The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 5 - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Locusts

Morning was a lazy time in the pleasure district. These caged birds had been singing till dawn, and when the customers finally went home, the obsequious masks came off. For the brief time until the sun was high in the sky, they would sleep like logs.

Maomao left her little shack, yawning. In front of her, she could see steam rising from the Verdigris House—the menservants working hard to ready the morning baths, most likely. The chilly air prickled her skin—the sun was late in rising. Her simple cotton overgarment wasn’t enough to keep her warm, and she rubbed her hands together, her breath fogging in front of her.

It had been a month since she’d left the rear palace, and the new year’s celebrations had subsided. Her old man had stayed at the palace, hence why Maomao was here in the pleasure quarter.

Back in the shack, there was still a child sleeping—and Maomao resolved to leave him that way, knowing it was the only part of the day when he would be quiet. The boy’s name was Chou-u; he was a survivor of the otherwise exterminated Shi clan, and currently he was living with Maomao. (Long story.) The little shit supposedly came from a decent background, but Maomao almost found herself wondering whether he was really a son of luxury. He was astonishingly adaptable, to the extent that he could lie there, snoring away, in that drafty old hovel.

Oh yeah, Grams wanted to see me, Maomao thought. She could get some hot water from the Verdigris House while she was at it. In weather like this, you couldn’t go bathing in cold water. Shivering, Maomao stopped in front of the well and lowered the bucket, then started hauling it up again.

When she arrived at the Verdigris House, the courtesans had finished their baths and were having the apprentices dry their hair.

“Well, you’re early today,” said Meimei, her hair still glistening wet. She was one of the establishment’s “Three Princesses,” and also effectively Maomao’s older sister. The most prominent courtesans bathed first, so she was done already.

“Oh, hey, Sis. Do you know where Grams is?”

“The old lady’s talking with the owner over there.”

“Thanks.”

It was the elderly madam who ran the day-to-day affairs of the Verdigris House, but she didn’t own the place. The man who did stopped by about once a month to confer with the madam about the brothel, the courtesans, and anything else that might be on his mind. The owner was a man just entering old age, and he was totally overawed by the madam, who had known him since he was young. In fact, a few gossips whispered that he was the child of the madam and the last owner, but nobody knew the truth.

Running a brothel wasn’t the man’s only concern; he had other, more legitimate businesses as well, and at first glance he looked perfectly ordinary. He was such a soft touch that one wondered if he was really safe being a part of this world—and one worried for the brothel’s affairs if the old madam should ever leave them.

“He’s not here with another of his bizarre business ideas, is he?”

“Who can say?” Meimei shrugged expansively.

At that exact moment, the madam’s voice boomed around the building: “You idiot! You complete, total, utter fool! What do you think you’re doing?!”

The sisters looked at each other. “Guess you were right,” Meimei said.

“Guess so.”

What was the man up to this time?

A few minutes later, the madam emerged from an inner room. The nearly elderly man, looking thoroughly cowed, followed her. Everyone called him Mr. Owner. It was the only way to remember who actually did own the place. Considering the way Mr. Owner was rubbing his head, it looked like he’d gotten a good rap from the madam’s knuckles.

“Oh, Maomao, you’re here,” the madam said.

“Yeah, Grams, I am. You asked me to come, remember?”

“Yes, of course.”

Dammit, she forgot. Maomao was sure she had only said the words to herself, yet the next instant, she felt knuckles smacking into the top of her head. Sometimes she wondered if the old lady wasn’t actually a mountain spirit who could read minds. Mr. Owner gave Maomao a look of sympathy. He kind of reminds me of the quack...

If she was having a little déjà vu, maybe it was because the two men actually looked somewhat similar.

“I know that look. You want to take a bath. And have breakfast too, I suppose? Bring the kid with you.”

“Someone’s in a good mood.”

“I do have my days,” the old woman said, then all but strutted over toward the kitchen.

