The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 11 - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Big Lin

The next day, Chue all but dragged Maomao to a big room somewhere in the annex. It had been strung with mosquito netting, and there was a thick carpet on the ground.

Very Anan-esque, Maomao thought. There were no tables, just a couple of low-set chairs. Tea and snacks had been set out on the carpet—not the finest stuff; the swarm had curtailed such luxuries. But beggars could not be choosers.

In the center of the room was a Shogi board. Staring intently at it was one filthy old fart Maomao recognized, and another she didn’t. The first fart was, of course, the freak strategist, but the second?

Must be his Shogi partner.

She’d heard the man was more than eighty years old. He must have been imposing in his day, but now he was hunched and his body shook visibly. A sturdy cane lay to his right, while behind him a middle-aged man, seemingly his caretaker, looked on with worry.

“I brought her!” Chue said with an enthusiastic raise of her hand. Maomao had, naturally, resisted the idea of coming here, but Chue had dragged her. Lihaku even accompanied them as her bodyguard.

The freak strategist looked up from the board. “Ma... Maom—” he began, but he was interrupted by what sounded like something striking a pillow. It was the cane, which had been pounded firmly into the carpet, so hard that Maomao feared it might have broken had it not been for the thick rug.

“We are in the middle of a game!” the other man bellowed, the force of his pronouncement shocking in light of his doddering appearance. Then he picked up one of his pieces and moved it forward, snapping it down with a perfect click.

The monocled freak narrowed his eyes and refocused on the board, sparing Maomao only a wave of his hand.

“Oooh, that was a nice move,” said Chue, who was at least pretending to pay attention.

“If you say so! It’s lost on me. You know what’s going on there, Miss Chue?” Lihaku asked with a friendly laugh.

“Oh, it just seemed like the thing to say. You know, what with the way he smacked that piece down.”

She didn’t have any idea what the move meant; she’d just said what felt right to her. As usual.

“Now, come on, Miss Maomao. Let’s get some of that tea! Miss Chue needs it if she’s going to have her snack.”

Maomao and the others sat on the carpet. Summer in the western capital was warmer than in the central region, but at least it wasn’t as humid. The mosquito netting was, in fact, grasshopper netting, as some of the bugs were still around.

You can feel the money, Maomao thought, running her fingers through the carpet. It was cool like silk but soft like wool, and had a delicately woven pattern as well as embroidery. Even the netting was made of silk gauze, which shifted and shimmered with each passing breeze.

Maomao sat in one of the low chairs and took a bun, a fried mandarin roll topped with condensed milk added.

I guess it doesn’t matter how fancy the carpet is. You can still get crumbs on it.

The strategist was stuffing his face as he played, consuming the snacks with such gusto that his long-suffering aide struggled to keep them supplied.

“Onsooou! You can do it!” Chue called to him.

Onsou? Is that his name? Maomao hadn’t heard it before—she’d never really had a reason to—and even if she had, she probably would have forgotten it. It seemed likely she’d see more of Onsou in the future, though, so she would have to try to remember.

“Ha ha! Ol’ Onsou. It’s not easy being him, is it?” said Lihaku, not sounding terribly concerned. As a fellow soldier, he seemed to recognize the man.

When Onsou saw Maomao, he commanded a nearby servant to prepare enough snacks to make up the shortfall. He was obviously used to this. Once he had deposited a sufficient quantity of sweets in front of the strategist, he came over to Maomao. “I’m terribly sorry. I know he’s always dropping in on you.” He bowed to her, profoundly apologetic. The angle of his bow was flawless; clearly, this wasn’t the first time he’d had to say sorry on the strategist’s behalf.

This is good material, here. The old madam would have killed for someone who could apologize like that. Onsou wasn’t young enough to be called a young man anymore, yet he knew how to be humble without looking pathetic or incompetent. Exactly the kind of person one needed when placating irate customers after some inexperienced courtesan had upset them. The real complainers, the ones who couldn’t be satisfied by a heartfelt apology, could always be thrown out on their ears by the menservants.

