Maomao Quotes

Maomao had come to believe there was no toxin so terrifying as a woman’s smile. That one rule held true whether in the halls of the most ornate palace or the squalid chambers of the cheapest pleasure house.

Maomao was probably the only one here who sometimes tried poisons for fun. She was, let us say, an exceptional personality. If I had to go, I think I’d like it to be by blowfish toxin. The organs mixed into a nice soup...

Ua maomao ka lani, ua kahaea luna, Ua pipi ka maka o ka hoku. (The heavens were fair, they stretched above, Many were the eyes of the stars.)

Maomao briefly regretted that she hadn’t simply disguised Jinshi as a woman, but then she remembered that dab of rouge and thought better of it. She shook her head: Jinshi must never appear in women’s clothing, lest the very world tear itself apart.

Once the two of them were alone in the room, Maomao took a deep breath, then heaved a sigh. “Master Jinshi.” “Yes?” “Don’t you think you’re pushing yourself too hard?” The last vestiges of the Moon Prince vanished. “Is there ever a time when I’m not?

He took a breath. He was looking at Maomao, but somehow he seemed almost embarrassed. Finally he managed, “Now listen to me, y—I mean, Maomao! Listen close! I am going to make you my wife!” He’d said it. He’d actually said it. To her, it sounded like a death sentence. All his vagueness, all his ambiguity had actually been a show of kindness to Maomao. For with her social status, the words once spoken were as good as a command. She couldn’t fight them, couldn’t contravene what he wished.

A woman in ostentatious makeup took one look at the plain, unadorned Maomao and grinned openly. Maomao took a step backward. It was, as always, exhausting getting prettied up.

Isn’t it about time you gave in?” she asked. “Gave in to what?” Maomao asked,

Oh! It’s the Poison Lady!” said one of the villagers who had spotted Maomao. “Think you could whip up some more poison for us?

Now listen to me, y—I mean, Maomao! Listen close! I am going to make you my wife!

But once Maomao was invested in a problem, she couldn’t let it go. She crossed her arms, trying to put the pieces together in her head.

Jinshi must have been getting sleepy, for he gradually slumped on the bed until he was lying down. Thinking what a lot of trouble he could be, Maomao sat on the bed and began gently stroking his hair.

And though the exterior might be lovely, there was the question of what was within. And so Maomao ended up looking at Jinshi like some kind of bug crawling along the ground. She sincerely couldn’t help it.

I’m very sorry, sir. I’m afraid I might have crushed a frog.” She kept her face completely expressionless. “...A frog.” Jinshi winced. Fine. Let him wince. Maomao would overcome this situation by sheer force of will.

But Jinshi was oddly skilled at reading Maomao’s expressions. Partly because they’d now known each other for a fair amount of time, true, but even by that standard he was quite sensitive to slight changes in her face.

Maomao wasn’t specifically a smarter person or better student than anyone else. She simply cared less about some things most people cared about, and instead shunted that extra attention into fields in which she was interested.

Jinshi’s robe had come open when Maomao had landed on him, but the body it revealed was not soft and indulged; instead it was all taut muscle, the product of discipline and training. His face might be that of a nymph, but his body was that of a warrior.

Although Maomao wasn’t sure how much trouble she could really get into with the mild, juice-based alcohol. “I wouldn’t get drunk.” “I heard you emptied a barrel on the way here.” Who’d snitched on her? It had to be Jinshi or Basen. Maomao clicked her tongue.

For you, I will remove every obstacle that keeps us apart. One day. Just know that.” With that, Jinshi buried himself under the covers. “I won’t let what you fear come to pass. I swear it.” Soon she heard him breathing evenly in sleep. What I fear... Maomao pictured Empress Gyokuyou. I don’t think Master Jinshi knows, she thought. She didn’t think he was aware of the secret of his own birth. What about Empress Gyokuyou? Does she know? And what did His Majesty want for Jinshi? What about Ah-Duo? It’s never good to know too much.

Let us be honest about how Maomao was feeling: the last thing in the world she wanted was to be alone with this creature. It wasn’t that Maomao hated beautiful things. But when something was too beautiful, one started to feel that the remotest blemish was like a crime, unforgivable.

Ahem. His name is Lakan...” No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Maomao’s expression shifted. Her eyes widened and she took a step away from Jinshi, almost, it seemed, involuntarily. To date she had looked at him like a beetle, like a dried-out earthworm, like mud, like dust, like a slug, and even like a flattened frog—that is to say, in many demeaning and belittling ways—but he realized that all of these were kind and gentle compared to the look she leveled at him now. It was, frankly, hard to describe, but even Jinshi felt he could barely survive it. Maomao looked as if she might smash open his heart and pour in molten metal so that not even ashes remained.

Once in a while, pictures of Maomao the cat were mixed in with the letters; these came from Chou-u. In lieu of a personal seal, Maomao’s toe beans would be pressed on the pictures in scarlet ink. The scratches on the

Once in a while, pictures of Maomao the cat were mixed in with the letters; these came from Chou-u. In lieu of a personal seal, Maomao’s toe beans would be pressed on the pictures in scarlet ink. The scratches on the pictures suggested she signed them under duress.

