The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 6 - Chapter Ep

Epilogue

“It’s a downright ridiculous story, isn’t it?” Maomao said, flipping through the romantic tragedy that had come to them from some far country. Jinshi had only just given her back her original copy. (Well, her copy of the original copy.)

“I agree.” Jinshi, who had come to return the book, leaned against a shelf, staring out the window at the sky.

The atmosphere between them was difficult to describe. Though they were alone now, Jinshi had none of his recent forcefulness. Maomao knew he understood that this wasn’t the moment for it.

Consort Lishu—or rather, former Consort Lishu—was going to become a nun again, on the orders of the Emperor himself.

“I suspect His Majesty has had this in mind for some time,” Jinshi said.

Lishu’s mother was an old acquaintance of both the Emperor and Ah-Duo. His Majesty must have viewed Lishu as something akin to a daughter. That was why he had called her back to the rear palace—in hopes that she might, somehow, be happy.

The world was never so generous, though, and his attempt to make her happy backfired. Lishu found herself bullied by her half-sister and her own ladies-in-waiting, and ultimately, thanks to her position as a high consort, even found her life threatened. Locking her up in the prison tower had been an act of mercy on the Emperor’s part, an attempt to protect her from the very real danger of an assassination attempt. Lishu’s former chief lady-in-waiting had been, in simple terms, trying to get herself a new mistress. Most likely, she’d already been in touch with the emissary from the west—via the pigeons—because she felt she couldn’t hope to rise any further in the world under Lishu. The “love letter” had been among their communications.

The fact that Lishu had ended up imprisoned with the White Lady could only be called bad luck. Maybe she really had been born under a bad star.

In the tower, Lishu had seen strange things, caused by that sweet, bitter incense—the same smell that had come from the White Lady. It hadn’t drawn attention when the Lady had been searched before being put in the tower, but when Maomao examined her personally, she found a string tied to one of the woman’s teeth. The White Lady tried to bite it off, but this only made everyone more curious about what was attached to it. When they pulled it up, they discovered a small sachet of incense. This was a woman who would willingly drink quicksilver; why wouldn’t she hide incense in her stomach?

The stuff might have been dangerous had Lishu continued to be subjected to it, but Luomen (a medical officer!) said that since it had stopped at this stage, there was nothing to worry about. The fact that Lishu happened to be built in such a way that such drugs were especially effective on her was just another stroke of misfortune.

“A consort can’t be allowed to cause such commotion.” No consort could be the cause of such trouble and go entirely without consequences—hence, the nunnery. However, before rendering his judgment, the Emperor had summoned Maomao and asked her two questions:

“What is the life span of a rumor?”

She had answered that it was seventy-five days, although he shook his head and insisted that would not be enough to save face. Then he asked:

“If there were to be a man suitable for Lishu, what kind of man would he be?”

He practically sounded like a father seeking a good match for his daughter. This was how he acted with Lishu, another man’s child—Maomao could only imagine how he would be when it came time to find a match for his own offspring, Princess Lingli. Maomao knew the girl was the apple of his eye.

For just a second, she thought of the man with a scar on his right cheek, but she decided not to say so aloud. Forget strangling; it might get her head lopped clean off.

“I’m afraid that’s not a question I can answer, sir—but perhaps you might consider that the man who broke both his legs, tore out all the fingernails on one hand, and dislocated his shoulder to save her merits a reward.”

It was, indeed, Basen who had suffered more than any other in the present incident. Without him, Lishu would probably have ended up like a burst persimmon. Basen, understanding that a few mattresses weren’t going to be enough to help the plummeting young lady, had improvised a different approach. Instead of putting all the mattresses in one place, he’d had them spread out across the area where she was likely to land, and then he had taken all of the impact the mattresses couldn’t absorb upon himself. And Maomao had thought Jinshi was a masochist! Jinshi claimed Basen didn’t feel pain as acutely as other people, but even so...

The one thing she could say for certain was that she could imagine no one else who could have saved Lishu at that moment. She could just picture the reaction if she told the courtesans in the pleasure district about this: “It’s destiny!” they would exclaim, eyes shining.

And then there was Lishu whom Maomao had always taken to be shy and retiring around men, yet who had buried her face in Basen’s chest and cried. Maomao wasn’t so uncultivated as to not understand what that meant. Jinshi had quickly cleared everyone away and kindly waited until Lishu was done weeping. That had delayed Maomao in treating Basen, but the young man probably hadn’t been entirely unhappy about the situation.

