Piano Sonata Number 5.
“Is it true that our king is dead? Nay, answer me!”
“He is dead. He was our husband, but now he is dead; at least that is what the whispering spider webs are telling us. Nonetheless, we all must continue fulfilling our duty, and our duty is to honor his legacy,” said the empress.
“He?”
“Our husband.”
“O, it would be more sufficient to say that he was our devil. The king, evil incarnate, is dead; therefore, we must all continue enjoying our lives. Whether it is sorrowful or not, we must do something wistful. That being said, we all must hold a ball,” proclaimed Jachi.
“To hold a ball when he lies still and cold? Such blasphemy. The common brood will be fortified against the will of the god,” protested the seventh wife, Nhui.
“Isn’t she belittling me, and if she is truly belittling me, my lady, I kindly ask you to spank her one hundred times.”
“I am pretty sure that she is not belittling you, Jachi.”
“Then thou must definitely host a lavish event with all the gold, with the silk, and with the spice.”
It was an annual tea time, and all the wives and noble consorts of the emperor had gathered at the Shadow Garden to discuss the marital affairs of their beloved husband.
Their beloved husband was dead, but they were squabbling, and Peach Mitani deftly compared them to chickens getting confused over a fallen egg.
The Shadow Garden, where all this has been occurring, was not built in a traditional style. It was a beautiful building composed of rambling stone and glass, and there was a little bit of splattering sunshine between the edge of the granite, colossal in its own way, seemingly out of heaven's dome.
It was built by a foreign inventor who had come here on a flying balloon, who also brought with him a foreign ritual—the annual tea time.
The empress Borogchin was not in favor of such a gathering. The fuss and pretense as oft annoyed her—she longed for the rest. Hence, today she was eager to end this meeting.
“I think it would be better to calm down for now.”
“Indeed, my lady, you are such a graceful host. It would be far better if we all sat in serenity and peace. But to dwell on irrelevant topics such as these… To dwell on something more convenient for our interests and social status would be likewise appropriate for our tea time,” said a dark figure clad in the shadow.
“There you go again, Turakine, acting as if you were the main consort or even as if you were the empress,” answered the seventh wife, Nhui, in the empress’s stead. For truly, a dark figure, clad in the shadow, was the tenth noble consort, Turakine, and in a certain sense, she was always the one interrupting mid-conversation.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“My lady, what I am trying to do here is to act self-righteously by bringing peace in the time of turmoil…”
Turakine could not finish her sentence. For the seventh wife, Nhui was practically growling.
“Such a sly fox as thee should not be rambling,” she said.
However, the tenth noble consort was not that surprised by Nhui’s cruel gesture. She just peacefully resumed her talking: “Unfortunately, it is a matter of great importance. Our beloved emperor has passed away, and the question of who is going to succeed him is still a sore spot in our flesh and bones.”
The empress Borogchin nervously held her throat. There was a mutual resentment among all these women. Even so, the question of succession should not be mentioned under any circumstances.
“Don’t, Turakine. Stop it. This kind of question should not be discussed among women of the emperor,” the empress tried to meddle.
Unfortunately, to the empress’s dismay, Nhui has already gone far away. It was like a train going at full speed on a railway made of glass.
“Turakine, I am going to beat you,” menacingly said Nhui.
“Just do whatever you need to do,” meekly answered Turakine.
That was the breaking point. Nhui, the seventh wife, could not hold herself anymore.
She stood up from her golden chair and advanced toward Turakine, as if she were a tiger out of the woods.
“What an interesting turn of events,” thought Peach Mitani, the concubine of a low rank.
In fact, when she was still a child, Peach Mitani quite enjoyed watching theatrical performances. Her favorite kind of performance was shadow theater. Therefore, she was bedazzled by this intense spectacle.
Piano Sonata Number 6.
The eunuch watched intensely as the seventh wife, Nhui, slapped the tenth noble consort, Turakine.
He did not enjoy it. For the seventh wife, Nhui was quite a hassle. She was a devout believer, and she was a sharp talker. Nonetheless, he was overjoyed to a certain extent—seeing the tenth noble consort getting her comeuppance was worth his time and the liver torn out of the inner organ of his that he gave up to fulfill his destiny awaiting him.
He smiled, and then he remembered that he had an important mission given to him by that same noble consort.
It was an irony that he served her, and it was his cruel fate that he hated her so much, although everyone in this whole kingdom hated her, and everyone knew that she was a minx who bewitched their emperor.
But despite all this, she was the only one for him, and he had his eyes only for her. For she was the one who provided him with coins and silver. Hence, it was important for him to see the end of his mission.
He then proceeded towards the lower table. The lower table, where all noble consorts of a lower rank were sitting.
On the way to the table, he noticed her.
There were two trays of mushroom soup.
She was there fasting.
There were two trays of mushroom soup.
He opened the bottle of poison using the opener out of his green sleeve, and three drops of poison, colored red, were dropped on the aisle of the tray. Those red drops reminded him of rose petals in his hometown.
He looked around. Everyone seemed to be immersed in Turakine’s shadow play; after all, it was a special ability of hers to divert attention.
To get all the attention.
Piano Sonata Number 6.
Peach Mitano was restraining herself. Her attention was diverted. But then she looked at her elbow. Below her elbow lay a silver tray of a handful of mushroom soups.
She looked over her shoulder. There she saw another girl. She was eating, and she was also a concubine of a lower rank.
She was named Maoline.
Peach Mitani was hot.
She was hot to trot to put her spoon with mushroom soup into her mouth when, all of a sudden, Maoline held her throat and made a painful sound, similar to a whistling baby, and after that, Maoline’s soul left the shadow garden.
She was dead. She was dead, just like the king.
Her name was Maoline.
She has been named Maoline.
