The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 13 - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Lahan and Sanfan

They could see a crowd at the port. Everyone had come to greet the great ships that now sat in the harbor. The Emperor’s younger brother was returning from the western capital after almost a year away—no wonder everyone wanted to be there.

Lahan was one of those who had come to greet the Imperial younger brother, and now he observed the ships from his carriage.

“Master Lahan, may I park the carriage here?” came a polite voice. It was Sanfan—that is, “Number Three.” She was a young woman Lahan’s age, but she wore men’s clothing and kept her hair neatly trimmed. If one didn’t know better, she probably would have looked like a particularly handsome young man.

As to why her name was a number, that was because Lahan’s adoptive father Lakan couldn’t remember names. Sanfan was the third person he’d taken under his wing because he could see potential in her, so she was simply called “Number Three.”

Sanfan was in fact the daughter of a merchant family, but after she had run from her parents’ chosen marriage match in disgust, she’d come to Lakan and given him the hard sell on her skills. Normally he would have turned her away on the spot, but she had commercial knowledge as befitted the daughter of a merchant, and so he took her in.

Currently, Lahan and Sanfan were busy working their side hustles to repay Lakan’s debts. Sanfan wore men’s clothings in part to prevent people from underestimating her just because she was a woman—and in part as a reaction to her parents’ attempt to force an unwanted match on her.

“Hmmm... Park right near the port, if you would. If you mention my honored father’s name, they’ll let us through.”

“Very well.”

Lahan took out a golden plaque inscribed with the character La. Ordinarily, such a thing belonged with the head of the clan, but if they gave it to Lakan, he would only lose it, so Lahan kept it on his behalf. Under any other circumstances, that would have been unthinkable, but with Lakan the unthinkable was par for the course.

Some people joked that with that plaque, Lahan could make a bid for control of the clan anytime he wished—but Lahan knew better than anyone that if he made a play for the family headship, it was he who would be crushed. Besides, he had no interest in taking over. He was the one working himself to the bone to pay off Lakan’s debts; he was as filial as they came.

“Incidentally, were there no other drivers available?” Lahan asked. Sanfan was holding the reins herself; that meant talking through the small window to the driver’s bench, which wasn’t entirely conducive to conversation.

“Hmm? Ah, no, not really. Hiring a driver would have cost money, and I had time to kill anyway. Waste not, want not, no?”

“I suppose. Yet when I’m with Yifan and Erfan, there’s always a driver.” Somehow it was only when he made a request of Sanfan that no drivers were available and she came instead.

“Oh?” She seemed intent on playing dumb. Lahan decided to let it pass.

Sanfan parked the carriage and got down off the driver’s bench. Lahan got out as well, leaving the carriage in the care of one of the bodyguards who had accompanied him.

The passengers were just disembarking from the ship, and finding Lakan was a simple task. The direction where all the shouting and swooning was coming from was where the Imperial younger brother was, whereas the strangely deserted, quiet part of the dock was where Lakan could be found. Nobody who knew Lakan’s reputation would get too close to him if they didn’t need to.

“Excuse me, thank you, let me through, please,” Lahan said, working his way toward Lakan. The old guy stood on the far side of a wall of people, looking beaten. In fact, the crowd had formed a perfectly circular buffer around him; it was rather funny. Lakan’s aide Onsou was leading him along.

Lakan was not one for moving vehicles. A carriage he could survive, but a ship was too much for him. Lahan himself was badly prone to seasickness, and moments like this reminded him that the two of them were truly connected by blood.

“Sir Lahan!” Onsou said when he noticed him. He looked even more tired than the last time Lahan had seen him; his year’s service in the western capital must have been trying.

“I’ve come to meet my father,” Lahan said. “It doesn’t look like he’s going to be much good to anyone for a while, so I’d like to take him home, if you have no objection.”

In principle, Lakan was a high official, and should probably have put in an appearance at his office to report after his return to the royal capital.

“None at all, sir, if you would be so kind. I’ll inform the Moon Prince for you.” Onsou looked positively relieved. “I think he’ll agree that this was the easiest way.”

“I think he might.” Lahan had one of the bodyguards carry his pale-faced father to the carriage. “Now,” he muttered to himself, “am I going to ride in the same carriage as my honored father?”

If he were honest, he wasn’t eager to be in there, where the air would be perfumed with the smell of stomach juices and other filth. Instead, once Lakan had been safely pitched into the carriage, Lahan climbed up on the driver’s bench.

“M-Master Lahan?” Sanfan said.

“I realize it’s a bit tight up here, but we’ll survive. I’m afraid that if I ride back there with my father I might be sick to my stomach, myself.”

Much as he felt bad for Sanfan, Lahan couldn’t ride a horse by himself, and he didn’t have the stamina to walk all the way home. By process of elimination, that left sitting on the driver’s bench beside Sanfan.

