The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 8 - Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Baitang

The aroma of medicine drifted through the room. Maomao gazed at her creation, pleased to have been able to put it together right in her own chambers in just the few minutes since she’d gotten back from work. Now she would finally be able to do some experiments.

I think this should do it. Her invention included two types of herbs: some to prevent anything poisonous from getting into a wound, and some to revitalize the body. She’d mixed them together, added oil to prevent them from drying out, and finally added a bit of beeswax to produce a balm. She nodded in satisfaction as she rolled up her left sleeve and readied her knife. She wiped it with alcohol to make sure it was clean, then flourished the blade and—

“Eeeek!” someone cried. It was Yao. “Maomao, what are you doing?!”

“I’m not sure I understand the question.” She set down the knife, a fresh cut visible on her left arm. She’d just been trying out a new medicine in her room. Par for the course for Maomao, but it must have been an unnerving sight to Yao. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve got medicine right here.”

She didn’t mention that the whole question was whether or not it was going to work. Trial and error, that was the way forward when developing new cures.

I admit it would be nice if there were someone else I could test things on, she thought. She could practically see her father’s frown, though. Once in a while she managed to use one of her concoctions on a sturdy-looking soldier, but with a few precious exceptions, they didn’t come back after she had helped them. What they need is a good, violent training accident, she thought. Not very nice, true. People got angry when she tried to keep mice, and once when she’d had the bright idea of shaving Maomao the cat in order to test a hair-growth potion, the dismay from the other inhabitants of the Verdigris House had been so intense and vociferous that she’d had no choice but to give up on her plan. (It wasn’t like she was going to waste the shaven fur! She would have turned it into writing brushes!)

For all these reasons, then, Maomao’s only option was to experiment on her own body.

And now Yao was all upset. “You big, dumb dummy!” she said.

“What’s the matter?” En’en asked, drawn by Yao’s shouting. She was greeted by the sight of Yao holding Maomao’s left arm and looking very unhappy.

“Say something to her, En’en!” Yao exclaimed.

“About what?” En’en must have been in the middle of making dinner, because she was holding some bok choy. Perhaps some sort of soup was in store for them. En’en made a rich, delicious baitang soup by boiling fish and pork bones. Maomao resolved to help herself to some later.

“About this! Just look at this arm!” Yao gestured with Maomao’s left arm.

“I see it. I would guess she’s testing the effects of medicines.”

“Is that true?” Yao demanded.

“It is,” confirmed Maomao. En’en had sharp eyes; she’d probably guessed what Maomao was doing even though she’d never actually seen it.

“If you knew about this, why didn’t you stop her?” Yao asked. “I thought your arm never seemed to get any better. It’s because you’ve been giving it fresh injuries!” Maomao had noticed Yao never commented on her bandage. It turned out it wasn’t because she hadn’t noticed it; she’d been trying to be sensitive and not mention it.

“Mistress, this is something Maomao’s doing purposefully. It’s not simple self-harm; she’s trying to develop effective pharmaceuticals. I didn’t think there was any reason to stop her.”

“She’s right. I have an objective in mind,” Maomao said. “Medicine and poison are two sides of the same coin. You have to balance your formula so that it becomes one and not the other—but the only way to know what you have is to try it.”

Any student of medicine ought to have understood the importance of experimentation. The medical office even kept several kinds of domestic animals on hand for the purpose of testing medicines—a fact that always caused Yao to look very conflicted, though in the end she never said anything about it. She knew it was necessary.

Maomao thought this was similar—not something Yao really had any right to argue about—but Yao, scowling, wasn’t about to back down. “I don’t care. That’s no excuse to go on like this!” She wouldn’t let go of Maomao’s arm. “Friends don’t let friends do...this to themselves!”

Maomao and En’en both looked at her wide-eyed. “Friends. Right,” En’en said. “Friends wouldn’t... I suppose...” She looked at Maomao with a hint of jealousy.

