The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 14 - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: A Gong Resounds in the Heart

One must not try to account for the freak strategist in one’s calculations.

A wise saying indeed, but by the time the lesson was learned, it was too late. Lahan, white as a sheet, seemed to have even more tousle to his hair than usual.

As far as Maomao was concerned, he had brought it on himself, and she sympathized with the Shin and U clans for having had their emotional reunion so abruptly shattered.

“Why did you kick me?” the strategist asked, uncomprehending. Erfan, and Erfan alone, was tending to him, patting him on his be-kicked side. A man more than forty years old having to be comforted like a child. Pathetic.

In any case...

The one silver lining was that things had somehow worked out with the statue.

“We were going to have to think about whether to do just that,” the Shin mistress had said, rescuing them. Ultimately they decided to change out the gemstone and modify the dragon to have three claws.

As a modest measure of apology, Lahan agreed to introduce them to a craftsman he knew—someone very skilled and very tight-lipped, someone who could be trusted.

“Ha ha ha. Well then, let us talk of things to come,” Lahan said. He wanted the Shin and U to be in his debt. He wanted to have connections that he could use to bring them business propositions.

“I’m afraid we must be getting back to the banquet,” said the Shin mistress.

“Ah, yes, and I,” said the U patriarch.

“Indeed. We have other houses we must speak to as well,” said the mistress. Both of them were cold and formal, and even their servants seemed to be keeping a polite distance.

Maomao glanced to the side.

“Aren’t there any snacks?” the freak strategist begged, rubbing his belly.

“Master Lakan, please be patient just a little longer,” Erfan said to him.

Lahan wilted, his glasses clouding over.

“Hey,” Maomao said, giving him a nudge. “Didn’t you say they were going to be in your debt by the end of these negotiations?”

If the Shin didn’t owe Lahan anything, then there would be no fixing Yao’s problem.

“I know! Believe me, I know...” Lahan was practically tearing his hair out. Not a beautiful thing to do at all, but he seemed to be reaching the end of his rope.

This is no good.

Maomao pondered what to do for a moment, then decided to go back to the banquet.

When she returned to the banquet hall, she found the La table in quite a bit of commotion. Lahan’s Brother, with Yao and En’en standing behind him, was arguing with a man she didn’t recognize.

“I told you, I have business with Yao. Not with you,” the man was saying.

“Watch your tone! My name is—”

“Yao! You must come meet my family!” the man said, shoving past Lahan’s Brother and trying to take Yao’s hand. The two remaining bodyguards glared at him, but the man wasn’t intimidated.

An instant after she saw what was going on, Maomao realized who the man must be.

So that’s Mister Love Letters.

It was true that he didn’t seem like someone with a sharp sense of how to read other people. She didn’t want to get anywhere near him.

“What exactly are you doing?” Lahan asked, intervening. He probably would rather have stayed out of it, but he’d at least worked himself up enough to say something.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the man replied. Lahan’s arrival had only added to the number of not-very-threatening-looking men there, and Mister Love Letters barely gave him the time of day.

You know what would help right now?

Their bug repellent, the freak strategist. But he was nowhere to be found. Instead he was waylaying the servants carrying plates of food and relieving their trays of any fruit. Erfan could do nothing but watch helplessly.

This is hopeless.

Maomao was just trying to decide what to do when help appeared.

“What are you doing?” demanded a clear, carrying voice. It was the Shin mistress.

“Great Aunt! It’s been such a long time,” Mister Love Letters said, bowing his head. Great Aunt? So he wasn’t her direct descendant, but must be from some branch of the Shin clan.

“Spare me the pleasantries. First you arrive late, and now you appear to be arguing about something. What, pray tell, is it?”

He was late? Maomao thought. More fool her to have let her guard down when Yao had said earlier that Mister Love Letters wasn’t there.

“I wasn’t late, I promise. I was just speaking with like-minded friends!”

A likely story—and in Maomao’s experience, the kind of person who could say that sort of thing without a trace of embarrassment was usually best avoided.

“More importantly, my dear great aunt, there’s a girl I’d like you to meet. This one, right here.” With his eyes sparkling, Mister Love Letters introduced Yao to the mistress. “Her name is Yao, and although she doesn’t come from one of the named clans, she’s Vice Minister Lu’s niece. A family more than fit to furnish a bride for our clan, don’t you think?”

