The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 3 - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Corpse Fungus (Part One)

Maomao was now teaching Xiaolan to read and write at the laundry area on an almost daily basis. Evidently Xiaolan wasn’t the only maid who wanted to improve her literacy, for more and more of the women could be seen taking peeks at the characters scratched in the dust and trying to imitate them. “More and more,” though, really only meant about five people, including Xiaolan; the rest were still perfectly happy to pass the time gossiping as they always had.

The unfortunate thing about Xiaolan’s studious turn was that Maomao heard fewer of the palace rumors. Thus, the first she learned of this particular tale was from the quack doctor.

“One of the palace women disappeared?”

“That’s what they say. A terrible turn of events,” the quack said, stroking his measly beard. Maomao sipped some nondescript tea as she listened. “Her term of service was nearly up, and she’d even saved a passable dowry, so she was supposed to get married and leave the rear palace. I wonder whatever could have happened to her.”

The rumor held that the woman had met a civil official at one of the garden parties the year before last and that they had been communicating by letter ever since. It was the old send-him-a-hair-stick routine. Capable women, even if they didn’t serve one of the upper consorts, might be permitted excursions outside the rear palace to help with specific tasks. For such a distinguished person to simply disappear was quite strange.

“Not to say that it never happens,” the quack mumbled. In those words, Maomao felt as if she might brush up against the darkness within the rear palace, and she didn’t like it. A garden with two thousand women must have its shadows. On occasion, women had even killed themselves because of trouble with colleagues in the palace, although Maomao had never personally known anyone who had done so. Other times, a woman’s “family” might find it congenial that she should leave palace service, and she would vanish with no warning and without so much as a word of farewell. There was a tacit understanding that such disappearances would not be investigated too closely. In this case, though, because the woman had been supposed to get married, strange speculations began swirling.

“Supposedly the girl was bought by the Matron of the Serving Women herself, though, so no one wanted to pry too much,” the doctor said as he bit into a rice cracker.

“Gracious,” Maomao replied. She just tried to carry on with her usual work. The story had nothing to do with her.

At least, she hadn’t thought so.

When Maomao got back to the Jade Pavilion, she found some very elegant nobles out in the courtyard, where some furniture had been moved to create a tea party that simply oozed high society. On one side of the table sat Gyokuyou. Her belly had swollen substantially by now, but she strategically used the surrounding shrubbery to de-emphasize the bulge when she could; she was also wearing clothing that hid the exact shape of her body. It would prevent people from knowing she was pregnant at a glance. Hongniang stood beside her lady, looking tense.

Gyokuyou staying inside forever was yet another thing that would raise suspicions, so she was letting herself be seen here. Even so, anyone who was going to figure it out would have done so long ago, Maomao thought. The question was whether “anyone” meant good or ill.

When she saw Maomao was back, Gyokuyou suggested moving inside. She stood, and Hongniang walked alongside her to conceal the consort’s profile. She knew just which angle her lady would be most obvious from.

Jinshi slipped a glance at Maomao.

Something must be up, she thought, and followed them into the pavilion’s reception area. “Pardon me very much,” she said as she entered. Consort Gyokuyou was looking at her with her usual fidgety excitement, while Hongniang could hardly conceal how tired she was. As for the one who had summoned Maomao, he was sitting in a chair coolly sipping some tea. Gaoshun stood beside him, looking indignant.

“You called?” Maomao looked back and forth between Gyokuyou and Jinshi.

“Yes. I believe he has some business with you.” Gyokuyou gestured at Jinshi with an open palm. This was how it always started.

“I do, and if you don’t mind, we’ll find somewhere for a quiet chat.”

“Oh, you needn’t trouble yourself. You can talk right here,” the red-haired consort said, clearly a bit peeved.

“I’m afraid we very much cannot. It wouldn’t do for me to stay here too long—and besides, the princess seems to be about ready for her nap.” A crying child could be heard from outside. It was almost time for Lingli’s afternoon nap, but before she went to sleep, she always had some of her mother’s milk. They would have to think about weaning her soon, but it would take some time yet.

Gyokuyou adopted an almost girlish expression. The consort was pregnant with her second child, but she was still a young woman, just twenty years old. The exotic blood in her veins gave her a rather adult appearance, enhanced by her no-nonsense personality; together, they could make her seem quite old and experienced—but she was still bursting with youthful curiosity.

