Familiarity was a troublesome thing. And the trouble it caused was this: it eroded one's sense of danger.
Maomao was sipping tea, sandwiched between a row of ruffians. The same ruffians who had abducted her. The carriage rattled along, its interior surprisingly well-appointed.
"Do you have anything salty?"
First she had asked for tea, and now she was requesting something salty. The men around her exchanged exasperated looks.
"Oi, you — do you even understand your situation here?"
One of the ruffians spoke up.
Maomao gnawed on the dried meat he held out to her and gave a small nod.
"I do understand. That's precisely why I'm behaving this way. Besides, isn't your treatment of a guest the real problem here?"
She kept her tone polite because she judged that working on their good side would serve her better. True, they were the sort who had dragged her along without a word of protest, but they were handling her with care.
"I am a guest, am I not?"
She directed her gaze at the man who seemed to be the leader of the group — the only one among them who looked reasonably well-bred.
And, unpleasantly, fox-faced.
(A branch of the Luo clan, perhaps?)
Maomao considered this. Given the way that strategist operated, it was entirely possible he had simply left untouched the retainers of the former head he had ousted. Even a blood connection wouldn't earn you his attention without talent.
The man's face twisted in frustration, but he said nothing more. He must have recognized Maomao's value. At the very least, she was confident they wouldn't resort to rough treatment.
The carriage had no windows, so she couldn't peek outside, but the ride was smooth enough — they were probably traveling on a proper road.
How much time had passed? With nothing particular to do, she had fallen asleep. She had asked for a cloak to use as a pillow, wadding it into a bundle. It carried a faint scent of incense, which confirmed her earlier suspicion that these men came from decent enough stock.
Still, in this season, with no windows to open, the heat was stifling.
"We're here."
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she woke. The man opened the carriage door.
Maomao yawned and stepped outside.
Before her stood a single estate.
Not in the middle of town — just a lone residence, standing in isolation.
The surroundings looked like farming country, with fields stretching out in every direction. A few small houses dotted the landscape beyond, but they were far too scattered to constitute a village.
(Oh, I see.)
The residence was impressive enough, but the surroundings were nothing but countryside. For a man who had once served as a high official in the capital to be relegated to a place like this — it could only be described as humiliation.
This was what Maomao thought as she sat herself down on the bare ground.
"What are you doing?"
The man asked in a surly tone.
"Oh, there were some lovely bellflowers."
"Do you have an interest in flowers?"
"They make good medicine."
The garden appeared to be well tended. The bellflowers bore star-shaped blooms. The buds looked just like little balloons, and Maomao used to pop them for fun before they bloomed. She always got scolded for it, of course.
The roots of this flower were used as herbal medicine. The clumps were large, too, so they would likely yield a good remedy.
"...Just get inside for now."
The man looked like he wanted to say something more, but that was none of her concern. For the time being, she did as she was told and entered the residence.
"This way."
The people awaiting them at the destination were an elderly man, a middle-aged man, and a middle-aged woman. The elderly man and the woman stared at Maomao with hard, appraising eyes. The man who was approaching old age had a familiar set of downturned eyebrows and a rather timid air about him.
"So you're Rakan's daughter?"
"No, I'm not."
Maomao answered immediately, her expression flat.
The old man's face twisted. His wrinkles were deep — so many that even his long beard couldn't conceal them all. Some were no doubt age-related, but they seemed to have been carved even deeper by the man's temperament.
"Hey, what did you go and do? I'm telling you, she said no!"
"Th-there's no mistake! I brought the real one!"
The young man stammered in a fluster as he addressed the old man.
The woman watched this unfold, then languidly raised her fan to her lips. She had probably been reasonably beautiful once, but the harshness of her personality showed through — a shame. At the tip of the fan's handle hung a twisted white cord. Maomao narrowed her eyes at it. The woman's obi sash was adorned with a similar white cord decoration.
It was curious, but she would set that aside for now.
"Father-in-law, as if my son would make such a blunder."
In all likelihood, the elderly man was the previous head of the household — a troublesome one at that. He bore no resemblance at all to Luomen, who was his brother. The middle-aged man and woman were most probably Rohan's parents.
And with that,
(Our child?)
Maomao looked at the face of the kidnapper.
"Yes, there is no mistake."
She had thought the man had an unpleasant foxy look about him, but there was another pair of foxy eyes in the room. He looked just like Rahan.
