The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 5 - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: The Fire-Rat Cloak

Maomao’s apothecary shop closed its doors as the lanterns were being lit at the Verdigris House. There was no point doing business after dark—it would only attract unsavory customers, and the lamp oil would be a waste of money, anyway. Maomao totaled up the day’s earnings and handed them over to the madam. Keeping large sums of cash in her little shack would attract thieves and burglars. Having the money kept somewhere safe was far better, even if she did have to pay for the privilege. Then she gathered up the coals and the herbs and locked up the cramped little shop.

“All right, we’re going home,” she announced.

“What, already?” Chou-u groused, but she took him by the scruff of the neck and headed back to their shack. Though it was located just behind the Verdigris House, the walls were riddled with cracks that let in the wind, making it very cold.

Maomao placed the coals among the starter paper in the stove, and when there was a decent fire going, she tossed some kindling on it. Chou-u, feeling the cold, was curled up on his sleeping mat, wrapped in his blanket. Maomao heated some soup in a pot on the stove, stirring gently. It involved a base of dried meat, along with vegetables and kudzu she’d picked in the garden. She even shaved some ginger into it to take the edge off the chill.

“Not going to have any?” she asked.

“Sure am,” Chou-u said, trying to shuffle over while still under his blanket like a giant pill bug. Maomao smacked him with a knuckle, but tossed a cotton jacket at him in exchange for taking away his blanket.

I wouldn’t mind another winter outfit, Maomao thought. She was being pretty fairly compensated for “bringing up” Chou-u, but she didn’t intend to waste the money. Chou-u might grumble, but so long as Maomao was the one getting the cash, the education he would receive was: those who don’t work don’t eat.

She poured some soup into a chipped bowl and handed it to Chou-u, who sat on a chair with his knees up and sipped at it. “Needs more meat,” he said.

“If you want meat, go earn the money for it!” Maomao said. Then she took a sip of the soup herself. They didn’t have any congee, but she’d been able to get some bread. She took a bit from their supply and set it beside the soup pot to warm it up. Then she broke it in half and stuffed some simmered vegetables inside. She didn’t think the bread tasted particularly good—maybe on account of last year’s bad harvest. A poor crop led to poor-quality grain, perhaps.

“You’ve got money, right, Freckles? Why don’t we get some decent food, then?” Chou-u said, reaching for another piece of bread despite his complaining.

“I’m renting the shop from the old lady, moron. Do you have any idea what she charges?”

“Why not find another place, then?”

“Listen, you. It’s not as simple as that.” Maomao dipped her bread in what remained of her soup and put it in her mouth. She might have been able to lead a slightly richer life, had she so wished. But she had reasons for not doing so. “You’re coming with me tomorrow. We’re going clothes shopping. You’re cold like that, aren’t you?”

“Yay!” Chou-u said, tossing up his hands, but the motion threw him clear off his chair. His paralysis left him unable to catch himself, so he tumbled pathetically to the ground.

Maomao looked at him for a moment, her expression cool as she washed her bowl in the water bucket.

The next day, she and Chou-u went to the market, which lined the great thoroughfare that bisected the capital from north to south. The farther north you went, the richer the shops became, while the class and quality declined as you went south. The pleasure district was in the south of the capital, so the first market stalls they found didn’t even have awnings; they were just wares laid out on rush mats.

The farther you went into the side streets, the shadier the shops became. The proximity of the pleasure quarter seemed to breed places selling dubious medicaments. Naturally, an apothecary like Maomao wasn’t taken in by such products, and the merchants knew it; none of them called to her as she passed their stores. They were looking for men who weren’t yet used to the pleasure district; those made the best marks.

Maomao worked her way toward the center of the capital, grabbing Chou-u by the scruff of the neck each time he threatened to wander away. It was sometimes said that buying cheap could actually cost you money. A cotton jacket from one of the street stalls would certainly be inexpensive, but the material would be poor. It would never stand up to the brat running around in it and doing all the things children do. Any merchant with an actual building would know they needed the trust of the local shoppers; a jacket from somewhere with an actual storefront would cost a little more, but would inspire much more confidence in the product.

