The surgery had concluded without incident. Well, plenty had happened before it was over, but it had been a success, so that was that.
Plenty had truly happened — but —
In any case, it was now Maomao and the others' turn. Even though the surgery was over, it would be disastrous if his postoperative condition took a turn for the worse and he died.
The emperor's postoperative room was, needless to say, a special suite. Not his usual bedchamber — a separate room had been specially prepared nearby. Adjacent to it was also a room where physicians were stationed around the clock.
The room was white throughout, with the bare minimum of furnishings. Ornate decorations were kept to a minimum, and everything was arranged so that dust would not be stirred up and cleaning would be easy.
Particular care had been taken with the bed. Since the patient couldn't turn over very easily, a futon was laid on the bed that was neither too soft nor too hard, with layered padding shaped to match his body.
What was unusual was that two beds had been placed side by side, and the reason for doing so was —
sheets.
They needed to be changed daily. Sweat and skin oils cause mold and insects. A few days wouldn't be a problem, but the Emperor was the sort who had them replaced every single day. Even if they were merely damp with sweat, he would have them swapped out for comfort's sake. When that happened, he would be moved to the other bed.
(An ultra-luxury bed — what's the price tag?)
The decorations weren't exactly lavish, but even a single canopy curtain could probably be fashioned into several silk garments.
Initially, the plan had been to build an identical room and move the emperor over each time the sheets were changed or cleaning was done, but concerns were raised about moving him, and things were settled on this arrangement instead. During cleaning, care was taken to ensure proper ventilation while being meticulous about not stirring up dust.
The sheets were changed twice a day. The physicians under Dr. Liu replaced them when checking on the wound. Honestly, the physicians thought once a day was plenty, but among the fussy high officials,
half a watch —
there were those who made outrageous demands like "check on him every half watch." They didn't seem to consider that needlessly increasing the frequency raised the risk of outside contaminants entering the wound.
Meals consisted of liquid food.
Maomao
recalled
nursing Consort Rifa. Each time she brought over the thin rice gruel, the emperor would make an exasperated face. His incision hurt, but the chronic abdominal pain and nausea had subsided.
Additionally, changing clothes and
sponge baths
were performed by the physicians when they changed the sheets. The reason they didn't have attendants or court ladies do it was to keep the frivolously dressed women away.
(Not that the big-bearded lord had the energy to lay a hand on anyone, of course.)
The court ladies might take advantage of this and make him uncomfortable.
Of course, they could not allow such outrageous behavior toward a sick man, and furthermore, given that she was the empress—
Gyokuyou,
they had asked her to refrain from visiting as well.
The room was being cleaned by Maomao,
Liu,
the old nurse, and also, specially dragged out for the occasion,
Suirei
was to handle it.
And currently, Maomao was cleaning alongside Suirei. She worked with meticulous care to avoid stirring up dust, cleaning both thoroughly and swiftly.
Jinshi
—reminiscing about the days she had served under him, Maomao felt a little intimidated. It wasn't quite bullying, but memories of being strictly disciplined came flooding back.
(This woman really seems capable of anything.)
Jinshi's
wet nurse, but before that, she had also served as the emperor's wet nurse. In that regard, she was certainly someone one could be at ease around.
"There are no flowers in this place."
As Maomao cleaned, a voice came from behind the bed curtains.
"Oh, how unpleasant. And who do you think is responsible for turning me into this old white-haired hag?"
Suirei retorted, humming a little tune as she spoke.
The guards had rarely seen anything like it. They were probably from the Horse Clan. They watched Suirei with apprehensive expressions. Here was an old woman casually bantering with the person who stood at the very top of the kingdom.
(Under normal circumstances, she'd be arrested for lese-majesty.)
Rather, the bedridden emperor, who had no other entertainment, was enjoying Suirei's banter. At this rate, it seemed anyone who tried to stop Suirei would be the one to face reprimand.
"And who do you think it was that nursed you and changed your diapers?"
"I have no memory of such things from when I was that young. However... I am grateful that you shielded me from an assassin."
She really did live up to her reputation as the legendary handmaiden who had protected the young empress dowager. Maomao was curious to hear what sort of exploits had unfolded, but she knew better than to pry too deeply, and continued dry-wiping the floor.
"
Ada
"She went through that too?"
"Yes. You didn't know?"
"Indeed, I didn't."
"My, my, my."
Her voice was soft and gentle, yet there seemed to be something like resentment lurking within it.
"Perhaps I should have just left as soon as I'd saved enough money, I suppose."
"Is that what you were thinking?"
"Because she was an unruly little thing who wouldn't even wear proper outfits. There was no way she'd become a court lady if she stayed at the palace, right? We'd been talking about using the saved money to start a business."
"It seems I got in the way of your plans."
"How well you understand."
Not only the guards but even Maomao shot him a cold look. That said, she knew the emperor wouldn't punish Shisui, so she took a deep breath to steady herself.
"By the way, Shisui.
About Rui—
I've been meaning to ask—"
"Yes?"
"Does she know about that?"
(Know about what?)
Maomao thought he was asking about Jinshi's parentage. She had been sent out of the room beforehand along with Jinshi before the surgery. Whether Jinshi had realized that he was the child of the emperor and Ada — Maomao had no way of knowing.
"Whether she knows or not, it doesn't really matter."
Shisui continued working without stopping.
(That's true.)
It didn't make a difference whether Jinshi knew or not. If anything, it was the people around him who would be affected.
And as long as the emperor never spoke of it aloud, nothing would happen. The emperor probably had nothing more to say about it.
"Now then, young master. Auntie is going to leave the room now — won't you be lonely? I can read you a story if you'd like."
"Pfft!"
Maomao hastily clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from spitting out. The hand itself was fine, but she'd been holding a rag in it, which made a sputtering mess.
It wasn't just Maomao — the guards were suffering too, biting down hard on their lips and digging their own fingernails into their thighs to keep from laughing.
"Please stop, young master."
That familiar line was practically identical to the way Jinshi would say it.