The scary part was that Mister Love Letters said all this without a hint of doubt or hesitation. The aide and the grandson, who had accompanied the mistress, looked away. They might be family, but they knew perfectly well that Mister Love Letters was not comporting himself with common decency.

“And does this young lady agree to this match?” the mistress asked—looking not at her great nephew, but at Yao.

“This young man speaks only for himself. I have no interest in getting married yet,” Yao said firmly. Most well-bred young ladies would have cowered and demurred at a moment like that; Yao’s ability to say exactly what she was thinking was both a strength and a weakness.

“It doesn’t matter what she thinks. If the families are a good match for each other, then it’s a discussion between parents. That’s how it works with women, isn’t it?” Mister Love Letters said.

Yao scowled at that, and En’en looked like she might pull a concealed weapon out of her robe. Mister Love Letters had turned out to be exactly the kind of man Yao hated most.

However, most marriages in Li worked just the way he said. Commoners might be one thing, but Yao, a young lady from a good family, could generally expect to have her opinion in such matters ignored.

Even at that, though, Mister Love Letters’s logic didn’t quite hold.

He specifically tried to get at her when her parents weren’t around!

“I’ve heard about you. I heard that you tried to talk to this young lady precisely when her guardian, her uncle, wasn’t here. That’s a dirty trick no matter how you slice it.”

Thankfully for Maomao, Lahan’s Brother voiced her thoughts exactly. He’d probably been shielding Yao and En’en this entire time. Lahan might have simply foisted the job on him, but he would see it through to the end. His inherent human decency was showing.

“She has a mother, doesn’t she?” Mister Love Letters snapped.

“A mother? Seeing as you aren’t interested in a woman’s opinions, I don’t think I can imagine you showing the least respect to a prospect’s mother,” Lahan’s Brother replied.

Yes! You tell him!

Maomao didn’t want to get involved, so she stood at a safe distance and only cheered privately.

“Outsiders should keep quiet,” said Mister Love Letters. Lahan’s Brother might be in the right, but this conversation was obviously going in circles.

“It seems to me like this proposal has hardly gotten off the ground,” the mistress said, openly annoyed. “If you want to introduce this young lady to me, do things in the proper order. Without the agreement of both families, there can be no marriage.”

Perhaps Mister Love Letters was known as an uncouth fellow even among the Shin, for even his family members regarded him with disdain.

“But Yao’s father has already passed. From the perspective of her and her mother, what possible reason could they have for being dissatisfied with her becoming my wife?”

Maomao felt the bile rise in her throat at the young man’s unabashed willingness to be self-contradictory. Even Lahan, whose face made it clear he didn’t want to be involved with Yao, looked at the young man contemptuously.

He’s probably thinking that this guy goes about things in an un-beautiful way. Lahan cherished his own convictions, and was merciless toward those who didn’t adhere to them.

Then Lahan laughed: “Heh heh heh heh heh!”

“What’s so funny?!” Mister Love Letters demanded.

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking, that’s just what a loser of a man would say.”

“What did you call me?!” Mister Love Letters snarled. That was understandable, but for some reason Lahan’s Brother looked equally peeved. Lahan seemed to have upset someone who wasn’t even involved.

The guards were at Lahan’s side in an instant, but he held up a hand. “You keep going on about family and heritage. Indeed, the Shin clan is a most storied household even among the named clans, hardly to be compared with a family of such slight history as the La. However...” Lahan somehow seemed to look down on Mister Love Letters despite being shorter than him. “I myself am still hardly more than a servant, run ragged by every department at court. Your household being what it is, and you having such bursting confidence as to demand Vice Minister Lu’s niece as your bride, your name must be known far and wide. But if I may most respectfully beg your pardon, my own knowledge falls short. Might I humbly request your name?”

Yikes! He’s laying it on pretty thick.

Lahan was a sharp man. He would remember the name of anyone he could do business with, even if they were from some other department.

“This guy talks a lot about being in a named family, but he himself doesn’t seem to have received a name. Not that I’m one to talk,” Lahan’s Brother said. Then, seemingly wounded by his own comment, he pressed his hand to his forehead.

