The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 3 - Chapter 14

Chapter 14: His Former Majesty

The simple truth was that one rarely heard good things about the previous emperor. A foolish ruler, he was called; a pathetic prince, the puppet of the empress regnant. Yes, he was called many things, but there was one name above all by which he was known in the rear palace: pedophile.

It was the only fitting term, considering that the Empress Dowager and the current Emperor differed in age by only a scant ten years or so. It was true enough that in this world, very young women were sometimes given as wives. Sometimes these were political matches, or else intended to pay off a debt. But this was the rear palace, where women of marriageable age were plenty, yet the former emperor had seemed to focus almost exclusively on the handful of younger girls.

It proved he was a pedophile; that much was fact, no matter what else one thought of him. The Empress Dowager had spoken of a curse, but Maomao wondered if it really benefited her to think that way. On Her Ladyship’s belly was a scar left when she had given birth to the current Emperor. The birth canal of her still-developing body had been too small, leaving no choice but to cut the child out of her. And the one who had been made a eunuch specifically to help with this procedure was Maomao’s unfortunate old man.

Perhaps the sacrifice had been worth it, for the boy who would become the reigning monarch grew up spirited and strong, and despite the surgery, the Empress Dowager went on to bear another child, His Majesty’s younger brother.

At this point, however, Maomao had a thought. A terribly rude thought that might get her slapped in the face if she were to voice it. Namely, was the Imperial younger brother indeed the son of the prior emperor?

The younger boy, as Maomao understood it, was a year older than she was. That meant the Empress Dowager would have been in her late twenties at the time of his birth, no longer a young girl by any stretch. Maomao didn’t care to pursue the matter; she felt that knowing anything about it would only make her life here harder.

“I’d like to talk somewhere else, if possible,” the Empress Dowager had said, and thus Maomao now found herself outside the rear palace. They were still within the inner court, however, which was principally the residence of the Emperor and his children and queen. At the moment, there were upper consorts in the rear palace, but His Majesty had no proper spouse.

Of course, Maomao could hardly be there alone. Perhaps Her Ladyship had been planning this all along, because she’d arranged a tea party that would bring together all four of the upper consorts. It was quite a sight. Maomao had even spotted Consort Lishu around, but nervousness seemed to be getting the better of her, and she shambled about like a clockwork doll. Maomao mentally put her hands together and prayed for the consort’s good luck.

“What exactly do you think is going on here?” Yinghua asked with a sigh. She was wearing an outfit that was nicer, but not too much nicer, than her usual clothes. Maomao had done the same. She and Yinghua were both present as ladies-in-waiting to Consort Gyokuyou, as were Hongniang, Guiyuan, and Ailan. Gyokuyou had left her most trustworthy eunuch bodyguards to look after the Jade Pavilion.

“Good question...”

The upper consorts had each been given a room. Although they hadn’t gone very far, a tea party was always a place where women competed in glory, and Gyokuyou was accompanied by three eunuchs who all had their hands full wrangling baggage. That was evidently enough for her, but Lihua had brought five eunuchs, and Loulan no fewer than eight, a dizzying number. Incidentally, Lishu was accompanied by only four baggage carriers, a state of affairs her ladies-in-waiting seemed to find intensely disagreeable.

The room Gyokuyou had been given was pleasant, open to a cool breeze, and stocked with juices and luscious fruits for dessert. Once Maomao had taken a bite and confirmed the food was safe, everyone dug in. She hardly imagined the Empress Dowager would do anything as ridiculous as poison the snacks, but it was her job to check. What’s more, it would have been rude not to eat what had been prepared for them, so Maomao dutifully ate a little more. The food was delicious, as might have been expected of their hostess. Juicy grapes snapped delightfully in their mouths; maybe they’d been cooled with well water.

Since there was still time before the tea party started, Consort Gyokuyou instructed her ladies to relax. As for the consort herself, she took the opportunity to doze a little. Tiredness was common in the first stage of pregnancy, but with Gyokuyou it seemed to be going on longer than usual. She slept sitting up so as not to disturb her hair, but a rounded cushion was placed on the chair for her comfort, and a pillow stuffed with cotton was set at her neck. Hongniang was ready with water to wake her up and tools to touch up her makeup. Happily for all of them, the princess was sleeping soundly with her mother.

The point of Yinghua’s question seemed to be that it was strange that the Empress Dowager would invite Gyokuyou to a tea party knowing full well that she was pregnant.

“I know she’ll probably try to be considerate about it, but still...”

Gyokuyou’s pregnancy was by now an open secret, but actually having to sit there and drink tea with the others might invite some uncomfortable questions.

