The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 6 - Chapter 12

Chapter 12: The Trials of Consort Lishu

Jinshi got a letter from Maomao the day after his informal meeting with the messenger from the west: I found a clue about the White Lady in a village called Golden Lake. It was most convenient for him—or perhaps most inconvenient.

The “messenger from the west” was one of the emissaries from Shaoh who had visited Li the year before, a woman named Aylin. She and her companion had looked so much alike that they might have been twins, but the other woman, Ayla—well, matters turned out to be complicated.

When last she had visited, Ayla wore a red hairband and Aylin a blue one; this time, Aylin’s entire garment was blue. Because of the covert nature of her mission, she wore nothing conspicuous, but rather a quju shenyi, a robe with a curved hem that was quite common in Li.

In truth, she was not someone with whom Jinshi ought to have been meeting too personally. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been dressed up as a woman and she had, embarrassingly, taken him for the moon spirit.

Besides, he was busy. He wondered what she would talk about at this moment, whose guidance she was under; but it turned out to be Lahan’s. Jinshi had thought he’d seemed to be up to something in the western capital, but he felt certain Lahan of all people wouldn’t be doing anything sketchy, and had let the matter slide. It wasn’t that he trusted Lahan so much as that he had a certain understanding of the other man’s psychology. Lahan had some sort of fixation on “beautiful numbers” and “unbeautiful numbers,” and although Jinshi couldn’t claim to quite understand it, he gathered that Lahan wouldn’t do anything that violated his standards of “beauty.”

Jinshi had expected about half of what Aylin said to him; the other half had been unexpected, but none of it was completely unreasonable. Lahan was already privy to the two points Aylin had brought up, and he hadn’t shown any particular reaction.

One thing she said did make Jinshi’s head hurt: food exports or political asylum.

Lahan had already talked to Jinshi about exports in the form of a root vegetable called sweet potatoes. It was a promising crop, one that could be grown even in poor soil and yielded a harvest many times that of rice. The fact that Lahan could come to him with such an idea immediately upon his return to the capital reminded him afresh that the La clan was nothing to sneeze at.

The result was that Jinshi had spent the two weeks since his return working virtually without sleep. Just catching up was bad enough, but now there was even more to be done. His concerns at the rear palace were not over either—another headache-inducing situation had arisen.

He would have to find a way to justify exports to Shaoh to the bureaucracy, and it was unlikely that claiming they were a hedge against insect plague would do it. All the various measures Jinshi had already taken against the plague had seemed like enough. Any preventative moves the members of the bureaucracy made would be to forestall a catastrophe they foresaw falling upon their own heads. They didn’t want to give themselves more work to do because of some groundless anxiety.

That was the reality of it, so Jinshi had come up with a pretext: the forced labor to which the criminals captured during the Shi clan rebellion would be put would be agricultural work. No one would object to the opening of new lands for that purpose. And when it came to land, there was plenty of it in the former Shi clan domain of Shihoku-shu. With the Shi stranglehold over the region broken, negotiations were likely to be easier than before. And there were lots of former farmers among the criminals. Their livelihoods would have gone back to how they had been before the clan had hired them—it might even be a little harder than it had been before.

Jinshi wouldn’t even have to put the plan into motion himself; he had somebody to handle things on his behalf. Specifically, a high official put in charge of Shihoku-shu after the destruction of the Shi clan. Someone who had been born and raised in the area, in fact, and had worked their way up the ranks as a regional official. They had experienced famine in the past, and when Jinshi had explained how growing sweet potatoes would prevent further starvation in the future, his case had been eagerly heard.

Any necessary personnel could be recruited in Shihoku-shu. There was a ready supply of third sons of farmers, men who weren’t entitled to any fields. If the rear palace could be considered public service under the empress regnant, then so could this.

