Simmered locusts are served.
Mornings in the pleasure quarter are languid.
The caged birds that had been chirping until just before dawn shed their pleasant airs the moment the customers leave.
In the brief hours before the sun rises, they sleep as though their strings have been cut.
Maomao
yawned as she stepped out of the shack. Steam was rising from the Ryokuseikan right in front of her. The men were probably hard at work preparing the morning bath.
The cold air stung her skin. Her breath came out white. The sun was slow to rise, and wearing just a padded coat with an overrobe on top still wasn't enough to ward off the chill.
It had been a month since she left the rear palace, and things had finally quieted down now that the New Year celebrations were over.
Because her father had entered the palace as a court physician, Maomao had ended up back in the pleasure quarter once again.
Inside the shack, one child was still asleep. He'd only make a fuss if she woke him, so she'd leave him be for now.
The child's name was
Zhao Yu.
He was one of the last survivors of the Zhao clan, but due to certain circumstances, Maomao had ended up raising him.
He was a well-bred little brat, but she had to give him credit for his adaptability. He had enough nerve to sleep soundly, snoring away, even in a drafty old shack like this.
(Come to think of it, Granny did want to see me.)
She might as well grab a bath while she was at it. In this cold, a wash with cold water was out of the question.
Maomao shuddered all over, stepped up to the well, dropped the bucket, and pulled on the pulley rope.
She grimaced at the cold water as she washed her face and woke herself up.
When she reached the Ryokuseikan, the courtesans had finished their baths, and
Toku
was drying their hair.
"Oh my, you're early today."
The one who called out to her was a wet-haired
Mei Mei.
That's right. The bathing starts with the higher-ranking courtesans.
"Miss Mei Mei, don't you know where the madam is?"
"The madam? She's over there talking with the Master."
"Thanks."
The one who runs Rokuseikan is the capable old madam, but
the Master
is someone else entirely. He comes by about once a month to discuss the brothel's affairs with her. He's a middle-aged man who's been known to the madam since he was a boy, so he never stands a chance against her.
There are even rumors that he's the child of the previous Master and the madam, but no one knows the truth.
Besides running the brothel, he apparently conducts regular, legitimate businesses as well, and at first glance, he seems like an utterly ordinary, amiable person.
In fact, his personality is so soft you'd worry whether he could even get by in the world — he's such a pushover that you'd have real concerns about who would run the brothel once the madam was gone.
"She's not pitching some weird scheme again, is she?"
"Who knows?"
That was the moment Mei Mei spread both her hands wide.
"You fool! What do you think you're doing?!"
The madam's voice came echoing from the back of the building.
Maomao and Mei Mei exchanged glances.
"Looks about right."
"Yeah."
They exchanged glances again, wondering what she'd done this time.
After a while, the madam emerged from the back, followed by a middle-aged man with gentle eyes. Everyone at Rokuseikan called him "the Master." Perhaps if they didn't address him that way, they'd forget he was the owner of the house.
The Master was rubbing the top of his head — it looked like he'd taken a knuckle-rap.
"Oh, Maomao, you've arrived?"
"The madam called me here."
"Is that so?"
(Playing dumb, are we, madam?)
I meant to have said it only in my head, but the next moment, a fist came crashing down on Maomao's skull.
The old man gazed at Maomao with pitying eyes. It dawned on her, only now, that the sense of déjà vu she had felt with that quack doctor in the Rear Palace might have been because he resembled this man.
The old woman would occasionally give one the unsettling impression that she could read people's minds, like some manner of spirit.
"Well, judging by the look of things, you'll be wanting a bath, won't you? Why don't you stay for breakfast while you're at it? Bring that little boy along too."
"You're awfully generous."
"Even I have my moments now and then."
With that, the old woman went lumbering toward the kitchen, her footsteps heavy.
The old man left in a hurry with a "Well then, take care." Maomao bowed and saw him off, thinking that normally he would have had time to stay for breakfast.
"..."
Everyone gathered in the dining hall was struck speechless.
At Rokushōkan, meals were often taken together in several shifts. Maomao had been included in the first of these.
