The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 8 - Chapter 2

Chapter 2: A Jaunt Around Town

The next day, Maomao went shopping with Yao and En’en. Their little expedition took them to a commercial district along a main avenue south of the dorm. Shops lined the street, with open-air stalls filling the spaces between them. The place was bustling, busy and alive.

“What’s that you’ve got, Maomao?” Yao asked, pointing to a cloth-wrapped package Maomao was carrying.

“Some of the books from yesterday,” she replied. “I thought maybe I could sell a few copies to the bookstore.” She’d brought just three, knowing that they wouldn’t be interested in a large pile of copies of the same title.

“You’re selling them?” En’en scrunched up her face.

“Just trying to get a sense of the market value.”

“I see,” she said, apparently satisfied.

Yao was peering at the sky. “I’m not sure I like the look of this weather,” she said.

Maomao looked up: the sky was heavy with leaden clouds. “You’re right. Strange for autumn. It can’t be a typhoon at this time of year.”

“It’s a little chilly without the sun,” said Yao, who had a scarf wrapped around her neck. It helped ward off the cold, yes, but Maomao suspected it was also to hide her jaundice. I knew it must be bothering her. She renewed her resolve to find Yao some good makeup.

“I’d like to start by picking these up,” En’en said. She showed Maomao a list she’d written. It mostly consisted of fruits and vegetables. “Anything I’m missing?” she asked.

In response, Maomao looked at Yao. “You like white rice, do you, Yao?”

“Like it? I mean, I guess. Isn’t it just basic food?”

“Let me put it this way: Do you prefer to actively avoid other kinds of rice?”

White rice was rice that had been polished. It tasted far better than unpolished rice, but the polishing process removed many of the nutrients that made rice worth eating. Maomao’s old man had told her that eating unpolished rather than polished rice would help you avoid beriberi.

“Are you saying I have to eat unpolished rice?” Yao asked. The frown on her face suggested how she really felt about it.

“Not necessarily, but you should consider mixing things into your white rice. Grains, barley, or maybe sesame seeds. Any of them would give you a broader variety of nutrients.” If rice was going to be her staple food, it would be best if she could get a range of other nutrition with it.

“How about we toss in some buckwheat berries, then, mistress? I know you like those,” En’en said, but Maomao made a big X with her hands. En’en looked worried. “No buckwheat?”

“I’m afraid not. Because I can’t eat it.” Buckwheat gave her hives.

The other two women stared at Maomao, unimpressed.

What am I supposed to say? En’en’s meals are delicious. And she’d frequently made enough for three recently.

“P-Perhaps I might suggest seaweed?” Maomao said.

“Seaweed,” En’en repeated. She didn’t seem very enthusiastic.

“Certainly. And meat can be replaced with beans or fish. Not all of it, of course, just some.”

Fatty foods were supposed to be bad for you. Yao was looking more despondent by the minute. People her age liked to eat lots; she would naturally be disappointed to hear she shouldn’t have too much meat. She would also have to limit her intake of salt and alcohol. En’en was looking concerned too.

Hmm, Maomao thought. The saying went that you are what you eat: food was kissing cousins with medicine. But it still had to taste good. I think I know what to do.

Maomao had a favorite place for moments like this. “Come this way,” she said.

“Why? What’s over there?” Yao said.

Maomao led them off the main road, farther and farther down the back alleys, glancing back occasionally to make sure they were still following her. Soon there were as many houses as there were shops, and eventually they arrived at a restaurant with a soot-stained sign. It didn’t exactly look like it specialized in haute cuisine. There were two tables crammed into the restaurant itself, with another poking outside. Instead of chairs, the tables were lined with upside-down barrels.

“Are you both feeling hungry?” Maomao asked.

“It’s a little early for lunch,” Yao said, but she looked intrigued. She couldn’t help noticing, though, that the restaurant seemed deserted.

“A little early is best. It gets crowded at lunchtime,” Maomao said. She peered into the shop, warm steam drifting out. “Auntie? Are you open?”

“Sure enough,” came a voice from within. A woman who must have been something more than forty years of age shuffled up. “Hoh. The apothecary girl. Don’t usually see you at this hour.”

“We hoped to get a meal in before it got crowded.”

The woman was one of Maomao’s customers; she came all the way to the pleasure district to buy medicine. She’d been a regular ever since Maomao’s father had cured her of an illness she’d suffered from many years ago.