“I’ll, uh, show myself out, then,” Mr. Owner said, and promptly did just that. Too bad, Maomao thought, watching him go. He usually stays for breakfast.

No one said a word. Everyone in the dining area was struck dumb.

Finally Pairin, sitting beside Maomao, announced: “Awful.” Her face was a scowl of disgust. She was considered one of the three most lovely flowers to bloom at the Verdigris House, but if any of her callers had seen her with that look on her face, all their fantasies would have been dashed.

As for Maomao, she looked like she’d found a maggot in her drinking water.

The table was long enough to seat about twenty people, and everyone had a bowl full of congee, another of soup, and a third small bowl, while three large trays were placed at intervals along the table. At the Verdigris House, meals usually consisted of a single bowl of soup, and maybe, if you were lucky, a modest side dish. Today the small bowls contained raw fish and pickled vegetables, while two of the trays had separate side dishes in them—a very generous breakfast by normal standards.

Something dark glinted on the trays. Bugs normally treated as pests in farmers’ fields were here being served as food. Locusts.

“Grams, can you explain this?”

“Shut up and eat. It’s a gift from Mr. Owner.”

Maomao could well understand why the old lady was upset. Mr. Owner had other business concerns besides running this brothel—legitimate businesses that allowed him to hold his head high in polite company. But he could hardly be called a talented businessman.

“The harvest was bad this year. I guess they wept until he gave in.” The madam angrily poured some black vinegar on her congee.

Mr. Owner dealt in crops. Farmers in this nation gave part of their harvest as tax, and the state purchased another part of the yield. Mr. Owner’s business involved trading in what was left.

“I don’t care if they cried their eyes out. What was he thinking, letting the seller dictate the price? He won’t be able to sell this stuff either. And look at it all!” A mountain of fried locusts towered on the tray, seasoned as best as could be managed with soy paste and sugar. “He said he’d bought too much, that they wouldn’t keep and would go to waste. Then he ought to just throw it out, instead of using sugar on it!”

Sugar was expensive! And here he’d cooked bugs in it. Who was going to eat that? No one, that’s who. That’s why he had so many left over—and how they had made their way to the Verdigris House’s table.

Mr. Owner had considered eating the costs himself, so to speak, but he had another concern: he had a wife who didn’t think highly of the Verdigris ladies’ profession, and he had evidently chosen the madam’s knuckle over his wife’s rage.

Maomao scratched the back of her neck. She was used to less-than-refined food, but even she wasn’t eager when confronted with this mountain of insects. After two or three of them, she would be ready to declare herself full. And the courtesans, far less accustomed to such base fare, frowned openly and refused to even touch the bugs.

“Hurry up and eat! You won’t shut up about wanting side dishes; well, here you go. Five each—eat up,” the old woman growled. Everyone looked at each other, and finally the first pair of chopsticks reached out toward the large dish.

Well, now. Maomao was surprised by the first person who put one of the locusts into their mouth. As they chewed on the bug, though, an unmistakable look of revulsion came over their face. “It’s not very good. It’s kind of...crunchy. Like it’s empty.”

This unvarnished assessment was given in a high-pitched voice—for it belonged to Chou-u. Maomao had been sure that the young lordling with his pampered upbringing would have resisted the idea of ever putting such food in his mouth, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Maybe the loss of his memories had taken any aristocratic inhibitions with it, or maybe he’d actually eaten something like this before. Or perhaps it was simply a child’s adaptability at work.

“Wow, I’m amazed you can stomach that,” said Pairin, who was sitting beside Maomao.

“It’s not great, but it’s not like you can’t eat it. It is super crunchy, though.”

Crunchy? That made some sense: you removed the innards of locusts before cooking them, so they were hollow on the inside. Hence Maomao really thought nothing of it as she reached for a locust and unenthusiastically took a bite.

Hrk?!

Yes, it was crunchy, all right. It seemed far more hollow on the inside than the locusts she’d had before, even though this one had been simmered. Maybe it was because the carapace was the only thing in her mouth, an outer layer even emptier than your average locust preparation.

