The red-light district to which Maomao had been so eager to return was not, in fact, that far away. The rear palace was the size of a small city itself, but it was situated within the nation’s capital.
The red-light district sat on the opposite side of the metropolis from the palace complex, but if one could only get past the high walls and deep moats of the Imperial residence, it was within walking distance.
We hardly needed to go to the trouble of getting a carriage, Maomao thought. Beside her, the hulking man called Lihaku sat whistling a tune, holding the horse’s reins in his hands. His high spirits could be attributed to the fact that he now realized
Maomao’s story had been true. The prospect of meeting the most famous courtesans in the land would put any man in a good mood.
Courtesans, it should be said, were not to be simply lumped
together with the run of common prostitutes. Some of them sold their bodies, yes, but others sold purely their accomplishments.
They didn’t take enough customers to be “popular” in the crass sense. Indeed, this helped drive up their perceived value. To share even a cup of tea with one of them could take a substantial
amount of silver—let alone a night! These revered women became idols of a sort, objects of the common people’s admiration. Some city girls, taken by the idea of becoming one of these
enchantresses themselves, came knocking on the gate of the red- light district, though only a scant handful would ever actually
achieve that exalted status.
The Verdigris House was among the most venerable of the establishments in the capital’s pleasure quarter; even the least
notable of its ladies were courtesans of the middle rank. The most notable were among the most famous women in the district. And some of those were women Maomao thought of almost as sisters.
Familiar scenery came into view as the carriage clattered
along. There was a street stall selling the meat skewers she had longed to eat, the aroma wafting to her as they drove past. The branches of willow trees drooped over a canal, and she heard the voice of someone selling firewood. Children ran by, each carrying a pinwheel.
They passed under an ornate gate, and then a world painted in a riot of colors spread out before them. It was still midday, and
there weren’t many people about; a few idle ladies of the night waved from the second floors of their establishments.
Finally the carriage stopped in front of a building whose entry was noticeably larger than that of many others. Maomao hopped out and jogged over to a slim old woman who stood smoking a pipe by the entrance. “Hey, Grams. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
Long ago she had been a lady said to possess tears of pearl, but now her tears had dried up like faded leaves. She’d refused offers to buy her out of bondage, instead remaining as the years passed, until now she was an old hand feared by all and sundry. Time was cruel indeed.
“A while, indeed, you ignorant brat.” A shock ran through Maomao’s solar plexus. She felt the bile rise in her throat, a bitter taste welling up in her mouth. And strangely, even this she
registered only as familiar, nostalgic. How many times in the past had she been induced in this way to vomit out poisons of which she had ingested too much?
Lihaku was at a loss what exactly was going on, but, being a fundamentally decent person, he rubbed Maomao gently on the back. Who the hell is this woman? his expression seemed to ask. Maomao scuffed some dust over the sodden ground with her foot. Lihaku looked at her with concern.
“Huh. So this is your so-called customer, eh?” The madam gave Lihaku an appraising look. The carriage, meanwhile, was entrusted to the establishment’s menservants. “Good, strong
body. Manly features. An up-and-comer, from what I hear.”
“Grams, I don’t think you usually say that right in front of the person you’re talking about.”
The madam pretended not to hear, but called for the
apprentice, a prostitute-in-training, sweeping in front of the gate. “Go call Pairin. I think she’s lazing about somewhere today.”
“Pairin…” Lihaku swallowed heavily. Pairin was one of those famed courtesans; it was said her specialty was exquisite dancing. For the sake of Lihaku’s reputation, we should add that what he felt was not simple lust for a female companion, but sincere
appreciation for a woman of genuine talents. To meet this idol who seemed to live above the clouds, even simply to take tea with her, was a great honor.
Pairin? I mean… Yeah, maybe… Pairin could do extremely fine work for those who were to her liking.
“Master Lihaku,” Maomao said, giving the big but currently
vacant-eyed man beside her a jab. “How confident are you in your biceps?”
“Not quite sure what you mean, but I like to think I’ve honed my body as well as any man.”
“Is that so? Best of luck, then.”
Lihaku gave her a final, puzzled tilt of the head as the young apprentice led him away. As for Maomao, she was thankful to Lihaku for bringing her here, and wanted to provide him with something that would adequately express her gratitude. And a night’s dream could provide a lifetime’s memory.
