They would take a carriage from Jinshi’s rooms to the gate of the outer
court. Maomao’s dramatic and successful transformation of her master was a double-edged sword: a man who looked like Jinshi now did bumbling around the palace was going to attract suspicion. Even the lowliest of maids and manservants were supplied with halfway decent clothing here.
It might have seemed obvious to simply put on more-refined clothing for the journey out, but considering Jinshi’s stomach was artificially stuffed, a change of clothes later would have been tricky. This was a source of irritation to Maomao, who wanted everything to be perfect and was rather incensed at Jinshi’s failure to understand his own beauty.
They disembarked the carriage in a quiet spot, and almost immediately, Maomao began lobbing critiques at Jinshi.
“Master Jinshi, your posture is much too good. Slouch a little!” At the moment, Jinshi stood as straight as if there were a string attaching his head to the heavens.
“Well, speak for yourself,” he grumbled. “A little heavy on the formalities, aren’t we? And don’t use my name, it defeats the point!” His tone was rough, just like the man he now ostensibly was.
Maomao privately admitted that he was right. But in that case, what should she call him? She narrowed her eyes and stared closely at Jinshi. Though she hadn’t meant to, it made her look as though she were studying a moth that had fluttered up to a lantern. Jinshi’s expression shifted to something difficult to describe.
“What shall I call you then, sir?” Maomao finally asked.
“Good question,” Jinshi said, stroking his chin. He hmmed for a moment, then said, “Call me Jinka.”
Jinka? Maomao thought. It wasn’t particularly odd, and she was happy to use it, but the deliberate choice of the character ka, which meant “flower,” was somewhat surprising in a man’s name. But then again, “Jinshi” wasn’t the most masculine name in the world either. Maomao
briefly regretted that she hadn’t simply disguised Jinshi as a woman, but then she remembered that dab of rouge and thought better of it. She shook her head: Jinshi must never appear in women’s clothing, lest the very world tear itself apart.
“Very well then, Master Jinka—” Maomao started, but she caught Jinshi glaring at her. Ah, yes. The formality. “Jinka, then. No honorifics, no deference.” Maomao found the ornate mode of polite speech employed at the palace tricky to navigate, but in her mind, completely casual language was even harder. And what was that gleam in Jinshi’s eyes? She’d worked so hard to make him appear sickly; he would bring the illusion crashing down if he looked too pleased.
“Excellent, milady,” he said, his tone somewhat facetious. “Huh?” Maomao gaped at him, and Jinshi grinned broadly.
“I should think this manner of speech the most suited, considering our respective appearances,” he said, looking Maomao up and down.
Maomao’s own disguise had been arranged by Suiren, who had dressed her in hand-me-downs from her own daughter. There was a whiff of camphor about them, but the make and material were excellent and the design thoughtful, so they didn’t look out of vogue. Her hair had been carefully gathered up and secured with a hair stick. She did indeed present the image of an affluent young lady.
Now Maomao pursed her lips and trotted off. “Let’s get this over with.” “Yes, ma’am.”
Maomao was profoundly uncomfortable with this reversal of their accustomed roles, but Jinshi looked like he was having the time of his life.
Jinshi’s destination was a restaurant just outside the pleasure district.
Apparently he had a meeting with some sort of acquaintance there, but Maomao didn’t press for details. Not asking too many questions, she felt, was frequently a wise way to get by in the world.
Still, she couldn’t help feeling somewhat used by Jinshi and Gaoshun. Maybe I should act a little more oblivious, she thought as she walked down the street. This road was home to a market bustling with merchants hawking their wares. Leafy green vegetables were still few and far between at this time of year, but there were plenty of fat daikon. Maomao had been given a bit of pocket change; she was just thinking that maybe she would have
someone wring a chicken’s neck for her and boil it with some daikon when someone grabbed her by the collar.
“What is it?” she asked. Jinshi was looking down at her with a most distressing grin on his face.
“You’re going to go shopping?” he said.
“I saw something I want. I was just going to go get it.” “Looking like that?”
She took his point. A woman who was well-off enough to have an attendant with her would never dirty her hands purchasing her own produce
—let alone having a chicken slaughtered. Maomao gazed longingly at the vegetables. But I wanted to make it for my old man… she thought. Pops was both a doctor and an apothecary par excellence, but he had one glaring flaw: a total inability to weigh profit and loss. Thus, though apothecary’s work should have kept him eating luxury foods for the rest of his life, he instead lived in a shack that looked like it could fall down in a stiff breeze.
Of course, if he ever seemed like he was really going to starve for want of food, the old madam would probably have funneled it into him.