I wonder if he’d be interested in a new line of work. I could introduce him.

Being the official apologizer for a brothel wasn’t easy on the nerves, but it had to be better than being the freak strategist’s personal assistant.

Jinshi wasn’t there yet—maybe he wasn’t coming at all.

If he’s not careful, people might just get even more angry with him for being somewhere like this. At times of crisis such as the one they now faced, there was scant time for Shogi or banquets. This game was only being permitted because it was personally hosted by the freak strategist.

“Sure doesn’t look like this guy is a fraudster,” Maomao remarked. Anyone who could get the freak strategist to pay that much attention to a game of Shogi had to be quite the player themselves.

“No,” Onsou agreed. “That’s Big Lin, in the flesh.”

“‘Big Lin’... So is he famous or something?”

“Back in the day, they say Shogi players came from far and wide to play against him, even from the central region. He was that strong. If he hadn’t fallen on hard times, he’d probably be even more well-known now.”

“What happened?” Maomao asked, her interest piqued by the remark.

“Oh... Ahem. Well, since I’m sure I’d end up explaining it to you sooner or later, might as well get it out of the way. It’s related to that useful information that Master Lakan mentioned.” Onsou kept his voice down, mindful of the surly old man. “Big Lin was once a bureaucrat of some renown. He’s quite thoroughly versed in the history of the western capital.”

“I could believe it,” Maomao said. The years had perhaps made him less obviously charismatic, but his full-throated shout earlier had convinced her he was by no means gone.

“If I told you his fate was decided seventeen years ago, would you know what I meant?”

“You’re referring to the situation with the Yi clan?” Maomao’s eyes widened.

“Yes, exactly. The Yi trusted Big Lin implicitly, and even after he retired from official life, he continued to compile their history. When the Yi were wiped out, however, many officials found themselves caught in the purge—especially those the Yi had trusted most. Big Lin emerged with his life, but the successive shocks of those events pushed him into senility.”

“That is useful information,” Maomao said. It implied that Big Lin might well know things Maomao and Jinshi would be very eager to learn. Then, however, Maomao made a sound of confusion. “Hold on. You seem awfully familiar with the fall of the Yi yourself, Onsou. Even Master Gaoshun doesn’t know much about it.” She looked at him and narrowed her eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you didn’t know? Their destruction took place at exactly the time Master Lakan was in residence at the western capital. I’ve heard the stories, that’s all.”

Maomao glowered at the freak strategist as he played Shogi. I haven’t. Then again, she had never asked—but still, the thought made her unreasonably angry.

“Master Lakan being who he is, of course, most of his recollections consist of Go halls and Shogi dojos. Given his tendency to forget anything not of personal interest to him, I’m not sure he can offer the kind of information the Moon Prince may be hoping for. In this particular case, I suspect he only remembers as much as he does because he finds Big Lin himself memorable.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Maomao said. Asking the strategist detailed questions about the Yi would probably be futile, but they already knew that.

“If only Big Lin were still of sound mind, he could probably tell you a great deal about those times. From what I hear, he does have moments of lucidity...but only moments.”

“Moments,” Maomao repeated. She had, indeed, heard that people suffering from senility sometimes suddenly returned to their right minds. Onsou seemed to be suggesting that they should try to catch Big Lin during one of those spells.

“Indeed,” Onsou said. “Oh, Master Lakan is calling for me. I have to go. We can speak more about this later.” He bustled back over to the strategist—this time, the freak was out of juice.

Maomao peered around the large sitting room. She saw the freak strategist, Onsou, and Big Lin, along with Big Lin’s caretaker. Then there was herself, Chue, and Lihaku. Jinshi and his retinue were still nowhere to be seen.

Might not have a choice this time, Maomao thought. If Jinshi didn’t show up, she and the others would have to try to get the information themselves. It would be pointless to try anything, though, before the Shogi game was over, so she decided to get more snacks instead.

“Miss Maomao, this fried bread is the best!” Chue informed her.

“How many of those have you had, Miss Chue?”

