“Time to work. Get going.” The old madam hustled Maomao into a rather distinguished-looking carriage. This evening’s job was apparently a banquet for some noble. Maomao could only
sigh as they arrived at a large mansion in the north of the capital. She was just one of a number of people accompanying her “sisters” to the banquet. Everyone was dressed in gorgeous clothing and done up with ostentatious makeup. When she contemplated the fact that she was made up to look just like them, Maomao felt oddly queasy.
Their party was ushered down a long hallway, up a spiral
staircase, and into a large room. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, and festive red tassels dangled everywhere. Someone has money to burn, Maomao thought.
Five people sat in a row in the room. They were younger than she’d expected. Pairin licked her lips when she saw the young men in the flickering lamplight. She was rewarded with a gentle jab in the side from Joka. When she wanted to, Maomao’s s*xy
“sister” could be very quick about things, enough to make even the madam throw up her hands.
Wish he’d made these introductions sooner! The men at this banquet were supposedly high officials from the palace; Lihaku had been the go-between. And with him involved, at least a portion of the profits should go to paying off Maomao’s debts. If
nothing else, she’d been given a substantial amount of severance pay, more than she’d counted on, so she’d escaped being forced to sell her body, but the madam still put her to odd jobs like this.
Old hag. The way she clucked when she heard… The old lady really seemed to want to make Maomao a courtesan. She’d been maneuvering toward it for years now. She kept telling Maomao to quit wasting her time with medicine already, but that was never going to happen. What, was she simply going to swap her interest
from pharmaceuticals to singing and dancing? Not a chance.
As Maomao took in the room, she saw that everything was hugely ornate: each bottle of wine and every sitting mat was of
the highest quality. Surely they wouldn’t notice if I helped myself to a furnishing as a souvenir, she thought, but then she shook her head. No, no, that wouldn’t do.
Calling courtesans to one’s private residence was substantially more expensive than holding a banquet at the brothel. All the
more so when the courtesans one summoned were women any one of whom could charge a year’s wages in silver for a single evening. To ask all three of the “princesses” of the Verdigris House—Meimei, Pairin, and Joka—to be present at once was as good as to announce that money was no object.
Maomao was just one of those who had been brought along in support of the night’s three stars. She’d learned to be mannerly, but she couldn’t hold a tune, nor could she play the erhu. And
dancing? That was out of the question. The best she could hope to do was to keep a close watch on the guests’ drinks and make sure they never ran dry.
Maomao forced the muscles of her face into a smile as she began to pour wine into someone’s empty cup. Her only saving
grace was that everyone was so enraptured by her sisters’ singing and dancing that they didn’t so much as glance at her. One person had even started a game of Go with a member of the
support staff.
While everyone else laughed, drank, and enjoyed the show, though, she spotted one person looking down at the ground.
What, bored? Maomao wondered. He was a young man dressed in fine silk; he rested a small cup of wine on one knee, sipping from it occasionally. A gray gloom clung to him. They’re going to think I’m not doing my job, thought Maomao, who had a way of turning serious about anything she happened to be doing. She
grabbed a good, full bottle of wine and sat down beside the melancholy young man. His sleek, dark bangs hid much of his face. For the life of her, she couldn’t see his expression.
“Leave me alone,” he said.
Maomao was puzzled: his voice was oddly familiar. Her hand moved almost before she could think; any thought of propriety or
politeness had vanished from her mind. Careful not to touch the young man’s cheek, she lifted his hair.
A gorgeous countenance greeted her. Her reserved expression promptly changed to one of total astonishment. “Master Jinshi?” There was no gleaming smile on his face now, no sweet honey in his voice, but still she would have known that eunuch anywhere.
Jinshi blinked several times in succession, studied her for a second, then said uneasily, “Who… Who’re you?”
“A question I’m often asked.”
“Anyone ever tell you you look very different with makeup?” “Frequently.”
The conversation gave her a sense of déjà vu. She let go of his hair and it fell back over his face. Jinshi reached out and tried to
take her wrist. “Why are you running?” He looked sullen now. “Please don’t touch the entertainment,” she said. It wasn’t her
decision—it was the rules. They would have to charge extra. “Why the hell do you even look like that?”
Maomao refused to meet his eyes as she said uncomfortably, “It’s… part-time work.”