Consort Lihua probably won’t be an issue, and I guess we don’t have to worry about Consort Lishu either, Maomao thought.

Lihua and Gyokuyou had avoided antagonizing each other largely by avoiding each other, period. Lihua was too proud and dignified to sink to humiliating another person, and Gyokuyou was wise enough to know that picking a fight with Lihua, whose blood was more noble than her own, was not a good idea. Then there was Maomao’s strong suspicion that Lihua herself was pregnant as well. The consort wouldn’t want to talk too much about Gyokuyou’s pregnancy lest she draw attention to her own.

As for Lishu, she could barely make a peep even in front of Gyokuyou; she was unlikely to be a problem now. If anyone in her party was apt to cause trouble, it would be her ladies-in-waiting, but only each consort’s chief lady-in-waiting was to attend her, and Lishu’s—her former food taster, who had since been promoted—would probably keep her mouth shut.

That left only Loulan, who was still an unknown quantity—and the Empress Dowager herself, whose motivations for calling this get-together remained mysterious. There were no particularly interesting rumors circulating about Loulan, other than the talk of how gaudy her outfits were. Even Lishu had at least one good story going around, which claimed that she’d once collapsed with a spontaneous nosebleed while reading some book. When she’d heard about it, Maomao had only hoped that nobody would ask too many questions about what kind of book it had been.

“Maomao,” Hongniang called.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Don’t worry about doing the food tasting for the snacks at the tea party today. I’ll handle it. You understand what I’m saying, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

In other words, it was imperative that they not imply that they even thought it might be possible there would be poison in the food served by the former queen. Bringing along a formal food taster would send the wrong message. However, that left the very real question of where responsibility would fall if there really was something in the food, so as a compromise, the chief ladies-in-waiting were to be served the same things as the consorts. It could hardly have been more annoying and roundabout if they’d tried.

“Meanwhile, the Empress Dowager herself wants to ‘borrow’ you for something.” Hongniang was looking straight at Maomao, a slight frown on her face. “Do they want your help with some kind of problem again?”

Maomao didn’t say anything for a moment, unsure whether she could or should do so, but her silence appeared to be answer enough for Hongniang.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t suppose you could tell me, anyway. However.” Here Hongniang strode up to Maomao, who involuntarily backed away until she was pinned against the wall. “Kindly don’t do anything to betray Lady Gyokuyou.”

“I wouldn’t dream of making an enemy of you, Lady Hongniang...”

“Good enough,” she said, backing away again, an uncommonly gentle smile on her face. “I do so want to stay on good terms with you, Maomao.”

“Yes, of course.”

Hongniang was well and truly fit to attend Consort Gyokuyou, Maomao thought. The other three girls might be a little flighty, but so long as the chief lady-in-waiting was here, all would be well. She’d just seen that firsthand.

“If you’d come with me, please.” The woman who appeared to summon Maomao was the same middle-aged lady-in-waiting who’d been with the Empress Dowager on her visit to the Jade Pavilion. Maomao followed her through a covered walkway, until six pavilions came into view. Distinct wings fanned out from them, the position of whose windows and pillars showed that they were carefully delineated.

“This was what served as the rear palace before what we call the rear palace today was built,” the middle-aged woman said, as if she knew what Maomao must be wondering.

“I see, ma’am.” So the six pavilions must have been the consorts’ quarters, while the wings were where the other palace women had lived.

They walked in silence after that, passing between the pavilions toward a wing at the center. The area seemed unoccupied, yet the place looked clean. Maomao absently ran a finger along one of the windowsills and came up with not a speck of dust.

The building faced the central courtyard. The gravel in the dry landscape garden showed signs of having been raked recently. Maomao thought she saw the lady-in-waiting glance venomously at it.

“This is it.” They arrived at a room slightly larger than the others in the center of the structure. The lady-in-waiting slowly opened the door.

The moment she did so, a distinctive odor reached Maomao’s nose. She frowned instinctively, but then peeked into the chamber. There was a strange air in the tidy space. The cover on the bed was still pulled back, almost sliding off. There was a collection of brushes on the table, though some of them had fallen to the floor. And on the floor there was an odd stain. Next, Maomao glanced at the wall. It was slightly distended, seemingly having been patched over with wallpaper.

The lady-in-waiting didn’t so much as walk through the door. Even taking a single step into the room would probably have sent dust everywhere. The exterior was so clean, yet inside it was like this. Maybe no one had entered in order not to disturb the traces of whoever had once been here.

“What’s this?” Maomao asked.

“In the time of the emperor before last, a woman who rose from mere palace woman to lower consort lived here,” the other woman replied, her gaze remaining cold and her tone flat. “It was the chamber of the woman known as the empress regnant, the room where His Former Majesty was raised—and where he died.”