"The worst."
The young lady who sat beside her—
Hakuzu—
—said, her face twisted in disgust. She was counted among the three blossoms of Rokushōkan, but if her patrons ever saw this expression, they would be thoroughly disillusioned — of that, there was no doubt.
That was the kind of face she was making.
If one had to describe it in terms Maomao could understand, it would be something like the face you make upon discovering wriggling mosquito larvae in a puddle. Something along those lines.
On the long table that could seat roughly twenty, there were individual servings of rice porridge, soup, and small side dishes, along with three large serving platters set at even intervals.
At Rokushōkan, the standard was one rice and one soup, with at best one side dish. Today, the small bowls held pickled vegetables. And then, on top of that, large serving platters had been set out—
two side dishes in all—
—which should have made for a truly lavish breakfast.
On the large serving platters, something glistened black. Creatures normally treated as crop-destroying pests — they had been placed on the
table
as a dish.
Locusts.
That was what it was.
"Granny, this?"
"Eat up without complaining. It's a gift from the proprietor."
Now Maomao understood why the madam had been so angry.
The proprietor had more than just the pleasure house to manage. On the surface, he lived a respectable life under the sun as the owner of a large establishment. But his business methods were far from scrupulous.
"This year the harvest was poor, and apparently he got pressured into buying up the surplus," the madam said.
She spoke in an irritated tone as she drizzled black vinegar over her congee.
The proprietor dealt in grain as a side business. In this country, crops were collected from farmers as tax in kind, and the government also purchased a set quantity outright. His trade involved distributing the remainder.
"But that's no reason to buy at whatever price they demand. It's not like the stuff sells easily as it is—and this year there's just so much of it."
On the plate sat locusts that had been deep-fried until crispy, then simmered in soy sauce and sugar.
"He overbought, can't preserve it all, and it'll go to waste—so if he's going to splurge on sugar like that, he might as well just toss them out," the madam grumbled.
Sugar was a luxury item. Dousing it generously just to simmer some insects—who on earth would eat that?
Sure enough, vast quantities went unsold, and so they ended up on the dining table of Ryokusei House.
The proprietor had apparently tried to pawn them off at home as well, but he had his own problems there. His wife didn't look kindly on his side business.
Rather than face his wife's wrath, he had apparently chosen the madam's fist instead.
Maomao scratched the back of her neck. She was used to eating oddities, but when insects were piled this high, she had no desire to touch them. After two or three, she'd be clasping her hands in prayer.
The courtesans were even less fond of peculiar fare than Maomao was, so they all grimaced and refused to touch them.
"Eat up, all of you! These are the greens you lot kept squawking about. Five each, minimum!"
As the madam barked irritably, the first pair of chopsticks reached toward the large platter.
(Hm?)
The first to take a bite was someone unexpected.
Without hesitation, he crunched down on the grotesque-looking insect.
"It's not that tasty. Kind of bland and dry, actually."
The one who offered his honest assessment while eating was Zhao Yu.
Maomao had assumed that, having been raised as a sheltered young master, he would be squeamish about such things—but apparently not.
Was it because his memory loss had stripped away that sort of sensibility, or had he eaten them before? Or perhaps it was a childlike adaptability?
"You can really put those down, huh?"
It was Shiritsu speaking from the other side of Maomao.
"They don't taste good, but it's not like you can't eat them. They're just really hollow, though."
(Hollow?)
Come to think of it, locusts were supposed to have their insides removed before cooking, so being hollow was par for the course. That makes sense, she thought, as she picked up a locust with little enthusiasm.
(Huh!?)
They were definitely hollow. Even more so than the last time she'd eaten them—like there was nothing inside at all. They'd been simmered, but the reason she thought that was because the only sensation in her mouth was the outer exoskeleton.
Originally, there wasn't supposed to be much meat to begin with, but this felt like even less than that.
"Hey, hey, want me to eat it for you instead? I'll call it even for one mooncake."
Maomao grabbed the head of Zhao Yu, who had been haggling with Shiritsu, and shoved it down hard. "Ow, ow ow ow," Zhao Yu groaned.
