The room was thick with moisture.
The rain continued outside with no sign of stopping. And yet, strolling under umbrellas as if to say it only added to the atmosphere were the young master of a grand shop and his favorite courtesan. They probably didn't want their kimonos to get wet, but they weren't about to miss this rare chance to go outside. The range of movement for courtesans was narrow — the pleasure house was a cage, and the courtesans were little birds.
"A bush warbler singing — how peaceful."
Watching the courtesan walk outside with a look of envy was—
Mei Mei.
Her well-shaped lips were busy chewing on something, and in her hand she held dried sweet potato.
"Sorry to have caused you all this trouble."
What Rohan's father had casually pressed into her hands was a furoshiki full of dried sweet potato. There were some raw sweet potatoes left as well, but they had all started to sprout, and apparently their flavor had gone downhill. She had taken those too, just in case, but the processed ones seemed to be far more popular.
They were delicious when lightly roasted over fire until soft. It was a different kind of sweetness from the sweets made with sugar or honey.
Only Rohan's father had seen Maomao off — neither the old man, nor Rohan's mother, nor Rohan's brother were there. The old man seemed to have various problems, so going forward, stricter surveillance might be put in place.
As for Rohan's mother, Maomao thought she might have been able to get a divorce if she were younger. It was likely a political marriage arranged by the old man. He seemed to be taking her side for that very reason.
As for Rohan's brother — well, it was hard to say.
If he were separated from the old man, he seemed like the sort who could hold down a perfectly ordinary government post. Whether that was what he himself wanted was another matter entirely. Maomao wondered if she had imagined it, but he had seemed to harbor some sort of inferiority complex toward his younger brother, Rohan.
Either way, it had nothing to do with Maomao.
"Miss, don't you need to get some sleep?"
She was supposed to have had work the night before. She had finished her post-work bath, and her hair was still wet.
Sleeping when one had the chance — that, too, was a courtesan's job. As a high-ranking courtesan, Mei Mei also had rehearsals starting from midday to polish her arts.
Mei Mei ate her sweet potato with a languid air, fixing Maomao with a half-lidded stare.
"So, you see, yesterday, my patron said…"
"Your patron?"
When it came to Mei Mei's clients called "patron," there should have been about three. They were all men who enjoyed billiards. One was a government official, and the other two were merchants, if she recalled correctly.
"He told me to come to his place."
Come to his place — in other words, he wanted to take her home. If he was bringing it up this deliberately, it wasn't just about going out together.
"A buyout?"
"…That's how it is."
For a courtesan, a buyout was synonymous with marriage. It was a chance to escape the cage of the brothel.
But Meimei's expression wasn't uplifted.
"Is he some terrible customer?"
"Not particularly."
"Is the madam opposing it?"
"She's all for it."
That should have meant there were no issues, but since it was essentially a decision that would determine the rest of her life, Meimei would naturally not want to make it lightly. Once a decision was made, it couldn't easily be undone.
She was still a popular courtesan, but that wouldn't last more than a few more years. Age and the life of a courtesan were inseparable matters; by rights, she was already well past the age when most would have retired.
"The gentleman in question—his wife has already passed away, but he has children."
*(Ah, so it's the older one—the merchant patron.)*
One of the two was still young, so it had to be the other one. If she recalled correctly, he was the elderly owner of a shop that dealt in sake.
"Well, no wonder she'd have reservations about it."
"Right."
If it became known that a former courtesan had been taken in as the second wife of a prominent family, people would talk. And above all, if the children were already grown, fierce objections were only natural.
"He says he'll prepare a separate house for me."
Well, that was perhaps simply the way of things for someone who had lived as a courtesan. It was fate, one might say. Meimei must have already made her peace with that much, at least.
But if Meimei were bought out, she would never come to the Ryokushōkan again.
Meimei, who was warm-hearted even among courtesans, might be troubled by that.
Besides, even if she escaped one cage of a brothel, being placed into a new one amounted to the same thing.
She didn't know if she would ever see Meimei again.
Among the worst patrons, there were those who, once they had bought out a courtesan, treated her as their personal property and beat and kicked her without hesitation. A few years ago, a man who had purchased a courtesan from another brothel had stormed in shouting, "How dare you sell me someone so weak—bring me a new one!" Maomao had bit back the urge to hurl a stone at him and instead watched as the man was taken away by the authorities.
She wanted Meimei to be happy. But she was heading toward a place where that outcome could not be guaranteed.
Maomao's expression had turned slightly melancholy, and Meimei seemed to notice. Her face was said to rarely change, but anyone who looked closely enough could tell.
"See? It's probably not that bad. If it is, the madam will keep a sharp eye on things for me."
Meimei gave Maomao's head a good ruffling as she spoke. The madam's audit would be strict — there wouldn't be any funny business, and there was no particular rush.
"By the way, where's the little squirt?"
Meimei changed the subject.
