Cradling her throbbing, aching head
Maomao
.
(Th-this is!)
Maomao could only shudder as she came to understand what a hangover truly was. It technically wasn't the second day, but a pounding head even after the drunkenness had worn off — that had to be a classic symptom of a hangover.
Inside the carriage, the swaying only made her feel worse.
Terrible as it was, though—
"Ugh, this is new."
Maomao was genuinely moved by this unprecedented experience.
"You're still drunk, Maomao."
"There's a little left that I couldn't quite get out."
She wasn't sure how long the intoxicating mushroom's effects would last. She had heard, however, that even after eating the mushroom and waiting a full day, drinking could still trigger a reaction. It wasn't a lifelong inability to drink, but it seemed wise to avoid alcohol for a while.
What a shame — she'd been gifted wine as a souvenir, too.
"Hmm, if I have to make you throw up any more, it'll break Suzume's heart."
"I'm fine, I'm feeling much better now. Stop wiggling your fingers and trying to stuff them in my mouth. More importantly, do you have something to write with?"
Suzume handed over writing implements and sheepskin parchment.
A quill, not a brush — clumsy for her to use.
She kept dripping ink everywhere.
On top of that, the carriage's swaying sent both her handwriting and her stomach contents sloshing about.
"What are you writing?"
Suzume craned her neck to peek over Maomao's shoulder.
"Well. The mushroom likely contained in the soup I drank, and the amount of alcohol. Then, how long after ingestion the effects began. I'm planning to record my condition every quarter hour from there."
"Maomao. You look awfully cheerful for someone who's deathly pale."
"Somehow
Jinshi
"Sounds about right."
Rakushun
Lu had said something odd, so Maomao's face went from pale to a blue-green hue.
"Don't say strange names like that. Anyway, did you actually know him?"
Maomao tried to recall. Even if they had met, she wouldn't have remembered — the person hadn't interested her.
"I'm technically, well, not directly, but one of that old man's subordinates. Sometimes I go to his office, and we run into each other here and there. Various things."
"Uh-huh."
Maomao packed away her writing utensils with an expression that made it abundantly clear she couldn't care less.
"Also, before I went to the Western Capital, he gave me some sweets and said, 'Please look after my little sister.'"
"We're strangers."
"Yeah. We are."
Because Lu didn't dig too deep into things, he was easy enough to deal with.
"So, let's get back to the mushrooms — you were saying there were mushrooms that cause violent intoxication at the brewery again?"
"Well, more like mushrooms and a number of other ingredients that came included in the supplies we were given."
Saying that, Maomao tilted her head.
"Come to think of it, do mushrooms like that even grow in the Western Capital?"
Mushrooms tended to thrive in humid air. The dry climate of the Western Capital didn't seem conducive to growing them.
"I wouldn't say they don't exist, but there probably aren't many."
That figures. Maomao recalled the mushrooms in the soup. The kind of mushroom she knew to cause violent intoxication was commonly found in pine forests. She couldn't imagine them growing in Xixi Prefecture, which was nothing but grassland.
"So could they have been included in the relief supplies sent from the capital?"
"Hmm. Is that how it would work?"
Maomao hummed thoughtfully. It was too neat for coincidence. Honestly, the only explanation she could think of was that someone had deliberately slipped the intoxicating mushrooms into the brewery supplies. But she couldn't figure out why.
(There's no point in agonizing over something you can't figure out.)
Being able to switch gears quickly was supposed to be one of Maomao's virtues.
The carriage reached the main residence. The gate was wide enough for the carriage to pass straight through.
(I'll report to Jinshi when I get back.)
As always, she intended to tell everything exactly as it was. He would ask for her opinion regardless, but Maomao had no way of knowing who the culprit was.
With Suzume's help climbing down from the carriage, she heard a child's voice.
(That impudent little brat?)
Separately from that, she heard a girl's voice. She sounded distressed.
Walking toward the sound, she saw some brat named Tama-something-or-other pulling the hair of a girl who looked about six or seven years old. The brat's minders were nearby, but rather than stopping him, they simply stood watching with anxious expressions.
