The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 6 - Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Scandal (Part Three)

“I don’t understand it!”

That was the only appraisal Maomao could offer of the book on which she had spent so much money. She’d read it twice through, thinking maybe she had missed the interesting part the first time. Still flummoxed, she copied the entire thing out. And this was where it had gotten her.

“I just don’t understand.”

This was something deeper than whether or not she found the book interesting. The problem came down to a matter of emotions. As an experiment, she showed the book to the courtesans at the Verdigris House, and a struggle promptly broke out among the women to read it, all of their eyes glittering. It didn’t seem to matter to them that the text was riddled with incorrect characters, or that parts of it had clearly been mistranslated. It seemed to be just that appealing.

A boy and a girl from rival houses meet at a banquet and fall in love at first sight. All well and good, until the boy gets in an argument with someone from the girl’s family and kills him. That only makes relations between the two households even worse—but it doesn’t stop the young lovers, burning with passion, from getting married.

Notwithstanding the stiffness of the translation, it was the behavior of the main characters that really left Maomao befuddled, both of them driven by the passions of youth. At the end of the story, both protagonists wound up dead because of a bit of miscommunication. They could have avoided the whole problem, Maomao thought, if they had been a little more methodical in keeping in touch with each other and explaining what they were going to do.

When she offered this opinion to the enraptured courtesans, however, it was greeted with some fist shaking and the pronouncement: “That just goes to show how fiery and passionate their love was!”

Someone else took her by the shoulders and explained, “You see, it’s precisely those hiccups of destiny that make tragedy shine so brightly!”

Maomao did not understand the first damn thing about it.

So this was what Consort Lishu had been copying out? Had she seen anything especially attractive in it?

Maomao had already sent Jinshi word about the book; the text she had with her now was a copy she’d made in the course of a single night. It had no illustrations, but when tied with a simple string, it did bear a certain resemblance to a real book. She’d had Chou-u help her, though, so the paper wasn’t exactly even, and the entire product had—well, let’s call it character.

“I told you I would do pictures!” Chou-u had said.

“Maybe next time. Just try to cut the paper straight, will you?”

She’d spent all her time in arguments of that sort. Meanwhile, no matter how long she waited, matters surrounding Consort Lishu didn’t seem to progress. In fact, nothing much seemed to be happening at all.

She did, however, receive word from Lahan. He said he would be “meeting with the west” soon, and asked if she wanted to be a part of it.

“The west” was presumably the golden-haired envoy—the one who had faced them with the audacious choice between material aid and political asylum. Lahan and the envoy had already had one discussion, but he claimed nothing had yet been resolved. Maomao had been there, but with all the talk of politics and business, she hadn’t been able to contribute much besides warming an additional chair.

Hence she declined this new invitation. What if the eccentric strategist heard and tried to poke his head in? Granted, rumor had it he was keeping busy these days making some kind of book about Go. When he needed a breather, he went and made trouble at the medical office instead.

He should do his damn job, Maomao thought. It did occur to her that, at least during peacetime, work might actually go better for the freak’s people if he wasn’t present—but when he was at his office, Maomao knew she was safe, so she wished he would stay there. Besides, she felt bad for the medical staff having to suffer his regular incursions.

“Haven’t had any real work to speak of recently,” Maomao said with a great big sigh. She sometimes busied herself making stocks of the medicines she needed regularly, but recently there had been a dearth of opportunities to try unusual drugs or make up new concoctions. She frequently had to leave the shop in other hands as she was summoned away to tasks that were frankly outside her job description, and it had left her main vocation growing a bit stagnant. It didn’t help that she still had to teach Sazen as she made most of her drugs.

She just wanted to get a taste of some unusual draught once in a while. To mix up some fresh new pharmaceutical and find out what it did. She had been working her way through the medicines she’d purchased in the western capital, but they left her wondering if there wasn’t anything more unusual out there, more interesting.

On the top of her medicine cabinet were three small pots for plants, one of which had a fingertip-sized green bud sprouting from it. These were where she had planted the cactus seeds. They came from a dry climate, so she didn’t water them much. She had the sense that when they got bigger, they might have all kinds of uses—but the thought that it could be years before she had the opportunity to find out what they were was enough to make her feel faint.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a blowfish liver on the ground or something, she thought idly, gazing at the pots.

