Chapter Text
Maomao knows her way around counting; she has been doing it all her life, with money, with herbs, with times for decoctions. She is no number freak, but it comes naturally to her. Tonight, however, she has to make a solid effort to perform the task.
On three, she tells herself.
And on three, her eyes fly open. Surely, she could have been more cautious, but she has risked falling asleep twice already, and it is time to go. The room, unfamiliar to her, feels almost unnaturally quiet, still—but no, turning her head slightly, here it is, Jinshi’s deep breathing beside her. Carefully, slowly, she shifts the weight of her body—such a strange concept, these days—to move to her side of the bed, and from there…
“Leaving already, Maomao?”
As she’s just about to sit up, she startles. His voice is too clear, and his tone too intentional, to be the product of him just waking up. Moreover, his arm is already reaching for her, his hand brushing lightly over her arm, his touch warm against the cool night air. No, he knows what he’s doing.
She sits and turns to him. “You should get your rest, Master Jinshi: we had a long day of travel today,” she says, unfazed. “Besides, you know my morning starts very early.”
“I know,” he says. She can’t see his face clearly, but he’s feigning a slight annoyance in his voice. “We don’t want to get Xiaolan mad, to have to wait for you to get to your room in the morning.”
Ah, what a classic. Well, she has no time to waste, nor any thought to spend on this. She reaches for his face, and she caresses his cheek.
“You know very well Xiaolan doesn’t get mad,” she says, “but I care about being on time for my examinations.”
It’s the truth. The measurements of her body have to be taken at the same time every morning to be accurate. Jinshi remains quiet: he has no arguments against this; she feels his body release tension under her hand. She smiles. “Good night, Master Jinshi.”
He replies, “Good night, Maomao.”
Only then does she slip off the bed and out of the room. The thought of the resignation in his voice bothers her, but alas, she has to do what she has to do. She’s doing that for him, too.
This time, they are traveling as man and wife. Such has been Jinshi’s wish. Their operation still depends on their small party moving incognito between the cities of the South, so as they travel, they don’t reveal themselves as part of the Imperial family. But there’s a limit to how much he can stand “keeping separate from her,” or so he claims, and hence, in private, at least, they no longer pretend to be anything but what they are to one another.
Keeping separate, heh? Just you wait, Maomao thinks. Three months into her pregnancy, her morning sickness is mostly gone. Her bouts of sleepiness are now alternating with moments of restless energy (with, admittedly, evident peaks in libido), which make her useful and proactive. Still, as the Imperial brother’s duties drag them farther and farther from the capital, and are planned for at least the next six months, they both know that soon Maomao will not be fit to travel along anymore. As their union already rests on precarious grounds, politically, and the production of offspring is both strongly encouraged and uncomfortably tolerated, having her sent back to the capital, alone, is all but recommended. The other option, having her hide in the La Clan’s countryside mansion, is a thought she doesn’t even want to entertain. Certainly not something to care about now; besides, there are so many things to do.
Keeping a thorough log of her measurements and conditions day by day, of course, is of the utmost importance; she’s glad that Xiaolan, as her lady-in-waiting, is eager to help with that. Her general enthusiasm about the whole pregnancy matches Maomao’s own in documenting its progression.
“And now, your ankles—do you feel them swollen today? … More than yesterday, do you think?”
“Oh, when Miss Chue was in the same situation, Lady Maomao, there was the persisting thought of reinventing herself as a street performer, walking on rolling balls and all, for Miss Chue was, in fact, doing that already,” Chue contributes, in between the snacks that Suiren has forbidden Maomao to have, since she ate too many already.
Ah, old women and her unending struggle with them… or rather, her unending defeat. She’s glad Suiren won’t participate in their morning sessions: usually so discreet and delicate, she is a real menace in this situation, questioning Maomao incessantly about decisions and plans.
Not that Chue doesn’t pose a few challenges herself.
“Lady Maomao, Lady Maomao, you know what is said about the growth in size in the first months?” she says, as she looks down at today’s abdomen measurement and compares it with the ones from the previous weeks, “A small princess would certainly please the Moon Prince greatly, wouldn’t she?”
Xiaolan gasps and looks at Maomao, who shakes her head.
Maomao knows what is said, and refuses to allow the notion—it’s a common myth. Chue, Maomao is sure of it, knows it too. And yet.
A brief relief, politically, but then…
“Miss Chue, Miss Chue, are you saying you want to see the countries descend into war?”
At that, Chue hits her head with her fist, playfully, and exclaims, “Ah, no! How silly of me, Lady Maomao!”
Maomao sighs, trying to get a sense of her body in the small mirror they brought along. It isn’t showing yet. Good. Being done with this, she’s ready to attend to Jinshi.
Jinshi needs to mask his scar, to make it as understated as possible—an obfuscation, not a denial—so that they can remain vague about their real identities. Maomao, having come into possession of a recipe to produce much more effective covering makeup, is confident in her attempt; what gets in her way is Jinshi’s restless huffing and puffing.
“Master Jinshi, you’ll be late for your appointment with the governor if you keep at it.”
Where’s Suiren when she’s needed?
“It’s just that I don’t like the idea.”
Of course.
There have been talks of having Maomao retire to a nunnery on the way to the next city, an institution that is deeply loyal to the Empress Dowager, where Maomao could spend the rest of her pregnancy while Jinshi continues his diplomatic mission down South.
This is the idea that Jinshi doesn’t like.
“You do realize, Master Jinshi, that further along into the pregnancy, I won’t be able to have physical relations anymore?”
It’s the wrong call, for Jinshi pulls away from her hand—the careful application of makeup interrupted, some work lost—and gets both embarrassed (as it often happens when she speaks candidly about their private life) and annoyed (seriously? Did he really not think about it? Not even once?)
“What does that even mean?” he asks her.
“It means that my body will become much bigger and movement will feel cumbersome; moreover—”
“I wasn’t asking that!”
Geez.
Suiren enters at that very moment.
“Young master, we received the delivery of a new set of teaware from the main house.”
