The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 11 - Chapter 22

Chapter 22: The Imperial Younger Brother’s Complaint

Even in a completely different part of the estate, Maomao could hear the women sobbing. From the second floor of the annex, she could see the line out front.

“My, my, how awful,” Chue said, as if it had nothing to do with her. “They say funerals are supposed to be solemn, but they certainly make a spectacle of it here in the west.”

“I think this is pretty solemn by their standards.” Maomao stepped away from the window and looked at the grasses on the table, a selection of herbs she’d found that grew on the plains. Chue had picked them for her. She’d just been trying to organize and use everything when she’d received some disturbing news. Gyoku-ou, it seemed, had been killed.

She’d wondered what was up yesterday, when only Gyoku-ou’s brothers and sisters had been at the ceremony, and he hadn’t appeared at all.

They said he’d been murdered by a farmer who had repeatedly approached him for money. Maomao was half surprised to hear it—but the other half of her feelings included understanding, a strange relief, and a certain amount of anxiety.

“A farmer? Really?” she asked.

“Uh-huh. I think you already know, Miss Maomao. About how Master Gyoku-ou could be a bit too charitable.”

That was a nice way of putting it, but what Chue meant was the way he lent out money.

“Fair point. I think the people on the receiving end should know that the person lending them the money isn’t a god. What were the conditions of the loan?” Maomao asked, figuring that if anyone would know, it would be Chue with her ample information.

“You’re right; it’s exactly like you say. He didn’t lend money unconditionally. He basically asked that they give their help when there was an emergency, but I don’t think people could really picture an emergency. It might be different in the more westerly villages, but there are no instances of the barbarian tribes attacking the western capital.”

Those problems seemed so far away geographically, and if nothing else, certainly people didn’t expect war to break out in their lifetimes. That was what had led to the recent rebellion. Gyoku-ou had appeared to cover for Jinshi while actually stirring up the people to war—but it ended up being what got him killed.

“I guess I can’t say I don’t sympathize.” Maomao understood, at least somewhat, how the farmer who had killed Gyoku-ou must have felt. People always thought things didn’t concern them until the sparks drifted down on their own heads. And the poorer one was, the less one could think about anything that wasn’t right in front of their nose. But that narrow vision could also blind one with desire. “Can I ask something? What happened with the killer?”

“He was killed right back. But still, the farmer’s family was informed before things became public.”

Chue helpfully explained what Maomao had actually wanted to know. If someone made an attempt on the life of an Imperial family member, their entire family could be destroyed. And while Gyoku-ou wasn’t a member of the Imperial line, he was the older brother of Empress Gyokuyou and son of Gyokuen. Maomao and the others might not have a very favorable impression of him, but he had much support in the western capital. Even if the murderer was already dead himself, the murderer’s family could still be in danger.

“Do you think the family was able to get away?”

“Miss Chue wouldn’t know. I can tell you that mob justice is against the law in the western capital, but still, if they didn’t get out of here, they could be in some trouble.”

Illegal the act might be, but it was impossible to know how effective the law would actually be at restraining people. The uprising had come knocking at the door of the annex where the Imperial younger brother was staying. The people were clearly not in their right minds.

“Anything else you want to ask, Miss Maomao?” Chue sat in her chair with an indolent smile on her face. Maomao sat too, with a half-withered medicinal herb in her hands. She planned to pick the leaves off the branches and dry them.

Was it really a farmer who killed him? She thought about asking the question outright, then stopped herself. Instead she said, “What’s going to happen next? He was the acting regional governor, after all. He was handling a lot of work.”

“Yes, about that...” Chue picked up a branch to help. She could be a bit loosey-goosey, but she was also a capable lady-in-waiting, and now she mimicked what Maomao was doing, dexterously plucking leaves off the branch. “Last year—well, for about a year by now, I guess—Mister Rikuson has been taking care of a lot of the work. It will go with what he was already doing as aide, and with one little exception, there should be no problem at all.”

“Why do I have a feeling that little exception is crucial?”

“Because it is. There’s no one to serve as the face of the operation. Bad news, bad news.”

“Ahh...” Maomao understood. But at the same time, she had a question.

