao had been right to be suspicious of the way he'd been watching her in the kitchen. He might as well have told them outright there was something he didn't want them to see in there.

His story was a common one: with the elder son alive and well, the younger went forgotten. Maomao and the others were almost disappointed to discover such a comically prosaic motive at work.

However, a problem remained. Apparently the man had been willing to commit murder over this simple grievance, but how had he learned about the poisonous seaweed in the first place? He claimed a fellow patron at his favorite bar had happened to mention it in the course of a conversation. And neither Maomao nor anyone knew at the time whether this was simple chance, or if it went deeper.

Maomao was cleaning up, muttering over the fact that she never did get to eat the toxic seaweed. But it was no use crying over spilled milk—or regurgitated seaweed—so she determined to think about something else.

Ahh, I wonder what I'll use my precious new ingredient for. The bizarre herb sprouting from a bug danced in her head. Just as it threatened to take over her every thought, she shook her head: she had to stay focused. She was on the job. But she couldn't keep herself from grinning at the thought of that disgusting dried insect with the grayish mushroom popping out of it. She was overjoyed just thinking about the possibilities: maybe she would make a medicinal wine out of it, or turn it into pills.

The overweening happiness caused her, to her chagrin, to greet the master of the room with a giant smile on her face. The moment she registered Jinshi—and the shocked look he was giving her—Maomao dropped her eyes to the ground.

I'll bet that wasn't very appealing. Slowly, uncomfortably, she looked up, to discover Jinshi was suddenly beating his head against a pillar. It made a clacking sound like a woodpecker. The noise brought Gaoshun and Suiren running.

Gaoshun seemed to be fixing Maomao with a glare. It wasn't my fault! Maomao protested wordlessly. Your master is wrong in the head. Silently she was pouting, but all she actually said to them was, "Welcome back." She could at least act polite.

Jinshi had been spending especially long days at work of late. He claimed it was because there were so many things that needed taking care of. In which case, perhaps he should have been working the other day rather than standing around gawping at Maomao's experiment.

Jinshi's assessment of the person he'd recently had to entertain to get his work done was less than flattering: "You could say we don't get along. Or at the very least, that there's a stark difference of opinion." Now he sighed as he accepted some fruit wine from Suiren. Everyone in the room had a well-developed tolerance for Jinshi, so it didn't affect them, but if some girl had happened to see him like this, she might have fainted on the spot. A most troublesome eunuch indeed.

So there was someone out there who could successfully have a different opinion from Jinshi. That was impressive in its own right.

"There are some people even I can't deal with easily," Jinshi said.

The person in question was evidently a high-ranking military official, a man of sharp intellect but unorthodox character. He would nitpick, bring visitors to people's offices, barge in, challenge them to a game of Shogi, distract them with simple banter, and otherwise prevent paperwork from getting stamped for as long as possible.

And on this occasion, Jinshi was his target. Jinshi had found himself obliged to entertain the man for a good two hours each day, which meant he had to make up the time later.

Maomao's face contorted. "What old hermit would waste his time like that?"

"Old hermit? He's only just past forty. The worst part is, he gets his work done before he comes to bother me."

A forty-something, eccentric, highly ranked military officer? These particular characteristics rang a bell with Maomao, but she had the distinct feeling that recalling exactly why would bring nothing good, so she decided to forget about it instead.

Unfortunately, forgetting wasn't likely to make her bad feeling any less accurate.

"I believe the matter you were concerned with has already been approved," Jinshi said, bringing his nymph-like smile to bear on his uninvited guest. It took a genuine effort not to scowl.

"Hell, sure it has, but flower viewing is just so hard in the winter. Thought this would be the next best thing."

Jinshi was confronted by a middle-aged man with an unshaven face and a monocle. A loiterer if ever there was one. He wore a military uniform, but his build was more that of a civil official, and his squinted, fox-like eyes carried equal parts intelligence and madness.

The man's name was Lakan, and he was a military commander. In some other era, he might have been considered a sleeping dragon, a great military mind waiting to be discovered, but in this day and age he was just another oddball. He came from a good family background, but was still unmarried at more than forty years old; he had adopted a nephew of his to oversee his household.

Lakan was interested in three things: Go, Shogi, and gossip. He would engage anybody in one of these, even if they weren't interested. As for why he had made himself such a nuisance to Jinshi recently, it was because Jinshi had taken on as a maid a young woman with a connection to the Verdigris House.

The situation was simply what it was, yet it couldn't look good to society at large to take a girl from a brothel. Yes, she was nominally just his maid, but what were people supposed to think? This rumor-loving official had run with the story of Jinshi's youthful new acquaintance, until the military was thoroughly convinced that the eunuch had purchased her out of prostitution.

And it was hard to say they were wrong, exactly.

Jinshi let the old fart's jabbering (where did he get all these stories?) go in one ear and out the other as he stamped away at the papers Gaoshun had brought him.

Until the moment Lakan said something rather unexpected. "I used to have a friend at the Verdigris House myself, you know. Someone I was very close to." Jinshi had never known him to show any interest in things carnal.

"A courtesan? What was she like?" he asked, his interest aroused (much to his annoyance).

Lakan grinned and poured a bit of the fruit juice he'd brought with him into a glass. Reclining on a couch, he could have been relaxing in his very own room. "Oh, she was a fine lady. Excellent Go and Shogi player. In Shogi I could hold my own against her, but in Go, oh, I was always losing."

To defeat a military commander at a game of strategy was no mean feat, Jinshi reflected.

"I thought about buying out her contract. Figured I would never meet a woman so interesting again. But life doesn't always give you what you want, boyo. A couple of interested parties showed up, both very rich, and started a bidding war. Drove up the price."

"Goodness."

Sometimes buying out a courtesan's contract could cost as much as building a small palace. In other words, the bidding war had put the woman out of Lakan's reach.

But why was he telling Jinshi this?

"She was one odd duck, that lady. Sold her arts but never her body. Hell, she didn't seem to think of her customers as customers. When you had tea with her, she never would act like she was serving her master or anyone important. No, no. Instead she'd look at you, imperious, like royalty granting an audience to the basest peasant. Now, there are those that like that kind of treatment, and they went mad for her. I mean, listen to me— takes one to know 'em, eh? Ah, the very thought sends a shiver down my spine!"

Jinshi, growing more and more uncomfortable with the conversation, tried to look away from Lakan. Gaoshun was stationed quietly in the background. His mouth was pulled into a single, straight line and he was biting his lip hard.

There were a great many people in this world who shared Lakan's predilections.

Jinshi wasn't sure if Lakan realized the effect he was having; in any event, the arch-eccentric went on: "Ah, what I wouldn't have given to take her to bed!" His leering grin betrayed no small hint of madness. "I admit, in the end I just couldn't let her go. I resorted to a bit of an underhanded scheme. Suffice to say that if she was too expensive for me to afford, all I had to do was make her cheaper, mm?" Shave off the premium, as it were.

Behind his monocle, Lakan's fox-like eye was sparkling. "Aren't you curious what I did?"

Jinshi found himself inexorably drawn into Lakan's story. This was what made the man so fearsome. "We've come this far. I suppose it would be a waste not to at least hear the end of your tale." Jinshi suddenly realized his tone had become chilly. Lakan smirked at him.

"Don't be in such a hurry, boyo. I have a little favor to ask first." He laced his fingers together and stretched mightily.

"And what might that be?"

"The serving girl you got in recently—I hear she's quite an interesting specimen."

Jinshi was on the cusp of letting out a sigh of exasperation:

This again? But what Lakan said next caught him by surprise.

"They say she has a knack for solving mysteries." Lakan didn't miss the flinch this provoked from Jinshi. "I have a friend," he went on. "A metalworker who used to produce pieces for the palace. But he kicked the bucket a bit back, see? He had three pupils, but funny enough, he didn't designate a successor."

"Oh?" Jinshi said politely, while thinking how unusual it was for Lakan to have a craftsperson among his acquaintances.

"It's a sad thing, a master craftsman who doesn't pass on his secrets before he passes on himself. I keep thinking he must have left some hint, something to make sure his art didn't die out, but

I'm not finding it."

"What are you getting at?" Jinshi asked curtly. Lakan removed his monocle and said, "Oh, it's nothing. Nothing to speak of. Just wondered if there might be some way to find out what secrets that old man took with him to his grave. Such as by having a particularly clever young maid look into the matter." Jinshi didn't say anything.

"Our dead friend was a funny guy. Left a will, very portentous stuff. Makes a man think there must be more to it."

Jinshi still didn't say anything. He closed his eyes and let out a breath. It was all he could do to muster: "I'm not making any promises. Tell me about the will."

Chapter 5: Lead

Around evening, Jinshi came to her with an extraordinary story. "I'm sorry to trouble you," he began, which was striking enough in itself. Normally, he didn't seem to care how much trouble he was causing Maomao at any given time. The preface, though, had the effect of piquing Maomao's interest.

At issue, it seemed, was a dispute having to do with an acquaintance of an acquaintance of Jinshi's. Something that was almost, though not quite, a family squabble. A craftsman had died without conveying his most important secrets to his disciples— who also happened to be his sons. Among those secrets was a technique never divulged to any outsiders.

"So all we have to do is figure out this metalworker's most secret art. Yes?" Maomao said.

"Gee, when you put it that way, it sounds so simple! I must say, though, you seem uncommonly eager."

"Do I?" Maomao asked, averting her eyes.

Here's what Jinshi had told her: The metalworker had three disciples, all of whom were his blood sons and all of whom were respectable craftsmen in their own right. Their father had held a special commission from the palace, and with him gone, there was talk that one of his boys might succeed him. The father had left a will providing an inheritance for each of his children. His eldest son received a small workshop, the second-eldest a piece of furniture his father had decorated, and the third, a goldfish bowl.

The will also contained one cryptic suggestion: Would that you boys would sit down and share tea together like you used to.

"What a very intriguing final testament," Maomao commented. She had no idea whether it was intended literally, or if there was something else at work.

"It is. And evidently it's just as opaque to the young men as it is to us."

Maomao nodded thoughtfully. "I must say, the division of the inheritance doesn't seem very fair."

The family's main house was still occupied by the boys' mother, so it wasn't included in the will, but when one child got a workshop, another got furniture, and the third received a goldfish bowl, well, it was hard not to think the last child got a raw deal.

"Do you know anything about this goldfish bowl?"

"I'm afraid I don't. But if you're curious, you could pay them a visit. I have the address." What fine preparation on Jinshi's part.

He must have assumed it would come to this.

"Then perhaps if I could be spared for a while tomorrow?" Maomao said with a discreet glance at Suiren. The old lady-inwaiting waved a hand as if to say Have fun, but Maomao suspected she would find her workload increased more than ever in the days to come.

The craftsmen's house was past the far end of the great main thoroughfare that ran through the capital. Situated in an area full of shops, it was an impressive place, with a great chestnut tree standing in the yard.

Jinshi and Gaoshun were not with Maomao; instead, the same young man who had accompanied her when she was investigating the case of the poisonous fish was there. His name was Basen.

Doesn't seem like he thinks much of me, Maomao thought, observing how he only spoke the absolute minimum necessary to her. It came across less as reticence than as active disdain. But Maomao was perfectly happy with that, so long as it didn't interfere with her work. It wasn't their job to make friends with each other.

"I've spoken to the family, and they're willing to accommodate us," Basen said. "Outwardly, however, I'm the one who's here to ask the questions. You're my attendant."

"Very well." Better, even, Maomao thought: this was ideal.

They arrived at the house, Maomao pattering obediently behind Basen, and when they knocked on the door a member of the family appeared, a grim-looking man of some twenty years old or so.

"I heard you were coming," the man said, ushering Maomao

and Basen into the house politely despite his dark demeanor. Within, the home gave much the same impression as it did from outside, tidy and well-maintained. Small arrangements of flowers were placed here and there. In a recess in one wall was an unusual object: what appeared to be a chunk of rock ornamented with metal that seemed to shine with a faint bluish hue.

Maomao studied the object intently. "Oh, that thing," the sullen man said, coming over to her. "Father bought that when he was getting some materials. He always did have a soft spot for...strange things." For the first time, a hint of joy entered the man's face.

They left the main house and proceeded down a covered walkway. Near a building Maomao took to be a small workshop, they found two more men. One was tall, one was a bit round, and both looked as morose as the first.

"Here they are, dear elder brothers," their host said. From his respectful tone, Maomao guessed that their guide was the youngest brother. He at least had the decency to act polite; his two siblings looked downright hostile. When Maomao and Basen approached, they quickly concluded a muttered conversation and showed the visitors into the workshop.