“I’m checking them for poison,” she replied with a completely straight face.

“I can do that for myself, thank you.”

The snacks that had been provided were indeed very tasty, but the tragedy of it was that there was no wine at all. Yes, yes, there was a food shortage; they were lucky to be able to eat at all, etc. They would just have to suck it up and endure.

While the strategist was sipping his refilled juice, Onsou returned to the onlookers. “Perhaps you would take this,” he said, handing something to Maomao.

“What is it?” she asked.

He’d handed her a book. Made with parchment paper, it was a collection of short stories. She would have preferred an encyclopedia of medicinal herbs or maybe a medical treatise, but this wasn’t a bad choice either.

“I can bring you any other books you need as well. Or perhaps you’d prefer board games and cards?” Onsou said. He was being so helpful toward Maomao and the others, in fact, that she was starting to get suspicious.

“Thank you for your consideration, but we’ll be fine,” she said pointedly.

“I... Well... Are you quite sure about that?” Onsou seemed distinctly ill at ease. “Master Lakan and Big Lin began their game two hours ago, and...well.”

“Yes?”

“I think we can expect it to go on at least four hours more.”

“F-Four...hours...”

“You may wish to know that the Moon Prince was here just before you were, but he left again. He said he was quite busy with work. I’m supposed to call him when the game is over.”

For Jinshi, there was no such thing as free time. If working until the game was done was the sensible thing to do, why couldn’t Maomao leave too? There was plenty of medicine Dr. You had asked her to make.

“Do you think I could get out of here? You can call me when the game is over,” she said, collecting a tray of fruit and buns. They would make the quack doctor, lately beset by the woes of a snackless life, very happy.

“I’m sorry, but no. If you were to leave now, Master Lakan would lose his concentration. And if he were to make any...unorthodox moves, Big Lin would get tired and fall asleep.”

Argh! What a pain in the ass. Maomao did worry that, after another four hours of Shogi, the eighty-year-old man might simply keel over. One more reason I can’t leave...

She would have to stay and make sure that the old guy didn’t collapse. She compromised as best she could, having her mortar, pestle, and medicinal ingredients brought and mortar-ing away with Chue and Lihaku while the old men played.

Is that guy going to last? she wondered as she crushed some herbs and watched Big Lin, whose hand trembled every time he moved a piece. Once in a while, the man attending him would press some damp cotton to Big Lin’s lips. Other times, he would help Big Lin to his feet, then take him to the bathroom.

Looks like he’s used to nursing.

The other man must have been more than forty himself—a son, or perhaps more likely, a grandson. It looked like maybe Big Lin’s continued survival was thanks to this man’s patient ministrations.

When Onsou next came by to check on them, Maomao motioned him over. “Who’s the man with Big Lin?” she asked.

“Some extended relative. Big Lin has no more close family. Master Lakan always refers to him as Small Lin.”

“Small Lin?”

Small. That could certainly refer to a child, but just as often it meant someone who was small-hearted, a jerk. Even if the usage was simply a pair with “Big Lin,” it still wasn’t a particularly polite thing to call a person. In that respect, it was very much in character for the freak strategist.

So it went, precious time slipping through Maomao’s fingers.

After an hour, they had filled a tray with round pills. Onsou, who seemed less nervous around them than with the strategist, was hard at work helping them with the task. Maomao shook the tray to straighten out the rows—and at just that moment, Big Lin slumped over.

Shocked, Maomao rushed to the players.

“Oh! Maomao,” the freak strategist said with a grin. She shoved him aside, out of the way, and went to tend the other old man.

Before she could even reach him, though, someone shouted, “Nothing’s wrong!” It was Small Lin, who propped up Big Lin and leaned in as the old man began to whisper something.

“Yes... Yes,” Small Lin said. Maomao couldn’t hear what Big Lin was saying, but Small Lin was taking it down. Maomao took a peek, only to discover rows of writing whose meaning she couldn’t fathom.