That was as far as Jinshi’s planning had gone—he was quite capable, but he was no genius. There were still kinks to smooth out in the idea, but he would leave the details to those carrying it out. There would be pressure, yes, but they would just have to rise to the occasion. Jinshi didn’t love to simply delegate matters, but he had other things to do. He was always slightly overworked, but he liked to think he had a sense of the scope of his duties.

Jinshi lacked many truly trustworthy subordinates, but he did have a few. Each had their strengths, roles to which they were best suited. He picked up his cup as he considered what he would do about this letter. His ever-attentive lady, Suiren, saw the cup was empty, and with a “Well, now,” poured him more juice.

Jinshi watched her, then spontaneously decided to show her Maomao’s letter. “Do we have anyone available right now?” he asked.

“Yes, several who just came back.”

“Pick someone suitable, then.”

“All right.” Suiren put her hand to her cheek, thinking. “Why don’t we try somebody new? It should be interesting.”

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Jinshi asked uneasily.

Suiren, though, continued to smile broadly. “Have I been wrong yet?”

Jinshi could only offer a rueful smile in response to this display of confidence. Suiren had once attended upon the Empress Dowager herself—even Maomao couldn’t get the better of her. Suiren was one of those who had helped see to the safety of the Empress Dowager in that den of iniquity, the rear palace—the Empress Dowager, who had become pregnant with the current Emperor at barely more than ten years old. Jinshi was convinced that the fact that Suiren had been assigned to attend him was a show of motherly concern on the part of the Empress Dowager.

“If you still don’t believe me, then let me tell you a little secret,” Suiren said, and then she whispered in Jinshi’s ear.

His eyes went wide. “Is that true?”

“Yes. I was administering a bit of punishment when I discovered...”

Suiren’s “secret” had no bearing whatsoever on Jinshi’s work—but it was very useful information to him personally. He wondered, though: what was this punishment she was talking about? He decided that for the moment, some questions were better left unasked.

“I’m sure you’d like to emerge victorious from time to time, Young Master,” Suiren said, with a gesture that was girlish and charming despite her years. No sooner had Jinshi registered that, though, than she had returned to the prim, capable lady-in-waiting. “I’ll see to it immediately,” she said. She bowed, and exited the room without so much as the sound of a footstep.

Jinshi knew Suiren would take care of things. He could focus on other work.

The other problem brought to him by Special Envoy Aylin, for example. Something that appeared to be news even to Lahan. Jinshi hadn’t wanted to hear it; he would have preferred to plug his ears. It was enough to threaten to shatter his impenetrable smile.

What kind of problem was it? It had to do with the White Lady.

And because of it, he would miss another chance to visit the apothecary shop in the pleasure district.

○●○

“The White Lady has been apprehended.”

She was informed two days after the events at the village and its marsh. Considering that it would have taken her letter a day to arrive, things had happened about as quickly as humanly possible.

It was Basen who brought the message, and Ukyou who brought Basen to the shop when he’d spotted the young man standing uncomfortably in the foyer of the Verdigris House. Basen had visibly relaxed when Maomao had told him that her sister Pairin was with someone that day and wasn’t in.

The shop was rather cramped, so Maomao asked the madam to ready a room for them. The brothel had many chambers that were excellent for private conversations—but only assuming Chou-u didn’t find them. The overcurious brat would inject himself directly into any conversation. Thankfully, Ukyou volunteered to distract him.

Maomao took a sip of the tea that had been served to them. “Is that right?”

“I expected more enthusiasm,” Basen said.

“I assure you, I’m quite shocked.”

Basen, it seemed, still wasn’t accustomed to reading Maomao’s expressions. Jinshi or Gaoshun would certainly have registered the slight furrow in her brow.

After the discovery that the White Lady was using pigeons to facilitate her information network, they had quickly turned the setup against her. Maomao had assumed they could read one of the letters, snatch the person who came to get it, and probably learn something—but she’d never imagined it would go quite so easily.

What had really made the difference was that she was able to bring in help.