The interior of the workshop was pleasant, tools all neatly in their places. The men told Maomao and Basen that the real workshop was in the main house; they hadn't used this place in quite some time. Now it was a repository of old tools where the craftsmen sometimes took tea.

"What an odd arrangement," Basen said, looking around the room. Maomao silently agreed. Smack in the middle of the space was a chest of drawers. It looked like it could only be in the way sitting there, but closer inspection revealed delicate decorations. The overall shape was not quite like anything Maomao had ever seen, either, making it seem rather at the forefront of furnishing fashion. It almost made the chest look good, sitting there in the middle of everything. Tables were set up around it, the whole arrangement surprisingly unified.

The corners of the chest were nicely rounded, with worked metal adornments on them. The topmost of the three rows of drawers had keyholes, as did the center drawer, each one accented with a different metal. The plump brother came over to Maomao, who was studying the chest intently, and said in a quiet voice, "You're welcome to look, but keep your hands off."

She dipped her head in acknowledgment and took a step back. She recalled that the dead craftsman's will had included a bequest of furniture to the second-oldest son. Was this the piece in question? Presumably that would make her interlocutor the second son himself.

Her supposition was soon bolstered: the youngest son came over holding something clear and round.

"Do you really think you can make heads or tails of these odds and ends our father left us?" the tall man, most likely the eldest son, asked Basen.

Basen took a peek at Maomao, who nodded and jerked her head in the direction of the three brothers. She couldn't be sure whether he took her meaning, but he looked at the young men and replied as calmly as anything, "I'm afraid I won't be able to say until I've heard a little more."

Then he sat down in a chair. Maomao stood behind him, taking the opportunity for a fresh look around the room. The architecture

really is strange, she thought. For one thing, the window was in an unusual place. It was uncommonly tall (perhaps it was supposed to be in the western style?), which would allow more than ample sunlight into the room. There was just one problem: the giant chestnut tree outside blocked all the light. Only what could filter past its leaves made it into the room, except in one particular spot. She could tell as much by the faded color of the shelf hanging from the wall, although there was a square space still in the original color betraying that something must have sat there for a very long time, until just recently.

While Maomao scanned the room, the lanky elder brother entertained Basen. "We've already told you everything there is to know," he said. "Our father departed this world never having told us his deepest secret. And then he left me with this workshop."

"And me with these drawers," the second son said, slapping the chest demonstratively.

"And me, I only have this." The youngest son held out the clear, round thing. Now they could see that it was made of thin glass, with a flat bottom. Jinshi had said the youngest son had received a goldfish bowl, but Maomao hadn't pictured something made of glass. She'd imagined something primarily of wood, or at least ceramic. Now she could see that at least each of the sons had received something of some value. Yet even so there seemed an unmistakable disparity, a chilling distance, between the bequests of the first two sons and that of the third.

What's going on here? Maomao looked from one man to the next. Each had calluses on his hands bespeaking a craftsperson, but the hands of the youngest son particularly caught her attention. They had a succession of unusual red welts on them.

Burns just starting to heal?

The second son heaved a sigh and ran his hand along the chest of drawers. "Don't know what the old man was thinking. He leaves me this whole chest, but there's only one key...and it doesn't fit any of the locks!"

Maomao followed the man's gaze to several metal fasteners on the bottom of the chest. Evidently it was secured to the floor. The key appeared to go to the centermost drawer, but the man insisted it wouldn't fit. The remaining three drawers all opened with the same key—one they evidently didn't have.

"Look at this," the second son said irritably, indicating the fastenings. "I can't take this thing anywhere. So what am I supposed to do with it stuck in my brother's workshop?"

The oldest brother nodded as if to say he felt the same way. Only the youngest sibling looked unsure. "But father said to have tea like we used to, didn't he?"

The other two looked at him like they'd had this conversation before. "Easy for you to say. You're the lucky one. Your bequest is like money in your pocket."

"Yeah, just your luck. Pawn that thing off and it'll keep you eating fancy for a good long time."

The two older brothers sounded like they were trying to chase off a mangy dog. Maomao considered things. She gave Basen a gentle tap to urge him to ask another question. He frowned, but did what he was supposed to do. "If I may," he said, turning toward the brothers, "could you tell me again about your father's last message to you?"

"Just like the kid said," one of the older brothers replied.

"Yeah, have a tea party, just like we used to. Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean."

Maybe it was an exhortation for the three of them to get along. It would be very fatherly advice to leave behind. But Maomao had no way to be sure what he meant, nor did she think they were going to get anywhere simply contemplating the three bequests. She was just pondering what to do when the young men's mother appeared with a tray. She set cups of tea for each of them on the long table in the center of the room.

"Here you are," was all she said before leaving again. Three cups were lined up on one side of the long table, with two more across from them, leaving the space in front of the chest of drawers open. The two cups were presumably for Maomao and Basen. The brothers sat, but not wherever was closest; they each moved to a particular spot, suggesting they had occupied those seats for some long time.

Hm, Maomao thought. Light streamed in through the tall window, stretching out toward the chest. The seat in front of it was vacant—considering the time of day, the sun would have been too bright for anyone to sit there for tea. Just a little farther, and the sunlight would brush the chest, but there was no sign of fading on the wood. Evidently the sun never reached that far.

Signs of fading? Maomao stood up from her seat and looked at the window. With the big tree outside, the light wouldn't actually fall into the room for very long. She stood in front of the window and peered at the chest of drawers. The position of the lock nagged at her. Not the keyholes on the three uppermost drawers, but the middle row, where only one drawer was locked.

She advanced toward the chest with curiosity, drawing perplexed looks from the siblings. Basen pressed a hand to his forehead and looked down. The gesture was distinctly familiar; Maomao realized with a start that he looked much like Gaoshun.

Basen sighed and looked at Maomao with undisguised displeasure. "You've found a clue?"

"That drawer with the keyhole won't open, is that right?"

"It used to, but Father fiddled around with it enough that now it won't," the second son responded.

"And there's only one key?"

"This is it. And our old man told us—I guess you know by now how he loved to say things that don't make sense—he said that if we break the lock, whatever's inside will break too. So we can't just go smashing it."

Maomao positioned herself in front of the chest and examined the keyhole. She had the impression that something was packed inside.

Maybe there's a reason the chest is stuck to the floor too, she thought, turning over what she knew in her mind. The bequests to the three brothers: the workshop, the chest, the bowl. The drawer that wouldn't open. And...

Maomao looked at the youngest brother's goldfish bowl. "Pardon my asking, but did that bowl used to sit on that shelf there?" she said.

"Er, y-yes, yes, it did." The younger brother walked over to the window, still holding his bowl. He folded a handkerchief and placed it on the faded spot, then set the bowl on top of it. "We used to keep a goldfish here. But the cold would kill it, so in the winter, we only put it here at noon, when it was warmest. We haven't had a goldfish in years, though. This bowl has been nothing but a decoration." He smiled, a bit sadly.

Hmmm. Maomao gave the arrangement a calculating look, then left the workshop.

"H-Hey, where are you going?" Basen demanded.

"Just to get some water," Maomao said. She returned shortly thereafter and poured the water into the goldfish bowl. "I presume it once had water in it, like this."

"Yes, that's right. And the design on the side was always pointed toward us, like this."

Thought so, Maomao said to herself, looking again at the bowl.

Light entered through the window and struck the goldfish bowl. From there, it was focused on a single point: the chest of drawers. Specifically, the center lock, which glittered in the beam of sunlight.

"May I further presume this is the exact time of day at which you customarily took tea?"

"H-Hey! What's going on here?" the second-oldest brother

said, stepping between the bowl and the chest.

"Stay back!" Maomao shouted, more vehemently than she'd meant to. It was effective, though: the big man suddenly seemed to become smaller.

"Pardon me," Maomao said. "If the beam gets in your eyes, you might go blind. And I need this space to be clear, so please, keep your distance. Otherwise the lock won't open." She watched them both closely, lock and light, and waited.

No one knew exactly how long it took; no one was counting. The light reflected from the goldfish bowl moved bit by bit, working its way around the lock. At length, the light disappeared; blocked by the chestnut tree, Maomao supposed. Now she inspected the lock critically. The metal was warm to the touch, and she detected a strange odor.

"What's the meaning of this?" someone asked, but Maomao replied only, "By any chance, did the deceased suffer from anemia and stomachaches?"

"Yes, he did..."

"And perhaps you observed vomiting and fits of lethargy?"

The way the three brothers looked at each other in response to this question convinced Maomao she was on the mark. Then she remembered the strange objet d'art, the crystal.

"I'm not very knowledgeable about metalwork, but was soldering done here as well?"

"Yes..."

"All right. Please open the drawer with the key."

"I told you, it doesn't fit," the second son grumbled, but he nonetheless slid the key into the lock. It fit as naturally as anything. The man, startled, turned the key and was rewarded with a clicking sound.

"Wh-What happened?" the eldest son said, while his brothers looked on in amazement. Even Basen appeared suitably impressed.

"Nothing special," Maomao said. "We simply followed your father's last request. You all had tea together, just as you used to." Then she removed the drawer from the chest and set it on the table where everyone could see it. It contained a key-shaped mold, which was giving off a dull glow. Strikingly, it contained metal that was still warm. Maomao tapped the metal with her finger, checking the hardness. "May I remove this?" she asked.

"Y-Yeah, sure..."

With the brothers' consent, she took the key out of the mold, feeling the last of the radiant warmth against her hand. When she tried it in the chest, it fit neatly in the locks in all three drawers. She opened each of them in turn, provoking more perplexed looks and expressions of surprise.

"Wh-What's this stuff?"

The first two of the drawers, all of which varied in size, contained metal and something that looked like crystal. In the largest drawer was a bluish gem like the one that had decorated the entryway of the house.

"I'm afraid I don't know. I've only done as we were told." Maomao shook her head and placed the three lumps on the table.

There was nothing more for her to say.

"Dammit. Be friendly to each other, he says! Like hell! Father just couldn't resist pulling one last prank on us!" the elder son exclaimed.

"He must have been laughing all the way to his grave!" said the second.

The third man, though, the youngest, was silent as he looked at the three lumps. Then he studied the drawers from the chest. Maomao saw his hands again, with their half-healed burns. His older brothers had no marks on their fingers.

Apprentice see, apprentice do, perhaps? she wondered. She remembered the words: they'd been spoken by someone who had visited her father, someone who'd had the unmistakable air of a craftsman about him. She also remembered taking the advice to heart, trying to mix the herbs her father had brought by imitating what she thought she'd seen him do—and ultimately poisoning herself. In the future, her father insisted, she should ask him first.

Maomao suspected this youngest child was the only one who saw what the old craftsman had been after. Soldering involved mixing several different types of metal together so that they would melt at a lower temperature than normal. Maomao knew of one such possible combination: lead and tin. Why in the world did she know this? Because lead was poisonous, of course. She'd once seen a metalworker who had poisoned himself melting lead. Then there was the face-whitening powder that had been popular in the rear palace: her father had told her that it was lead-based.

What if two of the three lumps of metal were lead and tin, and by mixing them with the third lump, a new metal entirely could be created? The goldfish bowl had focused the light, true enough, but not for very long. The metal's melting point was evidently very low. And finally, perhaps most importantly, the old craftsman had made the drawers different sizes, it seemed quite deliberately.

Maomao was sure she didn't have to say anything further, but there was one thing she wanted to add. She walked over and addressed the youngest brother. "At an establishment called the Verdigris House in the pleasure district, there's an apothecary named Luomen. A healer of substantial accomplishment. If you ever feel unwell, please let me recommend that you visit him."

"Uh—y-yes, thank you," the young man said, surprised by the unsolicited advice. Maomao bowed her head slowly; the youngest brother politely said farewell while the other two continued to bicker. Maomao left them all behind.

She noticed the look on Basen's face; he seemed no more pleased now than ever. She realized perhaps she'd overstepped herself, and took up walking behind him. Whatever happened after this had nothing to do with Maomao. Whether the clever third son chose to show generosity, or else to keep the hard-won secret to himself, was all the same to her.

Chapter 6: Makeup

Maomao was preparing for the evening meal when Jinshi said,

"Do you know much about makeup?"

The question came completely out of the blue. What in the world is he asking about that for? Maomao thought, making no

effort to hide her confusion. For the first time in a while, she found herself looking at him as if she were studying a caterpillar— not that she had really meant to.