Come to think of it, she had heard that Rahan was that eccentric's nephew, but it was entirely possible the nephew had siblings. Judging by his age, this man was probably Rahan's older brother.
"You're the older brother?"
"What's wrong with that?"
That seemed to be the case.
Maomao narrowed her eyes. Rahan's older brother didn't appear to be a fool, but how should she put it—he was ordinary. At best, he was competent, but calling him "outstanding" would be generous.
The eccentric strategist had adopted the younger brother, not the older one. Personality likely played a part, but in this case, the choice had probably come down to raw aptitude.
(In a sense, fortunate.)
Not becoming the eccentric strategist's adopted son was the correct outcome, but for the man himself, it must have been humiliating.
At the word "older brother," Rahan's older brother scowled.
"You would be Maomao, the apothecary working at Rokushoukan, correct?"
"That is indeed correct."
There was no mistaking that.
She affirmed the old man's words.
"Then you must be the girl raised by my younger brother Luomen there?"
"Yes."
She confirmed this as well. She was somewhat put out that *this* was the older brother of her father, Luomen.
"You're not Rohan's daughter, are you?"
"That is not the case."
Here she denied it firmly.
Everyone around them tilted their heads in puzzlement.
"I heard that man fathered a daughter with a prostitute. And that Luomen is raising her."
"It's true that I was born from a prostitute's womb, but that doesn't mean I would know who my father is."
"I suppose that's true."
I finally heard Rahan's father's voice. His drawn-out way of speaking reminded me of someone.
"
Rakan
"
The old man spoke in a low voice what appeared to be Rahan's father's real name. He seemed displeased that Rahan's father had sided with Maomao. Rahan's father fell silent. Because he didn't have fox eyes, I felt a certain kinship with this man. If anything, his features leaned more toward Luomen's side.
Still, all these similar-sounding names were confusing.
"Does it really matter which one? More to the point, shouldn't we be discussing the relationship with the emperor's brother? Still..."
Rahan's mother narrowed her eyes.
"I just can't shake the feeling that this one is far more suspicious."
Her eyes were saying, "Why did he have to have a daughter like this?"
Flattery aside, there was no way I could measure up to a man renowned as a beauty that could topple a nation. I knew that better than anyone, without anyone having to tell me. If anything, I was the one who wanted to ask about that.
"If this is all a case of mistaken identity, might I be allowed to return home? I have work to do."
"No, I'm afraid that won't do."
The old man glared at Maomao while stroking his snow-white beard.
"The point is to maintain a connection with our clan. As long as whoever it is fills that role, there's no problem."
"That's exactly it, Father-in-law. If I had given birth to a daughter, none of this troublesome business would have been necessary."
(As if that were possible.)
What was supposed to be so enjoyable about keeping company with this eccentric family? I almost said it but held back. Come to think of it, if I said that, it would come across not as a complaint about the family, but as though I believed the old man was personally interested in Maomao. I'd probably be sneered at as an overconfident narcissist who didn't know her own place.
Since outright denial didn't seem to be getting the conversation anywhere, Maomao decided to change the subject.
"By the way, is there a bespectacled, fox-eyed, one-eyed middle-aged eccentric here, and his nephew?"
"...What's that supposed to mean?"
For some reason, she asked me to repeat myself.
"Then, do you know the teetotal game-addled blockhead and the lecherous penny-pinching fellow?"
"……"
A silence that defied comment.
The description wasn't exactly wrong, though.
With no other choice, she tried rephrasing once more.
"Is Rahan here? And his uncle?"
The phrasing about her foster father was a small courtesy — asking for her real father outright would be disrespectful.
"You wish to see them?"
"No need to see them. I just wanted to confirm they're alive and well, apparently."
Maomao's reaction left the people around her tilting their heads in confusion.
"I'm exhausted from the long journey, so would it be all right if I rested? If there's a room, I'd appreciate being shown to it. Also, if someone could prepare a light meal and a bath, that would be most helpful."
She thought about adding a change of clothes to the request, but the glances directed at her when she did made her bite her tongue.
"I'll say it again — do you understand your position here?"
It was Rahan's elder brother who spoke.
"I do understand. That is precisely why I recommend putting effort into fattening me up to improve my appearance as much as possible."
She was telling them to bring her good food, in so many words, as Maomao flashed a thin, insincere smile.