This chapter contains depictions of violence.
Something clattered to the ground with a clang.
Potatoes and
grains
boiled into porridge, tea, and shredded fruit were scattered everywhere.
"You intend to feed Her Ladyship
Rifa such
lowly, degrading
food? You had better
have it remade at once."
The young court lady in garish makeup narrowed her eyes. She was one of the ladies-in-waiting assigned to Consort Rifa.
(Ugh, what a pain.)
With a sigh, Maomao picked up the plate and began cleaning up the spilled food.
Maomao
was stationed at
the Crystal Palace.
It was
Consort Rifa's residence.
Glaring stares bore down on her from every direction.
Eyes full of mockery, eyes dripping with contempt, eyes radiating open hostility.
For Maomao, who served Consort
Gyokuyou, this was as good as enemy territory — a bed of nails.
The Emperor had
assigned Maomao to Consort Gyokuyou.
It happened last night, when Maomao visited the consort's chambers.
She had been going through her usual routine—tasting for poison, preparing to take her leave—
"I have a favor to ask of the rumored apothecary."
It was the first time he had ever spoken to her directly.
(What "rumor," exactly?)
The Emperor was a imposing man with a magnificent beard, yet still only in his mid-thirties. Holding the supreme power of the nation at that age, it was hardly surprising the women of the rear palace cast himcovetous glances. Maomao, however, was still Maomao. The most she ever thought was, "That's a splendid beard—I'd like to touch it."
"How may I be of service?"
She bowed her head respectfully.
As a servant, she would have preferred to withdraw before any troublesome request was made.
"Consort Rifa's condition has worsened. Would you look after her for a while?"
That was his request.
The Emperor's word was the word of heaven.
Maomao, who still wished to keep her head attached to her torso, had no choice but to reply, "Your will be done."
Being told to "look after her" was synonymous with "cure her."
Whether it was because some lingering affection remained despite his lost favor, or because he could not afford to neglect the daughter of a powerful clan—it hardly mattered which.
If she failed to cure her, her head might well be parted from her body.
They were, after all, in this together.
And yet he was entrusting this to nothing more than a young girl. The court physicians of the rear palace must have been utterly useless—or perhaps their deaths would raise no objections. Either way, it was an irresponsibly reckless request.
(Still, you'd think this was not the sort of thing to discuss in front of another consort's attendants.)
After casually making this request to Maomao and then leisurely enjoying a late-night snack and sharing an intimate moment with Consort Gyokuyou, the Emperor was, as ever, a creature utterly befitting the title of Emperor. Maomao could only marvel at the thought.
The first thing Maomao did upon beginning her treatment of Consort Rifa was improve her diet.
As things stood, poisonous face powder had been banned from the rear palace on Jinshi's orders. Any merchants caught supplying it would face severe punishment, and word was the crackdown had been thorough.
If so, the priority was to flush the remaining toxins from her body.
The meals, while featuring plain rice porridge, were accompanied by fish tempura in broth, braised pork cubes, red-and-white steamed buns, and lavish dishes such as shark fin and crab. There was nutrition in them, but far too heavy for a patient whose stomach and intestines had already deteriorated.
Even as she holds back her drool, she orders the cook to redo the dishes. Thanks to the imperial decree, even a lowly little maid like Maomao had been granted a certain measure of authority.
Rice porridge rich in fiber, tea with diuretic properties, and easily digestible fruit.
Unfortunately, all of it had just been spilled onto the floor.
Rather than the imperial decree or anything of the sort, it was the maid who had been serving Gyokuyou—
so very
ugly—
that they simply couldn't bear her.
There were plenty of things she wanted to say, but she held her tongue and cleaned up.
New attendants brought splendid, lavish meals and carried them into Rifa's chambers, but before long they returned almost entirely untouched.
The leftovers would
no doubt become a
treat for the lesser maids.
She wanted to perform a physical examination, but the canopied bed was surrounded by attendants who clung to the patient, performing their nursing with exaggerated reverence but absolutely no competence. If she could just dust some powder on her while she slept, it might at least trigger a cough—
"The air is foul.
It is because there is a
base-born creature here."
With that, she was driven from the room.
There was nothing she could do.
(If this continues, death from exhaustion is certain.)
Was it that the toxins had built up faster than her body could expel them, or that she simply lacked the will to go on?