Suddenly, Maomao understood the woman’s distaste for the place.

After that, the lady-in-waiting took them to a different but equally empty room, through whose window they could watch the Empress Dowager at her tea party with the other ladies. If anything happened, they could go running to her immediately.

The woman began to explain to Maomao that in the twilight of the former emperor’s life, he and the empress regnant had spent much time shut away in that room. Perhaps it was the emperor’s weakness of character (the woman speculated) that caused him to cling to that room as if to his memories.

After the empress regnant died, the former emperor quickly gave up the ghost, almost as if he were following her. And all in that room...

The empress regnant had looked vivacious to the very end, but she could well be said to have died old and full of years. The former emperor hadn’t quite reached the same age, but he was long-lived compared to many people. Among his subjects—particularly the farmers—anyone who reached the age of sixty would be considered a venerable elder.

What about any of this, Maomao wondered, could be considered a curse?

“I told her there was no curse,” the middle-aged lady-in-waiting said seriously. The Empress Dowager, however, had only shaken her head and repeated that she must be cursed. Every night, she wished she could just disappear.

“Does she have any specific proof that she’s cursed?” Maomao asked.

The other woman’s expression darkened for a moment. Apparently there was something that fit the bill. “After his soul departed, His Former Majesty lay in his mausoleum for an entire year.”

It wasn’t unheard of for a mistake to be made about a death, and for someone to “come back to life.” Maomao thought of the woman who had eluded them all with the thornapple. That might be one reason for the long wait, but more fundamentally, there hadn’t been time to complete the former emperor’s burial site during his life. Leaving his body for a year would give them plenty of time to finish it up.

“That next year, His Current Majesty and Lady Anshi went to retrieve the body for burial, but...”

They discovered that the corpse lay untouched by any insects, had not desiccated, and indeed looked almost exactly as it had on the day of the emperor’s death.

Maomao arched an eyebrow. “So it hadn’t decomposed.”

“That’s right. The mausoleum stays cool in summer, but even taking that into account...”

It would have been one thing if they had put the dead monarch on ice, but at room temperature, insects would inevitably gather, and the flesh would rot and dry out. Yet none of this had happened to the former emperor’s body.

“His Majesty appeared quite perplexed. He even wondered if perhaps the body had been replaced with a very well-made doll, but in truth it was certainly His Former Majesty. When they went to retrieve the former empress dowager, they found her in an unspeakable state—but that’s normal.”

I see... All that had really happened was that the body hadn’t decomposed, but that could certainly seem very strange. All people return to the earth, be they commoners or nobles. Maomao firmly believed that being born to a different social status didn’t mean being made of different stuff.

“That building is scheduled to be demolished soon,” the middle-aged woman said. “We’d like you to investigate the matter before that happens.”

It had been something like six years since the former emperor had passed away. His corpse was in a grave far away somewhere, and that building could be said to be the last place left with any significant links to him. If the issue wasn’t resolved before it was destroyed, the Empress Dowager would be left to wonder for the rest of her life.

Truth be told, Maomao already had an inkling of what might be going on. “Ma’am, might it be possible for me to enter that room?”

“Well, I...” It didn’t appear to be a decision the woman was authorized to make on her own, but she said, “I understand. I’ll ask about it.”

She never took her eyes off the tea party as she spoke.

That night, Maomao didn’t return to the Jade Pavilion, but for the first time in quite a while stayed at Jinshi’s residence. It would put her in the best position to go back to that dusty room the next day. They would need the Emperor’s permission, but if the Empress Dowager asked him, there was every chance he would agree. Jinshi facilitated the discussion, and soon things were clicking along nicely. She wondered if Suiren had been part of the talks.

To be quite honest, Maomao was afraid of how the chief lady-in-waiting would receive her when she did get back. I think she’s been taking it easy on me so far. As Gyokuyou’s chief lady-in-waiting, it was Hongniang’s primary duty to protect the consort. She wasn’t like Maomao, who on some level served both Gyokuyou and Jinshi. And no doubt she wasn’t thrilled that Maomao was forever running off to the Crystal Pavilion as well.

Even Maomao wasn’t always sure exactly what her position was. At the very least, she certainly intended no harm to Consort Gyokuyou. But that didn’t mean she was willing to help try to bring down another consort.

Someone else was in the room Maomao used to occupy, so for today she found herself in Suiren’s quarters. She was a little scared of the old lady, but kept telling herself that she meant no harm.

