Maomao was preparing for the evening meal when Jinshi said, “Do you
know much about makeup?”
The question came completely out of the blue. What in the world is he asking about that for? Maomao thought, making no effort to hide her confusion. For the first time in a while, she found herself looking at him as if she were studying a caterpillar—not that she had really meant to.
Jinshi had just come back from work. Suiren was helping him change clothes. And this was what he wanted to know?
It was true that, growing up in the pleasure district, one learned the basics of doing makeup by osmosis, and sometimes Maomao concocted cosmetics as well as medicine. She couldn’t deny she had a fair amount of knowledge about the subject.
“Do you wish to give some to someone as a gift?” “You misunderstand. It’s for me.”
That struck Maomao dumb. Her eyes became bottomless black pits, vacant and empty. She no longer even looked like she was gazing at a dead bug or a puddle of mud.
“What are you imagining?” Jinshi snapped. Well, what else would she be imagining? Jinshi in makeup. He was the one who’d brought it up.
He doesn’t need any damn makeup! Maomao thought. He already had the beauty of some denizen of the heavenly realm. A touch of crimson around the eyes, a dab of rouge on the lips, and a flower mark upon his brow would be enough to bring the nation to its knees. History was full of pointless wars, and more than a few of them had been caused by a beautiful woman too close to the seat of power.
And this man, he had the potential to transcend gender entirely. “Do you want to destroy this country?” Maomao asked flatly.
“What in the world gave you that idea?!” Jinshi exclaimed, pulling his outer jacket on and sitting in a chair. Maomao served him congee from a clay pot. It was made with good, salty abalone, and the bite she took to test
it for poison was delicious. She knew that when Jinshi was finished, Suiren would split the leftovers with her, so she wished he would hurry up and eat before it all went cold.
“How do you make that stuff you use?” Jinshi asked, indicating her nose.
Oh… My freckles, Maomao thought, and then it came to her. His beauty was already so overwhelming that he needed nothing to enhance it. But perhaps something to blunt it. “I dissolve dry clay in oil, sir. If I want the product to be especially dark, I mix in charcoal or red lip pigment.” “Hmm. And can you do that on short notice?”
Maomao produced a clamshell from the folds of her robe. Inside was
tight-packed clay. “This is all I have on me right now, but give me a night’s time and I can easily make more.”
Jinshi took the clamshell, scooped up some of the contents with his finger, and rubbed it on the back of his hand. It was a bit too dark, Maomao thought, for his almost porcelain skin. She would have to thin the mixture out.
“Will you yourself be using it, sir?”
Jinshi chuckled softly. It wasn’t a real answer, but Maomao figured she could take it as a yes.
“If you know of any medicine that can change a man’s face, I would love to hear about it,” he said lightly.
He was joking, but Maomao replied: “Such things exist, but you would never be able to change back.” Lacquer, for instance, would do the job in a hurry.
“I suppose so,” Jinshi said with a strained smile. He wouldn’t want that
—and neither would anyone else around here. Maomao could easily picture herself torn to pieces and fed to the beasts if she dared to do such a thing.
“There are certain techniques, sir, which might achieve the same effect,” she said.
“If you please, then.” Jinshi smiled as if this was what he had been waiting for, and finally set about eating his congee. He was enjoying some perfectly cooked chicken meat so much that Maomao despaired of getting any leftovers. When Suiren took the tray away, there was only a single bite left on it.
“I want you to make me someone else entirely,” Jinshi said.
I wonder what he’s planning, Maomao thought, but she valued her life more than to ask. Besides, she had nothing to gain by knowing. She need only do as she was told. “Very well,” she said, and then she watched Jinshi continue his dinner, silently urging him to hurry up. That abalone congee looked so good.
The next day, Maomao set out a cloth with everything she needed: a batch of her makeup, thinned down, and a few other items she thought would help. She arrived earlier than usual to find the lights already lit in Jinshi’s personal rooms. The master of the place had finished his bath and was reclining on a couch while Suiren dried his hair. Only a noble could know or expect such luxury. His outfit was plainer than usual, but his every movement betrayed his aristocratic background.
“Good morning,” Maomao said, looking as if she didn’t think it was very good at all.
“Morning,” Jinshi replied, for his part sounding entirely pleased; he seemed like he might start humming at any moment. “Something the matter? It seems early for such stormy looks.”
“Not at all, sir. I was merely contemplating the fact that you’ll spend yet another day being perfectly beautiful.”
“What’s this? Some new way to snipe at me?”
Perhaps it sounded like it, but it was only the truth. Jinshi’s hair caught the light as it fell. The way it glittered, Maomao thought, it could have been turned into quite a fine textile.
“Don’t feel like doing your job today?” he said.
“I do, sir. But are you quite certain you wish to become someone else
entirely?”
“Yes. I said so last night.”
“Then, if you’ll pardon me…” Maomao strode up beside Jinshi, grabbed the sleeves of his outfit, and shoved them against her face.
“Goodness gracious,” Suiren said. She left off combing Jinshi’s hair and hustled out of the room, taking Gaoshun with her as he tried to come in. (They didn’t go far, though: certainly not so far that they couldn’t quietly watch what was happening.)
