The room she was led to was plain and unadorned, but it had been properly cleaned.
It was probably a guest room that was seldom used. The furniture appeared to be imported and of high quality, but it showed its age. The room where she had spoken with the former heads of the house earlier had roughly the same furnishings, though that room also had some newer pieces. Those, however, were rather unornamented.
The meals were passable, and no poor-quality ingredients had been used. Both meat and fish were served, but the fish was a bit too salty. They were probably using salt-cured fish. Once you traveled inland, seafood was often preserved by salting. The fish used in palace cuisine, by contrast, was freshly caught from the sea and transported by fast horse before it could spoil, so it was never salt-cured.
That eccentric strategist and Raban had indeed been providing the former heads of the house with sufficient living expenses. They had enough to hire servants to manage the household, but apparently not enough to purchase additional luxury furniture or make the food excessively extravagant.
She supposed the arrangement was generous enough, but for people who had once lived in luxury in the capital, it must have felt like an insult.
That humiliation had been smoldering for years, and some trigger might have caused it to erupt. And what, exactly, had that trigger been?
Maomao recalled the white cord that Raban's mother had worn. That snake-like white cord, resembling a sacred rope.
She hoped she was mistaken, but her imagination conjured unpleasant thoughts.
As she lay on the bed with her arms crossed, brooding, she heard a tapping at the door — knock, knock.
"I've brought the bathwater."
She heard a servant's voice.
Maomao opened the door. A man carrying a large wooden tub came inside. He set the tub of hot water down on the floor slowly so it wouldn't spill, then placed a basket beside it containing cloths for drying off. A change of clothes was inside as well — a common linen garment suited for the season, neither fancy nor plain.
In a situation like this, she had assumed a woman would be sent to carry the bathwater, no matter how heavy it was. But that wasn't the case. Normally, you wouldn't send a lone man into a female guest's room. At the very least, a female attendant would accompany him.
The servant withdrew from the room with his head bowed.
Maomao felt a twinge of unease, but it quickly faded. When she reached into the basket for the cloth, a single sheet of paper fluttered down. It was a blank white sheet — not cheap stock, but well-made, high-quality paper. Flowers and grasses had been pressed into it.
(I see.)
Maomao's lips curved into a slight smile as she floated the paper on the bathwater.
The former heads of the house had watched with puzzlement at how Maomao treated the eccentric strategist and Raban so dismissively. But there was nothing puzzling about it. Blood ties could sometimes be thinner than bonds with strangers. The reverse could also be true — they might even come to resent one another. And yet here were the very people involved, trying to demand something of Maomao. Even if they tried to take the eccentric strategist and Raban hostage to force Maomao to comply, honestly, they would be worth less than a moon cake dropped in a puddle.
Still, simply remaining a captive would have caused its own complications, so she had agreed to cooperate just a little.
Maomao had simply been taken away.
That alone was enough to call the job done.
A loud commotion could be heard around the time Maomao yawned and lay down on the bed.
(Right on schedule.)
Maomao looked at the crumpled paper she had stuffed into the wastebasket. If it had been cheap paper, it would have dissolved almost immediately upon contact with water. Good paper, however, would hold its shape for a while.
Maomao opened the door. It wasn't locked, and there were no guards outside. She could have moved about on her own, but since she didn't know where she was, she decided to head back to the room and get some rest. If anyone needed her, they would come and wake her.
"Hey, wake uuuup."
She was woken by someone mussing her hair to find a meddlesome middle-aged man there. The head of the male servants— Ukyou.
—was standing over her.
Maomao yawned.
"You're late."
"Not really, though."
Ukyou was dressed in dark clothing. The hue was just right for sneaking into the estate at night.
"It was rough. First I had to talk to the old woman, then sort out the personnel. And besides, Chouu wouldn't go to sleep, so I couldn't leave even if I wanted to."
Despite claiming it had been rough, he wore a perfectly calm expression.
In other words, from the moment Rikuson came to Maomao, the plan had already been set. The other side's aim had likely been to let Rikuson escape while capturing Maomao. He had apparently heard the name mentioned as a rumor, but perhaps he had not been able to determine exactly who it was.
When Maomao had been talking at the medicine shop, she hadn't noticed, but there must have been someone keeping watch the whole time.
So Maomao had made herself into an easy-to-spot, easy-to-kidnap target on purpose.
She had figured that a perceptive man like Ukyou would understand why she had holed up alone in the storehouse after hearing all that.
