The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 13 - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Jinshi and the Report

The thick rug in which Jinshi’s knees were currently buried was stitched with a dragon, and the pillars to either side of him were carved with images of the same. The rug was flanked by high officials, all of them looking at Jinshi and the other returnees from the western capital.

Jinshi was bowing his head humbly.

“Raise your head.”

Jinshi did so, and saw something he had not seen in quite a while: the Emperor seated on his throne.

“You must be tired from such a long journey. Are you in good health?” the Emperor asked.

“I thank you for your kind concern,” Jinshi replied. Strictly speaking, he should have presented himself to His Majesty immediately upon returning from the western capital, but the Emperor had intervened to put the meeting off to the next day—that is, now. The exact timing of the meeting, after noon, was not a reward for a job well done so much as, one suspected, an act of consideration toward another of those there to make his report.

Lakan was diagonally behind Jinshi and looking sleepy. No one but he could be so unrefined as to yawn during an Imperial audience.

“Zuigetsu, have you lost weight?” the Emperor asked. He was the one man in the country who could use Jinshi’s true name. Other people referred to Jinshi as the Moon Prince—a usage that had developed largely in contrast to the Emperor himself, who during his heirship had been known as the Sun Prince or the Noon Prince.

“Not too much,” Jinshi replied. He wouldn’t deny it: He had lost some five kilograms, but there was no need to give the exact number. Jinshi was less concerned about his own weight than about the streaks of white that had appeared in the Emperor’s facial hair. The fact that he didn’t dye them or try to hide them suggested he had said not to do anything. Jinshi thought he felt a throb from the burn on his flank, which should have healed long ago.

An Imperial ruler had a great many jobs to do and a great many things to worry about. No doubt what Jinshi had done just before leaving for the western capital was something His Majesty worried about very much indeed. The thought that several of those new white hairs might be his fault left Jinshi with a clinging sense of guilt, but he still didn’t regret it.

Beside the Emperor stood his most important advisors. It was going on ten years since the Emperor’s accession, and there had been much change among them. Where Shishou had once been, Gyokuen now stood.

Jinshi focused and began his report. “Ka Zuigetsu humbly presents himself to the Imperial presence,” he said. As the Emperor was the only one who could call him by his real name, he was also the only one with whom Jinshi could use his real name.

Jinshi had already submitted a written report to His Majesty; now he went over only the broad strokes of his year in I-sei Province. He stole the occasional glance at Gyokuen—the man’s expression never changed, though he must have felt something about the death of his son.

“You’ve labored mightily, I see.” It was the Emperor’s voice, calm and quiet as Jinshi had always known it. Before, when he had made reports, Jinshi had often found himself summoned by His Majesty in the evening. They would drink wine, enjoy some snacks, and Jinshi could go into much greater detail about what had happened. He wondered if such an invitation would come tonight as well.

His plan this afternoon was to give the briefest of accounts, then make his exit before Lakan did anything. In spite of how much had happened over the last year, it could be boiled down to a few brusque lines and recited quickly enough. That would be all, and then they could get out of—

“Ah, yes, Zuigetsu, that reminds me,” the Emperor said when Jinshi had finished his report. “Perhaps you would visit the rear palace with me? It’s been so long.”

That was some invitation! A buzz broke out among the courtiers. It was well known that under the name Jinshi, the Moon Prince had once served in the rear palace himself, but there was a tacit understanding that it was not spoken of publicly. Jinshi felt as if the Emperor were playing some sort of prank on him.

The most appropriate thing for Jinshi to say at this moment was probably “Surely you jest, Your Majesty,” but having posed as a eunuch for some seven years, he found it hard to answer.

“S—”

“I’m only joking,” the Emperor said. “You must still be tired. You should spend the remainder of this day resting as well as you can.”

On the one hand, Jinshi was relieved; on the other, he was reminded that the Emperor was still someone around whom he couldn’t let down his guard.

A few other people made reports after that, and then the audience was over. At least Lakan had managed not to fall asleep during the proceedings, but the moment the end of the audience was announced, he sprang up and raced out of the throne room.

Jinshi walked into the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief. Basen and several bodyguards followed him. Baryou had been present at the audience as well, but on the verge of passing out from being surrounded by so many people, so Jinshi had sent him straight back to his room.

“I’m to rest, am I?” Now that he had properly greeted the Emperor, Jinshi would have to also pay his respects to his mother the Empress Dowager, as well as the heir apparent and Empress Gyokuyou. After that, perhaps he could rest. He might even rest well, as the Emperor said. He’d managed to get through all his paperwork on the voyage home, so he could kick back for the next few days.

“Will you return to your room, Moon Prince?” Basen asked.