“Lady Gyokuyou, may I suggest you give in here.” Hongniang, ever prepared to make sure work was getting done, opened the door of the room. Guiyuan was outside, holding the child and looking distinctly awkward. Hongniang took Lingli and held her out to Gyokuyou. The princess reached for the consort’s collar.

Gyokuyou’s face was still stormy, but she could hardly leave her dear, sweet child to starve, and she finally allowed Maomao and Jinshi to show themselves out of the room.

The two of them left the Jade Pavilion and worked their way, as so often, to the office of the Matron of the Serving Women.

The man needs his own damn room! Maomao thought. She had an idea: maybe they could renovate the spare storeroom in the medical office. Then the quack doctor would naturally feel obliged to bring them tea when they visited, at least. Maomao could relax, and the Matron could stop being constantly interrupted. It was effectively three birds with one stone.

The Matron’s room was large but unadorned, without much to hold the interest, and since they had chased everyone else out, there was no one to bring them tea either.

At Gaoshun’s urging, Maomao seated herself in one of the simple chairs. “What is it you need, sir?” she asked.

“I think you know that His Majesty has lately been distributing fiction novels to the consorts.”

Jinshi was simply assuming she knew about them. Which, of course, she did, so she nodded. “Yes, sir. My understanding is that after the consorts have read them, they’re to allow their ladies-in-waiting to read them, and then the ladies below those. Some copies are making the rounds as well. It’s even inspired some women to learn to read.”

Jinshi smiled a bit at that. Maomao could see she’d been right; he had planned this all along.

Gaoshun passed Jinshi a scroll, which he unrolled on the table.

“What’s this?” Maomao asked.

“My goal, although we’re still in the early stages. In the long run, this is what I’d like to create.” The scroll showed a plan of the rear palace. In the open space that was currently the plaza, however, there were several buildings. “In the marketplace, I believe what I have in mind might be called an institute of practical studies.”

In other words, a school.

Maomao’s eyes widened in appreciation. She’d suspected he was probably already thinking along such lines, but she was impressed at how quickly he moved. Although she often regarded Jinshi as if observing a bug or some filth, today she looked at him as if she were looking at a horse. It was a sign of how much she liked the idea, but for some reason Jinshi and Gaoshun both recoiled.

“Is something the matter, sirs?”

“No, it just...doesn’t quite feel right,” Jinshi said.

Even Gaoshun had something to say. “Yes, what happened to your normal expression? Are you feeling unwell?”

Maomao allowed her eyelids to droop so that she looked rather more skeptical; Jinshi let out a relieved breath and sat forward again. Why did he look so...satisfied? Was the eunuch actually a secret masochist?

“What do you think?” he asked, now that he had composed himself.

Maomao rubbed her chin thoughtfully. It wasn’t a bad idea. In fact, it was a pretty good one. First, they distribute novels throughout the rear palace via the Emperor to gauge the reaction. They’d been able to get the young ladies’ attention, and she could see the idea was more than just an impulse.

“I think it’s excellent. There are some people here who genuinely want to learn, and even more importantly, it will do them some good after their term of service ends.”

“Yes, certainly,” Jinshi said, starting to smile. The expression might have caused some swooning if he hadn’t chased everyone out already.

One thing bothered Maomao, though. She stared intently at the scroll.

“What is it?” Jinshi asked anxiously.

Maomao pointed to something on the plans. The current projected site for the “institute” was in the southern quarter of the rear palace, the plaza just near the main gate. It was more than large enough, and it would be easy to transport materials there, certainly an advantage. The Emperor would have to put up with it during construction, but since it was his idea, maybe that wasn’t such an issue.

Not everyone, though, was willing to accept new things. Maomao looked hard at Jinshi. He nodded, silently giving her permission to speak her mind, so she said, “The southern quarter is where one finds the upper and middle consorts. Many, even if perhaps not all, of them are ladies of great pride.”

With the building in its planned position, not only the Emperor but all the consorts would be constantly exposed to the sight of base illiterates gathering to receive their education. Surely not everyone would take kindly to that.

Jinshi was quiet. As one of the eunuchs of the rear palace, he knew the place well. He would understand what Maomao was driving at. The consorts would all put on brave faces, but some might secretly begin campaigns of harassment. The consorts themselves might not deign to get their hands dirty, but they could employ their ladies-in-waiting or the maids to do things. They wouldn’t target the building itself, either, but the other palace women who started going there.

