The Apothecary Diaries: Volume 1

by Natsu Hyuuga

  She really will start selling me this time.

  Maomao said goodbye to Xiaolan, then set off to find a person she would normally have had no interest whatsoever in seeing.

  “How unusual. And breathing so hard,” the gorgeous eunuch said lightly. They were by the main gate of the rear palace, where Maomao had only arrived after visiting the residences of all four of the favored consorts. She struggled to muster a biting riposte, but Jinshi said, “Calm down. You’re bright red.” On the nymph-like face was a shadow of alarm.

  “I—I h-have to... to talk to you,” Maomao managed between gasps. Jinshi almost seemed to smile, and yet, for some reason she couldn’t guess, there was a hint of melancholy in the expression, too.

  “Very well. Let’s speak inside.”

  She felt a little bad for the Matron of the Serving Women, who (for the first time in a while) was forced to wait outside while Maomao and Jinshi used her office. Maomao gave the woman a polite bow as she passed; it seemed she had been terribly busy of late handling Ah-Duo’s departure. By the time Maomao got inside, Jinshi was already sitting in a chair, eyeing a piece of paper on the desk. “I presume you wanted to ask me about the mass dismissal taking place.”

  “Yes, sir. What’s to happen to me?”

  Instead of answering, Jinshi showed her the paper. It was of excellent material—and among the names on it was Maomao’s.

  “So I’m to be let go.”

  What do I do? she thought. She could hardly insist they keep her on. She was all too keenly aware that she was only an ordinary serving woman. She studiously maintained a neutral expression, wary lest her face should seem to show any hint of flattery. The result, though, was that she looked at Jinshi exactly as she always did: as though staring at a caterpillar.

  “What do you want to do?” Jinshi’s voice was devoid of its usual honeyed tone. Indeed, he nearly seemed like a pleading child himself. In fact, he sounded just like he had the night before Consort Ah-Duo left. His face, though, remained frozen, grave.

  “I’m only a servant. At a word, I can be put to menial labor, cooking. Even tasting food for poison.”

  She was only telling the truth. If she was ordered to do something, she would do it, so long as it was within her power, and she liked to think she would do it well. She wouldn’t complain, even if she had to take a bit of a pay cut. If it put some distance between her and having to sell her body, she would do whatever it took to wrangle some new customers.

  So please, just don’t cut me loose...

  Maomao felt she had said, as clearly as she possibly could: Let me stay. But the young man’s expression remained unmoved; he offered only a small exhalation, his eyes flitting away for the barest second.

  “Very well,” he said. “I’ll make sure you receive adequate compensation.” The young man’s voice was cold, and he looked down at the desk so she couldn’t read his expression.

  The negotiations had failed.

  ⭘⬤⭘

  How many days now, Gaoshun wondered with a sigh, had his master been cagey and withdrawn? It wasn’t interfering with his work, but when they got back to his room, he would only sit in a corner brooding, and Gaoshun was frankly getting a little tired of it. Jinshi was casting a cloud over the entire place. The boy with the enchanting smile and the captivating voice was not there.

  Maomao had left the week after receiving official notice of her dismissal. She had never been unduly warm, but she was also never rude, and she had gone from place to place in the rear palace to formally thank all her various acquaintances and benefactors.

  Consort Gyokuyou had been openly opposed to Maomao’s dismissal, but when she heard that the decision came from Jinshi, she didn’t continue to push the matter. She did, though, leave him with a parting shot: “Don’t come crying to me if you find out you wish you hadn’t done this.”

  “Are you certain you shouldn’t have stopped her, sir?”

  “Don’t say a word.”

  Gaoshun crossed his arms, frowning. A memory from the past came back to him. How much strife there had been when the young man lost a favorite toy. How Gaoshun had suffered to give him something newer, and more enticing still!

  Perhaps he shouldn’t think of her as a toy. Perhaps Jinshi had chosen not to stop her as his way of refusing to treat her as an object. What point would it serve, then, to find some other remarkable lady?