“After I’ve greeted the Empress Dowager and the Empress. Er... If I could ask you to carry a summons?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Perhaps you could call Maomao for me?” Jinshi said, slightly embarrassed. Lakan was long out of sight, and he was at least confident that the strategist wouldn’t overhear him.

If Jinshi wasn’t mistaken, Maomao had some affection for him. Otherwise, she would never have given him that kiss—or so he wished to believe. And believing wasn’t necessarily easy, after she’d spent so many years dodging him.

On the ship, with Lakan nearby and so many eyes around, there hadn’t been any chance to progress their relationship. Now that they were back home, though, surely it wouldn’t be so bad to try to deepen their friendship a bit?

“You mean...the girl?” Basen asked with a puzzled tilt of his head.

“What? Is there a problem with that?”

Basen was not always the most perceptive of men, and Jinshi could understand why he hesitated to bring Maomao into Jinshi’s presence. However, he was going to have to get used to it.

“No, sir, but the medical staff are back to work today, so I thought she might be as well. Would you like me to call her right away?”

Jinshi almost gasped.

“Moon Prince? What is it? Why do you look so...shocked and doubtful?”

“Nothing, it’s just... I didn’t expect you to say something so on point.”

That made Basen frown. “My father cautioned me you might call Maomao before he went.”

Basen’s father, Gaoshun, had gone back to serving the Emperor personally. Jinshi nodded vigorously: It made sense. If this was coming from Gaoshun, then he wasn’t just worried about Maomao—there might be something else at work.

“Shall I call her, sir?”

“No... You know what, forget about it.”

Yes, yes of course: The Emperor himself had told Jinshi to rest, which was why he could take today off, but the others didn’t have such luxury. It crossed his mind to call her when she got off work, then, but perhaps summoning her on the very first day she went back to her job wasn’t the best idea. He was her superior, so she wouldn’t—couldn’t—say no, but he could just imagine the glare she would give him, as if to say What do you want when I’m so tired? That prospect held a certain appeal in its own right, but Jinshi quailed at putting his own desires front and center like that. He couldn’t allow himself to forget that he was a person of status.

“Hmmm. All right, could you call Maamei, then?”

“My sister? I don’t think that should be a problem.”

Basen’s older sister Maamei had remained in the royal capital. She was a canny woman; she would be able to fill Jinshi in on what had happened while he was away.

The Empress Dowager hardly seemed to have changed in the year since Jinshi had seen her last—but she seemed surprised by the change in him.

“You’ve lost so much weight,” she said.

“A great deal happened, you see...”

Funny, how she said the same thing as His Majesty. Did Jinshi look so haggard?

“Will you be visiting Empress Gyokuyou’s residence after this?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’d like to pay my respects to the prince and princess.”

His visit to the Empress Dowager was a brief one. She was his mother, but ever since he had entered the rear palace as a eunuch, she had become more distant. He felt like he should talk to her more, but somehow, he couldn’t do it.

There was a great deal Jinshi had done in secret from the Empress Dowager, and he often wondered if he should divulge all of it to her, or if he should take those secrets to the grave.

His next visit was to the Empress’s palace. Gyokuyou had quite a few more servants than she’d had in the past—more bodyguards, of course, but also more ladies-in-waiting and nursemaids.

Jinshi was met by Gyokuyou’s head lady-in-waiting, Hongniang, along with several other women who had long been in the Empress’s service.

“It’s been quite some time—Hongniang, Yinghua, Guiyuan, Ailan,” Jinshi said.

“Lady Gyokuyou awaits within,” said Hongniang, guiding him soberly inside. The other three ladies were squealing, if not quite as much as they had before.

“Here you are.” Hongniang showed him to a reception chamber, where he found the Empress along with a girl of some five or six years old. It was Princess Lingli, bigger than he remembered her, but the moment she saw Jinshi, she hid behind her mother.

“Princess?” he asked.

“My, what’s the matter? Don’t you remember your uncle?” Gyokuyou said.

Lingli only watched Jinshi studiously and refused to get any closer. To think, he’d once held her in his arms!

“Maybe she’s shy with strangers,” Gyokuyou said.

“Strangers?”

Why, Jinshi had known the princess since she’d been born. Back in the rear palace, he’d checked in on her at least once every few days.

It was Hongniang who drove the point home: “It’s been a whole year. You can’t blame a child for forgetting.”

The young prince had long since learned to walk, and now he toddled about, followed closely by several nursemaids making sure he didn’t trip and fall.

“Just paying your respects today?” the Empress asked.

“I thought we might discuss the western capital—if briefly.”

Gyokuyou raised a hand, and Hongniang bustled the prince and princess out the door. Only the minimum of staff were left in the room.

“About Sir Gyoku-ou...”