“I think the northern quarter might be preferable,” Jinshi declared. The north was the most isolated part of the rear palace. Very few consorts went there on purpose.

“Yes, sir. And I daresay there’s no need to build an entirely new facility there. You could simply renovate one of the many abandoned structures already available.” Frankly, Maomao thought, it would be a waste of resources to build something new. No matter how much pull Jinshi might have, he could be expected to smash the lovely nose off his face if it would save money.

Maomao wasn’t done offering ideas, though. “One other thing, sir,” she said. “I might suggest that rather than openly building the place as a school, it be presented as professional training for those who aspire to better positions. A school is seen as all about studying. You have to lure them in by making it clear that going there will help them eat.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes; farmers’ children are constantly aware of the dangers of hunger. And speaking of eating, perhaps you could offer a snack during the breaks sometimes.”

“Daily snacks, excellent idea,” Jinshi said, nodding.

“No, sir, only sometimes. You mustn’t feed them every day.”

“Why not?”

If snacks were offered on a daily basis, some people would come only when they wanted to eat. Make the snacks unpredictable—take away the guarantee that one would be able to eat at these classes—and people would come every day to make sure they didn’t miss a meal.

“You really think so?”

“What gambler was ever hooked on a game where they won every time?”

Jinshi didn’t respond. His overall idea was a good one, but she could see touches of naivete that came from his fine upbringing. He seemed to recognize the same thing—that was why he was here asking for her opinion.

“These are only my subjective observations; you might want to ask others for their thoughts as well,” she said. She wasn’t out of observations, but she decided she’d said enough. She couldn’t have them simply going along with whatever she said and thought.

She wasn’t sure it had been necessary to leave the Jade Pavilion to have this conversation. She glanced at Jinshi, wondering if she was free to leave yet, but then Gaoshun produced more papers still.

“There’s something else,” Jinshi said. “Are you knowledgeable about mushrooms?”

Maomao frowned, wondering what this was about. “I’ve always gone into the mountains to find them a few times each year, as they’re important for both cooking and making medicines.” There were plenty of poisonous mushrooms out there, but there were also no small number that could be turned into valuable remedies. “Are they of interest to you?” Maomao forced herself to hold back the grin that threatened to spread across her face.

“A few palace women get food poisoning every year around this time. We warn them, but there’s always somebody who ignores us.”

“Some appetites are simply bigger than others,” Maomao said. No one was going to starve in the rear palace, but there were some who found the meals provided to be insufficient. The only ones who could expect a snack during the day were the attendants of the consorts, or else those with whom someone deigned to share a treat.

“Why, last year, someone even supposedly had some mushrooms in the medical office with the doctor himself.”

Maomao didn’t say anything to that.

“And fruit seems to go missing from the orchards on a startlingly regular basis.”

Or that. Privately, she wanted to object that those mushrooms hadn’t been poisonous, but in fact quite delicious. As for the fruit, she’d just helped to make space so the remaining fruit could ripen better. At least, that was her excuse.

“Thus, what I want is to preempt any wayward palace women. I want to get rid of the mushrooms before anyone can accidentally eat them. As we do so, I want you to tell me exactly what kind of poison each one contains. You’ll be exempt from your duties at the Jade Pavilion, except for food tasting.”

Hmm... Maomao nodded, but she was thinking this was all a little strange. So far, they hadn’t said anything that couldn’t have been discussed in front of Consort Gyokuyou. If anything, it would have been convenient for her to get the full story about the mushroom inspections. There’s still something he’s not telling me, Maomao thought, but she wasn’t so oblivious as to say it out loud. In fact, she was perfectly happy with Jinshi’s request. The job would be nothing if not interesting.

She said only, “Very well, sir,” the smallest of smiles on her lips.

There were plenty of places mushrooms might grow in the rear palace. It was often called a garden of women, but plenty of actual plants grew there too, including plots of carefully tended flowers and trees, fruit orchards, and pine groves. The humidity of the warm season would soon mean mushrooms everywhere.

One of the trickiest things about mushrooms was that edible and poisonous ones often looked much alike. Oyster mushrooms and moonlight mushrooms, for example, were easily confused, and there had been cases of food poisoning in the pleasure district when customers had unintentionally given the wrong one as a gift.

