Troublesome things truly do come out of nowhere.
(Like I needed any more problems to deal with.)
Not that she could exactly refuse to deal with it, Maomao narrowed her eyes at the figure before her.
The gentle, refined man in his thirties had lost his usual calm composure and looked utterly exhausted.
His robes were stained with mud, torn in places, and seeping with blood.
The horse he had ridden in on had collapsed from exhaustion.
For a man serving as the deputy to this kingdom's military strategist to show up like this could only mean something was terribly wrong. He must have been in a tremendous hurry—guards from the south gate were already coming after him. He had apparently charged straight toward Ryokuseikan without stopping, and they'd followed.
"What's going on here?"
Maomao had only come outside because of the commotion. But the only person in this pleasure district who had any connection to this man was probably her. It seemed he had come here specifically for her.
The barely-breathing gentleman—
Rikuson—
seemed to feel a moment of relief, briefly managing a smile as he pulled a letter from inside his robe.
And then, he collapsed unconscious.
Maomao took the letter and squinted at it.
"What's the matter?"
The sharp-witted old woman came over with a grimace, still chewing on something from her meal—
a toothpick—
as she made her way over.
Maomao mirrored the old woman's expression.
"Say, do you think you can get rid of those officials?"
"That depends on the money."
"This young fellow looks like he's got money, don't you think?"
When Maomao offered that irresponsible assessment, the old woman appraised Rikuson with a practiced eye. Though he was filthy, she confirmed his robes were of fine quality, examining his features and fingertips. She tilted her head slightly in doubt, but after a moment of observation, she seemed satisfied and said, "Right then," heading off to deal with the officials.
"Another troublesome one, huh..."
When Maomao tried to pick up the collapsed Rikuson,
Migaki
approached her. Taking over for Maomao, he picked up Rikuson and carried him into the apothecary.
After having Migaki lay Rikuson on the floor, Maomao tore off his kimono. She removed his outer robe and was about to undo the sash of his hakama when Migaki intervened.
"Maomao, have some mercy — spare his dignity below the waist."
"He's unconscious, so he won't know the difference. Besides, there might be contusions even without visible wounds."
From what she could see, Rikuson's injuries were arrow wounds. All were superficial grazing — none had pierced deeply. The skin showed no discoloration, so poison was unlikely, but she couldn't simply leave him be.
As Maomao treated Rikuson's wounds with detached efficiency, Migaki pressed his fingers to his temples.
"Fine, fine. I'll check the lower half myself. It'll be quick, so just step outside for a moment."
"What sheltered lady are you?"
Would he bite his tongue if he saw some skin?
"This guy's one of Lady Kitsune's subordinates, right? I know him. And hey, if word got out that you did something to him, that'd be bad for him. Besides, shouldn't you take a careful look at what's in that letter?"
Reluctantly, Maomao took the letter Rikuson had given her and left the apothecary.
She carefully
sat down in the chair
where Rihaku
had been drinking tea
with Hage and the others, and stared intently at the contents.
There, yet another troublesome matter was laid out in writing.
Why had Rikuson, a military officer, shown up in the pleasure district covered head to toe in wounds? There should have been more dependable people to turn to.
That was explained clearly in the letter.
It was doubtful he could even make it here, and even if he did, he wouldn't be able to explain the situation right away — so he had written it all down in advance.
And the person who had written that letter was
Rahan,
as was readily apparent. Just like him — always calculating.
The shape of the letters, too, seemed to have an ideal number to it — that abacus-clacking man had good handwriting. His writing was good, but it lacked any individuality. Rather, the meticulously ordered rows, like a model specimen, were what stood out.
Rikuson, Rahan — and if that was the case, then one more person came to mind, but at that Maomao's face visibly twisted.
Let me summarize the contents of the letter.
Rikuson, Rahan, and one more person — a man with a monocle — had headed to a certain mansion. They were then attacked and captured by its residents. Only Rikuson managed to escape, which was how he came to call for help, but...
The problem was the identity of those residents.
