The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 8 - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Go Book

The wind was getting colder every day. Maomao began to sleep under an extra blanket.

She wasn’t sleeping at that moment, though. She was staring open-mouthed at a veritable mountain of books piled in the entryway of the dormitory and marked To Maomao.

“What are those? I mean, they’re books, obviously,” Yao said as she emerged from her room. She’d managed to recover from her episode of poisoning, thankfully. It had taken a while for her to get back into action, but she would be starting work again in a couple days.

She came and stood beside Maomao. Her lovely face was now marked with jaundice. Her liver and kidneys had been badly compromised by the poison; she would have to avoid alcohol and salt, probably for the rest of her life. And they’d have to find her food that would be good for her skin.

“They’re all the same book,” En’en observed. She could naturally be found whenever Yao appeared. She was holding a bag of ingredients for their dinner—she’d been furiously gathering medicines and foods that would alleviate Yao’s jaundice. It saved Maomao the trouble. “It looks like it’s about Go. It says it’s by Kan Lakan.”

This was the doing of the freak strategist. Associating with troublesome people could only bring you trouble, Maomao knew, but knowing it and staying out of trouble were different things.

“I told him we didn’t want these sitting around here, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He gave me a letter for you too,” said the middle-aged woman who ran the dormitory.

She gave Maomao the letter. It contained a great many fulsome and indirect expressions, all written in a lovely script, but translated into plain language it said, I made a bunch of copies of this book about Go. You can have some too. It was clear that he’d forced some subordinate to write it for him. The poor guy.

“What are we supposed to do with these?” Yao asked. The stack of books was tall enough for her to lean against. Books were valuable objects—just one could cost enough to pay for a month of meals. Yet here was a whole stack of them. They were printed books, so somewhat cheaper than hand-copied manuscripts, but producing so many of them was still no mean feat. Maomao could picture the strategist’s adopted son Lahan hyperventilating over the amount of money involved. Oh, well. Not her problem.

“We burn them,” Maomao said flatly. But then she changed her mind. “No... That wouldn’t be nice.” It wasn’t the books’ fault that they had been written by this particular author.

She flipped through one of the books and found that it was surprisingly well done. It contained game records, diagrams of games of Go, accompanied by explanations of the salient features of the board situation. It would probably go over the heads of beginners, but it seemed like something experienced players might enjoy. There was even an illustration of calico cats playing Go together, but Maomao chose to ignore it.

En’en was peeking at the book with evident interest.

“Want a look?” Maomao said.

“Sure!”

Maomao passed her a copy and she started flipping through it, eyes sparkling. Who knew she had interests besides Yao? thought Maomao (who did pick unusual things to be impressed by).

“Does it look interesting?” she asked.

“Yes, it does! You can tell this is the work of our honored strategist—it’s very well done. The first half consists mainly of games that rely on a lot of joseki, while the second half shows off less-conventional play.”

Maomao’s “older sisters” had taught her the basics of Go and Shogi, but she still didn’t quite follow what En’en was saying. Instead she asked, “Want one?”

“If you’re offering, then sure. If you’re trying to sell it to me, I’d be willing to pay up to one silver piece. Not only is the material excellent, but the paper and print quality are both beautiful.”

“One silver piece?” Maomao looked at the mountain of books. She’d had no idea they were that valuable.

“Just one? You think she should let them go that cheap?” Yao said, looking over the construction of the books. Being from a rich background, her sense of what was “cheap” was a bit out of step with most people’s. One silver piece could easily pay for two weeks’ worth of meals.

“I grant she could probably get more,” En’en replied. “I was hoping for a friendly discount.”

Not collegial—friendly. So we’re friends now? If En’en considered Maomao a friend, then it would be rude not to treat her as a friend back. Therefore, En’en was a friend. Maomao felt she could trust En’en’s valuation of the book (if not the somewhat financially unmoored Yao’s). If she said the books were worth one silver, they probably were. It looked likely they were going to go into mass production, however, so maybe she should price them a little lower than that.