Chou-u was busy bargaining with Pairin: “You want me to eat yours? I’ll help you out if you give me a mooncake.” Maomao got a firm grip on his head and shoved him down in his seat. “Ow! Owowowow!” Chou-u yelped.

Maomao took one of the locusts in her chopsticks and glowered at it. It was her bad habit: once something had gotten her interest, she simply couldn’t let it go.

“I want you to do a little shopping for me.”

After breakfast was over, the madam finally remembered why she’d summoned Maomao in the first place. She wanted to send her on an errand to the market that occupied the city’s central thoroughfare.

The courtesans weren’t allowed to leave the brothel, but the menfolk around here were too dense to trust with the shopping. There were a lot of strange and unusual products available at the market, but there were also a lot of con artists looking to rip you off. The market was a cheap place to sell things because one didn’t need to maintain a storefront, but by the same token, there was nothing to identify the bad actors and places to stay away from. You had to have your wits about you to find worthwhile purchases.

“I want you to get some incense. The usual stuff,” the old woman said. She meant the mild incense that was always burning in the entryway of the Verdigris House. It was a consumable, so she wanted to get it as cheaply as possible, but she couldn’t be burning low-quality stuff at the door to her establishment either.

“Yeah, sure. What’s it worth to you?” Maomao stuck out her hand, but the madam only smacked it away.

“Breakfast and bathwater for two people. Sound fair?”

Damn stingy old hag, Maomao thought, but she went.

“Heeey, Freckles! Buy me one of those!”

“Absolutely not.”

Chou-u was pointing to a stall full of toys as Maomao hauled him away, pulling him by the sleeve. She’d fully intended to do the shopping alone, but the little shit had thrown himself on the ground and begged and tantrumed until, in the end, she’d had to take him. Now she was walking through the market, dragging him along.

A single huge street cut through the center of the capital; carriages ran back and forth along it, and at the far end was the home of those who lived “above the clouds,” the palace. Every day, the street hosted a thriving market. To see the palace from here sometimes made Maomao feel as if she’d only dreamed that she had ever worked there. But the very fact that Chou-u was with her now was proof that she had lived within its walls—for that was why she’d found herself embroiled in the chain of events that had brought him to her.

The Shi clan rebellion had impacted the market as well, to a point. The northern regions produced grain crops and timber products, and Maomao couldn’t shake the sense that fewer places than usual were selling such things. Instead, she saw a lot of the dried fruits and textiles that came from the south and west.

There was something else too—something that brought a scowl to Maomao’s face when she saw it: simmered insects for sale. Locusts again.

“I guarantee that stuff sucks! Who would actually buy it?” Chou-u said, causing Maomao to slap her hand over his mouth and drag him away, the stall owner glaring fearsomely at them as they went. “What’d I do?” Chou-u demanded. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Just shut up,” Maomao said, looking at him almost as grimly as the shopkeeper had. This, she thought, was why she hated children.

“Hollow shells like that are never going to be good.” Then Chou-u said, more quietly, “Man, so much for the harvest this year.”

Maomao blinked. “Wait... What did you say?”

“Uh, that that stuff’s gonna suck?”

“No, no, after that.”

Chou-u looked at her curiously. “That the harvest is toast this year?”

“Yes! How do you know that?”

“Um... Uh... How do I know that?” Chou-u scratched his head with his right hand; his left hung limply at his side, spasming occasionally. For Chou-u had died once and come back to life, and it had left him partially paralyzed and without most of his memories. “I don’t remember. I just remember hearing that when the bugs are crunchy, it means the harvest will be bad.”

He held his head, hmming thoughtfully. Maomao wondered if a good shake might bring something back, but he was technically on loan to her, so she didn’t want to be too rough with him. If what Chou-u was saying was true, though, it could be a serious matter. She smacked him on the forehead, just hard enough to keep him from getting any stupider. He puffed out his cheeks in protest.

