(T/N: The taijin of Rin-taijin is 大人. A suffix meaning a great magnanimous person worthy of respect. It can also mean adult.)
A banquet had been set up inside a room draped with rows and rows of curtains. It was more a banquet than a tea party–that was how Maomao saw it.
(It’s Anan-esque.)
A rug had been laid out, and set over it, were tea and cakes.
In the centre, a shogi board had been set up; scrutinised by a grimy old man and an unfamiliar elderly gentleman, who was not very clean either. Suffice to say, the grimy old man was the weirdo tactician. And the other person was….
(That’s the shogi opponent?)
It was rare to live to eighty years. The man, who must have been remarkable in the past, was currently hunchbacked and had a full-body tremor. His right hand was grasping onto a sturdy looking cane. Behind him, was a middle-aged man watching in concern.
“I’ve brought her–”
Chue raised her hands energetically. Rihaku also came along as an escort. The person who moved his eyes away from the shogi board in response to Chue’s voice, was the grimy old man.
“Ma, Maoma—”
The weirdo tactician called out. But he was cut off halfway.
The elderly man raised his cane and rapped the floor with it. The impact was heavy enough to break the stick had the rug not been so thick.
“Midmatch!”
He had enough steel in his voice that he didn’t sound like a senile geezer. Maomao heard that he was incoherent, but it seems he was clearly understandable when it came to simple words. The elderly man picked up a game piece and played a move with a satisfying sound.
The monocled weirdo also returned his gaze to the shogi board, eyes crinkling. He concentrated on the board while waving to Maomao.
“That was a pretty good move.” Chue mustered a smart look.
“I have no idea what it’s about, but does sis understand?” Rihaku laughed like a good-natured guy.
“Somehow. From the mood.”
Chue was just saying what she wanted to try to say without understanding it. That was the usual Chue.
“Come on, come on, Maomao-san, have some tea too. If you don’t, Chue-san won’t be able to eat cakes.”
Even though the western capital was hot in the daytime, with good wind flow it was a comfortable stay. Was it because of the lack of humidity?
(But they are rich.)
Being told that they were originally wealthy merchants, the rug was splendid. The smooth material felt like silk. The surface was woven with delicate patterns and embroidered as well.
(And yet, he’s eating messily.)
The weirdo tactician was eating a steamed bun as he played shogi. She wondered if the buns were plain or had filling, and if the filling were sweet or salty.
The one refilling the weirdo tactician’s snacks was his aide who seemed to be full of worries. As always, Maomao didn’t know his name, and if she did, she had forgotten.
“Ahaha, looks like you’re having a rough time, Onsou-san.”
Rihaku treated it like it was other people’s business. They were both military officials, so it appeared that they were acquainted.
When this Onsou noticed Maomao, he got a nearby servant to prepare food.
“My sincerest apologies. Even though you are finally here.”
As though he was used to apologising, Onsou bowed his head to a beautiful angle.
(Now this is a good talent.)
He apologised in the way the madam sought for. He wasn’t a youngster but was humble, and despite that, didn’t look incompetent. So he can be used when inexperienced courtesans anger customers.
Note that customers that were incessant complainers were thrown out of the store by manservants no questions asked.
(If he’s up for a career change, I’ll introduce him.)
Although the role of a brothel’s apologiser generally damages the stomach, it should be less stressful compared to being by the weirdo tactician’s side.
Jinshi had yet to come to the tea party. Or he might not be coming.
(He might stir envy again if we were to strangely gather together.)
Whether or not he wasn’t coming, Maomao and others had to gather information.
Anyway, there was nothing she could do until the game ended so she decided to eat.
“Maomao-san, this baked pastry is the best,” Chue said.
“So you’re already eating, Chue-san,” Maomao replied.
“I’m tasting for poison.”
“I can do it myself.”
It truly was a banquet rather than a tea party. Dishes were being carried in one after another. Sadly, there was nothing alcoholic.
She pecked at a steamed bun, and Onsou came over again.
“If you like, take this,” he said.
“What is it?”
Onsou had brought over a book. Made from parchment, it was a compilation of short stories. If possible, a reference book of medicinal herbs and medical books would’ve been good, but his tastes weren’t bad.
“If there are other books you want, I can bring them to you. Or would you prefer board games or card games?”
He was oddly anxious. Maomao found it strange.
“You don’t have to be considerate of me,” she said.
“No, um……” Onsou was having trouble making himself clear. “Rakan-sama and Rin-taijin started playing one dual hour ago, but…”
“But?”
“I think it will take at least two dual hours for their game.”
“Two dual hours…”
“Also, the Prince of the Moon had arrived a little earlier than Maomao-sama did, but he went back. He has a lot of work, so he arranged to be called once they’re finished.”
Jinshi didn’t have free time. She found it reasonable, but then, why won’t he let Maomao go back too? She was busy, too, with admiring medicine, kneading medicine and having tea with the quack.
“Can I go back now? Once it’s time, call for me please,” Maomao said.
She took a plate of fruits and steamed buns to take back. The quack will probably eat it with pleasure.
“You can’t. If you go back, Rakan-sama’s concentration will break. If he plays shogi oddly, Rin-taijin will tire and fall asleep too.”
(No, it’s a pain.)
Maomao was concerned, to begin with, about having an eighty-year-old play shogi continuously for two dual hours. Wouldn’t he just collapse?
(I can’t go back anymore for a different reason now.)
Maomao decided to watch over the elderly man in case he collapsed.
