LN5 Epilogue: The Bench Retranslated
The official English version of the Apothecary Diaries translation is rather notorious for being full of problems. The fan compiled document of mistranslations focuses primarily on outright errors and information that has been cut or altered, generally keeping to being an objective record of these issues.
What a compilation of mistakes can't provide, though, is an account of how beautiful and evocative Hyuuganatsu's writing is. Her work is woven with symbolism, poetry, foreshadowing, and cultural references that are simply lost in a direct translation.
There's plenty of straightforward re-translations of the text out there-- so what I'd like to do is try to honor Hyuuganatsu's prose in English. Understanding and communicating intent, tone, and general artistry, even making the occasional addition to the text for clarification, or to explain iconography that the Western audience is very likely to be unfamiliar with.
Since the Bench Scene of Light Novel 5 and the choke it contains is so notoriously mistranslated, I've spent the last few weeks working on this part. I have downright STUDIED this scene like a SCHOLAR so I can properly retell it in English.
In fact, I've even created a document with line-by-line annotations, in case you're curious! I took lots of notes for the sake of sharing them with anyone who'd appreciate a deeper dive, plus some conjecture about my own reading of the moment. If you have any further questions, please feel free to shoot me an ask here on Tumblr.
Thank you to everyone who helped me with this crazy little project! I couldn't have done this without my friends and acquaintances!
I hope that this clarifies the intent of the scene in the broader narrative, I hope that this makes for a generally better read, and most of all, I hope you enjoy this as much as we did :D
(You can either open up the Cryptpad document linked above, or hit "read more.")
(Man, it’s cold.)
Maomao shivered and clutched her thin gauze shawl, but it didn’t make her feel any warmer. Sure enough, not having another drink was something she’d come to regret.
It would have been warmer inside the building, but in truth, she’d rather just suffer out here than go back in and deal with all that hot air. Especially from Lahan. He kept begging her to perform impromptu veterinary care on the lion. She did worry about what would happen to the animal now that the poor thing had its muzzle smashed, but that didn’t mean she was going to risk being bitten in half to help it. Yeah, it was a tragedy that the pitiful creature had been starving away in a cage, but Maomao was also a pitiful creature and she was the one who almost got eaten tonight.
He just wouldn’t stop. Lahan lamented that the lion was a beautiful array of values, complained that the collapsed nose was disrupting that sequence, going on and on about how it was “a waste,” and when he just wouldn’t stop badgering her into trying to fix it, she fled.
Apparently, even a giant, shaggy cat was simply a string of numbers in that Freaklet’s eyes.
Still shivering, Maomao sat down on the bench at the front of the garden. Finally alone and unwatched, she took the opportunity to huddle up, hugging her knees and nestling her chin atop them.
The sky stretches beyond the horizon, taking her thoughts with it. With no moon in sight, the stars twinkle and beam all the brighter. Her mind drifts to three brilliant stars in the void, drawing the summer triangle with its furthest point on the opposite side of the milky way. Were those lights truly the souls of starcrossed lovers, kept apart by the celestial river?
(I wish this party would just end already.)
As she considered ways she could sneak back to Gyoku-en’s estate unnoticed, the sound of footsteps crept up behind her.
"Your honorable cousin is urgently looking for you."
"May I suggest that you urgently ignore him, then?"
It seemed like she wasn’t the only one who took advantage of the chaos to dodge social obligations.
She pressed, ”Don’t you have work you should be doing?”
Being outperformed during all the action earlier may have made him seem rather limp, but now and then, he could rise to the occasion. Yes, Basen might have taken the lion’s share tonight, but Maomao expected this man could probably provide another little scrap or two.
“Are you hoping I’ll work myself to death?”
“Not at all.”
Jinshi, who had been shirking his work, regarded her with a suspicious pout. It looked like he believed her just as much as he’d believe a charging barbarian hoard only wanted a friendly chat, but he sat beside her all the same. The bench creaked beneath his weight. He set down an object between them– on closer inspection, Maomao recognized it as a shard of scrap iron.
“Something was wrong with the metal, just like Basen said. High quality iron wouldn’t have shattered like this.”