“You and Maomao are friends, En’en?” Yao stared at them fixedly. “What does that make me, then?”

“You are my precious and irreplaceable young mistress!” En’en said, thumping her chest and smiling broadly.

I don’t think that’s what she wanted to hear, Maomao thought. The “young mistress’s” expression immediately turned sour. She seated herself on a chair in the entryway and crossed her legs, sulking.

“Er?” En’en said, taken aback.

“You can just have the book, En’en. But if you know anyone who might like Go, would you spread the word?”

“You’re looking for Go players? Yes, I know a few. The physicians like to spend their days off playing Go.”

Ah, now that was useful info. Maomao felt a smile creep over her face as she regarded the books. With a little money in my pocket, I could buy some valuable medicines. A wide variety of items from the west had accompanied Shaoh’s shrine maiden to the capital. The most exotic of them would be snapped up by the city’s richest residents, but soon what remained would work its way to the markets. Even there, such imported goods would not come cheap—but, yes, that’s what money was for.

“Do you think you could tell me who those Go players are?” Maomao asked. En’en responded by pulling out a silver coin from her purse.

“Here,” she said. “Payment.”

“I said I would give it to you.”

“I’m happy to pay for it. But in exchange...” En’en glanced significantly at the pile of books. “Cut me in on the deal.” She gestured at the coin.

I knew she was a smart one. Maomao gave her a look indicating she understood. That was when they heard the thumping behind them. Yao was stamping her feet. Foot tapping was not the sort of thing that refined young ladies were supposed to do, but Yao was making a special effort.

“Y-Young mistress, don’t do that!” En’en said immediately, exactly the rise Yao had been looking for.

“En’en! Isn’t dinner ready yet?” She fixed the two of them with a scowl.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I’ll make something right away!” En’en said and hurried to the kitchen. Maomao looked at Yao, contemplating how adorable she was. She let her hand brush the books. She decided to put them in her room for now. It was going to be tight quarters for a while.

“Maomao,” Yao said.

“Yes?” Maomao looked back, a few books already in her hands.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

“I suppose, in a manner of speaking. But then, in a way, I also have work tomorrow.”

All three of them, Maomao, Yao, and En’en, had the next day off. Maomao could do what she wanted—poke her head in at the apothecary’s shop in the pleasure district or wander around town to see if anyone was stocking any interesting medicines.

“It’s got to be one or the other!” Yao said.

“Busy, then,” Maomao said.

“You’re free! I know you are!” Yao took Maomao by the shoulders and shook her. The young mistress could be so headstrong.

Maomao nodded. “Is there something you want to do tomorrow?”

In response, Yao’s hand went to her cheek, brushing a blotch of jaundice. “I’d like to go shopping for some medicine. I thought you’d know more about it than En’en.”

I get it. Yao was fifteen, an age when young women were worried about their appearance.

“Perhaps you’d like to shop for some makeup while we’re at it?” Maomao knew a place that served all the highest courtesans. When some good-for-nothing customer struck them, that was where they went. The shop knew how to hide even the nastiest bruises. Maomao was sure Yao would like to look her best when she came back to work.

“Makeup?” Yao looked closely at Maomao. She was studying the area around her nose. “Why do you draw freckles on your face, anyway?” They lived in the dorm together; Yao had long ago realized that Maomao’s freckles were fake.

“Oh, you know,” Maomao said. She’d resolved to stop once, but Jinshi had ordered her to keep doing it. Having to explain why, though, was tricky. It was risky to bring Jinshi into it. Finally she said, “Religious reasons.” It seemed like the best way to not have to go into details.

Yao, though, wouldn’t give up. “Does it, like, represent some apothecary god or something?”

“No. It’s a charm, if you will. To help me grow taller.”

“Huh. All right.” Yao didn’t need to get any taller, so such a charm was singularly unhelpful to her. Maomao was relieved to see her losing interest.

“Maomao...” It was at that moment that En’en entered carrying the evening’s side dish. She was giving Maomao a look that clearly said: Please don’t lie to the young mistress.