The door clattered and she looked up, wondering who it was, to find that the visitor had dropped something at their feet. Something wrapped in cloth—it looked like a branch. Maomao reached out, her eyes glowing. It was a deer’s antler! And not just that—it was still soft. An antler that had been in the process of growing, not one that had simply calcified and fallen away when the deer grew a new one. It was nearly one shaku long, and she knew exactly what it was.

“A velvet antler!” she exclaimed.

It was the newly grown antler of a deer. That freshness, that was the important thing when you were selling them—they were harvested first thing in spring, and the very tips were a particularly prized and particularly expensive form of the product. Yes, the tip was attached to this one. It was quite long, but judging from the softness and the way it was covered in fuzz, it would still possess plenty of medicinal potency.

The sparkle in Maomao’s eyes was accompanied by a thread of drool dangling from her mouth. Hawkers occasionally tried to sell velvet antler, but it was always powdered, and despite their insistence that they sold “only the finest products,” it was obvious that stuff other than the tip had been mixed in. Even so, there was no end of customers who, figuring the stuff still had some medicinal properties, wanted a dose before visiting the courtesans. The medicine was alleged to be very effective for male customers.

Just imagine how much medicine she could make with an antler this size!

First I’m going to need some boiling water, to kill any insects and coagulate the blood, she thought, looking lovingly at her prize—when a large hand reached in from the side and wrapped the cloth back around the antler, stealing it away from her.

Hey, hands off! Maomao looked up, her displeasure plain on her face, to discover someone she hadn’t seen in a long time. They wore a smile one could have easily taken for that of a gentle celestial nymph, but the scar that ran down their right cheek showed that this was more than just an idealized beauty.

“It’s been quite a while, Master Jinshi,” she said.

Almost two months had passed since their return from the western capital, during which they hadn’t seen each other. They’d exchanged some letters, but always about business matters, and it was always either Basen or some anonymous messenger who brought word from Jinshi to the pleasure district.

She thought he looked a little more angular than before. Maybe he’d lost some weight, what with it being so hot these days. “Are you sleeping properly?” she asked. For all his inordinate beauty, this nobleman was surprisingly given to overworking himself, and frequently appeared to be stumbling around from fatigue.

“That’s the first thing you say to me? And what are you reaching out for?” Jinshi was looking at Maomao’s hand and sounding rather exasperated. Her fingers refused to let go of the velvet antler; she had a firm grip on the package and was trying to pull it toward her.

“I thought perhaps it might be for me, sir.”

“I daresay that’s why I brought it.”

“Then if you would give it to me. Please.”

“Somehow I’m not sure I want to anymore...”

A death sentence! Maomao grabbed the cloth with both hands and pulled. Jinshi held the antler above his head mockingly; Maomao bounced up and down swiping at it, but he was a good shaku taller than her and she was never going to reach it.

Son of a—!

In spite of her imprecatory internal monologue, she was actually somewhat reassured, for this was the same kind of reward Jinshi had always offered her.

Suddenly, however, she felt herself tilting in mid-jump. For a second, she was treated to a view of the ceiling, until Jinshi’s face appeared above her. His gentle smile of a moment before was gone; instead, a hard light in his eyes pierced Maomao like a blade. He had swept her feet out from under her as she jumped for the antler, and caught her with his free hand.

“Master Jinshi. The antler, please.” Somehow, it was the only thing that would come out of her mouth. One might even say that if she’d said anything else, she wouldn’t be Maomao.

“Listen to what I have to say, and then I’ll think about it.”

“Please change ‘I’ll think about it’ to ‘I’ll give it to you.’”

Just “thinking about it” was too ambiguous a commitment when it came to a social superior, and that concerned her. She didn’t want an offer he might renege on at any moment; she wanted an assurance.

“Fine... I’ll give it to you, but listen to what I have to say.”

“If all I have to do is listen, then okay.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but didn’t protest, which she (somewhat unilaterally) took as agreement.

“While we’re at it, might I ask you to let me go?” she said.

“I refuse.”

No dice there. So she was going to end up hearing him out on an incline, with her back leaned against his knee. She considered trying to look for help, but the door and windows were shut. Even if they’d been open, the other residents of the Verdigris House would probably have just looked on grinning, so maybe it wouldn’t have mattered.