“Sigh! I would have liked to pay my respects to the Moon Prince, but so it goes. Next time.”

Even if he forced his way into the crowd, he would inevitably be lost among the adoring throng. Lahan knew that he was just a plain-looking man, undistinguished in appearance and not even especially tall. In order to get people’s attention, someone like him needed the proper stage to demonstrate his abilities, as well as information that the other person would be interested in. One needed more than just a fancy outfit; one could not simply overdress. Without anything to back it up, that would only make one look comical.

No, this was just like investing: Never let a good opportunity slip through your fingers, that was the key. The Moon Prince was a discerning man, not easily fooled. Lahan could not abide someone who was beautiful on the outside but not the inside—and from that perspective, the Moon Prince seemed to have been crafted by heaven itself specifically to meet Lahan’s ideal.

“A whole year... I wonder if Maomao’s at least got one in the oven,” he mumbled. His younger sister occurred to him almost as an afterthought. Much as he might have liked to speak with her immediately, he would have to do something about the cargo in his carriage first.

“Master Lahan, shall I contact Lady Maomao?” Sanfan asked.

“Would you?”

“I’ll ask her to stop by the mansion.”

“I wonder if she will.”

“I’ll write that you wish to speak with her about the matter of her friends—although she might ignore you even then.”

Lahan thought about it for a second, then said, “Very well, thank you. Please do.”

Sanfan frequently wrote letters on Lahan’s behalf, at least when they were straightforward enough. Maomao didn’t know Sanfan, but Sanfan knew about Maomao. The acquaintance only went one way.

“I will. We need Lady Maomao to come collect them as soon as she may,” Sanfan said, oddly subdued.

As to who “they” were, the answer was apparent the moment the carriage arrived back at the mansion. Standing by the weird Shogi-piece-shaped object outside were two women.

“Master Lahan!” said the taller, slimmer one, approaching the carriage. Her name was Yao, and although she was still only seventeen, she was taller than Lahan. Behind her, looking on with a proper glower on her face, was En’en. These were the friends of Maomao to whom Sanfan had alluded. Lahan had allowed them to stay at the mansion once in order to have a favor he could call in with Maomao, but it had been his mistake—because for some reason, the two of them had never left.

“How was Maomao?” Yao asked, and her face was so perfect that even when worried, she looked positively lovely. However, that was all. Lahan heard alarm bells going off in his head: He knew he couldn’t get any closer to Yao.

“I only went to bring my honored father back. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to collect my little sister. I believe I told you that when I left, didn’t I?” Lahan replied—from a safe distance. The closer he got to Yao, the more frightening her servant En’en’s face became.

“Oh...” Yao said, letting her hair droop over her ears and looking dejected. For some reason, En’en was still glaring at Lahan. She seemed to think it was his fault that Yao was upset. What the hell was he supposed to do?

“Is there anything else you want? If we stand out here talking, we’ll only keep the master of the house waiting forever,” Sanfan said, her eyes narrowed. Her tone was distinctly prickly.

“No, there’s not. You must pardon me.” Yao narrowed her eyes right back, while En’en gave the most brittle of smiles.

“Further, I believe the agreement was that you would stay here until Lady Maomao returned, out of your concern for her, yes? I’ll arrange porters for you, so see that you pack your luggage,” Sanfan said, and her smile was open and easy. “Since Lady Maomao has indeed safely come home, you must no longer have the slightest bit of interest in this household.”

He couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but Lahan’s sixth sense was telling him that he was standing in the middle of a battlefield.

“Hmm, yes,” Yao said, thinking about something. “Could you perchance give us a few days? We’ve stayed here for so long, putting our bags together will be a time-consuming project.”

“Heavens, and here I assumed your oh-so-capable lady-in-waiting would have everything ready like that. You know, I thought I heard that a relative of yours had gone to the western capital as well. Wouldn’t you normally prioritize greeting them over Lady Maomao?”

“You heard right, but my uncle is going to stay in the western capital for the time being. The situation has his household in such a tizzy that there’s no place for me there.”

What was going on here? Their exchange sounded so polite, and yet Lahan could see sparks between Yao and Sanfan. Not to mention En’en, who continued to glare at him.

In any case, Lahan found himself with one goal in mind: to get out of there as fast as he could. He hopped down from the driver’s bench and called one of the nearby servants. “Is a bedroom ready for my father? Make some congee, something easy on the stomach, and get some sweets—but nothing too fatty. Some fruit might be a good idea. Make sure the fruit juice is nice and cold.”

“Yes, sir,” the servant responded.

“All right. I’m going to go take care of the rest of my work.”

Lahan trotted briskly away from the scene, trying not to look like he was fleeing.