Maomao held the locust with her chopsticks and stared at it intently.
It was her usual bad habit.
Once something caught her attention, she couldn't help but obsess over it.
"Oh, right—I was meaning to ask you to do some shopping."
Once breakfast was over, the madam finally reminded Maomao why she'd been summoned.
She was to go shopping at the market on the town's central avenue.
The courtesans couldn't leave the pleasure house, and the men weren't up to the task.
The market often had rare goods on display, but there was no shortage of swindlers, either. Since there were no permanent shop fronts, vendors should have been able to offer lower prices, but without signage to draw customers, plenty of shady characters mixed in. To buy quality goods, you needed a quality eye.
"I'd like you to pick up some incense. The usual kind."
The incense always burned at the Rokushōkan"
"entrance,"
"to give off a faint fragrance. It's a consumable, so they'd like to keep costs down, but they can't burn low-quality stuff either."
"Sure thing—what's in it for me?"
When Maomao held out her hand, it was met with a sharp smack.
"Two shares of the morning bath fee and two shares of the breakfast fee. Pretty generous, huh?"
Maomao thought, *As expected of a stingy old woman.*
"Hey, Freckles. Let's go check out that thing over there."
"Declined."
She ignored Chou U, who tugged at her sleeve and pointed toward a toy stall in the open-air market. Honestly, she would have preferred to go alone, but this brat had thrown a tantrum, threatening to follow her while rolling around on the ground, so she had no choice but to bring him along.
Maomao grabbed the hand of the pouting Chou U and dragged him along as she walked.
In the center of the city ran one wide main road, where a market was set up every day.
As horse-drawn carriages passed back and forth, beyond them lay the place where the "heavenly people" dwelled.
Looking at it now, she could hardly believe she had once worked in that place—as if it had all been some kind of dream. But the fact that Chou U was right beside her proved that Maomao had been in the palace, and therefore had been caught up in that incident.
The rebellion of the Zi clan—it seemed to have affected the market to some degree.
The northern region's specialty products were mostly grains and wooden crafts, but there seemed to be fewer of those shops than usual. In their place, she noticed more shops selling dried fruits and textiles—items more commonly found in the south and west.
Then, spotting something, Maomao made a face again.
They were selling boiled insects.
Locusts, once more.
"Ugh, those things definitely taste awful. Who'd actually buy those?"
When Chou U blurted that out right in front of the shop, Maomao clamped a hand over his mouth and dragged him away. Honestly, the shopkeeper's glare was terrifying.
Maomao finally let go of Chou U once they had put some distance between themselves and the stall.
"What? They really do taste bad, don't they?"
"Shut up."
Maomao stared at Chou U with cold eyes. *This is exactly why I can't stand children*, she thought with conviction.
"Any insect that scrawny-looking's gotta taste terrible. And the crops are probably done for this year anyway."
"...What did you just say?"
Maomao blinked rapidly.
"Huh? That they definitely taste bad?"
"No, not that. What you said after that."
"So the crops are ruined for this year?"
*(What's that supposed to mean?)*
Maomao stared intently at Zhao Wei.
"How do you know that?"
"Uhh, what was it again—"
Zhao Wei scratched at his head vigorously with his right hand. His remaining left hand twitched slightly and hung limp at his side.
Zhao Wei had taken a resurrection drug, died once, and then somehow been brought back to life. As a result, paralysis lingered in his body, and he had lost nearly all of his memories.
"I don't remember it clearly. But I feel like I once heard that if bugs are scarce, you get a poor harvest."
Zhao Wei groaned, clutching his head.
Maomao thought that shaking his head might jar something loose, but he was technically her charge now, so she couldn't very well manhandle him any further.
Still, if what Zhao Wei was saying was true, this could turn into quite a serious problem, Maomao thought.
"Maybe... I could remember, if I tried."
"Really?"
When Maomao asked, Zhao Wei gently shifted his gaze toward the stalls. A toy shop stood there.
"If you bought me something, I might remember."
"..."
Well, she figured she might as well humor him. She opened her mouth wide in an exaggerated gape.