Mister Love Letters went red in the face and rounded on Lahan’s Brother. “Wh-What did you say?! You’re making fun of me because of a name?!”

He’s more upset about not having the family name than he is about being called a loser.

Mister Love Letters changed targets completely from Lahan to Lahan’s Brother.

“Do you know who I am?!”

Well, no. That’s sort of what we were saying.

Mister Love Letters clenched his fist and made to take a swing at Lahan’s Brother, but the guards got between them. It was reassuring to know they could be counted on to do their jobs.

“That is quite enough!” the mistress said, her voice clear and firm.

“But they’ve shamed me!”

“They’ve only told the truth!” the mistress replied, merciless. It was obvious what she meant: He was the one shaming their family, and it was time to stop.

“What’s going on over here?” asked a familiar voice. Maomao turned to find the Ma siblings, Basen and Maamei.

Our little corner is packed with colorful characters now, huh?

Maomao quietly took a bite of some of the food on the table. Lahan likewise sat down and started munching away. It didn’t seem to bother him that Mister Love Letters had turned his anger on his brother. What a stand-up guy.

“Does there seem to be some sort of disagreement?” asked Maamei. She acted intent on playing the kindhearted third party, but her eyes were those of a predator that had spotted prey.

Makes me think of Empress Gyokuyou. The Empress’s eyes sparkled with curiosity whenever there was any sort of incident, case, or escapade afoot. There was no topic she enjoyed more than someone else’s arguments.

Since Mister Love Letters had seen that even the mistress was no ally of his, he seemed intent on bringing the newcomers around. “This man here has cast shame on me. The Ma are a martial clan. You must understand what has to happen now, yes?”

Evidently this man had a nodding acquaintance with Basen. Maomao wouldn’t have gone so far as to call them friends, since Basen obviously didn’t think like this guy did. Probably colleagues and nothing more.

“Yes. A duel,” Basen said, utterly serious.

“A... A duel?!” cried Yao. “Isn’t that hopelessly barbaric?” She looked from Lahan’s Brother to Basen.

“If both parties have witnesses, then it’s legal. There’s even a practice field right nearby,” he said. Always a muscle brain at moments like this.

Yet again Lahan’s Brother found himself drawn into the strangest of happenstances, but both Lahan and Basen looked calm. Maomao decided to remain an observer for the time being.

When Basen brought up the duel, Mister Love Letters finally started to smile. In fact, he was practically triumphant. “A duel! Yes, that will settle things. Anyway, you make fun of me, but who are you? You sit at the La table like you belong here, but I’ve certainly never seen you before.”

Well, of course he hadn’t. Lahan’s Brother was usually out in some farming village planting potatoes. He didn’t serve at court.

Yao stepped forward protectively. “This man has nothing to do with this. He’s just a simple farmer!”

That’s, uh, going to backfire in this case.

Maomao’s rejoinder remained entirely in her head; her mouth was full of meat skewer. She was savoring perfectly seasoned, tender meat.

“A farmer? A yeoman?” Mister Love Letters’s smile got even bigger. “So you’re a farmer! Who knows what you’re doing at this table? I guess it only goes to show that the La really are a collection of true eccentrics.”

“Now, that’s not very nice. He does grow excellent potatoes,” Maomao said before she could stop herself.

The mistress seemed so exasperated that she hardly knew what to say, so her aide stepped forward instead. “Don’t be ridiculous! You are the reason you haven’t been given the name, and until you understand that, don’t think for a second that you’ll ever inherit!”

“Urk...” Mister Love Letters looked stricken. Just for a moment, Maomao thought it might all just stop right there—but then Lahan’s Brother stepped forward.

“Hold on a minute,” he said.

“Yes? What?” the aide asked.

“This man has shamed me. How can I hold my head up if I simply walk away now?”

“If that’s how you feel, then allow me to apologize on his behalf.” The aide knew how to behave himself. He was about to bow, but Lahan’s Brother shook his head.

“This man is the one who mocked me. There’s no call for you to apologize. How about we settle this, here and now? If he beats me, the La clan will refrain from saying anything further about his marriage. But if I win, he’s to give up on Miss Yao on the spot.”

“I like it! There’s a real man for you!” said Mister Love Letters, grinning again.