Maybe Chou-u will walk in on us, Maomao thought hopefully, but her wonderful, lovable little brat was out today, learning to sketch with his teacher. Ukyou or Sazen, whoever was free, would have taken him there and would pick him up again. The fact that the madam allowed this seemed proof positive that she believed there would be a way to put Chou-u’s pictures to good use in the future.

Jinshi continued to look at Maomao with an expression like a wild beast who might bite at any moment, but at least he got right to the point. “Are you ready to take me up on...what I proposed?”

To be fair, he had never actually proposed anything. But even Maomao wasn’t dense enough to miss what he was referring to. The night of the banquet in the western capital, Jinshi had told Maomao the true reason he’d brought her along. Well, all right, he hadn’t actually told her in so many words—but she felt it was correct to understand that he sought to marry her.

Life wasn’t like those stories—in real life, you didn’t have to be madly in love with someone to marry them. Powerful people often got married as a play in their power games; and even commoners might wed in order to support themselves, like a farmer who simply needed more hands to help in the fields. If both parties stood to gain something from the union, or at least if one partner was to the other’s liking, then they didn’t necessarily both have to have feelings for each other. So long as the proposed match wasn’t completely distasteful, it might be best simply to accept.

He’s got strange tastes, though...

Surely Jinshi could have had his pick of beautiful, noble women. Who would choose a weed like wood sorrel when he was surrounded by peonies and roses? There must have been someone better suited to him than Maomao.

Like Consort Lishu! Sure, she was currently under arrest on suspicions of infidelity, but as long as Jinshi knew she was innocent, then where was the problem? People would say whatever nasty things they wanted, but Jinshi surely wasn’t the kind to believe them.

Yet here he was, urging his suit on her again, the next act of their little drama. She desperately hoped he wouldn’t strangle her again. This time, he might finish the job.

“Do you hate me so much?” he asked, his face now less like a wild dog and more like a puppy. Love, hate—some people wanted the world to be so black and white. Why wouldn’t he give her the choice of a gray area?

“I suppose I don’t hate you as such,” she said. She might even think of him favorably. Certainly, she regarded this noble more positively than she had back when they’d first met.

Jinshi pursed his lips, not very pleased with this evasive answer. Maybe he was hoping she would come right out and say she loved him, but quite frankly, Maomao wasn’t at a point where she could bring those words to her lips. The best she could manage was that she wasn’t without a certain affection for him.

Instead she said, “The caterpillar fungus made me very happy.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

“Also, the ox bezoars were most helpful.”

“And what else?”

“And I want that velvet antler.”

She reached out for the package, which Jinshi had put behind his back, but he planted a palm on her belly to keep her from sitting up, and she couldn’t reach it. She kicked her legs from sheer frustration, and this time he grabbed her ankle. She was just trying to decide what he might be planning when he brushed the tip of his pinky finger along the back of her foot.

“Hrk?!” Maomao choked, squirming. The many experiments she’d conducted throughout her life had made her far less sensitive to pain, and the instruction of her various older sisters had numbed her to matters sexual as well, but even Maomao had her weak points. The back of her foot, and her back as well, were hopelessly vulnerable to a gentle brush of the fingers.

“M-Master Jinshi... That’s...not...fair!”

“Fair? I don’t know what you mean,” he said, and sliiide went his fingers again. How did he know to do that? When had her secret gotten out? Why did Jinshi know Maomao’s weak point?

“Let me go. Y-You’re dirty.”

“You’re the only one here who seems worried about it.”

She hated the way he pretended indifference. Seriously, how did he know? Only a few people were privy to Maomao’s vulnerability. The madam, Pairin, and...

Then she thought of the always-in-control lady-in-waiting in her first flush of old age, and her eyes went wide. Suiren had punished her once by tickling her with a feather duster—but she had just been joking around and had stopped right away; Maomao didn’t think she had given away what a vulnerable spot that was.

To think, Suiren had figured it out from that brief encounter—she was truly terrifying.

The tickling had moved down her foot now; she gritted her teeth and twisted, pressing her lips together and trying not to make so much as a sound. She wasn’t quite successful.

The long fingers worked their way to the arch of her foot, inducing a thrash from her, whereupon they went to her other heel. The tickling kept moving before she could become accustomed to it in any one place, landing on her toes, the top of her foot, her ankle, and even her calf.

Jinshi looked down at her with a smile, totally in control of things. He seemed to be savoring the sight of Maomao flopping like a fish despite her best efforts to control herself. Teasingly, he brushed the top of her foot, which was by now arched like a bow.