“Three portions, please. Whatever you have on hand. Ideally, something that’s not fried.”

“Coming right up. Don’t usually see you without your father either...” She looked at Yao and En’en and grinned.

“Less talk, more food. Please.” Maomao seated herself on one of the barrels.

“Maomao, why did you suddenly decide to take us out to eat?” En’en asked. She and Yao both looked mystified.

“Trust me. Sit down,” she urged them.

They sat. The woman soon brought their food, a pot full of congee and several side dishes. Maomao apportioned the side dishes among the three of them, passing a bowl each to Yao and En’en.

“All right, if you don’t mind...” Yao, ever the proper young lady, made a gesture of thanks and picked up her spoon. She didn’t look entirely sure about this; the restaurant wasn’t the cleanest place around.

“Is this potato congee?” En’en asked, sipping a spoonful of porridge. Sesame seeds floated in the congee, which included stewed potato. At the first mouthful, her eyes opened. “Is this potato congee?” The sweetness of it must have startled her.

“Yes—it’s sweet potato,” Maomao said. The very tubers that Lahan’s biological father was growing. They came from the south and were ordinarily a rare treat—but this woman’s restaurant was able to procure a supply through the Verdigris House.

“That’s absolutely amazing,” Yao said, going for another spoonful. Maomao grinned: she already knew that.

“You see? And sweet potato with sesame fits perfectly within your diet. You could probably get away with putting some barley or oats in there too.” The modicum of salt in the dish was perfect for flavor, although if it needed a little something extra, minced kelp might make a good addition.

“Try some of this too,” Maomao said, passing her some sticky stewed tofu.

“It really is wonderful,” En’en said, almost regretfully. As a confident cook, perhaps it touched a nerve to eat something quite so delicious. “The flavor is so robust, but it never becomes overbearing.”

“That’s what ginger and garlic will do for you,” the middle-aged woman said. “And instead of seasoning, we use xiandan.” That is to say, a salt-cured egg added when seasonings ordinarily would be. “We get the viscosity with kudzu root. It warms the body—good for the type who catch a chill easily.” (Kudzu root was also used as a medicine.)

“How did you make this?” En’en asked, her eyes shining as she pointed to some grilled fish.

“Fragrant herbs and just a dab of butter for taste. I know you said nothing too fatty, but surely a dab won’t hurt.” She rubbed her sides as she spoke.

“Our hostess can’t eat rich foods because of an old illness,” Maomao explained to the other girls. “But she proves that you can still make wonderful meals without much fat or salt.”

“Gracious, Maomao, you’ll make me blush.” The woman was grinning again. “Here, cow’s milk. You can drink some of this if the smell of the condiments bothers you.”

“C-Cow’s milk?” Yao said. It was a regional thing; not everyone was used to it.

“I’ve warmed it up and added a bit of honey. It should go down easy. I’d like to put my best foot forward for friends of Maomao’s.” She was careful to emphasize the word.

“Gah. Yeah, fine. Don’t you have any other side dishes?” Maomao practically shoved the woman back into the restaurant, her tone clearly communicating that she wished the lady would butt out. People evidently regarded Maomao as someone who had no friends. When Maomao had told her “older sisters” at the Verdigris House about the girls her age she used to hang out with at the rear palace, they’d all looked shocked. Pairin had gone so far as to wipe the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief.

I can’t believe them. Really. Of course she had friends. Emphasis on had, maybe. She could think of at least two—but one of them she couldn’t see anymore, and the other...well, Maomao hoped she was doing all right for herself. Where did Xiaolan end up working? she wondered, recalling the talkative palace woman. Maomao knew she’d found work at a mansion somewhere in the capital, but that was all she knew. She’d received a few letters, written in Xiaolan’s unsteady hand, but none of them included the crucial detail of where she was actually living. Maomao couldn’t reply to her even if she wanted to.

She grabbed a bit of one of the side dishes, still mostly staring into space. Yao was digging into the congee with gusto, apparently quite taken with the taste. En’en was busy trying to deduce exactly how it had been seasoned.

“Would you like to go to the makeup place after our meal?” Maomao asked. En’en had suggested shopping for ingredients first, but then they would end up carrying the groceries all over. True, the best stuff might sell out if they didn’t hurry up, but on the other hand, what was left would be marked down. Maomao considered that a fair trade.