“At a brothel? Wait… Don’t tell me you…”
Maomao gave Jinshi a glare. So he liked to question people’s chastity, did he? “I don’t take customers myself,” she informed him. “Yet.”
“Yet…”
Maomao didn’t elaborate. What could she say? It certainly wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that the madam would
finally manage to force a customer on her before she was able to pay off her debt. Although thankfully, under the influence of her father and sisters, it hadn’t happened so far.
“How about if I bought you?” Jinshi drawled.
“Huh?” Maomao was about to tell him not to joke when an idea flashed through her mind. “You know, that might not be half bad.”
Jinshi caught his breath, startled. It was the face of a pigeon spooked by a peashooter. Apparently the lack of sparkle opened the door to a great wealth of expressions. Lovely though the
ethereal smile was, it almost didn’t look human. It was nearly enough to convince Maomao that he must have two hun spirits
within a single po spirit: two transient yang souls for the single, corporeal yin spirit.
“It wouldn’t be so bad, to work at the rear palace again,” she said.
Jinshi’s shoulders slumped. Maomao looked at him, wondering what could be the matter.
“I thought you quit the rear palace. Because you hated it.” “When did I ever say such a thing?” In fact, Maomao was convinced she’d all but begged to stay on in order to pay off her
debt, and it had been Jinshi who’d had her fired. The place had its troubles and difficulties, no question, but Consort Gyokuyou’s ladies-in-waiting had been good women. And food taster was an
unusual role, not one to which most people could—or would—
aspire. “If there’s anything I didn’t like about it,” Maomao said, “I suppose it would be that I wasn’t able to conduct my poison experiments.”
“You shouldn’t be doing those anyway.” Jinshi rested his chin on his knee in place of his cup. His look of outright exasperation spontaneously slipped into a wry smile. “Heh. I know, I know. It’s who you are.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a woman of few words? Too few?” “Yes,” Maomao replied after a beat. “Often.”
Jinshi’s smile gradually grew more innocent. This time it was Maomao’s turn to look annoyed. Jinshi reached out again. “I said, why are you running?”
“It’s the rules, sir.” The information didn’t seem to dissuade Jinshi, whose hand didn’t move. He was staring fixedly at
Maomao. She was getting a bad feeling about it. “Surely one touch is all right.”
“No, sir.”
“There won’t be any less of you afterward.” “It takes my energy.”
“Just one hand. Just a fingertip. Surely that’s all right.”
Maomao had no answer. He was persistent. She knew him; knew he didn’t give up. Maomao, helpless, closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. “Just a fingertip.”
The instant the words were out of her mouth, she felt
something press against her lips. Her eyelids fluttered open and she saw a daub of her red lip color on Jinshi’s lithe fingertip. He pulled his hand back almost before she realized what had happened. Then, to her amazement, he touched the finger to his own lips.
That sneaky little…
When he pulled his fingers away from his mouth, a spot of scarlet was left on his finely-shaped mouth. His face relaxed a
little and the smile became even more innocent. A flush entered his cheeks, as if a touch of the lip color had gotten on his face.
Maomao’s shoulders were shaking, but Jinshi’s smile looked so profoundly youthful, almost childish, that she found she couldn’t rebuke him. Instead she focused on the ground.
Damn, it’s catching… Maomao’s mouth formed a tight line, and her own cheeks were turning pink. She knew she hadn’t used any rouge. Then she realized she could hear laughter, chuckling men and giggling women, and she discovered everyone was looking at them. Her sisters were grinning openly. Maomao was terrified to imagine what would come next. Suddenly she wanted to be
anywhere else.
Gaoshun appeared veritably out of the blue, his arms crossed as if to say: Finally. That’s one job done. It was all enough to
make Maomao’s head spin, and later she hardly recalled the rest of the evening. She never forgot, though, how her sisters hounded her about it afterward.
⭘⬤⭘
Some days later, a gorgeous noble visitor appeared in the
capital’s pleasure district. He came with money enough to make even the old madam goggle—and for some reason, an unusual herb grown from an insect. And he wanted one young woman in particular.
Fin.
eyes lit’up- Ț wiìh a mi»ítur,e
of surpriãe’\$ anò curiosity.
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