She’d never imagined he might get even for last time quite like this. Finally, unable to hold it in any longer, laughter burst out of her. The book on the desk, the one Maomao had been copying, tumbled to the floor. At last thinking, perhaps, that he had gone too far, Jinshi let her go.

Maomao got her breathing under control, straightened her robe, and wiped the tears that had welled up in her eyes. At that, Jinshi swallowed audibly; he looked conflicted and wouldn’t meet her eyes. His gaze landed instead on the book, which he picked up.

“Have you ever read that, Master Jinshi?”

“I have.”

“What did you think of it?”

There was a wry smile on Jinshi’s face—he seemed to feel about the same way Maomao did about the book. He understood exactly what it would mean for someone of noble birth to let their actions be dictated by their own romantic impulses. If he didn’t, he couldn’t have worked in the rear palace all those years.

“I think there must have been some other way.”

“Talk like that could see you scorned by all the world’s women.”

“Not including yourself, I suppose.”

Impatient youth gave rise to burning passion, and love that ended in grief was counted beautiful because it was so tragic. The text stated that the young woman at the center of the story was thirteen years old, but given that this was a translation from the west, that would probably make her fourteen or fifteen by the count used in Li, where a person became a year older at the start of each year. That was still young, though—young enough that she might still be ruled by her passions, making it impossible to dismiss the story out of hand.

Maomao would never have done such a thing—by that age, she had already been thoroughly indoctrinated into the thinking of the pleasure district. And Jinshi would have been established in the rear palace by then. They had spent that most impressionable age in environments that were, in their own way, very similar.

“I wonder if I might have been capable of such things had I grown up somewhere else,” Jinshi said, and Maomao could tell that he was speaking from the heart. She couldn’t deny that it might be true. But it was, ultimately, just a possibility. Hypothetical.

Instead of answering, she murmured, “I don’t want to be an enemy.” Jinshi gave her a sidelong look as if to ask whose enemy she meant. “To Empress Gyokuyou,” she said.

Would Jinshi understand what she was saying? If not, that was fine, Maomao thought. There were things even he didn’t know.

“You—”

He seemed about to ask her something else when a horse whinnied outside. There was a sound of rushing footsteps, and then someone shouted, “Master Jinka!” It was a name he had used before when visiting the pleasure district, and often assumed.

Jinshi frowned, wondering what it was this time, and opened the door. A man stood there, out of breath—one of the servants who often accompanied Jinshi and Basen. “Pardon me, sir!” he said, kneeling once and then taking a step closer. He glanced around. It seemed he didn’t want Maomao to hear what he had to say. “It’s about the matter of the white flower.”

“Then she’s more than welcome to hear about it,” Jinshi said.

Maomao looked quizzical at the code word, but the servant promptly dispelled her confusion. “Consort Lishu has escaped her room in the tower and is on the highest floor,” he said, his face a mask of horror.

○●○

Let’s take a quick trip back in time.

The sweet-bitter scent wafted through the room. Lishu sat in the corner, leaning against her chest, wrapped in her blanket.

“Has it smelled a little funny around here recently?” Kanan asked, but Lishu shook her head. The pipe wasn’t protruding from the ceiling; Sotei, with whom Lishu had been speaking until moments before, had withdrawn when she heard Kanan’s footsteps. Kanan had taken a look at the decaying ceiling and said she would call someone to repair it, but Lishu had urged her not to. She didn’t want some stranger coming into the room, and anyway, the whole place was falling apart; fixing that one bit of the ceiling wouldn’t change anything. Thankfully, Kanan relented.

“Lady Lishu, your meal is ready.” Lishu could hear the clatter of the tray being set down. But she knew it was just cold congee and soup on the table. Sometimes the portion of the side dish was stingy too. At first, she even looked forward to this poor fare, but these days she just didn’t care anymore. She would force herself to eat half of it, because Kanan was watching, but even that was a struggle. Maybe it was because she spent all day, every day, cooped up in this room, with even less to do than she’d had in the rear palace.

“Don’t huddle in a corner. Come out where there’s light,” Kanan said. There was no light here. There was a window in the other room that looked out onto the hallway, which was arguably a tiny bit better than the room Lishu was in right now, but that was all. She could go out in the hallway and walk from one staircase to the other, but that didn’t amount to much.

