#maomao!reader

Bearing children is the sole purpose of the women in the village, so it wouldn’t have surprised Gabimaru if the daughter chosen to be his wife would be much older than him; after all, the chief has had sired many children over the years, including those who had entered his house as a concubine. Not that he has seen them, nor cared enough to seek them out. The person introduced to him as his bride was average; enormous eyes, a small nose. and a face that showed she ate well, yet not enough to saw she overindulged in her appetite. Hair washed and combed, a large white uchitake with cranes robe draped over her shoulders, yet underneath the extravagant cloth was a weathered light green kimono with a burgundy obi tied around the waist in a traditional Nagoya knot. She also wore sandals, which were worn out and covered in an inch of mud and specks of grass. That was the first thing Gabimaru learned about his new bride: she spend a lot of time outside, which would also explain why she had freckles.

She seemed ordinary, but he knew she hadn’t been sheltered nor naive as per his initial impression before the wedding ceremony. If she were a clueless child who believed everyone is inherently good, then the chief wouldn’t have trusted her to leave the village and work in the city as an apothecary. What work would he make his daughter do, and why would entrust her into the care of the Hollow as a bride? Gabimaru could only speculate. Perhaps the chief wanted to make sure that his daughter didn’t run away or spill secrets to their enemies. That would make sense, considering how often she visited the pleasure district, whether it was to deliver medicine or treat patients who wished to be discreet.

The brothels were respectable businesses on the surface, offering relaxation for their clients if they could afford it. A place where men - single or married - could indulge in their vices. Men could freely discuss state matters and secrets, seeing the women they paid to entertain them were too stupid to understand what they were saying or simply didn’t care enough to listen. But the walls listen; they hear everything. Information that spilled from loose lips that were tipsy from sake and pleasure can be bought or spread as gossip, depending on the brothel. It was a simple but effective information network.

And the only one who was privy to it was his new wife, the apothecary. The chief wanted to keep it that way, if only to have some kind of leverage over Iwagakure’s enemies, rivaling shinobi villages included. The shogunate wasn’t bothered by it so long as Iwagakure didn’t meddle too much in his affairs. Without the shogunate, then Iwagakure wouldn’t have as many jobs available to Gabimaru or the other shinobi to put food in their stomachs.

That was just the way of things in Iwagakure.

After he realized this — that his marriage is really nothing more than a surveillance mission — Gabimaru thought it would be prudent to understand his target’s day-to-day schedule and report anything out of the ordinary to his new father-in-law.

The job began as soon as dawn broke on the morning after the wedding ceremony. Although he was a married man now, tradition dictated that his wife must sleep in a separate room from her husband so long as they are living under the roof of her father. They could not share a room unless it was for procreation or they had their own home, which was currently being built at an undisclosed location.

When he saw the last shoji door on the right - connected to Yui’s room, who is the second youngest child of the chief’s daughter and apparently his wife’s favorite sister — Gabimaru immediately noticed that it wasn’t closed. Had someone sneaked inside the estate without the Hollow noticing?

His rough hands flexed, ready to deliver a killing blow to whomever might be on the other side of the door. Three, two one.

He pushed it open, a kunai in his other palm, and then blinked. There was no intruder, and neither was his wife. Aside from a writing desk and a changing screen, there sat a neatly folded futon in the middle of the sparse room.

You must have closed it enough to appear you were in the room without alerting the servants or waking up your sister. If that is the case, then you must already be on foot.

Gabimaru left the estate as soon as his sandals were tied around his ankles, wordlessly hopping through the trees. He found his wife quickly; she was dressed in the same green kimono, a wicker basket strapped to her back with a stoic expression on her face. She paused, her sandals kicking up dirt as she looked up in the trees, making his breath hitch as her eyes almost made contact with his.

Gabimaru froze, his body completely still. He didn’t move, nor did he breathe until his wife resumed walking, her attention averted back to the path in front of her. It led to a vast field of herbs, where no one but the midwife and his wife, the apothecary, could enter and use them as they saw fit. Anyone else who went there without the chief’s explicit permission would be executed.

He watched her kneel on the wet earth, smiling softly as she carefully examined the foliage of each herb with utmost care, running her thumb across some of the large leaves before she looked at others. She placed them all in her basket with utmost care, even when she was pulling them up by the roots. An hour and half later, she left with her wares and returned to the estate to place them in her work shed. Then she was off again, catching an ox cart that would take through the mountain pass and into the city. She spent hours there, moving from one pleasure house to another, delivering medicines or treating ailments. That concluded Gabimaru’s first day of observation.