For Rahan, they were his parent and grandfather. For the monocle man, they were his younger brother and father.
In other words, their opponents were the former heads of the Lu clan who had been expelled from it.
No wonder they had come all the way to the pleasure district without informing the court.
It was an hour later that Rikuson, his wounds having been treated, finally regained consciousness.
One hour
later.
The pharmacist's place was too narrow for sleeping, so they had borrowed an unused room at the Ryokuseikan. No doubt she would be charged for it later.
"If this looks like it's going to get out of hand, I'm throwing you out."
With that, the old woman left, posting Ukyou as a sentry.
"!?"
Barely had Rikuson opened his eyes when he abruptly sat upright. The arrow wound must have throbbed, and he grimaced as he touched his bandaged arm.
Maomao offered him a cup of cooled boiled water. Taking the cup with movements nothing like his usual gentle demeanor, Rikuson downed it in one gulp.
Once he had caught his breath, Maomao spoke.
"I've read the letter."
At Maomao's words, Rikuson hung his head and clenched his fist tight.
"...I'm terribly sorry. It's only because I was so incompetent."
No — before that, the fools who had gone out so carelessly without any guards were to blame.
"Forget about that. What is it you want to do? I think that's what matters right now."
The reason they had come to the Ryokuseikan was most likely because this was a dispute among relatives. It was well known throughout the court that people didn't want to make enemies of that family. At the same time, nobody wanted them as allies either.
So even if they openly asked for help here, there was no telling whether anyone would lift a finger — quite the opposite, there would certainly be more people who saw this as a fortunate opportunity.
Truly a clan with not a single shred of charisma.
No, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that all the charisma had been absorbed by their adoptive father Luomen, leaving not even scraps for the rest of them. And even Luomen's charisma appeared to be cancelled out by his own wretched constitution.
Since Luomen lived on-site at the palace medical bureau, it seemed that by process of elimination, the matter had landed at Maomao's doorstep — but that was a case of knocking on the wrong door.
From the perspective of a subordinate, Ukun coming here to ask for help wasn't pathetic at all — it was more than sufficient. If it were Maomao, she would have abandoned them. She would have absolutely pretended not to know and watched from a safe distance to avoid getting dragged in.
"I hear those two are being held prisoner, but there's nothing I can do. What exactly happened?"
The letter hadn't gone into that much detail.
After being ousted from the position of clan head, Rahan's grandfather and father had apparently left the capital and quietly relocated to an estate in the countryside. They had, to their credit, apparently guaranteed some minimum standard of living — but nobody had expected them to take such an action.
Though she said there was nothing she could do, Maomao's curiosity was piqued about how things had come to this. She fixed her gaze on Ukun, settling into a posture that said she wanted to hear the full story.
Leaning against the wall nearby was Ukyou. The overprotective head of the men's guard often stationed himself like this whenever Maomao was about to stick her nose into trouble.
Ukun seemed reluctant to blab in front of Ukyou like this, but when he saw that the head of the guard wasn't budging, he appeared to resign himself and opened his mouth.
"...It started with an invitation from their side."
Rahan's grandfather and the others had reached out, saying they wanted to see Rahan and the others for the first time in over a decade. The message was something along the lines of letting bygones be bygones and getting along from now on.
(As if that were possible.)
That kind of thing was nothing but a smokescreen. Maomao didn't think they were so stupid as not to understand that.
"To Rahan, they are his parents, after all."
Even that calculating miser must have had some lingering feelings for his own family. Maomao tilted her head, but thinking about it more carefully, she recalled that Rahan had been torn away from his parents as a young child and forced into adoption. By all normal logic, the person Rahan should have resented was the one-eyed monocled strategist.
She had grown so used to how utterly normal everything seemed that she had forgotten.
If there was still some lingering affection for his parents, Rahan might have said he wanted to hear them out.
And then, the two carefree bespectacled ones — who did they decide to bring along as an escort? Only this gentle-looking fellow.
"...This is basically overtime work on a day off, isn't it? You could have refused, you know."