Without food, a person dies. She must have lost the will to live.
She leaned against the wall outside the room and began counting on her fingers how many days it would take before her head was separated from her body, when she heard a sweet voice from around her.
An awful feeling washed over her.
She raised her head with tremendous reluctance, only to find a stunningly beautiful face smiling with extraordinary cheerfulness.
"You seem to be in some trouble."
"Does it seem that way to you?"
She answered in a flat monotone, eyes half-lidded.
"It certainly does seem that way."
She stared at me so intently that my gaze gradually drifted away. Following it, her long eyelashes drew near.
If our eyes met, I would probably recoil instinctively, as though looking at something foul.
"Who is that woman?"
A quiet, bitter voice reached my ears. It was a serving maid clearing away the meal.
The discomfort was unbearable. A dreadful atmosphere drifted from those all around.
A sweet, honeyed voice whispered by my ear.
"Shall we head inside for now?"
Before I could even nod,
I was shoved into the room.
Even upon entering, the entourage inside glared at me with expressions even fiercer than before.
However, when they caught sight of the celestial maiden beside me, they composed themselves and forced faint smiles.
Women are truly terrifying.
"To so casually dismiss
the Emperor's arrangements—
it hardly befits beautiful, talented ladies."
At Jinshi's words,
they bit their lips and quietly retreated from the bedside.
"Go on, get moving."
With a shove to her back, Maomao stumbled forward.
She bowed, took her place before the bedside, and gently took the pale, vein-threaded hand.
She had no expertise in medicine as such, but she had some experience with the healing arts.
Rifa kept her eyes closed, offering no resistance. Whether she was asleep or awake was impossible to tell. Half her soul seemed to have already drifted to the other world.
The Eyelids
She placed her fingers on her face to peer into the depths of her eyelids.
Her fingers slid with a smooth, light sensation.
It was the same white skin as before.
(The same skin tone as before?)
Maomao's expression stiffened, and she turned toward the ladies-in-waiting.
She stood before one of them and asked in a low, suppressed voice. It was the girl who had been applying powder earlier.
"You're the one doing the consort's makeup?"
"Yes, that's right. It's a lady-in-waiting's duty."
The maid answered with a hint of fear under Maomao's piercing stare, putting on all the bravado she could muster.
"I want Lady Rifa to always look beautiful."
As if to declare she was entirely in the right.
"I see."
A sharp, resounding crack echoed through the room.
The maid collapsed in the direction of the force, unable to comprehend what had just happened.
Her cheek and ear must have been burning with an unusual heat.
"What do you think you're doing?!"
In the midst of the stunned onlookers, one of them lunged at Maomao.
"Hm?"
"Just"
"disciplining"
"a fool,"
"that's all."
With a condescending tone, she seized the collapsed maid's hair and dragged her.
Stopping in front of the vanity table, she picked up an ornately carved container with her free hand.
The lid.
She pried it open and smeared the contents all over the maid.
The maid coughed and sputtered. Tears welled up in her eyes.
"Well, aren't you lucky? Now you can be beautiful too, just like the consort."
She yanked the hair upward, a predator's grin spreading across her face.
"The toxins will seep in from your pores, your mouth, your nose, and spread throughout your entire body. You'll get exactly what Lady Rifa has—hands like dead branches, hollow eye sockets, and skin drained of all color."
"Th-that's…"
"Do you even understand why it was banned?! It's poison!!"
"B-but… It makes you the prettiest. I thought Lady Rifa would be happy too."
"Who'd be happy about the poison that killed her own child?"
At the childish excuse, Maomao clicked her tongue and let go of the hair. Several long strands remained wound around her fingers.
"Now hurry up and rinse your mouth out. Wash your face too."
She watched the maid scurry out of the room, then turned her gaze to the other maids, who were cowering.
"Hey, if you leave things like this, you'll end up touching the patient. Get to cleaning."
Shifting all blame off herself, she pointed at the powder-covered floor.
The maids flinched in unison and went to fetch their cleaning supplies.
She crossed her arms and snorted.
"Women are truly terrifying."
Jinshi tucked both hands into his sleeves and muttered softly to himself.
She had entirely forgotten he was even there.
"Ah—"
Maomao felt the blood drain from her head, and right there on the spot,
she sank
down.
This is my natural way of speaking, since I wasn't raised properly.