SF 1

Jincheng, Jiangyang Commandery, Yizhou.

It was March, the season when a hundred flowers bloom and stray cats yowl in heat. After curling up indoors all winter, people were finally stepping back into taverns and teahouses, sipping fresh spring tea while savoring the latest gossip from the capital. Even the alleyways and side streets that had been frozen for months were stirring with life once more.

In the nineteenth year of the Zhenyuan era, Emperor Ling of Xia passed away. Led by Chief Eunuch Qin Chao, the eunuch faction installed the six-year-old crown prince on the throne and established a new dynasty, naming it Xuanhe. Although the official mourning period had only just ended, the streets were already filled with noise and bustle, with no trace of grief or solemnity anywhere.

Yizhou lay in the remote southwest, a place where the mountains were high and the emperor far away. People here only recognized the provincial governor, not the emperor. Whoever happened to be sitting on the dragon throne in the palace meant nothing to them. At most, it was a bit of idle gossip over tea.

The old folks liked to say that if not for the scandalous event years ago in Jingzhou involving the Ling family, which shook the entire realm and frightened many powerful officials into restraining themselves, Yizhou might well have declared independence by now. And who would the Son of Heaven be then? Nothing but a joke.

From top to bottom, no one respected the imperial court. Even during court mourning, the singing girls of Jincheng carried on without pause, living by the motto that every moment is worth its weight in gold. At Changchun Courtyard, the dancers had taken the opportunity to rehearse a new number during the mourning period. Word had already spread throughout the city days in advance. The performance was scheduled for noon, still over an hour away, and the seats inside were already completely packed.

The audience was entirely male, from dissolute young masters to barefoot peddlers, all packed together cracking melon seeds and sipping tea, chatting idly as they waited.

Just then, a commotion stirred outside the dance hall. A noisy group entered, clustering around a young man not yet twenty. He wore a robe of pale blue satin. No one even got a good look at his face before he was whisked away to a private booth on the second floor. Servants rushed back and forth with fine wine and delicacies, their footsteps pounding against the stairs.

“Who is that? Coming in with such fanfare?”

“You don’t know him? Must be from out of town. That’s Boss Feng of Jinxiu Pavilion. The most handsome man in Jincheng, Feng Wuge.”

“Hmph, I thought it was someone important. Turns out he’s just a tailor from the lower trades.”

“Don’t say that. Boss Feng isn’t just any shopkeeper. His Jinxiu Pavilion supplies silk directly to the palace. Even the imperial consorts and princesses love his designs.”

“Heh. Boss Feng? He’s just someone who sells his ass.”

That sneering voice cut through the buzz of admiration like a blade. It was not only jarring but utterly scandalous, immediately drawing everyone’s attention.

“Oh? What do you mean by that?” asked a curious outsider, clearly new to the city. Gossip, especially of the bedroom variety, always found an eager audience.

The speaker was a tall, wiry man in short garments, with rough features and the look of someone who knew his way around a fistfight. Seeing all eyes on him, he smirked with satisfaction.

“A man that pretty, with skin as soft as a woman’s, who can’t lift a thing heavier than a needle and thread, what else could he be good for? If he hadn’t pleased the son of the Jingzhou Inspector, if he didn’t have someone powerful backing him, how else could he be riding this high?”

The son of the Jingzhou Inspector? That raised a few eyebrows. Since the southern rebellion, the court had recalled most regional inspectors to the capital and replaced them with appointed governors. The few inspectors who remained were either extraordinarily skilled or wielded so much influence that even the court hesitated to cross them. The legendary father and son from Jingzhou were known to be a dangerous pair. If Feng Wuge really had ties with someone like that, it would explain why he thrived in Jincheng.

Someone finally stepped forward, unable to listen any longer. “Boss Feng is well connected with many prominent officials.

“Tch, believe it or not.” The man in short garb rolled his eyes, took an unhurried sip of tea, and continued, “Honestly, it’s not just the inspector’s son. I’d wager that everyone of rank in Jingzhou and Yizhou who’s heard of Boss Feng’s charms has had their turn. He’s just a small-time fabric seller. Think about it. How else do you get through every checkpoint? With capital like that, Boss Feng has plenty to ‘offer.’”

The words grew filthier by the second. The man already had a loud voice, and now that most of the crowd had gone quiet to listen, there was a good chance someone upstairs had overheard.