Maomao picked a place from the tangle of shops and went in—a place that sold clothing to commoners, including used clothing. When she brushed past the curtain and into the shop, she saw clothes hanging from the ceiling. Within, the shopkeeper was mending a garment and yawning. A brazier beside him was filled with crackling coals, but it was surrounded by a shield to prevent the sparks from landing on any of the wares.

“Aww, used clothes?”

“Don’t be picky.”

Chou-u was still small; he would hit a growth spurt soon. It would be more economical to buy something they wouldn’t have to hesitate to replace. Maomao was looking through the merchandise for a child’s padded jacket when something caught her eye.

“Whazzat?” Chou-u, ever eagle-eyed, came over.

It was a robe hanging on the wall—a long-skirted outfit of pure white. The lack of color made it look somewhat plain, but it also had a whiff of the exotic; it was most unusual. Maomao’s eye was drawn to embroidery in what looked like a pattern of vines on the sleeves.

Could this be...

“Geez, that looks pretty cheap,” said the little shit. Heaven forfend he ever hesitate to say whatever came into his head. Maomao gave him a smack, alert that the shopkeeper might be listening, but from the proprietor all she heard was laughter.

“Hah, you think that’s cheap, boyo?”

“Isn’t it? Girls’ clothes are supposed to be colorful!”

“I s’pose you’re right.” The shopkeeper put a pin in a pincushion, then rubbed his stiff shoulders and smiled at them. He let his gaze drift to the robe. “But this robe, you see...a celestial nymph wore it once.”

“A celestial nymph?” That seemed to get Chou-u’s interest. He had taken a seat on top of a chest of drawers; maybe the paralysis made it hard for him to stay standing for too long.

Annoyed, Maomao continued her search through the shop. The shopkeeper here was one of those clerks who killed time by chatting with the customers. No way of telling how much of what he said was true. All she remembered was how he used to get a hold of her father Luomen for hours at a time.

I just need to find something, and then we can get out of here.

If Chou-u was busy talking to the clerk, that was perfect. She could find something while he was distracted. But it was a small place. Like it or not, she was going to hear the clerk’s story while she browsed.

○●○

Y’see, that robe came to me from the west. A villager in one of the little villages there helped a girl who was lost on the road. The girl was quite beautiful, and the villager fell head over heels in love with her.

She was a most unusual young lady: she had white skin and golden hair. She knew how to spin a thread that was unlike any other, and with it she wove several robes to repay the villager who’d helped her. The robes were embroidered with mysterious designs, and sold for several times what any other cloth was worth.

The girl insisted she wanted to go back to her hometown, but she didn’t seem to know where she lived. Must have come from some far land, I suppose. The villager proposed to the girl, and then again, and again, and finally she decided to accept him.

But it was poor timing, for just then, the girl’s family arrived in the village, looking for her. You could tell it was her family because they had the same sort of hair and skin. The villager had finally gotten the girl to agree to his proposal, though, and he wasn’t about to give her up. So he hid her away, and the entire village pretended they knew nothing about the matter.

The girl’s family went away, but they were suspicious. The villager decided he’d better hurry up and hold the wedding and make the young lady his bride. Once they were joined in marriage, her family would no longer be her family, you see.

The young lady objected, but the villagers paid her no heed. She was made to bathe at the village spring to purify herself, after which they planned to hold the wedding immediately. The girl wept as she washed herself. Her one comfort was that, for her bridal gown, she wore one of the robes she’d made. A reminder of her lost home.

Can you imagine what grief she must’ve felt? Even as she stood in her bridal gown, she almost drowned herself in tears.

As everyone around her celebrated, the girl came up to the altar to swear her vows to the villager. Yet even at that moment, she couldn’t forget her family. She begged the man to return her to her relatives. 

He refused. Whereupon the girl doused herself in some nearby oil, grabbed a torch, and lit herself on fire. She ran in flames past the panicked villagers, until she dove into the spring and vanished.