Lishu stood unsteadily. The fatigue was awful. She heaved herself into her chair and dipped her spoon into the viscous, gluey congee. It was just plain today, with a vanishingly faint sprinkle of salt. She thought a bit of black vinegar might help, but there wasn’t any.

“I’m so sorry, milady. I must have forgotten it,” Kanan said with a deep bow. Her apology seemed heartfelt, but Lishu couldn’t help noticing that she was wearing a different robe from when she’d left. How long had it taken Lishu since she got here to notice that Kanan changed clothes each time she went to get Lishu’s food? The new robe had a similar look and pattern to the old one, as if Kanan hoped Lishu wouldn’t notice the difference.

More and more, though, Lishu mistrusted her. Lishu was in this situation because of a book a maid had given to her to copy. She strongly suspected it was her former chief lady-in-waiting who had put the woman up to it. Both people she had once believed were serving her faithfully.

Kanan herself had once been among the ladies making fun of Lishu, but she had had a change of heart after someone had attempted to poison Lishu at a garden party. And it was true that she’d been far kinder to her mistress since then—so much so that Lishu had insisted Kanan become her chief lady-in-waiting, not a mere food taster.

But had Kanan really done all this for Lishu’s benefit? When she had first assumed the position of chief lady, Kanan had had minimal authority; the other ladies-in-waiting often simply ignored her. She had soldiered on and done her best, though, or so Lishu had believed. But was that true? Might she not still be laughing at Lishu with the other ladies behind her back? Might she not be pretending to be sympathetic, only to go back and report what she heard in confidence for the entertainment of the others?

It couldn’t be true, could it? If it were, she would never have followed Lishu all the way to this tower.

She tried desperately to push such thoughts away, but they wouldn’t leave her alone. Instead of shaking her head, she brought the spoon to her mouth—and bit down on something hard.

She spat into her handkerchief, coming up with rice, traces of blood—and a fingertip-sized pebble.

“Lady Lishu!” Kanan said, looking at her with concern. Maybe some sand had gotten into the food by accident—but this was much too large to be a grain of sand.

Unable to focus her eyes, Lishu stirred her spoon through the congee. Two, three, four—there were too many stones at the bottom of the bowl to dismiss as an accident.

“I’ll go get a new bowl right away!” Kanan said and reached for the congee, but Lishu stopped her.

“I don’t want it.”

She didn’t even have an appetite. She didn’t want to choke down more cold, disgusting congee.

“Lady Lishu...”

“I don’t want it! I don’t want it! I don’t want it!” Lishu shook her head furiously and swept the food off the table. The bowl and tray hit the floor with a crash, soup and side dish flying everywhere. Lishu tore at her hair and her nose started to run. She began to weep piteously. “Why?! Why is it always me?!”

Despised by her father, tormented by her half-sister, twice sent to the rear palace as a political tool. All of that had been awful, but she had borne it. She’d thought that maybe if she kept quiet and did as she was told, her father might be nice to her. That hope had been dashed by the rumors that she was an illegitimate child. It had turned out she was her father’s blood, but his attitude hadn’t changed at all. That’s right—it ate at him. He couldn’t stand the fact that he was from a branch house, while Lishu’s mother had been from the main family. That was why he sent her only the cruelest ladies-in-waiting. Maybe he had been behind all of the trouble she’d endured to this point.

Lishu wasn’t cut out to be a high consort, but there she was, and she had to either stand up and let herself be compared with the other consorts, or try to shrink down so small as to be invisible. Those were her only options. At the garden party, her father hadn’t even tried to talk to her.

If he hadn’t wanted her, why had he had her? Did he enjoy watching Lishu suffer in her limbo? Maybe all of them did. Her father, her half-sister, her ladies-in-waiting, the maid, Kanan, everyone... All of them...

With a start, Lishu realized everything around her was a mess. The congee bowl was broken, the table was overturned, and her chair had hit the floor. Everything that wasn’t nailed down was on the ground, and Kanan was in a corner, hiding her face with hands covered in grains of rice. A dish lay shattered at her feet. Had Lishu thrown it at her? There was a thin red line on Kanan’s cheek and her expression as she tried to gauge Lishu was one of terror.

Lishu felt her blood run cold. She’d never meant to do this. Yet she was the only one who could have turned the room upside down this way. Her mind went blank, and she started to perspire heavily.

“Go...”