With that help, Maomao had gone to the old man who worshipped the great snake. She believed he had the interests of his somewhat duplicitous sister and her granddaughter at heart, and she knew that somehow or other, to a greater extent or a lesser, they were connected with the White Lady. The man could stay quiet, but it wouldn’t save the women from punishment. So, Maomao urged him, he should defect. (Call it blackmail if you must.)

“We staked out the pigeon coop, and when we detained the person who visited it, they led us to the villa of a particular bureaucrat,” Basen said.

They had asked the old man’s younger sister and her granddaughter whether they could identify the official in question, and the women said they knew him; they also identified several other bureaucrats who were friends with this man. One of them, it transpired, was harboring the White Lady.

“Kind of anticlimactic. I can’t help wondering, though—why would anyone go so far to protect her?” Maomao said.

“The bureaucrats were passionate cannabis smokers, and traces of what’s thought to be opium were also found in the house.”

“Ah.” But of course: once someone was hooked on narcotics, they might do anything to get them. Getting such a drug out of your life took considerable resolve as well. “Just goes to show one shouldn’t fool around with dangerous drugs, I guess.”

“You’re one to talk!” Basen said. She ignored his profoundly doubtful look, instead thinking about what medicine she would mix up today. Basen had presumably come just to tell her about what had happened, so his business was finished. His hand was better now; the bandage was off. Really, though, Maomao wasn’t sure why they couldn’t have sent her a letter, or at least some other messenger. No reason for Basen to come here and be terrified by the courtesans.

Despite having delivered his message, however, Basen showed no sign of getting up to leave. Instead he kept stealing glances at Maomao, his mouth almost opening and then shutting again.

At length she asked, “Is something the matter, sir?”

“Ahem. No, I...”

Maomao was curious, but didn’t actually want to get involved. Whatever it was, it probably meant trouble—and worse, it probably meant Jinshi. Yes, definitely better to steer clear.

She hadn’t seen Jinshi since they’d parted ways at the western capital. The extent of their contact had been her letter about the White Lady, to which his reply had been businesslike.

I hope he’ll just pretend nothing happened. That would be the most harmonious thing, in her opinion. Unfortunately, the world wasn’t a decent enough place to give you harmony just because you wanted it.

Basen finally stopped flapping his mouth and looked her square in the eye, clearly resolved to say what he had to say. “I have a question for you. If a woman’s menstrual period doesn’t come, is it fair to assume that she’s pregnant?”

Maomao greeted this with silence—she never did know what this man was going to say next! Basen scowled at the disdainful look she gave him, but his face grew steadily redder. Frankly, Maomao wasn’t sure what to make of such a hopelessly virginal response. He wanted to know how to tell if a woman was pregnant? Could it be he’d fallen in with some bad girl who’d taken advantage of him?

I guess I could see it, she thought. Basen always did seem to come up a little short, man-wise. There was no end of people in the world who, under the influence of a bit too much to drink, made a night’s mistake. And considering Basen’s status, there must be any number of women eager to share a drink with him.

She knew this was something she couldn’t tease him about; she had to be serious. “Master Basen,” she began. “I know you may feel you were duped, but a real man takes responsibility for his actions.”

Basen looked at her incredulously.

“If it really is your child, then you have to do what’s right. Not that that makes it okay that she took advantage of you, but—”

“Hold on. What are you talking about?”

“The poor girl you got pregnant, Master Basen.”

“I didn’t get anyone pregnant!” Basen slammed a fist against the floor, the impact so powerful it made Maomao feel like she might be flung into the air. It was his right fist—wasn’t he afraid he would injure it again?

“Why are you asking, then?”

“W-Well, it’s...” His mouth started opening and closing again, but he managed to lean in and whisper into Maomao’s ear: “It’s about Consort Lishu.”

Maomao looked at him, thunderstruck. No way. No way...

Yes, there had seemed to be a certain something between them; if you could only disregard their respective stations, Basen and Lishu could have made a pretty nice—

Hold on. When the hell would they have had the time?

