The following day,
Maomao
went about her work as usual.
The book by "
Zhang San
" had already been passed around and read by the courtesans of Rokushoukan, so there was no problem with Maomao taking it home.
Since the days were growing shorter, she planned to read it during breaks in her work.
"Oh my, you've brought something unusual."
The one who took interest was
Li
, the medical officer. The serious, by-the-book senior officer had recently developed squared-off shoulders. He'd been eating nothing but chicken lately because his muscles responded well to it, and Maomao would ask for the skin.
(If she introduced him to Miss
Byakuren
, he'd probably be happy.)
But it would be troublesome if things got awkward between him and
Li Haku
, so she decided against it.
"Would you like to read it, if you're interested? My hands are still full."
Maomao was wrapping medicine in paper.
"No, this... I've actually read it before."
"That's surprising. You read things like that?"
"After the incident with the Chi Clan, stories like this were popping up everywhere like bamboo shoots. Books had already been spreading more before that, so the trend led to more reading circles in the medical office too."
Perhaps this was the result of
Jinshi having popularized novels within the rear palace.
"In the early days, there were many risqué books making the rounds, but I remember the suspicious ones eventually disappeared. I recall reading that book when the trend was starting to die down."
"When was that, roughly?"
"Before I went to the western capital. I don't think it's been two years."
Maomao
ran the calendar
through her head. Probably about a year after the Subordinate Clan Rebellion.
"If you want to read stories like that, I can recommend a bookstore that's easy to find. I know
an
owner who's fond of scandals."
"Oh, so Dr. Li frequents that kind of shop."
"N-No! It's just a social acquaintance!"
Dr. Li desperately tried to defend himself to Maomao. His clenched fists were taut, with blue veins visible.
"...What kind of author do you think this is?"
"Hard to say. Hmm, the writing is surprisingly polished, so they've probably had some kind of education."
"Anything else?"
"What else... well..."
Dr. Li groaned with the book in one hand.
"Sometimes washed-up officials or those who gave up on the imperial exams dip into trendy works for the money. Those tend to have polished writing, but there's a certain atmosphere about them — can you tell?"
"I think I can, somewhat."
It creates a vaguely condescending feel.
"But this book has a different atmosphere from those."
He seemed unable to articulate it well.
Maomao felt she understood the parts Dr. Li couldn't quite put into words.
"Could you at least tell me about that scandal-loving shop?"
"So you're going after all?"
Dr. Li picked up a sheet of ledger paper and let her brush glide across it.
It read "Peach Blossom Bookshop." Apparently, it was located at the far western edge of the capital.
"Peach Blossom..."
Perhaps noticing Maomao's lingering stare, Dr. Li grew flustered.
"It's not that kind of shop!"
"Yes, yes, I know. Thank you very much."
Maomao bowed and tucked the paper into her robes.
Once her work was done, Maomao headed straight for the bookshop she'd been told about.
"Pardon me. To the west gate of the capital."
She so rarely hired a carriage that she wanted to both save time and get a ride back. Normally she would be just a little—
stingy,
but since winter days grew dark early, she figured it was better than being oddly late and finding the carriages gone.
Peach Blossom Bookshop was tucked one street back from the west gate avenue. It helped that the cart driver knew of the place—he said he'd sometimes take eccentric book-lovers there when they bought up stacks of volumes to carry home.
"Then, I'll need the ride back as well, please."
"Be back before the next bell rings."
"Understood."
Maomao stepped inside. The interior was dim, filled with the distinct smell of old paper. Shelves crammed with books lined every wall, and the volumes that didn't fit were simply left in piles on the floor.
"Excuse me."
Maomao made her way toward the back.
"Hel-lo?"
"What is it?"
A drowsy voice answered her.
The woman who lumbered out was stout and well-fed. She looked to be somewhere past thirty. In her hand was a plate, and skewered on a chopstick was a piece of steamed daikon radish.
"Oh right. I forgot to close up for the day."
The woman took a bite of the skewered radish. Her plump cheeks, round as mochi cakes, were remarkably glossy.
"If you're going to buy it, buy it already. I want to eat my supper."
The woman hung the closed sign on the front of the shop. Maomao seemed to be the only one she'd wait for.
(As much as I'd like to buy something for her...)
"I'm sorry, but do you happen to know anything about this book?"
"This book?"
The woman looked at the book Maomao had brought.
"Oh."
She clapped her hands once and began rummaging through a stack of books on the floor.
"This one?"
"That's the one."
The book the woman held up was the same one Maomao had brought. The title and author's name were identical. The text inside was the same too, but the person who had written it was different.
If it were a handwritten manuscript, one of them would be a copy. Or perhaps both were copies.
"Heh heh heh. That book's pretty entertaining, isn't it? Well, it's a classic tale — if you know the story of our Lord Moon, you can more or less guess the ending."
The woman spoke between bites of her remaining radish.
"It's the little details that give it such a sense of presence — that's what I love about it. Mind you, it's gone out of style, and these days you can pick up similar works for next to nothing."
She slapped the pile of books that wouldn't fit on the shelf. Every one of them had a similar title.
"Do you know who the author of this book is?"
"...No. There's no author named 'Zhang San' — at least not one I know of."
"You're certain?"
The woman spun around in response to Maomao's skepticism. Despite her imposing frame, she moved with surprising lightness.
"I am. At least among the books in this shop, there's nothing by that author. It's possible some failed poet living hand-to-mouth is publishing under a different name, but it didn't feel that way."
The woman was neither young nor beautiful. But Maomao could tell she was an absolute authority within this shop — in a sense, a lady of the castle that was this bookstore.
"Oh, but wait."
The woman clapped her hands and flipped through the pages of the book.
"This particular turns of phrase are characteristic of the north, so there's a good chance the author hails from the Northern Province of Kishū. They'd be fairly well educated."
Maomao's eyes went wide as she swallowed hard.
"Could it be written by a woman of the upper class?"
What on earth am I thinking? Maomao thought to herself.
"...No, I don't think so. There's no trace of that kind of habit."
"..."
Maomao was disappointed by the answer that had been obvious from the start.
"Did you think someone you knew wrote it?"
"Yes."
"Even if it wasn't someone you know, would you still like to learn about the author?"
"Can you find out?"
Maomao leaned forward eagerly.
"Even if I can't identify the author, I might be able to track down whoever made the copy. Examining handwriting is a piece of cake for me. And if another copy of this same book comes up for sale, should I ask where it was obtained and hold onto it for you?"
"Please do. As for payment — I'll do whatever I can."
Maomao had, after all, managed to save up a decent amount.
"All right, leave it to"
Miss
Panda!"
"Panda?"
"What about it?"
"No. I just thought it sounded very familiar."
Maomao spoke to the woman who was, quite literally, like a panda.
"So, what's your name?"
"Maomao."
"I find your name very familiar too."
And indeed she was.