He really was a capable man.
It was honestly a waste for him to be working as a mere male servant in the pleasure district.
"..."
"Hmm? What's wrong?"
Because Maomao had been staring at Ukyou, he leaned in with a puzzled look on his face.
"...Nothing. So, what's the situation?"
"They were in the detached building — the fox and his nephew. They'd even drawn a Go board on the long table with ink and were leisurely playing a game. He even had the nerve to say 'You're late.' The nephew, who looked about a hundred losses away from a nervous breakdown, was finally released and looked relieved."
It was easy to imagine.
Even if the person stuck with him was Rabun, you'd still sympathize.
"So anyway, everyone's been gathered in the great hall. What are you going to do?"
"It's not like it's a problem if I don't go, right?"
Honestly, she didn't want to be anywhere near those fox spectacles.
"It's not that simple. Right now, the nephew and the others are holding the fox down. If you don't come, he'll start thrashing about and there'll be no reasoning with him. And besides..."
"Besides what?"
Ukyou said, drawing it out deliberately.
"You'll see when you get there. Looks like we've caught something strange."
With no choice, Maomao did as she was told and headed for the great hall. In front of the room's entrance were men she felt she had seen somewhere before — probably acquaintances of Ukyou who worked as hired muscle in the pleasure district — along with ruffians sprawled across the hallway.
When she entered the room, Maomao immediately twisted her face into a grimace.
"MAO-MAO! MAO-MAOOOOO!!"
The one who punched Rabun in the jaw while holding him down, then swatted aside Rikuson who had shown up at some point, was the monocled oddball. He charged at Maomao with movements that completely belied his usual self — the kind of man who would throw his back out from a single step.
Maomao quickly reached into her robe, pulled out a small bottle, and splashed its contents in the fox's face. She expected him to keep charging, but he wobbled and collapsed just before reaching her.
"Hey, what did you do?"
Rabun came over, rubbing his jaw. His glasses were cracked, but she decided not to press the matter.
"It's not poison, so it's fine. It's a secret remedy."
Maomao tucked the small bottle back into her robe.
"A secret remedy? Can it be mass-produced?"
Rabun, who had apparently caught the scent of a business opportunity, latched onto the idea.
"It's not impossible, but it's made specifically for this man."
Put simply, it was high-concentration ethanol.
A familiar substance by now — it worked precisely because this man was abnormally weak to alcohol. But the fact that he went limp from just a splash on his face made Maomao grimace. Had he gotten even worse than before? The man lay there with his face flushed bright red in a blissful expression, softly snoring away.
"That should quiet things down."
Just to be safe, Maomao opened her eyes to check for any abnormalities, examining the pupils. There shouldn't be any problems.
"You really ought to leave my father-in-law to you. Why don't you show your face more often?"
Raban said with a wistful sigh.
"No."
Maomao wanted to avoid seeing him as much as possible. This time she'd had no choice.
"More importantly, what are you going to do about this matter?"
Maomao glared at Raban.
Raban, still rubbing his jaw, directed his gaze toward the back of the room.
"That's taken care of. I found something very useful."
"What?! What's with that attitude! And what exactly do you think you're doing, Raban?!"
A raspy voice rang out.
There, in the back, was the elderly former clan head, bound to a chair. Beside him sat Raban's mother and brother, both wearing frustrated expressions.
Maomao's eyes widened at the figure beyond them.
"...That's—"
"Told you. Said we'd caught something strange."
Ukyou said with a bitter smile.
There stood a woman clad in white robes. From her head hung a white veil, and she sat with her face turned away from the nearby light source.
Her skin and hair, visible where they spilled from the robes, were both white — only her eyes were red, like garnets.
"Lady White..."
The fugitive was right there.
It was so absurd that Maomao almost laughed.
"Not just us — even the Celestial Maiden! Do you people think you're going to get away with this?!"
The one crying out was Rahan's mother.
She certainly did seem to suggest that kind of connection. Her sash and fan — they reminded Maomao of the sacred rope from that village of water sprites.
Besides, it was true that there were people like Risu's half-sister who devoted themselves to divination. If the root cause stirring up trouble among those people was Lady White, then it wasn't impossible that the problem here and now was somehow connected.
But it was all so obvious that it was almost anticlimactic.
Lady White remained silent, bound to her chair.