Jinshi had just come back from work. Suiren was helping him change clothes. And this was what he wanted to know?

It was true that, growing up in the pleasure district, one learned the basics of doing makeup by osmosis, and sometimes Maomao concocted cosmetics as well as medicine. She couldn't deny she had a fair amount of knowledge about the subject.

"Do you wish to give some to someone as a gift?"

"You misunderstand. It's for me."

That struck Maomao dumb. Her eyes became bottomless black pits, vacant and empty. She no longer even looked like she was gazing at a dead bug or a puddle of mud.

"What are you imagining?" Jinshi snapped. Well, what else would she be imagining? Jinshi in makeup. He was the one who'd brought it up.

He doesn't need any damn makeup! Maomao thought. He already had the beauty of some denizen of the heavenly realm. A touch of crimson around the eyes, a dab of rouge on the lips, and a flower mark upon his brow would be enough to bring the nation to its knees. History was full of pointless wars, and more than a few of them had been caused by a beautiful woman too close to the seat of power.

And this man, he had the potential to transcend gender entirely.

"Do you want to destroy this country?" Maomao asked flatly.

"What in the world gave you that idea?!" Jinshi exclaimed,

pulling his outer jacket on and sitting in a chair. Maomao served him congee from a clay pot. It was made with good, salty abalone, and the bite she took to test it for poison was delicious. She knew that when Jinshi was finished, Suiren would split the leftovers with her, so she wished he would hurry up and eat before it all went cold.

"How do you make that stuff you use?" Jinshi asked, indicating her nose.

Oh... My freckles, Maomao thought, and then it came to her. His beauty was already so overwhelming that he needed nothing to enhance it. But perhaps something to blunt it. "I dissolve dry clay in oil, sir. If I want the product to be especially dark, I mix in charcoal or red lip pigment."

"Hmm. And can you do that on short notice?"

Maomao produced a clamshell from the folds of her robe. Inside was tight-packed clay. "This is all I have on me right now, but give me a night's time and I can easily make more."

Jinshi took the clamshell, scooped up some of the contents with his finger, and rubbed it on the back of his hand. It was a bit too dark, Maomao thought, for his almost porcelain skin. She would have to thin the mixture out.

"Will you yourself be using it, sir?"

Jinshi chuckled softly. It wasn't a real answer, but Maomao figured she could take it as a yes.

"If you know of any medicine that can change a man's face, I would love to hear about it," he said lightly.

He was joking, but Maomao replied: "Such things exist, but you would never be able to change back." Lacquer, for instance, would do the job in a hurry.

"I suppose so," Jinshi said with a strained smile. He wouldn't want that—and neither would anyone else around here. Maomao could easily picture herself torn to pieces and fed to the beasts if she dared to do such a thing.

"There are certain techniques, sir, which might achieve the same effect," she said.

"If you please, then." Jinshi smiled as if this was what he had been waiting for, and finally set about eating his congee. He was enjoying some perfectly cooked chicken meat so much that Maomao despaired of getting any leftovers. When Suiren took the tray away, there was only a single bite left on it.

"I want you to make me someone else entirely," Jinshi said.

I wonder what he's planning, Maomao thought, but she valued her life more than to ask. Besides, she had nothing to gain by knowing. She need only do as she was told. "Very well," she said, and then she watched Jinshi continue his dinner, silently urging him to hurry up. That abalone congee looked so good.

The next day, Maomao set out a cloth with everything she needed: a batch of her makeup, thinned down, and a few other items she thought would help. She arrived earlier than usual to find the lights already lit in Jinshi's personal rooms. The master of the place had finished his bath and was reclining on a couch while Suiren dried his hair. Only a noble could know or expect such luxury. His outfit was plainer than usual, but his every movement betrayed his aristocratic background.

"Good morning," Maomao said, looking as if she didn't think it was very good at all.

"Morning," Jinshi replied, for his part sounding entirely pleased; he seemed like he might start humming at any moment. "Something the matter? It seems early for such stormy looks."

"Not at all, sir. I was merely contemplating the fact that you'll spend yet another day being perfectly beautiful."

"What's this? Some new way to snipe at me?"

Perhaps it sounded like it, but it was only the truth. Jinshi's hair caught the light as it fell. The way it glittered, Maomao thought, it could have been turned into quite a fine textile.

"Don't feel like doing your job today?" he said.

"I do, sir. But are you quite certain you wish to become someone else entirely?"

"Yes. I said so last night."

"Then, if you'll pardon me..." Maomao strode up beside Jinshi, grabbed the sleeves of his outfit, and shoved them against her face.

"Goodness gracious," Suiren said. She left off combing Jinshi's hair and hustled out of the room, taking Gaoshun with her as he tried to come in. (They didn't go far, though: certainly not so far that they couldn't quietly watch what was happening.)

"Wh-What do you think you're doing?" Jinshi's voice threatened to crack.

When she had been given a task, Maomao only felt right when she had performed it to the utmost. She had assembled a panoply of tools to help her make Jinshi unrecognizable.

He has no idea, does he? Maomao thought. "No commoner would wear such fine perfume," she said. The outfit Jinshi had chosen was that of a townsman, or perhaps a lesser government official. Not the kind of person who would have any contact or connection with ships bringing exotic, expensive fragrant woods from beyond the sea. Maomao's sense of smell was especially sharp, honed in the service of distinguishing medicinal from poisonous herbs. She had detected Jinshi's perfume the moment she entered the room, and that was what had caused her ill humor. Suiren had probably perfumed the outfit, trying to be helpful, but quite frankly she'd only made things worse.

"Do you know how to discern the various types of customers at a brothel?"

"I don't. Perhaps by their body type, or their clothing?"

"Those are possibilities, but there's another way. The smell."

Overweight patrons who gave off a sweet odor were sick but most likely rich. Those who wore several perfumes at once, creating a noxious miasma, frequented the common prostitutes and most likely had a sexual disease; while a young person who reeked like an animal indicated an unsanitary failure to take baths.

The Verdigris House was not in the habit of accepting first-time customers without introductions, but every once in a while one would prevail upon the old madam and gain entrance. That such people almost always became excellent regulars showed that the old woman knew how to judge her clientele.

"Anyway, the first thing we need is a different outfit. And something else." Maomao went over to the bathtub and got a bucket of still-warm water, which she brought over to Jinshi. Suiren and Gaoshun watched her anxiously. Since he was there, Maomao sent Gaoshun on an errand. They were going to need clothing other than what had been prepared.

Now she took a small leather pouch from her cloth bag. She dipped her fingers in it, and they emerged dripping with viscous oil, which she dissolved in the bucket of water.

"One thing commoners do not do is take baths every day," she informed him. She wet her hand in the bucket, then ran it through Jinshi's hair. With a few passes of Maomao's hand, his lustrous locks began to lose their shine. She thought she was being careful, but she wasn't as experienced at this as Suiren was, which must have been why Jinshi seemed so antsy.

Have to be careful not to pull his hair, Maomao thought, growing a little nervous herself. It was all too easy to forget, but this august personage could cause a permanent rift between her head and her shoulders if he were too much displeased.

When the shining silk strands that had once adorned Jinshi's head had become dull hemp, Maomao tied his hair back. She didn't use a proper hair tie so much as a scrap of cloth. For his new persona, anything would do so long as it served its purpose.

By the time Maomao had put the bucket away and washed her hands, Gaoshun was back with exactly what she'd requested. Now

that was good help.

"Are you quite sure about this?" Gaoshun asked, looking distinctly uneasy. Beside him, Suiren was making no attempt to hide her repugnance. No doubt it was hard for such a longserving lady-in-waiting to believe what she was seeing.

Gaoshun had procured a large-ish and very well-used commoner's outfit. It had at least been washed, but the cloth was thinning in places and the original owner's musk still clung to it.

Maomao put the outfit to her nose and said, "I might have preferred something even a little stinkier." Now Suiren truly looked astonished, her hands on her cheeks. She seemed about to speak up, but Gaoshun silenced her with a motion of his hand. Still, he couldn't conceal the furrow in his own brow.

Maomao felt bad for Suiren, but she still had plenty to do that would test the woman's spirits. "Master Jinshi, please undress."

"Er... Yes. Certainly," Jinshi said, though he didn't sound very certain. Maomao paid his reluctance no mind, but bustled around the room looking for something that would serve her purpose. She found several handkerchiefs, then produced some binding cloths from her bag.

"Might I ask the two of you to help me?" she inquired of the nervous spectators. She pulled them both in, giving Gaoshun a handkerchief to wrap around Jinshi's skin. He might have been a man of near-celestial beauty, and he might have been lacking an important part that most men possessed, but nonetheless, Jinshi's torso was reasonably well-muscled. He must have thought he would be cold wearing only his undergarments, for he had left his trousers on. Maomao, who had thought the room quite warm enough, realized maybe she hadn't been very generous with him, and added some coals to the brazier.

Gaoshun wrapped the handkerchiefs around Jinshi, Suiren held them down, and Maomao secured them in place with the cloths. When they were finished, Jinshi had acquired a rather portly silhouette. The slightly oversized clothes fit just right now. Maomao had given Jinshi a not-quite-average body type, and the last traces of his perfume would soon be overcome by the odor on the clothes. Jinshi's face, the only thing that was obviously and unmistakably still his own, looked very strange floating there above his new body.

"All right, let's move on to the next thing, then." Maomao got out the batch of makeup she'd prepared the night before. It was slightly darker than Jinshi's skin tone. She began applying it delicately with her fingers. Yeesh, she thought, I am literally close

enough to touch him and he's still outrageously beautiful. Not only did he have no facial hair; he seemed to have no body hair of any kind.

Once she'd done a thorough application of foundation, a mischievous thought came to her. For after all, when would she ever have such a chance again? When would there ever come another opportunity to indulge her curiosity about exactly how lovely Jinshi would be if he were made up like a girl?

Maomao took a shell containing red pigment from among her implements. She dipped her pinky in and brushed some carefully onto Jinshi's lips.

Then Maomao was silent. Gaoshun and Suiren, looking on, were likewise speechless. Each of them looked first uncomfortable, then deeply conflicted, then they all looked at each other and nodded.

"What's going on?" Jinshi asked, but no one answered. Their minds were too full of something much bigger. They were clearly all thinking the same thing: it was a blessing that only the three of them were present at this moment. If there had been anyone else around, be they male or female, it would have been a tragedy. There were some things which, no matter how transcendent, the world was not meant to see. It was fearsome to realize that with just a dash of lip color, Jinshi might possess the power to bring low at least a couple of small villages.

"It's nothing, sir," Maomao said, taking the handkerchief Suiren offered her and rubbing it along Jinshi's lips hard enough to make sure she got everything off.

"Ow, that's uncomfortable. What in the world was that about?"

"As I said, sir, it's nothing."

"Nothing at all, I assure you," Suiren added.

"Not a thing, sir," Gaoshun said.

Jinshi was skeptical about this sudden show of concord between the three of them, but he asked no further questions. Maomao put the momentary distraction out of her mind and got back to work.

The next step called for slightly darker coloring. She smeared some of the pigment on his face, creating bags under his eyes. While she was at it, she went ahead and tried a mole on each cheek. His gracefully arching eyebrows she thickened bit by bit, working carefully on one side and then the other.

There were ways to alter the contours of the face, but at close proximity it would be obvious that it was makeup, so Maomao decided to forgo that step. On a woman, a bit of makeup might go unquestioned, but on a man's face it would arouse suspicion. Instead, she stuffed cotton into Jinshi's cheeks to change his profile. Gaoshun and Suiren looked on, surprised she would go that far, but she wasn't done yet. She daubed the remaining pigment here and there to complete the effect. For example, a bit of the stuff under his nails made him look positively filthy.

Can't have his hands looking too pretty, she thought. Jinshi's hands, like his torso, were noticeably masculine. Maomao had always taken him for someone who had never lifted anything heavier than a pair of chopsticks or a writing brush, but his palms had detectable calluses on them. He implied he had been trained with the sword, or perhaps a fighting staff, although she'd never seen him practicing. They weren't skills a eunuch would normally need. She couldn't muster the curiosity, though, to wonder about something so trivial as why Jinshi might have been trained in the fighting arts; instead, she continued to systematically dirty his hands, turning them into those of an ordinary townsperson.

"Are you quite finished?" Jinshi asked when Maomao started packing up her cosmetics and tools, wiping some sweat from her brow. The gorgeous eunuch had vanished, replaced by an ungainly urban dweller who looked none too healthy. His face retained its appealing symmetry, but his protruding belly, the spots on his hands, and the dark bags under his eyes bespoke a less than sanitary lifestyle. The fact that he still looked like someone who could have got himself cast as a ladies' man in some stage play showed how much trouble his natural beauty was apt to cause.