There are various ways to strengthen metals, and various ways to weaken them as well. A flaw in the process of smelting iron could fill it internally with dozens of tiny air bubbles, making it deceptively brittle.
“It’s as if those bars were forged to be broken.”
“An unsettling thought.”
That wasn’t the only suspicious detail nagging at her mind, either. That lion made a beeline right for Lishu. If anything, it was like Maomao just got in the way of its real target. Why?
Because the lion was starving and Lishu was simply the first thing it went for?
That didn’t seem right…
Because Lishu had a full plate of meat?
That didn’t seem right, either…
It was something else that kept bothering her. The odor.
That perfume had to be it. The so-called “accident” and the stench. You didn’t need a sense of smell as sharp as Maomao’s to notice that Lishu absolutely reeked of that musk. To such a deadly predator, a scent that overwhelming would have been a punch in the nose.
So if the lion had a strong reaction to that smell, strong enough to lunge at the sabotaged cage–
“……”
“......Hey! Don’t just go quiet on me!”
Jinshi’s voice broke Maomao’s train of thought, but not her silence. This guy should know by now that she was never the one to take the initiative in conversation, and yet, he kept insisting on being by her side. What did he expect? Why were his brows knitted with such desperate emotion? He should just get back to work instead of fooling around!
“You just want to tell me to get back to work, don’t you?”
“No, not at all.”
Every now and then, this man demonstrated the uncanny ability to sense what she was thinking. It was quite bothersome. She felt a cringe but kept her face serving tranquility.
He sighed, “Why go back, anyway? It’s either nothing but endless paperwork, or else get besieged by fawning women.”
"Don't say that too loud. The dregs of high society would demand restitution if they heard you complaining about being too popular."
A man of wealth, status, and good looks to boot– Jinshi was above and beyond. Truly divine, in every sense of the word. On a dark, moonless night like this one, where you could be accosted from any shady corner… Well, he ought to be prepared.
“They all want to suck me dry of the imperial blood in one way or another, don’t they?”
Was he saying they meant to bleed him for his influence in the court, or was it just innuendo about how they wanted to breed him like a prized studhorse? She wasn't sure.
“I’d say at least half of it is just your beautiful face.”
“Don’t say that.”
Jinshi’s expression twisted, jaw tight, like he was chewing on a bitter bug. This was a man of divine beauty, and somehow, he regarded this blessing as a curse. With his right hand, he traces the scar on his cheek, the one part of his face where the perfection wanes. Everyone in the entire empire grieved the wound as a national tragedy, so was it just her imagination that he treasured it?
Not that Maomao disliked it, either. Human beings aren’t supposed to be perfect. In Jinshi’s case, his outward appearance had been so immaculately tailored that his own face didn’t suit his true self. Logically speaking, this was simply the mending of an error. A restitch overdue, even.
What was so wrong with adjusting something mismatched at birth?
Besides. It might be a scratch in a conspicuous spot on the cheek, but it was also her dad's handiwork. Every time she'd stroked it while applying medicine or makeup, she'd admired how neatly it was healing. The sensation under her fingertips was fading– slowly but steadily.
He spoke again, “Maybe I should say I burned my face and apply new scars every time I go out in public.”
“No, the color will eventually stain,” Maomao's gaze flicked over the powder he was using to cover up the reddish-pink blemish the sticky makeup left behind. That's what happened when you used it for about twenty days straight.
She had a suggestion though, “If it's burns you want, I'll help you.”
If he was going to do it anyway, she may as well take the chance to test out this new burn ointment recipe she’d been concocting.
“Stop that,” He dismissed, “Gaoshun would die before I even finished roasting. The makeup’s a bit of a bother, but, well… easy. It was so easy it made the rest easy, too. All along the way, I was free from worry.”
Between how none of the village girls wanted to take a pass at the dour “burn victim,” and how the journey liberated him from his chronic desk job, he had plenty of reasons to be over the moon. Meanwhile, Maomao had nothing to do except watch the scenery roll by. AND all the sitting made her butt hurt. Even just thinking about the return journey was making her start to feel… heavy.
“It seems like you didn’t like the carriage very much, did you?” There was that mind-reading ability again, “Would you like to practice riding a horse?”
“I’d really rather just be able to take the bed.”
