A warm, wrinkled hand was placed on her forehead.
"Are you awake?"
A kind old man's face loomed before her.
A simple but clean room—she had seen it before.
"This place? It's the recuperation facility north of the inner palace. The medical office was too cramped, so they brought you here."
That was exactly what Maomao had been wanting to ask.
The old man—Luomen—took his hand from Maomao's forehead and picked up a small teapot of cooled tea. He brought it to Maomao's lips. Medicine had been dissolved in it—it was a bit bitter.
"Getting into trouble again. Thanks to that, Raohan tried to break into the inner palace three times and caused quite the fuss. Now, now, don't make that face. He was worried about you, that much is certain."
Maomao furrowed her brow and swallowed the medicinal tea.
"Still having trouble speaking? The rash had spread all the way inside your mouth, after all."
He opened Maomao's mouth and peered inside. That was probably why the medicine's bitterness stung so much.
"There's congee, but can you eat by yourself?"
She was starving—how many days had it been since she'd last eaten? She tried to move her body, but it wouldn't cooperate.
The old man saw this, picked up the bowl of congee, and brought the spoon to Maomao's lips.
It was a familiar taste with a light seasoning of salt.
"Rest here for a while. I have other work to attend to."
After feeding her the congee, the old man patted Maomao on the head and hurried off.
(Other work, huh.)
She wondered what sort of work there could be at the medical office, but then she recalled the real reason the old man had come here in the first place. Maomao had asked him to deliver Consort Gyokuyou's baby in her stead.
Judging by the calendar, it could be any day now. He surely didn't have the time to fuss over Maomao at the medical office.
Maomao slowly extended her hand. It was a hideous thing, covered in raised rashes. It would probably take some time to heal.
(I hope the delivery goes smoothly.)
She thought that as long as nothing went wrong and a healthy baby was brought into the world peacefully, that would be enough.
While the old man had been away, the one who had been looking after Maomao was someone who had previously come to her with a consultation— Fukamidori— —was a middle-aged lady-in-waiting. She had a plain, easygoing personality, and even Maomao found her relaxing to be around.
It seemed that since then, some improvements had been made—medicine was now being distributed at the clinic as well. The medicine came with the congee. It appeared to be a sedative of some kind that left the body feeling heavy after taking it.
"Did you put in a word for me? Since then, they've loosened up a bit on the medicine."
Fukamidori, as she changed the sheets on the cot, spoke to Maomao.
Maomao's condition had improved considerably, and she was able to get up and walk around. Considering she had spent several days in a stupor, she couldn't help but think that she really should have limited herself to just one sip of that buckwheat shochu.
"I didn't do anything."
"Is that so?"
After giving the cot a few pats to finish smoothing it out, she jerked her thumb at Maomao—go to sleep.
If she was this efficient, she'd have no trouble finding work even after leaving the rear palace.
Maybe it was the daze from the medicine, but Maomao found herself blurting the words out before she could think.
"Why don't you leave the rear palace?"
It didn't take her long to realize what a foolish question that had been.
Fukamidori's expression stiffened for an instant. It was the look of someone whose mind had flashed to something she didn't want to remember.
"...Even if we wanted to leave, we couldn't. Us women in this clinic—"
She cast a glance at a lady-in-waiting passing through the corridor.
Not just Fukamidori—all the ladies-in-waiting here were middle-aged. Every last one of them had passed a certain age.
"A flower that's been plucked has no choice but to wither where it lies. That's what we've always been told—so how could we possibly leave now?"
It was an unmistakable indication that she had been intimate with the Emperor.
Judging from their ages, it was clear they hadn't served during the current Emperor's reign. They had been intimate with the previous Emperor and had stayed here ever since.
Even with a change of reign, there was nowhere for these women past their prime to go. All they could do was bury their bones in this garden.
"Is that old man from your place not coming today? Must be busy, I imagine."
With that, Fukamidori held out to Maomao the medicine she was to take before sleeping.
She thought she heard the faint tinkling of a bell.
She tried to open her eyes but couldn't quite manage it. Her body felt heavy.
(It's still night.)
She considered just going back to sleep, but the sound of the bell gnawed at her. Besides the bell, she could hear footsteps as well. The sounds were drawing steadily closer to Maomao.
Both sounds stopped right in front of her.
In their place, she heard a small, innocent voice.
"The bug with the tinkling bell—well, the female eats the male in order to give birth."
Maomao managed to pry her eyelids open just a crack. There stood Shisui—no, Consort Roulan—with a vacant expression.
Consort Roulan was holding something like a little booklet. She flipped through it, page by page, and drew out a single sheet of paper.
"The female lays her eggs and then dies, and only the young survive the winter."
Without waiting for Maomao to understand what she was getting at, Consort Roulan folded the paper and gently tucked it into the collar of Maomao's robe. Then she leaned the booklet she'd been holding against a shelf in the room.
"Say, do you think the young ones will make it through the winter safely?"
She slowly stroked Maomao's cheek.
Maomao remained unable to move.
(Why?)