Surely there hadn’t been a free moment. Then again, Maomao had hardly been watching them twenty-four seven, so she couldn’t be sure. Then again again, had they ever looked like they’d—? She tried to remember.

She seemed to be confused, in her own way. As she thought, she rifled through her medicine cabinet and produced a packet of something that she placed in front of Basen. “This is a relatively harmless abortifacient,” she said—something she kept on hand for the courtesans.

“I’m not certain I can control my strength—but may I hit you?” Basen asked with uncharacteristic politeness. The touch of civility, in fact, indicated how angry he was. Maomao knew she’d never survive a blow from someone with his absurd strength, and she delicately put the medicine away.

Basen cleared his throat, drinking some of the cold tea in an effort to bring down the flush that had come into his face, a combination of frustration and embarrassment. “Ahem. What I’m saying is, a certain august personage is in a difficult position.” Apparently desperate to avoid using so much as a personal pronoun, he resorted to extremely circuitous locutions. “When one has been away from a certain place for quite a long time, and then returns to this certain place, one is subject to the same strictures as if one were entering it for the first time.”

A certain place was no doubt the rear palace.

“Ah, so that’s what’s going on,” Maomao said, slapping her knees.

There were stipulations when entering the rear palace: just as any men were expected to be eunuchs, there were certain things that a woman had to do as well. Nothing as difficult as what was demanded of the men, but the last thing they wanted was for a woman to enter the rear palace with a child already in her belly. Thus, a woman was only allowed entry after she had been confirmed to be menstruating.

There were occasional exceptions for temporary leave, but these were typically in order to pay one’s respects to a groom’s family on the occasion of a woman’s marriage—the name of her partner was recorded, so if she did get pregnant, they knew who to blame. Most women then left before the child was even born.

A woman who had been away from the rear palace for almost two months, and a high consort at that, couldn’t expect to simply walk back in. Lishu’s problem was that it had now been more than a month since she’d returned from the western capital.

“So her period is late?” Maomao asked. Basen nodded miserably. “Well, Consort Lishu is young, so they might be irregular, and when you consider the toll that traveling must have taken on her, it can’t be that surprising if she’s a little late.”

That, though, was speaking purely from a health perspective. The fact that Basen was talking to her, and that he knew such personal information, meant there was something else going on.

What might happen to a woman who was suspected of getting pregnant outside the confines of the rear palace—one of His Majesty’s highest consorts, at that? Especially when the reason she’d left the rear palace on this occasion was that she might be given to the Emperor’s younger brother, Jinshi, in marriage? If Basen was aware of this situation, it was likely Jinshi was too.

If that girl didn’t have bad luck, she’d have no luck at all, Maomao thought. She had to sympathize with all the tribulations Lishu had been subject to, considering they were no fault of her own. She was already bullied and ridiculed; if people thought she was engaged to Jinshi, jealous stares would start coming her way.

Pregnant, though? Consort Lishu hardly seemed qualified to get pregnant. She’d never even been “visited” by the Emperor. In light of which, Maomao was starting to think she saw what Basen was driving at.

“You want me to prove that nothing untoward happened with Consort Lishu.”

That brought an undisguised look of relief to Basen’s face. “You’ll do it?”

“I will. I’ll need to be able to go to the palace, though, and I’m not sure they’ll let me in. A doctor maybe, but a random apothecary?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve already spoken to the head of the medical office. And Sir Luomen has kindly agreed to come as well.”

That made things easy. So Basen had already had everything in place when he arrived. As for why Luomen was involved, it was likely Basen didn’t trust the quack to handle this, but knew that not just any (male) doctor could attend on the consort. Maomao’s adoptive father was the perfect compromise.

Maomao was excited at the prospect of seeing her old man again—it had been a while. She felt bad for Lishu, but she personally was downright happy.

Basen, by contrast, continued to look grim. Maybe she should have pursued the matter with him—but she wasn’t thinking about it that deeply at the time.

The next day, a messenger from the palace arrived. Maomao left Sazen in charge of the shop, as usual.

