The Apothecary Diaries Book 9

Prologue

The nightmare refused to end.

Still slung under an arm, Maomao was dragged into the next room. She couldn't even fight.

Her heart pounded. Jinshi, the one who was holding her, had a fresh burn on his side. Although she could well be in danger here, as an apothecary, Maomao was drawn to the injury.

It was a good, clean burn. No blood... She racked her brain, asking herself which medicines she would need. Purple Cloud salve, that might be simplest. Purple gromwell, touki, and beeswax, I think I can get those. Sesame oil, maybe not.

No, this was no good. Maomao shook her head. Purple gromwell was only effective on relatively minor burns, as she'd confirmed on her own arm. It could actually have the opposite effect with more serious burns, she recalled.

Things that work on burns. What works on burns?

At the very least, she would need a balm to prevent the skin from drying out. She would have to find more oil and beeswax.

As she was trying to decide how to treat Jinshi, he finally put her down.

"Master Jinshi," she said. He had collapsed onto the bed, grimacing. "Does it hurt?"

"I must say it does."

And indeed it would. It might be slightly numb now, but pressing a burning brand to your own skin was always going to be painful.

Jinshi's pain, however, appeared to be something else.

"Feeling a wave of regret, sir?" Maomao found herself asking. The man who until moments ago had seemed in control of everything was leaning his forehead against the bed and weeping. Maomao could see no expression on his face in profile, and he himself might not have been aware of the tears pouring from his eyes.

Even as Maomao spoke, she went around the room, wondering what medicines might be available in here. She quickly found a mortar and pestle that she commandeered, along with several trays. She wanted to go to the brazier, try to warm some water, but she wanted to keep it as far from Jinshi as possible. In fact, she moved it to a far corner of the room.

"What would I regret?"

What? It was hard to put into words. Even Maomao understood that Jinshi had absolutely no interest in the throne. Otherwise, he would never have had such good relations with Empress Gyokuyou. If solidifying such relations had been one of his goals here, he had chosen a hell of a way to do it.

Neither did he appear to regret his injury. Much like when he had sustained the wound to his cheek, he had actually seemed pleased. He was not, in fact, as attached to his looks as people around him thought, and he seemed to resent their assumptions.

So why was he so depressed?

Maomao located a spoon and placed it on the table by the bedside. There was a pharmaceutical spatula for stirring medicine, but no bladed instruments.

"His Majesty looked less enraged than...sad. May I take it, sir, that grieving the Emperor was not your intention?"

"That's right... I only needed him to get angry."

So was it the Emperor's bereaved look that had so disturbed Jinshi?

I suspect the Emperor...

Maomao thought this had to do with the relationship between Jinshi and His Majesty. And Ah-Duo as well. It was only a distant guess in her mind, but the more she'd had to do with all of them, the more certain she had become—even if she would never have spoken the secret aloud.