"Gracious, is that really my young master?" Suiren said. "Don't call me that."

Suiren had seen the entire process from start to finish, and even she was surprised by the transformation. Now, Jinshi could have moved unrecognized almost anywhere in the palace.

Unrecognized by his looks, at least.

Maomao removed a bamboo cylinder from her pouch. She pulled the stopper, poured some of the contents into a cup, and handed it to Jinshi. He eyed it dubiously and frowned. The characteristic, nose-prickling odor, Maomao suspected. It was a combination of a number of different stimulants, and honestly speaking, the flavor could hardly be called appetizing.

"What exactly is this?"

"A special draught of my own devising. Drink slowly, so it gets on your lips, and then swallow. It should cause swelling of the lips and throat, thereby changing your voice. Oh, you may want to take the cotton out of your mouth first."

Jinshi could look and even smell different, but certain people would know him instantly if they heard that honeyed voice. If Maomao was going to do something, she was going to do it right.

"It's quite bitter," Maomao added, "but don't worry. It isn't poisonous."

A collective stunned silence greeted her. Maomao ignored it and resumed industriously cleaning up her workspace. She'd gotten permission to take the rest of the day off. For the first time in a while, she would be able to go back to the pleasure quarter, and above all, to do a little of the mixing and concocting she loved so much. The thought made her unusually cheery, but her parade was swiftly rained on.

"Xiaomao, you said you'd be going home today, yes?"

"Indeed, sir. I intend to leave presently," she said. Gaoshun greeted this with a smile, as if to say that that was perfect. It was an unusual expression from the reticent aide.

"In that case, you'll be going the same way as Master Jinshi," he said.

Ugh! Blargh! Maomao thought immediately. Her saving grace was that she didn't give voice to her disgust, but it was probably written all over her face.

Gaoshun snuck a glance at Jinshi, who looked just as shocked as Maomao. His mouth hung slightly agape. "You went to all the trouble of changing your appearance, sir. It would undermine the effect if you traveled with the same attendant you always do."

"Goodness, I hadn't thought of that," Suiren said with an exaggerated nod that suggested the two of them had very much thought of it—ahead of time.

"Do you see what I mean, Master?" Gaoshun said. He looked uncommonly eager about this. Pleased to be foisting Jinshi off on someone else for once, most likely.

"I do. Yes, that would be helpful." Suddenly Jinshi was on board too.

Now, this won't do, Maomao thought. "I'm exceedingly sorry," she said, "but I'm afraid that even in my company, Master Jinshi would have quite the same problem."

It was true that with his new, less remarkable appearance, it would be suiting for Jinshi to have a plain attendant such as Maomao, but it was already well known in some quarters that she was his personal maid. It would be best if they didn't travel together, against the slightest chance of them being recognized.

Ah, but that crafty old lady-in-waiting, Suiren: she greeted—

and dismissed—this idea with a smile. She came over holding a lacquered box, from which she produced a pair of eyebrow tweezers and an ornamental hair stick. "Then I believe a disguise of your own is called for, Xiaomao," she said, and her smiling eyes contained a sharp edge that prevented Maomao from objecting further.

That nagging premonition, though, got worse and worse.

Chapter 7: A Jaunt Around Town

They would take a carriage from Jinshi's rooms to the gate of the outer court. Maomao's dramatic and successful transformation of her master was a double-edged sword: a man who looked like Jinshi now did bumbling around the palace was going to attract suspicion. Even the lowliest of maids and manservants were supplied with halfway decent clothing here.

It might have seemed obvious to simply put on more-refined clothing for the journey out, but considering Jinshi's stomach was artificially stuffed, a change of clothes later would have been tricky. This was a source of irritation to Maomao, who wanted everything to be perfect and was rather incensed at Jinshi's failure to understand his own beauty.

They disembarked the carriage in a quiet spot, and almost immediately, Maomao began lobbing critiques at Jinshi.

"Master Jinshi, your posture is much too good. Slouch a little!" At the moment, Jinshi stood as straight as if there were a string attaching his head to the heavens.

"Well, speak for yourself," he grumbled. "A little heavy on the formalities, aren't we? And don't use my name, it defeats the point!" His tone was rough, just like the man he now ostensibly was.

Maomao privately admitted that he was right. But in that case, what should she call him? She narrowed her eyes and stared closely at Jinshi. Though she hadn't meant to, it made her look as though she were studying a moth that had fluttered up to a lantern. Jinshi's expression shifted to something difficult to describe.

"What shall I call you then, sir?" Maomao finally asked.

"Good question," Jinshi said, stroking his chin. He hmmed for a moment, then said, "Call me Jinka."

Jinka? Maomao thought. It wasn't particularly odd, and she was happy to use it, but the deliberate choice of the character ka, which meant "flower," was somewhat surprising in a man's name. But then again, "Jinshi" wasn't the most masculine name in the world either. Maomao briefly regretted that she hadn't simply disguised Jinshi as a woman, but then she remembered that dab of rouge and thought better of it. She shook her head: Jinshi must never appear in women's clothing, lest the very world tear itself apart.

"Very well then, Master Jinka—" Maomao started, but she caught Jinshi glaring at her. Ah, yes. The formality. "Jinka, then. No honorifics, no deference." Maomao found the ornate mode of polite speech employed at the palace tricky to navigate, but in her mind, completely casual language was even harder. And what was that gleam in Jinshi's eyes? She'd worked so hard to make him appear sickly; he would bring the illusion crashing down if he looked too pleased.

"Excellent, milady," he said, his tone somewhat facetious.

"Huh?" Maomao gaped at him, and Jinshi grinned broadly.

"I should think this manner of speech the most suited, considering our respective appearances," he said, looking Maomao up and down.

Maomao's own disguise had been arranged by Suiren, who had dressed her in hand-me-downs from her own daughter. There was a whiff of camphor about them, but the make and material were excellent and the design thoughtful, so they didn't look out of vogue. Her hair had been carefully gathered up and secured with a hair stick. She did indeed present the image of an affluent young lady.

Now Maomao pursed her lips and trotted off. "Let's get this over with."

"Yes, ma'am."

Maomao was profoundly uncomfortable with this reversal of their accustomed roles, but Jinshi looked like he was having the time of his life.

Jinshi's destination was a restaurant just outside the pleasure district. Apparently he had a meeting with some sort of acquaintance there, but Maomao didn't press for details. Not asking too many questions, she felt, was frequently a wise way to get by in the world.

Still, she couldn't help feeling somewhat used by Jinshi and Gaoshun. Maybe I should act a little more oblivious, she thought as she walked down the street. This road was home to a market bustling with merchants hawking their wares. Leafy green vegetables were still few and far between at this time of year, but there were plenty of fat daikon. Maomao had been given a bit of pocket change; she was just thinking that maybe she would have someone wring a chicken's neck for her and boil it with some daikon when someone grabbed her by the collar.

"What is it?" she asked. Jinshi was looking down at her with a most distressing grin on his face.

"You're going to go shopping?" he said.

"I saw something I want. I was just going to go get it."

"Looking like that?"

She took his point. A woman who was well-off enough to have an attendant with her would never dirty her hands purchasing her own produce—let alone having a chicken slaughtered. Maomao gazed longingly at the vegetables. But I wanted to make it for my

old man... she thought. Pops was both a doctor and an

apothecary par excellence, but he had one glaring flaw: a total inability to weigh profit and loss. Thus, though apothecary's work should have kept him eating luxury foods for the rest of his life, he instead lived in a shack that looked like it could fall down in a stiff breeze. Of course, if he ever seemed like he was really going to starve for want of food, the old madam would probably have funneled it into him.

Maomao resumed walking, pouting now. Jinshi was still trying to pretend to be her manservant, but he had a long stride, and before she knew it he was in front of her. Maomao had to pick up her pace to keep up with him. Hrm, she thought, he's got a long

way to go.

Jinshi's eyes were still sparkling. He at least managed not to gawk, but he was obviously enjoying where he was and what he was doing. To a pampered aristocrat like him, a common market must have been a novel sight. Maomao overtook Jinshi and glared at him. He seemed to realize he'd been careless and looked chastened for a moment, but then he set off walking again as if nothing had happened. At least he stayed behind Maomao this time.

Maomao said nothing out loud, but she thought to herself, When I get home, I've got to see how the field is doing. She crooked her fingers, counting as she imagined what herbs she might find there. I wonder if the mugwort has come in yet. And

how terrific would it be if the butterbur were ready to pick? Still she said nothing aloud. She was just imagining herself frying the butterbur with some meat and miso when she realized Jinshi was looming just beside her.

"What is it, sir?" Maomao said, glaring at Jinshi and inadvertently reverting to her usual deference. Jinshi was clearly itching to say something.

"Why so quiet?" he asked, likewise adopting the directness to which he was usually entitled.

Why wasn't she saying anything? Well, there could really be just one reason, couldn't there? "Because I don't have anything to say?"

She had only spoken the truth, but apparently that was a mistake. Jinshi bit his lip, and an inscrutable expression crossed his face. Maomao wasn't worried that he might burst into tears— he wasn't a little boy —but he still managed to look thoroughly pathetic.

He was the one who said I should act more brusque with him! Maomao thought. She wasn't normally the type to initiate a conversation, anyway. So when she didn't have anything in particular to talk about, and when no one was asking her any specific questions, she tended to keep her peace. Why this was such a shock to this man mystified her.

She was just scratching the back of her neck nervously, wondering what to do, when a meat-skewer stall came into view. She broke into a brisk trot and ordered two skewers from the man behind the counter. Just looking at the perfectly crisped chicken meat made her mouth water.

"Try it," she said, passing one of the skewers to Jinshi. He slowly took it, looking at it as if he'd never seen one before. "Quick, before it gets cold." Maomao guided them to a small side street just off the main road. She brushed some dust off a wooden crate and sat down on top of it. When she bit into the grilled meat, the juices exploded in her mouth, and the fragrant chicken skin gave an audible snap.

God, that's good. Maomao leaned forward to keep the juices from running onto her clothes. Jinshi wasn't eating, but just watched her.

"Not going to have yours? As you can see, it isn't poisoned."

"No, that's, uh, not what I'm worried about," Jinshi said, tapping his cheek.

"Ah." Now she remembered—she had stuffed cotton into his mouth to help give him a different profile. Maomao took out a square of paper and passed it to him; he spat out the cotton balls and tossed them into a nearby wastebasket. A versatile paper square like that one was very valuable—just another of Suiren's thoughtful touches, along with the clothes.

I didn't think to bring any replacement cotton, Maomao thought. This rubbed her perfectionist streak the wrong way, but she doubted it was something most people would actually notice. Still inspecting the skewer with a certain amount of wonder, Jinshi brought it to his mouth. It must have been a little warm for him, because he blew on it forcefully before chewing and swallowing.

"What do you think, sir?"

"Damn sight better than what they served at the bivouac. Good and salty," Jinshi said, wiping the juice off his lips with his fingers. Maomao took a handkerchief out of her pouch and handed it to him, but she was thinking, Bivouac?

Eunuchs, as far as she knew, didn't normally serve in the military, so she wasn't sure what to make of this. Maybe a person like Jinshi would be roughing it out in the wilderness if a war started or something, but under normal circumstances? What would lead to a eunuch spending his nights in the field?

As she entertained the question, Maomao studied Jinshi's face. A bit of the makeup had come off around his mouth, but it wasn't enough to worry about; she looked away. All right, whatever our

business is here, let's get it over with, she thought. She finished the last of the meat on her skewer and stood up from the crate. She was determined to go back and buy that daikon and chicken once she'd ditched Jinshi.

Despite her haste, Jinshi insisted on doing everything with slow, elegant movements, much to Maomao's annoyance. "Are you quite sure you're going to be in time for your meeting, Jinka?" she asked pointedly, using his fake name.

"I think we've got a few minutes yet."

"Wouldn't it be best to arrive early? It's bad manners to make someone wait for you."

Now it was Jinshi who looked annoyed. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to get rid of me."

"Would you?" Maomao said innocently, but of course Jinshi had hit the nail on the head. He looked a bit sullen but didn't complain further. Instead, he changed the subject.

"I can't imagine life in the palace is that bad. Surely it must be better than here in the pleasure district."