Some places were more congenial to mushrooms than others. Oyster mushrooms would grow virtually anywhere, but moonlight mushrooms were more common in the mountains. Maomao doubted they would find any of those in the rear palace.

If they were going to conduct a mushroom hunt, Maomao figured they could ignore places frequented by the gardeners. That included anywhere the Emperor was apt to come for flower viewing. Most such places were in the southern quarter, which was where the upper and middle consorts had their residences, and was thus packed with proud ladies. Those areas would be kept free of mushrooms.

So, where should we start? Maomao thought, looking at the plans Jinshi had provided, her feet barely touching the ground.

“W-Welcome back,” Yinghua said, sounding a bit unsure of herself.

“Thanks, good to be back.”

“Hey! You can’t go in there like that!” Yinghua said, brushing Maomao’s head and clothes gently. She had leaves in her hair and twigs stuck in her robes. Must have been that tree she’d climbed. “I don’t know what they’ve got you doing out there, but I wish you’d stop coming back such a wreck.”

“Such a wreck,” Maomao thought. Yinghua certainly told it like it was. Maomao nodded, though; she had to respect that they were trying to keep things sanitary given that there was a small child and a pregnant woman around. She went for a quick change of clothes and dusted herself off.

It had been a very fulfilling day for Maomao. She’d gathered an entire basket full of mushrooms, including quite a few medicinal ones. She’d told the quack they were poisonous; she figured that would keep even him from eating them. Granted, he’d hardly looked able to restrain himself even so—but she would just have to trust him. Maomao (the cat) proved wiser than the quack; she hadn’t even spared the mushrooms a glance. Having found a bounty of unusual fungus, though, Maomao (the human) was feeling quite satisfied.

“Maomao, you kind of, uh, smell. Like...something,” Yinghua said.

“Do I?”

Now that she thought about it, her nose had stung a bit when she was out collecting mushrooms. Maybe it was from all the running around. Or maybe it was from that place Shisui had told her about. There had been lots of mushrooms there. The overflowing waste water seemed to make good fertilizer.

“Lady Gyokuyou will be having dinner. Once you’re changed, will you be able to—?”

Ah, yes: the day wasn’t over yet, Maomao realized. It seemed a little earlier than usual for dinner, but it wouldn’t do for the food taster to be late. “I’ll be right there,” she said, and shuffled quickly back to her room.

When she arrived at Consort Gyokuyou’s quarters, the woman was tying a black string around her wrist. That was typical practice in the rear palace when someone of noble status had passed on, but this string was less elaborate than the ones that had been used when the crown prince had died. Gyokuyou was dressed as she always was; instead, it was Hongniang who wore plainer clothes than usual.

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little early,” Consort Gyokuyou said.

“It’s quite all right, milady.”

Hongniang must have seen the implicit question on Maomao’s face, because she said, “I have to go out after dinner today. I’m sorry, but I’ll need you to come with me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She understood perfectly well why Hongniang was dressed so somberly. Hongniang gave Maomao a black band as well. They were on their way to a funeral, she surmised. Such things were ordinarily considered unfit for the rear palace, in which the Son of Heaven might be born, but they simply called it something else and did it anyway. From the fact that Hongniang was attending in Gyokuyou’s place, Maomao suspected it was one of the middle- or lower-ranked consorts who had died.

“You can wear the clothes you have on, but take off that hair tie,” Hongniang instructed. Maomao nodded and took the first dish to taste it for poison.

Hongniang brought Maomao to a ritual site in the northern quarter. In a country that loved ceremonies and observances as much as this one, even the rear palace had a small place to host them. This one normally went unadorned, but the eunuchs had clearly exerted themselves to get it ready for this funeral in short order.

About once a year, Gyokuyou was expected to serve as the officiant at a ritual, but so far the role hadn’t come to her during Maomao’s time in her service. Such offices were usually the province of men, but in the special circumstances of the rear palace, women could take the job. The duty passed from one upper consort to the next in sequence.

The funeral attendees formed two lines in front of the altar, where they were offering flowers passed out by women who appeared to be ladies-in-waiting to the late consort. Maomao stood behind Hongniang and accepted a flower from one of the ladies. It didn’t smell the way such blossoms normally did, though. Perhaps another unique facet of the rear palace?

Hm? Maomao noticed that the hand of the woman who had given her the flower was red. Is that a rash? The hand was noticeably swollen. Maomao glanced at her own left arm—one of the scars there resembled the woman’s swelling.

