The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 12 - Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Inheritance

Maomao was nursing a throbbing headache.

This... This is it!

She was experiencing that fabled thing called a hangover. She wasn’t sure it counted as a hangover if it hadn’t been an entire day, but having a headache after you stopped being drunk was one of the primary symptoms, wasn’t it?

Rattling along in the carriage only made her feel even worse. It wasn’t pleasant, and yet...

“Ahh! This is something new!”

Maomao was downright moved to experience something she never had before. It felt a bit like being bitten by a highly venomous snake. And there was a poisonous herb she’d eaten once that had given her nausea like this—which one was it, again? She was enjoying searching her memory for it.

“You don’t look like you’re quite better, Miss Maomao. Do you tend to be a happy drunk?” Chue asked.

“There’s just a little bit left in me that didn’t come up. A happy drunk? Ha ha ha! Oh, if there’s any of those mushrooms left, give them to me. I’d like to enjoy this a little longer.”

“Even Miss Chue is going to get tired of this,” she said. “Anyway, I’ll go see about those mushrooms.”

Maomao didn’t know for certain how powerful the “drunken shrooms” really were, but she had heard that even a full day after you ate them, alcohol could still have an outsize effect on you. It wasn’t like you could never drink again, but it was best to steer clear for a while.

A real shame, actually, since they’d gotten some wine as a souvenir.

“Hmm, Miss Chue would feel bad having to make you vomit again. I wonder if there’s anything left to come up but stomach juices.”

“It’s all right. I’m feeling much better. Please stop flexing your fingers and trying to stick them in my mouth. Say, you don’t have anything to write with, do you?”

Chue offered her parchment and a writing instrument. She didn’t have a brush, though, just a pen, so it was hard to use. The ink went everywhere as Maomao tried to write with the ungainly instrument. In the bouncing carriage, her handwriting looked almost as unsteady as her stomach.

“What’s that?” Chue asked, peeking over her shoulder.

“Here. I made a note of the mushroom I think was in that soup, along with the quantity of alcohol. This is what kind of effect I’ve observed at various time intervals from ingesting it. I’m thinking I’ll continue to make new entries every thirty minutes. So please give me the rest of the mushrooms.”

You had to be sure to repeat the important things.

“You seem to be having a lot of fun for someone who looks so pale, Miss Maomao.”

“Yeah, you almost make me think of Sir Lahan,” Lihaku said. What a strange person to think of. A dark expression overtook Maomao’s pallid face, and she felt herself get a little less drunk.

“Please don’t mention such untoward names. Wait... Do you know him, Master Lihaku?”

Maomao considered the matter. Even if Lihaku and Lahan knew each other, she had a way of not remembering things that didn’t personally interest her.

“Well, I am—I mean, not directly, but you know—I do technically serve under that old fart. I have to go to his office sometimes, and we’ve bumped into each other now and again. Besides, he’s very...distinctive. You don’t forget him.”

“Huh.” Maomao, profoundly not interested, began to clean up her writing utensils.

“Also, before we left for the western capital, he said, ‘Take care of my little sister for me,’ and gave me some snacks.”

“He’s a complete stranger.”

“Oh. Right. I almost forgot.”

Lihaku might not be much for quips, but he was easy to work with.

“So, getting back to the mushrooms, the question is why a winery would even have mushrooms that make you super drunk, right?”

“Yes, but the mushrooms weren’t the only ingredients. There were a lot of things in that soup.” Maomao cocked her head. “Do mushrooms even grow in the western capital?” They tended to prefer warm, moist environments. The dry air of the western region didn’t seem very congenial to them.

“I think you could grow them, but probably not a lot of them,” Chue said.

Maomao agreed. She pictured the mushrooms that had been in the soup. The drunkenness-inducing mushrooms Maomao was familiar with were often found in pine forests—she doubted they could be found among the grassy plains of I-sei Province.