The days that followed shared a similar pattern, except for disappearing into a back room in each of the pleasure houses with a male servant guarding the door. Gabimaru concluded this was how she received information to deliver to the chief and vouched that she had not gone to anyone else that evening. The chief was pleased and dismissed him. The midwife came to the estate one early afternoon. She needed his wife’s help with delivering a set of twins to a couple, and was gone until nightfall. The birth was a success, though it seemed to have exhausted his wife immensely as she staggered back to the estate, her kimono covered in splattered blood. Despite that, she still rose at dawn and headed to the fields to collect more herbs, and started her day again as if nothing had ever happened. She wore a burgundy kimono with white peonies and a black obi. The servants took the green one to be laundered, or she gave it to them.

Either way, it would take a while for the blood to be washed out.

Gabimaru felt something settle inside his rib cage - it was unpleasant, an itch, an urge to grab his wife and drag her back to the estate, to her bedroom, so she could rest. He would have done so, probably, if the chief hadn’t sent him out to do a big job with two other shinobi. When he came back, he was the tired one and in need of some pain relievers, and he knew you had to have some in your shed.

But instead of screaming in terror at seeing her husband in ragged clothes or covered in drying blood, his wife pulled him inside her shed and treated his wounds with the same hands that handled herbs with utmost care.

How was it possible that someone like her was the chief’s daughter?

If you weren’t already used to Setsuna’s clingy yet endearing personality, you would have thought that she was trying to flirt her way out of entertaining someone who wasn’t to her particular taste.

“My husband is busy with his work as a traveling merchant, and he comes from a good family. It was fortuitous that my father approved of the match at all.” You replied, the half-lie, half-truth rolling off your tongue. You had practiced what you would say to any of the courtesans if they got curious about your home life. A carefully crafted piece of fiction to let their minds wander with silly fantasies and not question any variables, but then again no one really cared. It was just small talk, for that purpose, to talk and be distracted before work.

You tilted your head back slightly so you could properly look at Setsuna and smiled. “There is no need to worry for my well-being; I can take care of myself.” It was true. You had survived this long without getting kidnapped by flesh peddlers or swindled by shady merchants who claimed to have rare ingredients from across the oceans, and so on. Really, getting married to Gabimaru wasn’t the most terrible thing to have happened to you - in this life, or the previous one.

Setsuna’s pout deepened. “I still don’t like it.” She declared. “And I never will. But if you are happy, then I suppose that has to mean something, doesn’t it?”

“That is all we could ever hope for our dear little apothecary.” A low, velvety voice crooned. You swiveled your head to the right, seeing another familiar and popular courtesan of this house making her appearance even though she should be resting.

But then again, you have never seen Momiji not working. If she were not entertaining guests in her room, she would be in the office, helping organize the books and making sure business ran smoothly if the madam’s back was preventing her from doing so. There were rumors she would take over The White Tiger once Lady Izumi retired, though that’s all it was. Mere speculation. Her long brown hair was halfway pulled back, and a lacquered hairpin held it together; its grass-green beads enhanced her natural beauty and highlighted the color of her eyes. A bright yellow kimono with pink and red plum blossoms adorned her voluptuous body, held together by her favorite purple obi but loose enough to expose her shoulders to enticed clients who would want to see more of her milky skin.

Momiji smiled at you. “I pray the gods bless your marriage with fortune and fertility. I assume you’ve come here to deliver our monthly remedies?”

“Of course.” You said.

Momiji nodded. “Please wait here, then. I shall return in half a moment. Setsuna, don’t even think about taking her to your room.” She eyed her fellow courtesan with a raised brow, who shrugged innocently and had yet to release you from her clutches.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Setsuna replied. “I’m just having a nice little chat with our kitten, now shoo.” She waved her hand as if she were trying to brush off dirt from her sleeves. “You’ll have your turn with [First Name] after me.”

Momiji rolled her eyes in exasperation and left. She returned shortly as she had promised, and the two of you made an exchange that came as naturally as breathing. Coin for medicine, inquiries on health, and additional orders to be made within a week's time. She gave you a brief pat on the head, and left, dragging Setsuna by the wrist, who whined and tried to wiggle away as they went up the stairs to the second floor, and then disappeared from your line of sight.

