The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 10 - Chapter Ep

Epilogue

Aromatic tea and baked snacks with plenty of butter. A moderately stimulating incense that drew out the richest notes of the sweet smell.

Empress Gyokuyou hosted, and her guests came to be entertained.

She’d held many tea parties during her days in the rear palace, but fewer since she had gone from consort to Empress. She was confident, however, that her ability to coddle a visitor had not diminished.

“Thank you ever so much for inviting us,” one of the women said. They were the wives of some of the most important people in Li. They were all older than Gyokuyou, with one exception—her niece, Yaqin.

“And who might this be?” a sharp-eyed guest asked upon spotting her.

“My niece,” Gyokuyou replied with a smile. “She’s joined us all the way from the western capital.”

Yaqin had still not entered the rear palace, as not only Gyokuyou but Gyokuen had objected to her doing so. Gyokuyou’s father and her brother wanted different things: this realization made her even less hesitant to act.

She had introduced the girl not as Gyoku-ou’s daughter, but as her niece. Nobody would know Gyoku-ou as the governor of the far-off western reaches. He was known in the capital as Gyokuen’s son, and little more.

Anyway, Yaqin resembled Gyokuyou more than she did Gyoku-ou. No doubt people would conclude that she was Gyokuyou’s niece on her mother’s side.

They talked about the most popular perfumes, imported velvet, the newest makeup—subjects that were a bit juvenile considering the age bracket of the attendees. Partly, Gyokuyou deliberately brought up these subjects so that Yaqin, who wasn’t used to these sorts of functions yet, would feel comfortable, but it also served to allow her to avoid political discussions.

The main objective today was not to strengthen her ties with these women. In fact, she had gone out of her way to invite well-heeled wives who didn’t display too much ambition.

Over these past several months, Yaqin had begun to open up to Gyokuyou. As Gyokuyou had suspected, she was adopted, not her half-brother’s blood child. He must have decided that the Emperor’s choice of Gyokuyou as his empress showed that the ruler had a thing for “exotic”-looking women.

Gyokuyou could only laugh.

The Emperor was not a man who would choose his empress for her looks alone. They might have been a factor, of course, but not enough for him to fall madly in love. Gyokuyou might have the Imperial affection, but she was not the kind who could bring a country to its knees.

Her father Gyokuen understood His Majesty well. That was why he hadn’t offered a young Gyokuyou to the previous emperor. He had waited, using the time until the throne changed hands to give Gyokuyou the education she would need to be Empress.

He was a merchant, Gyokuen. He would choose the path of greatest profit. He would not be distracted by avarice, though—he would look ten, twenty, fifty years into the future. Even beyond his own death. He would seek more than the modest glory of one clan, Gyokuyou knew.

Gyokuyou had faith that Gyokuen loved her. But his love was not unconditional. If she became a hindrance to his pursuit of gain, he would cut her loose. What Gyokuyou could do was raise her own value, make herself weigh heavier in Gyokuen’s scales.

This tea party was one way she could do that.

The party concluded amid a convivial atmosphere. The wives showed great interest in the curious trade goods from the west. Gyokuyou would have to make presents of them soon.

She ordered her ladies-in-waiting to clean up, then went back to her room, accompanied by Yaqin.

“You seem to be learning how to handle yourself at a tea party,” Gyokuyou observed.

“Yes, ma’am. Only thanks to you.”

“At first, you couldn’t bring yourself to say a word!” She chuckled.

“Please, I beg you, don’t remind me.”

Yaqin was lovely, true enough, but she was ultimately still a “makeshift” daughter. She could make herself sound aristocratic for a few minutes of brief conversation, but much longer than that and her I-sei twang started to come out. Gyokuyou would probably still have the same problem if Hongniang hadn’t corrected her every time her own accent had shown itself ever since she was young.

The accent made Yaqin less than suitable for tea parties. In the end, she had been offered up for one purpose: to gain the romantic interest of the nobility.

“Lady Gyokuyou, may I ask you something?” Yaqin said.

“Go ahead.”

“How fares I-sei Province now?” The young woman couldn’t hide her anxiety.

“Why do you ask? Does something there worry you?” Gyokuyou asked bluntly.

After a second Yaqin replied, “The bugs must be coming soon. I fear for the crop.” She was a very direct young woman—kind at heart, and a quick study. Gyokuyou sympathized with her.

It had been ten days or so before that Yaqin had opened up to Gyokuyou about her real parents—a subject she had no doubt intended to keep strictly to herself.

