It all started with a certain guest's tale.
"No wonder business has been slow lately."
While lounging about languidly,
Meimei
was placing stones on a go board. Watching her, the maidservant assigned to the young miss hesitated before placing her own stone.
A tsumego—
that's what they were solving.
"Those big-shot ministers do love anything unusual, don't they?"
Blowing out smoke as she said this was
Joaka,
the young miss.
Maomao had been asked by the young misses to prepare moxibustion. Both of them bore heavy burdens in their lives as women, so they would occasionally have their acupoints stimulated to ease the strain.
According to a guest Meimei had played go with the day before, there was a girl more extraordinary than even the three young misses of the Rokushōkan — like a fairy, he'd said.
"At our age, we're nothing but a nuisance anyway. They used to dote on us like precious jade, and now look."
"Hmph," Joaka spat out dismissively. Nodding along with a "yes, yes," Maomao had Joaka lie face-down and placed a moxa cone on her skin, setting it alight. A sultry "Aaah~" escaped her lips and her toes curled taut — Maomao wanted to tell her she was still very much in her prime.
"From what I hear, she has completely white hair. That alone could just be premature graying, I suppose."
"Her eyes are bright red too, apparently," Meimei added.
(White hair and bright red eyes)
That was indeed unusual — Maomao nodded. After finishing with Joaka, she prepared the moxa for Meimei.
Meimei extended one slender leg from beneath her kimono hem. Maomao carefully folded the fabric back so it wouldn't scorch, then placed a moxa cone and set it alight.
"White hair is one thing, but red eyes too? Then—
—she'd have to be—
—an albino?"
"That would make sense."
The young ladies hummed in agreement. The baldy holding the Go stone didn't quite follow along and tugged at Maomao's sleeve. She was the girl who had screamed and cried the other day when she saw Jinshi eating locusts. Her name was, if Maomao remembered right,
Zilin,
or something to that effect.
Maomao narrowed her eyes in exasperation, but seeing Zilin flinch in fear, she relented and opened her mouth to explain.
"It's rare, but some children are born without pigment. Their hair and skin are white, and because the blood shows through, their eyes look red. Those children are called
'albinos'
— or so they tell me."
The same thing happened with animals. White snakes and foxes were considered auspicious and worshipped as divine beings, but what about humans? In distant foreign lands, pale-skinned children were believed to be a universal panacea, and there were customs of consuming them. But that was all dubious hearsay. Her father Luomen had taught her that while their hair and skin were white, all they lacked was the color on the outside — their insides were no different from anyone else's.
Maomao had once caught a white snake herself, and she truly thought it was a wondrous creature.
This time, it seemed the albino happened to be on the side worshipped as a fairy, which was a novelty.
"Even the important folks will get bored of her eventually, though."
"That's the thing,"
said Meimei, extending another leg as she spoke.
"They say she really can use magic."
At those words, Maomao's eyebrow twitched.
The fairy woman was said to possess the power to read people's minds and produce gold.
It was the kind of tale that begged for skepticism, but the gullible were lapping it up. What had started as a small sideshow tent show was now booking entire theaters in the capital.
When the show opened only once a night and the wealthy flocked to it, it was no wonder the courtesans of the pleasure quarter were grumbling.
Now that she had finally returned, people wouldn't stop praising this otherworldly fairy woman's appearance and extolling her abilities — not exactly welcome news.
Revenue was down twenty percent from usual, and even the shrewd old madam was smashing her pipe in frustration. The mid-tier courtesans' clientele hadn't changed, but the Rokushōkan was a high-class establishment. Whether the upper-class patrons showed up or not made a huge difference in sales.
"A sideshow's only worth seeing once, wouldn't you say?"
"Actually, that's not quite the case,"
responding to Maomao's muttered remark was the head of the male staff,
Ukyō.
This man, not yet forty, had lately been
Chō U
and
Sazen
They must be exhausted from guarding Chō U and Sazen. It seemed they had finally caught their breath before the night market lanterns went up. They were devouring large meat buns.