At length Big Lin’s dictation seemed to end. Small Lin rubbed the man’s back gently and wetted his lips with the cotton rag.

“All finished, Small Lin?” the freak strategist asked with a glance at Maomao.

“He’s exhausted. We should let him rest,” Small Lin replied, evidently unbothered by the strategist’s tone. He laid the elderly man down gently, then began taking a record of the state of the game board.

“Caretaking’s not easy, huh?” said Chue as she grabbed another bun—this time from the strategist’s plate—and stuffed it into her mouth. She sounded totally indifferent on the subject. Maomao worried for Gaoshun and Taomei in their old age.

“Maomaaaooo!” cried a lilting voice. The strategist began to work his way over to her.

Maomao frowned in disgust. “Please don’t get any closer. You smell like a dog that’s been out in the rain.”

“Wow, that...really sounds hurtful when you just say it like that,” Lihaku remarked.

For better or worse, however, the personage involved was impervious to nearly anything Maomao might say. “I heard you like salty snacks, so I made sure to have lots and lots of them on hand! How about some wine? Would you like some? I can get it for you!”

“Wine...” Just for a second, Maomao felt something tug at her heart, but then she shook her head vigorously.

The scowl on her face must have been truly terrible, because Chue intervened. “If you’re offering, Miss Chue would love some specially made fruit wine! Also, because we do technically have a job to do here, maybe you could tell me about the old guy over there.”

Ah, Chue. Pleasure before business. From beside her, Lihaku could be heard to say, “The wine can wait, thanks.”

The strategist, meanwhile, looked at Chue, perplexed. “The Knight, you mean?”

He compared the man not to a Go stone, but a Shogi peace. In other words, this was someone who stood out to him as distinctive. He was, as ever, an astute judge of character if nothing else.

“If you want to know about my granduncle, please allow me to explain,” said Small Lin, walking up. Big Lin was snoozing comfortably.

Almost by instinct, everyone formed a loose circle around the snacks. Chue made tea and served it to the others. Maomao put individual plates in front of each of them, and meanwhile slid the various medicines and pharmaceutical tools to one side.

“May I ask what you’ve already heard about him?” Small Lin said, regarding Maomao and the others calmly. He might not look like much, but at least he knew how to be polite. Onsou had said his family had fallen on hard times, but he at least seemed to have had a respectable upbringing. He even spoke courteously to Maomao and Chue.

His granduncle, huh? Small Lin looked to be about forty years old. His hair was black, but looked temperamental, and his eyes were pale.

Big Lin has something of the look of a foreigner about him, himself. He had the angular nose people with foreign blood so often possessed, although his thinning hair and eyebrows were white—it was impossible to say what color they had once been. What hair he had was unkempt; maybe he didn’t like to tie it back.

It was unusual to see a man of Small Lin’s age taking such close care of a granduncle. Did he really have no other relatives?

“I’ve heard him referred to as a living encyclopedia of the history of the western capital,” said Onsou. The strategist, meanwhile, was trying to press snacks on Maomao, so Chue interposed herself between them. Evidently she still had space left in her stomach, for the treats disappeared quickly.

“Yes, people called him that once. But now he’s...well, you see. He was in full possession of all his faculties until the events of seventeen years ago.”

“You mean the suppression of the Yi clan, yes?” Onsou asked, helpfully making sure Maomao and the others could follow. Maomao was glad she’d gotten some of this story ahead of time.

He really knows how to get things done. Onsou wasn’t showy about it, but he gave a nudge here or a push there to keep things moving smoothly. He had obviously not been long in the service of a superior who only knew how to upset orders and thwart plans.

“Yes, that’s right. During the campaign, he was attacked and hit in just the wrong spot.” Small Lin lifted some of Big Lin’s thinning hair to reveal a prominent scar. “At the time, my granduncle had been charged with compiling a history of the western capital. When the Yi were subdued, however, he too was taken to be a rebel. Perhaps we can count ourselves lucky that at least the rest of his family escaped punishment.”

A wrinkle formed in Small Lin’s brow, a sign of how hard it was for him to recount these things.