This girl, so much like Gyokuyou, had a deep respect for Gyoku-ou. In her former life, her family had been nomads, but when her father grew ill, they settled in a farming village. Of course, that didn’t immediately make them proficient farmers. They let the livestock pasture in a nearby field, and bit by bit they learned how to farm. She described with evident gratitude how the governor had supported them monetarily.

The governor—Gyoku-ou.

Gyoku-ou was not evil in Gyokuyou’s eyes. He simply believed he was always right. Always just. That was why they didn’t get along. She, favored by Gyokuen, contravened his justice. Of this she was well aware.

He was the eldest son, by Gyokuen’s official wife. If he looked down on a girl born later to a concubine, well, that was hardly unique to I-Sei Province. Most men in Li would have done the same.

No, what bothered Gyokuyou was how Gyoku-ou denigrated her appearance. Not her face as such—this wasn’t about whether she was beautiful or ugly. Instead he belittled her red hair, her green eyes. He was a merchant’s son, the one who was supposed to help the western capital flourish as a nexus of trade in the future. Not the best vocation for a xenophobe.

Gyokuen’s policy was in general to be a good neighbor to foreigners. Gyokuyou didn’t understand how Gyoku-ou could respect their father so much while turning his back on one of his most important teachings.

This was the man Yaqin so deeply admired. Some years before, she had been forced to sell herself on account of a bad harvest. Selling a daughter was hardly unheard of—women were just another commodity in poor households. She’d begun to work as a prostitute.

This was the situation from which Gyoku-ou had plucked Yaqin, adopting her as his daughter. A beautiful story, Gyokuyou thought. She chose not to say what was behind it; she would not tell Yaqin the truth of the matter. She believed it was part of her strength that she did not undermine the girl.

“I certainly think we can expect to hear something from the western capital soon. I’ll tell you the moment I learn anything,” Gyokuyou said. Then she pulled a hair stick from Yaqin’s hair. Feeling her head get lighter, Yaqin let out a breath. “Now get changed, and let’s start on our studies. Learning—that’s the most important thing you can do to be of help to my honored brother.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Yaqin was obedient, a good girl. She respected Gyoku-ou and worried even for the family who had sold her. Even though they had no doubt received more than enough silver to live on from Gyoku-ou—to keep their mouths shut.

As Yaqin left the room to go change, Haku-u entered holding a crumpled piece of paper. “Lady Gyokuyou,” she said.

She gave Gyokuyou the paper, which had been folded and twisted so it could travel by pigeon. This particular missive seemed to have been treated even more roughly than usual. Gyokuyou looked at the bird, wondering if it was the one the Moon Prince normally used, but no. This message had come from someone other than His Majesty’s younger brother.

“Is this—?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Haku-u had read it already, it seemed. The message contained word that the western capital—in fact, all of I-Sei Province—was beset by a plague of insects. The messy handwriting bespoke the urgency with which it had been written.

Gyokuyou clenched her jaw. “Haku-u.”

“I have one message prepared to go by land and another by sea. We have one messenger bird left, if you wish to use it. The western capital is still in confusion, however, and I question whether it would arrive safely.”

Even so, it would be far faster than sending word by human hands.

“The bird, please,” Gyokuyou said. Then she took out a piece of particularly sturdy paper. On it she wrote only a single sentence:

As you will.

Then she tucked the letter in some oil paper, attached it to the leg of the pigeon Haku-u had brought, and released the bird. The white creature looked perfect against the bright blue sky.

The sky was so blue here in the central region, in fact, that it was almost hard to imagine that far to the west, it was being blotted out by insects, the bugs ravaging the crop and supplies. Those who couldn’t imagine it might sneer to themselves, What a bunch of crybabies, those westerners. “Ooh! The bugs are going to get me! Boo hoo hoo!”

Gyokuyou let out a great sigh. Why had she entered the rear palace? For what? Why had her father seen fit to send her here, to the country’s central region?

Would Gyokuyou’s father continue to love her long into the future?

“All right!” Gyokuyou almost gave herself a slap on the cheek for energy, but Haku-u stopped her.

“Your inner tomboy is showing, ma’am. Not on the face, please.”

“Yes, yes.”

“And try to sound like you mean it when you answer.” Haku-u, her friend from childhood, looked at her sternly.

Gyokuyou took out a new sheet of paper and began writing down what she could do for the western region.

Her fight was just beginning.