The Merchant’s Melodrama

After a blissful, dreamless night, I woke up the next morning feeling like a newly molted fox — light, comfortable, and pleasantly lazy.

I changed into the set of clothes Gu Yi had left for me. The fabric was smooth, the color understated, the cut just right — a little too right, actually. It was his size.

While I was washing up, Abao emerged from the pile of my things, dragging out a small porcelain bottle. I uncorked it and found it filled with glittering crimson cinnabar.

I paused.

So… the bastard actually remembered.

My chest tightened in a way I couldn’t quite name. He had remembered the thing the street vendor mentioned — that cinnabar could wash away the black clay staining my face.

I brushed my fingers over my cheek. The mud had long since hardened into my skin, part of me now — a disguise I’d worn for so long that I’d almost forgotten what my own face looked like.

But to wash it off? To go out bare-faced again?
No. The saying “a treasure invites thieves” existed for a reason, and this face of mine — though no treasure of my own choosing — had brought me nothing but trouble.

I smiled wryly, tossed the cinnabar bottle aside, and instead picked up the human-skin mask he’d also left me.

The mask was hideous.
An obscene rabbit-toothed grin, triangle fangs, and two rolling eyes that spun like beads on a thread. Anyone seeing this would immediately think either “this man is a pervert” or “this man should be reported to the authorities.”

Perfect for avoiding unwanted attention.

I grabbed a paper fan and raised it to cover half my face. Better.
A little mystery always elevated the look.

In a deep, fake voice, I declared, “Let us go!”

From my sleeve came a faint, obedient squeak. “Zhi.”

And thus began my grand, elegant descent from the second floor.

Unfortunately, due to the fan blocking most of my vision, my “grand descent” ended halfway down when I stepped on my own hem and performed a spectacular face-first dive.

The innkeeper and his assistant both looked up to the heavens in synchronized despair.
Abao turned around and presented his tiny furry butt in silent judgment.

I scrambled up at once, brushing dust off my clothes.
“There’s oil on your stairs!” I accused.

The innkeeper gave me a long, expressionless stare. Then, as if summoned by fate, another guest came down the same stairs gracefully, without so much as a wobble.

I felt my face burn under the mask and hurried toward the door, head bowed.

Just as I reached the street, a flash of red light streaked across my vision.

Assassins?!

My instincts kicked in — literally.
I lashed out with a swift kick. A satisfying thud, a puff of dust, and then—

“Cough—cough—ah, what a powerful leg you have, good sir! It’s been too long, but your strength seems to have improved!”

Out of the cloud of dust, a few servants rushed forward and helped up a slender, delicate-looking man.

The innkeeper’s expression instantly changed; he rushed over, bowing deeply.

“Master Chen!”

My stomach dropped.
Master Chen?

I squinted. Beneath the layer of dirt stood a refined, almost fragile middle-aged man — slim shoulders, soft eyes, the air of someone who’d faint if you raised your voice.

Ah. So this was the infamous Chen Rui, the richest merchant in the Western Cold Kingdom.

No wonder he and Gu Yi had been paired in the rumor mills — they really did look like a perfect match: both beautiful, both exasperating, and both bringing chaos wherever they went.

Chen Rui brushed himself off and blinked at me.

“Ah… and you are?”

Then, circling me twice like a curious hawk, he suddenly gasped.

“No wonder my dearest Gu Yi rejected me! It wasn’t that he didn’t care for me — it’s that he prefers your kind of… beauty!”

I nearly spat blood.

“No, no, no! You’re mistaken! I have nothing to do with him!”

He leaned closer, eyes bright.

“Ah, so there is something!”

I clenched my fists.

“Fine, a tiny something. I’m just his… uh… personal attendant. He was summoned to the palace yesterday and won’t be out for a few days. You can come back later to—uh—confess again.”

At that, Chen Rui’s expression dimmed.
For a moment, he looked genuinely heartbroken.

I exhaled in relief, preparing to leave.
But before I could take a step, he caught my sleeve.

“Wait. You said you’re his personal attendant, correct?”

I nodded cautiously.

He repeated the words slowly, savoring each one.