“I wonder if that means they came with the shipment from the central region,” said Chue.

“Hmm... I guess that’s what it would work out to?” Maomao made a thoughtful sound. It was too neat to be coincidence. It seemed distinctly like someone had deliberately included those mushrooms in order to cause an epidemic of drunkenness at the winery. But what would the motive be?

No point thinking about things I can’t possibly know.

She should pick something else to wrap up first. This ability to change gears without a second thought was one of Maomao’s virtues.

By the time the carriage arrived back at the main house, Maomao was feeling substantially more sober.

Guess I’d better report to Jinshi.

She planned to tell him exactly what had happened, just like she always did. She assumed he would ask for her opinion on who the culprit was, but that was something she simply didn’t know.

Maomao and the others headed to Jinshi’s office as usual, but when they got there, they found only Suiren.

“Isn’t Master Jinshi here?” Maomao asked. It was just her, Suiren, Chue, and Lihaku in the room, and she used the name “Jinshi” without really thinking about it.

“I would expect to see him back any time now. He was called away to deal with the matter of Master Gyoku-ou’s inheritance.”

“But that doesn’t involve Master Jinshi at all, does it?”

“They wanted a third party to be present. When he heard they were planning to summon Master Lakan, he realized he had better volunteer.” Suiren sighed.

“Why would they choose him, of all people? Master Rikuson would be better suited to the task.” Maomao was openly exasperated.

“I’m afraid I can’t say for certain, but it seems they didn’t want someone with a long history in the western capital to get in the middle of it.” Just then, they heard footsteps from the hall. “Oh, I think he’s back.”

Jinshi entered the room and took them in at a glance. “Maomao, you’re here?” he asked. Gaoshun and Basen, father and son, came in behind him.

“I came to report to you about the winery, sir,” Maomao said with a bow.

“Good. We can get right into it.” Jinshi loosened his collar and sat on the couch. Suiren set about making tea.

Maomao, meanwhile, told Jinshi what had happened on her excursion.

“In other words, someone deliberately put the poisonous mushrooms in the soup?” Jinshi asked.

“I think it’s very likely. It’s worth remembering that the mushroom isn’t poisonous if you don’t drink alcohol with it. And there haven’t really been any places to get a decent drink in the western capital for the last several months, so to me, the fact that the mushrooms turned up at the winery looks premeditated.”

“Premeditated? Do you think it was a deliberate attempt at homicide?”

“Unfortunately, sir, it’s not that kind of poison. It can make you awfully drunk, but it won’t kill you.”

Jinshi sipped his tea. Maomao had been offered some as well, but somehow this didn’t seem like the time to sit down, and she had remained standing. Chue and Lihaku were standing as well, so as long as Jinshi didn’t command her to be seated, she wouldn’t. Honestly, though, she wished she could—she was still feeling a touch woozy.

“What was it, then? Someone’s idea of a prank?” Jinshi asked.

“If so, it’s the kind of prank a wild fox spirit would pull. We wouldn’t want one of those running around.”

“You’re right. I’ll start by seeing who distributed the relief provisions.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Jinshi also happened to give her a sit down gesture, so at last Maomao was able to do so. She was done giving her report, but now he appeared to want something else. Normally that would be for her to examine his scar, but today he seemed to have something different in mind.

Maomao glanced around again and found that Lihaku had stationed himself in the adjoining room, perhaps assuming that they would be talking for a while. Chue wasn’t there either; maybe Suiren had foisted some minor chore on her.

“I was summoned to deal with a matter involving Master Gyoku-ou,” Jinshi said.

“It seems to have dragged on, sir.”

“Indeed. Master Gyoku-ou’s children were raised in distinctly different ways, as you can tell from observing his grandchildren.”

It was obvious, for example, from the relationship between the little shit Gyokujun and Xiaohong.

“Do the second and third sons want you to increase their share of the inheritance?” Maomao asked.

