Apothecary Diaries

Maomao was carrying a basket of clean laundry when a eunuch stopped her and ordered her to report to the office of the Matron of the Serving Women. Inside the ornate building near the main gate, ten or so other serving girls were already waiting, buzzing with anxiety, anticipation, and a strange sort of excitement.

What could she want with me? Whatever is going on, it involves more than just me. They must need more hands for some chore or other.

The eunuch surveyed the assembled girls before dismissing the others and ushering Maomao alone into the adjoining chamber. Inside, she noticed that the serving women gathered there were all staring in one direction. Sitting unobtrusively in the corner, near the middle-aged Matron and another, rather haughty-looking woman, was a figure with broad shoulders, silk-fine hair held back by a scarf, and almond-shaped eyes beneath willow-branch eyebrows.

He's a man? What a waste.

The gorgeous eunuch surveyed the female servants with a smile as soft and gentle as a heavenly nymph, turning even the middle-aged Matron's cheeks pink. His beauty was so extraordinary that Maomao briefly wondered whether even the Emperor might find himself captivated by it.

With a flowing motion, the beautiful man stood, walked over to a desk, and took up a brush. Moving his hand and arm with effortless elegance, he wrote a short line on a sheet of paper and displayed his work to the room with an ambrosial smile.

Maomao froze.

You there, with the freckles. You stay here.

The man's eyes locked onto Maomao's reaction, and he turned the full force of his radiant smile upon her before rolling up the paper and clapping his hands twice.

“We're done here for today. You may all go back to your rooms.”

With disappointed glances over their shoulders, the other girls filed out of the chamber. Only then did Maomao realize that every single one of them was petite and heavily freckled, just like herself, and not one of them had reacted to the message.

The message wasn't for me alone. He picked out the freckled girls to see which of us could read. And the others couldn't.

Keeping her gaze fixed on the floor, Maomao moved to slip out the door with the rest of the crowd, only to feel a firm hand land squarely on her shoulder. Slowly, with a chill creeping up her spine, she turned around to face the blinding smile of the nymph-like eunuch.

“Now, now, mustn't do that,” Jinshi said softly. “I want you to stay behind.”

That smile was altogether too bright, too confident, and far too accustomed to getting its way. Maomao had the sinking feeling that pretending not to understand him would accomplish absolutely nothing.

A bowl of boiled potato and grain porridge crashed across the floor of the Crystal Pavilion, soaking Maomao's skirt alongside spilled tea and crushed fruit.

“You would dare serve this tripe to Lady Lihua? Make it again, and do it right this time!” a heavily made-up lady-in-waiting snapped, flanked by the mocking, hostile stares of her fellow attendants.

Ugh, what a pain.

Maomao sighed and knelt to gather the scattered dishes. The Emperor himself had ordered her to look after Consort Lihua, which meant that if the consort died, Maomao's head would likely part company with her shoulders. Yet every time she tried to examine the patient, a phalanx of ladies-in-waiting blocked the canopied bed, slapping whitening powder onto the sleeping consort's face until she coughed and chasing Maomao out as a noxious worm.

No question in my mind. At this rate, she'll keep wasting away until she dies.

Leaning against the corridor wall, Maomao was counting the days left in her life when a chorus of coquettish voices echoed down the hall. She raised her head slowly to find Jinshi beaming down at her like the sun.

“You look troubled,” he said.

“Do I?” Maomao replied tonelessly, half-closing her eyes and giving him the look she usually reserved for a piece of garbage. “What is with that girl?”

“Shall we go inside?” Jinshi murmured into her ear in his honeyed voice, pushing her through the doors before she could protest. Facing the room's self-appointed guardians, he offered a dazzling smile. “Surely you agree it's unbecoming for lovely, talented young ladies to make a hash of the Emperor's good offices.”

The women bit their lips and backed away from the bed one by one. Given a gentle shove forward by Jinshi, Maomao approached the consort and took her pale, veined hand. When she touched a finger to Lihua's cheek to examine her eye, she felt a slick, slippery texture coating the bloodless skin.