The work was finished. It was time to return home. Tomorrow you will return to Yoshiwara and collect information for the chief. Or, you glanced to the right. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to stop by the marketplace for a bit. It had been a while since you had gone anywhere in Edo besides Yoshiwara. Maybe you could find a bargain on some ingredients for dinner tonight, stock up on a few things. So that was what you were headed, weaving through the congested streets, bartering with vendors, and filling up your basket once the purchases were made: fresh fish wrapped in bamboo, tofu, noodles, vegetables, and sardine oil to light the paper laterns in the house, should you need to do some light reading at night.

By the time you had finished with the shopping, it was already mid-afternoon. You needed to start heading towards the path leading to the mountains or else you wouldn’t reach the village until nightfall with the amount of items you were now carrying and on foot. As you hurried down the street, your ears caught worried whispers being murmured amongst the crowded area.

“Did you hear? A shinzō from Yoshiwara has gone missing!”

“Surely you jest! Yoshiwara residents treasure them as much as their tayū!”

“Indeed they are! Which begs the question: who in the right mind would dare -”

“Hush, don’t you dare finish that sentence! Let the police find the shinzō, and pray that she is safe instead of what you were just implying! Do you wish to bring misfortune upon the house she represents?”

“I was just thinking out loud!”

“You don’t think before you speak, you silly fool!”

Your brow furrowed. A shinzō had gone missing? If this were true, then it was indeed terrible news for the houses in Yoshiwara. Although the tayū are revered in the Nightless City, their beauty is fleeting. Should a tayū be forced to retire, her apprentice would step in and take her place, allowing the cycle of fortune, fame, and house rivalry to continue without ever stopping. That was what a shinzōwas, as opposed to a kamuro, an attendant who supported the tayū in every way possible, from doing chores to running errands in the city, supporting her public appearances as part of the entourage, and occasionally secretarial work.

But this was not the rear palace, and you had no authority to be investigating an ongoing case. You were an apothecary in this life, with no connections to royalty and no reason to get involved. Don’t draw attention to yourself, [First Name]. Do not make the same mistakes as before. Focus on what needs to be done and nothing else.

That was what you kept telling yourself as you scurried out of Edo, though perhaps that wasn’t the best word to describe your sluggish pace on account of all the items in your basket. You were not physically strong as Gabimaru, but you could compartmentalize your own suffering if it meant to treat others who needed someone with your skills, someone whose survival - and worth - was tied to her usefulness.

The old fox summoned Yui back to the main house. His excuse was that she had been away long enough to help you get settled into your new home, and no, it could not wait until after lunch. That was all the masked shinobi would tell you. Yui, gentle Yui, promised to come back and visit you soon as they led her away, suddenly making the food you had brought back seem like a waste. Perhaps you could rub some salt onto the fish so it wouldn’t spoil? Surely there was some stored away in the kitchen.

You blinked. Salt, rice, and daikon. If you had everything, then you could make yourself some rice porridge. The meal would tide you over for the rest of the afternoon, allowing you to focus on the housework and preparing the next batch of medicine to make. Dinner was another matter to worry about later, if you would even be hungry by then.

“I’m home.”

You froze. The knife in your hand stilled, angled against the wooden cutting board and barely grazing the daikon you were about to slice up into tiny pieces while the rice was being boiled over the firepit. You looked over your shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of Gabimaru stepping over the tatami mats with his mud-caked sandals on. You inhaled through your nose and exhaled through the mouth before you placed the knife down and turned around, hands folded neatly in your lap.

“Welcome back, husband.” You smiled, hoping that your expression was convincing enough that you were happy to see him and not lamenting just how much time it would take to get the dirt out of the mats, or worse, if he had tracked it to other rooms besides the kitchen. The old man raised your husband to be less than human and more like a weapon to be used at his beck and call, you silly girl. A voice chided in the back of your mind. It’s all right to be annoyed, but there’s no reason to be angry with him.

As much as you wished to deny the existence of a consciousness without physical evidence to prove this theory, deep down you knew it was true.

Perhaps instead of going on a walk with him in the morning or cooking a meal together as Yui had suggested that the two of you do when he returned from his mission, you could teach him other things. Like how to remember to leave outside shoes by the door, and to show gratitude for every meal. Things that a normal couple would do. Or would Yui say the opposite and scold you for thinking like that at all? You inwardly groaned. You had no idea what you were doing.