“Please don’t be long!” he said. What was he, her pet dog? He was always like this. Maomao had made sure Chou-u would be out shopping with Ukyou when she left, and she was glad she had. She’d talked to the madam, and even the old lady understood the boy couldn’t possibly go with her to the palace.

Chou-u might have been gone, but Maomao the cat nuzzled at her persistently, until she picked her up by the scruff of the neck and put her on Sazen’s head.

“Hey, I’m hot...” he said, but he didn’t look especially unhappy as he savored the white fur of the cat’s belly against his face.

It seemed to be a perk of these outings that they felt she needed to be presentable, and so gave her new clothes whenever she was summoned on these errands. They never asked for them back, so Maomao always either sold the outfits to the used clothing store or put them up for auction among the courtesans. In addition to the usual robe, this time there was a white overrobe. Something to serve as a doctor’s apron in this warm season.

If they were summoning Maomao, it implied that the consort’s period still hadn’t come. She decided to prepare some wenjing tang, a concoction that aided blood flow, just in case. There were several other remedies that might help, but Maomao picked one with minimal side effects. She assumed Luomen would have some ready as well—how could he not, being so much more experienced than she was?—but she thought the consort might be less intimidated to receive the medicine from a fellow woman rather than a eunuch.

The carriage rolled through the palace grounds, stopping somewhere near the rear palace. They were in fact quite close to the pavilion where Anshi, the Empress Dowager, had once invited them.

Maomao put on the white overrobe, ignoring the heat, and got out of the carriage. She found herself facing a relatively small pavilion smack in the middle between the Empress Dowager’s residence and that of the current Empress. It must have been put up long ago as a place for a royal consort to live, back before the rear palace had been established. As for the building in which the former emperor had spent so much of his time, which Maomao had visited the year before, it was long gone. She had to admit the place looked a little more barren without it.

Waiting in front of the pavilion was a physician with a benign look on his face and a cane in his hand. It was Luomen. “Ah, you’re here,” he said, dragging one leg as he came toward Maomao. They’d sent letters, but it had been nearly six months since they’d last seen each other.

Luomen was accompanied by two other men who appeared to be medical officials. Both were small and elderly, not at all threatening—perhaps that was simply how doctors tended to be, or maybe it was a gesture of consideration for Consort Lishu.

“This way, please,” a woman said. It was one of Lishu’s ladies-in-waiting from the rear palace. Maomao recognized her, but didn’t know her name. The woman, though, clearly knew Maomao; one could catch an audible tsk from her. Apparently, attitudes among Lishu’s women hadn’t improved—maybe they had even gotten worse.

“This way,” the woman reiterated and then led them on what seemed to Maomao to be a very long, very circuitous route. They went up to the second floor, then the third, then to the innermost room on the floor, before the woman said, “I’m ever so sorry. I forgot the mistress changed rooms.”

Is she that eager to make our lives difficult? Maomao wondered. The three physicians with her were all old men; maybe their mild looks caused the woman to take them lightly.

At length, Maomao and her companions were shown to the innermost chamber on the first floor of the pavilion, which looked like a perfectly typical room for a consort. Emphasis on for a consort: the furnishings were of a quality that your average commoner might never see in their whole lives.

Consort Lishu lay on a canopied bed, with her chief lady-in-waiting (who was also familiar) standing by her side looking quite distressed. Lishu briefly quailed at the sight of the male doctors (aged though they were), but seeing Maomao with them relaxed her—for a brief second, before she quailed again, for altogether different reasons.

Luomen said simply, “We assumed there might be concerns about us, so we brought a proxy,” and looked at Maomao.

Lishu was suspected of being pregnant—and even if she wasn’t, if anything had happened between her, a high consort, and a man who was not the Emperor, her life would be forfeit.

Not that I think that’s remotely likely. For one thing, she didn’t think anyone as transparent as Lishu could keep a secret like that for very long. Probably not from Maomao, and almost certainly not from Ah-Duo, who had been with her the entire trip. It was impossible to be absolutely positive, of course—but it seemed unlikely.

