"Most interesting. I was given to understand that you couldn't
read," the beautiful eunuch said slowly, deliberately. Maomao
followed uncomfortably behind him as he walked along.
"No, sir. I am of lowly birth. There must be some mistake."
Who the hell would teach me? she thought, but she would
hardly have said the words if she'd been under torture. Maomao
was set on acting as ignorant as she could. Maybe her language
was a little off, but what could she do about it? Someone of such
mean origins could be expected to do no better.
The lower-ranked serving girls were handled diferently
depending on whether or not they could read. Those who were
literate and those who were not each had their uses, but if one
could read yet pretend ignorance—ah, now that was the way to
walk the fine line in the middle.
The beautiful eunuch introduced himself as Jinshi. His
gorgeous smile suggested he wouldn't hurt a flea, but Maomao
felt something shifty behind it. How else could he needle her so
remorselessly? Jinshi had told Maomao to be silent and follow
him. And that brought them to this moment. Maomao was aware
that, as a servant of no import, shaking her head at Jinshi might
be the last thing she ever did with it, so she had obediently done
as he said. She was busy calculating what might happen next,
and how she would deal with it.
It wasn't as if she couldn't guess what might have inspired
Jinshi to summon her; what remained mysterious was how he had
figured it out. The message she had delivered to the consort.
A piece of cloth dangled with affected nonchalance in Jinshi's
hand. It was festooned with unkempt characters. Maomao had
told no one she could write, and had likewise kept silent about her
background as an apothecary and her knowledge of poisons. He
could never have tracked her by her handwriting. She thought she
had been careful to ensure there had been no one around whenshe delivered the message, but perhaps she had missed
something, been seen by someone. The witness must have
reported a petite servant girl with freckles.
No doubt Jinshi had begun by canvassing all the girls who
could write, collecting samples of their calligraphy. One could
attempt to appear a less competent wielder of the brush than one
was, but telltale signs and identifying characteristics would
remain. When that search had proved in vain, he would have
turned to the girls who could not write.
Suspicious fart. Too much time on his hands...
As Maomao was having these uncharitable thoughts, they
arrived at their destination. It was, as she might have expected,
Consort Gyokuyou's pavilion. Jinshi knocked on the door and a
placid voice responded, "Come in."
So they did. Inside they discovered a gorgeous woman with
red hair, lovingly cradling an infant with curly locks. The child's
cheeks were rosy, her skin the same pale tone as her mother's.
She was the picture of health as she lay dozing sweetly in the
consort's arms.
"I have brought the one you wished to see, milady." Jinshi no
longer spoke in the jocular manner of earlier, but comported
himself with perfect gravity.
"Thank you for your trouble." Gyokuyou smiled, a smile that
was warmer than Jinshi's, and bowed her head to Maomao.
Maomao looked at her in surprise. "I possess no station to
warrant such acknowledgment, milady." She chose her words
carefully, trying not to offend. Although, not having been born to
a life where such care was necessary, she wasn't sure she was
doing it right.
"Oh, but you do. And I will do much more than this to show
my gratitude to you—my daughter's savior."
"I'm certain there's been some misunderstanding. Perhaps you
have the wrong person," Maomao said. She felt herself break into
a cold sweat: she was being polite, but she was still contradicting
an Imperial consort. She wished for her head to remain attached
to her shoulders, but she did not wish to be a part of anything
involving people such as this—to be pressed into any kind of
service for any kind of noble or royal.Jinshi, alert to the concern on Gyokuyou's face, displayed the
cloth to Maomao with a flourish. "Are you aware that this is the
material used in the maids' work clothes?"
"Now that you mention it, sir, I see the resemblance." She
would play stupid to the bitter end. Even though she knew it was
useless.
"It's more than a resemblance. This came from the uniform of
a girl connected to the shang of sartorial affairs."
The palace serving staff were grouped into six shang, or main
offices of employment. The shang fu, or Wardrobe Service, dealt
with the dispensation of clothing, and it was this group to which
Maomao, who was largely charged with doing laundry, belonged.
The unbleached skirt she wore matched the color of the fabric in
Jinshi's hands. If anyone were to inspect her skirt, they would find
an unusual seam, hidden carefully on the inside.
In other words, the proof was there before them. Maomao
doubted Jinshi would do anything so uncouth as to check for
himself right in front of Consort Gyokuyou, but she couldn't be
sure. She decided she had best own up before she was publicly
humiliated.
"What exactly is it that you both want from me?" she asked.
The two of them looked at each other, apparently taking this
for confirmation. Both had the sweetest of smiles on their faces.
The only sound in the room was the whispering breath of the
sleeping child and, almost as soft, Maomao sighing.
The very next day, Maomao was obliged to pack up her
meager belongings. Xiaolan and all the other women who shared
a room with her were properly jealous, and pestered her endlessly
about how this turn of events had come about. Maomao could
only give her most strained smile and try to pretend it was no
great matter.
Maomao was to be a lady-in-waiting to the Emperor's favored
consort.
She had, in a word, made it.