"Refusing would have been its own kind of hassle. Before I knew it, all the others had already left the room. If I had wanted to, I could have arranged for a separate guard detail, but that person is... well, you know how he is."
Poor guy — he had drawn the short straw over and over, and this was the result: covered in wounds.
He should have thought it through a bit more and brought some guards along, Maomao thought. Given his position, it wouldn't be surprising if he were assassinated at any moment.
But then again, what would capturing those two bespectacled ones even accomplish? Even if the current head were somehow reinstated, what would change? The eccentric one-eyed monocled man was apparently a high-ranking official in the military ministry — one of the top three, no less — but that position didn't automatically transfer to the clan head. Even in the unlikely event of a reversal, the monocled man's abilities had fostered an entire ecosystem. Everyone else would seize the opportunity to tear apart the Lu clan.
Were Rahan's grandfather and father really so foolish that they couldn't see that?
"Hey, hey — you're forgetting something important."
The one who chimed in from the sidelines was Ukyou, the outsider.
"Forgetting what?"
When Maomao tilted her head, Ukyou let out an exasperated sigh.
"Shouldn't you make some allies? Build yourself some big connections."
"..."
In place of the silent Maomao, Rikuson spoke up.
"It seems they want to adopt you as their daughter. They'd like to build a connection with the imperial brother."
It sounded as though someone had caught wind of whatever Jinshi had been up to.
Maomao scrunched up her face, only for Ukyou to tap her on the forehead. "Hey, cut it out."
"Counting on something like that is wishful thinking at its finest."
"That's true enough, but desperate people will do anything, you know."
Such people exist. They certainly do — they're just the kind you'd rather not have hovering around you.
"Besides, isn't the real problem that you didn't even bring any bodyguards?"
"I have nothing to say about that. But even if I had, I'm not sure we could have handled it well either way."
"Could you stop being so cryptic and just lay it out straight? I'd appreciate it."
Ukyou, voicing Maomao's thoughts for her.
"There were unreasonably capable people in their entourage. Even if they'd hired mercenaries, they shouldn't have had that much money to spare."
And yet, the handsome one being the only one to slip away cleanly was also a bit suspicious.
Rather, it seemed more like he had been deliberately steered toward an escape. Could the arrow have been intentionally aimed to miss?
And if he had been allowed to escape specifically so he would come running to Maomao...
Maomao glanced out the window.
The pleasure district was starting to see a trickle of passersby as evening set in. It wouldn't be at all strange if a suspicious shadow lurked among them.
Maomao scratched the back of her neck and leaned out of the room.
"Hey — Chouu!"
Maomao called out to the child who had come back covered in mud.
"What's up?"
Chouu was carrying a fishing rod that Ukyou had made for him and a battered bucket. Inside it,
bokugani
were wriggling. It looked like there would be a feast today.
"Stay here tonight. Miss Meimei was on tea duty, so you should be able to get her to let you sleep here."
"Why? Just like that?"
"I have to boil medicine down all night. Can you, while sniffing the stench of
bile,
actually fall asleep?"
Hearing this, Chouu seemed to accept it.
"Oh my~ I'm taking the day off today too, y'know~"
Shiruzu, who had been nearby, came over and nuzzled against Chouu. As always, her voluptuous figure peeked out from her kimono.
"Miss Shiruzu, no. It's still too early to eat that one."
"What do you mean, 'eat'?"
Chouu still didn't really get it. Perhaps noticing that Shiruzu was clinging to him, before long
Azarin
came over and pulled at Shiruzu's sleeve, telling her to get away. She, on the other hand, seemed to understand what "being eaten" actually meant.
"Hey, what does 'eat' mean?"
"Just crash at Miss Meimei's place for now."
"What aboooout me?"
Ignoring Miss Shiruzu, Maomao glanced quietly at Ukyou. Ukyou gave a small nod.
Good thing he's so perceptive.
That night, ruffians from the lower quarters of the pleasure district barged in.
Maomao surrendered meekly and was taken away without a fight.