Maomao had to admit, it wasn't terrible, particularly now that she was serving there of her own volition. She had a small but clean room, and an offer to move to other quarters. She had been quite lucky, she felt. But the lifestyle wasn't the only reason she might have to want to go back to the pleasure district. "I'm worried whether my old man is taking proper care of himself," she said. Jinshi's mouth practically hung open. "What?" Maomao asked.

"It's nothing; I just...never knew you were interested in anything besides drugs and poisons."

Maomao replied with a glare. Rude bastard. "My adoptive father is my teacher in matters of medicine, so I certainly hope he'll continue to live a good long time." Then she turned her back decisively on Jinshi and started walking. Yes, she knew for sure now: she wanted to get this over with.

Jinshi, looking slightly frazzled, came up alongside her. "This father of yours. I gather he's indeed a talented apothecary."

After a moment Maomao answered hesitantly, "He is." She didn't think it was fair of Jinshi, leveraging talk of her father like this. "Apparently he studied in the west when he was a young man." Thus he was familiar not only with her own region's traditional medicine, but with western medical techniques as well. She occasionally saw him taking notes in a foreign language, and once in a while he would use words that sounded quite unusual to her. It made her think he must have been quite some time in that foreign land.

"Really? He did that?" Jinshi asked. "He must have been something special, then. I believe people are only sent on those studies by endorsement from the government." His transparent amazement only confirmed for Maomao that her father was an exceptional person.

"Yes, he is rather incredible. The old proverb holds that 'Heaven doesn't give two gifts to one man,' but I guess there are exceptions to the rule." The excitement was creeping into her voice now, and she was growing more voluble than usual.

"He must have been quite a man, indeed..." Jinshi, in contrast, looked more subdued than before. Perhaps she'd said too much and something in her flood of words had upset him.

He was the one who insisted I talk, she thought. She wished he would make up his blasted mind.

Jinshi, desperate to look at anything but Maomao, let his gaze wander among the shops that lined the street. The restaurants and food stalls had given way to places selling textiles and accessories. Men flitted from one to the next, picking presents to please their nighttime butterflies.

"And what is such a distinguished person doing running a druggist's shop in a nameless corner of the pleasure district?" There was a thorn hidden in Jinshi's words.

"Heaven gave him many gifts, but luck was not one of them. And as much as he was given, something was also taken from him. Something important."

Ill fortune: that was Luomen's one great flaw, if he had one. His study in the west had proven sufficient pretext for the former emperor's mother—that is to say, the former empress dowager— to have him made a eunuch.

Jinshi watched Maomao silently. Just as she was starting to fear that another of her red-light-district jokes had fallen flat, he said, "You're telling me that the father who adopted you is a eunuch?"

"Yes, sir," Maomao said, wondering if she hadn't mentioned it before.

Jinshi started mumbling: "Eunuch... Apothecary... Doctor..." Amidst this talking and mumbling, they reached their destination. Maomao looked at the note Gaoshun had given her. "I believe that's it, sir," she said, pointing to a place just at the border of the pleasure district. The upper floor was an inn and the lower a restaurant, a fairly standard arrangement.

"Yes, I think you're right. But we still have a few minutes," Jinshi said, looking around.

Ah, now I get it, Maomao thought, narrowing her eyes. She understood why Jinshi had gone to all the trouble of disguising himself and marching around the town market. Yes, she saw it all now.

Maomao let out a long breath. "I fear that traipsing around too much will cause your makeup to come off. Besides, the person you're meeting might be inside already. Better to go have a look than to risk making them wait, isn't it?" Jinshi finally seemed to take the hint. "I shall part ways with you here then, sir."

"What, here?"

"Yes. You took the trouble of disguising yourself. It would spoil everything if I walked in with you." Maomao gave a polite nod of the head and started back toward the market. As she went, she glanced over her shoulder to see Jinshi entering the restaurant. I

guess even eunuchs need a day off now and then, she thought. She crossed her arms and nodded. And then she started thinking again. If he was going to come all the way out here, he might as well just go into the pleasure district proper. For she knew what kind of restaurant it was that Jinshi had just gone into. They served the waitresses along with the food.

Well, I hope he has a good night, she thought a touch caustically, staring at the restaurant with a freezing look in her eye.

Chapter 8: The Plum Poison

Maomao awoke to the twittering of sparrows. She sat up in her meager bed, the characteristic odor of brewing medicine prickling her nose.

"Good morning," said a calm, grandmotherly voice. It belonged to her father.

That's right... I'm back home, she thought. This was her first trip back since she had begun working in the outer court. Typically, maids in her position had no vacations to speak of. Of course not: even if their master were to take a day off work, it wasn't as if he stopped living his life. Most such people had more than just one or two servants, leaving a little leeway for one of them to take time off. But matters were different with Jinshi; he had so few attendants.

I can't believe she made it this long by herself... Maomao could only tip her proverbial hat to Jinshi's attendant Suiren, whose indulgence was the only reason she had been able to take this break. Although Maomao paid for it: the rest of the time, Suiren worked her relentlessly.

Maomao got out of bed and sat in a crude chair. Her father brought her some warm congee in a chipped bowl. She sipped at it: it needed salt, but her father had at least given it a good, hearty flavor by mixing in some fragrant herbs. Maomao added a few drops of vinegar and stirred.

"Make sure you wash your face," her father said.

"Yeah, once I eat."

Maomao continued stirring the porridge with her spoon while her father prepared the ingredients for the medicine he was mixing up. "What do you plan to do today?" he asked.

Maomao looked at him, almost a bit confused. "Nothing special," she said.

"In that case, perhaps you could go to the Verdigris House for me."

There was a beat before Maomao said, "Sure. All right." She added another liberal dash of vinegar to her congee.

Her father's apothecary was situated inside the Verdigris House, but when he asked her to "go" there, he had something else in mind. When Maomao arrived, she greeted the manservant outside with a familiar hello and went in. Through the elegant atrium of the entry hall she passed, then proceeded down a covered walkway to one side. The central courtyard was as fine as that in any aristocrat's mansion, and at night it was lit with burning lanterns. It was kept in good enough order to impress those who occasionally came by for tea during the day.

Maomao didn't stop in the courtyard, though, but continued to a lonely little outbuilding. This was no place for customers. Once within, the reek of illness filled her nostrils.

"Morning."

A woman slept inside, her hair disheveled. She looked like a particularly unpleasant skeleton.

"I brought your medicine," Maomao continued. The woman, though, didn't speak. One might almost suspect she had long ago forgotten how. She used to chase Maomao out, seemingly from sheer hatred, but in the past few years she'd lost the energy to do even that.

Maomao went to where the woman lay indolently on her back and helped her swallow the powder she'd brought. It was what her father used in place of quicksilver or arsenic. Less poisonous, he said, and more effective, but at the moment it wasn't even serving to help sedate the woman. Yet they had no other way to treat her except to give her this powder.

The noseless woman was nearly forty now, but once she had been celebrated as a butterfly, feted as a flower. The Verdigris House was a prestigious enough establishment to pick and choose its customers now, but it hadn't always been so. In the years after Maomao's birth, there had been a time when the place had little more than a mud-spattered sign to its name. It was during that time that this woman had been a courtesan taking customers, and to her misfortune, she'd contracted syphilis, known in Maomao's language as "the Plum Poison."

If this medicine had been available to her in the early stages of her illness, perhaps she might have been cured, but by now the state of her body barely bore looking at. The illness had ravaged not only her appearance, but her mind as well, leaving her memory in tatters.

Time—time was a cruel thing.

When Luomen had first seen the woman, her illness had been in a dormant phase. If she'd only told him about it then, instead of holding back, things might not have taken such a brutal turn. But then, not everyone was willing to immediately trust a eunuch who showed up seemingly out of nowhere, a pariah from the rear palace. The simple reality of a courtesan's life was that she took customers, or she didn't eat.

When the lesions began again several years later, the tumors spread with startling speed. So the woman was confined to this room where customers wouldn't see her. Yes, she was being swept under the rug, but this was still, by one standard, remarkably compassionate treatment. A courtesan who could no longer work was typically chased out of the establishment. The woman was lucky not to be simply daubed with some whitening cream and eyebrow ink and left in a ditch.

Maomao took a rag from a washbasin and began wiping the woman's body as she lay there. Maybe I'll burn some incense too, she thought; the perpetually closed door penned the stench in the room.

There was some incense on hand that the woman had received from a certain noble. Fancy stuff, and an aroma the man himself was said to enjoy—but it was rarely used. It could be a problem when mixing medicines, many of which suffered from absorbing unusual odors. The only times the stuff was regularly burned was when the man himself appeared, at which point a token amount would be lit. Maomao helped herself to a bit of the stuff now.

The incense had an ever so slightly sweet scent, and when it wafted over to her, the barest of smiles passed over the woman's face. She began to hum a children's song in a broken voice. It seemed she had regressed to her childhood. Hopefully she was at least reliving a pleasant memory.

Maomao set the incense burner in a corner of the room so the courtesan wouldn't accidentally knock it over. Just then, she heard pounding footsteps from outside.

"Good lord. What is it?"

One of the apprentices appeared. Maomao seemed to remember she served Meimei. The girl was reluctant to come into the sickroom, but hovered in the doorway. She was probably scared of the woman with no nose.

"Um, Sis said to bring you a message," the girl told Maomao. "She said if I found you here, to tell you you'd better stay here for a while. She said there's a weird guy with a monocle out there."

"Ah," Maomao said. She understood who the girl meant. The weird man with glasses was a long-standing customer of the Verdigris House, but he was not someone with whom Maomao wished to cross paths. As long as she stayed in this room, however, she would be safe. The madam would never do something so stupid as to show a customer something she had worked so hard to hide.

"Okay," Maomao said now. "I've got it. You can go back."

Then she let out a breath. The woman with no nose stopped her song and pulled out a set of marbles made with colored pebbles. She began lining them up one next to the other, as if trying to organize the tattered bits of her memories.

Fool woman, Maomao thought. She went over to a corner of the room and crouched down.

It was Meimei who came shortly thereafter to let Maomao know that the coast was clear. Unlike her apprentice, the courtesan entered the room without hesitation, as though she knew it well. "Thanks for taking care of her today."

Maomao set out a round pillow. Meimei sat and smiled down at the sick woman. The patient didn't react; she had fallen asleep at some point.

"Maomao," Meimei said. "They talked about you-know-what again."

Maomao did indeed "know what." The very thought was enough to give her goosebumps. "Persistent old bastard, isn't he?

I'm amazed you can stand him, Sis."

"He's a good customer, if you can accept him as he is. And

given what he pays, the old lady's not about to object."

"Yeah. And I'm sure that's why she's so keen for me to become a courtesan." The customer in question was the reason the madam had been so intent on bringing Maomao into her employ these past years. If Maomao hadn't been hired by Jinshi, there was a distinct chance she would have been sold off to this customer by now. "I don't even want to think about it," she said, her face contorting.

Meimei exhaled pointedly when she saw this expression. "From an outside perspective, it might look like an excellent opportunity."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Don't make that face at me." (Courtesans had a somewhat different idea from most people of what constituted a good match.) "Do you know how few of us get to end up with someone we truly desire?"

"I know. Because for the madam, personal attraction weighs nothing, but silver is very, very heavy."

"That's the cost of a ticket on the boat to heaven," Meimei said with a jovial laugh. She ran her fingers through the sick woman's hair, then whispered to Maomao: "I think the old lady's of a mind to sell one of us off one of these days. We're getting to be about that age."

Meimei wasn't quite thirty yet, but for a courtesan, it was entirely natural to start thinking about retirement at that age. Sell high, as it were; or rather, sell before your looks started to go.

Maomao silently studied Meimei's profile. Her face, still beautiful, appeared awash in a bevy of emotions, but Maomao didn't want to think about them too hard. Those were feelings she still didn't understand. If there was such a thing as love, Maomao thought she had left it in the womb of the woman who bore her when she came out into the world.

"What if you started up a place of your own?"

"Hah! The last thing I want is to be a competitor to that old hag."

Meimei must have enough money to free herself, Maomao thought. If she chose not to leave the courtesan's life, it must have been because she wasn't ready.

"Just a little longer," Meimei said with a smile. "I won't be in

this line of work forever."

Jinshi pressed his chop to some paperwork, his face long. The outing the day before must have tired him.

He sighed: never had he imagined that the establishment at which the meeting took place would be a virtual extension of the pleasure district. He hadn't gone there for that! What's more, the whole point of his disguise had been that it was difficult for him to go out in public quietly. Yet he had ended up accompanied by Maomao practically to the very doorstep of his meeting. Something else he hadn't envisioned. The idea had come instead from the aide quietly organizing the papers beside him.