So it was that Maomao found herself standing in front of the terrified consort, flexing her fingers. The quickest and simplest solution would be to check whether Consort Lishu was intact—a task for which Maomao, raised in the pleasure quarter, was uniquely suited. She had all kinds of ways to know.

“Let’s hurry up and get this over with. That’ll be easiest for everyone,” Maomao said.

“What? Wait... N-No! Noooo!” Lishu wailed.

“You’re all right. I’ll be done before you can count the wood grains in your bed.”

“Done with wh—ahh! Eek!” The consort reached out desperately for her chief lady-in-waiting, but Maomao closed the curtain around the bed. As for the elderly physicians, they stood discreetly in a corner of the room with their backs turned.

For a while, the only sound was Lishu’s whimpering.

“She’s pure. Of course,” Maomao announced flatly, wiping her hands with a cloth. Lishu lay on the bed, completely drained, provoking consternation from her chief lady-in-waiting. It should have been fine—Maomao was a fellow woman; she’d even done something similar when assessing whether Empress Gyokuyou’s child was in breech; but evidently Maomao had been wrong to think a complete virgin would take the exam the same way as a woman who had already given birth. Lishu looked even more exhausted than the time they’d plucked out her hair in the bath.

“Maomao, you could stand to be more gentle,” Luomen said, although it was a little late for that. The other two physicians wore strained expressions as well.

Just when Maomao was thinking the job was over and she could relax and write up the paperwork, a woman’s voice said, “Excuse me.” The door opened, and three of Lishu’s ladies-in-waiting came in, flanking the consort’s former chief lady-in-waiting, the one who had been reprimanded by Jinshi. She looked like trouble, as usual, but today she seemed to have taken it to another level.

“Yes? Can we help you?” the current chief lady-in-waiting asked. She was technically the superior in this situation, but she’d started life as nothing more than a food taster, and she felt an understandable shock of fear when confronted by the woman who had previously held her position.

The former chief lady-in-waiting simply ignored her, turning instead to Maomao and the elderly physicians. “Were you able to ascertain the consort’s chastity?” she asked.

“Yes, we’ve just finished the examination,” Luomen said, whereupon the woman glanced toward Maomao.

“But you didn’t perform the examination, did you? It was that woman there. A known acquaintance of the consort. Don’t you see a problem here?” She seemed to be suggesting that Maomao might lie to protect Lishu—an attitude Maomao rightfully found irritating.

“Perhaps you’d like to join me in conducting a reexamination, then?” she said. “Maybe we should call a midwife too, just to be extra safe.”

Her idea provoked looks of distress—from Lishu and her chief lady-in-waiting. The consort looked like she might die of embarrassment if she were subjected to any more such humiliations.

The former chief lady-in-waiting, for her part, simply shook her head. It was almost like she thought she was the one in charge here—she’d certainly gotten more self-important since Maomao had seen her last. Before, at least she’d been willing to pretend to be deferential to the consort.

The reason for her arrogance soon became clear—she was holding it in her hand. “I must say, I dearly hoped it wouldn’t come to this—but I found this, and felt honor bound to bring it to your collective attention.” She put a piece of paper on the table. (Maomao couldn’t help noticing how crumpled it was.) “I confess, I couldn’t believe the consort would write such a thing!” The woman leaned dramatically—almost theatrically—against the table.

When Maomao saw what was written on the page, she could only frown.

“A love letter!” the former chief lady-in-waiting announced. “To someone who is not His Majesty!”

The page was covered in pretty, girlish characters—and a plenitude of sweet nothings and proclamations of love.

So that’s why she took us on the scenic route, Maomao thought, finally understanding why the attendant had led them to the wrong room before finally bringing them to Consort Lishu. She hadn’t been playing a nasty little joke—she’d been buying time.