These thoughts were still running through Maomao’s head as she approached the altar to offer her flower. There was a large coffin draped in a white cloth. Maybe she would be moved later; through the cloth, Maomao could just make out a human silhouette inside.

According to Hongniang, the deceased consort was the daughter of a high official, a woman of notable status among the middle consorts—but Maomao guessed from Hongniang’s tone that the woman hadn’t been very likable. About a year before, her health had started to fail. She’d shut herself up in her room, but hadn’t gone back to her family home. The Emperor never visited her. “She could certainly have gone home if she’d wanted to,” Hongniang had remarked with an acerbic touch in her voice. Then, just when the consort was weakest, the weather had turned warm and she’d gotten a bout of food poisoning.

It was unusual for the normally disciplined Hongniang to tear into a dead person like that. When the two of them had gotten out of the flower line, Maomao said quietly, “Did she do something?”

It was an offhanded question; she didn’t necessarily expect Hongniang to tell her. It was more than a lady-in-waiting needed to know.

To her surprise, though, Hongniang whispered back, “You remember someone once attempted to poison Lady Gyokuyou? They never found the culprit, but...” Hongniang glanced toward the coffin.

Now it made sense. Hongniang was intensely loyal; of course she would resent anyone she suspected of trying to harm her mistress. She might even be secretly relieved the woman was dead.

Wait... An idea formed in Maomao’s mind. This middle consort, dead of food poisoning, had made an attempt on Gyokuyou’s life. The very Gyokuyou who was presently pregnant, and thus more cautious than usual around the other consorts and palace women. Then there was Jinshi’s request the day before that Maomao find all the poisonous mushrooms. He’d taken such care that Gyokuyou and the others not know what he’d asked.

Removing any sentiment for the residents of the Jade Pavilion from the equation, it was impossible to say for certain that Gyokuyou hadn’t poisoned the middle consort before the dead woman could do the same to her. Food poisoning was the official word, but if the cause had been a mushroom, then everything would fit together. Maomao could easily imagine what would happen if the other women of the Jade Pavilion knew what Jinshi was thinking. Even the gorgeous eunuch could expect his reception there to change if they found out. Maomao sometimes thought Jinshi was perhaps a little too much Gyokuyou’s personal ally, but in this matter, at least, he was being scrupulously fair.

Doubt Consort Gyokuyou had anything to do with it. She might not have been fond of the other consort, but there were any number of ways to break an opponent’s spirit and ensure it didn’t come back. Trying to poison someone just in case they attempted to poison you (again) seemed a great deal of trouble. There was always the possibility of being found out. Nor did Hongniang or the three other girls of the Jade Pavilion seem like the kinds to resort to such underhanded methods.

No, in any attempted poisoning, the prime suspect at the Jade Pavilion would be Maomao.

Huh! If Jinshi’s aim with the matter of the mushrooms had been to gauge Maomao’s reaction, she wasn’t upset. She was even a little impressed. Maomao hadn’t done anything to get her hands dirty, of course. I wonder what kind of food poisoning the woman did die of.

Maomao would be very pleased to find out, but she sighed, knowing it would be difficult. She was just about to follow Hongniang back to the Jade Pavilion when there was a stupendous crash. She turned and saw that a woman with her face wrapped in bandages had upset the altar. The offering rice and wine were scattered on the ground.

Puffy red skin could be seen peeking out from under the woman’s bandages. Her outfit was plain, but it was of fine material, not like the uniforms the maids wore. She was no simple palace woman, nor a lady-in-waiting either, Maomao suspected.

“Stop that!” cried a palace woman as she grabbed the interloper, but the other woman shook her off and stood in front of the coffin, where she ripped off the white cloth that covered it. The assembled women gasped, cried out, and scattered. Even the strong-stomached Hongniang gave a yelp.

A woman lay there, dressed in white. The skin of her face was red and swollen, and half the hair on her head had fallen out. She looked almost as if she’d been fried in oil—hardly what one would call a blossoming flower of the rear palace.

The intruder grinned through her bandages. “Ha ha ha ha! You see now? You reap what you sow!” she cried, even as a group of eunuchs arrived to restrain her. “You’re more hideous than I ever was!” Her laughter filled the twilight.

Maomao studied them both, the dead body and what she could see of the other woman’s face through her bandages. The wounds, almost like burns, looked familiar to her.