The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 11 - Chapter Ep

Epilogue

As you will.

That was the entirety of the letter to Rikuson.

He thought of the red-haired girl, You. Gyokuen’s youngest child, the daughter of an attractive traveling performer, raised so that she could one day go to the central region. She had harbored the survivors of the Yi clan. He was sure that Haku-u and her sisters, likewise, had been saved by the girl whose smile never faltered.

Just as Gyokuen had predicted, You grew up beautiful, and he had changed her name to Gyokuyou. He sent her to the rear palace, and now she had risen to become Empress.

Gyoku-ou had sought to follow in the footsteps of his father Gyokuen, whatever form that took.

Though she did it in her own way, Gyokuyou was the same.

What Gyokuen valued more than anything was the protection of the western capital. Gyoku-ou had sought to make it flourish, while Gyokuyou had worked to ingratiate herself with the central authority.

The trio whom Rikuson had once treated as little sisters had also grown up beautiful. He only saw them again after Gyokuyou had become Empress. The three of them served among her ladies-in-waiting; they had left the rear palace with her and lived in the Empress’s palace.

The younger sisters didn’t remember Rikuson, but the eldest, Haku-u, knew him. This even though he had abandoned his past name and was living as someone else. Perhaps it was his fault for scrutinizing the sisters too closely as they went past.

Haku-u got in touch with him—in part because he was a familiar face, but in part to urge him, as a surviving member of the Yi clan, to return to the western capital and become its leader. But that was unthinkable. Rikuson was the son of a rebel; he was not supposed to exist.

He thought that perhaps Haku-u was seeking to return the Yi to their former power—but in the decade and more since they had parted ways, she had grown into a loyal lady-in-waiting of Gyokuen’s daughter Gyokuyou.

Why, then, did she seek to have Rikuson rule the western capital?

He was soon presented with the opportunity to find out. On last year’s visit to the city, Rikuson had taken part in Lakan’s place.

He was haunted by the possibility that someone would recognize him, or figure out who he truly was, and he cringed every moment of the journey. To his amazement, however, he was treated just like all the other guests—and nothing more. No one knew he was a son of the clan that had once held the western capital in the palm of its hand. Most notably, Gyoku-ou appeared to pay Rikuson no particular mind at all.

The western capital was flourishing. Much more, he thought, than it likely ever had under the Yi. Never mind the tragedy of the past; the inhabitants of this city were businesspeople through and through. In light of the wealth the city now enjoyed, what had happened could almost be dismissed as a necessary evil.

Rikuson, though, was alert to the shadows that flourishing cast.

During his brief stay in the western capital, Gyokuen summoned him.

“What do you think of the western capital?” he had asked.

Gyokuen had seen it, the twistedness that afflicted Gyoku-ou. What might begin as a small distortion, if left unaddressed for decades, could ultimately warp beyond repair. Moreover, it was now decided that Gyokuen would go to the central region. No doubt he was contemplating what Gyoku-ou would do without him to act as a check.

Rikuson had known that Gyoku-ou was not worthy of trust.

It was Rikuson whom Gyokuen chose to act as his check in the western capital.

“Why don’t you do something about him yourself?!” Rikuson had demanded, adopting a vehement tone that he hadn’t used in more than ten years. Even though he had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t speak that way again after he became Rikuson.

So it was that he came back to the western capital, Gyokuen having chosen him personally.

He was to be Gyoku-ou’s watchman—and, should anything happen, his executioner...

Rikuson suspected Gyokuyou knew about Gyokuen’s decision. She sent letters to him via Haku-u. Always using pigeons. How Rikuson had sweated while the Imperial younger brother tried to find out how the bandits were communicating! The pigeons were a special means of communication, not something to be shared with the Imperial family.

As you will.

He couldn’t act in accordance with the content of Empress Gyokuyou’s letter.

He had worried; all this time, he had worried about it.

If only the man Gyoku-ou had acknowledged his own responsibility, sometime, somehow.

“Could I have been more unlucky?”

If he could have been only Gyoku-ou’s watchman.

Why did that bastard have to be so warped?

Why had no one tried to repair him?

Why had they made Rikuson do it?

No... That’s not true at all.

Rikuson had wished for this, longed for it.

To take revenge at last for his mother and sister.

And his wish had been granted.

“Now I no longer feel like doing anything at all,” he said at length.

He tried to pass off the responsibility to someone else, tried to nominate someone other than himself to lead the western capital now that Gyoku-ou was gone. In a time of peace, there might have been a few takers, but no one wanted to step into the role of acting governor with the crisis of the insect swarm still fresh.

He even started to hear people say that he himself should take the position, and that was when he finally gave voice to his thoughts: “I think you, Moon Prince, might be appropriate.”

The Imperial younger brother had gone slack-jawed. Rikuson genuinely felt bad. But he did have an insolent little thought, that at least then he would have company in the misery of being overworked.

“What shall I do?”

Rikuson was well and truly burned out. He could summon no desire to do anything, and even tried to push the things he didn’t want to do onto other people. In fact, he was ducking work at that very moment, reclining in the branches of a tree.

The purpose for which he had lived for more than ten years was gone, leaving a yawning emptiness in its place. It would not have been surprising had he simply died.

What Rikuson had done was unforgivable—but at the same time, they had lost their chance to punish him. It was cruel, and mean, and dirty. Rikuson found his own existence repulsive and hideous.

Sunlight peeked among the leaves, and small birds fluttered through the air.

“Birds...”

When he saw them gliding effortlessly through the sky, it brought back memories of a time when he had believed that he would become the wind. When the day came for his coming-of-age ceremony, he would put on the embroidered outfit. Then he might become a merchant, or a sailor, or journey somewhere far away. Back then, so many and such grand dreams had been there for him to dream.

“Far away...”

That might be good, he thought, as he climbed down from the tree. Go somewhere there was no one else, live a wandering life, and finally fall dead in the fields somewhere.

Suddenly, he thought he heard a voice: “No, you can’t!”

Rikuson looked around, but there was no one there. Just the wind blowing and the birds flying.

“Aren’t you going to do something for the western capital?”

He was just hearing things. The wind and the birdsong had somehow sounded to him like a young woman’s voice.

Nonetheless, he said as if in answer, “Must I labor on, Elder Sister?”

The wind gusted, a great cry.

“Ha ha ha! Now you’re just being mean.” Rikuson laughed and lay down on the ground. The sky spread above him, wide and blue, and the breeze felt lovely on his skin.

That journey would have to wait. He could go after the life had returned to the western capital, after people once again greeted each other with a smile as they passed by.

All to give his mother and sister what they had wished for.

For them, he could toil for a little longer.