It hasn't changed? The face powder was banned, so why is it still here?

Maomao turned and walked straight up to the attendant who had been making up the consort. “You. Are you the one who does the lady's makeup?” she asked in a deliberately soft, restrained voice.

“I certainly am. It's a lady-in-waiting's duty, you know,” the girl said, sniffing defiantly. “We want Consort Lihua to be as beautiful as she can, always.”

“Is that right?”

A sharp crack echoed through the room as Maomao slapped her across the face as hard as she could. While the other women gasped in shock, Maomao grabbed the stumbling girl by the hair, dragged her to the makeup stand, and seized a carved jar of forbidden white powder. Opening the lid, she smeared its contents across the attendant's face, sending clouds of powder into the air until the girl began coughing and her eyes filled with tears.

“There! Now you can be as beautiful as your lady. Lucky you!” Maomao snarled, yanking the coughing girl's hair to force her tear-filled eyes up. “You can have poison in your pores, in your mouth, in your nose, in every part of your body. You can wither away just like your beloved Lady Lihua!”

“No... I don't believe you...” the girl whimpered.

“You don't understand why this stuff was forbidden, do you?! It's poison!”

Bitter winter wind swept through the central gardens, rattling the curtains of the open-air pavilions and chilling every dish before it reached the banquet tables. Seated among the military officials, Lihaku watched the consorts' food tasters tremble over their silver drinking vessels, their faces pale as they forced each sip to their lips.

Today, however, the petite attendant serving the Precious Consort looked downright eager.

If I had to go, I think I'd like it to be by blowfish toxin. The organs mixed into a nice soup...

Maomao caught the attendant serving the appetizer staring at her demented grin and quickly slapped her own cheeks to restore her neutral expression. After tasting the vinegared dish of raw fish and vegetables, she noticed that Consort Gyokuyou had been served jellyfish instead of the usual black carp. Across the banquet, the Virtuous Consort, Lishu, was struggling with a piece of that very fish.

They got the dishes mixed up. Or someone switched them.

The next course arrived. Maomao accepted the bowl of warm soup, lifted a spoonful, examined the liquid critically, and touched a few drops to her tongue.

All at once, her eyes widened. A flush bloomed across her cheeks, her eyes watered, and her lips curved upward into a rapturous, intoxicating smile. Lihaku swallowed hard, mesmerized by how a plain serving girl had transformed into an enchanting creature right before his eyes. Her smile was like ripe fruit, like that of an accomplished courtesan savoring something exquisite. Then she pulled a handkerchief from her pouch, pressed it to her lips, and spat out the mouthful.

“This is poisoned,” Maomao stated with the flat urgency of a bureaucrat delivering a mundane report, vanishing behind the ladies' curtain as the banquet erupted into chaos.

Minutes later, far from the uproar, Maomao finished rinsing her mouth with clean water and stared vacantly into the middle distance.

There's a good chance I'd be starting to feel a tingle by now. I shouldn't have spit it out.

“A very energetic food taster you are,” a familiar voice said.

Jinshi approached her from the walkway, his collar slightly askew and his usual honeyed smile replaced by genuine agitation. He seized her by the arm.

“Good day to you, Master Jinshi,” Maomao said, her cheeks still slightly relaxed from the toxin.

“I daresay it's you who's having a good day. I'm taking you to see the doctor. It would be absurd for you to consume poison and simply walk away.”

“May I ask if it's still feasible to claim some of the leftover soup?”

“What are you, stupid?!” Jinshi demanded, scandalized.

“I would prefer to say I'm always eager to improve myself.”

“Let me tell you something. You walked out of there looking so spry that one person actually ate the damn soup wondering if there was really poison in there!”

“Who would be that stupid?”

“A minister is feeling numbness. The place is in an uproar!”

Ah, so the future of the nation is potentially at stake.

Maomao reached beneath her clothing and withdrew a little pouch containing an emetic she had prepared the night before.

“I wish I'd known. We could have used this,” she said, displaying the medicine with considerably more interest than she had shown in the minister's predicament. “I made it so strong it'd make you cough up your stomach.”