Chapter 4: Miss Liuyun

Young Master Liu was quite something. Even though he’d been stripped of rank and enslaved—in a Pleasure House, no less—he could still think about an “insider discount.” Truly, he lived without a care in the world.

Naturally cheerful, his life had seen misfortune. Between fifteen and eighteen, his parents passed away one after another. By his third year of university, his grandmother, who had raised him, also died. That ended his studies. Without any family ties or connections, finding work proved impossible. Driven to desperation, he joined the entertainment industry. He never aimed for stardom; he just hoped some older, desperate female director might notice him, enforce some unspoken rules, and provide food and shelter. He believed luck would find its way; like a blind cat bumping into dead mice. Eventually, an agency hired him. With fierce determination and a studious spirit, he endured grueling Agent training. Yet, fate landed him serving Sister Feng and Furong, far worse than the desperate director!

Still, he remained steadfastly optimistic. Being here now, though enslaved, brought little distress. After all, he wasn’t the real Young Master Liu Liwa. Serving ladies in the Pleasure House beat serving Sister Feng and Furong. Those two couldn’t even enter a Pleasure House; no patrons would want them! Anyone who did would need nerves of steel—as if they’d survived three apocalypses while witnessing all women vanish. Or perhaps they were severely depressed, seeing Sister Feng and Furong as tools for ending their lives!

Lounging on the bed, crossing his legs, he gazed contentedly at the cobwebbed ceiling. At least here, there was no crushing rent. Life should be like this: adaptable and grounding. People complain of stress, but they create it themselves. Some work hard hoping to provide better lives for parents, claiming pressure. Yet, didn’t those parents live decades longer and raise children? Why assume they’re unhappy? Others stress over loans. Well, why buy houses or cars? Thousands of rooms, yet you sleep in three feet of space. Take a walk after meals; live to ninety-nine. Say you need wealth to marry. With so many women, why chase those who demand houses and cars?

Liu Liwa grew more at ease with each thought and eventually drifted to sleep. When he woke, the sky had darkened. Ahead, the Intoxication Pavilion buzzed with noise.

As a new employee, he knew waiting around would look bad. Time to get familiar with things off-hours…

Slowly rising, he dressed in the light blue roughspun robe Yang Xiaosi left behind. It fit well. Pushing the door open, he stepped into the courtyard and heard sighs from the left room and sobs from the right. Clearly, these displaced lords and ladies hadn’t accepted their fate. Accustomed to heaven, hell was jarring! Really, they should change perspectives like him: look at hell from heaven, life’s a skit; look at heaven from hell, ask who the sweat and tears were for. Lighten up!

He had no time for spoiled nobles. Sneaking to the front, he peeked out, eager to experience Pleasure House culture, a tradition in Hua Xia for over a thousand years…

Inside Intoxication Pavilion, songs and laughter filled both floors. Giggles and flirtatious calls rose and fell. Colored ribbons fluttered; fragrance hung everywhere. Flutes and pipes harmonized; figures flowed through crowds. A whirlwind of activity swirled in an atmosphere of wild indulgences. Truly a fine place—enough to make a man apply for permanent residency!

Women, draped in silky, translucent dresses of vibrant hues, flitted among patrons like exotic butterflies. They swayed gracefully, figures ranging from plump to slender, radiating charm. Coquettish and alluring.

The center of the great hall held an open space like a stage. There sat a woman on a high stool, facing away, her long, waterfall-like hair cascading to her waist. Fine strands stirred airlessly, like willow fronds in a breeze. Dressed in pure white, delicate white hands brushed the guqin before her. She played and sang softly, her voice sweet and resonant, mesmerizing. When she finished, the entire pavilion fell silent; only lingering notes hung in the air.

Her voice, ethereal and gentle, drifted from the horizon. One wished to grasp it, to keep it inside forever. Even Liu Liwa—no stranger to “sweet melodies” or high-pitched ballads from his time in the trade—sat entranced. Such intoxication came just from her hair, her back, and her voice. What if he saw her face? Liu Liwa instinctively touched his nose. His tolerance, shattered by Sister Feng and Furong, was shockingly weak!

Applause and cheers erupted once the song ended. Brothel Stewards announced:

“Shopkeeper Wang rewards Miss Liuyun with fifty Silver Taels…”

“Boss Zhao rewards Miss Liuyun with a jadeite ring…”

“Young Master Zhang rewards a thousand Silver Taels, requesting Miss Liuyun sing again…”

Rich patrons vied with lavish rewards, hoping to make a good impression for future… favours. Their spending spree indicated this prize remained unobtainable. Possessing such heavenly vocals, she surely belonged to the legendary “artist, not courtesan.”

His speculation seemed confirmed as Miss Liuyun rose gracefully. The white gown showed her slim figure, slender waist, and long, jade-like legs perfectly. She gave a slight bow. Two maids supporting her spoke for her: “Miss Liuyun thanks you for your generosity. But she follows a rule: only one song nightly in the main hall. Those interested, please return tomorrow evening.”

A murmur of regret swept the patrons. Yet no one protested or threw fits. As the premier Pleasure House in Eastpeace—with official backing and strict rules—even employees felt safe here.

Just as Liu Li Mo pondered this, Miss Liuyun turned in the maids’ care. Hair lightly swinging, her face came into view. He froze, stunned despite his entertainment background and “worldly exposure.”

Miss Liuyun’s eyes, like painted willow leaves, held inherent allure. Her delicate nose stood proudly. Sensual, crimson lips curved softly over full curves. Nature perfected her—a blooming rose. Yet her expression carried frost, exuding the aloof dignity of an Empress. Combined, she resembled an ice lotus on a peak: pure, noble, untainted. This air wasn’t a ploy, but instinctive. Likely she came from noble birth itself, only reduced to… this. Truly sad: a fresh flower, landed in a funeral pyre!