“I’m surprised you know so much about makeup, Maomao,” Yao said.

“My line of work has exposed me to a lot of different things,” she replied. At the shop, she sometimes had to mix up concoctions of dye and white powder for customers who were self-conscious about a scar—experience that had come in very handy for disguising Jinshi.

“Is the makeup place close to here?” En’en asked. Now she was jotting down a recipe with a portable writing set.

“We’ll have to walk a bit, but it’s not far. And perhaps we could make a quick detour on the way back?” Maomao held up her bundle of Go books.

“Still have your heart set on selling those?” En’en sounded like she still couldn’t quite believe it.

“Well, I certainly don’t intend to just carry them around forever,” Maomao said. Her mind was made up.

After the meal, the girls worked their way back to the main street. The most famous courtesans in the capital used white powder every bit as good as anything that could be found at a noble girl’s dressing table, and the shop Maomao had in mind occupied a prime location in the commercial district.

“Skewers! Delicious skewers! Who wants one?” A man with a handful of chicken skewers was trying to draw in customers. The meat was cooked over a charcoal fire, dripping juices. The man didn’t really have to bother hawking his wares—the smell was more than enough to keep the customers lining up. If she hadn’t just had lunch, Maomao would have been with them.

“Is it just me, or does the marketplace feel a little different from last time?” Yao said. She looked around, perplexed. Their sheltered young mistress was really getting the hang of doing the shopping!

“As the seasons change, so do the shops. And you might be noticing all the imported stuff,” Maomao said. There were colorful textiles, exotic accessories, and—

“Fine grape wine, all the way from the west! You won’t find it anywhere else! Have a taste, if you please!” A merchant was dispensing a red liquid from a barrel. Maomao started to shuffle over to him, but En’en caught her by the collar.

“Not even one drink?” she said, looking at En’en.

“Not when the young mistress can’t have any. You’ll survive.”

“I really don’t mind,” Yao said. She couldn’t have alcohol now, but since she hadn’t been a drinker to begin with, it wasn’t really an issue.

“Getting drunk is not the way to go shopping,” En’en replied.

Maomao’s shoulders slumped and they wandered back to the main street. Other customers, ones who hadn’t had somebody grab them before they could try a tipple, were buying bottles almost as soon as they tasted the stuff. Maomao normally preferred good, dry alcohol, but something fruity wasn’t so bad every once in a while.

Is it really imported? Maybe it wasn’t from another country, just sort of from that general direction. Then again, the alcohol Maomao had tried in the western capital had been good stuff. She would have been happy to have another taste of it—but she would worry that the flavor might have changed during the long journey east. Wonder if there might be time to buy some on the way home.

They walked past the wine shop, but Maomao kept looking regretfully over her shoulder.

The makeup shop patronized by the Verdigris House was smaller than many of its competitors, but it was more than lovely enough to set the heart of a young woman aflutter. Paintings of beautiful women were posted out front, and rows of makeup products were visible within. Every woman who passed by stole a look at the place, clearly having an internal argument about whether to go inside. The owner never shouted, summoned, or cajoled. Elite establishments like hers didn’t stoop to base hawking. Those who wanted what she had for sale would come to her without any prompting.

“All right, just so I know, what’s your budget?” Maomao asked.

“We’ll pay any price as long as we can get the best stuff!” En’en responded, clenching her fist for emphasis.

Don’t think so. I know you can’t afford that on your salary... Maomao presumed En’en was making the same amount she was, which would definitely put the finest makeup out of reach. Maybe she was getting a stipend from that uncle of Yao’s that she hated so much?

“Welcome, ladies,” said the proprietress, a middle-aged woman who sounded as refined as she looked—which was quite refined indeed. Her makeup was perfect, as befitted someone who sold the stuff. Her skin was pale and her mouth was perfectly highlighted with rouge. A simple hair stick held her hair up, but closer inspection revealed it was lacquered. Her nails were likewise perfectly painted, complementing her skin tone. I can see why the old hag would shop here, Maomao thought. The ladies of the pleasure district always had to be on the cutting edge of style—as of course did the madam who managed them.

The proprietress continued to smile but didn’t approach them. She would be there if they had any questions.

“How about we start with powder?” Yao said, standing in front of a shelf boasting an array of white powders, a whole range of them, organized by ingredient. They went from pure white to varieties that included some sort of dye or pigment to match a range of skin tones. Everything was neatly arranged—but one shelf had nothing on it.