But for the sake of this arranged marriage, to have an amiable relationship with your husband, even if it never goes beyond physical intimacy, you will try.

You were grimacing. When a wife grimaces like what you are doing now, then he, the husband, must have done something wrong. At least that was what the other shinobi muttered to each other when they talked about their wives and thought he wouldn’t pay any attention to what they said. But Gabimaru the Hollow sees and hears everything because that is part of his job. Listen, observe, and report. Kill if necessary.

But he was not on a mission - he had finally come to his wife and you were not happy with him. Why though? He looked around. Nothing seemed out of place in this new house. In fact, everything seemed cozy. Was that even the right word? Or was it comfortable? The house was clean too, except there was a trail of mud behind him -

Oh. Oh. That was why you were grimacing.

Gabimaru felt his ears burn. “I’m sorry.” He stuttered, leaning forward and quickly unlaced the strings of his sandals. “I didn’t mean to make the floors dirty. I wasn’t trying to make you angry. I just…wanted to hurry back to your side.” He looked at you sheepishly. “Can we still have lunch together?”

“So you help with the birthing process?”

“Yes.” Your fingers traced over a picture of a tree where a cluster of mushrooms grew. “It becomes a completely different story if there is a child in the breech position, however.”

“The breech position?” Gabimaru parroted. “Is that bad?”

You looked back at him. “It is.” You turned around, maneuvering your body towards the veranda with the scroll resting loosely in your hands. “The baby’s head positioned towards the birth canal guarantees a safe delivery with minimal complications. But if I were to touch the mother’s stomach, and I feel the baby’s head instead of the buttocks or feet, then they are in the breech position. That complicates the delivery, endangering both the mother and the unborn child for many reasons.” You listened them with your fingers. “The baby’s head could be trapped inside the mother’s pelvis, the umbilical cord comes out first before the baby, which could cut off their oxygen supply, or even trauma to the head due to hemorrhaging.” You shrugged. “There isn’t enough evidence to prove that theory is true as of right now.”

“And you can tell if it will be a breech delivery just by touching the mother’s stomach?” Gabimaru said, his eyes widening slightly.

“The uterus is where the child develops from a fetus, but close enough.” You replied. “If I suspected that to be the case, Lady Aoi and I would try to guide the baby’s body gently into the correct position for delivery. If that failed, however, I would have to bring a surgeon from the city to cut open the mother’s stomach and extract the child from there. But even to do that, I would need the chief’s permission. You know how he feels about outsiders visiting Iwagakure beyond requesting a job for the shinobi or simply passing through to reach Edo.”

Gabimaru stared at you for a moment before nodding. “Makes sense.” That’s all he said before he leaned back, stretching his lithe body across the veranda. “Being an apothecary sounds hard.” He said, his gaze still trained on you. “Just don’t push yourself to where you might do more harm than good, or the chief will get mad.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I know. There’s no need to worry, husband, I know my place. I would do nothing to embarrass you.” You swung your body around, away from the open door and towards the organized shelves, the scent of mugwort and Kuro-moji tickling your nose. You had gathered some yesterday, tied them together and suspended from the rafters so that they could dry out before using them. They made excellent leaves for brewing tea, among other things.

After this conversation, the work-shed fell into silence again. You had expected Gabimaru to leave you alone, head to the shinobi training grounds and prepare himself for the next big job. Instead, when it was time for you to depart for Edo, he had remained in the same spot on the veranda, watching you pack up your wares inside your basket and close up the shed. His gaze never left yours, and then he raised his hand up. As if he were saying good-bye and to be safe on your trip.

Had he consumed a poison that made him act out of character or docile? If so, how had you missed the symptoms? That was the first thought that crossed your mind, because the idea of Gabimaru willingly spending time with you was nigh impossible.

But when you changed the bandages on your arms in front of him, he seemed utterly fascinated with the self-inflicted imperfections. He knew which was a snake bite or a chemical burn just from a glance.

Since you had no access to willing human test subjects or animals, you used your body for these experiments as you had done before in your previous life. The difference this time was that you developed a lotion that helped speed up the healing process. As long as you remembered to apply it every day without fail, they wouldn’t look as scary as they did to Lord Jinishi when he first saw them. Perhaps that was why Gabimaru was at ease when he asked you about them, what you discovered from your experiments, etc.