“Lady Lishu...”

“Get out of here, please. And don’t come back!” She hit the wall, hard, and stamped her feet and shouted. She didn’t want to do this. But it was the only thing that would come out of her mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” Kanan said. “I’ll go change...” She looked sadly around the upturned room, and then she left.

When Kanan’s footsteps had vanished, Lishu sank down onto the floor. Her eyes as she looked up at the ceiling were clouded with tears. She didn’t want to do this, so why had she? She’d felt like she needed to attack someone, lest she be attacked again, and in her anxiety she had lashed out at Kanan.

Lishu’s face must have been a mess. She wanted to cry great gasping sobs, but if she started weeping, someone might come. She hugged her knees tight instead.

“Lishu? Lishu!” came the voice from the next room. The pipe was poking through the ceiling, and Sotei was talking to her. With her ears, she must have heard the entire humiliating exchange. “What’s going on? It sounds like your lady-in-waiting left.”

“It’s nothing,” Lishu said, moving to sit once more by the chest of drawers. The sweet-bitter smell calmed her down, and Sotei’s muffled voice soothed her anxiety.

She wondered who Sotei was.

“I’ve got an idea, Lishu.”

“What’s that, Sotei?”

“They’ll change the guard soon. Won’t you come upstairs?”

Her voice was sweet, pleasant. Any other time, Lishu might have dithered about the decision and then turned her down. But now, now she didn’t have it in her.

She had no reason not to accept Sotei’s suggestion.

Lishu pressed her ear to the door and listened for the footsteps. She listened as they came down from above, went by, and continued downward. She heard the pounding of her own heart, so loud she was afraid the passing guard might notice it. She tried not to breathe. It wasn’t as if the guard would think anything was unusual should he hear a sound at that moment, but what Lishu was about to attempt had her in a state of absolute anxiety.

She heard the footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs; heard a door open and shut. Trying to slow her racing heart, Lishu stepped out the door.

She took a slow step into the hallway. She was holding her shoes in her hand so they wouldn’t give her away. She worked her way up the stairs, step by step, and opened the door—ever so slowly, so that it wouldn’t make a sound.

The next floor up was in even worse repair than the one Lishu lived on. At least her chambers had been swept, but this level seemed rife with dust. She put on her shoes and looked around. There were several rooms on this floor, but only one of them had the door cracked open. Still fighting her pounding pulse, Lishu knocked on it. “Sotei?”

There seemed to be no answer. Lishu had just turned around, thinking she must have the wrong room, when something wrapped around her from behind.

“Ha ha! Welcome to my humble abode.” A young woman’s voice, no longer muffled, sounded in Lishu’s ear. The hand that had grabbed her was delicate and pale, laced with blue veins. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting.” She had that same unique smell, sweet and bitter at the same time. The same one that had been wafting down to Lishu through the ceiling.

“Sotei?” Lishu asked again, feeling goosebumps on her neck. Sotei seemed to be resting her chin on Lishu’s head, and something was tickling her nape. It was a white bundle—the best silken threads. A tassel to something, maybe.

“You have such nice skin, Lishu. A good, healthy color, but not tanned by the sun.” The tip of Sotei’s finger slid along Lishu’s cheek. “And this lovely black hair. You have someone who cares enough to comb it for you even in a place like this. I’m jealous! Ooh, but a messy eater, are we? You’ve got a grain of rice here.”

Her delicate fingers plucked away the grain of rice that was stuck to Lishu’s hair, slowly, almost as if she were scraping it away, and then she dropped it on the floor. Her fingers were red in places—they looked like burns that were just now healing.

“I feel so sorry for you,” Sotei said. “Mommy dead when you were still a baby, used as a political tool practically since you could walk. Rejected by your family, mocked by your own ladies-in-waiting...”

Yes! Yes, that was Lishu’s story.

“Truly, it’s a shame. No one understands you. Why do you suppose you’re always the victim?”

The gentle voice and the aroma enveloped Lishu. She could feel the body heat from the pale skin. It had been so long since she’d last felt another person so close to her. She felt like she might simply melt away.

“They’re all terrible to you. You’re nothing but sweet and kind, and all they do is bully you and make your life a living nightmare.”

Lishu, nearly melting into the sweet odor, nodded at Sotei’s words. Yes, that’s right. They were always bullying her. Ignoring her. Using her.

What had Lishu ever done wrong?

