The little shit-brat was still a little shit-brat through and through.
Maomao
thought to herself.
(Something might come back to him for all I know.)
Zhao Wei
was happily scribbling away with a brush, sporting a lump on his head. What the little shit-brat had wanted wasn't toys—it was, surprisingly, paper and a brush.
Maomao gave him one of her own brushes, but the paper turned out to be surprisingly expensive. Perhaps because he came from good stock—he could tell the difference between cheap and quality paper at the shop. Pointing at this and that, saying "that won't do, this won't do either," he demanded the most expensive kind they had.
Of course, Maomao wasn't about to indulge such extravagance. She picked out something slightly lower in quality but perfectly serviceable and bought that.
Paper was expensive for something so easily used up, but it wasn't prohibitively so. Every time she bought it, she wished it would become more widespread and thus cheaper.
Watching Zhao Wei happily clutch his bundle of paper, she decided to forgive him—for now—with just a single rap on the head.
The moment they returned to the Verdigris House, Zhao Wei set about drawing something with great enthusiasm. Maomao, for her part, was busy preparing the abortion medicine and cold remedy she'd been asked to make. Today she enlisted the tea-serving courtesan and the young apprentices close in age to
Zhao Wei
to keep him out of trouble, then sequestered herself in the medicine room.
She made the requested medicines, delivered them to another brothel, and had just returned when—
(What's going on?)
A crowd
had gathered at the entrance. Courtesans and apprentices, and beyond them, a number of men too.
She squinted to see what the fuss was about, and there in the middle stood a brazen-looking little brat.
He'd caused trouble again, Maomao thought as she quickened her pace toward Zhao Wei. Pushing through the crowd, she stood before the little shit-brat and saw elegant lines dancing across white paper.
"What is it, Freckles? I'm waiting my turn, you know."
"What do you think you're doing?"
Zhao Wei had set paper on a flat board in place of a
table
and was drawing away. A composed-looking courtesan sat primly on a chair in front of him.
"What else? I'm drawing a picture."
He swept the brush along in smooth strokes, rendering the scene before him — a beauty based on the courtesan sitting there, touched up with a hint of added color.
"All right~ Done!"
Chouu laid the brush atop the inkstone and held up the paper with a flutter.
The model
— the courtesan — dropped her demure expression and broke into a smile, saying "Oh my" as she pulled a purse from her sleeve.
"Much obliged~"
Not even counterfeit
— just clean, unspoiled coins. He received five of them and tucked them into his robe. More than enough for a glutton's pocket money.
"I'm next, right?"
One of the male attendants sat down in the chair. He wasn't even keeping watch — what was he doing fooling around? If the shrewd old madam caught him, he'd be in for it.
"Oh, sorry, big bro. I'm all out of paper. I'll go buy some now, so come back tomorrow, all right?"
"What do you mean?! I've been waiting this whole time!"
"Sorry about that. Tomorrow I'll draw yours first thing, I swear."
Quite the seasoned pro.
With that, he took off at a trot back toward the paper shop.
He'd bought a bundle of ten sheets, and they were already gone, it seemed.
At least three people among those present had gotten their portraits done. That alone was enough to turn a profit.
(Who knew he had a talent like that.)
Maomao scratched the back of her neck as she leaned in to look at the portrait.
"You lot! What do you think you're doing?!"
The raspy cry of the old madam rang out, and the faces of those who'd been happily chatting away turned pale.
"Get the shop ready, quick, before the customers run off!"
The old woman brandished her bamboo broom as she spoke, and the courtesans, the bald attendants, and the male servants scattered like spiderlings.
Maomao, too, was about to hurry back to her station when a bony, skeletal hand grabbed her shoulder.
"What is it, old woman?"
"Don't you 'what is it' me, you little wretch. Just because you're collecting child-rearing fees as his guardian doesn't mean you should coddle him."
"Aren't you the one pocketing the money, old woman?"
For some reason, the old woman held on to all the money received. To a certain extent, the fact that Zhao Yu could do as he pleased in the Rokushokan establishment owed itself to that arrangement. But they couldn't house a male in a brothel, not even a child, and they couldn't very well dump him in the men's quarters either, so in the end he had taken up residence in Maomao's lean-to.
"I need to collect rent."
(Greedy old hag.)
She hadn't meant to say it out loud, but sure enough, the old woman's fist came crashing down on Maomao's head.
"Now then, you — go clean up those brushes and inkstones."
"Why?"
"If you don't shut up and do it, you're having grasshopper soup today."
(This woman…)
Maomao clutched her head and reluctantly began tidying up the inkstones.
That evening, Maomao saw Zhao Yu return to the lean-to with a sour look on his face.
Zhao Yu had apparently borrowed yet another brush from somewhere, and he was carrying a bundle of paper covered in scribbles.
"Freckles, where's my brush?"
"I'm not lending it to anyone who doesn't clean up after himself."
She turned her back with a huff and began loading firewood into the stove. Maomao had thrown a jacket over her shoulders. Once the sun went down, the cold set in all at once.
"Don't be so stingy."
"I got my stinginess from that shrewd old woman."
Maomao stirred the clay pot, scooped up some of the porridge inside, and put it in her mouth. It was a little bland, so she added some salt.
"The old woman says she wants her rent."
"I know. I'll do it somewhere else next time."
Hearing those words, Maomao furrowed her brow. She plunged the ladle into the clay pot, left it there, and stood before Zhao Yu, who was lounging on the straw mat. She crouched down and stared intently at him.
"What?"
"Even if you pay rent, keep it within the Rokushokan grounds. Don't go wandering off to someplace away from the servants. And don't go out to buy paper by yourself."
"That's my business."
