Though the word "festival" was attached to it, Maomao knew it was anything but a fun affair. It depended on what was being enshrined, but in this case, it was a ritual from which women were strictly barred. It was a common practice when enshrining female immortals or deities.
"Please change into these clothes."
The garments Gaoshun handed over were what a page boy would wear. Presumably, they would have preferred to dress her in adult clothing, but it would not have fit Maomao's petite frame. When conducting poison tests, it was customary to use a taster of the same sex, taking into account the type and quantity of poison, so there was no helping it. This time, since it was a women-banned ritual, there was also the consideration that this sort of attire would be more fitting at the banquet.
Maomao would be serving as poison taster for the imperial brother.
Gaoshun must have talked her into it quite skillfully—Maomao thought it was awfully convenient.
With Maomao's naturally flat build, wrapping her chest with a sarashi was hardly any trouble at all, and once she gathered her hair at the crown of her head and put on a cloth cap, there was absolutely no incongruity. When she checked the mirror, the disguise fit so perfectly that she couldn't help but let out a dry laugh.
When Jinshi arrived and saw her, the sheer seamlessness of the transformation left him speechless.
(Yes, indeed.)
She would very much prefer not to be associated with Jinshi, who stood out no matter what he wore.
As for Jinshi, he would apparently be attending the ritual, and he told Maomao to wait in the anteroom. The rituals were held at one of several ritual grounds within the palace. Those held on a regular schedule generally had their locations determined to correspond with the seasonal direction.
Divination was sometimes used to decide as well, but Maomao did not understand the criteria for it, so she did not care.
The wait in the anteroom was exceedingly dull.
On account of the pre-festival purification rite, there was nothing to eat or drink, and even if there had been, Maomao was not permitted to partake before the tasting.
With nothing in particular to do, she decided to spend her time carefully turning over in her mind what was about to happen.
When the ritual finally came to an end, the one who came to collect Maomao was Basen, Gaoshun's son. With his usual sullen expression, he jerked his chin at her to follow.
Maomao complied and set off.
The banquet was held in a hall adjacent to the ritual grounds. Unlike a garden party, it was mercifully conducted indoors.
The hall was a long, narrow chamber roughly thirty-three meters in depth, with two rows of long tables lined up neatly side by side.
As the festival was one of gratitude for the last harvest before winter, the fare was sure to be extravagant.
At the very farthest seat, a curtain— Through the curtains, she could see the seat at the very farthest end. The Imperial Prince would be seated there, no doubt.
(So they say he's an oddball brother) Honestly, Maomao's true feeling was that the least he could do was show his face at banquets. If people called him shy around strangers, well, that was that, but she supposed she should give him credit for making the effort to attend.
He was rumored to be treated coldly, but to Maomao, it didn't quite seem that way. She hadn't even gotten a proper look at the man, but from what she knew of the Emperor, he didn't seem like the type to do something like that. No—if anything, she wondered if it wasn't the opposite. Overprotectiveness.
(...)
She suddenly remembered what had happened last year— Ada —the former consort.
She couldn't forget the expression on that woman's face as she left the rear palace. The face of a proud empress.
(Enough with the baseless speculation) Maomao felt a twinge of shame over the crude suspicions she'd harbored before. Whether they turned out to be true or not was beside the point. What people accepted as fact—that was the world for you.
Keeping her head lowered, she made her way slowly toward the front seats. Maseki had whispered, "Stay put and behave," and stationed her beside the frontmost seat, where she waited.
Maseki himself took up a position on the opposite side of the Imperial Prince's seat, so that the two of them flanked it.
(Huh?)
One by one, officials arrived and took their seats, yet Jinshi did not come.
While she was wondering about this, a badger-faced man—Koshou—sat down right next to her. He glanced at Maomao briefly but didn't seem particularly bothered.
Apparently, her male disguise gave off not a shred of incongruity.
The seats filled up steadily, and the only one left empty was at an oblique angle in front of Maomao. The one who eventually shuffled over and sat down there was a middle-aged man wearing a monocle.
The middle-aged man swayed as he looked around, and his sharp eyes spotted Maomao right away. He opened his narrow eyes as wide as they'd go and broke into a grin.
He rocked his body cheerfully, fidgeting and restless. The seated Koshou watched him with a look of suspicion. The man's suspicious behavior was nothing new, but from an outside perspective, it was understandably unnerving.
Maomao ignored him, needless to say.
(Don't come, don't come) As if that wish had been heard, a rustling sound came from deep within the hall. When she saw Maseki slowly lower his head, she knew the Imperial Prince must have arrived behind the curtain.
Those around her followed suit, rising from their chairs and bowing. It struck Maomao as somewhat rude to sit and wait for the Crown Prince like this, but perhaps this was a relatively informal banquet given the occasion.
There must have been a door in the back through which he'd entered unseen.
Maomao thought she was something of a misanthrope herself, but by the looks of it, he was in a far worse state.
(Seriously, at this rate, no wonder even the Emperor was so eager to produce heirs.)
When she thought of this man as the future Crown Prince, she couldn't help but feel anxious about what lay ahead. As far as Maomao knew, the Imperial Brother did not yet have anyone who could be called a consort. He was well past the age when he should have been working on producing heirs.
Still, in a way, someone this timid and withdrawn meant that few would be eager to replace the current Emperor with this younger brother. In that sense, perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing that he lacked that ruthless edge.
Before long, the noon bell rang. At that, Basen rose to his feet and peered into the curtain.