The following morning you found rolls of bandages sitting on the veranda, neatly arranged. A thoughtful gesture from your husband, to which you repaid in kind by leaving corked glass vials of various medicines outside his room; you weren’t sure if he would use any of them, though it was better to be prepared for any jobs that come through Iwagakure. The glass vials had been a gift from one madam after treating her staff for a bout of stomach flu, proclaiming that they had come from an exotic land. As much as it pained you to part with something so rare and practical for your work, Gabimaru’s health came first. You could find another way to get access to these little trinkets, somehow, someday.

A week later you found two baskets stuffed with herbs - all neatly organized by type and carefully arranged - and clay bottles filled with venom. You immediately asked Gabimaru what type of venom and how he did acquired it when he graced you with his presence on the veranda, but he evaded your questions with his questions. How would you tell the difference between spider and snake venom? Could you create an antidote once you knew the symptoms, or would it require further study since humans have different reactions, like allergies?

You were torn between tackling him in a hug from the immense joy that was bubbling through your body at such gifts or spiking his tea with a laxative for his vague answers. You chose the former, since that little prank might earn a scolding from Yui.

In the weeks that followed, you felt something change between you and your husband. Something that wasn’t the same. You couldn’t quite understand what it was, only that he had spent more time lingering on the veranda of the shed whenever you were around, occasionally helping you with sorting out the herbs you brought back from the fields. He even reminded you to come back inside the estate to eat or wash up instead of Yui. She might have put him up to it under the pretense of being a good husband, but there was no evidence to support this theory.

You hoped things would continue for as long as possible.

Five months passed. When the chief had sent Gabimaru and three shinobi to handle a sensitive job for a wealthy client, the house had finished construction. Building one this far out in the mountains was difficult, with the lack of young men who weren’t shinobi and supplies to the materials needed to lay the foundation. If anything, you had expected to remain under the chief’s roof until the winter, when the first snow fell.

According to the wretched old man, everyone in the village had volunteered to help with the building of the house. Gratitude towards their apothecary, and how they wish to make it a fine one for your and Gabimaru’s children to grow strong.

Was it terrible then, to feel happiness and sadness in tandem? You were leaving your old home behind to start a new life, but Yui would remain in the main house as the last, unwedded daughter. Your heart twisted at the thought. You wanted Yui to marry well, to have a husband who would treat her well. That she could still smile and be so joyful showed just how strong she was in a society where a woman’s face reflected her value as a wife.

But if you ever had a say in this arranged marriage, before the village chief had given you to Gabimaru as a prize for obedience and loyalty to the village, you would have insisted that Yui was a more suitable wife for the Hollow than you ever could be. She was loyal, kind, and could communicate what was on her mind more effectively than you ever could. It would have put your mind at ease knowing she would be in good hands, protected by the strongest shinobi who never stayed at home for long, granting her the slice of freedom she had always wished for, what the chief had denied her when he burned the left side of her face.

Women are never to leave Iwagakure. That was his warning, both to her and to you. He wasn’t above hurting Yui again to prove his point, and to put in your place should you ever step out of your role as a wife. So you held her tongue, and wished you could give her more than the opportunity to create umbrellas to sell in the village in her room at the estate.

Perhaps that gave you the idea to allow her to stay in the new house with you until Gabimaru returned from his mission. To ensure that there are no evil spirits lurking in the rafters and everything was smoothly. By doing so, surely a brood of children with your husband’s hair and your eyes will be born by next spring or sooner. As soon as those words left your lips, the chief immediately gave out orders to the servants and household shinobi. Anything to bring more powerful offspring into the world, more shinobi under his command.

Everyone benefited from the situation, yourself included.

The chief assigned two shinobi to carry all the tools and equipment from the work shed to a corner in your new home. Exposure to moisture or sunlight would cause irreversible damage to your inventory, sealed jars of dried herbs and the snake venom included. The larger pieces, such as the herb grinder and the cabinet where you stored ready-to-use herbs in case of emergencies, would have to be brought to the house another day, or at least until you can figure out where you could put everything without overcrowding the living space.

Yui helped wipe down everything, giving the mats and floors a thorough scrubbing before she moved on to air out the futons. There was already a fire pit in place, though the condition of the sand, the wood, and the teakettle had seen better days. A housewarming gift, perhaps?