“Personal. Attendant.”

His eyes lit up with a strange, feverish gleam.

“Come. Have lunch with me.”

Well, curiosity had always been my greatest weakness.
And this man was practically a walking scandal wrapped in fine silk.

So I smiled. “Gladly.”

To my mild disappointment, he didn’t take me to his legendary mansion of gold and jade.
Instead, we turned corner after corner until we stopped by a riverside three-story pavilion surrounded by golden chrysanthemums.

Elegant, understated… and, somehow, unnervingly private.

As we entered, I noticed the servants halted abruptly at the door — stiff, pale, unmoving.

Chen Rui turned back with a little chuckle.

“Ah, my mistake. You all wait here.”

The servants looked as though they’d just been granted parole.

“Yes, Master. Please… take care of yourself.”

That last sentence made me shiver.

The deeper we went, the stranger it felt.
No women.
No laughter.
Just red lanterns swaying and an oddly heavy sweetness in the air.

“Master Chen,” I asked carefully, “what kind of establishment is this?”

“You’ll see soon.”

He smiled mysteriously.

Two steps later, a gaudily dressed man burst out from a side door, drowning me in perfume thick enough to kill a horse.

“Ah! Master Chen! Long time no see!”

He fluttered toward us, batting painted eyelashes — which was impressive, considering the man had a full beard.

Chen Rui, to his credit, didn’t even flinch.
He simply placed a graceful hand on the man’s shoulder.

“How could I ever forget this place?”

The bearded man pouted.

“Hmph! You’ve been gone for ages. Found yourself a new sweetheart, have you? And you brought him here too? Let’s see what kind of pretty little thing he is—”

Before I could protest, he reached for my fan.
His grip was surprisingly strong; I had no choice but to let go.

When he saw my face — or rather, my grotesque mask — the smile froze on his lips.

“Ah… Master Chen, your taste is… unique.”

I wanted to die.

Chen Rui bantered with him for a bit longer, and finally, we were allowed inside.

It was only then I realized what kind of place this was.
Not a teahouse.
Not a restaurant.

A male brothel.

Lovely.

I followed him upstairs, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.
The ground floor was a battlefield of color and chaos — burly men in dresses, mustached beauties winking through layers of powder.

The air smelled of sweat, incense, and despair.

Chen Rui, seasoned veteran that he was, navigated the scene with effortless charm, greeting each flirtatious “lady” with a nod or a teasing quip.

By the time we reached the second floor, I was clutching my belt like it was a sacred relic.

Fortunately, the upper floor was quieter, lined with tea tables and silk screens.

I risked a glance downstairs — and almost gagged.
The so-called “young courtesans” looked more like professional wrestlers in makeup.

Chen Rui followed my gaze and sighed wistfully.

“The madam says a few new ones have arrived. Not bad, not bad… but none of them hold a candle to my dear Gu Yi.”

He turned those sorrowful eyes on me.

“Why is love so difficult, Mr. Qiao?”

I took a deep breath and reminded myself not to say something that would get me thrown out the window.

At least he was right about one thing — not one of these beefy “ladies” could outshine Gu Yi’s delicate features.
If General Lan ever heard us comparing them, he’d probably storm in swinging a sword.

I offered some polite platitudes, and Chen Rui, mistaking me for a kindred spirit, became even more sentimental.
We exchanged name cards — he seemed thrilled; I just wanted free food.

To his credit, the dishes were exquisite.
I ate until my cheeks shone with oil.

He, however, barely touched his plate, one hand constantly resting on his slightly swollen stomach, sighing dramatically.

I frowned. Could it be… morning sickness?

“Don’t be sad,” I said earnestly, picking up a piece of pork and placing it in his bowl. “Eat up! You have to keep your strength — for the baby!”

He froze mid-breath.

Then, clutching the teapot like a man drowning at sea, he took a huge gulp and slammed it down.

“Mr. Qiao!” he cried, eyes blazing with tears and desperation.
“Do you have any idea how much I love him?”

His chest heaved violently — and that belly of his jiggled alarmingly.

I leapt to my feet.

“Don’t! You’ll hurt the baby!”