“Here, here’s a change of clothes.” Suiren handed her an unbleached robe, and she obediently changed into it. Suiren’s quarters consisted of two adjacent rooms in a corner of Jinshi’s residence. A cot had been brought in, and there were pretty furnishings all around. Overall, it was a step up from the rooms of the ladies-in-waiting at the Jade Pavilion.

“I would have been perfectly happy sleeping on a couch or something.”

“But then I would have spent all night worrying about you!”

Maomao had nothing to say to that. Suiren was reading a book by a brightly burning candle (how indulgent!). Reading in the flickering light would make her eyes go bad, but she was so obviously enjoying herself as she flipped the pages that Maomao thought it might in fact be cruel to stop her.

“You’re welcome to read something if you like, Maomao. Just pick something from the next room.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Books were precious, so she ought to seize the chance to read when she had it. She went into the next room, hoping there would be something that interested her. If the room with their beds had a unified cuteness, this one was packed with all manner of things, though they were diligently sorted and stored. The bookshelf was in one corner. Maomao started flipping through things, careful to keep the light at a safe distance lest the pages catch fire. Then she shut the book with a bang. Let’s just say that no matter how she sliced it, it simply seemed that she and Suiren had different tastes.

Look at this stuff, Maomao thought. She must be awfully young at heart...

She was about to go back to the other room when a small box caught her eye. It looked pretty old, but fine gold thread was embroidered around the edge, and it had been carefully daubed with persimmon juice.

“Interested in that?”

Maomao turned back at the sound of Suiren’s voice. “It’s all right, ma’am. I wasn’t planning to steal it or anything.”

“I know,” she said, laughing as she came closer and picked up the small old box. She carried it into the next room, set it on the table, and opened the lid. Inside was a collection of children’s toys. “These were Master Jinshi’s favorites. He had lots and lots of toys, but he would only ever play with the ones he really liked.”

She picked up a carved wooden doll nostalgically. It was carefully sculpted, parts of it worn with use. How much it must have been played with to get like that when the hands that held it had never known dirt.

As fond as Suiren’s smile was, it was also sad. “What do you think of Master Jinshi, Maomao?” she asked.

That set Maomao back on her heels, but only for a second. The answer came to her quickly.

“I think he’s an excellent employer.”

In the sense that he gives me rare medicines.

“Is there nothing more beyond that feeling?”

Maomao shook her head awkwardly. Suiren put the doll back in the box, apparently accepting this. “You know, this toy... Once, Master Jinshi had gotten to where he would play with this and only this. So we quietly hid it from him, but that only sent him into a storm of tears. He was inconsolable. Gaoshun ran himself ragged trying to find something to replace it!”

“Why did you feel compelled to take it from him?” Maomao asked.

Suiren’s eyes drifted to the ground, and she smiled again, genuinely sad this time. “Because when he gets fixated on something, it becomes the only thing he sees. But he was not born to a position where that could be allowed. We had to push him to grow up, even if it was painful. That was what Master Jinshi’s honored mother wanted.”

Maomao didn’t say anything immediately, but she felt one of the mysteries that had nagged at her had been solved. The oddly childish side that Jinshi was increasingly showing her was part of who he truly was. Maomao had heard that being raised in a repressive environment could affect a person’s spirit. Maybe that was why Jinshi’s heart remained, on some level, that of a young boy. The strangest thing was that in spite of it all, everyone around him treated him always and only as the gorgeous eunuch.

Maomao gazed at the items in the box. Among them was a folded piece of paper; she took it and opened it. It appeared to be a drawing of a person, but Suiren plucked it out of her hands.

“Ah, that...” Suiren said. “So that’s where it went. I was told in no uncertain terms to get rid of it.” She almost sounded like she was talking to herself, and conflicting emotions played across her face. Finally, she put the paper away somewhere else.

I wonder what that was all about, Maomao thought. She got herself together and looked back at the toy box. One of the items inside was awfully primitive for a toy. It looked like a stone, but the surface was polished; it shone with a gold luster.

“May I touch this?” Maomao asked.

“Go ahead.”

“Incidentally, you wouldn’t happen to have any paper or a handkerchief, would you?”

“Will this do?”

Maomao took the square of paper Suiren offered her, cradling the rock with it and closing one eye to get a good look.

“I do wonder where he got it,” Suiren said. “He was never in the habit of collecting pebbles.”

She was smiling again, but Maomao’s expression grew harder. “You took it away from him immediately?”

“Yes. A stone from who knows where, well, it can’t be very clean.”

“You’re right. And you did the right thing.” Maomao returned the stone to the box, still wrapped in the paper. She took a deep breath and then said, “It’s toxic.”

“Good heavens!” Suiren said, sounding uncharacteristically out of sorts. Her face went pale and her eyes got wide.