She soon had her answer.
Behind Consort Roulan stood Fukamidori. In her hand she held a cloth.
She lifted Maomao's immobile body, folded the cloth into a wad, and wedged it between Maomao's teeth.
"You can resent me all you want."
She must have slipped a paralytic into Maomao's medicine alongside the sleeping draught. The rash inside her mouth still hadn't healed, and she couldn't taste a thing, so she'd never even noticed.
(That explains it.)
The reason her father hadn't come today must have been that Gyokuyou had gone into labor. That meant all eyes would be on the Verdant Palace, leaving security everywhere else understaffed.
That must have been exactly what they were aiming for.
("You can resent me all you want," huh.)
She didn't fully grasp what the objective was, but she could at least understand the reason she had chosen to act now.
Maomao was stuffed into the crate and carried off without so much as a struggle on her part.
How long had she been jostled around in that rattling motion? Long enough that she was at least grateful she hadn't drunk much water beforehand.
The wind seeping through the gaps in the crate grew colder and colder.
The crate was packed with fur pelts, so she wrapped herself in them.
(Where am I being taken?)
She was being treated like nothing more than cargo, but the inside of the crate was more comfortable than she'd expected. Besides the furs, meat zongzi and a bamboo tube of tea had been placed inside, though unfortunately neither seemed like something she could manage to eat. The zongzi were filled with chicken and jujube dates and looked quite appetizing, but Maomao in her current state didn't have the energy to eat while being jostled around.
Pressing the bamboo tube to her lips just enough to moisten her dry mouth, Maomao considered her situation.
She understood that she had been taken out of the rear palace. No matter how spacious the rear palace might be, she wouldn't have been jostled in a carriage for this long. The clattering sounds and the occasional whinny of horses confirmed that she was definitely riding in a carriage.
How had she been gotten out of the rear palace?
She couldn't quite figure that out.
But if someone told her there had been a hidden passage she didn't know about — one connected to Shinryoku — she would have no choice but to accept it.
(Nothing but things I don't understand.)
It was clearly a kidnapping, but the motive eluded her.
(Did they find out I'm connected to that man?)
As leverage against the person with the monocle, she might not be bad material, but wouldn't a clumsy move on their part invite a fearsome counterattack from that man? His way of thinking was entirely different from anyone else's, so there was no telling what he might do.
Besides, what good would it do to use Maomao as a hostage at this point? Gaoshun, who had come to visit once, had told her they had already captured the key people. They would be completely transparent if they tried to stir up any trouble. If their brazen attitude was simply because they'd already been exposed, she could almost understand it, but how many people among them would actually dare go that far?
(More pressing than that right now is...)
Maomao let out a soft breath.
(Does this mean my life is guaranteed?)
Maomao had no interest in politics. If it were a matter of the state, it would inevitably affect her daily life, but her own safety right now mattered far more.
Given that they had shown at least a minimum of consideration for her well-being, she didn't think there was any danger of being let out of the crate only to be killed immediately.
No, she was wrong.
The crate jolted. It seemed to have been unloaded from a carriage. It must have been placed on a handcart or something, as it now rattled with small, staccato shakes.
"Maomao."
She heard the muffled voice of Consort Loulan from outside the crate.
"Stay quiet for a bit. I'll get you out soon."
That tone of voice was less that of Consort Loulan and more that of Shisui.
She too must have had her own resolve in leaving the inner palace. Consorts were not permitted to leave the inner palace, except for special occasions like garden parties.
The sound of a heavy door opening was accompanied by a sickly sweet smell hitting her nose.
The cart stopped, and the sound of footsteps approached in its place.
The smell grew stronger along with the footsteps.
"It's been a while, Mother."
She heard the voice of Consort Loulan. Not the voice of Shisui. It was a stiff, characterless voice.
"You seem to be in good health."
She heard a voice somewhat lower than Consort Loulan's. Deliberate, heavy footsteps accompanied the rustling of silk. She pictured lavish robes trailing along the floor.
This was, she believed, the woman who had been a high-ranking consort of the previous emperor and was gifted to Koushou.
"What is that cargo?"
The question came without warning, making her heart skip a beat.
Maomao curled up inside the crate.
"Surely you can let me take home a small amount of cargo."
Consort Loulan — well, no need for the title anymore. Loulan said it without the slightest hint of guilt.
"Is that so."
Loulan passed by as if nothing were amiss, and just as Maomao was about to let out a sigh of relief— "—!?"
Something sharp stabbed through the lid of the crate. It looked like a hairpin.
(...)
The tip stopped just short of Maomao's nose. She clenched her teeth desperately, fighting to keep quiet.
"Knowing you, I thought you might have brought a dog or a cat along again, but it seems I was mistaken."
"Mother does hate cats, after all. Besides, I'm not a child anymore."
"I'm glad you've grown up."
Keeping her tone perfectly level, Loulan's mother brushed past without another word, the rustle of her robes fading into the distance.
Maomao could do nothing but hold her breath until the sound of footsteps disappeared entirely.