The former chief lady-in-waiting called for an official who was outside the room. Maomao wasn’t sure why she would be so eager to do that—the consort’s infidelity would have consequences for her ladies-in-waiting as well. Above all, the question of whether the letter was really Lishu’s bothered Maomao, but the handwriting had already been examined and determined to be hers.

Maomao and the doctors were shooed out of the building before they had a chance to question the consort. It seemed the former chief lady had wanted to act before Maomao could do her examination, but the delaying tactic hadn’t gained enough time for that. Instead, one might say, she’d resorted to force.

Maomao and her companions decided to go back to the palace medical office. Maomao was an outsider, while Luomen and his two fellow physicians were none of them forceful personalities. If they were ordered to leave, there was little they could do but leave. Maomao was determined to at least write up a report on her findings. The former chief lady-in-waiting had insisted that Maomao’s word wasn’t trustworthy, but that wasn’t hers to judge. If nothing else, the doctors with her had seen Lishu’s face, and they seemed to believe that Maomao was right.

“That was rather brazen,” remarked Elderly Physician No. 1. He had a lanky frame that made one think of a barren tree.

“Yes! It was almost too much to watch,” responded Elderly Physician No. 2, a portly man with fingers like sausages.

Luomen was hardly younger than the two other doctors, but as the newest member of the office, it was he who served the tea. Maomao got up to help him, but he sat her back down, insisting that she focus on writing.

“The rear palace has always had people like her, but it’s always disappointing to realize that kind is still alive and well,” said the first doctor.

“You said it!” said the second. “I’m not saying women are evil, just that some of them make a room a darker place. It’s the same in the palace at large...”

Maomao cocked her head, surprised: they talked as if they’d been to the rear palace. “You’re not eunuchs, are you, sirs?”

“No, we’re not. We were in the rear palace, but we’re not castrated—we got out of there before they got us.”

“Back in the day, a doctor didn’t have to be a eunuch to go to the rear palace. Although they did make you take a strange drug any time you visited.”

Ah... Maomao remembered: the most notorious scandal in the rear palace had taken place decades ago when a doctor had gotten involved with a woman serving there and made her pregnant. Or at least, that was the story—it had in fact been the doing of the former emperor, but the deed was pinned on the unfortunate physician, who was banished along with the child. Problem solved, as far as the bureaucracy was concerned.

These days, the old quack was the only doctor in the rear palace, but at the time of that incident, there had been many physicians serving there—naturally enough, as it hadn’t been necessary to give up one’s manhood in order to do it.

“Well and good for them. I was a little late making my exit, and here I am,” Luomen said blandly as he placed teacups on a tray.

“It’s your own fault, Xiaomen. You never think anything is urgent enough to rush about!” Elderly Physician No. 1 chuckled.

“That’s right, but you sure helped us!” No. 2 chortled. They both seemed to be having a good time, while Luomen simply looked a bit bemused. What else could he do? From their attitudes to the affectionate nickname, it was clear they were old friends.

Elderly Physician No. 2 turned to Maomao. “So you’re Xiaomen’s adopted daughter, miss? So is that eccentric, L—”

Maomao’s face began to contort until it took on an unabashed glare. The portly doctor quickly shut his mouth.

“Young ladies always have a few subjects they’d prefer to avoid. Let’s respect that,” the lanky doctor said astutely. Clearly, age had brought him wisdom. Most helpful.

“Getting back to the subject—so the rear palace has always had plenty of people like her?” Maomao asked.

“Yes. Chaotic elements.” When the empress regnant had been in power, the women in the rear palace had been engaged in kicking each other down. Officials were selected, and selected frequently, on the basis of ability, and so the rear palace became a microcosm of the tension that pervaded the entire court. “And people say there were lots of spies too.”

“Spies?”

Evidently, the endless battles amongst the consorts inspired them to start using maids in hopes of scrounging up inside information.

“Once in a while, even ladies-in-waiting would turn traitor,” the physician said. A lady dissatisfied with her situation could easily be talked around, turned into a pawn in someone else’s game. Or again, one might lean on the power of one’s parents to exploit a weakness of the target’s parents—and so the pecking order in the rear palace could change with dizzying speed.