“Now, Maomao.” The owner of the hoarse voice wore a terrible smile. “Not a word for ten freakin’ months?”
“What was I supposed to do? I was serving in the rear palace.” At least she’d sent a wood strip explaining the general situation.
“You owe me big. You know I never take first-time customers.” “Believe me, I know.” Maomao pulled a pouch out of her bag.
It contained half her earnings from the rear palace to date—she’d specially asked for an advance on her salary.
“Huh,” the woman sniffed, peering into the pouch. “Not nearly enough.”
“I admit I didn’t expect you to actually produce Pairin.” She’d thought the money would cover a night’s dalliance with a highly ranked courtesan. Besides, the likes of Lihaku would probably
have been satisfied even to get a glimpse of the Three Princesses. “At least pretend it’ll cover a cup of tea together. Please, for me?” “Dumbass. A muscle-brained bozo like that? Pairin’ll bite, and
you know it.”
Yeah, I might have guessed. The most esteemed courtesans
didn’t sell their bodies, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t fall in love. Such was the way of things. “Let’s just say it’s out of my hands…”
“Never! It’s going on your tab.”
“There’s no way I can pay that much!” Don’t think even the rest of my salary would make up the difference. No way…
Maomao was deep in thought. The woman was clearly messing with her. Not that that was anything new.
“Bah, worst comes to worst, you can pay off your debt with your body. I know His Majesty’s your only customer in that big, fancy palace of yours, but it’s the same idea. And don’t worry about all those scars. We get certain types who like that sort of thing.”
For lo these many years, the madam had persisted in trying to get Maomao to become a courtesan. Having spent her entire life in the red-light district, the woman didn’t think of a courtesan’s lot as an unhappy one.
“I still have a year left on my contract.”
“Then spend it scaring me up more customers. Not old farts, either. Young bucks like your friend today that we can squeeze something out of.”
Ah ha. So she does think there’s profit to be had.
The only thing the old woman ever thought about was where the money was. Maomao had no intention of ever selling herself, so she would have to begin supplying a steady stream of
“sacrifices” to the madam. Anyone who seemed feasible.
Wonder if I could get away with sending eunuchs… Jinshi’s face drifted through her mind, but Maomao dismissed the idea. The courtesans might get so serious about him that they’d bring the whole establishment to its knees. Wouldn’t want that. But then again, she would feel bad sending Gaoshun or the quack
doctor. She didn’t want to be the reason they ended up wrung out by the old lady. Now Maomao was really regretting that there
were so few good ways to meet men in the rear palace.
“Maomao, your old man ought to be at home. Scamper along and see him.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Think as she might, she couldn’t resolve the issue here and
now. Maomao ducked down a side path beside the Verdigris House.
Just a single street further along, the red-light district became a much more lonely place. Tumbledown shacks that passed for shops or houses, beggars waiting for someone to throw some
small change into the broken teacups they held, and night-walkers with visible scars from syphilis.
One of these ragged buildings was Maomao’s home. It was a cramped house with a dirt floor. Within, a figure knelt on a rush mat, bent over a mortar and pestle, working the device
industriously. It was a man with deep wrinkles on his face and a gentle appearance; there was an almost grandmotherly aspect to him.
“Hey, Pops. I’m back.”
“Ah, took you a while,” her father said, greeting her the same way he always had, as if nothing had happened. Then he went to prepare tea with an unsteady gait. He poured it into a battered teacup, which Maomao received gratefully. Even though it was made from tired leaves, the tea was warm and relaxed her.
Maomao started to talk about all that had happened to her, one thing after another, and her father listened with only the occasional hum or huh. For dinner, they had congee thickened
with herbs and potatoes, and then Maomao went straight to bed. A bath could wait until the next day, she decided, when she could borrow some nice, hot water from the Verdigris House.
She curled up on her simple bedding, a mat laid out on the dirt floor. Her father pulled a kimono over her, then stoked the fire in the oven to ensure it wouldn’t go out.
“The rear palace… That’s karma, I suppose,” her father
whispered, but the words didn’t reach Maomao; she was already asleep.