Gyoku-ou was Gyokuyou’s older brother, and he had been murdered. True, they were only half-siblings, but Gyokuyou must have had complicated feelings.

“I’ve heard the story. I’m told that my brother’s eldest son will succeed him.”

“That’s right. Sir Shikyou.”

Shikyou was Gyoku-ou’s oldest son, making him a nephew to Gyokuyou, albeit one older than her.

“He can be a soft touch at times, but he’ll be all right.”

“Were you close?”

“After my father told me I was to enter the rear palace, I spent some time at the main house being educated for the part. He may look just like Gyoku-ou, but he’s completely different. Once he stands at the top, I think the foundation will naturally form beneath him.”

Empress Gyokuyou’s words were as good as saying that Gyoku-ou had not been fit to lead.

“What have you heard about the relationship between me and my brother Gyoku-ou?”

Jinshi paused. “That it was not a very good one.”

“Mm. Well, for the record, I want you to know that I had no hand in this.” She was quite firm.

“Nor I, ma’am,” said Jinshi. They naturally fell into the way they had talked in the rear palace: She spoke casually, he politely. Perhaps it was because the ladies and guards left in the room were all holdovers from those days.

“I suppose not. What is the western capital to the Imperial younger brother, anyway? A rural outpost. Let’s be frank—a modest country town. Why should he bother himself with killing its leader?”

“And yet, there have been no end of rumors that I did just that.”

“Hee hee hee! How can you convince these rumormongers that no one has less interest in power than you?” Gyokuyou laughed, but her words contained some sarcasm directed at Jinshi as well. She was one of the very few who knew of the peony brand that marked his flesh.

“Indeed. As I have said, Empress Gyokuyou, your enemy I shall never be,” Jinshi said, deliberately using the same words he had spoken when he’d branded his own flank.

“And may I trust that claim?”

“You may.”

“My enemy you may not be, Moon Prince, but I’m not so sure about others around us.”

“I’m aware, milady.”

Gyokuyou was Li’s Empress, the Emperor’s only official wife. Yet there were more than a few people who looked askance at her red hair and green eyes, so unlike those of the average Linese. And the prince had inherited his mother’s traits.

Members of Li’s Imperial family had commonly married close relatives, and there were those among the Emperor’s advisers who felt he should have married not Gyokuyou, but Consort Lihua, who hailed from a branch of the Imperial line. Lihua herself, though, was content to do as the Emperor wished. So long as Empress Gyokuyou and her family did not turn to violence, she would never dream of a coup d’état.

And so it was to Jinshi that those seeking another candidate for the throne turned. Indeed, for the more than ten years before His Majesty had borne a son, Jinshi had been the heir apparent. In particular, one suspected the clan of Anshi, the Empress Dowager and Jinshi’s mother, had a special interest in seeing him become the next emperor.

“I have no desire to sit where none may stand beside me,” Jinshi affirmed. No one was allowed to sit beside the emperor on his throne, not even the empress—who was still his subject, not his equal.

“No, indeed.” A slight smile crossed Gyokuyou’s face. Before Jinshi could discern what it might mean, she rose from her chair and went over to the window. She opened it and looked outside.

Jinshi turned and looked too. In the courtyard garden, a girl with brightly colored hair was holding what appeared to be an imitation tea ceremony.

“My older brother’s daughter—that would make her my niece,” Gyokuyou said. “She told me that she wishes to enter my service as a lady-in-waiting rather than go into the rear palace, so I’m having her train as an apprentice, as you see.”

Empress Gyokuyou had always known how to wield both iron and silk. In the rear palace, the other consorts had scorned her because her homeland was so distant, but Gyokuyou had continued to build up the people around her. In less generous terms, one might say she was adept at beguiling other women. That strength was no small part of why Jinshi had recommended her for promotion to High Consort when he’d been a “eunuch.”

“If she’s not going to enter the rear palace, she could indeed become your consort, Moon Prince... Hee hee! Don’t let her see your face, or she might have a change of heart and decide she prefers the Imperial younger brother.”

“You jest, milady.”

Though he brushed off her comment, Jinshi had attracted plenty of folks—men and women, young and old alike—in his time, so he was genuinely sweating.

“As you have made your resolution, Moon Prince, so I shall make mine.”

“I’ve done many things for which I think I must beg your forgiveness.”

“Beg forgiveness? Not from me, you mustn’t,” she said, raising her voice slightly. “Don’t forget, there’s another whom you’ve troubled far more than me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It was all Jinshi could say.

Did she mean Maomao, or His Majesty? Or both?

They were the only others who had been present when he had done what he had done.

When Jinshi got back to his own residence, Suiren was cleaning—not just tidying up, but going over the place from top to bottom.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Suiren, but aren’t you tired from traveling? You can relax.”