“Suppression is a very lofty-sounding word, but it was no more than a rampage. My granduncle was arrested, and they burned not only the history he had compiled, but all the books and scrolls upon which he based his work. When he finally came back to us months later, he was...like this. His closest relatives abandoned him. Only my father would take him in.”

Perhaps Big Lin’s symptoms were the result of seeing his life’s work confiscated and destroyed, or perhaps of simple violence. Being forsaken by his family might have been even worse.

“There was so much precious information in those records. To this day, I regret their destruction!” Small Lin pounded the carpet demonstratively.

Easy to burn things... Not so easy to un-burn them.

Maomao’s mind was still on the strange notes Small Lin had taken down as he listened to his granduncle. What did they mean? If he was trying to reconstruct the histories from the old man’s mumblings, it would be a tall order.

Onsou looked at Maomao as if to say that he was leaving the rest in her hands.

As for what the freak strategist was up to at that moment, his face had turned red and he was getting tipsy. He was holding a glass bottle. Maomao was trying to focus on the conversation, but she couldn’t avoid looking at him.

Looks like he mixed up his juice and the fruit wine. It was clear to her that the strategist had mistakenly drunk the wine Chue had wanted. Chue took the bottle from him, stuck out her tongue playfully, and then started drinking.

Come on, leave some for me! Maomao thought. She tried to send the message to Chue telepathically, but there didn’t seem to be much hope that it would reach her. Resigned, she turned back to Small Lin.

“What do we need to do to reach Big Lin’s memories, then?” she asked.

“My granduncle is a very careful person. For example, he would never have put all his books, which might so easily be burned, in one place. If you’re looking for records, I’m sure he’s hidden them somewhere.”

“Meaning you think he had another library besides the one that was burned?”

“Yes, I do.”

If Big Lin had kept copies of his books in another location, then the records might still exist. There was just one catch.

“If you haven’t found them, it means no one knows where they are.”

“That’s right. No one’s found this library. Even the idea that the books might all be there is simply a possibility.”

It was like clutching at mist—but at least the idea of a separate library had a ring of plausibility.

Maomao looked at the old man, who was breathing peacefully. The freak strategist truly was nothing but a thorn in her side—but every once in a while, he could be helpful.

“I suppose, then, that you take advantage of his moments of lucidity to attempt to find out where the library is,” she said. It would require someone with great patience to do such a thing.

“You really think you can find it that way?” Chue piped up, coming right out with what Maomao was trying to hint at.

Small Lin took a sip of his tea, as if unsure whether to say what he said next. Then he replied, “In fact, they’ve been found before.”

Maomao’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Indeed. I gather someone sought out the house my granduncle used to live in, based on the snatches of things he remembered. And when they found it...”

“Yes? What happened?”

“There they were! Game records my granduncle had secreted away long ago, hidden beneath the floorboards.”

“Game records,” Maomao repeated. Frankly, that sounded pretty worthless. “I’m guessing everyone was pretty disappointed. After all that searching and everything.”

It seemed possible that these relatives had taken Big Lin in partly because they thought there might be a legacy in it for them.

“Yes, most disappointed. I’m told they used the records for kindling in their oven.”

To think, those papers had probably been priceless treasures to Big Lin. Value was in the eye of the beholder, and it could make life so cruel.

“Gee, that seems like such a shame. They might even be worth something if they were still around,” said Chue, who was still sipping away at the wine. Seriously, she could at least leave a cup’s worth.

“You are so right,” Small Lin concurred. “Someone even came to me who wanted to sell those game records, once they heard how gifted my granduncle was at Shogi.”

“Sell them?” Maomao asked. There was a scheme that sounded familiar.

“Oh, yes. It seems that Go is all the rage in Kaou Province, and that there’s a very popular book featuring collected games. This person wondered if a book of Shogi games might meet with similar success.”

Maomao stole a glance at the old fart, who was now snoring placidly. Somehow the world continued to live in his shadow, though neither he nor the world knew it.

