The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 12 - Chapter 29

Chapter 29: The Compromise

Jinshi’s first good sleep in days went a long way toward restoring his energy.

He looked at the bed, where Maomao was curled up, caked with dust and blood. She had been so tired that she hadn’t woken up even when Jinshi had picked her up and set her on the bed.

It killed Jinshi to realize he had fallen asleep before her; Maomao must have been through far worse things than he had. He wished he could have gotten her tucked into bed sooner, with a nice, soft blanket around her.

She hadn’t been able to resist her first sleep in days, and she looked as comfortable as if she were in a pleasant bath.

On Maomao’s cheek, Jinshi could see a spot where it looked like she’d been struck. The rest of her was covered in scratches, and there was even a blade mark on her neck. He gathered that her blood-soaked clothes were from treating the badly injured Chue.

“You look awful,” he murmured.

Jinshi suspected that if he asked Maomao what had happened to her since he had seen her last, she would give him only the most businesslike report. There would be no attempt to make him worry for her or sympathize with her. None of the unctuousness with which the ladies of the rear palace used to approach him. Did she do that so that she wouldn’t be a burden to him? Or simply because she saw no point in getting emotional about it?

If the former, then Jinshi wouldn’t be content until he had done something about this infuriating, catlike creature.

Since he had stopped taking the medicine that allowed him to pass for a eunuch, he had fully regained his male functions. Did she realize he would be nothing but a beast if the cold chains of rationality hadn’t bound him?

“Young master?” called his attendant, Suiren. She came in bearing a change of clothes. “It’s almost time. You need to have your food.”

“I know, I know.”

“What about a bath?”

Jinshi considered. “I think I’ll pass. Not enough time, is there?”

“Some might say it’s not very sanitary to leave yourself covered in blood.”

Despite her little quip, Suiren was smiling more than usual, Jinshi thought. “Shall I at least prepare some hot water?” she asked.

Her gaze had alighted on the bed. Even if Jinshi didn’t want to wash, he should probably allow Maomao to do so.

“Yes,” he said. “And a change of clothes too.” His clever attendant would know exactly whose clothes he was referring to.

“Certainly.” Suiren gave a respectful bow of her head.

Jinshi stretched mightily, then went over and stood by the bed once again. He leaned close, but was careful not to disturb Maomao, who was deep in sleep.

“Perhaps I might charge myself up just this much?” he said, almost to himself, and then he gently brushed his lips against Maomao’s cheek.

Once he had changed and eaten, he headed for the great hall of the main house. Located in a separate building, he was given to understand that it was often used for banquets—but today it hosted only a minimum of people and their bodyguards. Every care was being taken that they not be overheard.

Gaoshun and Taomei accompanied Jinshi. For once, Taomei was present not as one of his ladies-in-waiting, but as his aide-de-camp. It felt slightly odd, having a husband-and-wife pair flanking him, but having the two of them with him was the most reassuring thing he could have hoped for at that moment.

When he entered the hall, he found he was not the first to arrive. The people who were already there were seated in chairs around a table.

One of them was a boorish man who looked very much like the one who had taken them all for such a ride, Gyoku-ou. He lacked Gyoku-ou’s facial hair, however. He was trying to remain expressionless, but couldn’t keep a slight furrow out of his brow. This was Gyoku-ou’s oldest son, Shikyou. Jinshi had hardly talked with the man, but had observed him closely throughout the discussion about the inheritance. He’d found as many points of dissimilarity from Gyoku-ou as he had points of resemblance.

Sitting across from Shikyou was a younger man—in fact, he looked barely old enough to have had his coming-of-age ceremony: Hulan, the one who had been learning his craft under Jinshi’s tutelage. He looked nothing like his brother Shikyou. Humble of attitude and so small Jinshi could almost believe he still had another growth spurt to go through, at the moment he looked...unusual. He was covered in bandages. That’s what happened when you threw yourself into a fire. They’d doused him immediately, so the burns weren’t as severe as they could have been, but it still looked painful.

There was one more person present as well. Normally, with the eldest and youngest sons in attendance, one might have expected that person to be the second son—but today, one would be wrong.

Instead, sitting there smiling with her arm in a sling, was Chue.

Her face was covered in cuts, and they must have done something to her torso as well, because the way she wore her robe looked awfully stiff. She had a cotton jacket around her shoulders to keep her from getting cold. Jinshi recognized it as the cotton jacket Baryou often wore, although Chue’s husband wasn’t there.

“Moon Prince! Long time no see,” Chue drawled. She sounded so perfectly ordinary that Jinshi wondered for a second if she was actually hurt, but then he remembered the blood that had spattered Maomao’s outfit, and knew how serious her wounds must have been. She could hardly have enough blood left. She might act insouciant, but her survivability was something else.

“Pardon me very much,” Chue said, “but may I remain seated?” She was glancing at Taomei for confirmation, worried about how not Jinshi, but her mother-in-law, would react. Surely even Taomei would go easy on her wounded daughter-in-law.

Jinshi answered for her: “That’s fine.”

Shikyou and Hulan were already standing, bowing respectfully to him.