She left behind her only a single piece of cloth, the veil she had been wearing. Of the burning woman herself there was no sign; the villagers speculated that perhaps she’d returned to Heaven. Nor was anyone from her family ever seen again, so the villagers all agreed: the girl and her family had disappeared back up to the sky.

○●○

“And that is the robe the nymph was wearing,” the shopkeeper proclaimed.

“Wow!” Chou-u said, duly impressed. Just a few minutes before, he’d derided the garment as cheap, but now he looked at it as though at a shimmering jewel.

Maomao, meanwhile, was holding up a succession of jackets to Chou-u’s back, wondering which of them might fit him best. She found one with a somewhat unpleasant color, but which was the perfect size.

“Hey, Freckles, this is some gown! How about we buy this?” Chou-u’s eyes were sparkling.

“The boy’s got a point,” the shopkeeper ventured. “That celestial nymph wasn’t much older than you, young lady. I’ll even give you a special price on it, since the two of you are so alike.”

Nice try, but the abacus he was holding suggested the price was still about one digit too many. Maomao nearly laughed out loud.

A celestial nymph, right! I can see a real one for free. After all, one slightly damaged nymph came to the Verdigris House on a regular basis.

“Are you telling me you don’t believe the legend of the nymph?” the shopkeeper asked. “Some people have no sense of romance...” He spread his arms and shook his head with an expression of disappointment.

I’m the one who should be disappointed, Maomao thought. Not only had she seen a celestial nymph before—she’d seen one vanish into the water just like in the story. The “moon spirit” had come back out of the water, too, looking like a drenched mouse and asking if she ever planned a repeat performance. But then again, such sights must be rare indeed. Without meaning to, Maomao chuckled at the memory.

The world was full of strange things—but they always had some explanation. It was only because people didn’t know why certain things happened that they made up stories about curses and magical powers and even sometimes ghosts.

Maomao took a good, hard look at the robe the “celestial nymph” had woven. “May I touch it?”

“Sure. Just don’t get it dirty.”

Maomao felt the texture of the fabric and studied the embroidery. Then she grinned. “Shopkeep, you really think you can sell this thing at that price?”

“Wh-What makes you say that? Of course I can.” And yet he’d been trying to foist it off on Maomao. If he’d really believed the robe had been woven by a genuine visitor from Heaven, he’d have added still another digit to the price.

“Uh-huh. And what if you could sell it for ten times what you’re asking?”

“Ten times? Hah, well, I’d certainly be a happy shopkeeper. I’d give you everything you’re holding for free.”

The clerk sounded like he was joking, but Maomao said, “Would you, now? You heard the man, Chou-u.”

“Uh, yeah, I did, but you can’t get ten times the price for that thing, can you? You’re out of your mind, Freckles.”

Even Chou-u was making fun of her now. Maomao scowled and grabbed a coal from the brazier with a pair of metal chopsticks. “I’m going to borrow the robe and this coal for a few minutes, mister.”

“Hey! What are you doing?”

Maomao took out her purse and put it down on the chest of drawers: thunk. It was all the money she had with her, but it ought to cover this one robe. The shopkeeper stopped complaining when he saw the cash. Maomao, meanwhile, took the robe and the coal out into the street—and then she threw the garment on the ground.

“H-Hey!” The shopkeeper started shouting again, looking a little crazed, but Maomao ignored him. Instead, she took the coal in her chopsticks and dropped it on the dress.

“Hey, Freckles, I’m kinda hot!” Chou-u said from under several layers of cotton jackets. She’d overdressed him, layering jackets until he looked like a pudgy daruma doll.

“Take a few layers off, then.”

Chou-u was only wearing them because he’d complained about having to carry them. Maomao herself was holding a new robe of her own. She usually preferred less eye-watering colors, but she wasn’t about to complain about something she’d gotten for free. It fit her, and that was what counted.

“Hey, Freckles. Why didn’t the robe burn, anyway?” Chou-u asked.

