Chapter 27: A Single Glance, a Lifetime’s Regret

At last, it was time for the women of Qiliang to perform, and Mingchu and the others craned their necks in anticipation.

Two women, their faces veiled in purple, lithe and alluring, emerged from either side of the stage. Their attire was scant—short, gauzy wraps across their chests, skirts trimmed with purple tassels, and purple bells on their feet chimed delicately as they moved.

Each held a cup of wine. After bowing their heads in greeting, they tossed the cups high into the air. Then, rising en pointe, they leapt gracefully upward.

The audience erupted into cheers.

As the women spun nimbly, the wine shimmered like ribbons of colored silk, swirling around their bodies. Their fingers fluttered like falling petals, and with a flick of their sleeves, the wine scattered in all directions. Suddenly, two enormous golden ingots appeared on the floor.

A collective gasp filled the room.

Xue Wan grinned from ear to ear. The two women, eyes glimmering from beneath their veils, let their crimson lips curve into faint smiles. With a coquettish glance, they sent half the men in the audience into a daze. Even Chen Shanglu felt a strange stirring within.

The four friends had come in high spirits and left just as pleased.

As dusk fell, Jiang Zhenning departed the Jiang residence alone and made his way to the Emerald Smoke Pavilion. Avoiding the small groups of laughing men and women, he went upstairs and entered a room on the southern side.

A woman, in the midst of painting her brows, paused as she saw him enter. "Young Master," she greeted.

He nodded and sat down, pouring himself a cup of tea.

"To what do I owe your visit today?" she asked, affixing a plum blossom ornament to her forehead before turning to face him.

"Must I have a reason to see you?" There was a glint of amusement in Jiang Zhenning’s eyes.

"Isn’t it always so?" she retorted, a touch of sorrow flickering in her beautiful gaze. With a cool, mocking smile, she added, "Is there ever a time you come without asking something of me?"

"Qingdai, what’s wrong with you today, speaking so sharply?" Jiang Zhenning sounded puzzled.

Qingdai turned her gaze to the window and spoke softly, "It’s just that I remembered—five years ago today, I first met you."

Perhaps the past was too bitter to recall, but he was the only light in her darkness.

Five years ago, on this very night, the Emerald Smoke Pavilion hosted its triennial Spirit Flower Festival. In truth, the festival was nothing more than a night when the brothel’s courtesans sold their first night to the highest bidder.

She had once been the cherished only daughter of an official’s family, their precious jewel. But fate was fickle; her parents were murdered on the road while visiting relatives. She sought refuge with her uncle, only to find the world cold and unkind. Not only did her uncle refuse to care for her, he secretly sold her to the Emerald Smoke Pavilion, giving her the name Qingdai.

She tried to escape many times, each attempt ending in brutal beatings. In the dark, cramped cell where she was confined, she would cry herself to sleep and wake with new wounds each day. After countless attempts, she finally gave up.

Fate—this was her fate.

On the night of the Spirit Flower Festival, she stood on stage, forced to endure the naked, hungry stares of the men below, as if they would strip her bare with their eyes.

She bowed her head as low as she could, her palms clenched so tightly they ached.

She was beautiful, and the youngest among them, so she was quickly bought by a customer—a middle-aged man with a pockmarked face, who leered at her with a disgusting grin.

Suddenly, a gaze in the crowd caught her attention.

A man in a blue robe stood quietly watching her, his eyes filled with pity. For reasons she could not explain, tears spilled down her cheeks.

She followed the man who bought her back to his room, enduring his touch and his foul breath. Nausea rose in her chest; she shoved him away and ran to the side to vomit.

The man flew into a rage, grabbed her by the hair, and dragged her back to the bed. He slapped her viciously—twice. She nearly fainted.

Lying there, as her eyes drifted shut, she knew her heart was dying.

Suddenly, the door was kicked open with a thunderous crash. In the next instant, the man on top of her was flung aside.

It was him—the man in the blue robe. Covering his eyes with one hand, he quickly grabbed a blanket and draped it over her with the other.

The customer, humiliated and furious, shouted, "Who are you to ruin my night? I’ll have someone teach you a lesson!"

Jiang Zhenning kicked him out, tossing back a single sentence: "Jiang Zhenning of the Jiang family. I’ll be waiting anytime."

The man immediately knelt outside the door, begging, "I was blind not to recognize you, sir! I deserve to die, I deserve to die! Please, be merciful—don’t stoop to my level!"

"Get out."

The man fled, bowing and scraping.

Jiang Zhenning turned his back to her and spoke gently, "Don’t be afraid, it’s over." She bit her lip, her body cold, trembling uncontrollably.

She stared blankly at his back—Jiang Zhenning, Jiang Zhenning.

She had nothing with which to repay him, so when he asked her to stay at the Emerald Smoke Pavilion, she agreed at once. The brothel, though outwardly ordinary, was in truth a nexus of court and underworld intrigue, where many high officials came to conduct secret business.

He made her one of the most renowned courtesans in the house, moving among clients to gather all manner of news, true and false.

And so, five years passed.

Drawing herself from her memories, Qingdai’s expression returned to normal.

Her red lips parted: "If you have any instructions, Young Master, please let me know."

Jiang Zhenning smiled kindly, "Today, I really only wanted to see you—and I brought you something." From his sleeve, he withdrew a necklace with a wooden rabbit pendant.

Qingdai’s eyes lit up.

"This is a little trinket I bought from a foreign merchant. I remembered you were born in the Year of the Rabbit, so I bought it for you."

She took the necklace carefully, touching it with her fingers, a genuine smile blooming on her face.

"It’s beautiful," she said.

"Let me help you put it on," he offered.

After fastening it for her, Jiang Zhenning gazed at Qingdai’s reflection in the bronze mirror, his eyes growing gentle. "You look lovely," he said.

Qingdai’s eyes shone with quiet happiness.

In the mirror, they made a striking pair—one graceful and alluring, the other refined and gentle—as if they were the perfect match.

Perhaps it was the heavy scent of incense floating from the burner, or the endless flicker of candlelight in the brothel night after night, seeping into her heart.

Qingdai’s eyes shimmered with a dreamy, uncertain light. Maybe she smiled and lowered her head, leaning back ever so slightly.

She wanted to be closer to him, just a little closer—close enough to touch the white of his robe. But he moved away.

Her smile froze.

Jiang Zhenning sat back down, drank a cup of wine in silence, and the tenderness in his eyes quickly vanished.

He looked at Qingdai. "There’s one more thing—I need you to keep an eye out for anyone who could be connected to the Second Prince’s faction."

Qingdai tilted her head back with a soft laugh. Why did she still harbor such foolish hopes? If Jiang Zhenning was light, he was a light forever out of her reach.

She turned her face toward the window, and suddenly the night felt colder than ever.

"Yes, Young Master," she replied, her voice once more calm as ice.