“Right... Friends...” Maomao echoed. Come to think of it, she’d been spending a fair amount of time with them outside work recently—sharing meals, going out together, or just chatting. Those were things that could arguably be classified as activities one did with friends.

As first En’en and then Maomao tried out the idea out loud, Yao’s face got redder and redder. “Th-That was a slip of the tongue! I meant colleagues! Work colleagues! Anyone would stop their professional counterparts from doing awful medical experiments on themselves. Wouldn’t they, En’en?”

En’en paused a second to think about it. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t think it would help to try to stop Maomao, and anyway, if it’s serving a higher purpose, maybe we should let her do what she wants.”

Maomao nodded.

“All right! Well, I can do the same thing!” Yao said.

“You most certainly cannot!” En’en burst out, dropping her bok choy. “I won’t brook a single scratch on your beautiful, flawless skin, Lady Yao! It can’t be allowed! I dare not think of it! If you did any such thing, I would make ten times—no, a hundred times—as many wounds on my own body! Could you live with that, milady?!”

En’en had Yao by the shoulders and was shaking her. She looked very serious and was talking very fast, working herself into a frenzy. Maomao couldn’t help thinking it didn’t seem like a very delicate way to handle one’s “mistress,” but she figured En’en couldn’t stop herself. The more you cared for someone, the more you wanted a say in how they behaved—especially if that behavior involved hurting themselves.

Yao had finally freed Maomao’s arm, so she dabbed some medicine on it and rewrapped the bandage. Then she picked up the bok choy En’en had dropped. “Say... Do you smell something burning?” she asked, sniffing the air.

“I left the stewpot on the fire,” En’en said.

There was a short pause—and then all three of them raced to the kitchen.

The pork buns En’en had been making were burned to a crisp. She’d prepared a multiple of three, which made Maomao think (or at least hope) that En’en had been including her, but it was impossible to work up any desire to eat the blackened food.

“I’ll clean up later,” En’en said, deflated. She seemed less upset about wasting food than the prospect of having to scrape up the charred bits.

That’s going to be a chore, all right, Maomao thought.

Congee and soup made for a somewhat simpler meal than usual, but En’en’s baitang was exquisite, as Maomao reaffirmed to herself with every sip. She’d asked for the recipe once, but En’en wouldn’t tell her—she’d only looked at Yao and grinned. Maomao had decided it seemed wise not to press the subject.

I do wonder what’s in it, though. Unlike Yao, Maomao didn’t mind lowbrow ingredients, so it didn’t really matter to her what was involved.

Yao looked somewhat disappointed by the dearth of side dishes, but she thoughtfully held her tongue when she saw how despondent En’en already was. As mistress-servant relationships went, this one was highly functional—in Maomao’s view, because Yao was the object of En-en’s intense, if not necessarily requited, affections.

She picked up a scallop with her chopsticks and popped it into her mouth. It was still full of flavor. “By the way, Yao, did you want something with me?” she asked. The entire chain of events that had led to the burned food had, after all, begun with Yao coming to Maomao’s room. She was too timid to visit Maomao without a good reason, or at least a good excuse.

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” Yao said, setting down her chopsticks, which still had some pork between them. She took a piece of paper from the folds of her robes. “I’ve got a schedule here.”

“What kind of schedule?”

The physicians from the medical office often had to be on-site when there was a festival or ritual occasion, so each month the office produced a schedule showing if and when any doctors would be required for anything. As Yao unfolded the paper, Maomao saw two very familiar words:

“A garden party!”

Indeed. The bane of all the consorts in the rear palace in these days when winter was approaching.

“It looks like it’s mainly that and the end-of-year observances,” En’en said, peeking over their shoulders.

“But isn’t it a little late for a garden party?” Maomao asked. She felt like the year before, the party had taken place at least a month earlier. There wouldn’t be any flowers left to admire in the garden by now.