“Interestingly, no. They wanted me to convince the oldest son to accept his share, which he’s been refusing.”

Now Maomao really tilted her head. The movement felt a little abrupt—maybe there was still some alcohol in her system. “Sir? I’m afraid I don’t follow. The eldest son is saying he doesn’t want the inheritance?”

She thought of Shikyou hauling the decapitated head of a deer around in a bag. Incidentally, she’d had the deer’s brains stewed and then brined in vinegar. It tasted decent enough.

“He says he’s giving it all up.”

“Even granted that Master Gyokuen is still alive, I have to think Master Gyoku-ou’s inheritance comes to a substantial amount.”

“That’s exactly why he says he doesn’t want it. I’d heard he was something of a clod, but this...”

Clod—there was a word you didn’t hear every day. Maomao thought it was sort of like being a blockhead.

“He should just take whatever is coming to him,” she said.

“There are some things a person may not wish to receive.” Jinshi sounded oddly...sympathetic to the man’s situation.

Ah...

Maomao recalled that she was currently talking to someone else with his own unique way of thinking. He wanted to extricate himself from certain entanglements of his own.

“So the eldest son doesn’t want the inheritance. The eldest daughter does, but isn’t able to do the job that comes along with it. The second son wants the oldest to receive the inheritance, as Sir Gyoku-ou stipulated while he was alive; the third son thinks everything would be easiest if the second son would inherit.”

That pretty much covered the complete spectrum of possible opinions. No wonder they hadn’t been able to come to an agreement.

“The job that comes along with the inheritance—does that mean the inheritor would have to take over the western capital?”

“Yes, that’s it. It doesn’t help that the family doesn’t think well of the eldest son. Dahai tried to intercede, but the discussions went nowhere.”

Dahai—Maomao seemed to remember that was Gyokuen’s third son.

“It sounds very complicated, sir.” She was trying to make Jinshi feel better, but personally she didn’t want any part of this. She would listen politely about the inheritance, offer a few noncommittal comments, and gracefully make her exit when the moment was right.

“Hold on... You’re just making noncommittal comments to get out of talking about this, aren’t you?”

“Perish the thought, sir.”

Jinshi was getting better at reading the subtleties of Maomao’s expression.

“Your pallor is uncommonly good today too.”

“Oh, you think so?”

She’d vomited up most of the alcohol, but she still had a pleasant buzz, and that didn’t escape him.

Maomao knew she would be in for another lecture if Jinshi found out she’d been “experimenting” again, so she decided to change the subject. “Sir, I heard Master Gyoku-ou’s wife was his personal aide. Shouldn’t she be a part of these discussions?”

Women might not have many rights, but surely a man’s wife should have some say?

“Sir Gyoku-ou’s wife dislikes any kind of attention. She just sat there the entire time, offering no input whatsoever.”

I might have guessed.

That would match what Maomao had heard from Chue. Linese men loved quiet, demure women, but in this situation it meant there was no one to take this matter in hand.

“It seems there’s a specific reason why she prefers to shun the spotlight,” Jinshi said.

“Yes, Miss Chue mentioned it to me.” This would be the story of her being in a foreign country for several years.

“I see. For her, even being seen by her own family is too much, and I was told that she had determined to say nothing at all about the matter of the inheritance.”

“Not even to her own family?”

She hadn’t looked quite that misanthropic, Maomao thought.

“So you’ve heard that this woman was originally the daughter of a prosperous merchant family in the central region, and that she began helping with business once she came to the western capital to get married.”

“Er... More or less.” This was the first Maomao was hearing of the woman’s birthplace, but it would explain why she had the facial features of someone from the central region.

“She was in a shipwreck, her fate unknown, until several years later she miraculously returned to the western capital. The situation was beyond her control, of course, but that didn’t stop some people from spreading unsavory rumors about the woman who had left her home for years on end.”

“Ahh. Yes, I understand.”

