Previously Jinshi → Maomao → Mushroom Maomao was bewildered by the mysterious sensation. Thump, thump, thump — she could hear a heartbeat. Something was pressed against her soft skin, and a heart was beating right there, close at hand.
(What is this?)
But getting up was the priority. She tried to push herself upright, putting weight on that indescribable thing beneath her. She was in a hurry — she needed to grab that ten-thousand-year mushroom growing in front of her right now.
"Ngh!"
A groan came from below.
(Oh no.)
Jinshi was underneath her. Maomao's left hand was being gripped by Jinshi, and another arm was wrapped around her back. It looked as though he had tried to shield her from the fall.
Maomao cast one reluctant glance at the spirit herb growing on the ancient tree, then let her gaze drop to Jinshi.
"...Jinshi?"
Jinshi had turned his face away from her. For some reason, cold sweat was beading on the face he had averted. His brow was furrowed, and he looked to be in some sort of pain.
"See, the fever's flaring up again."
When Maomao offered her handkerchief to wipe his face, Jinshi released his right hand — which had been circling her back — and stopped her.
"No, forget that — could you move a little?"
Still looking away, Jinshi stole a glance at Maomao's face.
"...There's a problem. That, the position of your hand."
Jinshi's index finger pointed toward Maomao's left hand. Beneath that left hand was his hakama, and there was a soft, squishy sensation.
(Wait — squishy?)
No, it was becoming less squishy by the moment — Maomao sprang backward in shock. Her eyes went wide as she stared at the eunuch lying there.
Well — could he even be called a eunuch?
Something that should not exist in a eunuch — and there it was.
Jinshi exhaled as he brushed his bangs aside. Then he looked at Maomao.
"In a sense, I suppose that saves me the trouble."
A beautiful, melancholy face — like that of a celestial maiden. Yet he was no maiden. The sort of face that could bring a nation to ruin with a single smile— He possessed that face.
And yet he was no woman.
Nor was he a eunuch who had cast aside the— mark— of manhood.
His jacket cast aside, his upper body was bare from the chest up. Not an ounce of excess flesh clung to it — a lean, well-trained physique, forged through discipline. True enough, his face resembled that of a celestial maiden, but his body was no different from that of a battle-hardened warrior.
It was entirely possible he was not truly a eunuch — and the fact that she had never allowed herself to consider that was utterly bewildering.
No — perhaps she had been subconsciously avoiding that realization all along.
"I told you I had something to tell you, didn't I?"
Maomao found herself wanting to cover her ears. She must not listen any further — she realized that in an instant. But if she plugged her ears, he would notice.
A man who was not a eunuch existed within the rear palace. If that became public, what would happen? And if this man laid hands on one of the consorts and a child fathered by someone other than the Emperor was born— Maomao narrowed her eyes.
(Don't do this. Don't drag me into something this troublesome!)
She had been used by Jinshi time and again. Each had been troublesome to some degree or another, and she had to admit she'd sometimes thought, "Well, something like this I could handle."
But this was different.
Once she knew, she would have to carry it to her grave.
(I have no intention of going that far!)
And so, Maomao— "Actually, I—"
"Lord Jinshi!"
Maomao spoke, cutting Jinshi off.
A little while ago, under my kimono..."
"...a frog..."
"...it seems there was one."
"...A frog."
Jinshi's face contorted with bewilderment. That's fine, Maomao thought — she'd press on no matter what.
"Yes, a frog. My apologies — it does seem rather damp in here."
That squishy sensation was a frog. A frog, Maomao told herself. There was a stream nearby, and it was summer, so finding a frog or two wouldn't be unusual.
"No, it wasn't a frog."
"My apologies. I must have been careless. Lord Jinshi, you should cool your fever and return to the banquet."
When Maomao tried to casually slip out of the cave, she was stopped as she'd expected.
Still wearing that mortified expression, Jinshi had gotten ahead of her to block the exit. Even if Maomao tried to dodge past, there was no way out.
"Lord Jinshi, could you please move aside?"
"Who are you calling a frog?"
Jinshi inched his face closer and closer, nearly making Maomao flinch. But she couldn't back down here.
Maomao held his gaze and leaned in as well, closing the distance to about two inches from the tip of his nose.
"If it wasn't a frog, then what was it?"
That was a frog. That was a frog. Maomao repeated it to herself. That squishy feeling in her left hand was a frog.
"For a frog, it was awfully big, wasn't it?"
Jinshi leaned in another inch closer.
"No, this time of year..."
"...fairly..."
"...large frogs are quite common."
"F-fairly...?"
Jinshi recoiled, his expression showing something like shock. But Maomao pressed her face even closer, stopping just before their noses touched, and delivered the killing blow.
"Yes, fairly! If it wasn't a fairly sized frog, then what was fairly sized?"
It wasn't really fairly sized, but "fairly" would do here. "Fairly" was more than enough.
For several seconds—no, several dozen seconds—the two stared each other down, and it was Jinshi who lost.