Shikyou was the first to speak. “My sincere apologies, sir, for so frequently imposing on you for an audience.” This was a kind of respect that had not been in evidence during the inheritance discussions. Presumably, Shikyou was after something.

Meanwhile, the third son, Hulan, was smiling. “Moon Prince, you seem in fine fettle. I offer you my heartfelt gratitude for your generous treatment of a criminal such as myself.”

It was Hulan more than anyone else who had made their lives so difficult recently. Jinshi loathed leaving him to stand there and grin, but knowing that he would smile just as broadly while he killed himself for his convictions was frightening.

“No one has said that what you’ve done has been forgotten,” Jinshi replied, not allowing himself to sound less than controlled. Hulan kept right on smiling—but Shikyou’s expression grew harder.

Hulan, in fact, was what they were here in this room to discuss. They had gathered to bring to light what he had been thinking and what he had done.

Meanwhile, Feilong, who might have been expected to be there, wasn’t—because there were certain things they didn’t want him to know.

Jinshi motioned to the others to sit down. Shikyou and Hulan waited until he was seated himself, then did so.

Chue, who had been sitting all the while, had a drink in her hand, something milky white and steaming. Goat’s milk, probably, or maybe a soup with goat’s milk in it. She was lacking blood; it was understandable. Jinshi decided to let it be as he began the discussion.

“Hulan. Why did you try to kill Shikyou? He’s your older brother by blood.”

There was no need for any preamble. And Jinshi was only asking in order to hear Hulan say it.

Hulan didn’t blanch; he didn’t even stop smiling. “In my way, I did what I thought was best for the western capital. For I-sei Province.”

“And what you thought was best was to kill your own brother?” Jinshi asked tersely.

Shikyou was staring fixedly at Hulan. He must have been feeling very conflicted about his younger brother at that moment.

“I thought you and Shikyou were close,” Jinshi continued. “It isn’t as if he was a problem for you during the discussions about the inheritance, is it?”

“You’re right—my brother did say that he needed no inheritance, and to divide it as we wished.”

“It’s still true,” said Shikyou. “I don’t need anything. You can all share out the old man’s legacy however you see fit. I have no intention of governing the western capital. I leave that to you and Feilong to talk out. Most importantly of all, my name is Shikyou. I won’t use the name of Gyoku ever again.”

Shikyou was making the kind of offer that most second and third sons would have salivated over. For the family that ruled I-sei Province, however, things were not so simple.

“And so you think Brother Feilong and I should govern the land together? I’m sorry, but that’s preposterous. Do you believe, Brother, that all will go well for you simply because you decline to accept any inheritance and any duty?”

“Won’t it? Feilong is a cool head. Smarter than me. He’ll do right by this place. You can be his assistant. You might not be a perfect replacement for the old man right away, but in a few years, you’ll have this place ticking along.”

“A few years? When the next few years are going to be some of our hardest?” Finally, Hulan sounded upset—the humble, retiring youth had vanished. “I agree with you—our brother Feilong is indeed a calm and collected person. If life had allowed him to go to the royal capital as a bureaucrat, I think he would’ve risen far higher in the world than you, Brother Shikyou. But make him the head, make him the face, of the western capital? What happens then?” He seemed to be asking not just Shikyou, but Jinshi. “We have the aftermath of the insect swarm to deal with, the worsening of public order, food shortages—and in the immediate future we will have to consider the possibility of an invasion by another country. Do you think Brother Feilong has the strength to successfully navigate all that?”

“Well, he can just ask our grandfather and uncles for help, can’t he?”

“Grandfather is old, and I sincerely doubt he’ll be returning from the royal capital. As for our aunts and uncles, how far can we really rely on them? The entire reason Grandfather left our father in charge here was because, whatever you may think of his ideals, he possessed the necessary strength to hold it all together.”

Jinshi couldn’t disagree with that. If Gyoku-ou had possessed one thing, in spite of his personal beliefs, it was strength. His ability to work a crowd, almost the way a con artist would, was something Jinshi could learn from himself.

“True, things might be well while Grandfather remains in this world. And if things were still as they were before the swarm, the others might keep their peace. With Father gone, however, our aunts and uncles will not be shy in criticizing the main house. And Brother Feilong and I, neither of us the eldest son, will lack the influence to subdue our relatives, who have grown strong running their respective trades in this province. That’s why Brother Feilong waited and waited for you to return, Brother Shikyou. Because you were able to go fist to fist with Uncle Yohda and silence even him. You have the strength.”

“Yohda” was a nickname meaning “youngest child.” The youngest of Gyokuen’s children was in fact Empress Gyokuyou, but the youngest among the menfolk would be the seventh son, the one who looked after livestock. The one who had supposedly been so incensed with Shikyou that they’d fought a duel with live steel.

“You’re contradicting yourself,” Jinshi said. “So far you’ve done nothing but heap praise on Shikyou. I’m asking why you would have wanted to kill him.”

Chue piped up, “It’s not a contradiction at all!” In her hand was a slice of soft fried bread. “As long as Mister Shikyou is alive, there will be somebody who backs him for leader. Which is a big ol’ problem if you’re trying to lead without him.”