“Did we request such a thing?” Jinshi asks, turning first to Maomao, and then to Suiren herself. Maomao shakes her head. As for Suiren, she says:
“It was the governor’s nineteen-year-old niece who headed this delivery, on the grounds that the Honored Imperial Inspector should gain a fuller sense of the quality and variety of the region’s products by making use of their finest examples with his own hands.“
Ah, that clears out the reason behind this; Maomao doesn’t need to know the rest. Suiren, however, says it anyway:
“She seemed desirous of presenting them to you herself.”
Jinshi’s face turns sour. Even like that, and even with Maomao’s skillful application of makeup, his beauty does not go unnoticed.
He knows that; it’s with resignation that he says to Suiren, “It’s not the time.”
It sure is far easier to get out of this kind of inconvenience now that they’re settled in their apartments; the day before, just after the governor had greeted them, the personal secretary of a certain aristocrat (a real scholar in the art of ceramics, they said), had been so insistent on delivering his master’s message that Jinshi had to give in. (“It was consoling to see this poor man as dispirited as I was, being forced to impose himself like that,” Jinshi later told Maomao. Her thoughts went to all the dispirited aides in the country, a good number of them the result of the actions of a certain person biologically related to her.)
Suiren nods.
“I will head back and inform her that you are still resting after yesterday’s long day of travel; I am certain she will understand.”
“Thank you, Suiren.”
Maomao waits for the old maid to go out before saying, “Any lodging on the road will feel smaller and less private, too—a privacy you might want for yourself.”
“Maomao. That is not a valid motivation in any way.”
He doesn’t understand.
She says: “I wonder if I might be granted a small garden to tend, at that nunnery…”
To that, he does not respond.
*
Their conversation lingers in their minds as the day matures, and by the time they are invited to join the governor’s family at dinner, it has turned into light teasing.
It's a relief, in a way, for they both need to stay sharp tonight: as much as Maomao doesn't like the idea of this dinner, in fact, it is of the utmost importance for Jinshi to quickly develop a good relationship with the governor, as this will make their mission—an investigation into reports of inconsistent quality in the ceramics and porcelains destined to the Imperial court, conducted under the pretense of a routine inspection—much easier.
“Such an arrangement honors this servant of the court,” Jinshi says to their hosts, speaking of the dinner table set before them.
It's not the way the compliment is worded, but how it's actually said, that lights up the governor's expression with pride.
"Ah, our Honored Inspector is too kind,” the governor says, already half-flustered.
Jinshi is good at this. Indeed, even with his lustrous hair up and covered by a cap, he's too handsome to play the part of the boring bureaucrat. Maomao suspects Jinshi's stated identity holds no water in the governor's eyes. The governor is a man of humble origins, adopted into a more affluent branch of the family far too late into adolescence; he covers his uneasy grasp of formality with an easy, buoyant manner. But a middling intellect and a rushed education don’t dull his eye: he has seen the world from the other side, once, and he still knows how to watch. Lacking certainty, however, all he can do is to avoid direct questions, while still offering them a far-too-lavish "family dinner."
Maomao can’t decide whether whatever else the governor has planned for the evening stems from his suspicions.
"Before we begin, please accept our humble local wine. You'll excuse us, but with the preparation for our big banquet tomorrow, the household is rather pressed, and so..."
"Dear, dear," Maomao whispers to Jinshi, "Won't you look at the flowers?"
The governor's nineteen-year-old niece is introduced first and pours the wine into the cups. The governor's daughter, three years her junior, is introduced in turn and presents it to Jinshi; after, the same is done with Maomao. Both are dressed nicely, if not too formally. The daughter's eye makeup, even though proper, is a bit too heavily drawn, maybe to force maturity into a face that's still that of a child.
Jinshi can smile pleasantly and yet cannot hide a certain annoyance from Maomao, who would much rather enjoy her meager allowance of alcohol in one sweet sip before casually forgetting about the cup.
Do not complain, she wants to say. Who better than you, to evaluate the beauty and propriety of two young women?
But the niece and the daughter are quickly dismissed as the meal is served.
The meal is the reason Maomao needs to stay sharp herself. In a region known all over the empire (and beyond) for its ceramic production, the main supplier of the Imperial court, it would be offensive to ask for the food and drinks to be served in silver instead, wouldn't it? Moreover, the governor has decided to welcome them with a grand meal of crustaceans and shellfish, praising them as the pride of their waters and culinary traditions, but incidentally, foods that are considered too rich and heating food during pregnancy, and hence something that Maomao had to renounce completely, no matter how much her mouth waters at the aromas of the plump meats and their heavy sauces.
She turns to Jinshi, who has partaken of the dishes eagerly. "I am glad your appetite returned, dear husband."
He looks back with a hint of guilt in his eyes.
Oh well, it's indeed your fault I can't join in.
With this "family" setting—just the two of them, face to face with the governor and his wife—it’s even harder to pull off the usual trick: having Chue eat most of the food under the guise of poison-tasting, without anyone noticing.
So the governor and his wife do notice that Maomao isn't eating much. This is troubling: she's too early into her pregnancy to be able to disclose it, and being found out would be far too dangerous. The governor, in particular, while not mentioning it, not even indirectly, is struggling to hide a certain reaction—fear of having messed up? dissatisfaction?—toward her sole focus on the rice and the vegetables. This, until Jinshi amiably says, “My wife is still experiencing some traveling fatigue, and her physician advised her against certain rich foods in this case.” (Her physician being herself, of course.) “She is finding the fish soup magnificent, however.”
Maomao is quick to smile and nod. It’s a direct message that in other contexts would even sound challenging, but not in Jinshi’s honey-like voice: Maomao sees how quickly the simple statement mellows the governor’s and his wife’s eyes.
“Of course! Women have delicate stomachs,” the governor says, “Tomorrow, at the banquet, you will find many pleasures, once you are more settled. A little entertainment has been prepared as well.”
Maomao wants to believe that he's being truthful about her future meals.
As for the banquet itself, they indeed saw the machinery of it all earlier: servants dressed in different uniforms hurrying around the garden, setting up tables and the stage, and ogling Jinshi’s party while they passed through it to get to the main house; one of the young female servants working at the entertainers’ stage, even lingering on it, her eyes fixated on Jinshi—and to think that Maomao was sure that at that distance, and with the makeup, his beauty had been dulled enough.