“Excuse me, are these sold out?” En’en asked.

“Ah, those...” The proprietress walked over, an aroma of perfume wafting after her. She was a slightly built woman, and her pale skin made her seem almost like she might vanish at any moment. “The items that used to be on that shelf were prohibited when it was discovered that they contained a toxic ingredient. It’s a shame; they always sold very well. They held to the skin quite nicely.”

Hoo boy, do I remember that, Maomao thought. So the ban on the poisonous whitening powder hadn’t stopped at the walls of the rear palace; it had evidently gone into effect all over the capital. That was laudable in its own way, but it had to be a blow to businesspeople like this woman.

“That’s a lot to get rid of,” En’en observed.

“Yes. We offer a wide enough range of products that we were able to absorb the loss, but some establishments are still offering the toxic powder, or so one hears.”

Not hard to understand. The stuff coated the skin well, making the wearer look pale and beautiful. One of the main ingredients was quicksilver: it didn’t go bad like plant-based cosmetics, and it could be mass-produced, making it easy to buy. There were plenty of courtesans who had continued to use it despite Luomen’s warnings. There would always be fools who didn’t listen, just like the ladies of Consort Lihua’s Crystal Pavilion.

Well, maybe “fool” is being ungenerous. Some people might have something they valued more highly than their health or even their lives. As for those who sold the poisonous stuff, well, were they so different? Without money they couldn’t eat, and if they couldn’t eat, they would die. And some people wouldn’t hesitate to shorten the lives of others in order to extend their own. Maybe the merchants dealing in the toxic powder had no other way to make a living. Not to say Maomao thought it had been the wrong choice to ban the substance, the very production of which could have deleterious effects on the body.

And then there’s this stuff, she thought, picking up another powder. “Is this calomelas?” she asked. This was another white powder that her father had looked less than pleased about. It, too, contained mercury, which was also sometimes used as a treatment for syphilis.

“Indeed it is. Thankfully, it’s helped make up much of the shortfall in sales,” the proprietress said.

Calomelas should probably have been regulated too, but if you started saying “this is poison, and that’s poison, and that’s poison” and ordered everything off the market at once, it might actually inspire even wider circulation of the problematic products. They would have to pick their moment to implement new rules.

“Maomao, which do you think would be best?” En’en asked. She and Yao had picked out a selection of possibilities—wisely excluding anything that used calomelas.

“Rice flour and talc?” she said. Both appeared to have other ingredients as well, but they weren’t described in detail. “May I try some?”

“Go ahead,” the proprietress said, using a cotton bud to dab a little on Maomao’s palm. Maomao checked the viscosity and the smell. Both okay. Quite good, in fact. She thought this powder might be almost on par with what Empress Gyokuyou used.

“What do you think?” En’en asked.

Maomao glanced at the proprietress. “Honest opinions, good or bad, help us improve our products and service,” the woman said. So she didn’t just sell decent products—she was a decent person. No wonder she could handle the madam in a business negotiation.

“I think both seem like excellent powders,” Maomao said. “The particles are fine, and they hold to the skin well. I have a question about the rice flour powder.”

“What’s that, may I ask?”

“Rice flour can rot. And given the size of the container, I have to think that during the rainy season, it would start to go moldy before you got halfway through it. I assume there’s some additional ingredient added as a preservative, and it makes me somewhat uneasy not to know what it is.” Knowing that Yao would be using the powder, safety was foremost in Maomao’s mind. “Talc doesn’t go bad and isn’t toxic. I think this one would be the simplest to use.”

Talc had diuretic and anti-inflammatory properties, and was often used medicinally with bracket fungus. In all the times Maomao had used it, she’d never known it to cause any undesirable side effects. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t have any, but I won’t know until I encounter them, she thought. Vigilance would be her watchword until she was sure.

“You’ll take the talc, then?” the proprietress said.

“No, ma’am. I think they both have an admixture. I’m concerned—if it’s anything that’s bad for you, it would defeat the point.”

The proprietress frowned subtly at what might have sounded to her like nitpicking. En’en, meanwhile, was thinking the matter over; Yao, evidently having decided to leave things in En’en’s hands, was eyeing some eyebrow pencils made out of spiral shells.