“I’m very curious to know what’s going on, myself. How he got that thing.” Even as she spoke, though, a hypothesis was forming in Maomao’s mind. But she wanted more proof before she said anything about it aloud. “When he was very young, did Master Jinshi ever enter the inner court?” she asked.

“Yes, once in a while...”

The answer sounded ambiguous to Maomao, but she nodded.

“What is it, Maomao? What’s the matter?” Suiren asked.

“I’m afraid I can’t say anything yet. We’ll get to the bottom of things tomorrow. Just wait until then.”

Suiren looked like she was about to argue, but then she silently accepted it. Without another word, she climbed into bed and put out the candle. Maomao likewise got into her cot and extinguished her light.

It was decided that the next day, Maomao would be allowed into the room in the company of Jinshi and the Empress Dowager. Frankly, she wasn’t eager to make a big to-do out of it, uncomfortable with the possibility that her speculations might be wrong, but she was hardly in a position to refuse.

When the time came, Maomao bowed her head respectfully and entered the dusty room. White powder puffed up with every step, and a distinctive odor reached her nose. Part of it was mold, but there was something else.

The brushes on the floor looked odd: the tips were all flat and hardened.

Points to one obvious thing, Maomao thought, and then said, “Did His Former Majesty have an interest in painting?”

The others looked at each other, seemingly puzzled. The Empress Dowager, however, narrowed her eyes and said, “He painted me. Just once.” She placed a hand on her chest as if sifting through old memories. “He claimed it was a secret to be kept in this room alone. That if the others knew, it would all be taken from him.”

Everyone else was left dumbfounded. Jinshi in particular seemed to think he was maintaining his usual expression, but his fingertips were trembling, a tic of his that Maomao had picked up on recently.

Maomao knew nothing, not really, of the man who had been derided as an idiot, dismissed as the puppet of the empress regnant. Nor did she especially wish to know. But in order to discover the truth of the “curse,” as she had been requested to do by the Empress Dowager, she was going to have to find out.

“So this was where he did his painting?” Maomao asked. No one answered. It seemed this was the first that most of them were learning of the former emperor’s secret hobby.

“I can’t be certain, but I can tell you that after he started coming to this room, he was always attended by the same man.” The response came from the lady-in-waiting who served the Empress Dowager.

“Would it be possible to summon him? Right away?” Maomao asked.

“I believe he still works here...” the woman said. Gaoshun asked her for the details and sent a subordinate to find the man.

Meanwhile, Maomao asked, “May I touch these brushes?”

“Go ahead,” the Empress Dowager replied, and Maomao picked up one of the brushes and touched the tip. The bristles were harder than she’d expected. She sniffed at them and discovered that same distinctive smell.

She noticed some small, semi-translucent shards on the floor, like hard candy. She stared at them intently. Then, there: a trail of discolorations on the floor as well. It looked like someone had tried desperately to wipe them away. She studied those, too, and began to think it looked like there were more of them closer to the wall.

She stared at the wall, then reached out and touched it.

Huh?!

She was taken aback to discover the wall was springier than she expected. Could there be some kind of thick paper pasted over it? It had been covered liberally with paint, perhaps in hopes of strengthening the surface. The reason it came across as so plain was because the wallpaper—which was often used to help maintain a consistent temperature in a room but also had a prominent decorative function—was unpatterned and had begun to curl with time.

Maomao stared at the wall. At the wallpaper.

Could it be...

She was beginning to think she knew what the former emperor’s curse really was. In fact, she was feeling pretty sure—but she was also feeling like it was leading her to another fact she would have happily ignored.

“I’ve brought him, sirs and ladies,” Gaoshun’s subordinate said, as he ushered into the room a hunched, elderly man, so old that he appeared to have one foot in the grave already. It seemed odd somehow that many years ago, a man like this had been entrusted to serve in the room of one of the most noble inhabitants of this palace.

“You’re...” The Empress Dowager looked at the old man, who half-closed his eyes and bowed slowly.

“There’s something we’d like to ask you,” Maomao began, but the Empress Dowager shook her head gently.

“This man was once a state slave,” she said, and Maomao promptly understood.

State slaves were, as the expression implied, servants owned by the government, under a system that had existed in this country until just a few years before. With enough work, state slaves could earn their freedom, so on some level it was closer to the system of contractual servitude under which the courtesans worked than to the popular conception of slavery as such. But even so, many of those under the system had suffered terrible treatment.

“He’s unable to speak,” Her Ladyship said.

Sometimes those who could not talk were chosen as servants—especially by nobles who lived their lives under the watchful eyes of those around them.