This was the doing of the freak strategist. Associating with troublesome people could only bring you trouble, Maomao knew, but knowing it and staying out of trouble were different things.

En’en, I think there’s something wrong with Maomao...” “You’re just now noticing, milady?” As far as Maomao was concerned, they may as well not have been talking. Everything else at that moment seemed trivial compared to her ginseng.

When she had first learned that the Grand Commandant was Maomao’s father, she was shocked—but, on reflection, maybe not that shocked.

Maomao didn’t blame her, as poisonous mushrooms could be surprisingly delicious, and she had been about to say so when her father had gently stopped her. He seemed to think it might not be as reassuring as she imagined.

I’ll bet you could get your hands on some imported medicines here,” offered Ailan. Imported medicines! Maomao very nearly jumped at that opportunity. No! Bad Maomao!

I haven’t seen anything at all, sir and ma’am.” Rikuson was looking studiously at the blue sky as if nothing were happening. Maybe he was a better man than Maomao had given him credit for.

This time Maomao wasn’t so quick to answer. A station equivalent to a medical official’s: in other words, one that would allow her some access to the drugs in the medical office. She tried to keep her lips in a neutral, straight line, but she couldn’t prevent a slight tremble. A glint entered Gaoshun’s eyes. “You could try out new drugs too. We have people who do that, you know.” Still Maomao was silent, but she felt her cheek begin to twitch and the corners of her lips start to edge upward. No! Don’t give in! There’s a catch. There has to be.

Maomao’s “older sister,” Pairin, couldn’t write very well; when she tried, the characters often came out backwards, as if in a mirror. The old lady had made several attempts to improve Pairin’s handwriting, but the quirk remained, and she always had to have someone check her writing or simply write for her.

Maomao the apothecary was diligent-minded, if nothing else. If she kept her head down and did her job, she could hope to leave this place someday, if never, she assumed, to gain royal notice. Sadly, Maomao’s thinking was—let us say naïve. She didn’t know what was going to happen. No one does; that’s the nature of life. Maomao was a relatively objective thinker for a girl of seventeen, but she had a few qualities that continually dogged her. For one, curiosity; and for another, a hunger for knowledge. And then there was her budding sense of justice.

The old lady really seemed to want to make Maomao a courtesan. She’d been maneuvering toward it for years now. She kept telling Maomao to quit wasting her time with medicine already, but that was never going to happen. What, was she simply going to swap her interest from pharmaceuticals to singing and dancing? Not a chance.

And then, quietly so that no one else would hear her, she gave Consort Lihua some advice. A secret technique one of the older ladies of the night had told her it “couldn’t hurt to know.” Sadly, Maomao lacked equipment of the necessary size. But this particular technique seemed the perfect thing for Consort Lihua. Lihua’s face went as red as an apple when she heard it. What Maomao might have told her was a subject of lively debate among Lihua’s ladies-in-waiting for some time afterward, but it was all the same to Maomao.

Maomao backed away a half step and found herself up against the wall. She looked to Gaoshun for help, but the reticent aide was sitting by the window, idly watching birds flying through the sky. The obviously artificial nature of the pose made him look most disagreeable. I’ll have to sneak him a laxative later.

Lihua’s ladies-in-waiting tended to have one of two reactions to Maomao: either they were terrified of her, or they were terrified of her but still fought back. Guess I went a little too far.

The cat was given a name that meant “furry.” It stuck in Maomao’s craw for one simple reason: this name, too, was pronounced “maomao.

What exactly did you teach them?” Jinshi inquired. Maomao didn’t quite look at him, but rather, somewhere just past him. “Next time you see the Emperor, ask what he thought of my lesson,” she said. As to the content of her instruction, she would leave that to Jinshi’s imagination.

The shoddy shaving bothered her. (Maomao was sometimes bothered by rather unusual things.)

The object of all this returning and lending was, of course, Maomao. She, Gaoshun, and Hongniang all sighed at once: were they going to see a repeat of last time?

Gyokuyou proceeded to interrogate her for the next thirty minutes, but Maomao would say only: “It was the frog’s fault.” She was starting to think that a few ox bezoars had been too cheap a price for a secret she would have to carry to her grave.

As she wandered, Maomao spotted a dog—one with a familiar keeper. So the mutt’s brought his mutt. It was Lihaku, who was something of a big, friendly dog himself.

If you wish to further thin the blood, might I suggest taking someone like this young lady into your retinue?” Excuse me? What was that doddering old coot thinking? Maomao wanted to pull off a shoe and fling it at him. “Amusing as that might be, I’d rather not make an enemy of Lakan. And perhaps more importantly, her bust would have to grow about another fifteen centimeters first!” First: just how intimidated was he by the “fox strategist”? And second: Really?

