A large mansion naturally had one or two rooms suited for private conversations.
Raban
spoke to a waiter. He did not forget to pull out something heavy from his pouch—even he, at least, was not stingy at a time like this.
Before long, the waiter returned with a key and led them, saying, "Right this way." Maomao tilted her head, thinking it seemed almost too smoothly handled, when Raban leaned in and whispered.
"This is just how things work."
"Huh."
She had her misgivings, but there was nothing to be done. If you can't beat them, join them—that was
the rule,
and she would follow it.
But wasn't it pointless, being on her guard about the poison tasting?
The room at the end of the corridor was exactly what you'd expect. On the round table were wine, dried fruits, and dried meat, all containing ingredients that could give you a bit of a lift.
There was a long chair
and a bed, both large enough for two people to lie down with room to spare.
With five people inside it would have been a bit tight, but the interpreter excused herself, apparently to keep watch outside.
Just as Maomao was wondering how the conversation should proceed, the woman spoke up.
"Thank you ever so much for coming all this way."
The words that came from her mouth were perfectly fluent.
"My name is Aileen. The one with me is my attendant—you needn't worry, she keeps her mouth shut."
"Might I call you Aileen? My name is Kan Raban. This one beside me is family, so please pay her no mind."
An exceedingly brief self-introduction—it felt less like an introduction and more like confirmation of things they already knew.
Raban surveyed the room. Maomao lightly tapped the walls. Made of stone, the room had no risk of sound leaking out, making it perfect for a private conversation.
Raban pulled a piece of paper from his robes and broke the beeswax seal to open it.
"First, regarding
Sha—
When I heard from the merchant, I was quite surprised. I asked if they were serious, you know."
A servant pulls a chair before the round table. Airin looked at Rahhan. Rahhan smiled gently and gestured with his hand, so Airin sat down in the chair.
I don't know whether it was a servant's imitation or Sha-style etiquette, but Rahhan also pulled out a chair and urged Maomao to sit. Maomao didn't want to just meekly comply, but standing the whole time was tiring too, so she decided to sit.
Before long, a servant brought over a long sofa and placed it in a convenient position for Rahhan.
When Rahhan sat down, the servant began preparing drinks. However, rather than serving them straight, they diluted them with water. The distilled spirits were quite strong.
(What on earth are they going to start talking about?)
Did Maomao even need to be here? There was nothing to do but drink. The large bed was right there — would it be so wrong to just lie down?
However, the woman called Airin began speaking words that jolted Maomao awake from her half-closed stupor.
"I find it difficult to beat around the bush, so I'll be direct. Would you allow us to relocate to your country?"
"……How should I interpret that?"
Rahhan said, pushing his glasses up.
Could it simply be taken as emigration? It wasn't unheard of for foreign performers to take a liking to another country and settle there. It was fairly common among merchants as well.
However, the woman before him didn't look like a performer, and her air was different from that of a merchant.
"For what reason?"
"Do you know how my country is governed?"
At Airin's question, Maomao tilted her head. As far as her knowledge went, it was only used as a relay point for trade.
Rahhan had been well-prepared on that front.
"I've heard that they conduct"
"governance"
"based on oracle pronouncements from priestesses."
In other words, governing through divination. In this country,
Li,
while its influence was minimal, there were some aspects that relied on it. The court even had departments dedicated to divination.
"More precisely, it is the gods. A young girl is enshrined as a deity, and her words become the voice of the divine."
This was a concept Maomao found hard to grasp. Rahhan felt the same. Both Maomao and Rahhan were the type to believe only what they could see with their own eyes. But it was worth keeping in mind that such concepts existed in the world. Otherwise, one couldn't navigate life properly.
Rahhan stroked his chin as he regarded Airin.
"As I understand it, the current Goddess has held her position for nearly thirty years, has she not?"
The fact that he had shifted to formal speech rather than his usual casual register suggested that Rahhan recognized this as a public setting. In other words, he had not let his guard down around this woman.
At his question, Airin's expression shifted into a subtle smile.