“Given the actual work involved, it makes sense for Mister Rikuson to do it, but he does come from the central region,” Chue said. His response to the insect swarm had amply demonstrated his ability to lead, but he wasn’t powerful enough to be Gyoku-ou’s successor.

“Master Gyokuen has lots of kids, right? Master Gyoku-ou’s younger brothers and sisters. There was that, um...Dahai, was it? Who runs the port?” Maomao ventured.

“Right. Yes, there’s him. Gyoku-ou has six younger brothers alone. Not to mention a son of his own, although his brothers and sisters would probably be first in line.”

“Can’t one of them do it?”

“Well, the thing is...” Chue sounded like she didn’t quite want to say. “They all have specialized jobs, you see.”

“Specialized jobs? Like what?”

“Like boats, or pottery. Lots of craftsmen in that family! No matter how competent he is, a farmer like Lahan’s Brother would never be able to rule a nation, right?”

Maomao tried to imagine Lahan’s Brother doing desk work instead of tossing a hoe over his shoulder. He could probably manage it, she figured—but he would also be ten times more effective out in the fields. Not to mention, those who stood at the very top couldn’t be merely ordinary. Even the most exceptional could expect to be replaced if they made a single mistake.

“I’m thinking he could have afforded one more person with good political sense,” Maomao said.

“He probably just didn’t want anyone to fight with his eldest son. And if you think about it, it’s actually Empress Gyokuyou who rose highest in the world, politically speaking. It sounds like Master Gyoku-ou’s son hasn’t had much training yet—they figured, why rush while his father was alive?”

“I guess that makes a certain kind of sense.”

You couldn’t go much higher in the world than forging a marriage connection with the Emperor. Gyokuen, a merchant, had succeeded in becoming His Majesty’s father-in-law.

But that left them back at square one: Who was going to lead the western capital?

“I guess we can’t expect Master Gyokuen to come back to the western capital at this point,” Maomao said.

“In his position, it would be tricky. Even if it is his true son who died, I don’t think it would bring him back to the western capital now. I think there’s going to be some pretty uncomfortable conversations for the Moon Prince after the funeral. You can’t avoid the question of whether it was really a farmer from the western capital who did it.”

How kind of her: this was precisely the subject in which Maomao was keenly interested.

Gyoku-ou had been a thorn in Jinshi’s side with all his talk of war, true enough—but he was an even bigger thorn now that he had gone and died.

“There’s a few other bigwig types around, right? Can’t they do something about this?”

“Oh, Miss Chue couldn’t possibly tell you. But there is one thing I know for certain.” She leaned in very close to Maomao.

“Y-Yes? What?” Maomao asked, somewhat cowed.

“No matter what the outcome, the Moon Prince will come home very tired. This calls for a medicinal brew that will whisk away the fatigue—ideally something not too bitter.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Maomao mumbled. She plucked some more leaves and wondered whether the quack had eaten through all of the honey they’d brought.

True to Chue’s prediction, Jinshi was profoundly tired the next day. It was so bad that even the quack, who could usually be readily tricked into concluding his examination without comment, began to worry that the Moon Prince might be ill.

“I’m just tired. That’s all. You can go,” Jinshi snapped, and the quack shuffled out dejectedly. Maomao, however, remained.

Well, this is awkward.

It was the first time they’d really seen each other since his little “charging” episode. Still, Jinshi obviously wasn’t faking his exhaustion, and Maomao was overcome with wondering what could have happened.

His usual entourage must have already known, because they looked like they were under a collective cloud. What tiring tale had he told them?

“You can go ahead and sit down,” Jinshi said, so Maomao sat. She’d already given the draught she’d created to Suiren. “Ask me what happened.”

“What happened, sir?” Maomao asked obediently.

“You’ll never believe it!”

It had been quite a while, Maomao reflected, since Jinshi had looked quite so spent in front of his retainers. Sometimes he got like this when only Gaoshun was around, but...

With Suiren, Taomei, Chue, and Basen?

Not to mention, Baryou was probably out of sight somewhere nearby.

Jinshi flaunted his listlessness in front of all of them. Maomao might have expected Suiren or Taomei to scold him, but no reprimands were forthcoming. It showed just how justifiable his listlessness was.

