Hongniang
She heard about the garden party's schedule from Hongniang and was exhausted just listening.
Hongniang had attended last year's spring garden party,
"I was so relieved there wasn't one this year,"
she sighed.
It wasn't as though you actually did anything. You simply had to stand there.
The consorts were merely guests, expected only to follow the emperor's lead. Their attendants were the same.
You watched martial demonstrations
and
dances,
along with poetry
and erhu—
ate the food they served you, and scattered smiles at the officials who came to pay their respects. That was all.
Outdoors, in the biting wind.
The garden was wastefully vast, its size proportional to the emperor's power.
If you so much as stepped away to use the washbasin,
it would take a quarter of an hour
at the very least.
The guest of honor—the emperor—would never leave his seat, and the consorts had no choice but to follow suit.
You'd need an iron
bladder
to get through it.
If a spring garden party was this grueling, who knew what winter would be like.
And so,
Maomao
took her undergarments
and affixed medicine pouches
to them, several in number, and inside
she placed warm stones.
She also finely shaved ginger and mandarin peel,
boiling them with sugar and fruit juice to make candy.
When she showed the undergarments and candy to Hongniang, the woman teared up and begged her to make enough for everyone.
While she was making them, an idle eunuch came by and demanded she make some for him too.
That attendant also seemed to have something to say, so she had no choice but to make some for him as well.
Also, during the nighttime procession,
Gyokuyou
the consort apparently spoke to the Emperor, because the next day, a seamstress and food attendant directly under the Emperor arrived, so she taught them how to make everything.
Apparently, it really was quite the ordeal.
Thanks to that, the handiwork was finished well before the garden party.
The night before, she finally had free time, so she decided to make medicine with the herbs she had on hand.
"How beautiful, Lady Gyokuyou."
Yinghua
and the others weren't just saying that to be polite.
(As expected of the favored consort.)
The exotic-looking consort wore a crimson skirt and a pale pink kimono. The wide sleeves draped over her shoulders were the same crimson as the skirt, embroidered with gold thread. Her hair was arranged in two large loops, adorned with two flower hairpins and a crown in the center. From the flower hairpins, silver hairpins extended, with red silk tassels and jade pendants hanging from their tips.
The design
was flashy, yet it never overwhelmed the wearer—perhaps because she was Consort Gyokuyou.
The consort with fiery red hair was said to be the one who suited crimson best in the entire country.
Moreover, the way her jade-green eyes gleamed amidst the red lent her a mysterious aura.
Using pale pink on Maomao and the others' robes was also in keeping with that.
They dressed in matching garments and tied their hair.
Gyokuyou, seizing the occasion, retrieved an ornament box from her own vanity.
Inside were jade-set necklaces and earrings,
hairpins
tucked within.
"They're my attendants, after all. I need to mark them as mine so no strange insects get attached."
With that, she went about fastening ornaments in their hair, on their ears, and around their necks.
She placed a jade-studded necklace around Maomao's neck.
"Thank you so m—"
(Eep!)
Before she could finish her thanks, she was seized in a hammerlock from behind.
Yinghua
had her arms wrapped firmly around her.
"Now then, time for your makeup!"
A brush—
the one holding it with a sly grin was Hongniang. The other two attendants also held shell compacts and brushes.
She had forgotten that the senior attendants had been worked up lately about getting her to wear makeup.
"Ohohoho, do make her pretty!"
The mastermind was in on it too. Gyokuyou laughed with a tinkling, bell-like sound.
The four attendants showed Maomao no mercy, her panic all too visible.
"First, we need to wipe your face and apply some fragrant oil."
They scrubbed Maomao's face with a damp cloth.
"What?!"
(Oh dear...)
While comparing her face with the cloth they had used to wipe it, the maids all blurted out the same dumbfounded exclamation.
(Seems I've been found out.)
Now, let me get one thing straight.
The reason Maomao didn't want to have her makeup removed wasn't because she disliked makeup. Nor was it because she was bad at it.
If anything, when it came to skill versus lack thereof, she was quite adept.
So what was the reason, you ask? It was because her face already had makeup on it.
The damp cloth had faint brown stains on it.
What everyone had assumed was a bare face was in fact...
Makeup—
A face that already had makeup applied to it.