For the longest time now...

For the longest time...

A half-formed question drifted through Lishu’s hazy mind. When, she wondered, had she told Sotei about her father?

“They all leave you alone to eat cold food by yourself in a gloomy room. Unbelievable.”

When had she mentioned the food being cold? The question occurred to her, but she couldn’t seem to make her brain work. She felt Sotei’s embrace slacken, though, and she managed to turn around, to finally face someone whom she had only known as a voice until this moment.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? Is there something on my face?”

The smiling girl before Lishu was a color she’d never seen before. She was beautiful, in her way. Her figure was peach-like, her lips full and red like cherries. But her skin seemed...colorless. People from the west had pale skin, but this was far, far paler than that. Lishu could never have made her skin this white, no matter how copiously she applied white makeup powder. Sotei’s hair, too, was like an old woman’s. It was her hair that Lishu had taken for a tassel, hair that ran straight and true down her back.

“Do I look strange to you?” Sotei asked. Her eyebrows, slowly furrowing, were white too. And her eyes, they were as red as rubies.

On the way to the western capital, Lishu had heard the rumors—that there was a woman like one of the mythical immortals stirring up trouble in every region and making the powerful people of the capital dance in the palm of her hand.

“It’s you. The White Lady...”

“So you know about me. That makes us two of a kind, then.” Sotei twirled Lishu’s hair around the end of her finger. “Because I know about you too. I just never thought we would find ourselves in the same place together.” She smiled—then tugged on Lishu’s hair. “This black hair—I’m jealous of it!”

Lishu couldn’t speak.

“And your healthy skin! You can go out in the sun and it doesn’t get inflamed and burn.”

Still Lishu was silent.

“I can’t even stand the light from a window. You complained about the gloom, Lishu? The darkness? Those gloomy corners are the only ones where I can survive!”

Sotei’s eyes were narrow and she was staring fixedly at Lishu.

“I have something to tell you. All the torment that’s been inflicted upon you? You can’t blame anyone for it. It’s your own fault!” Slim fingers danced across Lishu’s cheek, rough fingertips scratching her skin. “You never had to starve growing up, and you put on all their pretty clothes without question. But you just sit around doing nothing, don’t you, Lishu? You ought to know that if you can’t protect yourself, you’re going to be a target.”

Now the fingers pinched at her cheek, digging into her skin, until the nails left scratches behind.

“It sickens me to look at you.” A tremendous frown came over Sotei’s face, a look of contempt every bit as brutal as her words. Lishu shrank into herself. “It’s disgusting just seeing you there.”

Sotei’s chilly stare made Lishu’s heart skip a beat. It reminded her of so many stares she’d seen before. Her father’s, her half-sister’s, her ladies’...

Lishu’s teeth started to chatter. She felt like she might be sucked into those red eyes. Overhead, she heard scurrying, like bugs. It sounded to her like the voices of the maids and servants, spreading their tales about her and condemning her behind her back.

“No... Stop...” Lishu shook her head; she pressed a hand to her cheek, which must have had red scratch marks on it, and looked at Sotei with fear in her eyes.

Sotei’s lips twisted. “Sickening... It’s like looking at my old self.”

Lishu had no hope anymore of understanding what Sotei was talking about. She began to run, just desperate to get out of there. She dashed through the decaying hallway, ran up the stairs. As Sotei had told her, the door to the next floor wasn’t locked. Lishu kept running, higher and higher. She lost count of how many floors she had gone up. The hem of her robe was filthy, and the creaking of the floorboards had become deafening.

She saw a door that wasn’t like the others. For one thing, it had a lock, but the lock was rotting away. Lishu grabbed the handle. The door was somewhat heavy, but she opened it, to find herself confronted with a leaden sky. No doubt the rulers of the past, looking out over the entire capital from this vantage point with a cup of wine in hand, had believed their glory would last forever.

It was a balcony, albeit one ravaged by exposure to the elements. Lishu took an experimental step and found the wood groaned weakly underfoot.

Normally she would have been frozen by fear, but now she walked forward, one unsteady step at a time. The railing was equally dilapidated; all the paint had flaked off. The wind was blowing, whipping over her cheeks and sending her hair everywhere.

Lishu could see birds flying. They looked so free. She reached out toward them, but of course, she couldn’t reach them.

She looked at her hand, which grasped uselessly at the sky.