Moreover, his home looked like it had been kept quite neat in his absence. To clean it still further—wasn’t that the sort of thing a “demon mother-in-law,” as the world called them, would do?

“Relax? Don’t be silly, young master.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“It’s the least you deserve to be called, soft as you are! Look at this—I gave the place the slightest once-over, and see how much I found!” She cheerfully displayed some suspicious charms, several dolls, and a ball made of human hair, among other things. Jinshi was lost for words. “You may forget, young master, but you never know what they’ll do when you take your eyes off them for a minute—young ladies in love, I mean!”

He had begun to forget, after a year in the western capital—this had been an everyday thing for Jinshi.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

“I also found a pair of underpants with human hair sewn into them—a real classic. You want to wear them?”

“Throw them out!”

“As you command.” Suiren pitched the underwear into the trash bin without a hint of mercy or remorse.

The charms and dolls weren’t necessarily all for love—some might have been intended purely to curse Jinshi. He had no intention of following up on each of the tchotchkes individually, though, nor of losing sleep over anyone so cowardly that they could only attack him in this most indirect of ways.

Then again, it was only because Jinshi was so thoroughly convinced that spells and curses were just superstition that he could act that way. Now, whose influence could that have been?

“Is Maamei here?” Jinshi asked.

“Yes, she is. I have her cleaning one of the other rooms.”

Maamei was a formidable woman in her own right, but apparently even she couldn’t best Suiren.

Jinshi found her in the living room, throwing an eerie-looking doll in the trash just as Suiren had been doing.

“It’s been quite a while, Moon Prince. Don’t worry—I’ll make sure the refuse is burned later.”

Maamei looked like her mother Taomei, whom Jinshi had seen so much of in the western capital, only half as old. Her father was Gaoshun, but his contribution was hard to spot.

“Pardon my abruptness, but could you tell me what’s been happening in the last year?” Jinshi asked.

“Of course,” she replied. “Let me begin with things that affect you personally, Moon Prince.”

Maamei didn’t stop cleaning as she spoke. She said that Gyoku-ou’s daughter would soon become Empress Gyokuyou’s lady-in-waiting, as Jinshi had already heard. Moreover, people were beginning to urge that something be done about a consort for Jinshi himself. To top it all off, the faction that supported Lihua’s son for the heirship could be seen beginning to act, trying to establish their chosen candidate.

“And then there’s...” Maamei said, but then she stopped.

“What?”

“Well, it’s merely a rumor...”

“Tell me anyway.” Jinshi sat in a chair and sipped some tea Suiren had brought—when had she done that?

“The Imperial family currently suffers from a dearth of male heirs. His Majesty has only his two infant sons, and you are unmarried. So there are those who...let us say they seek to make contact with this male-challenged royal family.”

“I suppose that’s not so surprising. I do recall the sovereign before last had a much younger half-brother.”

That would make him the former emperor’s uncle. Jinshi had heard that he’d fled his home while the empress regnant had wielded power, lest he incur her wrath.

“That’s right. And he has a son.”

A son from the male line—meaning he could make a claim on the throne.

“You think he’s plotting treachery?” Jinshi asked.

“No; his attitude remains as it always has been—he has no interest in politics. However, the rumor is that there’s another male member of the Imperial line.”

“Another male?” Jinshi cocked his head. “Of what generation?”

“Three generations back, perhaps. There was someone who was a member of the Imperial family, but ran afoul of the reigning emperor.”

“Hm?”

“He was stripped of his imperial status and executed, but before that, he had a child with a commoner woman. Or so the story goes.”

By Li’s laws, a child born to one with imperial status could be accorded imperial status. Even if his mother was a commoner, if the child had proof of imperial paternity, they could be granted a place in the succession. Most such claimants turned out to be pretenders—and even those who weren’t, one suspected, largely found themselves ignored based on whatever was most convenient for the court’s advisors.

“That story would hardly pass for a fairy tale,” said Jinshi.

“I agree, sir—it’s drivel. But as the tale is out and about, I thought I should tell you.”

This was what passed for a joke with Maamei. Such stories abounded. There was even a courtesan who used the royal character Ka in her name on the claim that she was an illegitimate child of an imperial sire. It seemed ridiculous—but then, there was always the case of Maomao herself, so the possibility couldn’t be dismissed entirely.

“I have more to tell. What would you like to do?” Maamei asked.

“I’m getting hungry. Could I eat while I listen?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Maamei had found another item in the meantime, a cushion embroidered with hair. She threw it in the trash. Jinshi was starting to think it would be quicker just to get a new palace, but then he pictured Maomao chastising him for the waste of money, and decided to keep the suggestion to himself.