Shen Tang thought this would be just like yesterday, so she obediently waited outside the Moonlit Pavilion, feeding Motorcycle a couple of malt candies every now and then.
Come to think of it—
Why could Motorcycle eat malt candy?
With that question in mind, Shen Tang stroked Motorcycle's sleek, glossy coat. The more she looked at the mule, the more she liked it. Motorcycle licked the malt candy from her palm clean, but still seemed unsatisfied. It nudged her belly with its head and stared longingly at the pouch at Shen Tang's waist.
Motorcycle was clever. It knew where she kept the malt candy.
Shen Tang cupped Motorcycle's big face in both hands and lectured it sternly. "No. You can't have any more! It's not normal for a mule to have such a sweet tooth... No means no. Acting cute won't work, and licking my face definitely won't work... Whoa, easy there! Don't stick out your tongue. I don't want to wash my face with your spit. Keep licking me and you'll end up as donkey-meat flatbread!"
She dodged again and again, but Motorcycle pressed its advantage.
It tried to whip Shen Tang's face with its nimble tongue.
The shopkeeper came out of the Moonlit Pavilion and happened to see the girl and mule playing around. He smiled, but remembered to remind Shen Tang that she had business to attend to.
He said, "Young lady, please come upstairs."
Shen Tang and Motorcycle stopped at the same time.
She patted Motorcycle, signaling it to go play by itself. She had business to take care of and would play with it later. Motorcycle understood and obediently took its reins in its mouth and went over to a hitching post. Shen Tang asked, "I'm going in? Don't I need to wait for someone in a private room at the teahouse today?"
The shopkeeper said, "Not today."
Shen Tang didn't ask any more questions. She followed the shopkeeper into the Moonlit Pavilion.
If one ignored the gauzy curtains swaying gently inside, the suggestive figures carved into the lattice windows, the paintings of beautiful women hanging on the walls... and the flirtatious scent of powder filling the air, at first glance it was no different from an ordinary tavern.
The Moonlit Pavilion was quiet during the day. There was none of the expected chorus of singing girls or playful banter. From time to time, maids carried hot water up and down the stairs, while servants used cloths to wipe down the tables, chairs, and floor. Everything was orderly, yet there was an indescribable air of desolation. Only the scent of powder lingering in the air silently told of last night's revelry.
At first, Shen Tang looked around curiously.
After a couple of glances, she lost interest and looked away.
In the Moonlit Pavilion's main hall, a handsome, refined young attendant had been waiting for some time. He led the two of them to the innermost private room on the second floor, then carefully pushed open the carved wooden door, as if afraid that the slightest noise might disturb the person inside. In a low voice, he said, "The gentleman is inside. Please, come in."
Shen Tang drew her wandering thoughts back.
The first thing she saw upon entering was a huge, round screen, painted with a vast desert at sunset. Shen Tang was slightly surprised. In a place like the Moonlit Pavilion, shouldn't the screen have been decorated with paintings of beautiful women or something?
A desert sunset?
It was completely at odds with the atmosphere here.
What surprised her even more was the room's delicate, understated fragrance, entirely unlike the decadent scent of powder in the main hall. The latter was rich and heady, but after a while it became vulgar. The former was like an orchid blooming in a secluded valley. Its scent was neither strong nor sharp, yet no one could ignore it.
Beyond the screen was the male entertainer's "bedroom."
The two of them could only sit on the cushions in front of the screen.
"Did you paint this?"
Shen Tang had just sat down when an unfamiliar young man's voice came through the screen and reached her ears. Huh? Wasn't that the young male entertainer from yesterday?
She looked suspiciously at the shopkeeper.
The shopkeeper didn't know either, so he signaled for her to answer honestly.
Shen Tang stammered with "embarrassment," "I didn't paint it. My older brother did. When I went home to paint yesterday, he caught me in the act and scolded me, saying I was too young to be dabbling in this sort of thing. I haven't had a chance to tell the shopkeeper or the client yet, so he stepped in and painted it for me..."
There was a pause behind the screen. Before long, the crisp sound of a chess piece landing rang out with a "click."
The young man said, "Mm. It's quite well painted."
Shen Tang grumbled to herself.
Those few paintings of Qi Shan's were actually "quite well painted"?
Sure enough, there wasn't a single person in this world who shared her taste. For a moment, she felt a lonely melancholy at the thought of how hard it was to find a kindred spirit.
Shen Tang asked, "Is the client satisfied?"
The young man said, "Satis—"
Before he could finish saying "satisfied," he began coughing violently. Each cough was shorter than the last, and the commotion was so bad that one had to wonder if he would cough up a lung. With a body in that condition, this gentleman was still at his post... Truly dedicated and hardworking.
Shen Tang let her attention wander again without realizing it.
After quite some time, she heard the young voice she had heard yesterday from behind the screen. He said, "Mr. Gu, are you all right?"
The young man replied weakly, "I'm fine."
Shen Tang's thoughts, which she had only just managed to rein in, started straying again.
So the young man wasn't a male entertainer at the Moonlit Pavilion. He was here to seek pleasure... Tsk, was this what they meant by dying beneath peonies and being a happy ghost? He was coughing like half his body was already in the grave, yet he still had the leisure to visit a men's brothel?
The room was quiet for quite a while.
At length, the young man said, "Young master, you've misunderstood."
Shen Tang looked completely baffled. "..."
Had someone just spoken?
The shopkeeper had the same expression.
The young man caught his breath, then said with an amused smile, "Some things don't have to be spoken aloud for others to hear them..."
Shen Tang: "..."
The shopkeeper continued to look bewildered.
Shen Tang felt as if needles were pricking her back. The hairs standing on end rose like an army in revolt. She was absolutely certain the young man had been speaking to her. But the problem was, she didn't have a habit of saying her thoughts aloud. She had kept her mouth shut the whole time and only muttered to herself in her mind...
Damn, you can hear my thoughts?
The young man behind the screen was silent for three breaths.
In an odd tone, he asked, "Didn't the teacher who taught you your studies tell you what a strategist must learn?"
Shen Tang was sure the young man could peer into her thoughts. She stopped muttering to herself and asked aloud, "What?"
The young man said, "Keep your emotions off your face."
As he spoke, the rustle of fabric came from behind the screen. As footsteps drew closer, the shadow on the screen grew clearer.
Shen Tang happened to look up, meeting the eyes of the unfamiliar young man as he emerged from behind the screen. She had the vague feeling that his figure looked somewhat familiar.
The young man stood tall and straight, but he looked unwell, with a sickly complexion. His features were handsome, but his cheeks were gaunt, faint shadows darkened the skin beneath his eyes, and his lips were pale with a bluish tinge. He looked like a consumptive, with the doomed face of someone who would die young!
As Shen Tang sized him up, the young man examined her in turn with his cool, detached eyes.
Unlike the sickliness he could see at a glance in himself, the young man before him had handsome features that were both masculine and feminine. His brows were open and bright, and his features were more sharply defined than most people's, giving him an exotic air at first glance.
If the young man had to describe him in one phrase, nothing could fit better than "young and full of fire."
"Full of fire" in the most literal sense.
When the young man was still a few paces away from him, he could already feel the ceaseless, blazing literary energy spilling from "his" body, like a dazzling fireball that could not be ignored.
He replied with a teasing smile, "I am indeed plagued by illness, but a fortune-teller said I could still barely survive another twenty or thirty years."
Before you continue