"Everyone who comes here says they're not here to find girls." The brothel steward named Old Quan cheerfully ushered the young man inside.
"You scholars are all just here to take in the local color, aren't you? This old servant understands!"
Watching over a thriving pleasure house and working the trade of greeting arrivals and seeing departures, fawning over the high and trampling the low was not a moral dilemma, but a professional choice—one's energy was limited, as were the resources for serving guests. You had to know how to swiftly pick out the customers worth giving twelve parts enthusiasm to.
Old Quan was one of the best in the business. He had long understood that "when flattering the high, there was no harm in going overboard; when slighting the low, one had to be cautious." He greeted everyone with a smile, wishing he could "make his clothes into foot-wiping rags and his body into a mounting block for horses."
Of course, that did not mean he would let beggars through the door.
This young man who had come today looked rather simply dressed, but he was by no means ordinary.
Even after wind and rain had battered it, the fine fabric of his clothes still retained a restrained elegance.
His edge was hidden, and his features were not especially outstanding, yet he carried a composure that came from within.
The poorly dressed youth stood in this extravagantly decadent den of romance without the slightest hint of discomfort.
It was not that the youth did not know the height of the heavens or the depth of the earth, but that he had cultivated an immense sense of security since childhood!
Simply put—this brat had backing.
Certain of his discerning eye, Old Quan smiled with particular eagerness. He even used his