This man had served him for many years, but perhaps it made him too willing to take matters into his own hands. No doubt he thought that what he had done was for Jinshi's benefit, but Jinshi could have raised a number of objections.

"Gaoshun... What are you plotting?" Jinshi asked.

Gaoshun shook his head as if to say the idea of plotting anything had never occurred to him. "Allow me to answer a question with a question, sir: how was your little jaunt into town?"

"Ah, yes..." Jinshi wasn't quite sure what to say about it; he took a sip of tea in hopes of stalling. He was sure now: Gaoshun thought he was helping, howsoever that was. Jinshi searched his mind for some way to change the subject. "Ahem. I discovered something interesting. The girl—her adoptive father is a eunuch, and was a doctor here once."

"'The girl'—you mean Xiaomao? If she was taught by a palace doctor, that would explain a great deal about her medical knowledge. A eunuch, though..."

"You heard me."

The simple fact was, no doctor of the rear palace was likely to be a man of renown. Someone who had the wherewithal to become a qualified medical practitioner had no need to become a eunuch in order to find work. The only physicians who found their way to the rear palace were the ones with problems.

"Could such a talented practitioner really have been among the eunuchs?" Gaoshun asked.

"That is the question, isn't it?" Jinshi said.

Gaoshun hmmed and stroked his chin. Jinshi felt he had said enough; his aide was a sharp enough man to take the investigation from here.

They heard the clear ringing of a bell, a little device set up so Jinshi would be immediately aware of any visitors to his office. Gaoshun put down his work and stood by the entrance, waiting for the new arrival.

Another day, another visit from the weirdo with the monocle. He didn't have any particular business; he simply lounged around on a couch, sipping juice. "Thanks for taking care of that little thing the other day. Whew, it did turn out to be quite a story, didn't it?" Lakan stroked his chin and squinted at Jinshi, making his already narrow eyes even narrower.

"It seems the youngest of those brothers was the most capable after all," Jinshi said as he flipped through some papers. He suspected the commander had known all along. After the incident with their father's inheritance, the three men had appeared to reconcile with each other, but it was no more than that—an appearance. The youngest brother had suddenly revealed a heretofore undisclosed ability, and there was even talk that he could soon be doing work for the palace. Jinshi had seen some of his products, and the delicacy of the workmanship impressed even him. He didn't know exactly what had happened, but he strongly suspected the apothecary's daughter did—and wasn't saying anything about it.

"I think if we got that young man to handle the furnishings for the ritual, it would redound to the glory of our ruler."

"Yes, of course." Jinshi hated the way Lakan could make virtually anything sound important. A man of Jinshi's stature would normally hardly even hear of ritual preparations.

"Then there's the last work the father left behind. Just simple metal fittings, but so fine they could be fit for ritual use themselves."

"I find I keep wondering, Master Strategist, why it is you feel you must speak with me about these craftsmen."

"Why not? It's a waste to leave buried talent buried."

Lakan could be obnoxious, but when he was right, he was right. Even if there was an ulterior motive for whatever he happened to be saying. If nothing else, Lakan was an excellent judge of talent. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say it was that ability that had seen him rise to the position he now occupied. He might look as if he was slacking off at the moment, but in fact his work was being done, and industriously at that, by the various people he had discovered and employed. Jinshi could almost be jealous of him.

"What does it matter whether he's the elder brother or the younger? The cream should rise to the top!"

He made it sound so simple. That penchant for simplicity made him useful in his way, but he took careful handling.

Jinshi straightened his papers and passed them to an official who took them away.

"Incidentally, I wanted to ask you about something. The thing we talked about before," Jinshi said.

He meant the courtesan he had heard about previously. Did Lakan intend to play dumb again?

The commander put his hands on his cheeks and grinned. "If you want to know about that world, better to ask someone who comes from it." Then he got to his feet. The official attending him let out a sigh, relieved to finally be going home. "Hah, I see it's that time. My lackeys won't let me hear the end of it if I keep them too long."

He finished the last of his juice, then set the other bottle he'd brought with him on Jinshi's desk. "Let your little serving girls have it or something. It's easy on the throat—not too sweet." The middle-aged soldier waved a hand in Jinshi's general direction.

"See you tomorrow."

Then he was gone.

Chapter 9: Lakan

The night before, Maomao had had a strange dream. She had dreamed of long ago—or rather, of something that must have happened long ago, for there was no way she should have been able to remember it. She wasn't sure if what she dreamed of had even really occurred.

It must have been visiting that woman, she thought. Brought back old memories.

In the dream, a grown woman had looked down on Maomao from above. Her disheveled hair tumbled around a drawn face, and her eyes glinted hungrily as she stared. Her makeup was flaking off, the rouge on her lips starting to smear.

The woman reached out and grasped Maomao's hand in hers.

Her skin was stippled with minuscule welts, like a leaf in autumn.

In her other hand the woman grasped a knife. The hand that held Maomao's was wrapped in bleached cotton cloths, layer after layer, all of them seeping red. The fluttering cotton smelled rusty.

Something like the mewl of a kitten escaped Maomao's vocal cords. She realized she was crying.

Maomao's hand was pressed against the bed. The woman raised the knife high. Her lips were contorted and trembling, her red, swollen eyes still running with tears.

Fool woman.

The woman brought the knife down.

"Goodness, are you tired? I'm afraid bedtime won't be for a little while yet," Suiren said as Maomao yawned. She sounded polite about it, but the old lady could be a real disciplinarian, so Maomao straightened up and focused on polishing the silver eating vessel. She would be practically begging for trouble if she appeared to be slacking the very day after she'd taken time off.

The fact that it was evening was no excuse.

"I'm quite fine, ma'am," Maomao said. It was just a dream, strange or no. She'd assumed that if she threw herself into the routine of her work, she'd soon forget it, but it had refused to quite go away all day. This isn't like me, Maomao thought, a rueful smile flitting across her face.

Just as she was stacking the dishes back on the shelf (clatter clatter), she heard rapid footsteps. The honey candles were burning in the room. It was time for their master to return. Suiren took a dish Maomao had polished to perfection and began preparing a snack.

Jinshi trooped clear through the living area and appeared in the kitchen. "A gift, from a weirdo. Share it with Suiren." He set some sort of bottle down on the table. The "weirdo" was a particularly unpleasant official who had been making himself something of a nuisance to Jinshi lately.

Maomao undid the stopper and was greeted by a sour, citrusy smell. Some kind of juice, she figured. "We're accepting gifts from

weirdos now, are we?" she asked, her voice completely flat. Jinshi had already retreated to the living area and was resting on the couch. Maomao added some coals to the brazier.

Gaoshun observed that they were scraping the bottom of their coal supply and left the room. Going to get more, Maomao figured. Now there was a man you could rely on.

Jinshi gave a great scratch of his head (most uncouth) and looked at Maomao. "Are you familiar with the regulars at the Verdigris House?" he asked.

Maomao cocked her head, surprised by the question. "If they're conspicuous enough about it, yes."

"What kind of people go there?"

"That's confidential."

Jinshi knitted his brow at the brusque response. Then he seemed to realize he was coming at it the wrong way, and tried something else. "Let me ask you this, then. How would one go about reducing the price of a courtesan?" He sounded uncommonly careful as he picked his words.

"What a distressing topic." Maomao huffed. "But there are any number of ways. Especially when it comes to the top-ranked women."

The most renowned courtesans, the most sought-after, weren't working constantly. In fact, they might work only a few times a month. Accepting customers every single day was for the "night walkers," the women who had to take work to survive. The more highly ranked a courtesan was, the less she liked to be seen. Hiding herself away induced would-be customers to inflate their estimation of her value all on their own.

Such women attracted patrons by virtue of their singing and dancing, their musical accomplishments, or other facets of their education. At the Verdigris House, apprentices were given basic instruction, then divided into those with looks and prospects, and those without. The latter began taking customers as soon as they made their debut. They weren't selling their arts, but their bodies.

As for those who showed potential, they started by sharing tea with the customers. Those adept at entrancing patrons with their conversation or ravishing them with their intelligence rose in value. Then, by deliberately keeping a popular courtesan from seeing too many people, you could produce a woman who commanded a year's wages in silver just to share a drink. By this system, there were even women who went their entire careers, until the day their contracts were bought out, without a customer ever laying hands on them. This in itself played to men's fantasies; everyone wanted to be the first to pick such a blossom.

"A flower is valuable because it's untouched," Maomao said, lighting some soothing incense. She was doing it for Jinshi, who had looked tired lately, but this evening it seemed it might help her as well. "When someone picks it, its value immediately drops by at least half. But there's more..." She gave a small sigh, then took a deep sniff of the incense. "If such a woman were to become with child, her value would be practically nothing." That same emotionless tone.

It was all because of that stupid dream.

Jinshi let out a deep breath as he pressed his chop to some paperwork. He wondered what was going on. It nagged at him, what the apothecary's daughter had said the night before. She'd sounded so solemn.

And then, conveniently, the man most likely to know the

answer to Jinshi's private question appeared.

"Hello, hello." The grinning fox knocked on the door and entered without waiting to be invited in. He'd come, just as he had promised he would yesterday. He'd even made a subordinate haul along a couch with a nice, soft cushion. Jinshi tried to resist pulling a face as he wondered how long the man would be here today.

"Shall we pick up where we left off yesterday?" Lakan asked, pouring some juice from a bottle he'd brought with him. He'd even brought treats of some kind: he placed on the paper-riddled desk a baked snack that smelled richly of butter. The occupants of the office wished he would stop putting food directly on the table; Gaoshun could only hold his head in his hands when he saw the oil stains left on the papers.

"It seems, sir, that you did something quite reprehensible," Jinshi said as he pressed his chop to another piece of paper. He hardly registered what it said, but Gaoshun, standing behind him, didn't speak up, so it was probably fine.

Based on what Maomao had told him, he had a fairly good idea what this wily madman must have done. And after that thought came another, equally unwelcome one. Namely, that his actions weren't incomprehensible. That they had a consistency. Even a certain logic. Jinshi thought he understood why Lakan had started with the talk of buying out a contract at the Verdigris House. Why he'd spoken of his old "friend." But Jinshi didn't want to admit the implications. To do so would only invite yet more trouble.

"Reprehensible? How rude. And the last thing I want to hear from a thieving little magpie." Lakan's eye narrowed behind his monocle, and then he laughed. "I had finally brought the old lady around, do you know that? It took me ten years of work. And then you swoop in and snatch her away from me—just imagine how that feels." Lakan gestured emphatically with his cup. Ice floated in the juice.

"Are you saying I should give back your shiny trinket?" By this, Jinshi meant the reticent young woman.

"No, keep it. I don't want to get stuck in the same rut as before."

"And if I don't want it?"

"Then what could I possibly do? I could count on one hand the number of people who could go against your will, milord."

Lakan was resolute about never saying quite what he really meant. It drove Jinshi to distraction. Lakan knew who and what Jinshi was; otherwise he never would have said what he did. But the logic was there, in his words.

Lakan took off his monocle, wiped it with a handkerchief, then replaced it—in front of the other eye. So it was just an affectation.

Jinshi had always known Lakan was a strange one.

"But I do wonder what my, ahem, little girl will think."

The way he emphasized the words little girl—ugh. So it must be true. Much as Jinshi resisted admitting it.

Lakan was Maomao's birth father.

Jinshi finally stopped stamping paperwork.

"Could you let her know I'll be popping by for a visit one of these days?" Lakan said. Then he left the office, licking the butter off his fingers. He'd left the couch where it was, though, implying he would be back.

Almost in unison, Jinshi and Gaoshun hung their heads and let out great sighs.

"I met an official who said he'd like to see you," Jinshi told Maomao as soon as he got back to his room. Realizing it would do no good not to say anything to her, he had resolved to get it out of the way.

"And who is this official?" she asked. Jinshi thought he detected a flicker of unease behind her studiously indifferent expression, but she was hiding it well, her voice just as toneless as ever.

"Ahem. His name is Lakan..."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Maomao's expression shifted. Her eyes widened and she took a step away from Jinshi, almost, it seemed, involuntarily. To date she had looked at him like a beetle, like a dried-out earthworm, like mud, like dust, like a slug, and even like a flattened frog—that is to say, in many demeaning and belittling ways—but he realized that all of these were kind and gentle compared to the look she leveled at him now.

It was, frankly, hard to describe, but even Jinshi felt he could barely survive it. Maomao looked as if she might smash open his heart and pour in molten metal so that not even ashes remained.