“All you need is a good shine.” You murmured as you held it in your hands, then glanced at the pit. “Definitely will need to find sand and wood that aren’t waterlogged.” Naturally, you gave these tasks to the shinobi who stood outside the house doing nothing except grumbling under their breaths. Surely with their keen eye and agility, replacing these things won’t be such an arduous task for them to complete.

They complied, albeit reluctantly, because they knew what could happen if they disobeyed the chief. After they finished, you assigned them additional tasks: organizing dried foodstuffs such as rice and pickled vegetables, filling a wooden barrel with water for drinking, cooking, or diluting medicine, and helping Yui hang the linens. The shinobi grumbled the entire time, and immediately departed as soon as they were no more tasks to be finished, Yui cheerily waving at them just as the sun set. Once they were out of sight, they were out of mind as soon as she closed the door with a ssh-k.

She somehow had the energy to prepare fish miso soup for dinner and usher the two of you for a long soak at the public bathhouse. Although you could still use the bathhouse at the estate, you preferred not to. You didn’t argue with Yui when she insisted on going to bed early, not when your body was sore from the work done today. There would be more to do tomorrow, but tomorrow was not today. Not yet, anyway.

Morning came in several hours, and you were back in the fields collecting herbs. Once you had returned from your outing, Yui welcomed you back with a warm smile and breakfast already made. You thanked her for the meal with a small smile of your own before digging in.

The rest of the afternoon involved sorting and arranging the rooms, including a surprise visit from a merchant in Edo. He delivered a goemon-bucho, claiming the madam from the Murasaki House had bought it to ‘congratulate her apothecary on her marriage, and consider it a down payment for future medications since the girls need to earn their keep’.

Despite all her talk of generosity, Madam Misao was always about business and a penchant for keeping track of debts, individual and within the house. A hawk-eyed old hag with a love for money. Greed produced a successful brothel, which trained many famous tayū over the years, even when most of the licensed houses in Yoshiwara were owned by men with more power than she had.

She tolerated you because you kept her girls healthy, and you tolerated her snide remarks on how you were wasting away your prime on medicine when you could make money in your sleep. Perhaps she could keep those comments to herself now that you were a married woman. Or she might not and still try to coerce you into working for her by falsifying a debt that couldn’t be paid off any other way unless it was as a yūjo, a woman of pleasure.

Girls being legally sold off for a lump sum by the prominent male or head of the family to pay off debt or to have one less mouth to feed had been a common practice in Li, but kidnapping and selling them against their will was against the law. In this world, anything goes so long as it meant there would be no shortage of women to please clients with higher social status and a fat purse.

Perhaps you should prepare a delicate blend of herbal tea for Madam Misao as thanks for her gift. If not to express your gratitude for her generous gift, but to remind her that without you, her girls would not make money. You shared this idea with Yui, and her entire face beamed with delight as she sprung suggestions on what teas would go with different snacks, and if a tiny sprinkle of something extra special would be too cruel or ruin your business relationship with Madam Misao for saying such “nice things” about her dear sister.

Tempting, but ultimately counterproductive in the grand scheme of things. Most of the intel you collected for the chief came from Murasaki House, so you needed to keep things professional, or else the chief might actually sell you off to a brothel once your usefulness expired.

The merchant and his apprentices installed the goemon-bucho in the back of the house before leaving, wanting to get back to Edo before nightfall.

When the moon rose over the clouds, you and Yui spent the evening in quiet productivity; she painted umbrellas that would be ready to sell at the market tomorrow morning, and you were preparing medicines to deliver in Yoshiwara and the Hanamachi district. If Yoshiwara becomes lively at night, then the Hanamachi district focuses on training the girls who arrive there because of poverty or debt. Once they had proven their worth, they would be sold to any of the established brothels, becoming either a kamuro - a servant girl to the tayū - or a shinzō, the tayū’s personal attendant, a companion who might have the potential to become a tayū like her master.

If a wealthy client purchased them in Yoshiwara, the Hanamachi district would receive a percentage of the commission fee from the brothel, using the money to buy more girls, and the cycle would continue.

That’s why it was imperative to ensure that your patient - a young girl named Sera who had developed a fever and was isolated from the others to prevent it from spreading - receives this last batch of medicine. If the owners had followed your prior instructions, then all she needed to do was keep resting and staying hydrated with tea that must be taken with the medicine you had given to her seniors a week ago. Frequent urination will flush out the ailment and allow her body to recover to its previous vitality.

