When she told him that a new pharmacist had been found, Sazen looked enormously relieved.
"It's so much better than being stuck here on my own again."
Hearing him say that, Maomao would have preferred him to declare something bold like "I can handle this place by myself!" but she decided to let it go.
The few days after the exam were a brief stretch of peace. While everything was provided for her, the half-month she had spent doing nothing but exam preparation had been nothing short of agony.
Maomao was content to finally tend the fields and prepare medicinal herbs again after so long.
A few days later, the letter that arrived — which she was fairly certain was her passing notification — turned out to be exactly what she expected.
"Honestly, is there anyone who could even fail this?"
The capable old hag said this after asking Maomao what exam questions she had gotten.
Getting a perfect score was supposed to be difficult, but a passing grade apparently required only around sixty percent. Even Maomao, who had crammed everything in at the last minute, had estimated her self-score to be over eighty percent, so there was no way the girls who had been studying all along to become court ladies would fail. As for the medical knowledge, very little of it was specialized — most of it could be figured out with a bit of thought.
"That's easy for you to say, Granny — and Maomao."
Poking her head in was Hakurei, dressed in a slovenly outfit.
Her skin had a lovely glow, probably because she'd had a guest the night before. The visitor had surely been drained dry like a sun-dried fish by the time he left. Her beauty, which had not faded even well past thirty, was rumored to be the result of having mastered the art of the bedchamber. She was the oldest of the courtesans at the Rokushōkan.
"Just thinking about it gives me a headache. I try to memorize it, but it just won't sink in."
People have things they are suited for and things they are not. While hard work can usually make up for most shortcomings, there are some things that simply cannot be chalked up to effort alone.
Miss Hakurei could not write characters to save her life. When she tried, she wrote them backwards, as if looking in a mirror. The capable old hag had tried to correct her many times, but the habit never went away, so someone always had to proofread or write things on her behalf.
In return — though calling it a trade-off felt like a stretch — she was an unparalleled dancer even among the pleasure quarters.
"So, passing the exam is great and all, but what do I do now? Do I even have clothes I could wear to work?"
"They'll take care of that sort of thing, surely."
Maomao was happy to leave things to others and had no intention of preparing anything herself. Before the exam day, a messenger from Gaoshun had already delivered a change of clothes and a full set of writing supplies.
He had apparently intended to escort her there and back as well, but he'd looked so put upon that she ignored the offer. As a result, she ended up having to share a meal with Keyou, who had been dressed up in women's clothing.
The passing notification stated that she would need to attend an interview. The date was the day after tomorrow, and the location was a corner of the palace grounds. Along with the letter, there was a wooden tablet stamped with a flower-shaped seal — this would serve as her pass.
Maomao said "Hm," set the passing notification on top of the medicine shelf, and began grinding herbs in the mortar.
The day after next, Maomao arrived at the designated location. It was in front of a building where many civil officials worked, near the medical bureau as well.
The successful candidates gathered for the interview probably made up about eighty percent of the original applicants. Hearing that the pass rate was eighty percent, Maomao felt relieved that she hadn't failed this time. At the same time, she finally understood just how exasperated Jinshi and Gaoshun had looked when she'd failed the previous exam.
Most of them were between fifteen or sixteen and around twenty years old. There were a few women past twenty, but their eyes had a strangely feverish gleam. The reason didn't require deep thought. As court ladies, they were looking for a future husband. The older they were, the more desperate it became.
(Though I think someone over twenty would be the ideal age to become a mother.)
There was nothing wrong with marrying at fourteen or fifteen and having children, but the body wasn't fully developed yet. Some hadn't even had their first period. Menstruation stabilized only several years after menarche, and considering that the body needed to be fully grown, marrying too young was inadvisable.
(And if the pelvis isn't firm enough, childbirth is harder.)
Maomao placed a hand on her own hip. She couldn't expect much more growth from her body, but if she were to give birth, she'd need to put on a little more flesh. The act of bearing a child was something that bordered on death.
Maomao wanted to give birth at least once, but she couldn't casually bring it up. If she said something like "I'd like to try giving birth just to see what it's like," people would think she was joking.
And if anyone found out about the other thing Maomao was thinking, they might very well start shouting at her.
(You can't get a magnificent placenta.)
During childbirth, after the baby is born, the placenta detaches and comes away. In some regions, the mother eats the detached placenta for nourishment and strength. It supposedly tastes like liver sashimi and is quite delicious. Of course, eating raw animal liver could mean parasites, but with this there was no risk.
Maomao had been taught by her father: "Never, ever use human remains as medicine ingredients." She'd also been told not to touch corpses, so she wouldn't develop any morbid curiosity.
But what about her own placenta? It wasn't a corpse. It wasn't using someone else as an ingredient. It had originally been part of her own body. What was wrong with reabsorbing it?
In other words, it was an unexplored medicine that Maomao had never ingested before, one that didn't violate her promise with her father.
Maomao was absolutely determined to do it while she was still alive.
"Please gather over here."
An elderly court lady assembled the successful candidates. Her gaze was sharp.
They were supposed to have been given designated outfits, but several had theirs modified quite flamboyantly. Peacocks spread their extravagant feathers, but with people, it was the women who dressed themselves in splendor.
Maomao wore her outfit exactly as it had been prepared, nothing particularly eye-catching about it. And yet, she had the feeling she was being glances at from time to time.
(Do I have it on wrong somehow?)
It was the same plain aoqun as everyone else's. Pale pink on top, red on the bottom. Maybe the colors varied by department, since fewer than five of the successful candidates wore the same color as Maomao. It was a new department assisting the medical officials, so perhaps that explained the rarity.
If there was any difference, it might be the color of the decorative cord. Maomao's seemed just a shade deeper.
Just as the elderly court lady had told them there was no need to think deeply about it, and Maomao was about to gather and line up, something crashed into her from behind.
No—it wasn't quite a collision. Before Maomao could even get her hands down, she went face-first into the ground. Perhaps it was a blessing that her face lacked dramatic contours. Her face hit the earth and sand ground its way evenly into every crease.
"......"
Maomao brushed her palms across her face and stood up.
"Sorry."
Walking past with elegant smiles was a group of women wearing kimonos in the same color as Maomao's.
"Are you all right?"
An elderly court lady hurried over to Maomao in a half-run.
"No problem."
Maomao stood up, wearing a perfectly indifferent expression.
Sympathetic glances came from all around. But to Maomao, none of it mattered.
All she could think was...
(How nostalgic.)
Now this — this is what a women's workplace looks like.
She found herself savoring this long-awaited return with deep sentiment.