When Maomao poured them some leftover tea, Ukyō said "Much obliged" and took the cup, gulping the tea down.
"You know about elixir arts, right?"
"What's the point of asking now?"
Elixir arts—the practice of crafting a potion to achieve immortality and become a transcendent being. When her father had told her about such things, Maomao's eyes had naturally lit up. And she remembered how he had immediately put a stop to that.
"Don't you ever try to copy that."
Luomen had said.
In other words, it was an exceedingly dubious art.
"So someone wants to tap into the power of immortality, is that it?"
"Well, yeah. The unusual appearance is one thing, but the ability to read people's hearts—now that's really something."
"Oh my."
How would a high-ranking official who had come skeptical end up feeling after having his inner thoughts laid bare? The contempt he once felt might be overturned, taking the shape of something like faith.
And he might even come to believe that the elixir of immortality truly existed.
(As if such ridiculous things could possibly exist.)
Through her research into immortality potions, Maomao knew of someone who had created a resurrection drug. He had likely been an exceptional physician, but now the side effects had erased every trace of the man he once was.
Maomao clenched her fists tight. She knew it was pointless to regret it, but with his knowledge, far more effective countermeasures against the locust plague could have been devised.
The disaster was still unfolding. Perhaps things could change if they took action from here on out.
While Jinshi and the others were racking their brains over preventive measures for future disasters, the other officials were far too carefree about the whole thing—enough to make one sigh.
Still, Maomao found herself curious about the art in question.
"So it's like that, is it? This 'celestial maiden' draws in customers by dangling the promise of an immortality elixir?"
"I don't know that much. I just overheard talk from the officials' attendants, that's all."
With that, Ukyō stuffed the rest of the bun into his mouth and washed it down with the remaining tea.
It was time to light the paper lanterns.
"If you're that curious, why not go see for yourself?"
"I can't afford those fancy ticket prices."
"Then just get someone to pull some strings."
With that, Ukyō deftly winked only his right eye and promptly took off.
(Who am I supposed to ask?)
Maomao clicked her tongue in irritation, but the one face that came to mind, as always, was the same as ever.
It would have been easier if he'd simply said he was too busy and refused outright.
The moment she'd let it slip out of her mouth, he'd gotten all too eager about it. What's more, it seemed the word had already reached Jinshi's ears—he'd apparently been curious about it too.
She was told to get ready to leave immediately.
Maomao reflected on this as she threw on the jacket she'd been given for free from the clothing shop. It was lined with quality cotton. The color was a bit gaudy, but it would be wasteful not to accept a gift when one was offered. And wasteful not to use it.
Dressed warmly and stepping outside, she found a carriage waiting.
It was already dark out, and fat snowflakes were falling from the sky. She'd told Chōa she was going out, but he'd make a fuss about taking her all over the place if he knew, so she'd had Ukyō feed her dinner instead.
"Shall we go?"
At Gaoshun's words, Maomao climbed inside and found Jinshi sitting there with his mask removed.
Maomao gave a slow bow, and upon receiving the signal to sit, took her seat in the carriage.
"Jinshi, will you be wearing the mask?"
"I suppose so."
Maomao looked puzzled.
Jinshi, in contrast, wore a composed expression.
"It will be fine. There shouldn't be any problems."
With that, the carriage began to move.
The theater where the celestial maiden was said to be performing stood in the center of the capital, slightly to the east. It was the most prosperous part of the city, lined with shops, and situated near the upscale residential district.
Normally, this venue hosted theatrical productions, so the idea of a solo performance by the celestial maiden being held there was rather curious.
(What a dreadfully vulgar celestial maiden.)
The celestial maiden had earned her name from her appearance.
"The White Maiden."
That was what she was called.
When they stepped down from the carriage, a large crowd had already formed. A man at the reception collected coins and ushered people inside one after another.
(I see, I see.)
