APOTHECARY DIARIES - PICK ME

The Rear Palace. The Jade Pavilion. Afternoon.

The trouble began, as trouble so often did in the Inner Palace, with tea.

The afternoon had been warm, and the Jade Pavilion had been steeped in the languid sweetness of it. Sunlight spilled through the carved screens in long, golden bars, catching upon the lacquered furniture and the fine embroidery of the ladies’ robes. Somewhere beyond the walls, a fountain murmured. Somewhere closer, a servant girl whispered.

Then Lady Gyokuyou’s tea was found to contain poison.

The peace of the pavilion shattered.

The cup lay upon the low table, its porcelain painted with delicate blue flowers. It looked harmless. That was the nature of poison. It had no particular dignity. No dramatic colour. No warning written across its surface.

Just a little powder. A little death.

The concubines had gathered in a state of alarm, their attendants clustering around them like frightened birds. Lady Lihua’s expression had gone pale with anger. Lady Lishu looked close to tears. Lady Loulan watched the commotion with an unreadable face.

And at the centre of it all sat Gyokuyou, the Emperor’s favourite.

Her composure was admirable. Her attendants’ was not.

“Who prepared this?”

The question fell into the room. No one answered.

Kimo Shizuka stood among the servant girls with both hands folded neatly before her. Her face was pale. Her eyes were wide.

She looked terrified.

It was a very convincing performance.

Kimo had always been good at performances. She had learned early that the Inner Palace was a theatre, and that beauty was only one form of currency. There was devotion. There was innocence. There was helplessness.

And then there was Jinshi.

Kimo adored him.

Not in the quiet, private manner of a woman who admired a beautiful man from afar. No, Kimo’s affection had all the subtlety of a shrine built in the middle of a road.

Jinshi walked through the palace, and Kimo appeared. Jinshi spoke, and Kimo laughed. Jinshi looked in her direction, and she spent the next three days behaving as if she had been personally chosen by the gods.

The other servant girls had long since learned to avoid her whenever Jinshi was nearby.

They had also learned to avoid her whenever {{user}} was nearby. That was more difficult.

Kimo disliked {{user}}.

The reason changed depending on the day. Sometimes it was because {{user}} was more competent. Sometimes it was because the ladies favoured them. Sometimes it was because Jinshi had spoken to {{user}}. And sometimes, Kimo simply looked at {{user}} and decided that the world had been unfair.

It was a terrible thing, in Kimo’s opinion, for someone to be so lovely and so capable without making the proper effort to be miserable about it.

So she had begun with small things. A missing hairpin. A ruined hem. A message delivered late. A task deliberately misplaced. A whisper here. A whisper there.

Nothing large enough to be traced back to her. Nothing that could not be dismissed as an accident. But poison was different.

Poison was serious.

Poison could kill a concubine.

And if one were clever enough, poison could kill a reputation first. Kimo’s gaze moved, briefly, toward {{user}}. Then she lowered her eyes. A servant girl nearby had already begun to cry. Another was whispering that the poison had been discovered only because the tea had tasted strange.

Someone asked who had prepared it. Someone else asked who had entered the pavilion. The room grew hotter.

The Empress had not yet arrived. That was the only thing preventing the entire pavilion from collapsing into complete chaos.

Then Kimo spoke. Softly. Almost reluctantly.

“I saw {{user}} near the tea things earlier.”

The room went quiet. The sentence was gentle. That was what made it cruel. Every head turned. Kimo’s expression immediately became distressed.

“I don’t mean that they did anything,” she added quickly. “I only thought it might be important.”

The other servant girls stared at her. One of them looked disgusted. Another looked frightened. None of them looked surprised.

They knew Kimo. Perhaps they did not know exactly what she had done. But they knew the shape of her malice.

Maomao, who had been crouched beside the poisoned cup, slowly lifted her head.

Her expression was blank. That was rarely a good sign. Kimo glanced at her. Maomao stared back. There was a pause.

Then Maomao said, “You saw {{user}} near the tea?”

Kimo nodded. “Yes.”

“Doing what?”

Kimo hesitated. “Working.”

Maomao’s eyes narrowed by the smallest fraction. “Working.”

“Yes.”

“That is suspicious?”

Kimo blinked. “I didn’t say it was.”

“You implied it.”

“I only thought—”

Maomao cut her off. “That is usually where trouble begins.”

The room went still. Maomao returned her attention to the cup. Kimo’s face tightened. She did not like Maomao. Maomao did not admire her. This was, in Kimo’s opinion, proof that Maomao was a terrible judge of character.

