Behind the layered drapes of red and violet, past the laughter and music, two women conversed in a quieter hall meant for business, not pleasure.
The younger one, barely past her initiation into the house, leaned against the carved doorway, peeking in with barely-contained excitement.
"Mistress Lan," she called softly, her voice edged with a girlish lilt. "Someone's looking for you."
Mistress Lan didn't glance up from the low table where she was pouring tea—elegant, practiced, deliberate.
"He says he needs information," the girl added, stepping in further.
That got her attention.
Lan raised a brow and asked in a voice as smooth as silk-gloved iron, "Does he have the means to pay?"
The girl lit up. "Yes! In fact, I think he's wealthy. And he looks like someone with background."
Then she wrinkled her nose.
"But he's ugly! Well—not really ugly, just… off. He's got that look. Cold eyes, stiff jaw, you know? One of those 'don't touch me unless I allow it' types."
Mistress Lan chuckled softly, finally setting the teapot down. Her gaze remained cool, detached, but curious now.
"He is, hm? Well, I don't care what his face looks like as long as he's capable of paying. What about his attitude?"
The girl made a face. "Lustful. Like—he asked for information, sure, but right after that, he ordered an inexperienced girl. No shame."
Lan gave a short, amused hum, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek.
"Hmph. Men are always like that. Sharp one second, base the next." She stood, adjusting her sash with graceful precision. "Still, anyone who knows how to mix business with appetite is either a fool… or dangerous."
Her eyes gleamed.
"We'll go see him soon. Room Seven, you said?"
The girl nodded.
Mistress Lan turned toward the corridor with a faint smile.
"Let's find out what kind of man he really is."
…
Outside Room Seven, the corridor was quiet.
Too quiet.
The usual laughter and footsteps that drifted through the brothel's halls seemed to fade here, as if the very air had chosen to keep its breath held.
Painted lanterns swayed faintly overhead, casting soft glows over velvet-lined walls. From behind the lacquered door, a light tremor of sound broke the stillness.
A girl's voice—high, hesitant, and endearingly nervous—slipped through before the talisman took hold.
"Y-Young master!! Let's use the sound-proofing talisman that was given by the Miss first… A-after all, I'm quite… embarrassed…"
What followed wasn't the hum of spiritual energy or the muffling seal of a talisman.
Instead—silence. A tense, waiting silence.
Then came a low, male voice. Cool. Dismissive. Edged with something sharp.
"Who cares about that?"
"Let them hear whatever it is."
A few heartbeats passed.
Then the sounds began.
Soft at first. Barely audible. A rustle of fabric. A stifled breath.
Then—
"P-please… be gentle…"
Her voice broke through like wind slipping through a crack in a sealed window—fragile, breathless, tinged with something between fear and thrill.
That was when the two women turned the corner.
The first was the same young attendant who had led Yanwei to the room earlier. Her face twisted in visible disgust the moment she heard the muffled moan.
"Disgusting!" she hissed. "He knew she was embarrassed, yet he didn't care. Tsk. Men are animals!"
Beside her, the older woman—draped in elegant robes, her expression unreadable—barely spared the door a glance.
"Of course they are," she replied coolly. "But getting angry is just a waste of time. Let's just give him the information he needs and hope he leaves right after."
She walked past Room Seven without pausing, not even when another soft sound slipped through the sealed wood.
"Let's go inside Room Six first," she said, voice low and calm. "We'll wait there until they're finished."
The younger woman—Rose—nodded with a reluctant sigh, still glaring at the door as if it had personally offended her. Then the two disappeared behind the next room, the sound of the door closing behind them barely more than a whisper.
…
Mistress Lan stretched her arms above her head with a soft groan, the subtle crack of her joints punctuating the heavy quiet inside Room Six. She glanced toward the window—the light outside had changed.
With a lazy chuckle, she finally stood and dusted her sleeves.
"It took him five hours to be done?" she mused aloud, her voice tinged with amusement. "It seems like he has quite a bit of stamina."
She turned her head toward Rose, who looked mildly exasperated and more than a little tired after the long wait.
"Rose," Lan continued, raising a curious brow. "Are you sure he's actually Rank One?"
she repeated—not out of doubt, but as a playful jab.
She didn't wait for a reply.
"Let's go."
With that, she turned and swept out of Room Six with practiced grace, her steps light, unhurried. Rose followed, still clearly irritated for reasons she refused to admit.
When they reached the door of Room Seven, the air felt faintly heavier—humid with leftover heat, as if the walls themselves remembered what had transpired.
Rose stepped forward, raised her hand, and knocked—sharply.
"Young master!" she called out, her voice pointed, full of attitude. "Mistress Lan is here. She came all the way just to sell you the information you wanted—"
She clicked her tongue and leaned in a bit, her tone sharpening with veiled sarcasm.
"Are you planning to make us wait out here even longer after what you just did? Honestly…"
A scoff.
"Some people really don't know shame."
Behind her, Mistress Lan gave a small, entertained hum, clearly used to Rose's sharp tongue—but not at all bothered by it.
She simply folded her hands and waited, her gaze resting lightly on the door, as if she could already see through it.
The door to Room Seven swung open.
Yanwei stepped out, his fingers still tugging loosely at the sash of his robe, adjusting it with lazy precision. His chest rose with the steady rhythm of someone entirely unbothered, as if the past five hours hadn't even brushed the surface of his stamina.
Behind him, the soft glow of lantern light spilled into the hallway, revealing the inside of the room without shame.
A young woman lay on the bed, her bare shoulders visible above a tangled blanket. Her face was turned slightly to the side, lips parted as she slept, utterly spent. Damp strands of hair clung to her forehead, and the sheets were twisted around her as if she'd given up halfway through trying to fix them.
Yanwei leaned slightly against the doorway, eyes drifting lazily to Rose.
"Miss seems angry at me?" he said, voice mild, but laced with a quiet edge.
"Care to say why?"
Rose stiffened, caught between indignation and the sudden urge to look anywhere but the room behind him. Her mouth opened like she might snap something back—but nothing came out. Her cheeks flushed red, and her brows furrowed as she clicked her tongue and turned her face away.
A scoff. Embarrassed. Frustrated. Defeated.
Yanwei didn't give her time to recover.
His eyes shifted to Lan, expression flattening into polite indifference.
"Mistress Lan, is it?" he said, stepping aside and gesturing inward with a casual flick of his fingers.
"Go inside and have some tea."
His tone carried no warmth, no genuine invitation. It was formality wrapped around command—undeniable, calm, and absolute.
Without missing a beat, Lan's lips curved slightly.
"How generous," she murmured, gliding past him into the room with effortless grace.
She didn't flinch at the sight of the girl. She didn't even blink.
She simply sat down at the small table, lifted the teapot without asking, and began to pour.
Behind her, Rose followed stiffly—still fuming, still red—but without a word.
And as the door closed behind them, the air thickened with a different kind of tension.
Business had just begun.