Suiren set the medicine gently in front of Jinshi. In fact, it was closer to a broth; Maomao had settled on a sort of soup because trying too hard to mask bitterness with sweetness could result in a just plain weird flavor. She’d put in vegetables along with medicinal herbs that helped with fatigue, and stewed it with plenty of milk and butter until the sinewy meat was soft enough that it would be easy to chew.

To be perfectly honest, many of the ingredients were rather crude for an imperial palate, but Maomao had at least tried to pick ingredients that she thought would be most effective. The broth was green—it was still medicine, in the end—but it should taste all right. The quack, Chue, and Lihaku had all given it their stamp of approval.

“Mmmhh.” Jinshi took a mouthful of soup and then let out a breath. He was sure taking his time, considering he had begged her to listen to him. The important thing was that the soup seemed to agree with him, because he went back for another spoonful, and then another, trying all the different ingredients.

I guess he’s just that hungry, Maomao thought. Once he’d had a mouthful, it seemed like he couldn’t stop, and he ate everything. He wiped his glistening lips with the back of his hand—not very princely behavior, but appropriate to a young man his age.

The next moment, though, he suddenly looked ready. He straightened up, and he didn’t seem so tired anymore—talk about your quick changes.

“We discussed who would be the leader of the western region going forward, but it was all a lot of going in circles, as we expected,” he said.

“I should imagine, sir,” Maomao replied with a quick glance at Taomei. If it had been just Suiren or Chue there, that would be one thing, but Taomei’s eyes scared her. She had to act somewhat formal and distant because she could never be quite sure what aspect of her attitude Taomei might take to be disrespectful.

“Sir Gyokuen’s other sons unanimously rejected the idea of stepping forward themselves. They each excel in his own field, but none is suited to politics. That goes for all of them. Meanwhile, Sir Gyoku-ou’s child isn’t yet studied enough in politics, or so I’m told. He’s not powerful enough to suddenly assign him acting governor.” Jinshi sounded emphatic. His fists were clenched. “So we considered Sir Gyoku-ou’s aides. They’re competent enough at their jobs, but none of them had the mettle to stand at the top.”

“I suppose they’re the kind of people who are more comfortable assisting.”

“Right.”

Sometimes that’s just how people were. Not everyone longed to rise relentlessly in the world. There were those who didn’t need a high station, so long as they had enough to eat. It seemed all of Gyoku-ou’s aides had possessed this disposition.

Did he go out of his way to surround himself with people like that, or did they just gravitate toward him?

If someone wanted a little bit of prestige but didn’t want to have to stand at the very top, they might be happier as an aide. Even if the ones who were too diligent could get too invested in their work and end up with stomach problems.

“We asked around among the most important and influential people in the western capital, but the answer was always no. From a mercantile perspective, it seems the disadvantages outweighed the gains.”

“They’re very much a merchant people, aren’t they, sir?”

“Yes, that’s how this town works. It’s all well and good if someone has as much power as Sir Gyokuen did, but the other merchants are all about as powerful as each other.”

Maomao didn’t know how many influential merchants there were in the western capital, but if one put himself forward too eagerly, he might well be crushed by the others. Besides, everyone had their hands full dealing with the fallout from the swarm, and it was hard to blame them if they didn’t want to take on more work.

“I thought there was one person who might fit the bill...” Jinshi said.

“Yes? Who was that?”

“Rikuson.”

Yes, Maomao realized, of course Jinshi would think of him. His name had even occurred to her, after all. Above all, Chue would certainly have given a full report.

“You seem oddly...accepting of that idea,” Jinshi said, looking mildly annoyed.

Better get out ahead of this before he remembers the whole marriage proposal business and it turns silly.

“Sir, when the swarm came, I saw him stay completely calm and take action. Besides, he has the guts to survive as the freak’s right-hand man, doesn’t he?”

Objectively speaking, he was highly capable.

“Yes! Miss Chue agrees with this!” Chue said, her hand shooting into the air. A pair of predatory eyes gleamed to one side.

“Yes, well, he excused himself on the grounds that he had been sent here on behalf of the central government.”

“Figures.”

