The Apothecary Diaries: Volume 5 (Light Novel)

Perhaps you’d be interested in asking the Emperor’s younger brother to plant his seed in your belly.”

She wanted to run. This could only bring more trouble, more uncertainty. She wanted to dodge all those problems—but those eyes, the eyes of an untamed dog, weren’t going to let her escape. He was going to devour her, and all in pursuit of something that wasn’t even there. Maomao could only look back at him with empty eyes, like those of a puppet or a doll

Just then, there was a knock on the door and Basen called out, “I’m coming in.” The door opened before they could stop him. His widened eyes were greeted by the sight of Jinshi, apparently doubled over with pain, and Maomao leaning toward him, her face and hand covered in something red.

He didn’t say anything.

They didn’t say anything.

Shortly thereafter, Basen couldn’t say anything. Just as he was about to shout for someone, Maomao crammed the handkerchief into his open mouth, while Jinshi pinned him down. It was the most coordinated thing they’d done since the day they’d met.

More than one father approached “Sir Lahan” to ask who his “honored younger sister” was, but when they found the young woman greeted them with chicken soup all over her face, they would smile ruefully and excuse themselves. No doubt the rumors would soon start that Maomao’s family were all eccentrics.

He would have made a scene so big that an escaped lion would have seemed like child’s play in comparison.

To replace the other one.” His voice came from above her, his chin resting on her head.

Maomao swallowed the saliva in her mouth with a heavy gulp. Her lips began to drift apart, then opened, an invitation to him; and then, again instinctively, she slid closer to him.

Jinshi’s expression was a mixture of surprise and happiness, but it didn’t last long. Soon his body responded with gentle spasms, and his grip on Maomao loosened.

To say again: none of this was Maomao’s fault. This was beyond her control.

She responded to him with the most refined techniques of the pleasure quarter

“I refuse to let you poison yourself,” Jinshi said, his fingers tracing her lips. “You can’t pretend you didn’t know that you were one of the candidates. As much as I’m sure you’d like to.” He wasn’t done, either: “Who was that man, anyway? I’m sure you’re not a dancer.”

Please. I had that made before we left on this trip. To replace the other one.” His voice came from above her, his chin resting on her head. His fingers played through her hair, and she could feel his breath on her

Maomao wasn’t any smarter than the average person, just a little more...dedicated. And when it came to emotion, that she actually had less of than most people. She felt sadness and happiness, anger and joy—less acutely than ordinary people, but they were there. But there were other emotions that people allegedly possessed which Maomao still didn’t understand.

She could feel Jinshi’s pulse in the palm of his hand. He had started to sweat, and the place where their hands joined was slick. She looked up to see long eyelashes lying low over eyes the color of obsidian. Those eyes watched her intently, from so close that she could see herself reflected in them.

The courtesans had a saying: once you know it, it’s hell.

But the men, too, had a saying: to know it was exactly why they went there.

That word, that simple four-letter word with its o and its e, was sometimes called vulgar, and sometimes turned out to be nothing more than a game—but some people said it was impossible to live without it.

Jinshi’s free hand reached for Maomao’s head, his fingers stroking her hair—but they stopped behind her head. “You’re actually wearing it,” he said. His hand had found the hair stick, the silver piece with the moon and the poppy. Maomao had thought maybe it had come from Lahan—but apparently not. No wonder everyone had seemed so intrigued by it.