“In that case, perhaps some of this,” the proprietress said, going into the back of the store and emerging with a ceramic container. It was about half the size of the one on display. “Our rice powder is made exclusively with plant materials. Why, you could eat it if you wanted. Would a size like this be more in line with the amount you’d be using? Or if you’d prefer to bring your own container, I would be happy to fill it for you. With, of course, a discount for bringing your own holder.”

This lady knows how to make a sale, Maomao thought. She was trying to cultivate repeat customers by addressing their needs directly.

“Would you specifically recommend this powder?” Maomao asked.

“Certainly. I use it myself. It sticks beautifully. Very easy to use.” A look at the woman’s skin showed that it was, indeed, excellent stuff. Yet still something nagged at Maomao.

Yao wandered back up and said, “Why not just go with the rice flour powder, En’en?”

“It’s not a bad idea,” En’en said. “I could try to make some myself, but I don’t think I could ever get it so fine.” She’d apparently considered making her own powder to ensure it was safe, but there was no substitute for a specialist. And Maomao assumed the proprietress wouldn’t be generous enough to reveal the secrets of how she made her wares.

“In that case, we’ll take—” Maomao was interrupted by a young woman who emerged from the back of the store.

“Mother!” she said.

“I’m with a customer,” the proprietress replied. A frown crossed her face. Nonetheless, her daughter, with a quick, polite bow to Maomao and the others, began to whisper into her ear. Whatever was going on, it seemed to be urgent. As her daughter talked, the woman’s expression changed. Finally she said to Maomao, “I’m terribly sorry. I’ll be right back. If you’ll excuse me.” Then she left her daughter to take care of things and went to the back.

Some kind of trouble? Maomao wondered. She was curious, but it wasn’t her place to stick her nose into whatever was going on. The woman’s daughter wrapped up their purchase and did the bill. En’en took the change, which had white smears on it.

“Oh, pardon me,” the young woman said, taking back the whitened coins. Maomao saw that her fingertips were white, and the fresh change she pulled out to give them was quickly smudged as well. Even their package had a white smear on it. “Oh, no! I’m so terribly sorry!”

“It’s all right,” Yao told her.

“Were you checking the merchandise?” Maomao asked with a glance at the young woman’s fingers. Three of the fingers on her right hand were whitened, as if she had been taking fingerfuls of powder to check the feel.

“I’m impressed you noticed,” she said.

“Let me guess: you discovered something unusual about the powder and felt it was worth mentioning right away.” The young woman didn’t respond to that, but her face made it clear that Maomao had guessed right.

“Was there something in the powder there shouldn’t have been?” En’en pressed. They’d picked the best stuff they could find, but if there were impurities in it, then what was the point? “What is it?” she said, leaning closer to the young woman.

“En’en,” Yao said, holding her back.

The young woman was on the verge of tears. “I... I’m so sorry. We got a new dealer recently. He insists he’s brought us exactly what we ordered, but it just doesn’t feel right to the touch. When I asked him if he was sure he hadn’t added any other ingredients, he snapped at me to stop trying to talk my way out of our deal. I was scared, so I came to let my mother know...”

An unsavory merchant? Or an honest misunderstanding? Maomao wondered. The dealer certainly sounded shady, but she’d only heard the young woman’s side of the story. The proprietress still hadn’t returned. Whatever they were talking about back there, it was taking a long time.

“My mother doesn’t want to sell a product if she doesn’t know what’s in it. The powder that was brought in today uses the same formula we always use, so we should be able to tell whether anything is wrong by touch. But the man who brought it today says we don’t have any proof of our accusations and refuses to leave.”

Hmm. Maomao crossed her arms. En’en was obviously deeply concerned about whether there was anything mixed into the white powder, and Yao—bless her earnest heart—looked ready to give someone a piece of her mind. Maomao suspected the exact feel of rice flour could change depending on how and when it was used, but it looked like there were some unanswered questions here. Well, can’t go home now.

“If you’ll pardon me,” she said, opening the door to the back room. She found the proprietress and the dealer locked in a staring contest. Between them sat a large jar.

“I told you! I followed the formula exactly as you gave it to me! Tell me what you think I got wrong!” The merchant, a man not quite in middle age, was shouting so loud that spittle flew from his mouth, which was open wide enough for Maomao to see that several of his front teeth were missing.

