Black Cloud veiled the moon, and a light snow arrived unannounced.
Snowflakes drifted like flying willow catkins, brushing past the cloth banners outside the building. The ethereal notes of a zither mingled with a woman's seductive singing, floating out through the window:
"Two-thirds of spring's beauty has passed, willow branches trailing ten thousand silken strands~ Last night, rain fell like silk upon the little tower; where have the swallows returned?..."
It was already the latter half of the night. Paulownia Street outside still blazed with lights, but most establishments along the back street had closed.
People came in different ranks, and so did brothels. The leading courtesans at Dragon Roar Tower out front could give the wealthy young men from Wende Bridge cold looks, and countless patrons would still scramble to shower them with silver.
Yet on the back street, barely a hundred paces away, both the surroundings and the girls were more ordinary. The customers seeking amusement there were small-time moneybags with modest fortunes who nevertheless wanted a taste of Paulownia Street's fame. They talked extravagantly but mostly spent miserly amounts. Anyone who finished without pestering the proprietor for a discount counted as generous; tips were beyond hoping for.
The past two days had been different, however. A lavish customer had come to one of the smaller brothels on the back street. From his manner of speech, he was a wandering knight from the north, and he spent generously: one tael of silver per song, with the singer free to stop whenever she grew tired. Nor was he like those provincial moneybags who seemed never to have seen a woman, refusing even a sip of wine while doing nothing but pawing and groping.
The singing girl keeping him company had therefore worked exceptionally hard. Sitting at the table, she