The governor then changes his attitude towards her. Maomao doesn't know whether it is to apologize for the too heavy meal, or for parading his daughter and niece so openly in her presence (the wife, her gaze firm upon her, doesn't seem repentant at all), but the governor takes upon himself to entertain Maomao to the best of his ability—talking, of course, of the fine art that is the pride of the region, and starting from the very one they're using tonight.
The governor wants to show Jinshi and Maomao the five-colored ware—a porcelain style not usually meant for Imperial use, but perfectly proper for the local governor. As the dishes are emptied, the design at the center emerges: the enameled shapes from the borders carry inward in precise brushwork, into narrative scenes of officials, monks, and scholars in gardens, set among the local flora. Maomao finds it immensely captivating—so much so that, for once, her first thought is not how much it would all sell for.
“And see, along the banks of the river, the lost scholar found the crab,” the governor says, indicating the precise red-enameled animal at the left center of the plate.
Suddenly, she realizes why, despite all the deficiencies, she doesn’t find the governor unlikeable: he reminds her a bit of the quack doctor.
“Oooh,” she says, “Really excellent.” Next to her, she sees that Jinshi, too, is intent on admiring the porcelain piece while eating, not so incidentally, a crabmeat dumpling; she knows he wants to show the governor appreciation for the meal, but given how he licks his fingers, he must be enjoying it quite a lot, and that makes her salivate some more.
“This is the work of our late esteemed kiln master, Master Duan Lianyu,” the governor says, “Before he was placed in charge, primarily, of Imperial production.”
Maomao sees out of the corner of her eye Suiren, in the back, nodding knowingly.
“His ingenuity in devising and adapting scenes for porcelain was second only to his command of the fire,” the governor says, a brief, polite note of mourning in his voice, only to then say, rather merrily, “He’s worked on a few more nature series like this; we could show you—would you be interested?—a set all centered on—imagine that!—a ceremonial frog.”
“Oh, I would be most pleased to see the ceremonial frog,” Maomao replies.
She then has to place her palm between Jinshi’s shoulders, pressing his back discreetly to help him avoid choking.
*
There had been some debate on whether Maomao should join the tour of the kilns scheduled for the following day. Suiren, in particular, advised against it, for Maomao was getting tired very easily as of late, and the tour itself would likely be a demanding activity; most of all, it would put her at risk of inhaling the fine dust of rather poisonous substances.
Ah, the poisons of ceramic glaze…
“But then, Master Jinshi, you said you wanted me to lay my eyes on the production site, that I may spot something wrong with it.”
She feels Jinshi’s hand hovering over her back for a while, finally brushing against it, and resting there.
“As agreed with the official in charge of overseeing production, this is going to be a formal visit: we will be led through some workshops and to see the kilns in function, but from a safe distance; in accepting your presence, he agreed the tour would be appropriate for ladies. So, I don’t think it would be a problem for Maomao, Suiren.”
“And Lady Maomao and Miss Chue could wear face masks, both modest and fashionable,” Chue interjects. At least they are on their side.
It’s decided that the plan should go forward.
Mind, that is still a problem for Maomao.
“It would’ve yielded better results, if I had gone around as a servant this time,” she tells Jinshi once they are alone.
She knows that ‘formal tours’ are, for the most part, exceedingly rehearsed farces, and very little can be gathered from them.
“Absolutely not,” Jinshi replies, catching her in his arms and resting his face in the crook of her neck.
Has he been clingier, as of late? Surely, since they got married…
“Mm…” he says, “you smell so good.”
And the compliments, too. He has been a master of that, in some remote life of his, in another role, but with Maomao, in the past few weeks especially, it sounds like he’s making a sincere effort to shower her with the sweetest words. It’s troubling.
“That’s the pregnancy, surely,” Maomao replies. That must be it; her body is changing. He doesn’t seem convinced, but as he’s showing pure enjoyment with the touch, she lets him.
Most of the next morning plays exactly as she’s imagined. They travel to the town to meet the overseer, a nondescript man of about forty; later, he and his clerks lead them to a workshop dedicated exclusively to Imperial ceramic production, a place that is highly supervised and where every worker and artist is suspiciously neat and clean. Even so, the scale of the operations, which Maomao only knows from small local workshops in the capital, makes an impression on her, as does the artistry of the painters drawing intricate designs with the precious cobalt blue pigment, especially the women.
The old madam would be able to put on a show for it and make people pay, she thinks.
They are then taken through a market to an open area where more workers show them the raw materials, the kaolin and the white rocks essential to produce porcelain. They are shown, from afar, the working kilns stretching on the hillside, smoke rising from the top and rear vents as the workers keep stoking the fires inside.
“Since you asked, Honored Inspector, we also prepared a demonstration of a working kiln in one of the older, unused structures, but we’ll have to take our carriages.”
The place is on a hill on the other side of town.
“What do you think, so far?” Jinshi asks in the privacy of their carriage.
Now that she’s seated, Maomao is suddenly feeling tired. Yet, she simply sighs.
“It’s nothing but a show. Why ask for more of it?”
“There’ve been talks about expanding production again,” Jinshi says. Maomao remembers: at some point in the past, the imperial production in the town had a greater demand for working kilns, and when the demand waned because silver and jade became preferred at court, part of the structures were put to rest. Now, trends have changed again.
“I’d rather see the facilities they use for commercial production,” Maomao says. The town produces massive volumes of blue and white porcelain to trade with the West, after all.
“They’re less forthcoming about that; it’ll be the next step in our inspection.”
The area where the unused kilns are is not as deserted as Maomao imagined: there is, in fact, a lot of coming and going, and several men lazing around (waiting for work?).
“You can go, you can go,” the overseer says to workers. “My apologies, the unused kilns are usually employed as storehouses, and we had some workers clean up in preparation for your visit.”
They enter the kiln, its insides so thoroughly scrubbed Maomao can still smell the cleaning mixture’s ingredients, the surfaces dusted—though fine ash persists in the air, making it thick and dark—and the mock unfired porcelain lined neatly along edges; there, they find their surprise: a man of about fifty, dressed in rich silk, slumped languidly on a ledge carved out of the interior wall of the kiln.
