I'm currently rewriting the entire sidebar chapters from scratch so they don't end up being mere filler.
The old sidebar chapters can be found here.
"Is that really true?"
Though his words were polite, Jinshi had directed them at someone who hardly deserved such deference. The middle-aged man, distinguished beard in tow, nodded slowly.
The setting was a particular palace within the imperial court. Though modest in build, the open sightlines meant not even a mouse could sneak in undetected.
The man poured wine from a glass decanter by his own hand, then slowly reclined on an ivory-adorned chaise lounge. Jinshi — seated in the company of the most exalted person in the entire realm — was himself perfectly at ease. Or at least, he had been until just a moment ago.
The Emperor stroked his beard and grinned. It might have been rude to call him impossible to read, but the phrase suited him perfectly — he was a man one could never defeat.
"Well then, what will you do? You're supposed to be the gardener tending to my flower garden, aren't you?"
The provocative tone almost made Jinshi want to smile bitterly. But what lay before him was surely that heavenly smile said to melt anyone's heart. It was an odd thing to say about himself, but Jinshi was confident in at least one thing — his appearance. How ironic, that the one thing he truly wanted always seemed just out of reach. No matter how hard he tried, he could be above average but never truly outstanding — nothing more than an ordinary man with a slight edge — and yet he'd been blessed with a face that surpassed everyone else's.
It used to bother him, but he'd made his peace with it by now. If neither his intellect nor his martial ability could reach exceptional heights, then he would simply make use of those who were exceptional. The result was Jinshi existing as the beautiful rear palace administrator. Those sweet glances, that sweet voice — excessively feminine for a man — why not put them all to good use?
"As you wish."
With a smile that was at once graceful and resolute, Jinshi bowed to the Emperor.
The Emperor seemed to be laughing over his wine, as if to say, "Try it if you think you can."
He understood. Jinshi was nothing more than a child, after all — just someone wriggling in the palm of the Emperor's enormous hand.
But he'd do whatever it took.
Jinshi had to grant the Emperor's outrageous requests. That was his job — and at the same time, it was a wager between him and the Emperor.
He had to win the wager. That was the only way Jinshi could choose his own path. There might be other ways, but none that someone as mediocre as Jinshi could envision.
And so he had chosen his current path.
Jinshi raised the cup to his lips and let the sweet fruit wine moisten his throat.
And on his face, he wore the beautiful smile of a heavenly maiden.
○●○ "Here, this one too, and this one. Oh, take this one along as well."
Hurriedly tossing rouge, powder, and garments — it was the courtesan Meimei.
That being so — the place was Meimei's room at the Rokushōkan.
Maomao had been told by one of the young attendants to come here.
"I don't need all of this, Miss."
Maomao snatched up the rouge and powder that had been tossed at her and placed them right back on the room's shelf. Meimei glared at her with a look of exasperation.
"You do need them. Everyone over there uses far better things than this, so at least try to look presentable."
"Worrying about your outfit for work is something only a courtesan would bother with."
Maomao was thinking she would like to go home and prepare the herbs she had gathered yesterday when a wooden tablet came flying at her head. It was thrown by Meimei, who was good-natured but somewhat short-tempered. Maomao clutched her head and crouched down.
"You've been given a wonderful opportunity to work somewhere good — don't you think you should at least try to become someone worthy of it? There are people out there who would kill for your position, you know. If you don't live with some gratitude, even a fine paying customer will slip right through your fingers."
"...Understood."
Between the madam and Meimei, the Rokushōkan's style of education was rather rough. But Meimei's words carried conviction, and Maomao picked up the wooden tablet with a somewhat guilty look. The tablet bore traces of having been written on and scraped away many times, leaving it darkened, and upon it was a poem written in elegant calligraphy. As a courtesan, Meimei was already at an age where retirement should be considered, yet her popularity had not waned — and that was because of her intellect. She composed poems, played Go and shogi, and entertained her guests. She was a courtesan who sold her art, not her body.
Meimei was one of the Three Beauties of the Rokushōkan. No one knew what sort of effort it had taken to rise to the rank of top courtesan at such an established house. But Meimei said she owed her current position to the eldest sister who had taught her. In the world of the pleasure quarters, "eldest sister" did not mean a blood relative — it referred to the courtesan who had hired her back when she was still a shaved-headed novice.
Currently, all three of the top courtesans had been hired by the same eldest sister.
"You've landed yourself a nice position now, so make sure you come back with a good haul."
Here was no longer the same Meimei who had been hurling wooden tablets — this was the gentle, caring Miss. She slowly ran her henna-stained fingertips along Maomao's cheek and tucked the stray locks of hair behind her ear.
"...Yes."
When Maomao answered obediently, Meimei broke into a sweet, gentle smile.
"And while you're at it, find yourself a good husband. A place like that should have plenty of promising prospects. Oh, and it would be lovely if you brought back a few high-paying customers too, wouldn't it?"
