Upon returning to Emerald Hall,
Maomao
ended up on the receiving end of attentive nursing care.
Instead of the narrow room she usually used, a bed in an empty room had been prepared with fine
bedding —
and after being swiftly changed, she was tossed right into it.
It was made with fine cotton, a world apart from the usual bed of mere
straw mats
simply stacked together.
"I've taken the antidote and there's nothing wrong with me, but..."
In truth, the antidote was useless. That was the nature of this particular poison.
"What are you talking about? So many of the ministers ate it afterward. Just because you threw it up doesn't mean you're fine."
Yinghua
placed a damp cloth on her forehead with a worried look.
(Truly foolish ministers.)
Had the initial treatment managed to get it all out of them?
Not that she could do anything about it now — she wouldn't be allowed to leave anyway, so she reluctantly closed her eyes.
It had been a pointless, long day.
She must have been more tired than she realized, because she didn't wake until well before noon.
As a maid, this was bad.
After getting up and changing,
Hongniang
was who she went looking for.
(But first...)
I returned to my room and searched for the face powder I always used. Not the stark white kind everyone else used, but the usual kind that creates freckles.
I used a polished copper plate as a mirror and tapped around the tattoo with my fingertip. I especially thickened the application across the bridge of my nose.
(At this point, going bare-faced is not an option.)
Explaining everything one by one would be such a bother.
I briefly considered just pretending I had been hiding my freckles all along, but that would be its own kind of embarrassing. I would probably end up reacting the same way every time someone mentioned it—like the first time I walked the path of womanhood.
Since I was hungry,
dim sum
I ate one of the leftover mooncakes.
Hongniang was
at Consort Gyokuyou's
side, looking after the princess.
She couldn't take her eyes off the babbling princess as she moved about, guiding her so she wouldn't wander off the edge of the floor mat and holding the chair steady during standing practice so it wouldn't tip over.
"I overslept. My sincerest apologies."
I bowed deeply.
"You could have just taken the day off today."
Consort Gyokuyou tilted her head with a troubled look, resting her cheek against her hand.
"I cannot simply do as I please. Please let me know if there is anything you need."
That was what I said, but in truth, I did pretty much whatever I wanted on a regular basis, so whether I was here or not probably made no difference.
"Freckles..."
Consort Gyokuyou brought up the very thing I would rather she hadn't.
"They won't settle properly. Would it be all right if I left them as they are?"
"Yes, I suppose that would be fine."
Surprisingly, she backed off without further argument.
Maomao turned a bewildered expression toward the consort.
"Who on earth is that attendant? Everyone crowded around her asking questions. It was quite the ordeal."
"My apologies."
"With that look on your face, it works in your favor—no one can tell at a glance."
She had meant to handle things quietly, but apparently it hadn't gone that way.
What had she done wrong?
"Also, since this morning,"
Gaoshun
"has been here. What shall we do? He looked idle, so I've had him weeding outside."
(Weeding...)
He was, if she recalled correctly, quite a high-ranking official—but as expected of the diligent man. He must have thoroughly won over the hearts of the other attendants.
"Might I borrow the sitting room?"
"Understood. I'll call for him right away."
Gyokuyou received the baby princess from Hongniang.
Hongniang left the room to summon Gaoshun.
It would have been faster to go herself, but Gyokuyou held her back with a hand, and they moved to the sitting room instead.
"From
Jinshi—
here you are."
Barely pausing for a greeting, Gaoshun placed a cloth-wrapped bundle on the table.
When opened, there was
soup
served in a silver vessel.
It was not what Maomao had eaten—it was what Gyokuyou was originally supposed to have.
She had refused it yesterday, but he had thoughtfully brought it regardless. It was both a mark of his dutifulness and, no doubt, a hint that she should investigate something.
"Please don't eat it."
"I won't."
"Because silver corrodes so easily."
Gaoshun probably doesn't realize there's another reason she won't eat it.
He's watching her with suspicion.
Maomao held the container without touching it directly and squinted at it intently.
Not at the contents inside, but at the container itself.
"Was this ever handled with bare hands?"
"No. I only used a spoon to retrieve the poison or the contents."
It seemed she didn't want to touch the poison either, so she had wrapped it in cloth without making direct contact.
Hearing that, Maomao's lips twisted.
"I see. Please wait a moment."
Maomao left the sitting room and headed to the kitchen.
She rummaged around and pulled something out.
Next, she went to the bedroom where she had been sleeping earlier.
She bent down toward the fine
bedding,
unpicked the seam between the layers of cloth, took out the contents, and returned to the sitting room.
What she brought back was white powder and what looked like soft cotton.
Maomao rolled the cotton into a ball, then dipped it in the powder.
She tapped it lightly against the silver container, pat pat.
Gaoshun tilted his head and leaned in to look.
"What's that?"
Powder residue remained on the surface of the container.
"Those are traces left by human hands."
Fingertips secrete oils easily, and when they touch metal, they leave marks behind.
This would be especially noticeable on silver tableware, which corrodes so readily.
Once, the old man and his crew, to prevent—
—Maomao's—
—mischief, had put dye on the utensils she wasn't supposed to touch.
Drawing on that memory, she tried it on a whim, and it worked surprisingly well. If the powder particles had been finer, the marks would have shown up more clearly.
"Silver tableware must always be wiped with a cloth before use. It'd be pointless if it were smudged."
There were several fingerprints on the tableware.
Judging by the size and position of the prints, she could more or less guess how they'd been held.
(She couldn't quite make out the patterns, though.)
"The ones who held these utensils were..."
She realized she had almost spoken aloud.
And Gaoshun wasn't about to let that slip by.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing."
There was no point trying to hide things clumsily.
Yesterday's misdirection would be for nothing, but that couldn't be helped.
"In all, about four people. They touched these utensils."
She traced along the white areas where fingertips hadn't reached.
"Since the dish polishers don't touch the insides—"
—of the bowls, that leaves whoever ladled the"
—soup, plus whoever served the food, Consort Takki's food taster, and one other person."
Gaoshun—
—with his sharp—
—features, looked up at Maomao.
"Why the food taster?"
She would rather settle this quietly.
That depended on the measure of this taciturn man.
"It's a simple matter."
Maomao set down the vessel.
A bitter taste shot across her face.
"You're bullying me."