For a moment, Maomao thinks him dead.
He isn’t. At their entrance—Basen already ready to strike—the man takes his time to dramatically turn towards their direction and then stand, his arms open wide.
With an affected voice, he then welcomes them in his own way: “Dear Honored Imperial Inspector, and the Honored Inspector’s wife, welcome! I am pleased to finally meet you to share with you the art of this town, given how your welcome at the governor’s house did not include me, sadly.”
“Master Zhao, ah—” the overseer says, his expression briefly turned from shocked to furious to composed again. “Honored Inspector, please allow me to introduce you to Master Zhao Wenji, a member of the local aristocracy, and most of all, one of the finest connoisseurs and collectors of the ceramic art of our province.”
“Possibly of the whole nation,” the aristocrat says with verve.
Maomao has met plenty of haughty men in her life, and just as many smarmy ones—and either kind, or any blend of the two, is the most profitable sort for the Verdigris House. They’re the easiest to talk into becoming lavish spenders, all to prove something about themselves. In this, Master Zhao does not seem that different; he was very evidently offended by the slight the governor did to him in not inviting him to the Imperial Inspector’s first dinner at the house, he, the great connoisseur of the ceramic art.
She can see he isn’t boasting emptily, though. By ambushing them on the last stop of the tour—and, in doing so, likely wrecking the overseer’s plans—he gets to explain the mock unfired pieces in detail: an elegant selection of the porcelain and ceramics the province has produced over two centuries, Imperial and local both, from greenware to cobalt blue-and-white to gingbai to one peculiar cup glazed entirely in red. Maomao doesn’t much care about the histories of princes and their lost secret techniques, and she hardly needs his narration to see what the pieces are worth. His voice is mellifluous and prying at once, like a probe pressing its tip into her skull.
She feels a bit dizzy; suddenly, the weight of the day tour falls upon her all at once. The grit and ash of the interiors of the kiln do not help.
“Lady Maomao wants to get some fresh air outside?” Chue whispers. Maomao gives a look at Jinshi; seeing that he’s still busy with the aristocrat, she simply nods, and lets Chue make the proper ladies’ excuses.
Before exiting the kiln, she catches Jinshi gazing at her apologetically, while the overseer is saying, “Please do not go near the other kilns, nor touch them: they’re old, their structures may be unstable.” Money needs to go into their renovations, if the court wants to expand production.
Her weariness eases a little outside, where there is at least some light breeze, if warm. Lihaku approaches her with water (“The day is getting hot, my lady”); he doesn’t know of the pregnancy, officially, but behind his large smiles, Maomao suspects he is somewhat aware of it—and of its consequences: she wonders how he feels, being distant from Pairin, and knowing it isn’t likely he would be able to go back to her anytime soon.
After drinking some water, and splashing some more on her wrists, and then helping Chue do the same, she decides to take a stroll down the line of the large unused dragon kilns; there is nothing to do, there is no way to make her stay still. Chue accompanies her, holding a parasol over Maomao’s head.
Following the overseer’s orders, the workers have gone, and what’s left is a strangely silent place; the entrances to the kilns are obstructed by cloth and boxes pinning them to the sides, and there is very little sign of business: some firewood, a water bucket. The kilns are now used as storehouses, they’ve said. She, too, follows the overseer’s advice and keeps away from the buildings, but not just to obey; truly, she’s drawn to the vegetation on the sides, growing in unruly patches.
“Let’s go there, that’s a pomegranate, like in the crab scene of the plate we saw yesterday,” she tells Chue.
It’s a different cultivar from the ones she’s familiar with, at home, somewhat duller in colors, but the tall shrub is in its flowering period just as expected, the flowers still in the middle of opening, pointed petals flaring into vase-like shapes. Considering its properties, she isn’t allowed to work with it, but there’s no harm in getting close to studying it.
“Lady Maomao, Lady Maomao, why don’t we rather…”
“What? We are looking at everything, after all.”
What if she won’t be able to do her work now?
Maomao turns to Chue, who’s standing at the edge of the hill’s slope. Beyond her, more vegetation, and far in the distance, the town, the sky streaked with plumes of smoke.
Ah, all that grit—she will have to hear “I told you so” from Suiren, but she needs a good bath after this, even more than a proper lunch: after all that time spent in town, mask or not, she’s filthy with it. At least she’s outside, now.
Yet, returning her attention to the shrub, pensive, trapping a leaf between two fingers, she feels moderate disappointment, and then surprise, to find it also covered in a thin film of soot.
Briskly, she heads back to the line of kilns, to continue with her stroll.
“Lady Maomao, Lady Maomao, what’s in your mind?”
Not enough yet. Maomao looks down at the water bucket. Inside, there are two dead bugs, floating. Saying nothing, she continues her walk.
Before she can reach the next kiln in line, however, Jinshi and the others are already getting out of the demonstrative one. Smiling indulgently at her, the overseer announces that they’re behind schedule, and urges them to leave promptly.
*
The day passes quickly, and soon it’s evening.
The banquet food is more varied than the dinner on the first night; in particular, there are more options of simpler ingredients and preparations, which suit Maomao’s dietary needs far better. In the back of her mind—and she sees, out of the corner of her eye, that Chue is thinking similarly—there is the suspicion that the governor changed the menu at the last minute precisely because of her reluctance the previous night, and she should worry about being discovered.
But that evening, Maomao feels hungry. The light lunch and snacks back at the governor’s estate hadn’t sated her, and the nap she got once Jinshi stopped nagging her about counterplans and went back to his paperwork hadn’t settled her strange disquiet either. She knows how hard her emotions are to control of late, so she throws a glance at Chue, leaves the rest to her, and decides to enjoy the reception as much as she can.
This is a formal event held in the governor’s carefully tended garden; at the center of the arrangement of tables, a stage is set, and local musicians are playing accompanying music. The estate is indeed far enough from the town, the vegetation does not suffer from its pollution, and fortunately, the ornamental plants in it (wisteria, osmanthus, plum) are neither particularly dangerous to be around, nor unpleasant enough overall to trigger nausea in Maomao. Given this, and the food, she should feel content; the calm doesn’t last long, however.