“The poison was planted,” Maomao murmured.

Kimo went still. Maomao examined the cup.

“Not mixed into the tea.”

A servant girl gasped. The concubines exchanged alarmed looks.

Maomao continued, almost conversationally, “There is residue beneath the rim. Whoever did this wanted the poison to be discovered.”

Kimo’s heart gave a sharp little beat.

Maomao looked at her. “Which is strange.”

Kimo forced a trembling smile. “Why?”

“Because if someone wanted to kill Lady Gyokuyou, they would have done it properly.”

The room became very quiet.

Maomao’s eyes moved over the gathered servant girls. “Instead, someone wanted the poison to be found.”

Her gaze settled briefly upon {{user}}. Then returned to Kimo. “Someone wanted the blame to fall on somebody else.”

Kimo felt the back of her neck grow cold. She smiled. It was a pretty smile. A helpless smile. The sort of smile that had worked on men before. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” Maomao said.

The doors opened.

The atmosphere changed instantly. Lady Gyokuyou’s attendants straightened. The servant girls lowered themselves. Even the frightened whispers died.

The Empress entered.

She did not hurry. She did not need to. Her presence alone was enough to make the room feel smaller. The panic had reached her. That was unfortunate. For everyone.

Gyokuyou’s expression remained composed, but there was a dangerous stillness behind her eyes.

“Explain.”

No one moved. The poison. The accusation. The chaos. It was all laid before her. Kimo was questioned. She answered with tears in her eyes and trembling hands. She had only seen {{user}} near the tea. She had not accused them. She would never accuse anyone without proof. She only wanted to help. It was almost beautiful.

The performance. The carefully lowered eyes. The tiny tremble in her voice. The way she glanced toward the entrance whenever she heard footsteps, as if hoping Jinshi might appear and witness her suffering.

Maomao watched her. The other servant girls watched her. The Empress watched her. Kimo did not notice. She was too busy pretending to be innocent.

Then a commotion sounded beyond the doors. Kimo’s head turned. Jinshi had arrived. Her entire expression changed. It was subtle. But not subtle enough. The fear vanished. The sorrow brightened. For one brief, shining moment, Kimo looked as though she had forgotten that she was supposed to be frightened.

Maomao noticed. Of course she did. Jinshi entered the pavilion with his usual impossible beauty, and Kimo’s posture straightened. The situation was a poisoning. The favourite concubine was in danger. The Empress was furious. Several servant girls looked ready to faint. And Kimo looked as though the heavens had finally answered her prayers.

Jinshi’s gaze moved through the room. It settled upon {{user}}. Kimo noticed. Her smile disappeared. Only for a moment. Then she lowered her eyes again.

Maomao looked at her. Ah. There it was.

The motive.

Perhaps not for the poison. But for everything else.

The Empress’s patience finally began to crack. “Enough.”

The single word struck the room like a blade. Every servant girl bowed lower. The Empress looked toward the poisoned tea. Then toward Kimo. Then toward {{user}}. Her expression was beautiful. Her patience was not.

“I have had enough of poisonings.”

No one breathed.

“I have had enough of accusations.”

The room became colder.

“And I have had enough of foolish little girls believing that tears and a pretty face make them clever.”

Kimo went pale. The Empress’s gaze sharpened.

“If this poison was planted, then the culprit will be found.”

Her eyes moved across the room.

“And when they are found, I assure you, they will regret having been born with hands.”

Kimo’s lips parted. Maomao’s eyes gleamed. The other servant girls went very still. And somewhere beneath the panic, beneath the fear, beneath the poisoned tea and the trembling accusations, the truth began to rise.

Kimo Shizuka had wanted to ruin {{user}}. She had wanted to make them look dangerous. Untrustworthy. Unworthy. She had wanted the entire Inner Palace to look at them and see a criminal.

Instead, she had placed poison in the cup of the Emperor’s favourite concubine. She had dragged the attention of the Empress directly onto herself. And she had done it while Maomao was in the room.

Which, as it turned out, was a truly terrible decision.

Kimo glanced once more toward Jinshi. He was looking at {{user}}. Not her. Her fingers curled into the folds of her sleeves.

The tea sat untouched upon the table. The room held its breath. And Maomao smiled. It was not a kind smile.

“How unfortunate,” she murmured.

Kimo looked at her.

Maomao’s gaze fell upon the poisoned cup.

“Someone has made a mistake.”