The departure was set for five days later.
Since it was such short notice, Maomao had to scramble to prepare. In addition to shopping, she had to run around and talk to various people.
(No wait, is it really okay to blab about going on a long trip?)
She wondered, but apparently the notice had already been circulated, so there was no problem.
(I absolutely have to tell that sharp-tongued old woman.)
And sure enough, she'd get punched in the gut again.
Which was why she came to the Rokuseikan.
"Hm, is that so. For a souvenir,
ambergris
will do."
(No way I can get that.)
As the name suggested, it was a fragrance made from the drool of dragons, though in reality that wasn't quite the case. It was extremely expensive. It was also used as medicine and was effective for the heart.
"Hey, again?! What the hell is going on?! Do court ladies really go on military expeditions?!"
And as for who was shouting,
it was Saizen.
He was pleading with tears in his eyes.
"Sorry, but could you do something about this?
Keyou
is there too, and if anything happens, just get in touch with Father."
With that, she handed over a paper bearing Maomao's signature, and that was that.
Saizen reluctantly returned to the pharmacy, since a customer had arrived.
(He's actually more capable than he thinks he is.)
He was quite the worrier.
"Oh my. When you think of the west, you think of terrible sunburns."
The one who gives a calm, unhurried response is the senior sister of the Verdigris Pavilion —
Shirasu.
Today her skin is particularly radiant.
(Did she have a high-paying guest yesterday?)
For this young lady, whose appetite for carnal pleasures far exceeds the ordinary, a "high-paying guest" means more than just deep pockets. The client must have been some well-built, insatiable gentleman.
"Here. This is essential. Put it on every morning when you wake up, and wash your face before bed to take it off."
Setting down a heavy ceramic dish with a thud is
Meimei.
Inside is a skin-nourishing
ointment,
presumably.
"I don't think you'll be able to wash your face, though."
The road to the Western Capital is long. Whether by land or sea, water will be in short supply.
"Taking Maomao to a place like that — what kind of fool came up with that?"
(It's the masked nobleman you know about, too.)
The one who speaks with a somewhat barbed tone
is Joaka.
All three young ladies have assembled.
"I'm worried. Maomao, why don't you back out now?"
Shirasu hugs her tightly. She must have had quite the workout last night — her body temperature runs hot.
"The money we scraped together by working ourselves to the bone is going to some big shot's trip."
Joaka lets out a "Tch," as though she might spit.
"What are you talking about? Our whole business only exists thanks to that big shot."
The one laughing cheerfully is Meimei. But what she's saying cuts deep.
"Besides, I worry, of course, but still..."
Meimei quietly glanced out the window.
"If there's someone who would harm Maomao, then the one who wouldn't hesitate to go after them is already on the way, right?"
"Miss Meimei. You're beating around the bush, but that's genuinely what worries me the most."
The eccentric strategist was going.
She didn't know under what circumstances it had been arranged. At the very least, if they knew what sort of person he was, the Western Capital's side would have refused.
(Was there a reason they couldn't refuse? Don't tell me they actually invited him.)
With the eccentric strategist, even if he didn't work for several months, his subordinates were competent enough that it shouldn't be a problem.
What scared her most was whether he would cause trouble along the way.
Just imagining it made her head throb.
(Are you using me with full knowledge of this?)
She gritted her teeth. He'd always been the type to use anyone for anything, so it was her own fault for forgetting.
In a sense, though, there was some relief in the fact that his way of handling people hadn't changed since the Rear Palace days.
A person in a position of power must never be swayed by sentiment.
Jinshi's actions were sometimes emotional, but she believed that reason still remained within them. It hurt to admit.
(Right...?)
Otherwise, she couldn't understand this bewildering selection of people.
For that matter, perhaps the selection wasn't something Jinshi had chosen at all, but something he'd done reluctantly.
Either way, it was nothing but a nuisance for Maomao.
Maomao put away the ointment Meimei had given her.
"Hey, Freckles."
A brash voice called out.
"What is it, Chou U?"
Maomao turned around with a look of utter annoyance.
"Boooooooo-stupid!"
After saying that, she ran off.
Her underling,
Azusarin,
also stuck out her tongue and followed after Zhao Yi.
"What's up with that?"
"Maomao, that's because Zhao Yi is feeling lonely."
"Huh. Azusarin is still clinging to Zhao Yi, same as ever?"
"That's flared up again recently."
Meimei wore a troubled expression.
"Flared up?"
"That girl has an older sister, you know?
Baldy,
she was doing her training, but she started taking clients at the beginning of this year."
"Oh, is that right."
With so many women coming and going at Rokushōkan, she hadn't bothered keeping track.
"Isn't that still too young?"
"She's fifteen. Once they started feeding her properly, she filled out quite a bit, and before long the regulars started eyeing her. Before she came here, she probably wasn't eating anything worthwhile."
Apparently she was quite driven herself and wanted to make her debut as soon as possible.
As her younger sister, she must have had complicated feelings about it.
"Her performing skills still need a lot of work, but she seems like she has potential."