“His family was nearly frantic when they learned there might have been money in those games, but before they could figure out what to do, the swarm came... The family found out somewhere that Master Lakan was an old friend of my granduncle’s and, though I’m embarrassed to say it, they prevailed upon him to beg help.”

Small Lin was red up to his ears, humiliated even to tell the story. Maomao was well aware that there were some less than ideal families out there, but the more poverty-stricken you were the less sentimental you could be. If they had never fallen on hard times, they might have been a perfectly fine group of people. Maybe it was Maomao’s twisted personal viewpoint that made the devout, attentive Small Lin seem, in fact, the strangest of all.

“I think the rare pleasure of playing Shogi with Master Lakan has brought some of my granduncle’s spark back. I realize this may seem a rather impertinent request, but when the game is over, do you think the written records of it might be granted to us?”

“I guess I don’t see why not,” Maomao said. The freak strategist didn’t seem likely to care.

“Then, supposing that my granduncle’s mutterings lead to another hidden cache of papers or old game records?”

“We’ll give all the game records to you.”

“Lady Maomao,” Onsou said, visibly concerned.

“The freak strategist doesn’t have any special interest in records of old games, does he?” she asked.

“No, but if he were to say anything...”

“Just blame it on me.”

“I certainly shall!” Onsou had obviously just wanted to get a firm verbal commitment from Maomao. The man was thorough.

That left only the question, the crucial question, of where these books and papers might possibly be.

“Do you still have those things you wrote down earlier? Could we see them, perchance?” Maomao asked politely.

“Here. I also have all the notes I’ve made thus far,” Small Lin said. He produced a collection, not of sheets of paper or even wooden writing strips, but scraps of parchment.

“These look like game records too,” Maomao said, puzzled. The scraps contained inscriptions like “S59” and “+B83.” Even Maomao, who had no interest in Shogi whatsoever, recognized this as notation showing how the pieces in a Shogi match had moved. This notation involved foreign numerals not used in Kaou Province, perhaps for ease of reading.

Does this seriously mean anything? Maomao held back a groan. Instead she turned to Onsou and asked, “Do you have another Shogi board and some pieces we could borrow?” When you didn’t understand something, there was nothing better than to try it out.

Onsou furnished the materials, and with a click-click-click, Maomao began to line up the pieces.

“Let’s see... S59 would be...” She tried to put the pieces where the notes indicated, but increasingly she suspected it was a futile endeavor. She was just about to place one of the Pawns when she stopped.

“Now, that’s funny,” Chue interjected, looking at the board. “It says that Pawn should move to row two.”

“Huh! Even I know that’s an illegal move.” Now Lihaku was getting in on the act.

“And there are three Dragons too. That’s not normal. Maybe not all of these notes relate to the same game,” Onsou said, peering at the board. “I wonder if this would make more sense to me if I knew more about Shogi.”

“You aren’t well-versed in the game, sir?” Maomao asked.

“I know how to play, more or less, but please remember whom I serve under. I’m not eager to turn a pastime into yet another job.” Onsou had a dead look in his eyes.

“Boy, I feel that!” Lihaku said, not looking much better.

“Why’s that, Master Lihaku? You don’t serve directly under the strategist... In fact, I don’t think you have much to do with him at all, do you?” Maomao asked. Lihaku was a soldier, true enough, but he saw far less of the freak strategist than Onsou did.

Instead of answering, Lihaku said, “Look at this outline. Doesn’t it remind you of a map of the capital?”

“The capital?”

“A city set in a perfect grid, with the throne at the top. It’s right there!”

“Ah... I think I see what you mean.”

In short, Lihaku couldn’t look at a Go board without seeing the capital. This being a Shogi setup, it’s not exactly the same, but still. She understood what he was getting at. As a soldier who spent much of his time guarding the royal city, he saw a lot of maps of the place.

“Let’s start by lining up all the pieces from the notes,” Maomao said. There followed a series of clicks as she put the pieces in place—but they turned out to be distinctly clustered in one part of the board. “Does this look like a Shogi game to you?”