“There’s something we’d like to ask you,” Maomao repeated. The old man was hunched over, but he looked straight into Maomao’s eyes. “When you cleaned this room, were there any paints around?”

The man didn’t react to the question, only continued to stare at Maomao.

“We think something happened here.”

Still no reaction. Maybe he was indicating that he had no interest in the chatterings of a little girl.

No, Maomao thought, that’s not it. She thought he was hiding something. She could see the faint trembling of his wrinkled fingers, a shiver much like Jinshi’s earlier. She didn’t miss it when his eyes darted ever so briefly toward the wall. Is there something in the wall there? she wondered.

Maomao approached the wall once again. She felt over its surface, and as she did so, she noticed something.

“May I peel off this wallpaper?” she asked. It was the old man who reacted; he took a step forward, clearly somewhat in spite of himself. “May I?”

“If you believe it will help you understand, then go ahead,” the Empress Dowager said. She knew the place was only going to be demolished soon anyway.

The man turned hollow eyes on Maomao, as if begging her to stop.

Afraid I can’t. She had water and a brush prepared, then began to dampen the wallpaper. She took hold of a corner where it was already peeling and slowly began to pull it away. As she went, shock grew on the faces around her.

That would explain the springiness, Maomao thought. There was another piece of wallpaper under the one she had pulled back.

“What’s this?” Jinshi said, studying it closely. The newly exposed sheet of paper was in a terrible state from having had wallpaper put over it, but even so, it was clear it hadn’t been designed to adorn a wall.

It was a painting, discernible even despite its faded colors. In the center was what appeared to be an adult woman, surrounded by younger ladies. Even in its sorry state, there was something about the picture that tugged at the heartstrings. It wasn’t the materials the artist had used or even the technique he had employed: it seemed to hold a message within it.

It looks strangely familiar...

That was it: the picture she’d glimpsed the night before. Suiren had snatched it away from her before she got a good look at it, but the way the figure was drawn was very similar.

Maomao couldn’t have cared less what kind of person the former emperor had been. She was thinking only about how, by simple virtue of the fact that he stood at the zenith of his country’s hierarchy, he had died without the chance to exercise his true vocation. The paintings made it impossible to deny.

When Maomao had finished peeling away the wallpaper, she inspected the surface of the picture.

I knew it. She could see daubs of golden paint. It was a brilliant color, also much like something she’d seen the previous night: the stone in Jinshi’s toy box.

“This paint here—I suspect it was made by pulverizing a rock that has the toxic qualities of arsenic.”

There was a kind of stone known as orpiment, which could be crushed to produce a striking yellow pigment known as “orpiment gold.”

Paints were made by mixing the pigment source with liquid, and at first Maomao had thought perhaps His Former Majesty had been unwittingly exposed to some toxic substance used in the wallpaper. But when she learned that a young Jinshi had found an orpiment stone in the palace, and then when she had seen the strange shape of the brushes in this room, she’d begun to entertain a different possibility. Either way, the former emperor hadn’t suddenly ingested a large dose of the toxin; rather, his body had absorbed it gradually over time.

“Arsenic has a preservative effect. It prevents rotting.”

At the time of the sovereign’s death, his body had probably been full of the stuff. The doctors would have been aware of the possibility, but they wouldn’t have known exactly where it had come from. They didn’t have the authority to tell the emperor what he could and couldn’t do; they could only confirm it hadn’t been mixed into his food.

Painting pictures would be viewed as a base pastime for one who stood at the top of his nation’s hierarchy, at least by many. So this man, who was treated like an idiot already anyway, had chosen to hide his hobby, even taking on a mute slave to guard the room where he engaged in it.

Maomao let her hand brush the wall. There was still a certain springy quality even though they’d removed one layer of wallpaper. Most likely, each time the emperor had finished a picture, he’d pasted it in here under a layer of the stuff. There must be quite a few more works here.

Maomao still had a question, though, about the emperor’s painting supplies. The surface of the wallpaper was coated with glue or the like to help pigment adhere easily to it. That accounted for the clear shards she’d found earlier. Likely, he’d been dissolving them to make his paints. As for the brushes, as long as one had access to animal hair, one could make one’s own brushes, but what about the reams of paper and piles of stones—the ingredients for pigments—that would be necessary? They couldn’t be found just anywhere.

Maomao stood looking at the faded golden hue of the orpiment and thought. It seemed to her that everyone here would know who the subject of the painting was, this one adult woman. He’d hardly ever looked at a grown woman, even as a shadow at which he was unable to gaze for long loomed behind him.