Maomao instinctively rushed toward the brat, but she was too late. Suzume had already seized the brat's hand before her.
"Hey, what do you think you're doing?! Do you even know who I am?!"
"Yes.
Lord Yuyuan
is your great-grandfather,
Lady Yuying
is your grandmother,
and Chixiao
is your father—which makes you
Lord Yusun,
my lord."
"Then you know who I am. Let go."
"In that case, would you mind letting go of her hair? It's damaging the roots."
Suzume looked at the girl whose hair was being pulled. The girl had tears welling in her eyes and was sniffling.
Li Bai, serving as their guard, stayed close to Maomao and Suzume but seemed to have no intention of intervening, watching from a short distance away. If the brat tried to lunge at Maomao, he would step in—but until then, he remained a spectator.
"Ugh, what do I care about her hair? Besides, she dyes it!"
(She dyes her hair?)
Maomao looked at the girl's head. The tips were black, but the roots—about an inch of them—were a reddish-blonde.
"That child is certainly a foreigner. A foreigner's switched child—they'll bring harm to our clan!"
"A switched child?"
Maomao tilted her head.
"You don't know? Both of that child's parents have black hair. It's strange that only this child has hair like this, isn't it? The whole thing about being my cousin is a lie."
(Something like a changeling, perhaps?)
A child born looking different from its parents is called an oni-child. True to its name, it's considered an omen of misfortune.
But Maomao felt compelled to correct the record.
"Even two parents with black hair can produce children with different hair colors. And for that matter, even among kittens from the same litter, you'll get some that are black and white, or striped?"
Maomao had tried to explain in terms a child might understand, but this little fiend called Tama Hayabusa wouldn't let go of the hair. He glared at the attendant maidservant, demanding she do something, but she just averted her eyes.
(He hasn't changed a bit since he kicked that quack doctor.)
She was just raising her fist, thinking it would be faster to simply punch him, when—
"Tama Hayabusa. Are you a great person?"
Suzume asked, directing her usual impenetrable smile at him.
"Of course I'm great! I'm Tama Hayabusa!"
"Yes, I know that. But why are you great?"
"I am the firstborn son of the firstborn son of this household. Someday I will rule the Western Capital."
"So you're great because you are the child of Lord Shiou?"
"That's right."
Tama Hayabusa puffed out his chest proudly. With his hands on his hips, his grip on the girl's hair loosened. Maomao pulled the girl away and examined the roots. They were badly bruised from how hard he'd been pulling. She felt her heart go cold.
"Then why is Lord Shiou great?"
Maomao took over the questioning from Suzume. Suzume took a step back and yielded the conversation to her.
"Because he's the child of Grandfather..."
"Oh?"
Maomao's lips twisted.
"Even though Lord Shiou is no longer here?"
An extremely cruel way of speaking to a child. The sensation of words carving like a small blade.
The expression vanished from Tamahō's face.
Regardless of how it might look from the Central Capital, was it really appropriate to bring up the death of someone so widely mourned in the Western Capital, right here and now?
Maomao thought it was a despicable thing to do, but she felt no remorse.
"Is Lord Shiou still around? But Lord Shiou seems to live entirely as he pleases — so will he be ruling the Western Capital? Or do you believe you have what it takes to rule the Western Capital?"
It might be harsh for a child not yet even ten, but he needed to understand.
"Are you yourself someone of any greatness?"
Perhaps the child understood, in his own way.
In the Western Capital, he was the son and grandson of an absolute powerhouse. But even the most powerful protector could die at any time. And a child who lost their protector would, at best, become a puppet, and at worst, be cast out entirely.
"F-Father could never die!"
"People never know when they'll die. Also, would you mind if I treated this girl?"
"Y-Yes."
The maid answered.
Maomao took the girl's hand and headed for the medical room, intending to check whether she had sustained any other injuries.
The girl sniffled and grabbed the hem of Maomao's
skirt,
tugging at it.
"Don't say bad things about Grandfather."
"I'm sorry."
As Maomao apologized, she steeled herself for the scolding that would come later.