Jinshi's lips remained puckered and twisted as he stopped moving. Maomao seized the opening and slipped past his side.
(Sh-She won.)
Maomao let out a sigh of relief and clenched her right fist tightly.
It was never a good thing to know too much. Maomao, a lowly servant girl who belonged at the bottom, would be better off living knowing nothing at all. No matter what happened, no matter what her superiors did, she would simply say, "I know nothing."
She needed to wet her handkerchief and head to the pond, but before that, she sat down in front of the old plum tree. A lovely, glossy-capped mushroom was growing at its base.
Maomao gazed at it dreamily.
Then a shadow fell over her from behind.
"Let me ask you one thing—you're fine with touching frogs and the like, aren't you?"
Jinshi spoke in a weary voice. He looked barely alive, as though he was only just managing to stay standing.
"Yes. Common folk eat them, you know."
They had a mild taste, similar to chicken. Maomao used to clean and prepare them often.
"Right. Then you wouldn't mind touching one."
A faint smile surfaced on Jinshi's face.
Maomao involuntarily shuddered and pressed herself against the old plum tree.
Jinshi's index finger pointed at her.
"Then why have you been wiping your left hand this whole time?"
Jinshi spoke with a ragged, on-the-verge-of-collapsing expression.
"Ah..."
Maomao quietly lowered her left hand—the one she had been unconsciously rubbing against her hakama to rid herself of the squishy sensation she was trying to forget. She apparently hadn't stopped wiping it this entire time.
That single action made Jinshi's face twist into an expression of profound heartache.
"Hey... why is that?"
The battered and broken Jinshi squeezed out every last drop of his strength for this one final blow.
And with that strike, Maomao lost.
○●○ Shortly after the guest of honor returned, the banquet came to an end.
Gaoshun noticed how tired he looked but shook his head, knowing that wasn't his place.
Gaoshun, the retainer of the eunuch Jinshi, had no reason to grow close to the guest of honor. He had only come as a stand-in for his master, Jinshi.
It would be best not to overstep.
And right now, Gaoshun had work to do.
Tonight's banquet had been elaborately themed, with boats floating on the pond. With more wine than anyone could drink and an abundance of beautiful women, it was probably based on the legendary "pool of wine and forest of meat."
Good grief, Gaoshun thought.
He was, after all, a eunuch.
He had no intention of being distracted by women, and if he were, it would be a terrifying thing. When he thought of the woman who had borne his son, Maosen — in other words, his wife — he didn't want to so much as move a finger.
"For a eunuch, this was a rather dull affair."
One of the officials approached Gaoshun, who was simply drinking in silence. On the same boat, he had women younger than his own children waiting on him.
"No, no, it's a fine night for drinking under the moon."
Gaoshun said nothing more and gazed up at the sky. The half-moon was beautiful. Without the loud men boasting and the women's cooing, it might have been enjoyable.
"Still, he won't be joining us tonight either, I take it."
"It seems not."
It was obvious who they were talking about.
Without the guest of honor, the night's revelry carried on.
Gaoshun let drops of wine fall onto the water's surface, watching the ripples spread. He wished it would end soon.
"With things like that, even His Majesty must be worried."
The official sighed, pinching his chin beard between his fingers.
"If he is to become the Crown Prince..."
In the word "that man," there was no trace of respect.
That was only to be expected. The Imperial Brother hardly ever left his chambers, and on the rare occasions he appeared in public, he wore a mask. Such an Imperial Brother— handling matters of state— —everyone assumed was out of the question.
The main guest at this hawk-hunting party was the Imperial Brother.
The high-ranking officials who had gathered had likely come half out of idle curiosity, eager to catch a glimpse of the Crown Prince who so rarely showed his face.
They were not wrong to think it necessary to appraise what sort of person he truly was.
And this official, it seemed, had already written the Crown Prince off as an incompetent.
"Since last year, after the passing of the Imperial Prince, has there not been any concubine who has conceived?"
So this is his real purpose, Gaoshun thought.
Who had conceived, which concubine it was, whether the child would be a boy or a girl — the palace's balance of power would shift dramatically depending on the answers.
Gaoshun slowly shook his head.
"Unfortunately, no. There are many concubines, so I expect one of them will conceive eventually, but—"
"I see. In that case..."
The official briefly glanced over at the gazebo.
A portly official stood there, observing whether the guests were enjoying themselves. It was Shōshō, the host of the banquet himself.
Gaoshun watched the official—the one who had spent a few moments flattering and sizing him up—take his leave, then let out a sigh as he poured sake from a tokkuri flask.
"Did he explain things properly, I wonder?"
He murmured to himself, then shook his head in negation.
Having seen the wretched state the man was in upon his return, Gaoshun was certain it was no use. At the very least, he could not possibly have moved on to the real topic.
"What on earth is he doing?"
Gaoshun gazed at the mansion bathed in moonlight. On the top floor, a single room glowed with light.