“You know, I think I might be able to remember,” he said.

“Really?” Maomao asked, and Chou-u quickly looked around at the nearby shops.

“Yeah! If you buy me something, I’ll remember!” he said, looking perfectly satisfied with himself.

Maomao didn’t say anything, but pulled the corners of Chou-u’s mouth as far apart as they would go. In the dumb gap in his front teeth, a new tooth could just be seen coming in.

Once a little shit, always a little shit, Maomao thought. Remember, my ass.

Chou-u was drawing happily despite the lump on his head. To Maomao’s surprise he had wanted not some sort of toy, but paper and a brush. She’d agreed to let him use one of her brushes, but the paper had ended up being surprisingly expensive. Maybe something of his decent upbringing remained with him, because he could tell the difference between low-grade paper and the fancy stuff. He’d gone around the shop, mumbling, “This is no good,” and, “That’s no good,” until he found the most expensive paper on display.

Of course, Maomao wasn’t about to let him boss her around like that, and instead picked something which, although not as nice, was perfectly usable. Paper was expensive for a consumable, but not impossibly so. She hoped that as it became more common, it would also get cheaper. Chou-u looked so happy clutching his sheaf of paper that she decided to forgive him with just a single knuckle to the head.

Chou-u had been drawing busily since they’d gotten back to the Verdigris House. He was in the shop with Maomao, where she was busy making the abortifacients and cold medicines she’d been asked for. She’d been told to keep him close so he wouldn’t cause trouble for the apprentices (some of whom were about his age) or the courtesans.

When she came back from delivering the medicines to a nearby brothel, she discovered a crowd at the entrance to the Verdigris House. Courtesans, apprentices, and even some of the menservants were there.

What’s going on? she wondered, squinting to see better—whereupon she discovered that the crowd had formed around her obnoxious brat. Wondering what he had done this time, she hurried over to him, the crowd parting until she was standing in front of the little shit. She discovered a piece of white paper with lines dancing across it.

“Don’t cut, Freckles. You have to wait in line like everyone else.”

“What are you doing?”

Chou-u was sitting with a flat board in lieu of a table, drawing a picture. In front of him, a courtesan sat in a chair, looking as calm and composed as she could.

“Can’t you tell? I’m drawing a picture.” The brush ran fluidly over the page, producing something resembling the woman in the chair, if more beautiful. “There! All done.” Chou-u left the brush in the pot of ink and gave the paper a few good shakes. The face of his “model” broke into a smile and she said, “Well, now!” as she pulled out her wallet and gave him five coins—and not small ones.

“Pleasure doing business,” Chou-u said, tucking the money into the folds of his robe. The sum was considerably more than some kid’s pocket change.

“Ooh, I’m next,” one of the menservants said, sitting in the chair. Wasn’t he supposed to be on guard duty or something? What was he doing playing around here? If the madam saw him, he’d be in for it.

“Aw, sorry, mister. I’m all out of paper. I’m gonna go buy some more right now, though, so stop by tomorrow, okay?”

“Bullshit! I’ve been waiting all day!”

“Really sorry, sir. I’ll do you first thing tomorrow. I’ll make you look extra manly!”

He was pretty good at this. Chou-u slipped away from the crowd and started hurrying toward the paper shop. Maomao recalled buying him a sheaf of ten sheets—and it was already gone? At least three of the people standing around appeared to be holding portraits; at his prices, that would already be enough to recoup the investment in materials.

Who knew he had a talent like that? Maomao thought, scratching the back of her neck and stealing a peek at the page a nearby courtesan was holding.

“You louts! What’re you doing?!” The sound of the madam’s raspy voice was enough to banish the burble of friendly chatter and turn all the faces pale. “Hurry and start getting the place ready! You want the customers to run away?”

There was the madam, brandishing a broom. The courtesans and apprentices and menservants scattered like baby spiders. Maomao was about to make tracks for her own place when she was grabbed by a skeletal hand.

