The Apothecary's Hidden Ledger: The Villain's Conviction - The Lord of the Moon and the Hunger of Memory—The Scent of Corruption Swirling in the Rear Palace

Late summer dusk. In the rear palace of the imperial court, the corridors of the Moon-Viewing Tower rising in the northeast were steeped in the scent of sandalwood and the laughter of court ladies. The vermilion-lacquered pillars, struck by the setting sun, seemed to bleed. Jinshi leaned his back against the railing, fan held to his lips, watching the scene in silence. "Oh, Master Jinshi! Wherever did you pick up such a risqué tale?" "My ears are wide, that's all. But keep that story just between us, won't you?" His long, jet-black hair streamed smoothly in the evening breeze. The upper robe of white silk embroidered with silver-thread moon crests swelled faintly. His deep violet-blue eyes were cold and clear, as if to hide all emotion—yet his lips wore a flawless smile. That contrast between the two expressions must have seemed, to the court ladies, unbearably beautiful and terrifying all at once. The Moon Lord of the rear palace. The emperor's own younger brother, yet content with the ambiguous post of assistant administrator of the inner court—that was the beautiful young man's public face. "Say, Master Jinshi, at the next full-moon festival, which consort's table will you be seated at?" "That's still a secret." Behind his fan, Jinshi let his gaze drift to a single serving maid standing at the back of the circle of court ladies. She looked about fifteen. Dressed in a washed-out cotton robe, she held a mountain of laundry in both arms. When her eyes met Jinshi's, she hurriedly bowed her head and scurried off into the shadow of the corridor. (How much of that girl's monthly wage is left, I wonder?) Numbers turned in a corner of his mind. The rear palace held roughly eight hundred court ladies and six hundred serving maids. Their stipends were meant, originally, to support their own livelihoods. But reality was different. The emperor's consorts and the clans behind them—the maternal relatives—reached even into the stipends of court ladies and serving maids, using them as a source of funds to maintain their own factions. "It's suppertime now. You may all withdraw." At his words, the court ladies bowed—reluctant, but without defiance—and departed. Their footsteps faded, and silence returned to the corridor. Jinshi closed his fan and leaned out over the railing to look down at the rear palace gardens spread below. One lamp was lit, then another. For every lamp, there churned here the schemes and desires of women. "...How tiresome." The murmured words reached no one, dissolving into the dusk. When he returned to his private chamber on the second floor of the Moon-Viewing Tower, a letter lay on the desk. No wax seal. Instead, in the corner of the fold, was pressed a cipher understood only among the Moon-Shadow Corps—an ink mark like a crescent moon laid on its side. Jinshi removed his silver hairpin and gathered his long hair back into a single tail. He sat in the chair and lit the candle. Beneath the flickering flame, he opened the letter. What emerged was a report on the grain storehouses of the northern province. A string of numbers. But Jinshi's eyes did not miss the truth behind those figures. Moon-mirror reading—the art of determining a document's authenticity and its author from the handwriting, the quality of the paper, the ink used, the quirks of style. A skill honed through his training as a bureaucrat, an eye that belonged to Jinshi alone. The report showed that the reserve rice supposedly stored in the northern province's granaries diverged sharply between the ledger figures and the actual measured amounts. The discrepancy, by rough estimate, was enough to carry an entire district through a single winter. "Embezzlement." His voice was calm. But deep in his chest, something pulsed coldly. Not anger. Something deeper, darker. Eighteen years ago, the Tenmei Famine. A cold summer and blight had driven the empire's rice harvest down to thirty percent of a normal year. The embezzlement of reserve rice by provincial officials came to light only long after the famine had begun. By then it was too late—one hundred twenty thousand people starved to death. Jinshi had been eleven. He had grown up in the depths of the imperial palace, never knowing hunger. But he knew what had happened outside the palace walls that famine year. No—he had come to know it. (That day, I—) Jinshi closed his eyes. What he remembered was a woman's emaciated arm. Clutching at the soil, trying to eat grass, and then—whether her strength had given out—going still. Beside her, a small child was crying. The child seemed to have no strength left even to cry. And just past that scene, a party of fat provincial officials passed by in their carriages. They did not so much as glance at the starving people; reeking of wine, they laughed. That was when Jinshi first understood. This country is built so that the people starve. It is run by those who would fill their own bellies before they would save the people's lives. (A country where the people do not starve.) That was Jinshi's starting point. He funded the Moon-Shadow Corps from his own purse, and spun his schemes without shrinking from dirty methods. All to sweep away the corruption eating this country. For that, he was prepared to pay any price. "...He's late." As Jinshi murmured, a man appeared without a sound from behind the bookshelf at the back of the chamber. It was the head of the Moon-Shadow Corps. He was in his mid-forties. He wrapped himself in a soot-gray coat and covered the lower half of his face with black cloth. Only his sharp, hawk-like eyes were exposed. A former bandit chief, he now served as Jinshi's hands and feet, commanding the intelligence network throughout the empire. "Forgive my lateness." The man dropped to one knee and bowed deeply. His voice was low, as if echoing from the depths of the earth. "I've read the report. The northern province matter." "Yes. Led by Wolden, the chief of the provincial