Maomao had snorted in spite of herself at what the shopkeeper had called the celestial nymph’s robe. There was a much better name for it than that. The fire-rat cloak, she’d suggested, whispering it into the shopkeeper’s ear.

The robe had refused to catch fire when she’d dropped the coal on it. In fact, it had emerged without so much as a scorch mark. Passersby were amazed—so amazed that they might indeed have believed her if she’d told them the robe had belonged to a celestial nymph.

“What are clothes made from, Chou-u?”

“What are they made from? You mean, like, cotton and hemp and stuff? It’s just grass and fibers. And maybe sometimes bugs or something.”

“That robe was made of rock.”

Chou-u’s jaw dropped so fast Maomao almost laughed. “Rock! You mean, like, rock rock? How’d they do that?”

“Even stone can take many different forms.” Rock fiber could be turned into cloth. It was an unusual technique, but one that had existed since ancient times, called huohuanbu. But that didn’t sound very impressive, so she’d borrowed a name used for the material in the eastern island country. “And of course, rock doesn’t burn.”

Still, what must it have looked like to the people witnessing it? Even those who knew about huohuanbu might be seeing it for the first time. The uniqueness of it would help drive the price up among curious collectors. And it had won Maomao a veritable wardrobe of free clothes.

“Huh, so that’s the story. What about the celestial nymph, then?”

“I suspect it was...”

Half true, and half not.

Maomao had recognized the embroidery on the sleeves of the robe—it was written in the characters of the foreign country that her old man, Luomen, had often used to write his notes. When stylized, the characters could look like swirling, climbing vines. The so-called celestial nymph had probably been from that area, and if she’d had golden hair and white skin, maybe she had some northern blood in her veins as well.

If the marriage of close relatives went on too long in a small village, the offspring would grow weaker, so the inhabitants of such places would certainly wish for more distant bloodlines. Maybe the young woman really had been lost, or maybe she’d been kidnapped. Whichever it was, the villagers certainly wouldn’t want to let such a prize go.

So the girl had made her dress, sick with the wish to go home to her family. She wove with an unusual material, rock fiber, and embroidered it with characters the villagers couldn’t read, a secret message asking for help from her homeland. On the day of the wedding, she’d most likely been wearing undergarments she’d soaked with water. She would have drenched her hair, too, using her veil to conceal the fact.

“Did you know there’s a way to prevent a wooden bowl from burning even if you put fire to it?” Maomao said.

You simply filled the bowl with water. Until it dried completely, the wood wouldn’t catch fire. At least so long as the heat didn’t get above a certain temperature. If the woman wore wetted undergarments under a robe of rock fiber, and if she then put a more flammable garment over that as well, then all she needed to do was jump in the spring before she sustained any burns. If she used the patterns on the robe to indicate how she’d escaped, it was likely someone would find her later.

Of course, she would have had no guarantee that it would work. But judging by the shopkeeper’s tale, she’d succeeded. On some level, it wasn’t so different from the performance they’d put on at the banquet for the envoys the year before.

“Huh!” Chou-u said, looking genuinely impressed. “Why didn’t you say any of that to the guy at the store?”

“I wouldn’t want to spoil the romance.”

Chou-u laughed, as if to admit that she was right.

There was, one might add, another reason, albeit one Chou-u didn’t need to know about. There had been fine embroidery on the inside of the robe as well as the sleeves.

So we have a young lady from somewhere either in the west or the north, Maomao thought. Would a perfectly ordinary young woman have the nerve to set fire to herself and run around? Maomao certainly wouldn’t. What’s more, the young lady could read, and knew how to make the stone fiber. Did everyone on the streets in these other lands know how to do those things? It seemed unlikely that some wandering performer would possess such accomplishments.

Maybe she was a spy or something.

The west was more prone to small border disputes with other countries than were many nearby regions. The idea that the young woman was an intelligence agent wasn’t out of the question, although if so, she seemed to be a somewhat careless one.

Maomao, for her part, smiled sardonically at these pointless fantasies and continued on the way home.