“It is,” En’en confirmed. “But if I had to guess, I would say this party is just a cover.” Her fingers brushed the words on the page. She always seemed very in-the-know about what was going on. “I think it’s a chance for them to present the new ‘name-holder.’ The one they’ve kept putting off.”

“You mean the ‘Jade’?”

The jade, that was to say, gyoku: as in Gyokuen, father of Empress Gyokuyou. It was now more than six months since he had been summoned to the capital from his usual abode in Li’s western reaches. Normally, he would have been formally presented immediately, but it had been delayed by the attempted poisoning of Shaoh’s shrine maiden.

Yao and En’en both looked a shade uneasy. They didn’t know that the shrine maiden was still alive. At least, En’en certainly didn’t. Perhaps Yao suspected something, but if the Yao-crazed En’en had known, there was no telling what she might do.

“They’ve started conscripting soldiers again out west. Being close to the border as they are, the western capital tends to do what it wants, without any input from the palace. Although maybe having Master Gyokuen out there will help the situation a little.”

Where does she get this information? Maomao wondered. She was continually surprised at how much En’en seemed to know.

“Conscripting?” Yao asked.

“Yes, mistress. If the central authority would go ahead and just expand the military, everything might be fine, but the government’s been slow to act. Supposedly, they want to wait until after the martial service exams next year.”

Is someone expecting an attack from one of our neighbors? If so, it would make sense to start levying troops, even here in the central regions—but if there was no present threat, then perhaps there was something holding the government back. In any case, it wasn’t for a medical assistant like Maomao to question.

“En’en, can I ask you something?”

“Yes, mistress?”

“Can we trust those people from the west?”

Maomao took a quick look around: her question was a little too blunt. But there was no one else in the dining hall, and the doors and windows were all shut against the cold. She doubted anyone had heard them.

“Young mistress...” En’en said. But Yao replied, “I know. That’s why I’m asking here.” Yao was many things, but she was not stupid. She’d waited until the three of them were alone.

“I’ve heard about Empress Gyokuyou,” Yao went on. “People say she never has her nose in the air, even though she’s so beautiful. That she was kind and considerate even to her servants in the rear palace. I guess you’d know more about that than I do, Maomao.”

“Empress Gyokuyou certainly isn’t the type to bring a country to its knees with her demands. His Majesty isn’t the kind to let a woman completely wrap him around her little finger, anyway.” Then Maomao, realizing that she’d gone a little too far, added, “...is, ahem, what I heard from the rear-palace physician.” The quack would have to take the fall for this one.

Yao and En’en knew Maomao had worked in the rear palace, but they didn’t know that she’d been at the Jade Pavilion. Then again, maybe En’en did, but recognized that Maomao’s life would be easier if she didn’t mention it. If either of them asked, Maomao would be willing to talk about it, but until then, she saw no need to bring it up.

“Not the kind to bring the country to its knees,” Yao said thoughtfully, taking a spoonful of congee. “I know some women of the past have been accused of that sort of thing, but I wonder if they were really all so bad.” She let the congee slide back off the spoon.

Maomao saw what she was getting at. “No matter how upstanding Empress Gyokuyou might be, I wouldn’t know about her family.” For example, Maomao knew almost nothing about the man called Gyokuen. And the marshaling of troops in the western capital could be a frightening prospect, depending on what you thought it was for. Given what had recently happened to the rebellious Shi clan, Maomao wanted to think they wouldn’t do anything so stupid—but the possibility was always there.

Yao had an impulsive streak, but she proved strikingly perceptive at times. “I agree,” she said. “I dearly hope Empress Gyokuyou is more than just a very refined tool.”

“Lady Yao,” En’en said, worried now. Yao was her own uncle’s pawn. What if she believed Empress Gyokuyou had assumed the highest position in the nation simply in order to help her family advance in power and glory? What would she think of the Empress then?

Yao took another spoonful of congee, and this time it made it to her mouth.