  It all portended a great deal of trouble.

  “If no substitute will do, the only recourse is to the original,” Gaoshun murmured, so quietly that Jinshi didn’t hear him. One person in particular flashed through his mind. A military officer well acquainted with the girl’s family. “A great deal of trouble though it is.” The long-suffering Gaoshun scratched the back of his neck.

  Epilogue: The Eunuch and the Courtesan

  “Time to work. Get going.” The old madam hustled Maomao into a rather distinguished-looking carriage. This evening’s job was apparently a banquet for some noble. Maomao could only sigh as they arrived at a large mansion in the north of the capital. She was just one of a number of people accompanying her “sisters” to the banquet. Everyone was dressed in gorgeous clothing and done up with ostentatious makeup. When she contemplated the fact that she was made up to look just like them, Maomao felt oddly queasy.

  Their party was ushered down a long hallway, up a spiral staircase, and into a large room. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, and festive red tassels dangled everywhere. Someone has money to burn, Maomao thought.

  Five people sat in a row in the room. They were younger than she’d expected. Pairin licked her lips when she saw the young men in the flickering lamplight. She was rewarded with a gentle jab in the side from Joka. When she wanted to, Maomao’s sexy “sister” could be very quick about things, enough to make even the madam throw up her hands.

  Wish he’d made these introductions sooner! The men at this banquet were supposedly high officials from the palace; Lihaku had been the go-between. And with him involved, at least a portion of the profits should go to paying off Maomao’s debts. If nothing else, she’d been given a substantial amount of severance pay, more than she’d counted on, so she’d escaped being forced to sell her body, but the madam still put her to odd jobs like this.

  Old hag. The way she clucked when she heard... The old lady really seemed to want to make Maomao a courtesan. She’d been maneuvering toward it for years now. She kept telling Maomao to quit wasting her time with medicine already, but that was never going to happen. What, was she simply going to swap her interest from pharmaceuticals to singing and dancing? Not a chance.

  As Maomao took in the room, she saw that everything was hugely ornate: each bottle of wine and every sitting mat was of the highest quality. Surely they wouldn’t notice if I helped myself to a furnishing as a souvenir, she thought, but then she shook her head. No, no, that wouldn’t do.

  Calling courtesans to one’s private residence was substantially more expensive than holding a banquet at the brothel. All the more so when the courtesans one summoned were women any one of whom could charge a year’s wages in silver for a single evening. To ask all three of the “princesses” of the Verdigris House—Meimei, Pairin, and Joka—to be present at once was as good as to announce that money was no object.

  Maomao was just one of those who had been brought along in support of the night’s three stars. She’d learned to be mannerly, but she couldn’t hold a tune, nor could she play the erhu. And dancing? That was out of the question. The best she could hope to do was to keep a close watch on the guests’ drinks and make sure they never ran dry.

  Maomao forced the muscles of her face into a smile as she began to pour wine into someone’s empty cup. Her only saving grace was that everyone was so enraptured by her sisters’ singing and dancing that they didn’t so much as glance at her. One person had even started a game of Go with a member of the support staff.

  While everyone else laughed, drank, and enjoyed the show, though, she spotted one person look
ing down at the ground. What, bored? Maomao wondered. He was a young man dressed in fine silk; he rested a small cup of wine on one knee, sipping from it occasionally. A gray gloom clung to him. They’re going to think I’m not doing my job, thought Maomao, who had a way of turning serious about anything she happened to be doing. She grabbed a good, full bottle of wine and sat down beside the melancholy young man. His sleek, dark bangs hid much of his face. For the life of her, she couldn’t see his expression.

  “Leave me alone,” he said.

  Maomao was puzzled: his voice was oddly familiar. Her hand moved almost before she could think; any thought of propriety or politeness had vanished from her mind. Careful not to touch the young man’s cheek, she lifted his hair.