You just hoped that they wouldn’t get too impatient and force your patient to start the lessons again when she was in no physical or mental condition to do so. If they did, then she would take longer to recover, or worse, die and the disease would spread to the other girls. A scenario you want to avoid as much as possible.

The next morning, your routine as an apothecary began again. You woke up, dressed quickly and quietly without so you would not wake up Yui, and just barely hopped onto the back of a cart filled with hay that was on its way out of the village. You got off the cart halfway through the trail and walked to the city on foot, the wicker basket on your back jostling with each step you took, the sound of clay jars and dried herbs making a disjointed cacophony of clankkgshhhkclankkgshhhkclankclankclank.

An hour later, just as the sun rose over the mountains, the familiar archway welcoming visitors to Yoshiwara was within your line of sight. Finally, you thought. Why did it feel like the trip here took longer than normal? You shook your head. You must be imagining things. Nor was it to time to ponder such a trivial matter when there was work to be done.

Your first stop was the Hanamichi district. To your delight, Sera’s health had progressed in the direction it should with the medicine you had prescribed. You informed the owners, a couple, of the good news as you gave them the last dose. Just one more day of rest, and Sera shall be more than ready to resume her lessons. Naturally they weren’t too happy that their investment was being put on hold again, but did not put up a fight and thanked you for your due diligence as they walked out of their establishment.

You passed through the district; the chatter from the busy main street transitioned to something softer, calmer even, as you made your way towards the brothels. The latticed wooden windows of each establishment, where the less expensive courtesans displayed themselves to catch the customer’s wandering eyes, were empty. The teahouses were open, as were the kabuki theaters. It all seemed like a normal day in Yoshiwara, but you could feel a heavy gaze on your back as you passed by, which was an odd thing in itself because you were unremarkable and non-threatening. No one cared what an apothecary did here so long as it did not interfere with their personal agenda.

So what was this tension in the air? Had anything happened since your last visit? These questions bubbled in the back of your mind as you greeted a male attendant of Okamoto House, who lead to the back of the first floor where the offices were; one for the owner, the other for the madam. Lady Omitsu had requested to have a batch of laxatives prepared for her tayū Yakumo. The patient had been suffering a serious bout of indigestion as result from eating rich foods provided by her client. Lady Omitsu needed Yakumo to be ready to serve him again tonight, to dazzle the spectators who would watch her walk through the Nightless City with her retinue, led by the patron who had purchased her company for the evening. There were many men who would compete for the attention of a tayū, even if the price to share a delightful dream with an educated beauty was astronomical.

“There you are!” Lady Omitsu stood up from her low desk, her oval face creased with impatience as she sashyed towards you, the cyan sleeves of her kimono billowing behind her plump frame, earthy brown hair elegantly pulled back in the maru-mage style, a rounded chignon pinned on top of her head. This symbolized her married status to the community. If she were unwedded, her hair would have been styled differently. Her small, almond eyes narrowed.

“You took longer than you promised, apothecary.” She snapped. You opened your mouth to apologize for your tardiness - to which you had no recollection of promising to arrive here first thing in the morning- but clamped it shut when her gaze sharpened. “I am not interested in hearing your excuses.” She pointed a finger over your shoulder, and your basket. “Give me the medicine, tell me how it must be administered, and leave. Time is money, and I am not losing Yakumo’s client to Orihime of all people.” She hissed. “That wretch of Agatsuma House will not win this time. Everyone knows my tayū is more cultured and well-developed than that child she bought.”

You bowed your head. “As you wish.” Competition between houses was as fierce as ever, even when you did not grow up in this pleasure district.

You followed her into the kitchen. You instructed the madam to continue giving Yakumo light meals and tea. If she were to take the laxative with heavier or rich foods, her symptoms would worsen and recovery would take longer than just a few days of rest and hydration. You showed her how to administer the medicine and took your leave, the purse of coins tucked into the sleeves of your kimono.

As you bowed your head towards the irate Lady Omitsu and her attendant, your ears picked up the sound of wailing. Not the kind caused by an ailment from indigestion, but by grief.

An apothecary does not speculate what went on behind the closed doors of these gilded gardens unless there is tangible evidence that proves otherwise. You spared a single glance at the banister leading up to the second floor, where Yakumo and the courtesans would entertain their guests, then left Okamoto House, shutting the door behind you.