The aide glanced at the mistress as if to ask what they should do. Maomao, still munching on a meat skewer, looked around at everyone there. Yao was beside herself, and En’en looked nervous as well, although she was focused entirely on Yao. The mistress and her grandson both looked deeply unimpressed. Lahan seemed as calm as anything, and Basen looked on as if none of this affected him. And then there was Maamei, who, like Maomao, was taking stock of the situation.

Mister Love Letters looked like he felt he was being thoroughly mocked now that he knew Lahan’s Brother was a farmer. The real surprise was Lahan’s Brother himself, who had his shoulders back and was raring for a fight.

“I’ll put a stop to this immediately,” the mistress offered, but Lahan declined.

“No, don’t worry about them,” he said. “He seems to be something of a handful even for the Shin clan, and whether he wins or loses here, it’s actually no skin off the nose of the La.”

People said the La was a collection of freaks and eccentrics. Whatever they did, people would just think that they were at it again.

Wonder how this one’s going to turn out, Maomao thought.

Meanwhile, the freak strategist was snoring away in a corner of the banquet hall.

What a useless old fart.

Wasn’t there a proverb in some country somewhere that said that fires and fights were as good as fireworks? Sure enough, it was hardly surprising when a crowd of spectators showed up.

Understandably, the scene moved from the banquet hall to the courtyard, where there was a plaza that could pass for a dueling ground. The spectators surrounded it on all sides.

“I sure didn’t expect this. It’s the Shin and the La this time, huh?” someone said.

“The La seem to produce folks with a lot of different talents. Maybe that guy is a born warrior?”

Maomao could hear everything they said. And whereas the younger crowd bustled excitedly, the older folks watched with detachment. A scuffle between families wasn’t particularly unusual.

Maybe that’s why they have a dueling ground here, Maomao thought. It made sense enough.

“What will you do for a weapon, Lahan’s Brother?” she asked him. “Something about the length of a hoe?”

“Why a hoe?!”

“The contest is to be conducted with wooden swords or sticks,” said Lahan, walking up carrying just those things. “Blades are forbidden.”

“The ends will be wrapped in cloth, right?” En’en asked.

“Yes,” Lahan told her. “These people are the future hope of their clans...as far as it goes. We can’t have anyone dying on us. Getting killed in a duel leaves you just as dead as getting killed anywhere else.”

“Are you going to be all right? Do you have any instruction in the sword?” Yao asked.

“I have plenty of experience of being whacked with one. My grandpa used to beat me silly with his sword. He said we were dueling, but it was really his way of meting out punishment.”

Maomao pictured Lahan’s Brother’s grandfather—she’d met him once. He’d had the freak strategist confined out of anger that the other man had taken the family headship from him. Frankly, he was not a very nice old man.

“Grandfather dearest had some measure of renown for his swordsmanship, but he wasn’t a very good teacher,” said Lahan. He spread his hands and sighed, as if they held some old memories that had come back to him. If there was anyone who did not look like a swordsman, it was Lahan.

“Truer words were never spoken. Well, that’s life,” said Lahan’s Brother. “Hey, tell me what the rules are. I assume we can’t go for the eyes or, you know, the family jewels.”

“The rules are that the fight is over when your opponent is incapacitated, or calls a halt, or when one of you lets go of your weapon. And no, you can’t go for the eyes, or...you know.”

“So even if he scores a hit on me I can keep going as long as I’m still standing?”

“You can, but I think it’s more typical to stop just short of actually injuring the other guy, so long as you show him that you’re the stronger one. You realize it hurts to get hit?” Lahan hardly sounded like this fight involved a member of his own family.

“What if you lose?” Maomao asked.

“What if I do? We never actually had anything to do with this to begin with.” Lahan’s Brother sounded cool as a cucumber, and his pronouncement was clearly audible to Yao and En’en.

He turned to them. “Miss Yao, Miss En’en. I don’t know either of you very well—but I don’t like the way that guy talks, and I think he’s wrong. That’s why I’m having myself a little duel here. It’s just my own stubbornness. I don’t intend to lose, of course, but you can see I’m no master swordsman. I’m not even a soldier. I just need you to understand that much.”

“We understand,” said Yao, fidgeting. She seemed uncharacteristically, well, girlish.