The proprietress didn’t back down. “Oh, I know what you got wrong. There’s something in this. You added something. It doesn’t feel like it should.”

“You won’t shut up about the feel, but that has nothing to do with anything! The feel of rice flour changes with the humidity, and you know it!”

They were talking past each other. Nothing was going to get resolved at this rate. “Excuse me. It looks like this discussion isn’t going anywhere,” Maomao said.

“Oh! I’m afraid you really shouldn’t be back here, miss,” the proprietress said when she noticed Maomao, giving her a look of reproof. Her tone remained deferential, but her eyes were grim.

“I’m sorry, my dear, but as you can see, we’re in the middle of a business negotiation. Maybe you’d be so good as to wait outside until we’re finished,” the merchant added, likewise polite but implacable.

Maomao ignored both of them, peering into the jar. It was filled to the brim with white powder. There was a spoon inside, so she scooped up some of the merchandise.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” the merchant cried.

Maomao put a finger in the powder. “It’s rice flour, all right. Would this be the same stuff my companions and I were about to purchase?”

“No, not quite,” the proprietress said. “The price of rice flour shot up recently, you see... We asked another dealer to produce something with the same formula...” She didn’t quite seem to want to finish any of her sentences.

An increase in the price of rice flour? It was the season when new rice was usually readily available—had the harvest been worse than usual?

She could tell from the feel that this was, in fact, rice powder. It was smooth, and about the same color as the stuff they were on the verge of purchasing. She agreed too, though, that it felt somewhat different under her fingers than the powder she’d been handling earlier.

“You can tell, can’t you, miss? Tell her my product is unadulterated! This stubborn mule is just trying to get me to lower my price!”

“A mule! I take pride in being able to offer my customers only the safest products! Every detail matters when it’s going to go on someone’s skin.”

Maomao could see both their perspectives. The merchant was right that the consistency and texture of rice flour could change with the weather—which wasn’t very good today. It could simply be more humid than usual.

“I’m afraid I can’t purchase this if we don’t know for certain which of you is telling the truth,” En’en interjected. She took a hard line when it came to products that Yao was going to use.

“Shall we do a little test, then?” Maomao said.

“Test?” the others asked in unison.

“You told us this rice flour is made entirely of plant components, all safe for human consumption. In which case...” She was going to try to eat it.

“You’re going to eat it? The powder?” the merchant asked.

“It’ll give you an upset stomach if you simply eat it dry. Perhaps if we dissolved it in water and made a baobing flatbread out of it?” the proprietress suggested.

“H-Hold on! You think you’ll actually be able to tell?” Yao said.

“I’m very confident in my tongue,” Maomao replied. She hadn’t done all that food tasting for nothing. She turned to the proprietress and the merchant. “Just to be sure—there’s no buckwheat in this, is there?”

“Corn, yes, but no kind of wheat,” the merchant said.

No problem, then. The corn would explain the powder’s slight yellow tint. “I’ll need a bowl and some water, and also a pot and a flame.”

“Ah... Our house is right behind the store. You can use the stove there,” the proprietress’s daughter said. She was probably concerned about the possibility of an explosion if they lit a fire in a space full of white powder.

“Very well. Finally, do you have any leafy vegetables and some chicken?”

“Focus. Please,” En’en said, giving Maomao a rap on the back of the head. She’d just wanted to make the powder as tasty as possible. Maomao picked up the jar and headed for the main house.

The finished flatbread was tasty (although not as tasty as it would have been with some greens and meat). “In a perfect world, I think a little more corn might have been nice. And some white-hair scallion and lamb’s meat to round it off.”

“Maomao, we’re supposed to be talking about the powder.” En’en had cut up the bread and was conducting a visual inspection. She appeared to be thinking that flatbread might make a nice dinner. “Maomao says it’s okay, young mistress, so I don’t think the white powder should be any problem as such.”

“Uh... I think everyone is getting pretty impatient,” Yao said, concerned.

“You see? It’s just like I told you. You keep insisting I must have added something, but I followed your formula exactly. There’s nothing wrong with my product!” The merchant slammed a wooden writing scroll containing the list of ingredients on the table.

The proprietress and her daughter both looked like they wanted to offer a rebuttal, but there was nothing they could say. They still weren’t prepared to accept they’d been wrong.

“Would you like some? It doesn’t taste unpleasant,” Maomao said.