“Not much of one,” Small Lin said. He seemed to be the most Shogi-capable person left awake, with Big Lin and the strategist both off in dreamland. It wasn’t clear how much Chue knew about the game, so Maomao would discount her opinion.

“If it’s not a Shogi game, what do you think it is?” Maomao asked, raising her hand in a gesture of total defeat.

“Yeah, the King piece is really flying around everywhere,” Lihaku said.

“Miss Chue had the same thought! That Jade General really gets around.”

Maomao agreed with her companions. The Jade General, which normally moved one slow square at a time, had worked its way all the way to the center of the board.

“Jade,” Maomao murmured, gazing at the board. “Gyoku.”

The King, the opposing leader, sat smack in the center on the northern side of the board. A number of other pieces likewise seemed oddly out of position.

“Master Lihaku,” Maomao said.

“Yeah?”

“If you were to picture this Shogi board as the capital, how would it look to you?” She turned the board so he could see it.

“Hmm... I guess this King piece would have to represent the throne. Which would mean...” He gestured at the clusters of pieces. “These places where the pieces are all bunched up would have to be the market or the merchant district, or maybe a residential area.”

“What about the Jade General, then?”

“Huh... Maybe an enemy? A political enemy? Or maybe that’s the house of a particularly powerful bureaucrat?” He didn’t sound very sure.

Yes! That would make sense!

Maomao looked at Chue. “Miss Chue, do you have a map of the western capital?”

“Ha ha!” Lihaku laughed. “You say the strangest things. Who would carry a—”

“Here you go!” Chue pulled a map, drawn on parchment, out of the folds of her robes.

“Why do you have that?!” Lihaku exclaimed, supplying the quip in lieu of the absent Lahan’s Brother.

“Because I’m Miss Chue!” she declared. Indeed, Maomao knew she was; that was why she’d asked. It turned out she’d been right to do so.

Maomao opened the map and compared it to the Shogi board. “You see the Jade General here? If you match it with the map of the western capital, doesn’t it look like it corresponds exactly to this annex?”

The others almost jumped. Everyone crowded around, looking from the map to the board and back.

The western capital, like the royal capital in the central region, had been laid out in a grid pattern, with distinct sectors. But the divisions weren’t as neat as the royal capital, so they’d missed the resemblance.

“Then that would make the King piece...”

“The administrative office or Master Gyokuen’s residence, perhaps. But I would guess the office. That’s the location of the mansion that the Yi clan occupied seventeen years ago,” Small Lin told them. It was so helpful to have a local around, someone who could fill them in on past events.

“That would explain all the dragons around here,” Maomao said. “If I remember correctly, there was a store with the word Dragon in its name.”

Actual dragon designs were supposed to be taboo to everyone except members of the Imperial family, but sometimes the word “dragon” would sneak into the name of a shop. It was considered to be good luck.

“What about these, then?” Chue asked, pointing to the two Pawns in a row.

“From the position, they seem to be along the main thoroughfare,” Maomao said.

“Maybe they represent a bookstore or a stationary shop? You know, somewhere you’d go to buy little things.”

“Hmm. Not sure I remember anyplace like that,” Lihaku muttered.

Piece by piece, Maomao tried to figure out what the Shogi tiles represented.

Then Chue said, “Miss Chue has a thought. Maybe a current map can’t help us.”

She was right. In seventeen years, shops could come and go, some businesses collapsing while other, new enterprises began.

“If you’ll pardon me, I can go get an old map! Please, look after my granduncle for a moment,” Small Lin said, getting to his feet. Big Lin was still sleeping.

“I’ll go call the Moon Prince, then. Lady Maomao, if you would look after Master Lakan, please,” Onsou said, also standing.

“Look after Big Lin, got it,” Maomao said.

“No! I need you to keep an eye on Master Lakan!” Onsou was distraught, but left anyway. Maomao and the others lost themselves in comparing the Shogi board and the modern map. The comparisons seemed to be going very well.

So well that all of them missed something crucial.