Maomao was curious, but she decided to put it off for now and looked toward the former household head. The three of them were glaring at Maomao with bared teeth, their rage barely contained.
(Oh? One, two, three...)
There were three people present. There should have been one more — Rahan's father — but where had he gone?
"Seems like one is missing."
"Don't worry about Father not being here."
Rahan had said "Father." Even after more than a decade apart, the man was still his father, it seemed.
"That blockheaded son of mine! I'm captured and tied up, and what is he doing?!"
Rahan had said not to worry about it, but for the old man, it was clearly a serious matter.
"Right now, he's probably looking after the morning glories."
Rahan gazed out the window as he spoke. When he drew back the blinds, the morning sun was just beginning to rise. Lady White, who had been standing by the window squinting against the light, turned her face away.
"Tending to flowers?! What nonsense! Why is he the only one getting to run free like that?!"
(My, my, my.)
Maomao wondered if, having been captured, no one was going to come rescue them at all. As she pondered this, she sat down in a chair. There were mooncakes on the table, so she picked one up. Rahan's older brother shot her a resentful look, but she paid him no mind.
(Oh.)
The filling of the mooncake turned out to be chestnuts — an off-season treat. But they were the best chestnuts she had ever eaten. They were nicely sweetened and had no dry, crumbly texture at all. Or were they even chestnuts? The texture was reminiscent of beans that had been carefully passed through a sieve.
Even for Maomao, who wasn't particularly fond of sweets, this was a remarkably delicious mooncake. Even a confectionery shop in the capital couldn't easily produce something of this quality.
While she was savoring it, the old man had been running his mouth.
"Every last one of you! Good-for-nothing degenerates! Disgraces to the family!"
The old man stomped his feet. The floorboards creaked like they might give way.
"The eldest who can't even tell one person's face from another, and the second son who plays at being a farmer — both of you came from rotten stock! I should have produced one more who was halfway decent!"
The old man's tirade continued.
Those around him narrowed their eyes at his words.
Maomao paid no attention and kept eating her mooncake. It was definitely different from chestnut — she chewed, wondering what the filling was. Her throat was dry, so she helped herself to tea without asking.
"Let alone the one who can barely hold a sword, and Luomen, who went through something as disgraceful as palace castration — there isn't a single decent person around me!"
Maomao's hand, which had been holding the teapot, went still.
She swallowed everything in her mouth, then stood up with the teapot still in hand.
Maomao stood before the old man. Then she poured the contents of the teapot at his feet.
"What's the meaning of this?!"
"There's no meaning. I simply spilled some tea."
Maomao said in a quiet voice.
"You were going to throw it, weren't you!"
"I was. But I stopped myself. I do have reason, after all. However, I will say one thing — if you continue slandering my adoptive father, I will go prepare boiling water immediately. So kindly keep quiet."
"Don't get smart with me! Do you know who I am?"
"You're a nagging old man who can't even get out of that chair. You're an old man who can't even dodge water from a teapot."
Maomao said it with a smile.
The old man's face twitched, and Rahan's mother and brother turned pale.
"Maomao, that's enough. Back off, understand? Don't say another word. Even if Father-in-law has gone quiet, it won't help if you keep being difficult."
Rahan spoke. Behind him, Rikun nodded.
Ukyo pushed Maomao's shoulder and guided her back into the chair. He held a basket in his hand, and inside were things she had never seen before. They looked like flattened dried daikon radish, dusted with white powder.
"I don't know what this is exactly, but it's pretty good."
So saying, Ukyo popped one of the mysterious objects into Maomao's mouth.
Sweet, yet with a sticky, glutinous texture when you chewed. It was fibrous, but not in an unpleasant way.
(So this is what's inside the mooncakes.)
Maomao stared intently at the object. Sweet, but it didn't seem like it used sugar or honey.
She was squinting at it, wondering if it was dried fruit and what kind of fruit it might be, when the entrance door opened.
A gentle-looking middle-aged man with a hand towel draped around his neck stepped inside. It was Maomao's father. He had said he was looking after the morning glory, but in his hands he carried some kind of plant stems.
"…You, doing that filthy thing again."
Maomao's mother said.
"Luohong! Come deal with this quickly!"
The old man shouted.
"Father!"
Maomao's brother shouted as well.
Maomao's father set the bundle of stems down on the table while wiping his face with the towel. Maomao studied them carefully. They looked like some kind of vine, but she couldn't tell what kind.
He had said he was tending the morning glory, but these looked different.