Maomao knew nothing about politics; she couldn’t have cared less about the subject. She just wanted to learn as much as she could about medicine, research and study it, and invent different drugs. That was all she wanted out of life.

Even Lishu had at least one good story going around, which claimed that she’d once collapsed with a spontaneous nosebleed while reading some book. When she’d heard about it, Maomao had only hoped that nobody would ask too many questions about what kind of book it had been.

Maomao allowed her eyelids to droop so that she looked rather more skeptical; Jinshi let out a relieved breath and sat forward again. Why did he look so...satisfied? Was the eunuch actually a secret masochist?

There are certain people who would be unable to distinguish which door was red and which was green,” Maomao said.

Maomao was just a minor palace woman. Things were so much easier when he treated her as such. “Understood, sir,” she said with a bow of her head.

If only Hongniang or Sazen or Lahan’s brother were here now, Maomao thought, thinking of the three best quippers she knew. It was too much work to come up with sarcastic responses for everything Chue did all by herself. She would have appreciated some help.

That masked owl is back. Maybe returning it to the wild wasn’t so easy...” “It’s used to humans now,” Taomei said, breaking into a smile at the mention of the owl. Maomao was sure now: Taomei appreciated the bird as a fellow predator.

Maomao looked at Chue. “Miss Chue, do you have a map of the western capital?” “Ha ha!” Lihaku laughed. “You say the strangest things. Who would carry a—” “Here you go!” Chue pulled a map, drawn on parchment, out of the folds of her robes. “Why do you have that?!” Lihaku exclaimed, supplying the quip in lieu of the absent Lahan’s Brother. “Because I’m Miss Chue!” she declared. Indeed, Maomao knew she was; that was why she’d asked. It turned out she’d been right to do so.

Oooh! Your famous poison!” “It’s pesticide!” Maomao snapped. If she let the mistake go once, everyone would start making it, and then there would be no going back.

Suiren took Maomao’s robe from her. From the folds she extracted a writing kit, a pad of paper, some medicine, and bandages, one after another, until she looked downright exasperated. “Do you always carry all this with you?” she asked. “I left my sewing kit at home,” replied Maomao.

Never realized I was the nice one, Maomao thought. She looked at the bandits and mentally urged them to give up their life of crime.

As ever, Lahan’s way of looking at things was more or less inscrutable to others. “You’re terribly lovely; it’s only a shame you weren’t born a woman,” he added. That gave Jinshi gooseflesh. True, Maomao’s cousin looked and acted much like she did, but unfortunately, Jinshi didn’t swing that way.

How many times now had she dropped a knuckle on Gyokujun’s whiny head? She’d always heard that boys were more trouble than girls, but now she knew it in her bones. Xiaohong was polite and quiet and did what Maomao said.

They were welcome to worship whatever deities, superhumans, or faeries they wished as far as Maomao was concerned. But there were some who put those characters to a wicked purpose, and many who were taken in by such schemes. Gods were like medicine: they could be dangerous if used the wrong way.

True, Maomao's cousin looked and acted much like she did, but unfortunately, Jinshi didn't swing that way - p256

I’d like to get back to my work, sir.” “I know it takes more than a little toxin to bother you.” He bit harder. It started to hurt a little, and she smacked him on the back. He only bit down harder still, and before she could stop herself Maomao pounded him soundly on the shoulders. Finally she felt his lips move away from her neck. A string of saliva stretched between them for a good shaku before it finally snapped. “What, are you going to bite me to death?” “I’ve wanted to at times.

For every beautiful blossom faded in time. The blossoms of the rear palace had to bear fruit, or they were worthless. As familiar as this logic was to Maomao by now, it never ceased to remind her that the palace was also a prison.

Jinshi was starting to think it would be quicker just to get a new palace, but then he pictured Maomao chastising him for the waste of money, and decided to keep the suggestion to himself.

I have clothes here for you too, Maomao. There’s no need for you to say something like ‘As you can see, I’m not in a fit outfit to present myself before everyone else, so you all go enjoy the banquet without me’ and hide in your room—so don’t worry!

Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who was tired. Maomao hadn’t slept well either. And she finally snapped. “You always tell me I should use my words, Master Jinshi, but are you really in a position to criticize? Everything you tell me, everything you do, it’s as if it’s calculated to avoid having to say what you really mean! Just say it! So I can understand you, okay? You know, you remind me of someone. You act exactly like a man who used to come to our brothel all the time. He was in love with one of the girls, but never said it. He thought it should be obvious from the way he acted. He was so sure that something good would happen with that woman that he didn’t even send her a letter. I remember how devastated he looked when someone else swooped in and took her away. He kept coming back to the brothel afterward—to get drunk and lament to the other girls. So then, why didn’t he just avoid disappointment by telling the woman how he felt? In a clear and unequivocal way, so she’d know even if she didn’t understand subtle clues. It was the least he could have done.” It all came out in a torrent. She felt like she had spat everything out in one breath. It was strange, though—those words had just slipped from her mouth.