The empress regnant must have known, Maomao thought. Must have realized that her own son wasn’t fit for the throne. That was why she’d consolidated power into her own hands and worked hard to protect him. To keep safe her child who had all but stumbled into leadership. It was how she had become known practically as an empress in her own right. How ironic it would be, then, if her last gift to her son had been this place and those painting supplies.

Maomao didn’t say any of this, but quietly left the room, glancing at the former slave to try to confirm what she was thinking. He, though, had his eyes closed, his head bowed as if in prayer. Perhaps he had been the one who received the supplies from the empress regnant and brought them to His Majesty—neither of them knowing that the gifts were poisonous.

The Empress Dowager, in contrast, was gazing up into the sky, as if putting a question to someone somewhere beyond the sapphire vault that arched above them. Maybe she had a sentimental streak that inspired the gesture. Maomao shook her head.

She bowed in deference. “I’ve told you all I can.”

○●○

Anshi slowly reached out toward the wall, still covered haphazardly with pieces of paper, a self-recriminating smile on her face. This palace woman, Maomao, had given her ample explanation and more. Indeed, perhaps she had led her to things that would have been better left unknown.

Anshi knew perfectly well who the woman was in the middle of the painting on the wall. Though her image was faded, her presence was undiminished.

Which one was she? Maybe she was one of the young women surrounding the central figure, but then again, she might not even be among their number. Maybe she’d been nothing more than transient for him, someone simply passing by. The thought made anger surge within her. She touched her belly, the scar she knew was there. It was this scar that had made her what she now was, mother to the country. People regarded Anshi as an object of pity, or occasionally of amusement. Some expressed sympathy for her, the poor little girl His Former Majesty had just happened to get pregnant.

It was true, he had impregnated a young woman. But Anshi had been aware of the ruler’s sexual proclivities in advance. Her father had been a civil official, and Anshi his illegitimate daughter. It so happened that she’d had her first period sooner than other girls her age—and that she had always looked younger than she was. Her father had simply seen a convenient tool and used it.

She closed her eyes and remembered the day.

One of her relatives had been a eunuch at the rear palace, well-versed in the emperor’s behavior. Once every several days he would visit the rear palace and make the rounds of the upper consorts. Sometimes he visited the middle consorts as well—but never did he stay the night. He might take a meandering walk through the gardens, but sooner rather than later, he would leave.

Anshi entered service as a lady-in-waiting to one of the middle consorts, an older half-sister of hers. The older woman knew nothing of Anshi’s father’s plans and spent all her time pining away, hoping His Majesty would come to her. And indeed he did, giving Anshi her chance rather sooner than she had expected. Guided by a eunuch, the sovereign came to see his newest middle consort. Even at her young age, Anshi could see he wasn’t very interested in the visit, although her half-sister, whose every thought was of attracting the emperor’s attention, appeared oblivious to the fact.

She didn’t remember how exactly it had started. Just that suddenly, the emperor was shoving her sister aside, causing her to tumble to the ground. He himself leaned against the wall, his face cast down.

The proper thing for a lady-in-waiting to do in such a situation would have been either to go to comfort her mistress, or else to apologize to the ruler for whatever impertinence had provoked him. But Anshi did neither. Instead she said, “Are you quite all right, sir?”

This might have been considered improper in its own right; indeed, the eunuchs around His Majesty told her forcefully not to touch him and pushed her away. She thought she might be punished along with her half-sister, but things turned out quite differently.

All her half-sister had tried to do was to touch the emperor, and only gently at that. She’d dreamed of the rear palace, and now she was there, and her sovereign was more beautiful than she had ever imagined. Raised to be a butterfly, to be a flower, Anshi’s half-sister had simply gotten carried away.

Anshi, though, had caught a glimpse of the emperor’s expression as he stared down at the ground. His willow-like eyebrows were knit together and tears poured from his eyes. It must have been his left arm her half-sister had touched, because he was rubbing it vigorously as if to get rid of the sensation. This was not the image of a man who stood at the top of his nation. It was a weakling terrified by a middle consort who could barely pull herself up off the floor.

And who should approach that timorous man but a heedless ten-year-old girl.

Time passed, and as Anshi ceased to look like a little girl, the emperor stopped making any effort to visit her. Perhaps she, too, had now become the object of his fear. Anshi’s half-sister had been driven mad by jealousy; she had ultimately been married off to get her out of the rear palace, and what became of her after that, Anshi never learned. She’d heard that years later, her half-sister had died of illness, but by then Anshi was already Empress Dowager and in mourning for her husband, so she was unable to attend the funeral.

She was hardly the last little girl to arrive at the rear palace with the task of drawing His Majesty’s interest; many came after her. The rear palace grew swiftly, and three new zones were added. The segment constructed when her husband had acceded to the throne was now the southern quarter.