“I’m impressed you took him up on this duel, Brother, considering you’ve never been in one before. Aren’t you scared?” Lahan asked, and Maomao nodded.

“Listen here. I’ve faced starving mobs, been held up by highwaymen, and attacked by bandits. This can’t be any worse, can it? They wanted to kill me, while he can’t under the rules. It’s a real load off!”

Maomao reflected that if Lahan’s Brother turned his adventures in the western capital into a book, it would probably be a bestseller.

“But still, young ladies. If I do lose this fight, it’s nothing to weep about. Basen’s here—and the Ma clan would never let a guy get away with this behavior. Even if we can’t protect you, go to Basen and I’m sure he will.”

“What makes you think that?” En’en asked.

“Oh, I had a bit of a correspondence with his older brother. I haven’t talked with Basen too much, but as you can see, he doesn’t like things that aren’t aboveboard. Besides, there are a lot of powerful women in the Ma clan. A family like that must value women highly.”

Lahan’s Brother had been in the western capital. It was frankly shocking that he’d gotten along so well with Baryou, but maybe they’d bonded over talking about their younger brothers.

“He’s right. As long as the Ma are here, our failure won’t amount to anything. And I’ll say a few words in the ear of the Shin mistress, just for good measure,” said Lahan.

“Huh! And here I thought you weren’t about to get involved,” Maomao said, mocking Lahan for no good reason.

“Doing what you’ve been asked to do is part of what it means to be a grown-up.”

“A grown-up. Sure...” Maomao looked to the freak strategist. She was sure he’d been asleep just a few minutes ago, but somehow he now had a prime seat by the courtyard that would serve as the dueling ground.

“Maomao!” he called. “Come over here and let’s watch together!”

Erfan had been obliged to bring out a table and chairs. It turned out it wasn’t just the freak’s direct subordinates like Onsou and Rikuson who had to babysit him.

“There you have it. You don’t have to get too upset over whether I win or not. In fact, don’t pay it any mind at all.” Lahan’s Brother took up a wooden staff roughly the length of a hoe and turned to the plaza.

Maomao and the others sat in the chairs Erfan had brought out. The Ma clan would be serving as referee—a thirty-something man Maomao didn’t recognize stood poised to judge the match. Maamei waved at him.

Basen and several other men formed a circle around Lahan’s Brother and Mister Love Letters, ready to intervene if anything happened.

Lahan’s Brother stood with his stick at the ready, while Mister Love Letters held a wooden sword.

“The Shin are usually versed in swordsmanship, you see,” Lahan said, nibbling on some fruit. Maomao grabbed a cherry, herself.

“It looks like Lahan’s Brother’s weapon has the advantage in reach,” Yao said, studying the pair of them.

“It’s starting,” Maomao said.

The referee raised a hand. Lahan’s Brother dropped into a fighting stance as best he knew how; he did a passable impression. Mister Love Letters, meanwhile, took a firm, assured posture, as befitted a soldier and the son of a military household.

“Begin!”

The moment the referee’s hand dropped, Mister Love Letters made his move, lunging forward. Lahan’s Brother’s wooden staff met Mister Love Letters’s wooden sword; Lahan’s Brother let the staff tilt to one side so that the sword would slide off it, and fell back.

Maomao didn’t know much about sword fighting and all that, but it looked to her like Lahan’s Brother was being overwhelmed. He kept falling back, working his way around the circle.

“Is he okay?” Yao asked Lahan, worried.

“Search me. I’m not the man you want to go to about the martial arts.” He hardly sounded invested in the matter—although it was true: It was a mistake to ask Lahan about anything military.

“You’re just asking the wrong way, Yao. Hey, round-glasses, what numbers do you see?” Maomao demanded.

“Consider this an amateur’s opinion, but I can’t help thinking that my brother is surprisingly suited for the martial arts. I see no wasted numbers. Meanwhile, his opponent’s movements are very precise. A true son of a military family—he’s at least had the basics pounded into him.”

“In other words, Lahan’s Brother is going to lose.”

“Maomao!” Yao cried. “Don’t say that. It’s bad luck.”

The fact remained, however, that Lahan’s Brother was fighting a purely defensive battle, finding no chance to attack. And if he ever did, then eventually one of Mister Love Letters’s blows was going to land.