  A gorgeous countenance greeted her. Her reserved expression promptly changed to one of total astonishment. “Master Jinshi?” There was no gleaming smile on his face now, no sweet honey in his voice, but still she would have known that eunuch anywhere.

  Jinshi blinked several times in succession, studied her for a second, then said uneasily, “Who... Who’re you?”

  “A question I’m often asked.”

  “Anyone ever tell you you look very different with makeup?”

  “Frequently.”

  The conversation gave her a sense of déjà vu. She let go of his hair and it fell back over his face. Jinshi reached out and tried to take her wrist. “Why are you running?” He looked sullen now.

  “Please don’t touch the entertainment,” she said. It wasn’t her decision—it was the rules. They would have to charge extra.

  “Why the hell do you even look like that?”

  Maomao refused to meet his eyes as she said uncomfortably, “It’s... part-time work.”

  “At a brothel? Wait... Don’t tell me you...”

  Maomao gave Jinshi a glare. So he liked to question people’s chastity, did he? “I don’t take customers myself,” she informed him. “Yet.”

  “Yet...”

  Maomao didn’t elaborate. What could she say? It certainly wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that the madam would finally manage to force a customer on her before she was able to pay off her debt. Although thankfully, under the influence of her father and sisters, it hadn’t happened so far.

  “How about if I bought you?” Jinshi drawled.

  “Huh?” Maomao was about to tell him not to joke when an idea flashed through her mind. “You know, that might not be half bad.”

  Jinshi caught his breath, startled. It was the face of a pigeon spooked by a peashooter. Apparently the lack of sparkle opened the door to a great wealth of expressions. Lovely though the ethereal smile was, it almost didn’t look human. It was nearly enough to convince Maomao that he must have two hun spirits within a single po spirit: two transient yang souls for the single, corporeal yin spirit.

  “It wouldn’t be so bad, to work at the rear palace again,” she said.

  Jinshi’s shoulders slumped. Maomao looked at him, wondering what could be the matter.

  “I thought you quit the rear palace. Because you hated it.”

  “When did I ever say such a thing?” In fact, Maomao was convinced she’d all but begged to stay on in order to pay off her debt, and it had been Jinshi who’d had her fired. The place had its troubles and difficulties, no question, but Consort Gyokuyou’s ladies-in-waiting had been good women. And food taster was an unusual role, not one to which most people could—or would—aspire. “If there’s anything I didn’t like about it,” Maomao said, “I suppose it would be that I wasn’t able to conduct my poison experiments.”

  “You shouldn’t be doing those anyway.” Jinshi rested his chin on his knee in place of his cup. His look of outright exasperation spontaneously slipped into a wry smile. “Heh. I know, I know. It’s who you are.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re a woman of few words? Too few?”

  “Yes,” Maomao replied after a beat. “Often.”

  Jinshi’s smile gradually grew more innocent. This time it was Maomao’s turn to look annoyed. Jinshi reached out again. “I said, why are you running?”

  “It’s the rules, sir.” The information didn’t seem to dissuade Jinshi, whose hand didn’t move. He was staring fixedly at Maomao. She was getting a bad feeling about it.

  “Surely one touch is all right.”

  “No, sir.”

  “There won’t be any less of you afterward.”

  “It takes my energy.”

  “Just one hand. Just a fingertip. Surely that’s all right.”

  Maomao had no answer. He was persistent. She knew him; knew he didn’t give up. Maomao, helpless, closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. “Just a fingertip.”

  The instant the words were out of her mouth, she felt something press against her lips. Her eyelids fluttered open and she saw a daub of her red lip color on Jinshi’s lithe fingertip. He pulled his hand back almost before she realized what had happened. Then, to her amazement, he touched the finger to his own lips.

  That sneaky little...

  When he pulled his fingers away from his mouth, a spot of scarlet was left on his finely-shaped mouth. His face relaxed a little and the smile became even more innocent. A flush entered his cheeks, as if a touch of the lip color had gotten on his face.