This one look communicated to Jinshi clearly how Lakan's daughter felt about her father.

"I'll turn him down. Somehow," Jinshi managed, still a little dazed. It was a wonder his heart didn't stop.

"Thank you, sir." Maomao, for her part, regained her customary expressionless affect, and then resumed her work.

Chapter 10: Suirei

So he knows. She'd had a feeling about the person Jinshi had been talking about the other day. He was, after all, part of the reason Maomao diligently avoided going anywhere near the military encampment.

She heaved a sigh. The way her breath fogged in the air was proof enough that the cold was still present and accounted for, the footfalls of spring still far off.

There was nobody else in the room. Jinshi and Gaoshun had gone out first thing in the morning. In the two months Maomao had been serving him, she'd begun to get to know Jinshi's routine.

One particular task seemed to come up about every two weeks. The day before, he would take a long, slow bath, and burn incense before he went out. Maomao took advantage of those days to give the floor a thorough polishing, and that's what she was doing today, wiping a cloth industriously across the ground. Her hands were going numb with the cold, but with Suiren watching her, mild but implacable, Maomao couldn't even think of slacking off.

When Maomao had dusted about half the building, Suiren finally seemed satisfied and suggested they stop for tea. They pulled two chairs up to a round table in the kitchen and sat with warm cups of tea in their hands. The leaves were leftovers, not new, but were of such high quality that the brew still smelled wonderful. Maomao savored the sweet aroma as she ate a sesame ball.

Wish we could have something more savory, Maomao thought, but it would sound churlish to say so aloud. She suspected Suiren had prepared the snack assuming that a young woman would enjoy a sweet treat. So Maomao felt compelled to look appreciative, but then she noticed that Suiren herself was munching away noisily on some grilled rice crackers.

Maomao said nothing for a moment.

"Ah, that salty tang is like an addiction," Suiren said. She and Jinshi were certainly of a piece, Maomao thought. She reached out toward the dish of crackers, but Suiren snatched up the last one before she could get to it. Now Maomao was sure she was doing this on purpose. Very disagreeable, this attendant.

Maomao always ended up the listener when she took a snack with other women, and so it proved at tea with Suiren. Unlike the ladies of the pleasure district or the rear palace, Suiren didn't favor idle gossip, but was given to discoursing on the master of the house.

"The meal tonight is vegetarian, so make sure you're not snitching any meat or fish on the sly," Suiren said.

"Yes, ma'am." Maomao knew better than to ask why they were eating as though they were undergoing some kind of ritual purification, but Suiren implied just enough with her tone that Maomao could guess. Can eunuchs perform ritual offices? she wondered. Purification was typically performed by those who would be participating in religious rituals. Those of aristocratic or noble birth could expect to preside at such functions from time to time.

There were a number of things about Jinshi that Maomao didn't understand. For one, why a man of birth such as his should have become a eunuch at all. Then again, when she considered the time of his life at which it had happened, it made a certain kind of sense. The former empress dowager, who had been viewed as all but an empress in her own right in her time, was a woman of considerable abilities. It was said to be her influence, and no thanks to her incompetent son, that had prevented the country from falling into chaos during the former emperor's reign. But the natural corollary of that fact was that she had leaned on her own authority for many of the actions she took. Such as forcibly making a eunuch of a very capable physician she happened to favor—Maomao's father. It would be reasonable to suppose that Jinshi had become a eunuch under similar circumstances.

"Oh, and I need you to run a little errand for me this afternoon. You'll have to go to the doctor and get some medicine

—"

"Yes, ma'am!" Maomao blurted out before Suiren was finished speaking.

"I could wish you were always so enthusiastic," she said, and stuffed the last of the rice cracker into her mouth.

The medical office was located on the eastern side of the outer palace, near the military headquarters. Perhaps it was convenient for all the injuries the military produced. Maomao remembered what Jinshi had said about this physician, but she was interested in him for other reasons as well. She'd once had firsthand experience with one of his medicines, and it was more than enough to convince her that he was an accomplished practitioner. The rear palace had an absolute quack running its medical office, a real waste, but Maomao was acutely curious as to how things were done in the outer court.

"I've come to pick up some medicine," she said, presenting the tag Suiren had given her. The doctor, a man with high cheekbones, looked at it, then asked Maomao to sit down and disappeared into a back room.

Maomao sat, then took a deep breath in. A profusion of acrid smells and bitter flavors filled her nose and mouth. Over at the desk where the doctor had been until her arrival, Maomao could see a mortar and pestle with some half-crushed herbs in it.

With a supreme effort of will, she managed to control her urge to turn the place upside down. She would have given anything to have a good, close look through the cabinet full of medicines in the next room.

No! she implored herself. Got to stay strong... She could feel her body edging its way toward the other room in spite of herself.

"May I ask what you're doing?" a woman's cold voice said. Maomao snapped to reality, discovering behind her a very exasperated-looking court lady. Maomao remembered her: it was the tall woman. Maomao realized she must look profoundly suspicious slinking toward the other room as she was, and promptly returned to her chair.

"Just waiting for some medicine," she said innocently. The other woman looked like she wanted to say something to that, but at that moment the doctor reemerged with the prescription. "Oh, Suirei. When did you get here?" he said lightly.

The woman he called Suirei frowned as if she didn't appreciate his tone. "I've come to restock the medicine they keep on hand at the guardhouse," she said. She must have been referring to someplace in the military camp. Now that Maomao thought about it, she realized the last time she'd run into Suirei, it had also been in the vicinity of the military area. At the time, she'd felt strangely as if Suirei had it out for her, and the attitude she saw from the woman now only confirmed her suspicions. Suirei was looking at Maomao as if she wished the young serving woman were anywhere else.

If nothing else, Maomao now understood why Suirei had smelled of medicinal herbs when they'd met.

"I've got everything right here. Anything else you need?" the doctor asked.

"Not to speak of. I bid you good day." Suirei met the doctor's downright ingratiating tone with near indifference. The doctor looked almost a little sad as he watched her go.

So that's how it is, Maomao thought, studying the disappointed doctor and reflecting on how easy he was to read. When he realized she was watching him, he frowned and thrust out her medicine at her.

"Does that woman work with the military?" Maomao asked. She didn't really mean anything by it. It was just a passing thought.

"Yes. Though there's no need for a qualified woman of the outer court to handle that sort of thing..." Maomao looked at him expectantly, but the doctor didn't elaborate. He only shook his head and said, "It's nothing. Anyway, here's your medicine!" He shoved the packet at her, then gave a dismissive wave of his hand: Go on, get out. Apparently Maomao had said something she shouldn't have, but exactly what it was eluded her.

Something a court lady wouldn't normally handle? she repeated to herself. She concluded, though, that there was no special need to tie herself in knots wondering about the portentous pronouncement; instead, she took the packet and peeked inside. There was some kind of powder in it. Wondering what it was, she put a fingertip's worth on her tongue. (Her bad habit.)

"Is this...potato dust?"

She left the doctor's office perplexed.

"Do you need anything from the doctor's office today?" Maomao asked with a glance at Suiren, but the lady-in-waiting was not to be outfoxed.

"I won't have you slacking off," she said firmly.

I don't think of it as slacking, Maomao mentally replied. She was just so eager for even a sniff of that rich aroma of medicine.

"On that note," Suiren said, drying her hands, "I gather you've quietly been using our storage room to keep some unusual herbs.

I don't want that to continue."

She never did forget to twist the knife. Maomao's face twisted into a scowl as she squeezed a rag and wiped the floor. Suiren was a far more fearsome force than the head lady-in-waiting of the Jade Pavilion. Maybe age really did bring wiles.

"If you feel you haven't enough space in your room, maybe you could speak to Master Jinshi. We have more than enough rooms here. If you only ask, you might be surprised how accommodating he may turn out to be." Suiren sounded unusually cheerful.

Maomao wondered if that was true. After all, Jinshi had turned her request for a stable down flat.

"No, ma'am," she said now. "I could never turn a noble's residence into medicinal storage."

Suiren put a surprised hand to her mouth as she took a seat in a chair. "You don't look like the kind who would care, Xiaomao, but you always turn out to be so circumspect."

"I am only a low-born young woman. No one is more surprised than I am to find me here."

"I can understand that. But..." Suiren got a distant look in her eyes. She was gazing out the window. Brief flurries of snow occasionally drifted down. "I urge you not to imagine that those who are high-born are fundamentally different creatures from you. None of us, however princely or however poor, know what will happen in our lives. That by itself unites us across every divide."

"You think so, ma'am?"

"I very much do," Suiren said with a smile, standing up from her chair. Then she came over hauling a large basket stuffed to the brim with trash. "And now it's time to work, Xiaomao. Do you think you could go throw this away for me?" Suiren wore a placid smile on her face, but the basket came up almost to Maomao's chest and looked very heavy.

Not just any random maid or manservant could be trusted to dispose of the trash in Jinshi's building. There were any number of people out there who would all too eagerly rifle through it to find anything that might afford a strategic advantage.

"The way to the trash pit goes past the doctor's office," Suiren said. "If all you do is go past it, I certainly don't mind."

That's not a favor, that's torture, Maomao thought with a frown, but nonetheless she hefted the basket onto her back, wobbling under the weight.

Maomao studied the stark indentations the straps of the basket had left on her shoulders, wondering just how much had been in there. Well! At least no one would be able to root through this particular noble's garbage now. It had all turned to ash. As for Maomao, all she could do was sigh at this important personage's ignorance of how much trouble he caused for those around him.

She was just about to go back when something caught her eye. Is that what I think it is?! Not far from the trash pit was some kind of building—from the neighing of horses, she suspected it was a stable. Grass, natural and untended, grew nearby. Except clearly, not everything there was forage...

Maomao gave a furtive glance in one direction, then the other, then dashed over and fell upon her target. To the untrained eye, it looked like simple withered grass. It smelled like a plant wasted by winter. Pull it out of the ground, and it showed long roots, along with a small but unmistakable tuber-like growth.

It was a wild plant frequently used to flavor medicine; in and of itself, it wasn't that unusual. What was unusual was to find it growing seemingly at random among a patch of other grasses.

Lots of fertilizer out here behind the stables, maybe? Maomao thought. But it just didn't seem like the sort of thing that would normally grow in a place like this.

Maomao looked around again. There was a modest hill nearby, on which was growing a profusion of herbs that looked distinctly medicinal. She put down her basket and ran for the mound.

She found a field of soft, rich soil brimming with flowers and odd-smelling herbs—these were no ordinary kitchen produce. They were still a bit colorless, on account of the season, but it was more than enough to make Maomao's eyes shine. Elated, she started to inspect each plant, trying to determine what it was— when the sound of footsteps, muffled by the soft earth, approached her.

"And what are you doing?" asked a most irritated voice. Maomao, still crouching on the ground, looked back to discover the tall woman standing behind her. In one hand she held a small basket; in the other, a sickle. Suirei, that was what the doctor had called her.

Shit. Maomao knew she had to look suspicious here. She decided to try to explain herself, keenly aware that the sickle could come down on her at any moment. "Please, ma'am, there's no cause for alarm. I haven't picked anything yet."

"Meaning you were about to, may I take it?" Suirei remained impressively calm. The sickle wasn't swung at Maomao, but instead was set gently on the ground along with the basket.

"Any farmer would want to inspect such a fine field," Maomao said.

"And what palace is peopled with farmers?"

She had Maomao there—but Maomao had thought it was a clever line. Where there were fields, there had to be farmers, right? Unfortunately, Suirei didn't find this logic as coherent or compelling as Maomao did.

Instead, the woman sighed. "I'm not here to hang you by your thumbs or something. This garden isn't technically allowed, anyway. A word of warning, though—the doctor shows up here periodically, so I wouldn't recommend making too many visits." She started pulling weeds as she spoke.

"So he let you be in charge of this place?"

"Sort of. He lets me plant what I like, anyway."

To Maomao's ears, Suirei sounded notably disinterested.

Maomao didn't exactly overflow with enthusiasm herself; it looked like she'd found a kindred spirit. Suirei, though, seemed to have enough social sense to join the other court ladies when they picked on Maomao.

"And what do you like to plant?"

Suirei looked at Maomao without saying anything—but only for a second. Then she returned her gaze to the ground. "A medicine to revive the dead."

That was enough to get Maomao's heart pounding. She nearly grabbed Suirei and demanded to know what she was talking about, but rationality got hold of her at the last moment.