Maomao had already modified the carriage for the journey by making herself a bed. The problem was, everyone else also liked her bed. Whenever she went to use it, chances were that some lump was already lounging in it.
“Aah, yes. I’m also hoping to sleep more comfortably.”
Her belly flipped to a rolling boil. That was a BOLD thing to say when he was the biggest lump of them all. He'd go riding around on the horses, enjoying the great outdoors, then come flop down on HER bed whenever he got bored. Easy for him to be so “free from worry” when he was always snug as a bug in a rug!
“After all, I’m on His Majesty’s imperial orders to enjoy this trip. And,”
Jinshi flashed a small, wry smile,
“I was told to choose carefully.”
If he was told to choose carefully, that could only mean he’d been told to choose a bride. This bounty of women had been gathered for that purpose. Whichever one he picked, a reaction from the court would follow. The nation’s future, its direction, the fate of the empire itself, laid upon the fruit of his choice.
Would he strengthen ties with neighboring countries? Would he join forces with domestic factions at home? Either way, his position would shift depending on his choice. Additionally, the intention behind hosting such an event in Sei-Yi-Shu was loud and clear: Deepen your ties with the west. That would explain why Uryuu had brought along his other daughter, too.
‘Who will he choose?’
No matter. His choice didn’t involve her. Maomao would always behave in accordance with what was expected in her role as practitioner alone. Nothing less, and nothing more.
Or, well, behaving was the plan…
But the instant it occurred to her that their fingertips had connected, her hand had already been seized. His grasping hand pressed desperately against hers, palms together, fingers intertwined. It was a full size bigger than her own, rough and calloused. Long fingers ensnared Maomao’s hand, as if he intended to hold on forever.
“Sir, could you ever be obliged to let go?”
“If I let go, wouldn’t you keep trying to run away?”
“Do you plan to do something I’d want to run away from?”
“Sometimes I just want to smack you!”
Jinshi’s gaze sought Maomao like an animal tracking prey. That look, reminiscent of a starving, stray dog, belonged to neither the eunuch official nor the imperial prince. If it belonged to anyone, it was someone else entirely.
“Good sir, a mark on the face would surely draw attention. I humbly request that you smack me somewhere less conspicuous."
“I wouldn’t actually hit you.”
“Yeah, I’m aware.”
The noble Jinshi wasn’t the type to lay his hands on women, children, and other innocents. Well, wait– actually, he would lay his hands on her; whenever she’d swill down something toxic, he’d either force an emetic down her throat to clean it out, or wrestle her until she spit it up.
“At best, you’ll twist my arm and choke me out until I’ve spilled my guts.”
“That's on you! Why do you keep trying to poison yourself?!"
She shrugged, “I wouldn’t know…”
The saying goes that “experience makes the best teacher,” but it seemed that Maomao was the only one putting that into practice. People thought she was so much smarter than them, but she wasn’t. She simply had her specialized interests, and that would cause her to put more thought into learning about them. Even worse, it always seemed like she had more thoughts than feelings. Joy, anger, sorrow, pleasure– she felt those, just… less than other humans, apparently.
And yet, there were emotions that everyone else seemed to have that she didn’t understand.
His pulse throbbed through her palm, echoed in her veins. Sweat slicked their shared touch. She looked up at lowered lashes. Eyes dark as the moonless night fixed on her with intent, so close that Maomao could see herself reflected upon them.
The courtesans had a saying, thus had she heard; “You know hell when you know it.”
The customers had a saying in turn, thus had she heard; “That’s why we come here, to get it.”
That unspeakable word was written with four letters in the west, thirteen strokes of a brush in the east, and in both it bore a slot where a heart could go. It was branded vulgar. It was dismissed as a toy in a game. It was something that she’d heard some say they couldn't live without.
Jinshi’s free hand reached up to the side of Maomao’s head. His fingertips gently rounded the curve of her ear, brushing a wisp of hair down, down to the nape of her neck where his touch came to a sudden halt.
“You’re really wearing it, after all.”
His hand hovered where her hair was tied up in the kanzashi. Pure silver of the finest make, crafted into a motif of poppies under the light of the moon. She’d assumed Lahan prepared it, but apparently, she’d assumed wrong. That explained why everyone was so interested in her hairstick.