"Does she? I think she's a bit too sharp-edged for her own good."
When Joka said that, Shiratsuzu burst out laughing.
"I don't want to hear that from someone who calls herself 'Joka'!"
The name wasn't one her parents had given her. While some madams rename their girls to help them leave the past behind, she had chosen this name for herself — a twist on the name of a goddess of creation.
"My mother told me my father was a man of noble birth. So I have every right to use it."
That's what she had said.
Someone who could use the character for "flower."
There was no one who could do that besides imperial royalty. If that were the case, only the previous emperor's age would match — but Maomao knew full well that was impossible.
What must Lady Nyonka have thought, seeing her mother deceived like that? It wouldn't be surprising if that was the root of her man-hatred.
The old madam was a shrewd one, all right — forcing such an aggressive name on her.
How terrifying.
Maomao let out a long breath and turned to her next preparations.
She left the Rokushōkan behind, finished her shopping, and returned to the dormitory.
This next part might be the biggest problem of all.
Maomao took a deep breath and entered the dormitory.
Tap, tap, tap — the sound of a knife echoed through the air.
She's at it.
Maomao peeked into the kitchen.
Yao
was cutting chicken under En-en's instruction.
Her hands were still unsteady, but unlike the other day when she'd looked ready to hack right through the bone, she appeared to be cooking properly now.
"..."
"..."
Yao, focused on the chicken, hadn't noticed Maomao. En-en had, though, and was silently pleading with her eyes.
(She's concentrating right now — is it a "don't interrupt" situation?)
As Maomao headed toward her own room, the dormitory's housemother came from the other end of the hallway.
"Maomao, I hear you'll be away for months? I'll leave the room as is, but should I have it cleaned beforehand?"
Her voice carried. Sure enough, it apparently reached the kitchen — "Ouch!" and "My lady!" rang out in their familiar exchange.
Maomao quietly peered through the gap in the door to check, and the scene she found was exactly what she'd expected.
"Ah, my lady, no! Please don't put your finger in your mouth. I'll tend to it right away."
Even meat intended for consumption can sometimes contain toxins or parasites.
"Yanyan, I think you've gone too far."
Maomao spoke up while wrapping Yao's hand in thin strips of cloth, practically immobilizing it.
However, while she had addressed her, Yao remained sulking. Maomao could tell she wanted to say something, but navigating interpersonal relationships was not one of Maomao's strong suits either. She had no idea what to say.
At this point, Yao was still learning how to use a kitchen knife,
so
there was no way Physician Liu had called her over for a special lesson.
"...I'm sorry. I'll be away for a while."
"Understood."
Yanyan looked a little disappointed, but only for an instant—before an indescribable expression crept onto her face, one that suggested, "Now it'll just be me and Lady Yao." Fortunately, Yao had her head down and didn't see it.
Yao probably understood as well. She was intelligent. She grasped it intellectually; her emotions simply hadn't caught up yet.
(She's only sixteen, after all.)
A full four years younger than Maomao.
With nothing more to be done, Maomao turned to head back to her room when she heard a heavy footfall strike the floor.
"Maomao!"
"Yes?"
The breathing was ragged and forceful, like a boar snorting through its nostrils. Yao had risen to her feet with a look of resolve on her face.
"My lady."
Yanyan was holding two flat fans—where had she pulled them from?—inscribed with "Yao" and "Jiayou." This maid certainly had a flair for the meticulous.
Yao took one more deep breath, then stepped in front of Maomao.
"Here, my lady."
Yanyan gently handed Yao what appeared to be a small booklet.
"Mm."
Yao shoved the booklet into Maomao's hands.
"W-What is this?"
"W-What do you mean?"
The one stepping in to support Yao, who couldn't get the words out, was En'en.
"The other day, at Lord Rakan's residence, I summarized the key points of the book that Maomao wasn't able to copy down."
"Huh?"
(What's that? I want it.)
"C-Could I have it?"
"I already told you I'm giving it to you!"
Yao shot back irritably—but she hadn't actually said that.
Still, if it was being offered, she was taking it. She immediately flipped through the pages, scanning them.
"Ooh! Ooooh!"
"Hey, don't look at it right now! A-And just so you know, I didn't do anything special. En'en kept insisting, so I only wrote it down because she wouldn't let it go!"
Good grief—this girl put on airs and then crumbled the moment she got flattered.
As it happened, Maomao knew the characteristics of both Yao's and En'en's handwriting well enough, so she had the kindness not to point out who had actually written it.
"Thank you so much."
Maomao bowed her head politely.
Honestly, she was so happy she could have cried.
"...Hmph. At best, it'll kill some time on the road."
It was the kind of gift you'd find in a souvenir shop.
"Then I'll go buy you a souvenir in return."
"I don't need one!"
Still grumbling, Yao returned to the cutting board.
"If you're injured, they won't let you cut anything, so let me at least treat your wound for now."
If she left En'en in charge of wound treatment alone, she'd end up looking like
a mummy.
Yao obediently let Maomao treat his wounds, but he was a little frightened of En'en.