officials, reserve rice is being embezzled in at least five districts. The method: falsifying ledgers and funneling the skimmed portion to the black market. The trail leads through a great merchant of the moon capital to people connected to the Anshi clan—one corner of the Seven-Clan Covenant." "Anshi." Jinshi's fingers unconsciously tightened around the silver hairpin. Anshi. The head of a maternal clan with influence in the rear palace. A political enemy who had falsified records concerning the birth of Jinshi's mother, Consort Shuhou, and schemed to exclude Jinshi from the line of succession. "The people of the northern province may not survive this winter. The situation already recalls a second Tenmei Famine." The Tenmei Famine. At those words, the image rose again in Jinshi's mind—that emaciated woman's arm, and the crying child. "Scour everything around Wolden. In particular, identify the clerks who took part in falsifying the ledgers. Follow the connections between people, not the flow of money. Who threatened whom, who killed whom, to bury the embezzlement—get me the proof." "Understood." The head raised his face. For a single instant, his eyes went to Jinshi's hand—to the white fingers gripping the silver hairpin. "...Master Jinshi. There is one more report." "Speak." "Men of the Anshi faction are poking through the palace archives, searching for records concerning Consort Shuhou's birth." Jinshi's fingers stopped dead. Consort Shuhou. Jinshi's mother. Poisoned five years ago. The truth of her death was still buried in darkness. Officially she had died of illness, but Jinshi knew. His mother had been poisoned by someone. And the record of her birth. Once, when he was small, his mother had told him—only once. That Consort Shuhou came from a lowly house with the blood of mountain folk. But that story remained nowhere in the palace records. His mother's origins were a grave secret tied to the right of succession. If Anshi exposed it, Jinshi would not escape unscathed. "...How many in the archives do you have accounted for?" "Three. All of them either distant Anshi relatives or clerks bought with money." "Warn those three to stay away from the archives. Any method you like. But don't kill them. A corpse will give Anshi something to make noise about." "Then—threats?" "Yes. Let them sense, without saying it outright, that their families' safety is at stake. That will be enough." Jinshi's voice was cold through and through. But the head knew. He knew that this man, in truth, had a kinder heart than anyone. Jinshi kept pursuing the truth of his mother's death. Not to protect his right of succession. Only for revenge against the one who had killed her. "...And keep watch on the Anshi faction's movements. In particular, take measures at once to block their entry into the archives. My mother's records must not fall into their hands, whatever happens." "As you command." The head bowed deeply, then vanished again without a sound behind the bookshelf. Silence returned to the room. Jinshi slowly leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. He remembered the moment of his mother's death. It was winter, five years ago. His mother had coughed up blood and died in his arms. Her last words were his name. "Jinshi... live... for the people..." Jinshi gripped the silver hairpin that had been his mother's keepsake. The pin she had always worn in her hair. He remembered how, as a small child, he used to pull it from her hair and play with it. (Mother...) Jinshi closed his eyes. To build a country where the people do not starve. That was his mother's will, too. But apart from that, Jinshi had a personal aim. To find the one who had killed his mother. And to make that person suffer a punishment heavier than death. These two purposes twined together in Jinshi, intricately. (I am always wavering between my conviction for the people and my mission to uncover the truth of my mother's death.) Jinshi smiled, a little self-mockingly. (A cold, calculating schemer, am I? Is that how I look?) Certainly, he spun his schemes coldly. He ordered the Moon-Shadow Corps to threaten, to entrap, sometimes even to kill. But each time, something deep in his chest screamed. (I am, in truth, weaker than anyone.) Jinshi stood. He walked to the window and looked outside. The moon had risen. A bright moon, near full. As the name of the Moon-Shadow Empire suggested, the moon held special meaning in this country. The waxing and waning of the moon was the basis of the calendar, and moon worship was the state religion. Moonlight lit Jinshi's profile. That face was beautiful. But at the same time, it was lonely. From the tower of the rear palace, the streets of the moon capital were visible. Lights still lingered along Moon-Viewing Avenue. The calls of merchants drifted faintly on the wind. Beneath those lights, people who had finished the day's work were gathered around modest suppers. (May there be rice on their tables tomorrow, and the day after.) Jinshi looked up at the moon. (For that, I will become a demon if I must.) The moonlight reflected coldly in Jinshi's violet-blue eyes. At that moment, the silver ring on the ring finger of his left hand caught the moonlight and glinted. A silver ring for tasting poison. It was the one Jinshi used when he mixed poison with his own hands. (The time will come when I need it.) So Jinshi thought. To sweep away this rotting empire, he would have to use poison, scheme, and violence—all of it. (Until that time comes, I will keep wearing this mask.) Jinshi left the window and turned back to the desk. Then he began to run his brush across the white paper. No one knew what he was writing. But the movement of the brush was unwavering, and strong. Moonlight lit his hands. The scent of ink filled the quiet room. The story was about to begin moving. But no one knew it yet. Beneath the Moon Lord's mask, a cold sc

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Episode 1

Name: The Apothecary's Hidden Ledger: The Villain's Conviction
Author: Novelia

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