“Eek!”

The wooden sword struck Lahan’s Brother in the stomach; he bent double and skidded backward, leaving a streak in the dust but keeping his feet.

“Ha ha ha! Looks like you can lead a farmer to the dueling ground, but he still won’t know how to fight. Go back to your farm and find some dirt to plow,” said Mister Love Letters.

“What’s wrong with being a farmer?” Lahan’s Brother snapped, bringing his stick up again.

“Don’t act tough.”

“Sorry. I make a filthy living.” Lahan’s Brother sounded completely normal; there was no fear or panic in his voice. He talked exactly like he always did.

“Hmm! This is surprisingly interesting,” the freak strategist whispered, snack crumbs cascading from his mouth. Behind his monocle, greasy with fingerprints, his fox-like eyes tracked the two men as they moved.

What followed was much the same as what had gone before: Lahan’s Brother was hard-pressed, and Mister Love Letters did all the attacking.

“What’re you doin’?!” somebody in the crowd shouted.

“He’s just running away!” said someone else.

“Hurry up and finish him!” yelled a third.

There were a lot of young voices among the peanut gallery. From the way Mister Love Letters tossed them a leering grin, Maomao suspected some of them were his friends.

Lahan’s Brother continued his purely defensive maneuvers, refusing to give up his challenge no matter how many times he got hit. Mister Love Letters, meanwhile, pressed the attack relentlessly.

The freak strategist watched it all intently. Lahan, too, was following closely. “I’m starting to think my brother might be more dangerous than he looks,” he commented.

“He might not be dangerous, but he’s encountered plenty of danger in his time,” said Maomao. “But what makes you say that?”

“The numbers of his movements haven’t changed at all throughout the fight, whereas his opponent’s numbers are dropping steadily.”

By that, he probably meant that he didn’t see any fatigue in his brother’s movements, while Mister Love Letters was starting to look tired.

“Now that you mention it, that hideous lout doesn’t seem as excited as he did earlier,” remarked En’en. It wasn’t that Mister Love Letters was actually what you would call ugly—just that to En’en, he must have been as disgusting as the most terrible ghoul.

Then, abruptly, the roles reversed.

Mister Love Letters started to panic, and that, combined with his fatigue, caused the attacks he leveled at Lahan’s Brother to become wilder and wilder. It wasn’t lost on Lahan’s Brother, who sprang forward, thrusting with his staff. As Lahan’s Brother’s weapon buried itself in his opponent’s side, Mister Love Letters bent in half with a sort of choking gasp. Spittle burst from his mouth and he flew through the air.

Okay, maybe not quite flew. But the fact that it felt like he had made clear just how powerful Lahan’s Brother’s blow had been.

Mister Love Letters lay on his side on the ground; he foamed at the mouth but was still conscious.

“Do you want to continue the duel?” the referee called to him.

“I... I’m not b-beaten yet...”

Mister Love Letters hadn’t let go of his weapon, but he coughed furiously, spewing more spit. Maomao had to admit she’d been ever so slightly wrong about him: He had more guts than she’d given him credit for.

“All right, well, let’s keep going then.” Lahan’s Brother took up a farmer-esque fighting stance. It was roughly the same one he might have used to hoe potatoes.

“Listen up, farmer man! Just because you got one hit on me, don’t let it go to your head. I’ll give you twenty blows—thirty—as many as it takes to bring you down!” Mister Love Letters wiped at his mouth.

“Sure. By all means, don’t hold back. I might not be able to withstand a hundred of your blows, but thirty I can take. I think I could probably land at least five more hits on you before that. I’m really glad this isn’t serious.” Lahan’s Brother looked utterly nonchalant.

“Does something about my brother seem strange to you?” Lahan asked Maomao, frowning a little. “I always knew he had a gift for enduring adversity, but his numbers are off the charts. Or rather, the numbers are ordinary—but having ordinary numbers when the situation is anything but ordinary is quite out of the ordinary, now, isn’t it?”

He’d lost Maomao by that point. “Well, Lahan’s Brother has been chased hither and yon by bugs and bandits alike,” she said. Now that she thought about it, she realized that things like what she’d done in the bandit village were just par for the course for Lahan’s Brother. It was incredible that he’d gotten back to the western capital with his life. He was nothing like the pampered son of a noble house. He had far more spirit and guts than a soldier with no actual battle experience.