"Yes, there have been those in the past who lived out their natural lives serving as goddess before dying of old age. The current Goddess has not yet undergone the changes of
womanhood—
her courses have not yet arrived. She therefore still holds the qualification of a deity."
In other words, she had not yet experienced her first period. There were extreme cases of greatly delayed onset, but if it had not come by the time one passed thirty, it likely never would.
"Under normal circumstances, the role would change after ten years at most."
There seemed to be a faintly contemptuous undertone to Airin's words.
"I myself may once have occupied that very role, you know."
Now she understood why Airin had broached the topic of immigration.
"Do you truly believe the politics of Saaou are driven solely by the goddess's words?"
This was where her words struck at the heart of the matter.
"If the North were to incite our neighbors against us, how would our nation respond?"
And then.
"If our country, surrounded on all sides by sand, could no longer purchase food from other nations—what would become of us?"
Airin turned her sky-blue eyes toward her.
Maomao returned to her room and immediately began to strip off the bizarre
outfit.
The garments with their strange structural shaping were part of it, but more than anything, her body had grown unbearably heavy.
The "North" that the foreign woman Airin had spoken of must refer to the North Asia Federation.
And her mention of food supplies meant...
(So food shortages are already a concern, are they?)
Maomao roughly wiped off her makeup and collapsed onto her bed.
In sandy lands, grain was procured from other countries. Securing a stable food supply from such barren terrain was no easy task.
From the looks of it, the North had begun raising grain prices. Last year's locust plague had already sent grain prices soaring up there. The effects of that would naturally be felt most in the countries put on the back burner — the ones they sold to last.
At this rate, what would happen if there was another poor harvest this year?
If that came to pass, how would the North respond? They would hold back on selling grain, or worse, run out entirely. Whatever they could not produce domestically, they would have no choice but to seize from others.
The closest target would be Saou. If they took that, it would serve as a foothold to reach other countries connected through it.
In the worst case, war could break out.
(No, no, wait, wait.)
Could any country really be that shortsighted?
But then again, expecting common sense from others required certain conditions. Common sense only existed when the other party shared your values and had some measure of leeway.
Maomao flailed her arms and legs on top of the futon, then stopped.
(All right.)
Come to think of it, what difference would it make if Maomao thought about such things?
These were matters for the people in charge. Even if it meant working themselves to the bone, it was the job of those who ate well enough to afford it. Thinking about it here was pointless.
But if those people in charge were incompetent, it was all for nothing.
Maomao suddenly
Utsurou —
recalled a man by that name.
Risu's father — a man who saw his daughter as nothing more than a political tool.
If he was the sort of fool who believed his daughter was not his own child and tried to have her disposed of, he would be of no use whatsoever.
"..."
Maomao pushed herself upright from her prone position. Then, with movements that were deliberately slow and languid, she made her way to the desk in the room.
The ink in the glass bottle did not need to be diluted with water. In place of a brush, a bird's feather had been left out, and the paper was not plant-based but parchment.
(What a waste.)
This must be expensive, Maomao thought as she rummaged through the drawers. She found wool paper and swapped to that instead. Not accustomed to the writing instruments, the ink bled into the paper and produced ugly characters. She would probably get lectured about it later, but as long as it was legible for now, that was fine — so Maomao wrote down what she needed.
Then, finding a servant, she quietly instructed them to deliver the paper to Rahan.
(Now then, will he go along with it?)
This was the kind of situation where she wondered how Rahan would act. If he thought he could work something favorable out of it, he'd go along with it — but he might also say he wouldn't help with something that offered no benefit.
(Well, either way is fine.)
Whether he cooperated or not, it was no loss or gain for Maomao. If anything, he might see it as meddlesome.
Still, she thought, usually he'd make sure to properly set the stage for something like this.
Jinshi.
Then.
Well then, what should she do after returning from this trip — a different problem floated into Maomao's head, but she decided to set that aside for now as well.
If worrying about it wouldn't lead to answers, it was better to spend that time on something else.
That was simply Maomao's nature.