“Precisely,” Hulan confirmed.

“What good would having Shikyou out of the picture do you? Didn’t you just say that you and Feilong both lack the power to lead?” Jinshi asked.

At that, Chue and Hulan both grinned, the expressions oddly similar to each other.

“Indeed he did,” Chue chirped. “But Mister Hulan—he found something, for better or worse. Someone he wanted in the western capital more than his unmotivated big brother.”

“Correct again,” Hulan said, and stared directly at Jinshi. Jinshi got a bad feeling.

“Among Master Gyoku-ou’s three sons, Mister Shikyou is certainly the most suited to leadership. But as far as Mister Hulan was concerned, if there were someone else available, there’d be no need to fret about the new Yous. His goal, you see, was to help the western capital flourish. If there were someone with practical power, someone who would make sense as the political leader of the west...” Chue, too, looked at Jinshi.

“I’m sure it would have worked, if I could have gotten rid of my brother Shikyou. In your service, Moon Prince, I don’t doubt that myself and my brother Feilong would have been excellent aides.”

With that, Hulan got out of his chair, knelt on the ground, and bowed his head. “I realize I ask the impossible. Yet ask I must. Moon Prince, will you not stay in this city and guide the people of I-sei Province? I offer anything that might be of use on this path, even my own head.” He pounded his forehead repeatedly against the floor, and his eyes were shining, shining so brightly it was almost disturbing. The burns all over his body attested to the truth of what he said.

Without quite meaning to, Jinshi backed up a step. He looked at Gaoshun and Taomei, who stood in attendance behind him.

After a pause, Gaoshun said quietly, “I have heard that the Mi clan teaches its members that the highest joy is to obey the orders of their master.”

“The highest joy...” Jinshi repeated uncertainly.

“Only say that you will remain here in the western capital, Moon Prince, and I will gladly tear off my head with my own hands!” Hulan said.

“I don’t want you tearing anything off,” Jinshi replied.

Who would clean it up afterward?

“Enough! Stop! You don’t need to do this.” Shikyou knelt beside Hulan, then imitated his brother in pressing his head to the ground. “You have heard the boy. All that he did, he did out of love for I-sei Province. Please, do not imagine that there is any need to cut off his head.”

Well, Jinshi wasn’t the one who had talked about cutting off anybody’s head, was he? Hulan had offered to do that on his own.

“Brother Shikyou. I am of no special regard. If my life is what it takes to bring good upon the western capital, what of it?” There was no hesitation in Hulan’s eyes—in fact, he seemed mystified that Shikyou would attempt to intercede for him.

Chue simply sat and watched them, but her eyes squinted in amusement. “It doesn’t matter what you say, you won’t get through to him,” she drawled. “He’s been raised for this since the day he was born. The two of you just think differently. You can tell a cat not to catch rats, but will it stop?”

“Cats and rats? Don’t be absurd! Why would a person throw down his life for something so trivial?” Shikyou demanded, glaring at Chue. She, however, just sipped her goat’s milk, unfazed.

“Something so trivial? If you can say that with a straight face, then you really won’t ever be successor. I know your heart goes out to your little brother, but trying to take his role away from him, that’s just selfish. I must say, Mister Shikyou, you really don’t have the chops to cut it as successor. You can throw away the Gyoku name, take on a nasty-sounding moniker, and make a lot of underworld connections if you like, but it doesn’t suit you at all. You’re in the way just by being around, so maybe you could go full puppet on the public stage. You want to protect your little brother, that’s the way.”

Once she had let all this out, Chue took another sip of milk.

Shikyou knelt there, dazed, whereas Hulan continued to look at Jinshi with his eyes sparkling.

Chue wasn’t done, however. “And you, Mister Hulan, give it up already. I know you have your duty, but if it butts up against Miss Chue’s duty, you can rest assured she’ll use every means at her disposal to crush you like a little insect. Seeing as your existence is nothing but a hindrance to the Moon Prince.”

“An interesting remark coming from you, Lady Chue. What can you do for the Moon Prince with those injuries? They’ll never heal completely. Your rank will plummet.”

“I’ll still be higher than you, Mister Hulan. Miss Chue is quite nimble enough to do most anything she needs with her left hand. But being the kind lady she is, Miss Chue has an idea for a compromise. One that might even placate a youth like yourself. The Moon Prince might not lead the western capital, but what if there was a ‘face’ that could serve instead?” Chue turned to Jinshi and grinned again. “Mister Shikyou does have talent, you know. What his dear, departed father Master Gyoku-ou was so desperate to possess, Mister Shikyou has in spades. Let him be not a bird’s beak, but a dragon’s head.”

Her grin grew even wider, and she looked at Shikyou.

“You’ll stand for the western capital, won’t you? You’ll make a brilliant puppet, I’m sure of it.”

Jinshi stole a glance at Taomei. Perhaps she knew of her daughter-in-law’s business, for she said nothing. She seemed inordinately interested in the scraps of food left over on the table—and dedicated to not learning too much about the thinking of the Mi clan.

If he had known it would turn out this way, Jinshi reflected, he would have charged up even more back in his room.