Maomao resumed walking, pouting now. Jinshi was still trying to
pretend to be her manservant, but he had a long stride, and before she knew it he was in front of her. Maomao had to pick up her pace to keep up with him. Hrm, she thought, he’s got a long way to go.
Jinshi’s eyes were still sparkling. He at least managed not to gawk, but he was obviously enjoying where he was and what he was doing. To a pampered aristocrat like him, a common market must have been a novel sight. Maomao overtook Jinshi and glared at him. He seemed to realize he’d been careless and looked chastened for a moment, but then he set off walking again as if nothing had happened. At least he stayed behind Maomao this time.
Maomao said nothing out loud, but she thought to herself, When I get home, I’ve got to see how the field is doing. She crooked her fingers, counting as she imagined what herbs she might find there. I wonder if the mugwort has come in yet. And how terrific would it be if the butterbur were ready to pick? Still she said nothing aloud. She was just imagining herself frying the butterbur with some meat and miso when she realized Jinshi was looming just beside her.
“What is it, sir?” Maomao said, glaring at Jinshi and inadvertently
reverting to her usual deference. Jinshi was clearly itching to say something.
“Why so quiet?” he asked, likewise adopting the directness to which he was usually entitled.
Why wasn’t she saying anything? Well, there could really be just one reason, couldn’t there? “Because I don’t have anything to say?”
She had only spoken the truth, but apparently that was a mistake. Jinshi bit his lip, and an inscrutable expression crossed his face. Maomao wasn’t worried that he might burst into tears—he wasn’t a little boy —but he still managed to look thoroughly pathetic.
He was the one who said I should act more brusque with him! Maomao thought. She wasn’t normally the type to initiate a conversation, anyway. So when she didn’t have anything in particular to talk about, and when no one was asking her any specific questions, she tended to keep her peace. Why this was such a shock to this man mystified her.
She was just scratching the back of her neck nervously, wondering what to do, when a meat-skewer stall came into view. She broke into a brisk trot and ordered two skewers from the man behind the counter. Just looking at the perfectly crisped chicken meat made her mouth water.
“Try it,” she said, passing one of the skewers to Jinshi. He slowly took it, looking at it as if he’d never seen one before. “Quick, before it gets cold.” Maomao guided them to a small side street just off the main road. She brushed some dust off a wooden crate and sat down on top of it. When she bit into the grilled meat, the juices exploded in her mouth, and the fragrant chicken skin gave an audible snap.
God, that’s good. Maomao leaned forward to keep the juices from running onto her clothes. Jinshi wasn’t eating, but just watched her. “Not going to have yours? As you can see, it isn’t poisoned.”
“No, that’s, uh, not what I’m worried about,” Jinshi said, tapping his cheek.
“Ah.” Now she remembered—she had stuffed cotton into his mouth to help give him a different profile. Maomao took out a square of paper and passed it to him; he spat out the cotton balls and tossed them into a nearby wastebasket. A versatile paper square like that one was very valuable—just another of Suiren’s thoughtful touches, along with the clothes.
I didn’t think to bring any replacement cotton, Maomao thought. This
rubbed her perfectionist streak the wrong way, but she doubted it was something most people would actually notice. Still inspecting the skewer with a certain amount of wonder, Jinshi brought it to his mouth. It must have been a little warm for him, because he blew on it forcefully before chewing and swallowing.
“What do you think, sir?”
“Damn sight better than what they served at the bivouac. Good and salty,” Jinshi said, wiping the juice off his lips with his fingers. Maomao took a handkerchief out of her pouch and handed it to him, but she was thinking, Bivouac?
Eunuchs, as far as she knew, didn’t normally serve in the military, so she wasn’t sure what to make of this. Maybe a person like Jinshi would be roughing it out in the wilderness if a war started or something, but under normal circumstances? What would lead to a eunuch spending his nights in the field?
As she entertained the question, Maomao studied Jinshi’s face. A bit of the makeup had come off around his mouth, but it wasn’t enough to worry about; she looked away. All right, whatever our business is here, let’s get it over with, she thought. She finished the last of the meat on her skewer and stood up from the crate. She was determined to go back and buy that daikon and chicken once she’d ditched Jinshi.
Despite her haste, Jinshi insisted on doing everything with slow, elegant movements, much to Maomao’s annoyance. “Are you quite sure you’re going to be in time for your meeting, Jinka?” she asked pointedly, using his fake name.
“I think we’ve got a few minutes yet.”
“Wouldn’t it be best to arrive early? It’s bad manners to make someone wait for you.”
Now it was Jinshi who looked annoyed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get rid of me.”