“But...” the proprietress started.

“But it felt different to you, didn’t it?” Maomao took the woman’s hand. Her fingers were caked with white powder; it was even on the red of her nails. “Perhaps you could think of it another way, then.”

“What do you mean?”

Maomao wiped the pad of one finger across one of the woman’s fingernails, leaving a white streak. She’d been wondering about the woman’s nails. “What if it was your previous supplier who’d been adulterating his product all this time?”

The woman went almost as pale as her product.

When a person came into contact with a poison, such as arsenic or lead, it often showed in their fingernails. “You said yourself that some other stores continue to sell the prohibited whitening powder. There could easily be merchants who continued to supply it without saying anything. Suppose, for example, that they had white powder of questionable quality, and added something to it as a stabilizer.”

The symptoms of the poison would be minimized by the quantity of other stuff in the mixture. But someone who used the powder every day, like the proprietress did, would show the signs.

“Have you had any loss of appetite? Poor digestion? Trembling of the fingers?” Maomao asked. She wondered how the woman’s skin tone looked beneath that makeup. The woman’s expression was enough to answer her questions.

“So you’re saying this—” En’en looked at the jar of powder they’d bought. Maomao took it and opened the lid.

“Shall we try another flatbread? With this powder?”

She was most interested to see the results.

It was dark outside when they left the shop. The heavy clouds had opened up, and the ground was soaked. “Shoot! We’re going to get all wet,” Yao said.

“I thought this might happen,” said En’en, pulling out some umbrellas Maomao hadn’t even known she had.

“You brought umbrellas?” she asked.

En’en tapped the sign of the store they’d just left. “It looked like it might rain, so I asked the shopkeeper’s daughter to go buy some for us. Not too much to ask for our trouble, I’d say, right?”

“When did you... I mean... Too much to ask?”

True, the shop had sold them a harmful product, whether intentionally or not. When they’d dissolved their powder in water and baked with it, the results had been undeniably different from the first time around.

“I think you already asked quite a lot,” Yao said. En’en was carrying some of the new, safe powder, and the proprietress had thrown in some perfume that was supposed to be good for your skin. The aromatic oil was safe to eat but didn’t hold to the skin very well, so it could be combined with the powder to form a liquid makeup.

“Not at all,” En’en replied. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if my mistress got sick.”

“I think you should be talking to Maomao. Tell her not to put awful stuff in her mouth.” Yao was looking at Maomao as if she still couldn’t believe what had happened. Maomao had made every effort to eat the flatbread with the poisonous powder, but Yao had pinned her arms to stop her.

“I would have spit it out right away. It would have been fine. I just wanted to see how it tasted.”

“I don’t understand what you see in these things,” Yao sighed.

“Let’s finish our shopping before the rain really starts coming down, mistress. We’ve eaten up a lot of time.” En’en opened an umbrella and ushered Yao under it with her. Then she held out another to Maomao. It was En’en, of course, who had requested only two umbrellas. After all, two people could fit under one umbrella...if they squeezed.

En’en said, “If anyone is still selling ingredients at this hour, I’m sure they’d be near the bell tower. I think the market should still be open there.”

The bell tower was at the center of the capital and rang the hours. It was a well-trodden area, so the shops there stayed open until late.

“We should be hearing the evening bell any minute n—” Maomao said, but she was interrupted by a searing flash of light accompanied by the booming of the bell.

“Yikes! Wh-What was that?” Yao said, looking around in astonishment. At the same moment, an earsplitting noise followed hard upon the ringing of the bell. Yao almost jumped out of her skin and clung to En’en. Her mouth was working open and shut, but no sound came out. En’en gave Yao a protective (and none too unhappy) hug.

“Thunder,” Maomao said. “That was a big one.”

“Are you all right, milady?” En’en said.

“Y-Yeah! I’m fine!” Yao said, although her face was awfully pale.

“A thunderclap that loud means it’ll start pouring soon. Shall we hurry and finish our shopping?” En’en said.

“Y-Yeah, let’s,” Yao said. She was trying to look unintimidated, but kept stealing little glances at the sky. En’en looked at her fondly and kept close. No doubt she was concerned for Yao, but also tickled by her display of fear. She was a twisted one. But Maomao already knew that.

Looks like I won’t be selling these today, Maomao thought, looking at the Go books in their cloth wrapping. Then she trotted off after the others.