“All these lanterns, really, Governor?” the aristocrat says, “You really are generous: you prepared such a lavish banquet for us, and one of equal splendor for the bugs.”
Maomao sees the bundles of herbs working as insect repellent in the corners, but doesn’t feel the need to contribute to the conversation. She understands why the governor preferred not to invite the aristocrat to the first night dinner: the latter is a bore, and extremely pedantic over very small things.
The governor seems to have his way of dealing with it.
“Do not worry, dear Master Zhao, the bugs stay away when they sense such powerful competition,” he says, smiling, “besides, our food is so good that it must be seen, other than tasted, and with it, the beautiful stoneware containing it.”
The plate set is simpler in design tonight, but still of the finest quality, Maomao assesses at a glance: there is no question about why the province is a supplier of ceramics and porcelain for the Imperial court, despite the recent hiccups.
The overseer agrees with the governor, highlighting the quality of the bowls, their milky white walls so thin you can see through them.
“Considering how this was the work of Master Duan, I would have chosen a different setup to better show his mastery. He would have thought that too; you know, I knew him quite well…”
The other men nod indulgently, showing they had heard that story quite a few times, and that they do not give much importance to it, either. They, too, must have known this famous local master, after all.
Maomao turns it over. Could the quality have dropped just because this kiln master is now dead? It wouldn’t be unheard of. In that line of work, the mastery of every step is what keeps the pieces from breaking in the firing: the preparation of the clay, the forming of the body, the glazing, the firings themselves. On the tour she heard that while many kiln masters only supervise, the most skilled and dedicated of them often work each stage with their own hands. Authorship is not particularly prized in the imperial court, but the famous artisans are still known by name, and that recognition must also count for a great deal in the pecking order among the town’s workers.
“Of course, of course,” the governor is still saying, nodding.
*
The main course is served. Maomao sees Jinshi turning towards her with a subtle questioning look.
Is this fine for you?
Yes, it is fine, she replies with a tilt of her head. Discounting poison, of course, but she doesn’t care to add this to her message, not just because it’s obvious, but because it only makes him more apprehensive, and she doesn’t want that. This shouldn’t be his worry. He is dismissed, and freed to enjoy his own meal.
“What an exquisite braised duck, it really melts in the mouth,” the overseer says, in a clear effort to make the compliment feel sincere.
The duck is indeed good, so Maomao wonders what the problem is: there is no need to lie. Of course, nobody gives compliments like Jinshi. He isn’t even trying to impress; in his position, he has no need to. Yet he makes a couple of remarks that nearly bring the governor and his wife to tears. And still…
“Indeed, what a thoughtful gesture, Governor,” says the aristocrat, “so rich, so soft, almost creamy… as if it was crab in disguise, really.”
He then laughs at his own words.
Maomao sees the governor’s wife tense and turn to the governor. The governor shakes his head slightly and replies:
“My dear Master Zhao, your superior taste knows all, really—you’ll be pleased to know that the crab has been, in fact, served yesterday, and was, as always, much appreciated.”
“Oh, no need to tell me,” the aristocrat says, “I bet you even served it in crab-themed porcelain.”
His tone is still light, but the disdain is clear.
Maomao thinks she understands the situation now. For example, the night before, the problem was not Maomao and her dietary needs; the problem was the aristocrat, who must have terrorized the governor about food for years at every formal event, and still continues to do so.
Besides the obvious, however, is this intensity, too, just the fruit of the frustration of this stagnant, forced social circle? What else can be wrong with the crab? The day before, they had been served steamed crab in sweet wine rice sauce and crabmeat dumplings. Indeed, they weren’t exactly refined dishes, not worthy of the Imperial brother, probably. But to the governor, Jinshi is just an Imperial inspector who has been given a hearty meal. And, as it happens, it’s food Jinshi genuinely loves. The aristocrat can sneer at the governor’s lower-class taste all he likes: he has no idea how wrong he is.
Is this all? If not snobbery, then, something else? Usually, that would mean…
“Oh no, pray do not misunderstand, I’m not critiquing the choice; I’m just thinking I wish I could have been there to see. It is a pity, you know” the aristocrat says, “to be deprived of such beauty.”
Oh, right. The crab-themed ware: he thinks he should have it. That is something else that deeply offends the aristocrat. With his grudge, he reminds her of a certain strategist.
“Dear Master Zhao, really—you speak of deprivation…”
“Because it is! And one knows how that wears at the heart, day by day…”
The melodramatics for such a bloodless obsession!
Deprivation only makes a madman madder, and the fault in that is not attributable to anyone but the madman (or madwoman) themselves. She should remember that; her father Luomen, contrary to Lakan, learned to live with all kinds of deprivation, and she, too, grew up with them just fine. Of course, she had her herbs—but that’s not a problem, for she will have them again, soon.
“You seem to have found something interesting to think about. What is it?” Jinshi whispers to her.
Something interesting. He wants her to talk. That’s not madness, but akin to it—it’s just foolish.
Can she just give Jinshi shivers, now, saying that the aristocrat makes her think of Lakan? No, better not to drop her birth father into the conversation; Jinshi has been traumatized enough by him in the capital, with their “visiting agreements” after they got married. Besides, he shouldn’t be concerned with making her talk; he should think about his work.
In return, she is the one getting the shivers. She almost forgot: when should they tell that person about the pregnancy? Should they tell him at all? Ugh.
Considering her condition, in the end, it is good that they are outside the capital, traveling.
“It’s nothing,” she replies. He shouldn’t worry about such things. “Look, the show is about to begin.”
*
The courtesan hired to entertain at the banquet must be about Pairin’s age, which is retirement age for most women in the field. But, as with Pairin (who was still working until recently), there are exceptions. This one wears the signs of her age with pride: her complexion still unblemished, her long black hair lustrous, and her soft curves more inviting than ever as she settles at center stage. She is an erhu player: a young assistant, solemn if a bit stiff, is there to offer her the musical instrument as soon as the woman has taken her place and turned her face to pleasantly smile at her audience.