Maomao firmly grabbed the head of Zhao Yu, who had turned his face away with a huff, and forcibly twisted it back toward her.
"If you want to become a lump of meat, go right ahead."
"Lump of meat?"
He stared hard at her. The term "lump of meat" was no joke. The Rokushokan might have been a warm and friendly place, but this was the pleasure district—a place where the capital's respectable and disreputable sides were thoroughly intertwined.
Maomao quietly indicated the neighboring shack's window, pointing through the gap in the poorly fitted shutters.
"You'll get accosted by the likes of them."
Through the gap, a single light flickered in the evening darkness.
The figure wore a cloak over their head and carried a lantern and a straw mat. At first glance, they seemed like an ordinary woman.
"!?!"
Zhao Yu stood up with a clatter.
She must have caught a glimpse from afar. The face of a
streetwalker
with a missing nose. The lowest-class sex workers who couldn't afford a proper establishment and had no choice but to solicit clients on the roadside were riddled with all manner of venereal disease. They wouldn't last long like that, but even so, they had to take on men just to earn today's meal money.
The reason such women had settled in this area was probably because the old man had shown a compassionate side.
He just had to go and make things complicated, Maomao thought.
"This isn't a pretty neighborhood. There are plenty of starving, money-hungry devils around who'd kill you just to take what you've got."
If you don't want to die, do as she said.
Zhao Yu pursed his lips sulkily and, with slightly moist eyes, gave a small nod.
"If you get it, then eat your food and go to sleep."
With that, Maomao crouched before the stove and stirred the porridge once more.
The next morning, when Maomao woke up, Zhao Yu was already up.
She heard rummaging sounds, and when she looked, papers were scattered across the table. Zhao Yu was busily moving his brush.
(That good-for-nothing, doing whatever he pleases...)
Maomao got up, thinking she'd at least give him a good punch. Just then, a piece of paper with something drawn on it fluttered down from the table.
(Hmm?)
She picked it up, puzzled.
On it was a detailed drawing of insects.
There were numerous
realistic
illustrations—so lifelike they made her feel queasy just looking at them.
(Makes me think of her.)
The court lady who liked insects—no, she had been a consort. The girl who called herself
Zi Cui.
She used to draw like this too, didn't she?
Maomao watched with a touch of melancholy.
"I'm done!"
Zhao Wa suddenly stood up.
He held a piece of paper and planted himself in front of Maomao.
"Freckles, I finished it."
"Finished what?"
"This, this!"
He thrust the paper before her with a snap.
On it were two insects—locusts. Both were recognizably locusts, but their shapes were subtly different.
"I couldn't remember it perfectly, but I think it was something like this. I'm pretty sure I saw it alongside talk of a poor harvest."
His wording was vague, but the drawing itself was very clear.
"This one's a normal locust. The one below is the locust that appears during a poor harvest."
"Is that for real?"
"Probably. More or less."
Zhao Wa's memories were still lost. But bits and pieces were coming back to him, weren't they? If that was the case, there were plenty of inconveniences—but on the other hand, there was something far more important than that.
Two kinds of locusts.
Maomao thought she needed to investigate this further.
There was something called a locust plague.
It was one of the natural disasters that could bring down a nation—swarms of insects devouring every last crop.
Crop damage from pests was significant every year, but a locust plague was on an entirely different scale. Locusts consumed everything and anything. In the worst years, they would even devour rough rope and straw sandals.
No one understood the mechanism behind it, but it occurred every few years. However, it had not happened since the current Emperor's reign began.
Maomao didn't believe the current Emperor's rule was so magnificent that the heavens themselves had refrained from unleashing a locust plague. It was simply that one hadn't happened to come along yet, that was all.
If the first locust plague of this reign were to strike now, it would serve as a test of the Emperor's power. He had just recently punished the clan of the most powerful heir in the nation.
This was
the timing
that was bad.
If a locust plague struck now, there would surely be those who interpreted it as divine punishment for the destruction of the heir's clan.
(No, this has nothing to do with me. Nothing at all.)
That was how it should have been, but before she knew it, Maomao found herself heading toward a bookshop in town.
(She didn't expect to find anything, but...)
Seeing that detailed drawing by Zhao Wa had jogged her memory.
She was sure she had seen a drawing like that before.
Maomao entered a small shop with books displayed out front, nestled among the rows of stores lining the street.
A small bell chimed as she stepped inside, and the shopkeeper—who sat in the back like an ornamental figurine—offered a slight nod. That was the extent of his warmth; he then returned to a posture that could have been either dozing or simply resting his eyes.
Most of the books inside were lending copies or used volumes. New books were also sold, but they were expensive items, so you would hardly find any unless they were special orders.
(Of course she wouldn't find it here.)
What they had here was mostly popular fiction or erotic prints—things generally considered vulgar. Still, she had come because there were the occasional finds among them...
......
Maomao rubbed her eyes.
What was this... this convenient something?
She was unconsciously pinching her cheeks.
"Uncle, can I take a look at this?"
Maomao pointed at the book stacked on the shop owner's desk.
"Ah, ahh..."
Maomao took the vague reply as an affirmation and picked up the book.
It was a thick volume. A picture of a bird was drawn on the cover.
(You've got to be kidding me.)
No, it couldn't be. And yet, here it was.
The book contained numerous illustrations and descriptions of birds, with annotations scattered throughout.
"How did you get this?"
"Hmm... someone brought it in to sell yesterday."
It was a half-hearted reply.
"Is there anything else that was brought in to sell?"
"Just that one book. But they said they'd come back."
Maomao's face lit up brilliantly.
This was the second time Maomao had picked up this book.
That's right — it was the exact same book she had seen back then.
It was one of the books she had found in that room where she had been brought by Shisui and temporarily held captive.