“Would you?” Maomao said innocently, but of course Jinshi had hit the nail on the head. He looked a bit sullen but didn’t complain further. Instead, he changed the subject.
“I can’t imagine life in the palace is that bad. Surely it must be better than here in the pleasure district.”
Maomao had to admit, it wasn’t terrible, particularly now that she was
serving there of her own volition. She had a small but clean room, and an offer to move to other quarters. She had been quite lucky, she felt. But the lifestyle wasn’t the only reason she might have to want to go back to the pleasure district. “I’m worried whether my old man is taking proper care of himself,” she said. Jinshi’s mouth practically hung open. “What?” Maomao asked.
“It’s nothing; I just…never knew you were interested in anything besides drugs and poisons.”
Maomao replied with a glare. Rude bastard. “My adoptive father is my teacher in matters of medicine, so I certainly hope he’ll continue to live a good long time.” Then she turned her back decisively on Jinshi and started walking. Yes, she knew for sure now: she wanted to get this over with.
Jinshi, looking slightly frazzled, came up alongside her. “This father of yours. I gather he’s indeed a talented apothecary.”
After a moment Maomao answered hesitantly, “He is.” She didn’t think it was fair of Jinshi, leveraging talk of her father like this. “Apparently he studied in the west when he was a young man.” Thus he was familiar not only with her own region’s traditional medicine, but with western medical techniques as well. She occasionally saw him taking notes in a foreign language, and once in a while he would use words that sounded quite unusual to her. It made her think he must have been quite some time in that foreign land.
“Really? He did that?” Jinshi asked. “He must have been something special, then. I believe people are only sent on those studies by endorsement from the government.” His transparent amazement only confirmed for Maomao that her father was an exceptional person.
“Yes, he is rather incredible. The old proverb holds that ‘Heaven doesn’t give two gifts to one man,’ but I guess there are exceptions to the rule.” The excitement was creeping into her voice now, and she was growing more voluble than usual.
“He must have been quite a man, indeed…” Jinshi, in contrast, looked more subdued than before. Perhaps she’d said too much and something in her flood of words had upset him.
He was the one who insisted I talk, she thought. She wished he would make up his blasted mind.
Jinshi, desperate to look at anything but Maomao, let his gaze wander
among the shops that lined the street. The restaurants and food stalls had given way to places selling textiles and accessories. Men flitted from one to the next, picking presents to please their nighttime butterflies.
“And what is such a distinguished person doing running a druggist’s shop in a nameless corner of the pleasure district?” There was a thorn hidden in Jinshi’s words.
“Heaven gave him many gifts, but luck was not one of them. And as much as he was given, something was also taken from him. Something important.”
Ill fortune: that was Luomen’s one great flaw, if he had one. His study in the west had proven sufficient pretext for the former emperor’s mother— that is to say, the former empress dowager—to have him made a eunuch.
Jinshi watched Maomao silently. Just as she was starting to fear that another of her red-light-district jokes had fallen flat, he said, “You’re telling me that the father who adopted you is a eunuch?”
“Yes, sir,” Maomao said, wondering if she hadn’t mentioned it before. Jinshi started mumbling: “Eunuch… Apothecary… Doctor…”
Amidst this talking and mumbling, they reached their destination.
Maomao looked at the note Gaoshun had given her. “I believe that’s it, sir,” she said, pointing to a place just at the border of the pleasure district. The upper floor was an inn and the lower a restaurant, a fairly standard arrangement.
“Yes, I think you’re right. But we still have a few minutes,” Jinshi said, looking around.
Ah, now I get it, Maomao thought, narrowing her eyes. She understood why Jinshi had gone to all the trouble of disguising himself and marching around the town market. Yes, she saw it all now.
Maomao let out a long breath. “I fear that traipsing around too much will cause your makeup to come off. Besides, the person you’re meeting might be inside already. Better to go have a look than to risk making them wait, isn’t it?” Jinshi finally seemed to take the hint. “I shall part ways with you here then, sir.”
“What, here?”
“Yes. You took the trouble of disguising yourself. It would spoil everything if I walked in with you.” Maomao gave a polite nod of the head and started back toward the market. As she went, she glanced over her
shoulder to see Jinshi entering the restaurant. I guess even eunuchs need a day off now and then, she thought. She crossed her arms and nodded. And then she started thinking again. If he was going to come all the way out here, he might as well just go into the pleasure district proper. For she knew what kind of restaurant it was that Jinshi had just gone into. They served the waitresses along with the food.
Well, I hope he has a good night, she thought a touch caustically, staring at the restaurant with a freezing look in her eye