As the courtesan begins to play a lively piece, her movements skillful, her musical virtuosity undeniable, Maomao turns to look at the guests, the knowing smiles of the men, already enraptured, even though most of them must have known her for a long time. Of course, all except the aristocrat, who seems indifferent to the courtesan’s sensuous beauty. The governor himself looks ecstatic. One might take that for the reason his wife looks so sour; Maomao knows better.
She turns to Jinshi only to find him looking at her, still pensive. She takes a long breath and tries not to think of Suiren’s sweet, displeased smile behind her.
“Dear husband,” she says, “the show is surely capturing your attention.”
That makes him turn, maybe too abruptly, his gaze to the stage.
This isn’t like him, Maomao thinks. What’s his worry?
She’s right to correct him at this point; not a moment later, the governor starts beckoning the courtesan’s young assistant, who’s carrying a llong paper scroll to the table, forward.
The governor’s gestures are also for his servants, who are now quickly moving plates to make space. The courtesan’s young assistant, still kind of stiff, her eyes glued to the ground, places the paper scroll on the table and unrolls it flat, to then quickly take a step back and clasp her hands at her eye level.
“This humble servant presents a small scroll of music, unworthy of Your Excellency’s notice,” the assistant says, bowing. The music notes are written in refined calligraphy and are accompanied by skillful illustrations, the style somewhat familiar, framed at the side by what Maomao can identify as large lobed leaves arranged in a ring—but despite this, it’s the girl that captures her attention. She’s a bit too young to take clients—she must still be an apprentice—but even with her hands in front of her, even as she barely wears any makeup, her beauty is undeniable: her skin clear of imperfections, her eyes big, and her body pleasantly plump.
She sees how the governor’s wife looks at her.
This is just another offering.
Jinshi glances at the scroll with measured attention for a moment, then nods, signaling the courtesan’s assistant she may withdraw, and to Basen to take the scroll away. His gaze then briefly lingers on something to the side before turning to the governor in acknowledgement and to the show again.
It has been noted.
*
The courtesan’s performance ends with nothing of note. The dinner continues with smaller, more refined dishes, half of which Maomao politely refuses, claiming that she’s already full.
In truth, she feels a hole in her stomach, even though she’s eaten her fair share—maybe even more than necessary. It’s not helping that the table is now filling up with alcohol, and her gaze is lingering over the jugs and the cups far too often.
“Here, my lady,” a servant says, finally placing a cup of wine in front of her. There is a soft brushing of sleeves at her other side as Chue reaches for the customary taste. Maomao turns towards her. Chue smiles, and Maomao understands at once. Suiren’s presence behind her, after all, is hard to ignore.
Maomao sighs. Once Chue is finished, she accepts the cup with resigned restraint. She will take a polite, conspicuous sip, and then Chue can—and will—drain the rest.
She’s not alone in suffering. On her side, she sees that Jinshi is growing restless. The food is good, but he clearly didn’t enjoy the earlier displays of reverence to him, and he’s too obvious about it—does he suspect his real identity is apparent to everyone, or not at all? He never had problems appraising the value of flowers before.
“A melancholic song indeed fills one’s heart with yearning,” Maomao says lightly to him, referring to the final piece performed by the courtesan, “but your benevolence and grace, dear husband, are gifts that anyone would wish to witness.”
Wrong words? She knows well she doesn’t have a way with them like he does, and that she gets misunderstood often. He seems only riled up.
“You talk about anyone’s wish, but what about a certain someone’s, instead, dear wife?”
She expected a blow, but this somehow passes through her with a dull quality to it. It must be that she’s tired.
She’s about to respond to him, but the voice of the aristocrat suddenly dominates, submerging their private conversation as well as the accompanying music.
“One would think the artisan knows best of what he creates,” he says, his voice somewhat shrill, “but truly, craft is best appraised from the outside. Our honored inspector surely agrees, as this pertains to his art and skill, too.”
Jinshi transforms again, and turning to face the aristocrat, he forces out an apologetic, constrained smile. “Master Zhao humbles me with his praise,” he says, “but I merely carry out the court’s instructions. Indeed, Master Zhao’s eye is the refined one, a discernment born out of long familiarity.”
And there, the aristocrat nods!
“Indeed. These things reveal themselves quickly to those who know them.”
Maomao wants to look away, but can’t.
The aristocrat continues, in turn looking at the governor and Jinshi and the overseer, “Mind, sometimes it’s the artisan’s mind that is too humble—rightfully so, but to understate the value of a piece, to cast a shadow upon its perfection, is a disservice not only to one’s work, but to the name of our region.”
That puts such an end to the discussion that even Jinshi is left momentarily at a loss.
He collects himself quickly, however. “Master Zhao, your appreciation of craftsmanship is most animated. One gathers that your interlocutor then required no further persuasion.”
The governor and the overseer smile in relief. Maomao isn’t following—what was all that about?
That is when the governor’s wife—who had been absent for a while—returns with a smile carefully plastered on her face. A nod to her husband, and then, to Jinshi, she says:
“If you’ll allow, Honored Inspector, the breeze is so sweet at this hour, it seems only fitting to set it to some selected poetry. My dear daughter Qingling is a dilettante, but she recites with such passion that we thought we might let her perform for the amusement of our party tonight. My niece will accompany her on the qin.”
Of course, this is their moment. Maomao watches the young women step onto the stage. Their makeup and garments are understated next to the courtesan’s, proper for unmarried girls, but still showy enough to catch the eye. Then she stands and gives her hosts a deliberate smile, readily returned by a rather tense one.
“The Honored Inspector’s wife is fatigued and will respectfully take her leave now,” Chue announces, gingerly.
“Maomao,” Jinshi whispers, his arm already moving to reach for hers.
She bends slightly to his side.
“Do not concern yourself with me, good sir—please enjoy the rest of the feast.”
She stresses her words so that he knows what to do—doesn’t he get it, that he needs to follow through with their plan?
Sighing, Chue at her side, she turns, expecting to find Suiren, in the back, quite exasperated at her young master’s unseemly behavior; Suiren, however, is just facing her, serious and silent.