“What is it, Grams?”

“You know damn well what it is! It’s that kid! You might have agreed to take him in and you might be getting a stipend to support him, but you can’t just let him do whatever he wants!”

“You’re the one getting all the money, Grams.”

Yes, for some reason it was the old lady who kept all the funds that came in. It had something to do with the fact that Chou-u was, to an extent, given free rein of the Verdigris House. But a man—even a child—couldn’t be allowed to actually live in the brothel, yet neither could he be housed in the menservants’ longhouse. By process of elimination, he was put up in Maomao’s shack.

“He’s using my facilities. He owes me a cut of the profits. I’ll let it go at ten percent.”

Greedy old hag.

Maomao didn’t think she’d said the words out loud, yet mysteriously, she found a knuckle cracking down on her head.

“You, clean up that brush and inkpot.”

“Why me?”

“Don’t question me. Just do it. Or it’s locust soup tomorrow.”

Hag! Maomao thought, but she sullenly began to clean up, pressing one hand to her head all the while.

When Chou-u got back to their shack that evening, Maomao looked at him in a way that showed she was not pleased.

“Freckles, where’s my brush?”

“No brushes for boys who don’t clean up after themselves.” Maomao pointedly turned her back on him and put some wood in the cookstove.

“Don’t be stingy with me!”

“If I’m stingy, I learned it from the madam.” Maomao stirred the congee in the clay pot on the stove, tasting a sip of it. She concluded it was a little bland and added some salt. “Who, by the way, says she’s going to charge you for using her place.”

“I know! I’m gonna do my portraits somewhere else from now on.”

That caused Maomao to frown. She perched the ladle in the soup pot, then went over and stood in front of Chou-u, who was lounging on the rush mat on the floor. She crouched down and looked at him.

“What?!”

“You stay close to the Verdigris House. I don’t care if she charges you for it. You’re not to get too far away from the guards. And no more going by yourself to buy paper.”

“Hey, I can do what I want.” He tried to look pointedly away from her, but Maomao grabbed his head and forced him to look in her eyes.

“Yes, you can do what you want. If you don’t mind ending up as a lump of meat.”

“Lump of meat?” Chou-u looked at her.

She wasn’t joking. The Verdigris House was boisterous and friendly, but this was still the pleasure district, and the seamy underbelly of the capital was always near at hand. Maomao pointed out the window of the shack. “You’ll end up with the likes of her.”

The light of a lantern could be seen almost floating through the evening darkness. It was held by a woman, who was hooded and carrying a rush mat. She looked ordinary—at first. But then Chou-u caught his breath and stood abruptly. He must have noticed that this night-walker had no nose. She had no proper home, either, but could only take customers by the roadside. Women like her, the lowest of the whores, were often physically ravaged by sexual diseases. The woman outside didn’t look long for this world—but if she wanted her next meal, she would have to find a man to service.

What was she doing around here? Maybe Maomao’s old man, good-hearted as he was, had given her medicine once; or maybe she was looking for the leftovers from some other brothel. Whatever it was, Maomao thought, it was causing trouble for her.

“This isn’t a nice place,” she said. “It doesn’t matter if you’re some little kid. There are people out there who would line up to kill you if they knew you had a few coins.”

In other words, if he didn’t want to die, he would do as she said. Chou-u pursed his lips a little, but nodded, his eyes brimming with tears.

“You understand? Then hurry up and eat your dinner and go to bed.” Maomao went back and stood in front of the stove again, where she resumed stirring the congee.

Chou-u was already up when Maomao woke the next morning. She could hear him bustling around, and looked up to discover the tabletop covered in paper. Chou-u was working his brush vigorously.

That little shit...

He was using the brush and inkpot she’d hidden from him. Maomao got up, about to give him a taste of her knuckle, when one of the pages came drifting down off the table.