Unlike the warm smile from moments before, this one carried a hint of something darker.
Maomao thought that Meimei, laughing with a soft "fufufu," bore a certain resemblance to the madam. That was simply how it was — one had to be tough to survive as a courtesan.
In the end, Maomao ended up carrying home a large furoshiki stuffed with clothes and a full set of cosmetics. On her way back, the other courtesans loaded her down with all manner of gifts, and she was forced into a one-sided promise to bring in new customers. Laden with her heavy parcels, Maomao staggered back to her hovel.
It had been half a month since she left the rear palace, and the memory of the beautiful nobleman appearing in the pleasure district was still fresh.
The curious eunuch had taken Maomao's words, spoken in jest, at face value. For the debt repayment, he spread out more than enough coins before the madam, and as a gift, he presented cordyceps — winter worm, summer grass — a truly thoughtful touch. It took less than a quarter hour for the contract to be stamped.
And so, Maomao would once again be serving in a most noble establishment. Having to leave her father behind and take up residence at work again was a bit off-putting, but judging from the contract, the rules seemed far more relaxed than before. Well, at least this time she wouldn't be completely out of touch like last time, wandering who-knows-where, so her father simply smiled gently and told her to do as she pleased. But the brief cloud that had passed over his expression when he saw the contract — what was that about? Well, perhaps for a former eunuch like him, that place held nothing but unpleasant memories. Best not to dwell on it. In this world, there are many things that are ultimately pointless to overthink — a waste of breath, really.
"You sure got a lot, huh."
Her father said this in his easygoing drawl, stirring herbs in a large pot.
Even with a fire going in the hearth, the drafty shack let in cold air from every crack. Maomao and her father wore layer upon layer of clothing. Her father kept rubbing his knees — the old scars from corporal punishment must have been aching again.
"Can't exactly take all this luggage with me."
Maomao looked over the belongings she had already laid out. A mortar and pestle, a notebook listing the types of herbs, and the bare minimum of clothing and undergarments.
(The mortar and pestle are absolutely essential, and so is the notebook. But if I cut any more undergarments from this pile...)
As Maomao frowned and groaned, her father lifted the pot off the hearth and came over to her.
"Maomao, you probably shouldn't take these with you."
He removed the compounding tools from her furoshiki, and Maomao looked at him askance.
"If you bring something like this without even being a court physician, people might suspect you're plotting to poison someone. ...Don't give me that look. You made this choice yourself — you can't back out now."
"You've got to be kidding..."
Maomao slumped weakly onto the earthen floor.
From the look on her face, it was plainly obvious to her father what she wanted to say.
"All right, all right. Hurry up and finish getting ready so we can sleep. There are some things you can bring in little bits if you get permission bit by bit. It wouldn't do to be dazed on your very first day."
"...Fine."
Reluctantly, Maomao stowed the compounding tools back onto the creaky shelf, then tucked a few useful items from the farewell gifts into the furoshiki. She narrowed her eyes at the shell of rouge and the white face powder, but packed only the rouge — at least it wouldn't take up too much space.
Among the gifts was also fine quilted batting. Perhaps a guest had left it behind — the pattern was nothing a courtesan would wear.
Maomao watched her father tidy up the pot and feed firewood into the hearth. Once he was done, he shuffled over with his painful gait and lay down on a futon that was nothing more than straw mats covered with a thin cloth. For a top blanket, he simply layered more straw mats and unworn clothing on top.
"There — when you're done, put out the light."
Her father spoke, holding a lantern that smelled of fish oil.
Maomao finished wrapping the furoshiki and moved to settle into her own sleeping spot on the opposite side of the room. But then something occurred to her, and she dragged her straw mats closer with a scraping sound.
"Well now, it's been a while, hasn't it? I thought you said you weren't a child anymore?"
"It's cold, is all."
Maomao shifted her gaze slightly, looking uncomfortable. The futon she had brought was relocated to the spot beside her father's sleeping area. She seemed to recall that she had started sleeping alone sometime after turning ten. Just how many years had it been?
Maomao draped the fine garment she had been given over the space between her father's futon and her own, then slowly closed her eyes. She curled her back and lay on her side like a fetus.
"You'll be lonely again, won't you?"
At her father's words, spoken in the same gentle tone as always, "Not really. This time I can come back whenever I want."
Maomao replied curtly.
But her back was touching her father's arm, and it was faintly warm.
"That's right. Come back anytime."
A gnarled hand stroked Maomao's head. He may be called her father, but his appearance was closer to that of an old woman. And by everyone's account, his personality was like a mother's, too.
Maomao had no mother. But she had a kind father, a nagging old woman, and plenty of lively young ladies.
(I can come back whenever I want.)
Even so, there was still something lonely about it. As the warmth of a hand like dry wood continued to stroke her hair, Maomao began to drift off, breathing softly in sleep.