As her party leaves the banquet and crosses the courtyards separating them from the annex accommodating the inspector’s entourage, unfamiliar movements behind the pillars of the opposite archway catch their attention. Lihaku is ready to intervene, but Chue stops him, and tells Maomao, “It seems like the little assistant was waiting for someone else.”
Half-hidden behind a pillar of the opposite building is, in fact, the courtesan’s assistant. She is now moving busily, checking the windows, an unlikely occupation at night, but required, if the courtesan was particularly fixated on privacy. Yet for a moment, just before, it seemed like she instead was going to cross the courtyard to meet their party.
Maomao agrees with Chue: the young woman was looking for a different opportunity for an encounter. Again, she wasn’t subtle, and she was aware of it, too: seeing that she failed so miserably at laying low, everyone in the party now looking at her, she ends up rushing inside as soon as she can.
How long since she became an apprentice? Maomao thinks, Any older sister would have taught her better. To be invisible where it mattered, and nonchalant when caught.
Maomao sighs. It is inevitable, but she can’t stop herself from thinking about how troubling everything is.
*
The next morning, Jinshi seems more determined than ever to make up for the time they haven’t shared at night, for when he came back home, Maomao was already asleep in her bedroom.
As soon as Suiren exits the room with the empty plates of their breakfast, Jinshi wraps his arms around Maomao.
“Master Jinshi…”
She’s already standing, a jar of makeup in her hand.
“Ah…” he says in a long sigh.
He buries his head against her midsection; Maomao takes a step back, but he doesn’t budge.
“What is it, Master Jinshi?” she finally asks.
“The banquet, after you left, turned draining,” he whines. “So, so boring.”
Does he want to make sure she knows he wasn’t interested in looking at the flowers? As if that would bother her—no, she doesn’t care. It’s his duty to entertain their hosts’ rather bold offers. Besides, wasn’t the point of sitting at the banquet trying to get some intel about the dealings with the ceramic production? Alcohol makes people talk—if Maomao weren’t in this condition, if she could act from a different station of life, she would have initiated a drinking contest of her own.
Instead, she studies him. She’s managed to break free of his hold and sit him upright to do the makeup, and now, looking at him, it seems the only one who got drunk tonight was him—on melancholy.
“So, did you find anything?”
It’s like that: when he’s in this mood, she is the one who has to give him orders.
“I managed to secure a visit to one of the bigger workshops dealing with commercial production for this morning—the overseer didn’t seem happy about it, and made excuses for not being able to be present. A couple of his clerks will.”
“He won’t be accompanying you?”
That’s strange.
“The governor seemed rather curious about it, too. And it’s not that he’s not ‘accompanying me,’ he’s not accompanying us,” Jinshi points out.
Maomao sighs. She was planning to go back to the market with Chue and in a good disguise, today. Jinshi surely is very generous when shopping for nice pieces, but he’s not familiar with how markets work, and his presence, both too solemn and awkward, would make it difficult to act discreetly.
She sees the value in the visit to this bigger workshop; she can’t help being annoyed as well, however.
“And, in your opinion, what is it that the governor really wants from you?”
The question has his face go stiff under her hands.
“Master Jinshi…”
“It’s preposterous to have him be so forward,” he says pointedly.
“He wasn’t really forward. He made good use of etiquette,” Maomao says.
“Well, Suiren agrees that it’s preposterous, too.”
He’s pouting, his arms crossed, and that makes things more difficult for her.
“Suiren was still peeling off a loquat for you this very morning, Master Jinshi. She’s doing her best to be indulgent to you, considering your… composure as of late.”
“My composure? Oh, seriously!”
He looks offended, but she carries on, putting her weight against his shoulders so that he’d sit upright again, and then giving him a few light slaps on his cheeks.
“It’s for fixing the powder,” she says.
That seems to calm him down, for some reason. Once she’s finished, he takes a long breath, and then looks to the side.
“The governor doesn’t seem to be keen on separating from his daughter, anyway.”
Big surprise—the girl is just fifteen, after all.
“It seems likely he’s just allowing it to appease the wife; it’s not like he’d rather have his niece out of the house, but I guess he sees it as more acceptable.”
Yes, she got that impression as well: the governor seems like a doting father, and not of the eccentric, obsessive kind.
“So you think his offer has been made out of necessity?” Maomao asks. “Or just because the wife thinks it would be a good move for them, politically?”
Jinshi stands up and brushes off the residual makeup powder from his nightgown. “I don’t know yet,” he admits. “He’s trying to be amiable, but there’s a disquieting vagueness to it.”
Maomao rubs her fingers under her chin, trying to come up with a reason for this behaviour. At best, he could just be an incompetent, but then, what does he know…?
She stops ruminating about it, for it’s Jinshi who’s grabbing her chin now, lifting it so that he can kiss her.
“Seriously—Master Jinshi, I was just done with your makeup!” she protests. “Do you really—”
“Yes, I need this,” he says, and leans over her to kiss her again, his other arm quietly slithering around her waist.
Maomao tries to wiggle out of his hold. This much affection at this time of morning… why didn’t Gaoshun tell him that it’s not a good thing to do?
“Master Jinshi, what is happening with you? Truly, aren’t you getting clingier by the day?”
She finally manages to get free, only for the hand she’d used to lift his off her waist to end up caught in his grip.
“Am I getting clingier, or are you getting more evasive?” he asks, his expression half-amused, half-annoyed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The answer comes out before she can think about it; there’s no need for reflection in this case, anyway.
*
The clerks sent by the overseer in his stead are the same from yesterday, and they seem overjoyed to be accompanying the Honored Imperial Inspector for a second day of tours—a day that, in the plans, only featured some formal meetings in the administrative offices in the afternoon.
Here it goes, my free day…
Maomao doubts that she can detect something strange or unusual in such a busy place, at least in her first visit. The Imperial workshops all work from a set range of designs Maomao has come to know very well over the years; the larger workshop for commercial production is divided into three sections. The largest turns out common ware for everyday use, destined for the middle and lower classes: undecorated pieces in plain, utilitarian shapes, made using molds. Then comes the ware for nobles, high-ranked officials, and rich merchants, five-colored pieces like the ones at the governor’s house, though not as fine, since they aren’t made under the eye of the genius kiln master. Last, the section she cares about most: the ware for foreign trade, mostly blue and white porcelain with geometric or densely intricate foliage motifs.