“Wh-What do you think you’re doing?” Jinshi’s voice threatened to crack.
When she had been given a task, Maomao only felt right when she had performed it to the utmost. She had assembled a panoply of tools to help her make Jinshi unrecognizable.
He has no idea, does he? Maomao thought. “No commoner would wear such fine perfume,” she said. The outfit Jinshi had chosen was that of a townsman, or perhaps a lesser government official. Not the kind of person who would have any contact or connection with ships bringing exotic, expensive fragrant woods from beyond the sea. Maomao’s sense of smell was especially sharp, honed in the service of distinguishing medicinal from poisonous herbs. She had detected Jinshi’s perfume the moment she entered the room, and that was what had caused her ill humor. Suiren had probably perfumed the outfit, trying to be helpful, but quite frankly she’d only made things worse.
“Do you know how to discern the various types of customers at a brothel?”
“I don’t. Perhaps by their body type, or their clothing?” “Those are possibilities, but there’s another way. The smell.”
Overweight patrons who gave off a sweet odor were sick but most likely rich. Those who wore several perfumes at once, creating a noxious miasma, frequented the common prostitutes and most likely had a s*xual disease; while a young person who reeked like an animal indicated an unsanitary failure to take baths.
The Verdigris House was not in the habit of accepting first-time customers without introductions, but every once in a while one would prevail upon the old madam and gain entrance. That such people almost always became excellent regulars showed that the old woman knew how to judge her clientele.
“Anyway, the first thing we need is a different outfit. And something else.” Maomao went over to the bathtub and got a bucket of still-warm water, which she brought over to Jinshi. Suiren and Gaoshun watched her anxiously. Since he was there, Maomao sent Gaoshun on an errand. They were going to need clothing other than what had been prepared.
Now she took a small leather pouch from her cloth bag. She dipped her fingers in it, and they emerged dripping with viscous oil, which she dissolved in the bucket of water.
“One thing commoners do not do is take baths every day,” she informed
him. She wet her hand in the bucket, then ran it through Jinshi’s hair. With a few passes of Maomao’s hand, his lustrous locks began to lose their shine. She thought she was being careful, but she wasn’t as experienced at this as Suiren was, which must have been why Jinshi seemed so antsy.
Have to be careful not to pull his hair, Maomao thought, growing a little nervous herself. It was all too easy to forget, but this august personage could cause a permanent rift between her head and her shoulders if he were too much displeased.
When the shining silk strands that had once adorned Jinshi’s head had become dull hemp, Maomao tied his hair back. She didn’t use a proper hair tie so much as a scrap of cloth. For his new persona, anything would do so long as it served its purpose.
By the time Maomao had put the bucket away and washed her hands, Gaoshun was back with exactly what she’d requested. Now that was good help.
“Are you quite sure about this?” Gaoshun asked, looking distinctly uneasy. Beside him, Suiren was making no attempt to hide her repugnance. No doubt it was hard for such a long-serving lady-in-waiting to believe what she was seeing.
Gaoshun had procured a large-ish and very well-used commoner’s outfit. It had at least been washed, but the cloth was thinning in places and the original owner’s musk still clung to it.
Maomao put the outfit to her nose and said, “I might have preferred something even a little stinkier.” Now Suiren truly looked astonished, her hands on her cheeks. She seemed about to speak up, but Gaoshun silenced her with a motion of his hand. Still, he couldn’t conceal the furrow in his own brow.
Maomao felt bad for Suiren, but she still had plenty to do that would test the woman’s spirits. “Master Jinshi, please undress.”
“Er… Yes. Certainly,” Jinshi said, though he didn’t sound very certain.
Maomao paid his reluctance no mind, but bustled around the room looking for something that would serve her purpose. She found several handkerchiefs, then produced some binding cloths from her bag.
“Might I ask the two of you to help me?” she inquired of the nervous spectators. She pulled them both in, giving Gaoshun a handkerchief to wrap around Jinshi’s skin. He might have been a man of near-celestial beauty,
Maomao took a shell containing red pigment from among her implements. She dipped her pinky in and brushed some carefully onto Jinshi’s lips.
Then Maomao was silent. Gaoshun and Suiren, looking on, were likewise speechless. Each of them looked first uncomfortable, then deeply conflicted, then they all looked at each other and nodded.
“What’s going on?” Jinshi asked, but no one answered. Their minds
were too full of something much bigger. They were clearly all thinking the same thing: it was a blessing that only the three of them were present at this moment. If there had been anyone else around, be they male or female, it would have been a tragedy. There were some things which, no matter how transcendent, the world was not meant to see. It was fearsome to realize that with just a dash of lip color, Jinshi might possess the power to bring low at least a couple of small villages.
“It’s nothing, sir,” Maomao said, taking the handkerchief Suiren offered her and rubbing it along Jinshi’s lips hard enough to make sure she got everything off.
“Ow, that’s uncomfortable. What in the world was that about?” “As I said, sir, it’s nothing.”
“Nothing at all, I assure you,” Suiren added. “Not a thing, sir,” Gaoshun said.