"Oh, was this from you, sir? I already don’t know how to feel about the moon, but the poppies are just in poor taste."
The flowers reminded her of the White Lady, Pai Niangniang. Though they had a superficial resemblance to the common field poppy that grew in disturbed soil like a weed, the much larger opium poppy was cultivated for making drugs– opiates.
“No more. Don’t ruin the moment. Had it made before the journey. Made sure you’d have a replacement for the old one.”
Jinshi’s hum came from above. His chin rested atop her head, hooked on her crown. He toyed with her hair, a lock between his fingertips, idly twirling round and round. Warm breath fanned her neck from a deep, dreamy sigh. Anyone who happened to pass by would have mistaken them for a couple in an amorous embrace, and Maomao was struck by the concern that an onlooker would get the wrong idea.
“Master Jinshi, you have to move on.”
"What do you mean?”
“What would you do if someone saw this?”
Maomao wasn’t the only little kitty who might slink away from all the commotion. This spot was hidden away from the banquet’s firelight, protected from prying eyes by the trees and shadows, but that didn’t mean no one could stumble across them. He had to know the reason why he was brought here in the first place.
“It's been settled that Lady Lishu is not your niece by blood. You needn't worry about the effects of inbreeding.”
Maomao’s words let loose with all the cold detachment of shooting an arrow. Jinshi winced like it was a direct hit.
Nevertheless, she continued, “Surely you understand that’s the safest option?”
Forget about that whole affair about Basen and Lishu earlier. Just, pretend it never happened. Even if there was a desultory spark, a tiny little sprout between them– It could never have meaning. Never be more than a painful waste of time. Best to nip it in the bud. Safest for it to have never existed at all.
“To hell with safe!”
The chill grazed her ear as his voice went cold as a blade. The playful twirling of her hair came to an end, one hand sliding down her nape, circling round her throat. Long fingers across the whole of her neck that began applying pressure.
“Too much…”
“Too much what?”
Just too much! Pressure, pain, whatever, what did it matter what it was too much of? Yet, he only pressed harder. Entwined fingers seized her hand upward, twisting her arm behind her back. Lunatic! Moron! Freak! Her joint was going to pop right out of the socket! Neck in the gallows of his grip, her arm kinked around the back, Maomao's face was painted with anguish. Her jaw flung open like a flapping fish, tilting back to glub for any bit of breath she could catch. All her dignity had been drained out of her dumb face, and worse, Jinshi was looking down at her from above, admiring his view of her silly, stupid expression, and then—
"……"
Maomao inhaled his heavensent air with raga– the lust of a glutton who indulges in desire. The scent of flowers tickled her nose. She’d expected the divinity of peach blossoms in early spring, but instead this was tea jasmine, simple and sincere. It wasn’t what she’d imagined for the breath of a divine envoy.
His thin lips were slightly dry and just a bit hot.
The hand that choked her neck was now relaxed to cradle her head, and the one that twisted her arm loosened to take her hips in an intimate embrace.
However long they stayed like that, she didn't know. They lingered for exactly as long as he felt it would take for his breath to fill her lungs, pass through her heart, and circulate through every vein of her body. It was only then that he broke the kiss to leer down at her, a glimmer of victory in his gaze.
Tears that had welled up in her eyes, tears he’d squeezed out of her, were now being tenderly swept away by his thumb. Inexplicable fury surged out instead.
“...if you’re going to kill me, have the decency to do it with some venom.”
“I said I would never do that to you,” Jinshi’s fingers traced Maomao’s lips, “and I won’t let you poison yourself either.”
“So,” He declared, “Don’t even try to claim you didn’t know you were one of the candidates. You were clearly prepared to play dumb until the bitter end.”
He wasn’t done, “And what was that guy about, anyway? It’s not like you to dance along to someone else’s tune.”
So he had been watching them, then. Intently.
“That was just the cost of a cheap drink.”
Maomao tried to twist away to avoid his searching gaze, but she couldn't, not while he kept her head locked in his grasp. Her mind was running like her body couldn’t, spiralling around and around down to a single urge; run! Run! Run away! Until escape was the only thing she could think of. She blurted out, “There’s no good in picking a nobody like me!”