"I wouldn't know about
Zhao Yu.
Probably,
Youjiao
or
Zuoshan
is watching him, I'd imagine."
"Oh really? I had something I wanted him to draw for me."
"Erotic prints?"
Meimei pinched Maomao's cheek with a grin. Oops — that kind of joke was more suited to young lady Bai Ling.
"I figured everyone would be getting tired of it by now, but it's lasted surprisingly long."
Maomao rubbed her reddened cheek.
She had assumed Zhao Yu's portrait sketches were selling well among the courtesans and male attendants purely out of novelty.
"My, that boy is really something. Look."
Meimei left the apothecary and headed toward the front counter, returning with something in hand. It was a round fan made with a bamboo frame. Fine paper had been pasted onto it, and painted on the surface was a cat playing with a ball of yarn.
Perhaps using MaoMao
as
a model,
the calico kitten at play was rendered with surprisingly few lines, yet somehow it looked incredibly lifelike.
"I thought his portrait customers were dwindling, but then he went and put out something like this. Lots of courtesans are cat lovers, you know. I thought he'd been glued to MaoMao all day, but apparently he'd been drawing this."
"..."
What a shrewd one.
Moreover, this round fan — the frame is old, but the paper is new. It looks like it's been re-covered with paper sent from Yabu's hometown. Essentially rebuilding an old fan from scratch, which means the cost was practically nothing.
Even more calculating than that.
But they say children grow up fast, and judging by the paintings on the fan, Zhao Yu's artistic ability seems to have improved considerably.
It felt like before, he used to just draw things as he saw them.
"Oh, right — apparently that boy has been learning painting from an artist."
"...That's the first I've heard of it."
Maomao furrowed her brow.
"It's because you've been off on that long trip to the west. A customer at one of the big houses brought her along. She's apparently a rising young artist."
"Ah."
A common enough story. It's not unusual for the wealthy to buy paintings and pottery as a hobby. And not content with that, they'll monopolize the artist whose work catches their fancy. It's the kind of refined pastime only those with money to burn can indulge in.
"And of all people,
Joka
is who they had to go and introduce her to."
"Oh boy."
One of the three top courtesans of Rokushōkan — despite being a courtesan herself, she absolutely despises men. Officials and scholars can at least find common ground talking about poetry or the imperial examinations, but when it comes to painting, it doesn't quite mesh with Joka's interests.
"And on top of that, the painter is supposedly known for painting beauty portraits."
A complete shift from her earlier gloomy expression, Mei Mei clapped her palms together and giggled.
"Sister Joka must have thrown a fit, huh?"
"Oh yes, she threw a fit and then some. In her fury, she was scattering poems left and right. And then some foolish new courtesan copied one of those poems nearly word for word and sent it to a client, which caused a huge commotion afterward."
Joka excels at composing poetry. But poems written in a fit of temper require caution. What at first glance appear to be beautiful verses are actually laced with venom.
You must never have her write letters urging a client to visit when she's in a foul mood. In such cases, the madam should review the letter before sending it out.
Hakurei, who is too fond of men and a handful to manage, is one problem — but Joka, who's the exact opposite, is equally troublesome.
Before anyone noticed, Maomao had sidled up to Mei Mei's feet, mewing in her sweet catlike voice to beg for dim sum.
Mei Mei picked her up, set her on her lap, and stroked her chin.
"So that painter is who Zhao Yu is learning from?"
"Yes. It seems Jo-ka was so intent on sending that letter dripping with sarcasm that she had Zhao Yu run the errand."
The large establishment apparently was desperate to have the painter do a portrait of Jo-ka. They'd planned to have him sketch something quick on the spot and then produce a polished version later, but—
One glance—
—was all it took. Jo-ka was not the sort to let you stare her in the face.
Unable to give up entirely, both the establishment and the painter left their addresses and asked her to get in touch.
Normally, letters would be—
—carried by a page—
—with male attendants escorting them to the recipient. Of course, since they couldn't very well send someone off with a letter dripping with sarcasm, the one they called upon was Zhao Yu.
Still, while he did deliver the letter, it seems Zhao Yu took a liking to the painter's work and started spending all his time there.
"Maybe he's gone there again today."
"I told him not to go out."
I'd like to see them try being the ones responsible for watching over Zhao Yu.
I'm sure when something happens, they won't know what to do.
And in situations like that, problems tend to arise.
"Maomao!"
She heard Ukyou's voice calling.
Maomao stood up, stepped over the cat Maomao—who was baring her belly and begging for food—and looked toward the voice.
"What is it?"
Ukyou seemed somewhat flustered.
"Well, it's about Zhao Yu—"
"Did he go and do something again?"
Maomao grimaced, as if to say, "See? What did I tell you?"
"That's the thing—could you come with me?"
Ukyou grabbed Maomao's hand and pulled.
"One of his acquaintances seems to be on the verge of dying."
And.