  Maomao’s shoulders were shaking, but Jinshi’s smile looked so profoundly youthful, almost childish, that she found she couldn’t rebuke him. Instead she focused on the ground.

  Damn, it’s catching... Maomao’s mouth formed a tight line, and her own cheeks were turning pink. She knew she hadn’t used any rouge. Then she realized she could hear laughter, chuckling men and giggling women, and she discovered everyone was looking at them. Her sisters were grinning openly. Maomao was terrified to imagine what would come next. Suddenly she wanted to be anywhere else.

  Gaoshun appeared veritably out of the blue, his arms crossed as if to say: Finally. That’s one job done. It was all enough to make Maomao’s head spin, and later she hardly recalled the rest of the evening. She never forgot, though, how her sisters hounded her about it afterward.

  ⭘⬤⭘

  Some days later, a gorgeous noble visitor appeared in the capital’s pleasure district. He came with money enough to make even the old madam goggle—and for some reason, an unusual herb grown from an insect. And he wanted one young woman in particular.

  Fin.

  Bonus: Translator’s Notes

  The Apothecary Diaries Diaries

  Vol. 1

  A Question of Taste

  Welcome to the end matter! Your friendly translator Kevin here. We hope you’ve enjoyed this first volume of The Apothecary Diaries.

  I’d like to try to give some insight into what the translation process is like, especially on this particular series. The Apothecary Diaries boasts a number of features that require special attention from the translator, such as its setting and the profusion of words related to medicine, biology, and so on. Part of being a translator is being able to quickly reach a point where you can pass yourself off as sounding at least as competent as the original author when it comes to specialty subjects like this, something the internet has been an absolute boon for in the modern era of translation.

  In the interest of revealing the sorts of places where translators have to make more subtle choices than simply picking up jargon, though, I’d like to focus on a vocabulary item from chapter 25 of this book. That’s the story of Kounen, Jinshi’s acquaintance who dies of salt poisoning. It transpires that, unable to taste salty flavors, he didn’t realize he was drinking heavily salted wine until it was too late.

  In the source text, Kounen is said to have formerly been karatou (辛党) before his tastes changed and he became amatou (甘党). The word amatou is fairly straightforward; the two characters literally mean “sweet faction,” and it’s a noun that describes someone with a sweet tooth. But karatou is a little thornier.

  There are two major issue
s: the meaning of the source vocabulary, and how to render it in English. (Incidentally, these are the two basic issues involved in any attempted translation.) Let’s start with the meaning of the word, because if you don’t understand what something means, you don’t have much chance of translating it. The first character is related to the word karai (辛い), but even this common adjective poses a bit of a riddle by virtue of its semantic range. Semantic range refers to the variety of meanings a word can have, and karai, though often translated as “spicy” or “hot,” can also mean “salty” (sometimes referred to as shio-karai, or “salt-karai”). In the context of wine or alcohol, it can even mean “dry” as opposed to sweet. (There are other situations where karai has a figurative meaning and might be translated as “stern,” “severe,” or “difficult,” but those meanings obviously aren’t involved here, so we can ignore them.)

  Thus it seems karatou means “the karai faction,” but here comes the next wrinkle. As a compound, karatou in the modern language frequently means someone who prefers alcohol to sweet foods (that is, over against being someone of the amatou). Indeed, this has become the dominant meaning. The online J>J dictionary Goo defines karatou as “someone who prefers alcohol over candies and sweets” (my translation), and gives amatou as its antonym.

  The Japanese Wikipedia page for karatou nuances this somewhat. It cites Koujien (a Japanese language dictionary that holds prestige similar to Merriam-Webster in English) as likewise defining the word as meaning “a drinker,” but goes on to state that in an older usage, karatou meant someone who likes karai foods. Out of curiosity, I even checked my Kenkyusha’s New Japanese-English Dictionary, which was for many decades the gold (or, as the case may be, green) standard for J>