“Okay, what say we keep going?” Lahan’s Brother said. He wasn’t even breathing hard. The fact that he spent all day working in the fields accounted for his stamina. This was a fearsome kind of ordinary.

Mister Love Letters got to his feet, rubbing his side—but at the prospect of Lahan’s Brother’s sheer ordinariness, he accidentally let his wooden sword slip from his fingers. On his face was an expression that said: Who the hell is this guy?

“That’s the match!” cried the referee.

Mister Love Letters didn’t have it in him to muster any more bravado.

“Brother!” Lahan was in the lead as they all piled over to Lahan’s Brother. Yao had tears in her eyes, and En’en looked apologetic.

“Thank you so much,” Yao said, bowing to him.

I guess this is the “don’t-fight-on-my-account” part, Maomao thought. If this were one of the novels she’d seen in the rear palace, this was when love would blossom.

As far as Maomao was concerned, that would be perfect. Lahan’s Brother was a much more suitable match for Yao than Lahan was. Yao was still young; there would be nothing unusual if her affections transferred from Lahan to some other man.

That would be best for Lahan as well. It would solve his concerns with Yao and introduce Lahan’s Brother to a nice young lady at the same time.

But reality wasn’t so simple.

“Lahan’s Brother, I want to check your injuries. Take off your shirt,” Maomao instructed. He’d been hit enough times; there must at least be some bruising. Maomao approached with some handmade ointment.

“H-Hey, stop that! Don’t try to strip my shirt off!” Lahan’s Brother had one eye on Yao and En’en and was a bit frantic. He must have found it embarrassing to take off his shirt in front of some young ladies. And yet in the western capital, he’d worked the fields in only his work shorts while Maomao was watching. What was the deal with the discrepancy?

“Anyway, I’m just glad I won,” he said. “It wasn’t a band of brigands, so I figured I wasn’t going to die, but it still would have looked pretty silly if I’d lost.”

“It wouldn’t have looked silly at all,” En’en assured him. “Though of course, we are profoundly grateful to you for achieving victory on our behalf.” She bowed her head deeply. En’en was normally quite severe with men, but she was genuinely grateful to Lahan’s Brother.

Seeing as he saved her young mistress from danger and all.

If En’en thought highly of him, that would dramatically improve the chances of things going well between him and Yao—or at any rate, it should have.

“I never dreamed you would do so much for my lady Yao. Truly, thank you...Master Junjie.”

“J... J-J-J...”

Lahan’s Brother was rocked by En’en’s words. They could see his entire face turn red.

Guh? Maomao froze.

“Is something the matter, Master Junjie?” En’en asked.

“N-No, pardon me. Ahem, er, would you say that again?”

“Of course. I’ll thank you as many times as you wish. Thank you very much.”

“No, not that part! The Junjie part!” Lahan’s Brother shouted, still beet red.

Lahan joined Maomao in a slack-jawed stare.

“It’s the name of a young man at your estate, isn’t it?” En’en said. “I know you don’t usually give your name out of consideration for him. I don’t mean to cause any confusion, but it seemed inappropriate to thank a man to whom I owe so much without using his name. Oh—do you not like people to say your name? I can call you Master Lahan’s Brother if you’d prefer.”

“No! No, that’s perfect! I’m not Lahan’s Brother—I’m Junjie!”

Lahan’s Brother was staring squarely at En’en. Wasn’t this supposed to be the part where he was staring at Yao? The flag had been tripped, but it was for the wrong person.

“You have the same first and last names,” Yao said; she appeared to be hearing his name for the first time. She somehow managed to restrain the tears that threatened to spill down her face—and the flag that had been waving in front of her and Lahan’s Brother abruptly disappeared.

Instead, a great gong sounded repeatedly within Lahan’s Brother.

Maomao turned vacantly to Lahan. “Is it just me, or did things just get more complicated...again?”

“You certainly have a sharp sense of other people’s love lives,” Lahan replied.

Maomao was no mind reader—but it was clear that at that moment, she and Lahan felt the same way. Their reaction could be summed up easily enough:

En’en, of all people?!