Jinshi was skeptical about this sudden show of concord between the three of them, but he asked no further questions. Maomao put the momentary distraction out of her mind and got back to work.
The next step called for slightly darker coloring. She smeared some of the pigment on his face, creating bags under his eyes. While she was at it, she went ahead and tried a mole on each cheek. His gracefully arching eyebrows she thickened bit by bit, working carefully on one side and then the other.
There were ways to alter the contours of the face, but at close proximity it would be obvious that it was makeup, so Maomao decided to forgo that step. On a woman, a bit of makeup might go unquestioned, but on a man’s face it would arouse suspicion. Instead, she stuffed cotton into Jinshi’s cheeks to change his profile. Gaoshun and Suiren looked on, surprised she would go that far, but she wasn’t done yet. She daubed the remaining pigment here and there to complete the effect. For example, a bit of the stuff under his nails made him look positively filthy.
Can’t have his hands looking too pretty, she thought. Jinshi’s hands, like his torso, were noticeably masculine. Maomao had always taken him for someone who had never lifted anything heavier than a pair of chopsticks or a writing brush, but his palms had detectable calluses on them. He implied he had been trained with the sword, or perhaps a fighting staff, although
she’d never seen him practicing. They weren’t skills a eunuch would normally need. She couldn’t muster the curiosity, though, to wonder about something so trivial as why Jinshi might have been trained in the fighting arts; instead, she continued to systematically dirty his hands, turning them into those of an ordinary townsperson.
“Are you quite finished?” Jinshi asked when Maomao started packing up her cosmetics and tools, wiping some sweat from her brow. The gorgeous eunuch had vanished, replaced by an ungainly urban dweller who looked none too healthy. His face retained its appealing symmetry, but his protruding belly, the spots on his hands, and the dark bags under his eyes bespoke a less than sanitary lifestyle. The fact that he still looked like someone who could have got himself cast as a ladies’ man in some stage play showed how much trouble his natural beauty was apt to cause.
“Gracious, is that really my young master?” Suiren said. “Don’t call me that.”
Suiren had seen the entire process from start to finish, and even she was surprised by the transformation. Now, Jinshi could have moved unrecognized almost anywhere in the palace. Unrecognized by his looks, at least.
Maomao removed a bamboo cylinder from her pouch. She pulled the stopper, poured some of the contents into a cup, and handed it to Jinshi. He eyed it dubiously and frowned. The characteristic, nose-prickling odor, Maomao suspected. It was a combination of a number of different stimulants, and honestly speaking, the flavor could hardly be called appetizing.
“What exactly is this?”
“A special draught of my own devising. Drink slowly, so it gets on your lips, and then swallow. It should cause swelling of the lips and throat, thereby changing your voice. Oh, you may want to take the cotton out of your mouth first.”
Jinshi could look and even smell different, but certain people would know him instantly if they heard that honeyed voice. If Maomao was going to do something, she was going to do it right.
“It’s quite bitter,” Maomao added, “but don’t worry. It isn’t poisonous.”
A collective stunned silence greeted her. Maomao ignored it and resumed industriously cleaning up her workspace. She’d gotten permission
to take the rest of the day off. For the first time in a while, she would be able to go back to the pleasure quarter, and above all, to do a little of the mixing and concocting she loved so much. The thought made her unusually cheery, but her parade was swiftly rained on.
“Xiaomao, you said you’d be going home today, yes?”
“Indeed, sir. I intend to leave presently,” she said. Gaoshun greeted this with a smile, as if to say that that was perfect. It was an unusual expression from the reticent aide.
“In that case, you’ll be going the same way as Master Jinshi,” he said.
Ugh! Blargh! Maomao thought immediately. Her saving grace was that she didn’t give voice to her disgust, but it was probably written all over her face.
Gaoshun snuck a glance at Jinshi, who looked just as shocked as Maomao. His mouth hung slightly agape. “You went to all the trouble of changing your appearance, sir. It would undermine the effect if you traveled with the same attendant you always do.”
“Goodness, I hadn’t thought of that,” Suiren said with an exaggerated nod that suggested the two of them had very much thought of it—ahead of time.
“Do you see what I mean, Master?” Gaoshun said. He looked uncommonly eager about this. Pleased to be foisting Jinshi off on someone else for once, most likely.
“I do. Yes, that would be helpful.” Suddenly Jinshi was on board too.
Now, this won’t do, Maomao thought. “I’m exceedingly sorry,” she said, “but I’m afraid that even in my company, Master Jinshi would have quite the same problem.”
It was true that with his new, less remarkable appearance, it would be suiting for Jinshi to have a plain attendant such as Maomao, but it was already well known in some quarters that she was his personal maid. It would be best if they didn’t travel together, against the slightest chance of them being recognized.
Ah, but that crafty old lady-in-waiting, Suiren: she greeted—and dismissed—this idea with a smile. She came over holding a lacquered box, from which she produced a pair of eyebrow tweezers and an ornamental hair stick. “Then I believe a disguise of your own is called for, Xiaomao,” she said, and her smiling eyes contained a sharp edge that prevented
Maomao from objecting further.
That nagging premonition, though, got worse and worse.