Lishu, it was declared, would spend one year in the nunnery, whereupon she would return to her home and family, stripped of her title of consort. However, her family would not be punished.

As for Basen, he would be granted anything (it was emphasized) he might wish. Be it an object or a person, so long as it was within the Emperor’s power to grant, he would have it. Nor need he decide hastily, the Emperor advised. Basen could wait to say what he wanted—up to a year.

Maomao smiled with a touch of bitterness: this young man and woman had fallen for each other at first sight, yet they discovered true love never did run as smooth as it did in the stories. But still, this wasn’t a bad outcome at all.

After all this, Maomao reread the tragic romance again—but it still didn’t make any sense to her.

Not everything was wrapped up so neatly, however. The emissary from the west requested custody of the White Lady, who had been arrested as a criminal. Her reasoning? “Because she was one of Ayla’s agents.”

Ayla: the other emissary, the one who had been involved with selling feifa firearms to the Shi clan. The woman who somehow still seemed to be causing problems for them even now.

That wasn’t all, for the emissary requested something even bolder: she had cornered Lahan about lending aid or giving her asylum earlier, and now, amazingly, she pressed for the latter. This must have come as a shock to Lahan, who had been busy with his potato cultivation. What’s more, the emissary had a stunning idea as to how the asylum should be effected: she requested to enter the rear palace. “I need not be a high consort,” she had said. “Even the status of a middle consort would be enough.” Admittedly, it would be a less conspicuous way of getting her into the country than specifically stating that she was being granted asylum.

One thing I don’t know is how much of what she said is true, Maomao thought. She wanted to just forget about it and take a nap, but as long as Jinshi was there, she couldn’t do that. She wished he would hurry up and go home.

For his part, Jinshi didn’t seem particularly interested in leaving. He might not be much of a straight shooter, but he did seem to have a lot on his mind.

“What’s this?” he asked, picking up a rather sorry excuse for a book. It appeared to flummox even him, with its pages of characters that looked like dried earthworms.

“What do you think?” Maomao said.

“Is it...Go?” he said, peering at the untidy rows of black and white circles. “Don’t tell me...the honorable strategist?”

“Yes, sir.”

Lahan had foisted it upon her in exchange for the information about the emissary, on the assumption that she must know someone at the printing house.

No idea if they’d want any part of it, though. Not after she’d bought up the book they had been planning to use as a printing source. Even if they did take the job, they would have to be able to read the text first—that seemed like the biggest hurdle. Normally, she would have simply shoved the thing back in Lahan’s face, but to her own surprise she found herself accepting the sad little book.

Jinshi looked rather taken aback as well. Maomao snorted as if to say Pay it no mind and gazed at her laundry, which refused to dry here in the rainy season.

How long could this conversation go on? She wished it could stay this way. Also, she hoped he wouldn’t tickle the back of her foot again. She was careful to sit on her feet so Jinshi couldn’t see them.

He seemed to sense what she was thinking, for he smiled indulgently. He really knew how to piss her off. She was just giving him her fiercest Go home! stare when the door opened.

“Oh, hey, mister.” It was Chou-u. Jinshi simply nodded and raised a hand in greeting.

Chou-u trotted into the shop, ignoring how cramped it was with three people inside. Maomao was just wondering what he could be up to—when he ran a finger along her back, raising gooseflesh all over her body. “Wanna know something, mister? Freckles here can’t stand it if you swipe your finger along her back. It’s a hoot!”

Maomao, wondering why the hell Chou-u would bring up something like that at a moment like this, raised a hand to knuckle him in the head.

Jinshi, however, said, “Is that so?” and grinned. Then he pulled out his purse and put a fat silver piece in Chou-u’s hand, far more than any kid needed for pocket change.

“Huh? What’s this about, mister? What’s going on?” Chou-u asked.

“Oh, I’d just like you to run a little errand for me. Take your time about it.”

Maomao’s eyes became dots.

“Wow! You’re the best, mister!”

“Yes...take all the time you like.”

“Chou-u!” Maomao exclaimed, but the little brat walked out of the shop as if to say his work here was done. She jumped up to follow him, but she felt a tingling along her spine.

“M-Master Jinshi...”

“Well, I’ll be! It really works.” He was smiling triumphantly. “And I’m not done paying you back.”

No young man had ever looked more mischievous than he did at that moment.