"There should be no problem."
Jinshi's smug expression was visible even through his mask. Half the surrounding guests wore masks or
veils
over their faces. A veil that Gaoshun had produced from who-knows-where was once again placed on Maomao's head.
If the rich and powerful were attending something like this for amusement, perhaps they were seen as being a bit too carried away. Or perhaps this, too, was just another part of the festival's entertainment. She felt on the verge of being swallowed up by the peculiar atmosphere.
The theater had a stage at the far end with dozens of tables arranged before it. The ceiling was open to the second floor, allowing the proceedings to be viewed from above as well. It could hold over a hundred people at once.
The building in the rear palace had been larger and built to accommodate more people, but this place was designed so that everyone could see the performance. In compensation, the patterns carved into the pillars and beams were intricate and beautiful.
Large lanterns hung from the ceiling, and she relied on their light to navigate the dim interior.
The seat Jinshi chose was the second row from the stage on the left side. Right in the center of the front row, a well-built man sat with a young woman attending to him.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't able to secure the center seats."
The young man who had joined them at some point said this sounding vexed. Even through the mask, his voice made it clear he was
Mashan.
That much was obvious.
The table was set for four, and with Gaoshun joining them, that made exactly the right number.
"No, rather, even a few rows further back would have been fine."
That was Gaoshun's way of thinking. Indeed, no matter how well one wore a mask, if one claimed the best seats, it would make it all the easier for others to gauge one's power and wealth.
Judging by appearances, the man in the center seats looked like nothing but a nouveau riche swimming in money. Come to think of it, wasn't there a trading merchant who had been making quite a name for himself in the pleasure district lately — and wasn't he precisely that sort of man?
As soon as she sat down, maidens wearing warm smiles approached and presented cups.
Maomao sniffed at one.
"It's sake. Aren't you going to drink?"
She did like sake. But she wanted to keep a sharp eye on that Bai Niangniang character.
"I'll have it later. Or should I taste-test it for poison?"
"No, it's fine."
Jinshi placed his cup on the table as if to follow suit. That meant Gaoshun and Mashan had no choice but to do the same. From what she could tell, the sake in the cups looked quite delicious — what a waste that no one was drinking it — but Maomao shifted her gaze to the stage.
A thin white haze drifted across the dimly lit room. Then, to the sound of a gong, the leading lady emerged from the depths of the stage as though radiating light.
She was a girl with white skin and long white hair left unbound to flow behind her, dressed entirely in white. Against that pristine whiteness, only her crimson-dyed lips and eyes stood out.
To the resounding crash of the gong, Bai Niangniang took her position at the center of the stage. There, a single elegant table had been set.
The girl stood before it and displayed a sheet of paper that had been prepared in advance. On it was a diagram showing the current arrangement of the stage and the table.
Then a man dressed in white mounted the platform. His hair was black, but otherwise he matched Bai Niangniang's attire — evidently one of her subordinates.
He took the layout diagram from the girl and pinned it to the wall on the platform. Then he hurled something at it.
Some sort of throwing weapon, perhaps. The slender projectile pierced the paper and sank into the wall. The wall had been pre-built as a prop specifically designed to let objects embed easily.
"Now then, the guest seated in this spot—"
There was a hole in the paper.
It corresponded exactly to the seat on the left side, second from the front.
"That would be here."
"That's right."
In other words, the very seat where Maomao and the others were sitting.
"What shall we do?"
"What do you mean, what shall we do—"
Jinshi clearly didn't want to attract attention.
Gaoshun was certainly not the type to get riled up over something like this.
As for Mashan...
He was squirming a little. His face said he wanted to step out, but felt awkward being the one to volunteer — that sort of look. Being the serious, dutiful sort, he probably couldn't bring himself to be that forward.
But if no one was going to volunteer at this rate, they'd just have to accept it.
"Then, I shall—"
"You. Go."
He was pointing at Maomao.