Given that Rikuson had come from the central region, it would be best if he didn’t stick his neck out too far. All just as Chue had said.

If he was from the western capital himself, maybe things would be different...

“Hrm?” Maomao said. Something about her own thought nagged at her, but she assumed it was just her imagination and ignored it.

“In fact, Rikuson said that I should lead this place!”

“He what?!” Maomao exclaimed; even she couldn’t keep herself from jumping out of her seat and talking at the top of her lungs.

The predatory eyes now lighted on Maomao. She lowered herself back into her chair, feeling a tad queasy. “What do you suppose he was thinking, sir?” she asked with studied politeness.

“Exactly what he said, I suspect. Daily business could continue as normal, with the aides handling everything. But he thought I should remain as the ‘face.’ Curse! That! Man! Rikuson!”

Yikes.

No wonder he was so tired. He seemed to be emphasizing his main point.

“But if he came here ‘on behalf,’ I’m nothing more than a visitor. Am I wrong?” Jinshi asked, looking to her.

“No, sir.”

“By all rights, I could be back in the capital by now couldn’t I? Why does everyone simply stand around and look at me? Eh?”

“Of course, sir...”

She remembered him saying that this trip would be three months at the shortest. But he never said how long it might be at the longest.

How many months has it been now? Maomao counted on her fingers. More than five months that they had spent in the western capital. Including the boat trip to get here, it had been more than half a year since they’d left the royal capital. Frankly, she wished Gyoku-ou had had the good grace to be more mindful when he got killed. Uh, not that she was glad he was dead, but couldn’t he have waited to kick the bucket until after he had resolved the misunderstandings about Jinshi, about the Imperial younger brother? He’d only fired the people up for war.

How much trouble could one old bastard cause?

Then again, what would have happened if he’d survived?

If a man with so much influence in the region had really pressed for war, even Jinshi, an Imperial family member, could only have resisted him for so long. It might have been possible to at least avoid actual war with Shaoh, but...

“But Master J-Jinshi,” Maomao said, using his name with some hesitation. The predator’s eyes were terrifying. “You intended to remain regardless, right?”

Jinshi didn’t say anything to that—meaning it was true. If he had really found it so unbearable, he could easily have just gone back home the moment the swarm hit. Considering his position, nobody could or would have complained; in fact, he’d no doubt received a letter or two encouraging him to do just that.

But that would have left the people ragged in body and soul from the swarm, with the foreign tribes attacking and no one to lead and guide them. Even in the midst of a deeply unpleasant situation, Jinshi was using his head.

“We can’t just leave the western capital like this, can we?” Maomao asked.

“You’re absolutely right.” Jinshi heaved a sigh. He was back to looking tired, and he was taking little glances at Maomao.

“What is it, sir?”

“Under the present circumstances, I think that it would be safest to return to the central region.”

Safest for whom to return, Maomao wondered, but then she realized—he meant her.

“I suppose it would be,” she allowed. He might have sent her away for her nominal safety, but she had still ended up swarmed by grasshoppers. Then an insurrection had come right to her doorstep. But this was a mistake, here. “You can’t tell me to go home, sir, not now. I guarantee you’d lose your freak strategist too.” She drove the point home.

I’d love to go home. God, how I would.

She would carry on. She had to write letters to the madam and Yao and En-en.

“If we ask ourselves, how much of a loss is the freak strategist really to the central authority, I think the honest answer is, not very much. In fact, he’s probably more use to them here, don’t you think? Even if he can make life a little noisy. And he has a Shogi companion and everything.”

“But—”

“If you want to send me off to wherever, well, if I’m just a pawn who makes no difference to the strategic situation, I guess I have no right to object. Am I a pawn to you, Master Jinshi?”

He was silent.

“Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

“Yes. I want to...” He started to answer, but refused to look her in the eye. Finally he said, “I want to have another bowl of that stew.”

“Sure,” Maomao said after a second. “I’ll go get some more.”

Apparently, she figured, this was his way of saying that she was useful enough to keep around.

She hoped the quack doctor hadn’t eaten the rest of the stew as a midnight snack. She had a naughty little thought that maybe she should have put a sign on it: For Imperial use only.