She’s not allowed to go inside the workshop, and so while Jinshi is busy checking materials and documents inside, she just stays on the threshold with Chue. Then one of the clerks takes pity on her and asks a painter to show her the blue pigments. She has seen the blue pigment the day before—a result of the successful trade with the West—but the painter points out that not all blue pigments come from Shaoh and its neighboring countries.
“This is from a local mine,” she explains, showing her a jar with a powder that is in a lighter, slightly duller blue hue.
Maomao wasn’t aware the pigment was extracted locally, too. It is very different; she guesses a different ratio of metals contributes to it. If so, considering the firing…
“And the result is noticeable?”
The painter runs into the shop, and comes back with two similar pieces. Maomao can easily spot the difference, which one is made with Shaoh’s pigment, and which with their own.
“Exactly,” the painter says.
“And does the West ask for this variety of blue and white?”
She doesn’t want to say its lack of vibrancy makes it cheaper, but it’s pretty evident that this is so.
The painter looks at the clerk, first, and then says, “We are trying to make this pigment of ours competitive in the end result, but for now, most of the production made with this is destined for the southern countries. And some of the locals like it as well.”
Maomao nods. Clearly, still fine porcelain, but much cheaper—although, she wonders if anybody would notice, having never seen the “real thing.”
Her mind also goes to the type of experiments the kiln masters would run to get a better result. Suddenly, she wants to see for herself—by just licking off a thin layer of the one and the other pigment, for example, she could maybe get a sense of their material difference, and then…
“Lady Maomao, Lady Maomao,” Chue whispers in her ears, “you aren’t planning on doing anything naughty, are you?”
“Just a lick, Miss Chue, it would not—”
She sees that the painter in front of her seems confused, and the clerk surprised—maybe shocked?—although he’s not looking at Maomao, but at the street outside.
“… Master Chen, you’re here.”
Chue turns, and so does Maomao, and in front of them, they find the overseer, just out of his carriage.
“I’m sorry I made you wait—I freed my schedule in the end, and so I’m here; Honored Inspector’s Wife,” he greets. Then, he looks inside the workshop to get a sight of Jinshi.
“Miss Chue wasn’t told the overseer would join us later.”
Neither was Maomao. And when she catches Jinshi trying, and failing, to hide his own surprise, a different, uglier thought crosses her mind.
“Dear husband,” she tells him when he, the clerk, and Basen join them, “considering you will be busy with these official matters, my presence will be superfluous, if not even cumbersome.”
“But—dear wife…” Jinshi starts, and his inflection on the word ‘wife’ is so different from when he tries to use it in private, it’s almost comical.
“Chue and Lihaku will be by my side at all times, so do not worry!”
And as fast as she can, she flees.
They take one of the carriages, and Chue produces changes of clothes for both Maomao and herself.
I’ll get to do some interesting shopping, at last, Maomao thinks while she puts on the different dress, something that doesn’t scream Imperial; something understated, from a lower class, with enough money to buy, but out for a bargain.
“I’m sure I’ll find some good deals here; I wonder what the old lady will say.”
And as for the other old lady, she’ll think later about how to excuse herself to Suiren. The call is too strong.
Lihaku follows Maomao and Chue discreetly as they venture into the narrow market street, stopping at stalls, asking questions. Some of the shops mostly display their merchandise outside, but some seem to keep a larger trove inside the buildings, in rooms on the ground floor. Maomao makes sure her mouth is well covered by her mask and goes in and out with care, and an agility she thought she had lost in the past months spent between being seated in a carriage or trying to look poised and solemn in the name of her formal duties.
The shops on the main street have the best prices for the common wares and shopkeepers willing to make a deal, but it’s those in the smaller alleys that may hide some forgotten pieces—maybe, also at a price that speaks of a bygone time.
In a small shop she strikes a deal for a series of beautiful porcelain basins with floral motifs. They vary a little in shape and size, but the customers at the Verdigris House would only see one at a time, and won’t be able to compare; the Madam will surely have something to complain about, yet on the whole they’ll pass for refined, hidden treasures. She’s paying, and telling Lihaku to carry the pieces, now well wrapped, to the carriage, when something behind the shopkeeper draws her attention.
“That—vase…?—could I see it?”
It’s blue and white porcelain, and it has a handle shape she’s never seen before, somewhat oblong and dented—are those scales? She’s also curious about the decorative design, a dense foliage pattern that feels alien, and yet somewhat familiar.
A sudden noise outside the shop, and then dead silence, heightens the eeriness of the sight.
Where did I see it already?
A passing thought, a book in the La mansion, maybe? Her father Luomen telling her something about it? No, that was another thing altogether…
The shopkeeper is reaching for the piece, when Maomao hears people coming in, and a hand grabbing her shoulder. It’s Chue, looking attentive at the entrance of the shop.
Maomao turns. In front of the entrance, there’s Basen, looking as understated as a fifteen-foot votive statue.
“My lady, you’re expected inside the carriage. We need to go immediately.”
For some reason, she feels her heart drop before her mind can protest it.
“What happened? Ji—My husband, is he—?”
“He’s waiting for you in the carriage.”
Of course. Why was she worried at all? Basen would not be right there, if something had happened, and besides—well, never mind.
Chue runs outside to check on the situation. Maomao turns again and sees that the shopkeeper is scrutinizing her suspiciously. Well, thanks to Basen, the time for deals is gone.
She, too, follows Chue outside, and then, with the help of Basen, she climbs into the carriage.
Jinshi is there, his body tense, and his voice soft.
“I’m sorry I interrupted your shopping time,” he says, showing her the seat next to him. As soon as she’s seated, Jinshi gives a gesture and the carriage starts to move. Gently, he keeps her steady with one arm. “I couldn’t do otherwise. We received alarming news, and we need to go.”
“What alarming news?” Maomao asks.
“Master Zhao Wenji, the aristocrat—it seems that he has been found dead.”