Maomao's father set down his towel. His face was gentle and meek-looking, and like the others, he bore a certain resemblance to Luomen.
"Father, even if you try to reclaim the position of family head at this point, there is no place for us in the palace."
Maomao's father spoke in a soft voice that sounded just like Luomen's.
"Besides, staying together with that celestial maiden of yours would not be wise."
"You! What are you saying?"
Maomao's mother spoke. Lady Byakuya remained dazed, her thoughts unclear.
"The celestial maiden's divination saw right through all of us, didn't it?"
"Something like that — anyone could figure it out just by looking at your easy-to-read expression."
Maomao's father said with a kind voice, cutting straight to the point.
The son standing beside him seemed to share that realization, wearing an indeterminate expression.
"You didn't really want to believe in divination. You just wanted someone to validate you. And in the end, you destroyed everything for nothing, didn't you?"
"What do you mean! What do you mean, destroyed everything! What is there to enjoy out here in the sticks like this!? There aren't any decent shops, and you can't buy any imported goods. All we have is farmland. And not even vegetables at that — just incomprehensible weeds everywhere. What could possibly remain!?"
She spoke in a voice sharp enough to make your ears hurt.
"As long as you're alive, there's hope. Listen to what happened to your son's family. The court is still in chaos. If you make a wrong move, there's no telling what might happen. Your brother, for all his faults, still holds the lord's respect. If someone like me were to replace him, what do you think would happen? I'd be crushed by those around me, that's what."
"So now is the chance!"
"That's what the fairy girl put in your head, isn't it?"
Rahban's father smiled sadly.
Hitting the mark, Rahban's mother fell silent.
"I know you're fond of that fairy girl, but if this comes to light, we could all lose our heads. Keeping someone like her hidden is a far more serious crime than you seem to think."
"That's exactly why you contacted me, Father."
Rahban spoke up.
"You! Going behind my back like that!"
The old man stamped his foot again.
"So that's why you were so eager about this whole affair!"
"..."
Silence was answer enough.
Rahban's father turned toward Rahban.
The old man was about to shout again, but Ukyou came over and stuffed a gag in his mouth before he could interrupt the conversation. This old man served no further purpose here.
"If we hand over this fairy girl, will there be no punishment?"
"That would depend on how long she has been hidden away. A great deal of manpower was spent searching for that girl."
"...Then what if we were to offer this instead?"
Saying that, Rahban's father held up the bundle of stems he had been carrying.
"What is that?"
"Years ago, I heard about an interesting morning glory and paid a steep price for seedlings. They were a southern variety. But it turned out to be a similar yet different flower — it grows not from seeds but from rootstock. And for some reason it never bloomed, so I became determined to make it flower no matter what."
Rahban's father gazed out the window.
"After I brought it here, it grew into quite a large field. I eventually learned that the flowers only bloom under very specific conditions, but along the way I ended up with an unexpected byproduct."
With that, Rahban's father pinched a piece of the mysterious food that Ukyou had brought.
"It's a tuber called sweet potato — sweeter than chestnuts and a crop that grows even in poor soil. I'm probably the only one in this country cultivating it. I distribute a small amount of the seed tubers to the neighbors who help me out, but they all seem to eat them instead of growing them. And when I sell them, I always process them into finished products."
The field existed only around this estate, surrounded on all sides by rice paddies. They would hardly go so far as to destroy rice fields just to grow a new kind of potato.
It seemed the mysterious food was dried sweet potato.
Could it be that the money used to hire those ruffians had come from that source?
Rohan's father popped one into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
"Besides propagating from root tubers, there's also a method using these stems. The planting season is over, but if you start right away, you should still make it in time."
Maomao blinked repeatedly. Rohan did the same. But his eyes were shining brightly.
"You said it before, didn't you, Rohan — whether there's a crop that can help with locust infestations. And that right now, they'd be willing to take on something useful like that without too much trouble."
When had Maomao brought up the subject of tobacco to Jinshi? Jinshi should have been enthusiastic about cultivating it. Rohan had witnessed that, and had just so happened to be in the middle of an exchange with his father.
*Take back what I said about him being nothing like his old man.* Rohan's father was, after all, very much Rohan's father.
Maomao looked at this gentle-faced mastermind and felt a complicated mix of emotions she couldn't quite put into words.
Still, as far as sweet potatoes went, it had turned out to be a fortunate miscalculation.