Threats

As soon as I stepped into the Spring Welcome Pavilion, someone immediately approached, and I handed him a generous amount of silver.

“Are there any private rooms available?”

“Yes, yes, sir, please follow me.”

Before long, I was led to a private room—truly worthy of its name. Situated on the second floor, I could lift the curtain to see the stage below, or let it fall to create a cozy little chamber, complete with a bed set to one side. I couldn’t help but marvel at the designer’s ingenuity, already planning to seek advice from whoever had devised such a clever layout.

It wasn’t long before a line of maids entered, bearing a bounty of wine and dishes. Their leader smiled, encouraging me to enjoy myself, then led the others out, leaving only two women behind, both dressed in striking, seductive finery. Clearly, these were the companions for the evening.

Apparently, they’d taken my short stature into account, for both women were petite and delicate. Once again, I found myself impressed by the staff at the Spring Welcome Pavilion. It was as if they could always say the right thing to the right person, ensuring everyone left satisfied.

“Sir, may I pour you some wine?”

“Yes,” I nodded, pulling one of the women to sit beside me. She feigned modesty for a moment, but the next second, she collapsed into my arms, sending a shiver through me.

So this was the life men truly enjoyed—soft, fragrant beauties in their embrace. Who could spare a thought for the sallow-faced wife waiting at home?

I didn’t know how much time had passed, but the three of us were enjoying ourselves. I sat at the table, letting them feed me morsels of food. One of them even whispered that I was the best guest—eating without taking liberties—which made me sputter my wine and ruin half the dishes.

Truly, having a good appetite is a blessing—even at a pleasure house, one could be praised by the ladies. What an honor, indeed.

I still couldn’t fathom why I’d come here. Was it to protest my dissatisfaction with Yun Heng? But what good would that do? He had no idea how much I was hurting for him, grieving for him, drowning my sorrows for his sake. Admittedly, I could hold my liquor well, and with no one to accompany me, how could I truly get drunk? A little wine, just a taste, was enough.

But the visit was worthwhile—I met a remarkable person.

The door to my room was flung open and then quickly shut. A small man entered, his hair tied back but falling loosely to one side. His pale blue clothes were in disarray, and he was missing a sleeve.

He shot us an awkward glance, then peered through the crack in the door, his expression growing increasingly terrified. In a flash, he dove under our table, grabbing my ankle and pressing a dagger against me—a clear threat. Unfortunately, I was in no position to resist.

Catching the eyes of the two women, I signaled to them. They understood immediately; they’d already noticed the dagger in the man’s hand. If I died, they’d likely be silenced as well.

Drawing them closer, I whispered hurriedly in their ears, then tore at more of their clothing.

Sure enough, the next moment, several men burst through the door. The two women screamed at the top of their lungs, and I seized the opportunity to put on a look of terror, making sure the intruders saw my face.

The ruse worked. The men retreated. It had been a gamble, but it paid off.