Suirei eyed Maomao and then said the cruelest thing imaginable: "I'm kidding." Maomao didn't reply, but the devastation must have been clear on her face, for the other woman gave a humorless laugh. "Word has it you're an apothecary."

Maomao wondered where she'd heard that, but nodded. Suirei was once again expressionless as she plucked dead leaves. She left any thick roots, trimming the leaves with the sickle. "I wonder just how good an apothecary," she said, and Maomao, if she wasn't mistaken, heard a barb in Suirei's voice.

She looked at Suirei and replied only: "Good question."

"Mm," Suirei said, and stood. "I plant morning glories here every year. It's not quite the season yet, though." Then she collected her herbs and went back down the hill.

A medicine to revive the dead...

If such a thing existed, Maomao would do anything to get her hands on it. Humanity had sought a means of immortality virtually throughout its history. Could such a thing exist? Maomao believed, in fact, that the possibility couldn't be ruled out—but she shook her head at the idea that it would just happen to be a drug that brought people back to life.

She looked longingly at the field for a moment, the part of her that wanted to help herself to a little something and the part that knew she shouldn't arguing back and forth. In the end, the mental dispute only made her late getting back.

Suiren's discipline was unassuming but severe: Maomao found herself cleaning and polishing right up to the ceiling beams.

Chapter 11: Chance or Something More

Maomao was cleaning a hallway somewhere in the outer court, as she so often did, when she heard a very strange tale.

A large figure came up to her in a mild panic. On closer inspection, it turned out to be the big dog, Lihaku.

"What's going on?" Maomao asked, setting down her cloth. The burly military officer wouldn't have a reason to come to Jinshi's office—unless he needed something from Maomao.

"No time for chitchat! There's trouble!"

"And what might that be?" If he'd come all this way, it must be serious. Despite the way he sometimes acted, Lihaku hardly had time to kill.

"You remember the fire at that storehouse? Later we found out that on the exact same day, there was a burglary at another one." He scratched his head as he spoke. "The only thing I can think is that someone was using the fire as a diversion."

Maomao crossed her arms: so that was the story. "What was stolen, if I may ask?"

At that, Lihaku fell into an uncomfortable silence. He tapped her on the shoulder and gestured, apparently wanting to go somewhere they wouldn't be overheard. Maomao let him lead her out of the gallery and toward the garden. Lihaku squatted in the shade of some trees, tapped his finger against the side of his nose conspiratorially, and said, "Some ritual implements disappeared."

"Ritual implements?" A very strange thing to steal, Maomao thought.

"Yeah. Several seem to have vanished, but I'm afraid we don't know exactly what." Lihaku gave a helpless shake of his head.

"You don't know what was in there? Was the keeper of the storehouse that careless?"

"No, it's not like that... There's no one in charge of the place

right now. An important official who'd been closely involved with it died last year, and that turned everything on its head."

A matter of new superiors shuffling things around, perhaps.

"Perhaps you could ask whoever oversaw it before him, then?"

"There's a wrinkle in that too. See, he's in no shape to come back to work. He came down with food poisoning not long ago, and...well, he's still unconscious." Lihaku heaved a sigh as if to emphasize what dire straits he was in.

But the words food poisoning set Maomao's memory working. Hadn't there been a case of that just after the fire? In fact, almost simultaneously with it...

"That wouldn't happen to be the clerk-gourmand, would it?" she asked.

Lihaku's eyes went wide. "How do you know about that?"

"It's a long story."

The fire, the theft, and the indisposition of the clerk: could they all be one giant coincidence? On some level, it was always possible—but it seemed deeply unlikely. Something else Lihaku had said got her attention too.

"You mentioned an important official who passed away last year. What kind of person was he?"

Lihaku put a finger to his forehead and grunted. "I remember he was some old fart who always had a stick up his—er, I mean, always stood on principle. What was his name? Blast, it's on the tip of my tongue! I know he was real big into sweets..."

"Perhaps you're thinking of Master Kounen," Maomao said, remembering the person Jinshi had told her about the year before. A straitlaced, sweet-toothed official who had died from an overdose of salt.

"Yes! That was it! Wait...you know about him too?"

"It's a long story."

Lihaku's surprise was understandable. Maomao was by no means enough of an optimist to assume all these coincidences could be, well, mere coincidence. Each looked like an accident in isolation. But there were no guarantees that what appeared to be an accident was in fact accidental, as the case of the blowfish had proven. Was it possible that all of these incidents were deliberate, aimed at some larger goal?

Maomao looked at Lihaku. "I'm sorry, Master Lihaku, but what does this have to do with me?"

"Right! That's what I came here to talk to you about!" He rifled through a bag and pulled out something that turned out to be the ivory pipe Maomao had discovered in the burned storehouse. She'd delivered it to him not long ago, after cleaning it up and rebuilding it. He'd said he would see that it made its way back to the storehouse watchman, but he still had it.

"It's not my fault," Lihaku said now. "The watchman told me to keep it. Said he didn't want it anymore."

The guard had been dismissed after blame for the storehouse fire had fallen on him. Maomao had taken the pipe to be a potentially expensive purchase, but evidently it had been a gift.

Someone was very generous, she thought.

"He said one of the ladies of the outer court gave it to him. Doesn't that strike you as strange? Why would one of them give something like this to a random watchman?"

"It might make sense, depending on the person." When courtesans received a gift from a particularly despised customer, they would promptly sell it for cash, or otherwise give it to someone else. But Maomao could think of another possibility too. "Maybe she knew that he would want to put such a rich gift to use right away."

Not everyone would have that impulse, but many would. And if that was the mystery woman's objective... She must have guessed the course of events: The fire would break out. People would come running. Security would be lighter elsewhere—the perfect time for sneaking.

Lihaku, anticipating what Maomao was about to ask, said, "Unfortunately, he said he couldn't see the face of the woman who gave him the pipe. It was too dark."

A woman walking around in the dark? That was strange too. Even the palace wasn't a place where a woman should be walking alone at night. The storehouse watchman had found the woman doing just that, and had been so kind as to accompany her out, for her safety. She'd thanked him by giving him the pipe. It had been cold, and the woman's face was hidden by a tall collar.

"He did say that she seemed unusually tall for a lady, though,

and that she smelled faintly of medicine."

"Medicine?"

"Don't worry, I know it wasn't you. He said tall. But I just wondered. Sound like anyone you know?"

Although he might look like a lummox, Lihaku could be pretty sharp. Can't exactly claim I've got no idea, Maomao thought. Maybe she should simply tell him exactly what she suspected. But then her father's mantra ran through her mind: don't draw

conclusions based on assumptions. Maomao thought the matter over and decided on a compromise.

"Has anything else unusual happened besides the accidents and incidents you mentioned?"

"That sounds like a portentous question and all, but I wouldn't even have connected this many dots without your hints," Lihaku said, crossing his arms. "Are you saying there's something else I should be investigating?"

"Possibly. Or possibly not."

"Which is it?" Lihaku said, exasperated.

Maomao crouched down and grabbed a stick off the ground, with which she proceeded to draw a circle in the dirt. "Two things often happen coincidentally." She drew another circle, partially overlapping the first. "Three things may happen and still be chance." She added another circle. "But don't you agree that at some point, it stops being coincidence and becomes deliberate?"

She filled in the segment at the center of her three overlapping circles. "Suppose this lady of the outer court—if that's what she is

—stands at the nexus of these deliberate coincidences."

"I get it!" Lihaku clapped his hands. As for Maomao, an image of Suirei flashed through her mind, but she felt that was neither here nor there. "You're smarter than you look," Lihaku said, clapping her on the shoulder with a huge grin.

"But you're just as stupidly strong as you look, Master Lihaku, so please do be careful."

Lihaku felt a bit of a chill as Maomao glared at him. He turned around to discover she wasn't the only one giving him the stink eye.

"I'm glad to see you're having fun." The voice was gorgeous, but thick with sarcasm. Lihaku took an intimidated step back when he saw who it belonged to.

"I'm not particularly having fun at all," Maomao said.

Jinshi stood watching them closely, half-hidden by the shade of the tree. Gaoshun stood behind him, his brow wrinkled in his customary, perpetual expression of chagrin.

The big mutt promptly went home, leaving Maomao to deal with Jinshi, who was acting put out for some reason.

"You seem quite friendly with that man."

"Do I?" She poured tea from a small teapot she had put on to boil. A ceramic cup might have made for a better-tasting drink, but most of the dishware Jinshi used was silver. Maomao still wasn't entirely clear on Jinshi's place in the political hierarchy. He was more than a eunuch who flitted around the inner palace; he had real business here in the outer court as well.

"What is he, some kind of military officer?"

"Indeed, sir, as you could see. He came to talk to me about something that was bothering him."

Maomao placed snacks to go with the tea on the desk. She couldn't be completely sure whether Jinshi might have a stake in what Lihaku had told her. After all, Kounen was somehow connected. So Maomao offered: "Shall I tell you exactly what he was asking about?"

Jinshi only sipped his tea in silence.

When Maomao had finished a detailed explanation, Jinshi closed his eyes and frowned, looking faintly distressed. "A tangled web indeed."

"Yes, sir."

Jinshi hadn't touched the snacks. Gaoshun was standing by the entrance of the office, looking as disturbed as his master.

"And how do you think it's all related?" Jinshi asked.

"That I don't know," she said honestly. She had no idea what any of this had been intended to accomplish. Any of the cases might have been accidental. The one thing that was certain was that as long as they looked like they could be accidents, it was unlikely that anyone would put the pieces together. "Personally, I think they look less like a single grand scheme and more like a series of traps, the success of any one of which would serve the purposes of the one who set them."

Jinshi took another sip of tea in response. The mouthful emptied his cup, so Maomao went to boil more.

"I must agree," Jinshi said. "And that means there's a possibility that there are other traps."

"We can't be certain." Even Maomao had only her speculation to go on. If somebody told her definitively that it had all been a series of coincidences, she could only have nodded and accepted it.

"Hmph. Not feeling too eager about this one?"

"Eager, sir?" she said. And? It's not like I stick my nose into these things out of personal interest. She just took note of what was going on around her. There were too many people all too prepared to involve her in their own risky business, that was the problem. Maomao would have been perfectly happy to live a quiet life as an apothecary: sitting on her veranda sipping tea and doing her medicinal experiments. "I'm only a maid," she said. "I simply do the work I'm given."

"Hmph," Jinshi said again, apparently finding this answer lackluster. He played half-consciously with a brush in his hand. He had pushed the snacks to one side of his desk. Maybe he wasn't interested in them. Maomao thought he looked uncommonly youthful. "How about this, then?" he said. He called Gaoshun over with a grin and whispered in his ear. Whatever he said, Gaoshun was clearly not enthusiastic about it.

"Master Jinshi..." he said.

"You heard me. Get everything ready, please."

Gaoshun nodded without conviction, and meanwhile Jinshi dunked the brush he was playing with in some ink, then began writing on a piece of paper in fluid, flowing motions. "When I was making the rounds of the trading merchants the other day, I heard tell of a very interesting item. I believe this was the name." He pulled up the paper with a flourish and displayed it to Maomao. Her eyes immediately began to sparkle.

Written on the paper were two characters, niu huang: calculus bovis. Ox bezoar.

"Would you like it?"

"I would!"

Almost before she knew what she was doing, Maomao rushed up to—and then onto—Jinshi's desk.

Calculus bovis was a medicine, a gallstone from a cow or ox. Supposedly, only one in a thousand cattle produced one; it was considered among the rarest and most valuable medicinal supplements. A poor apothecary from the pleasure district would be lucky ever to see one in her lifetime. It was a mouthwatering prospect.

And this eunuch was saying—what? Would he actually give her one? Really and truly?

Jinshi drew back slightly from Maomao, who had begun to lean closer and closer to him. She didn't realize what she was doing until Gaoshun tugged on her sleeve, bringing her back to reality. She slowly climbed down off the desk and straightened her skirt. "There's that motivation."

"Can I really have it?" Maomao gave Jinshi a cautious look, but he now appeared somewhat more adult than before. Maomao recognized this as the alluring gaze he frequently turned on maidservants in the rear palace.

"That depends on how hard you work. Let me start by giving you all the details." Jinshi began wadding up the paper and threw it into the trash basket, the familiar honeyed smile on his face. Maomao couldn't have cared less about the smile, but he was offering to reward her with something she desperately wanted if she did good work, and that was all she needed to know.

"Understood. You need only tell me what you wish, Master Jinshi." And then Maomao cleared away the teacup and the untouched snacks.