Hm? Curious, she picked it up. It showed a bug drawn in precise detail. In fact, it was almost too real; it made her a little squeamish to look at. Brings back memories. It made her think of the young serving woman—no, the consort—who had loved insects. That young woman, Shisui, had done drawings like this too. Maomao felt a pang at the thought.

Suddenly, Chou-u stood up. “Done!” he said, presenting her with a piece of paper. “I finished, Freckles!”

“Finished what?”

“This! Right here!” He fluttered the paper at her, looking downright proud of himself. It showed two subtly different bugs. “I had a little trouble remembering exactly, but I think this is it. I think this is what I saw with the thing that talked about bad harvests.” Luckily, his pictures spoke far more articulately than he did; they were very clear. “This is your normal locust. And here on the bottom is a locust from when there’s going to be a bad harvest.”

The two locusts showed legs of different lengths, and although it was hard to tell in an ink drawing, the richness of their coloration might have been different too.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Pretty sure. It sort of came to me in bits and pieces.”

Chou-u was still largely amnesiac, but apparently he was recovering bits of his memory. That could be highly inconvenient depending on what he remembered, but it might prove very important too.

Two types of locust. Maomao would have to find out more about this. A plague of insects could destroy an entire nation when they ate all its crops. Insects were always a threat to crops, but plague was something else altogether. The bugs would devour anything and everything; in bad cases, they might even eat hempen ropes and straw sandals. Maomao didn’t know what caused such events, but they happened at least every few decades. By good luck, no such thing had occurred since the accession of the current Emperor.

Some people insisted this was because the current Emperor’s rule was humane and enlightened, thus heaven saw no need to send plague. But Maomao didn’t believe that for a second. It was just happenstance that there hadn’t been any plagues of insects. That meant, though, that if and when such a plague occurred, it would be a chance to test the Emperor’s power. He had only recently punished the Shi clan, the most powerful in the land. The timing could hardly have been worse: if a plague of locusts occurred now, many people would assume it was a heavenly rebuke for the destruction of the Shi.

Bah. Not my problem. Nothing to do with me, Maomao thought. No, it was nothing to do with her—but she was already moving.

Almost before she knew what she was doing, Maomao was heading for a particular bookstore.

No way they’ll have it...

Chou-u’s detailed drawings had reminded her: she’d seen such illustrations before. She walked among the shops until she reached one that was particularly gloomy and moldy-smelling. A bell chimed as she entered, and the owner, resting within like a piece of the furniture, nodded to her. That was as much civility as he was prepared to offer, after which he appeared to go back to sleep. The place looked deserted, bereft of customers, but she knew his purse must be comfortably full these days.

He supplies books to the rear palace, after all...

Most of the stock was either used books or for rental. There were a few brand-new items for sale, but not many. If you wanted something new, you would probably have to order it. The shop owner left these business matters largely to his children, living an almost hermetic life himself.

They’re not going to have it.

This shop specialized in popular fiction and erotic illustrations; not what one would call refined material. Maomao had come here nonetheless, because sometimes one could make unexpected finds in shops like this...

Almost as soon as she got inside, she rubbed her eyes. What was going on here? She frowned. What was this, some convenient plot twist? She pointed to a book sitting on a pile on a desk. “Hey, mister, can I have a look at that?”

“Mmm,” the shopkeeper grunted; Maomao took it for permission and picked up the book. It was thick and heavy, and the cover depicted a bird.

This is ridiculous. In fact, it seemed impossible. And yet, there it was. The book was filled with pictures of birds accompanied by descriptions, and there were handwritten marginal notes peppering the pages. “What’s the story with this thing?”

“Hrm? Got it in yesterday.” The clerk didn’t sound very excited. More like he wished she would stop interrupting his nap.

“Did you get anything else in along with it?”

“Only the one. But the guy said he would come back, I think.”

Maomao’s face began to sparkle. This was the second time she had held this book. Yes, it was exactly the same one she’d seen back then. Back in the chamber where she’d been confined. It was one of the books she’d been given as research material on the elixir of immortality—and here it was in her hands.