“Lahan escorted you here, didn’t he? Everyone will take this as your debut.”
Okay, fine. She could see Jinshi had a point. Maybe deploying her as the La Clan’s marriage candidate was the plan from the start as Lahan’s opening gambit. Ew. Her belly revolted just thinking about it. She would have to crush his toes later.
That aside. If the prince picked a blood relative of the La Clan… well, among the Named Clans, the La Clan was unique in that it maintained a strong sense of neutrality between the factions at court. In that sense, if you were to say this was a safe choice, you probably wouldn’t be wrong. Exactly like Rikuson said earlier. However! They’d all left out a crucial point on the board!
“You’d have to face that man as your adversary.”
She was, of course, referring to the old crank with the monocle. Just imagine the chaos he would have caused if he’d been present! He would have unleashed utter pandemonium so fierce that the escaped lion would have looked like a kitten in comparison, no doubt about it. That was sure to put him off, and she prepared herself to watch Jinshi waver-- but his resolve only faltered for an instant.
"...you agreed to pick up where we left off, didn’t you?"
Once again, she found herself seized. His body pinned hers against the bench, pressing into her so fully that even her hair felt quashed into place. Something slicker than his breath negotiated its way past her lips, sweeping away any remnants of protest. Up close, she could see that his obsidian eyes had gone feral. Brighter than any star even through their dusky haze, both shaded and fervent at once. This was a man who could choose to live a life without want; and yet, within him were the occasional hunger pangs of wanting. He was starving for something and to satisfy this craving was all he wanted.
(He should just choose someone else.)
That which he craved could surely be found within anyone else he’d been provided. A countless number of people were desperate to be the ones providing! Why was he going out of his way to beg at the altar of a broken being for what she didn’t have and couldn’t grant?
Her anxious mind was still urging her to run. Devastation was surely looming. She wanted to evade disaster, but the wild eyes of the hound wouldn’t let her escape. He had his own raga, his all-consuming desire, driving him to hunt what shouldn’t exist. He would rip her apart and find nothing there. Maomao could only meet his feral gaze with the hollow eyes of an effigy.
It only served to stoke the stray dog’s desperation, pressing ever heavier, rooting even deeper.
(This time I might be smothered to death.)
She’d been mounted by a man nearly twice her size. Yet, she knew that courtesans just had to suck it up when they took on clients more than thrice their weight class. They couldn’t whine about it being “too much.” If she coughed up a pathetic complaint like that in front of her beloved sister Pairin, Guru of the Pleasure Garden, do you know what she’d say?
“Even a respected visitor mustn’t be allowed to take the lead. This skill will make or break your value in this house!”
And she’d lay out that teaching in her most seductive tone, accompanied by an erotic display. This was a memory from when she’d been initiated into the doctrines of the courtesan, in spite of the childish fits she’d pitched at the time.
“......”
Maybe it would have been better to just keep laying there, let him see for himself that she was a doll with nothing but stuffing inside. Maybe that would have been worse. Who knows. The only thing we can know is this; Remembering Pairin’s precept also meant remembering everything Pairin prepared her for. Everything she’d had to do to get out of that locked room, every submission she made to get that passing grade, every tear she’d just barely stopped from spilling out when she’d finally performed well enough to earn her big sister’s satisfaction.
It had been drilled into her until reluctance was replaced by reflex.
That’s why she insisted that the author say this clearly; 猫猫に罪はない.
And that’s why the translator now says it clearly (but in English this time); Maomao did nothing wrong.
And what does that mean? Well! It means, when push came to shove–
Maomao sucked up all the saliva he’d pooled in her mouth and swallowed it in one gulp. She parted her lips, a lure, and when the opponent had been reeled into her feint, she slid her tongue across enemy lines.
Wonder and delight sprang to Jinshi’s face, but he didn’t last very long. His body responded with a twitch, and then it twitched again, which caused his hold on Maomao to soften. Enough to turn the tables on him– or maybe the bench.
We’ll say it again; Maomao is innocent of any crime. This act was, legally, vis major– the Will of Heaven.
In her attempt to pay him back, Maomao mistakenly used all of her Pleasure Garden training on Jinshi, subjecting him to an artisanal whore’s finest techniques. Oops!