Anshi found her life threatened many times. It was her good fortune that her child had been a boy, and that its grandmother, the empress regnant, had acknowledged it. Once, the emperor had refused to acknowledge a daughter born to one of his ladies, leading both the child and the medical officer thought to be its father to be banished. Until then, medical officials had been the only men exempt from castration while serving in the rear palace, but after that event it was declared that even doctors would have to be eunuchs. It pained Anshi to know that this was why the physician who had operated on her belly had had to be castrated.

When the emperor had been doing his paintings here, she supposed he’d been thinking only of his mother, the empress regnant, or otherwise of girls who wouldn’t challenge him. She had no place in such imaginings. The sovereign had become as terrified of her as he had been of her half-sister who had tried to touch him. Perhaps even more.

When her second child was born, there were those who thought it must be illegitimate, but Anshi only laughed. That could never be.

She’d never seen His Majesty so scared. He was nothing more than the empress regnant’s puppet, a pathetic man who was overwhelmed by adult women, able to engage only with little girls. To be forgotten by the likes of that—it was unbearable. The feelings had exploded when she’d seen the emperor pass her by completely to go be with his new favorite playmate.

Anshi had confronted him with the scar on her belly, tormented him as he begged for forgiveness. Yet to her it felt like nothing compared to what he’d inflicted on all those little girls. In bed she’d continued to whisper spiteful curses to him, as if to wound him more than he had all of those children put together. So that he would remember her, more than any of the girls he had hurt and was still hurting, more than his august mother the empress regnant.

What kind of picture had that been?

Just once, the emperor had painted Anshi. He’d looked so at peace as he worked away with his brush. Painting. His little secret. She’d cherished the painting, but had later told her lady-in-waiting to throw it away. Anshi had no more need for the former emperor. Just as he’d had no more need of her.

When she had realized her child might be in danger, she’d acted quickly and decisively. Let people say he was illegitimate, or a changeling; she loved him just the same.

It was then that she began to realize something she hadn’t understood clearly before. Anshi took a step back from the picture on the wall. Outside the room stood the lady-in-waiting who was always with her, turning her glance to one side and occasionally fidgeting.

There on the wall was a face so beautiful it could only be called superhuman. It resembled someone Anshi had once known, someone who had astonished even her with their beauty. But that person was gone, and the painting was from decades ago. There would be few left who could identify the image.

“I recall he came to visit us once, did he not?”

“Yes,” said Anshi. “How many years ago that was...”

With her was a man by the name of Jinshi. He was referring to something that had happened more than ten years ago. It must have been around the time the former emperor had begun to shut himself up in this building. He was already losing his grip on reality by then. Anshi didn’t wish to pursue the question of why.

The empress regnant had come quickly, she remembered, comforting her beloved son and taking him away.

“That was when I picked this up,” Jinshi said, showing her a golden stone he held in a handkerchief. “I’m given to understand it’s called orpiment.” She was impressed by his detachment. So the poison had been ravaging His Former Majesty even then. “Suiren finally gave it back to me just this morning.”

Precisely as Anshi had once instructed her, all those years ago: if he plays too much with one thing, take it away from him.

So that was what they had done, never understanding how cruel it really was. Each time the boy had looked up at her, seeking to judge her mood, she’d reflexively avoided his gaze. It was a terrible thing she had done. Perhaps that was what had caused him to grow up so fast, while a child’s heart still beat within him.

“I seem to remember having seen one of his drawings once. It depicted a young woman in delicate colors. Perhaps this color sparked a memory in me because of that picture.”

So Suiren had quietly kept the painting Anshi had told her to throw away.

“You always did like to wear yellow,” Jinshi continued.

It was only happenstance. Her family had produced a great deal of turmeric, and the clothing she’d worn had therefore naturally included much yellow. She’d simply never stopped wearing it.

Finally he asked, “Is the woman in that picture indeed the empress regnant?”

“I certainly don’t know.”

“What do you suppose he was trying to communicate at that moment?”

“I certainly don’t know.”

Nor was there any way to find out now. It was her choice to not even ask the question.

“I see you’ve found yourself quite an interesting palace woman,” Anshi said in an attempt to change the subject.

“Someone who’s quite useful.”

It was true; she could hear it in his voice—but she could also tell it wasn’t everything. She’d fought and survived on this battlefield far longer than he. How many years did he think she had been watching him?

“I see.” She half-closed her eyes, feeling she had to communicate this much at least: “But if you don’t take care to hide your favorites, someone might hide them from you.”

And with that, Anshi returned to her own room.