Basen spoke on behalf of the figure behind the curtain, delivering lofty words of gratitude—"You have all worked hard"—and an invitation to enjoy the banquet. As he spoke, music from strings and winds drifted in from the far end of the hall.
Actors appeared between the long tables set on either side and began a play. Among them was a striking beauty, but judging by the breadth of those shoulders— A male actor playing a woman's role.
No doubt about it.
While everyone was absorbed in the play, young attendants brought out aperitifs. First, a cup was handed to Basen, who passed it through the curtain to the Imperial Brother. Once the wine had been distributed to all, Maomao received a small cup from Basen.
She gave a soft sniff. It smelled of alcohol and fruit.
Shochu mixed with fruit juice.
She had already heard from Gaoshun about the types of food that would be served at the banquet.
Gaoshun was seated a short distance away.
Jinshi was nowhere to be seen.
(...)
Maomao furrowed her brow, but for now, all she could do was perform the work available to her.
She raised the cup to her lips and took a slow, tentative sip. A light, uncomplicated flavor spread through her mouth.
(It tastes really good, though.)
Maomao swallowed the second sip in one gulp, then slowly closed her eyes.
This was a more deliberate tasting than usual.
When the cup was empty, she handed it back to the attendant and rinsed her mouth.
As if to confirm this, she heard the rustle of fabric from behind the curtain. Once a swallowing sound had been verified, Basen raised his hand slightly.
Seeing this signal, the surrounding officials all reached for their drinks at once.
Rahan was the only one who pretended to drink, then set his cup back on the long table. But that shouldn't be a concern.
The appetizers were brought out, and Maomao began her poison-tasting once more. She chewed more than usual, taking her time.
(Hmm, delicious.)
It was a shame she could only manage a few bites. She wondered whether she might be able to have the leftovers later — but that was probably too much to hope for, and she let her lips curve into a small smile.
Next came the soup.
Lotus root.
As she was scooping it up, a strange sensation spread through her entire body.
(......)
She was seized by an overwhelming urge to claw at her own skin. If no one were watching, she would have dug her nails in without hesitation. The lotus root pieces clattered against the bowl.
Her breathing grew ragged. Each breath was a struggle, and a dizzying haze clouded her vision.
Unable to bear it any longer, she thrust the bowl at the young attendant beside her.
She looked down at her hands and saw red welts rising on the skin. The attendant was staring at her with an alarmed expression, so she pressed a hand to her face — it felt bumpy, covered in raised bumps. The rash must have spread to her face as well.
(Oh no — this is...)
Maomao's vision began to spin.
She caught a fleeting glimpse of the ceiling, and then she lost consciousness.
〇●〇 When the poison-tasting attendant collapsed, two people reacted first.
One was the figure behind the curtain. Even from his seat, Gaoshun could tell the person had lurched forward. Basen, who was nearby, immediately stepped in and held the person back.
The other who reacted was the man with the monocle.
The easy, grinning composure that normally adorned his face had vanished entirely.
His narrow eyes were wide open, and he moved to rush toward the collapsed attendant.
Basen would have to stop him yet again, and Gaoshun could only think what an unenviable task that was.
A physician was summoned at once, and the attendant — face swollen and red — was carried from the banquet hall.
Gaoshun, bound by his position, could do nothing but watch as though nothing had happened.
And then came the sharp sound of glass shattering.
Rakan, held down by Ma Shan and several other officials, had crushed the glass cup sitting on the table. Red droplets dripped steadily from his left hand.
"Captain!"
The only person holding that rank here was Rakan himself, but the cry didn't seem to reach his ears.
Rakan extended his blood-soaked left hand and fixed his madman's gaze on the person beyond it.
Beyond his fingertips stood Zichang.
"What exactly do you think you're doing?"
That was all Rakan said before he began pointing at different officials one after another.
Gaoshun committed each person Rakan pointed at to memory. The pointed-at officials were rolling their eyes in panic, glancing around as if trying to exchange looks.
Amid all the commotion, only Zichang gazed back at Rakan as though nothing were amiss.
Making a man like Rakan an ally would be troublesome—but under no circumstances could you afford to make him an enemy.
The man was mad, but his extraordinary talent more than made up for it.
Born into the Luo clan—a family that produced both madmen and geniuses—he was the very embodiment of both. He possessed eyes unlike anyone else's, able to discern talent with a single glance. Thanks to that, he had identified and cultivated numerous capable officials.
He could do it as effortlessly as appraising the authenticity of a work of art.
At the same time, one could also say this: That he could discern the true nature of people.
To those involved in shady dealings, he was an absolute thorn in their side. There had apparently been those in the past who resented him and tried to have him eliminated, but given that he was still alive, they must have been found out and crushed before they could act.
After all, the only subordinates he kept were the competent ones.
On top of that, since his stepson managed the kingdom's finances, the situation was even worse.
Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—given Rakan's personality, if you didn't go after him, he wouldn't come after you. He had no interest in anything beyond board games, gossip, and a very select few people.
Military work, even war itself, was nothing more than another game to that man.
If something were to happen to what such a man treasures, his jewel, there was no telling what would follow.
It went without saying.
Blood still dripping from his hand, Rakan was smiling.
It was a smile like a beast baring its fangs.
Everyone present stood frozen, staring at Rakan's grin.
Only Zishao stared back at Rakan in silence.
Perhaps because they were too stunned by Rakan's actions, none of those present noticed.
It was some time before Gaoshun and Ma Shan realized that the person beyond the curtain was already gone.