"A chance"
"to see it"
"up close, isn't it?"
"..."
Mashin, who had started to rise from his seat beside her, looked somewhat troubled. He wanted to smoothly pass
the baton
to Jinshi here, but Maomao simply wasn't the type to play along.
"Then I'll be going."
With that, casting a sidelong glance at the crestfallen Mashin, she made her way up onto the stage.
Under the flickering light of the lanterns, Byakunyannyan looked all the more radiant. Her skin was so white that her veins showed through beneath the surface. It was clear this was no mere coat of white paint.
"Could you please write any number from one to ten?"
A faint, almost vanishing voice could be heard. The man beside her repeated the same words in a loud voice to supplement it.
"Please write it where I can't see, then fold it up small enough that no one else can see it either."
Both Byakunyannyan and the man turned their backs. In the meantime, Maomao picked up the brush she'd been given and began writing smoothly across the paper. The brush had been pre-loaded with plenty of ink, which made it a bit difficult to control. The ink quality seemed poor as well, so they probably weren't using anything very good. A sheet of paper had been placed underneath to keep the ink from seeping onto the table.
Once she finished writing the number, Maomao folded the paper small.
"Done."
At that, Byakunyannyan and the man turned back around. The man pushed forward a strange wheeled cart that rattled as it moved. In exchange, the table from before was taken offstage.
There was a box on the cart with dozens of peculiar tubes jutting up from its base. Ten across, ten deep — a hundred tubes in all.
"Could you please tuck that paper into one of those tubes?"
At that, Byakunyannyan and the man turned their backs once more.
There was probably no need for them to turn around — the audience wouldn't be able to see from the stage anyway.
Maomao rolled the paper up even smaller and stuffed it into one of the tubes. The paper was soft enough, but the tube's opening was narrow, making it a struggle.
Once she was done, a thin gauze was draped over the top to conceal everything from view.
Then the man moved it again. He placed the box full of tubes onto another table at the edge of the stage. Perhaps because the gauze was thin and light, it fluttered gently.
"Finished."
The moment she said that, the loud crash of a gauze drum echoed through the hall. She was so startled that her eyes flew open, though she was glad she had the gauze draped over her.
However, Jinshi apparently noticed something despite that—she could see him shaking with laughter from his distant seat.
Infuriating.
Lady Byakuyou gave a sweet smile and extended her hand.
Maomao did as she was told and held out her own hand. Cold, pale fingers closed around Maomao's wrist.
*Ting-ting*—this time, the sound of bells chimed.
Lady Byakuyou stared intently at Maomao.
*(Oh—this person.)*
Maomao realized she had poor eyesight. Her eyes occasionally made strange, unfocused movements.
Come to think of it, her irises lacked pigment, so she must have had difficulty seeing compared to others in various ways.
While Maomao was thinking this…
"The number you wrote is seven."
"!?"
"A hit."
The red lips curled into a grin. Combined with those crimson eyes, it reminded Maomao of a white snake she had caught long ago.
When she had tried to grill that white snake with red eyes into teriyaki, her father had scolded her. He told her it was a messenger of the gods, so she mustn't harm it—but Maomao knew that wasn't really true. Her father had pale skin with absolutely no connection to the gods, yet he would periodically pull out that sort of moral reasoning, which always irritated her.
Just as she felt herself being drawn into those round, red eyes, the gauze drum and bells rang out again.
Was it because a haze hung in the air around her? She felt strangely hot, and her head ached for no clear reason.
Sensing what felt like mosquitoes buzzing near her ears, she felt a flash of irritation—when Lady Byakuyou spoke once more.
"Third from the top, second from the left."
"……"
"How about that?"
The man removed the gauze and held the contents of the box up for the audience to see. Then he took the third tube from the top and second from the left, and inserted a thin rod into it.
Then.
A piece of paper came out from inside. When the man unfolded the finely folded paper, the number "seven" was clearly written on it.
Needless to say, it was something Maomao had written.