A woman, alone in a foreign land? A beautiful woman, at that? Of course there would be uncouth speculation as to how she had survived.

The wife’s life so far could easily fill a book.

“I’m sure she underwent a great deal. It was after those experiences that she began to avoid being seen in public. I think it’s even possible that Sir Gyoku-ou’s hatred of foreigners has something to do with what happened to his wife.”

Maomao nodded earnestly, but privately she hoped she could grab a break soon. Her stomach had been emptied of all its other contents along with the alcohol, and she wanted to put some food in it.

“All right, well, I think it’s about time for me to go,” she said. She stood up and made to leave the room, but promptly tripped.

“Hey.” Jinshi was keeping her on her feet with a firm grip on her wrist. “What’s gotten into you? You don’t seem very steady.”

“Oh, gee, do I?” Maomao was starting to sound a little tipsy.

“I thought I might ask you to examine my scar while you were here, but I think something’s up.” He looked at her, suspicious.

“Oh, sir. It’s your imagination! And that scar doesn’t need me to examine it anymore.”

“I need you to see your responsibility through to the end. What if the wound begins to fester?”

“It won’t do that! I don’t even examine the scar on that little girl’s belly anymore, and she’s much younger and smaller than you, Master Jinshi!”

“Well, she’s her and I’m me.”

Without quite meaning to, Maomao gave Jinshi a bit of a scowl. His face actually lit up, as if to say Yeah, that’s the stuff!

“If you’ll excuse me, sir,” Maomao said—but her attempt to make a decisive exit was stymied by a particularly embarrassing noise from her stomach. It had, we reiterate, lost all its former possessions along with the alcohol and was now completely empty.

As if specifically designed to torment Maomao and her yearning stomach, a wonderful smell drifted into the room.

“Curious about dinner?” Jinshi asked with a grin when he saw her face.

“I can’t say I’m not curious.”

“No? Oh, Suiren, what’s being served today?” Jinshi called into the next room.

Jinshi’s social station was such that normally, he would have been served practically more than one person could eat. The fact that he could even ask what was being served implied that these days, even the Emperor’s younger brother was given only enough dinner to actually finish.

He’s being frugal.

Suiren appeared with a tray, smiling. “Tonight we have steamed chicken with cold vegetables and Dongpo pork,” she said.

Okay, not exactly frugal.

Maomao swallowed hard to keep herself from drooling.

“Would you like some?” Jinshi asked.

It only took her a second to reply, “If you’re offering, sir!” She felt very sorry for the quack back at the medical office, but meat would always get the better of her. She was a little worried that Taomei or someone might look askance at her dining with Jinshi—their social statuses were just too far apart—but so it went. Suiren tucked the pork between some slices of bread and brought it over. What was Maomao supposed to do?

At the very least she asked, “Are you sure it’s all right for me to eat the same food as the Moon Prince?”

“Oh, I don’t see why not. If you’re worried, we could always say you were checking it for poison.”

So she had Suiren’s permission. There was even a chair set out so Maomao could eat.

“All right!” Maomao clenched her fist—but she couldn’t help noticing that something about the meal was different from usual. “Excuse me?” she asked Suiren carefully.

“Yes? Is everything all right?”

“Isn’t the Moon Prince usually served some wine before his meals?”

It was a roundabout way of asking where the hell her drink was.

“Oh, Miss Maomao, you mustn’t! Remind me who it was who was vomiting her guts out just a few minutes ago?” Chue said. How very unnecessary of her.

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Jinshi asked.

“Oh, just Miss Maomao’s bad habit.”

Then Chue described to Jinshi, in detail, precisely what Maomao had worked so hard not to be too specific about.

“And that’s the story!” she concluded.

“Hmm, indeed,” said Jinshi, who had listened attentively the entire time. Then he gave Maomao an overpowering glare.

Curse you, Miss Chue!

Needless to say, no wine was forthcoming.