“It got exceptionally bad when the current Empress Dowager became pregnant. Women driven mad with jealousy even attempted to kill her.”

“That’s true! I don’t know how she survived until the empress regnant took her under her protection,” the other doctor said.

“It was all thanks to the astounding lady-in-waiting she had. She really knew how to handle herself—they say she even got the assassins to turn on their mistresses!”

What is this, a novel? Maomao thought, sipping her tea and looking unimpressed.

“Anyway, I haven’t seen something so distasteful for a long time,” the first doctor said.

This brought a question to Maomao’s mind; she said, “From the way you’re talking, it sounds like you think someone else in the rear palace is conspiring to bring down Consort Lishu.”

“You think not? Why else would a person turn so spectacularly against the great lady she serves?”

It was a fair point—until now, the former chief lady-in-waiting had never gone beyond garden-variety harassment. This time, though, she was clearly bent on destroying the consort. If she was successful, Lishu would be banished from the rear palace, and her ladies-in-waiting would be out of a job. In fact, they would be lucky not to suffer the same punishment as their mistress.

“That almost seems too superficial,” Maomao said.

Elderly Physicians Nos. 1 & 2 looked at each other. “If you’re Xiaomen’s daughter, I’m sure you’re a very smart young woman. But not everyone is as careful and thoughtful as you,” the lanky doctor said patiently.

“I understand that,” Maomao said—but this was too much.

“People like that aren’t thinking about the future—only about their pride. They might start by nettling someone they happen to dislike, but when there’s pushback, it only makes them angrier.”

“You don’t think she would hesitate even a little? She’s dealing with a high consort and she’s only a lady-in-waiting.”

“That’s exactly it. If a person feels trampled on, it only takes someone to give them the smallest push, and they go tumbling—humans are funny that way.” It was a simple way to make a spy.

“Ha ha ha, you do like those kinds of stories, don’t you?” the pudgy doctor said, stuffing a bun into his face. “It’s just like how you said that ‘White Immortal’ everyone was talking about was an intelligence agent from another country.”

Luomen sipped tea with a reserved smile on his face, but there was unmistakable sympathy for Consort Lishu in his eyes.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Once your girl submits the paperwork, the consort will be free and clear,” the portly physician said, obviously able to tell exactly how Luomen was feeling.

“But that love letter,” Luomen said, his worry not assuaged.

“Oh, that. Girls her age write letters like that all the time. What’s the problem with letting a little fancy take you? I know, I know—it’s embarrassing, for sure, and it’s a problem coming from a high consort. But you just say she was practicing writing to His Majesty, and the trouble goes away. Maybe she did write that letter—but she didn’t send it, did she? All the consorts’ letters are supposed to be checked by the censor, anyway.”

“Yes, they’re supposed to be...” Maomao said. But she was concerned by just how confident the former chief lady-in-waiting had acted.

“Say, Maomao,” Luomen began, glancing outside.

“Yes?”

“There’s a certain someone who always shows up about this hour, claiming it’s snack time. Are you sure you should be here?”

At that, Maomao promptly drained her tea. At the very same moment, she heard a weird old man whistling outside. She lost not a second getting her things together and opening the window opposite the entrance. “I’ll see myself out, then,” she said.

“You’re an odd one,” said one of the two Elderly Physicians, but neither of them tried to stop her; they were too busy preparing for the storm that was about to hit.

The exact same moment Maomao landed on the ground outside, there was a great slam as the door flew open. “Uncle! I’ve brought some ji dan gao! You’ll join me, won’t you?”

The man announcing his snack was none other than the monocled freak, and his entrance left Maomao with absolutely no reason to stick around any longer.

I’m still not sure, though...

Would Lishu’s trouble really be over now? The question made her uneasy. She hoped there was nothing bigger going on—but Maomao’s bad feelings had a tendency to be right.