The whole art of gossip lies in speaking behind someone’s back. If the subject heard it, not only would the fun be spoiled, it might stir up real trouble. Just then, the musicians struck up their instruments and the dance began, so the crowd let it drop and turned to watch the women.

The man in short garb seemed disappointed that Feng Wuge’s romantic exploits had not sparked more outrage. He leered toward the stage, apparently oblivious to the few men exchanging glances and staring daggers at him.

The atmosphere in the second-floor box was icy.

Everyone inside wore some version of a twisted or tense expression. Not one dared to breathe too loudly. Only one man looked relaxed, humming quietly as he patiently fed peanuts to a myna bird perched along the railing.

That man was none other than the very subject of gossip himself, Master Feng of Jinxiu Pavilion.

“Don’t let a filthy bug like that upset you, Master Feng. I’ll have my men cut his tongue out in a bit. That’ll settle it.”

“Exactly. It’s not worth letting someone that blind ruin the mood.”

Anyone who ran in Jingzhou and Yizhou circles knew that Master Feng of Jinxiu Pavilion hated it when people gossiped about his looks. But to be fair, one could hardly blame them. He really did look… suggestive.

Word had it that when Feng Wuge was young, he was dressed as a girl and sold to an embroidery house. Even the sharp-eyed trafficker hadn’t realized he was a boy. The madam who bought him raised him as a little seamstress for months before discovering he had the wrong equipment. She nearly fainted from shock. Her entire worldview collapsed.

To this day, none of the brothers who had been around him for years dared meet his eyes directly. In the past, it was because they could not control their lower halves. Now, it was because they feared losing them.

Maybe in a few years, once Feng Wuge filled out and grew more masculine, things would get easier.

Everyone held on to that hope.

Ling Xun fed the myna bird and listened as the coarse men around him whispered endlessly by his ear. He finally grew tired of it, yawned lazily, shifted position, and said with a smile, “You’re overthinking it. I’m not that petty. Let’s ignore him and get back to business.”

Feng Wuge, not petty?

What a joke.

The men exchanged looks, each silently praying for the loudmouth’s safety.

“So, about that shipment…” someone ventured cautiously.

“Don’t worry. We’ve been friends for years. Of course there’s no problem. But things are tight lately. Every shipment we move, someone’s risking their neck.” Ling Xun swept his gaze across them meaningfully, the subtle tilt of his eyes like a brushstroke in ink, turning cold leverage into elegant banter.

The others knew how to play along.

“No problem at all. As long as we get the goods out, the price is negotiable.”

“Good. Then the usual arrangement. The routes and methods are mine. Your men stay out of it.”

“Of course. With Master Feng backing us, the buyers will feel secure too. Come on, to Lord Feng. Let’s all get rich together.”

Ling Xun gave a satisfied nod. He liked doing business with people who knew how to be direct. His mood lightened, and a smile curled in his eyes. The noonday sun streamed through the window, turning those eyes hazy with light. Just then, the myna, filled with divine inspiration, flapped its wings and opened its beak.

“Little slut, make Master laugh! Make Master laugh!”

The hand holding the peanut froze.

The lively mood in the room snapped cold once more. Everyone silently mourned for the bird, each already imagining what dish might appear on the table at Jinxiu Pavilion that night.

By the time the dance ended, it was nearly dusk.

As the crowd at Changchun Courtyard gradually dispersed, the man in short garb tugged up his trousers, picked his teeth, and wandered aimlessly into the street. He had barely turned into a side alley when a sack was yanked down over his head, and in a matter of seconds, he was tied up and tossed into a rickety donkey cart.

“Hey, which blind bastard dares lay hands on your granddaddy? Let me go!”

The man thrashed about inside the cart, shouting curses through the sack. He took a brutal beating for his trouble, kicked over and over until he finally quieted down. When the cart came to a stop, someone dragged him out and hurled him to the ground.

“Fuck your ancestors! If you’ve got the balls, face me and let me see who the hell you are. Attacking me with a sack over my head? Curse your whole line, may your kids be—”

The man had rested up in the cart and was ready to roar again, but just as he got going, someone ripped the sack off his head. He opened his mouth wide, not even looking to see who it was, fully prepared to spit in their face.

But the moment his eyes landed on the person in front of him, with a face so fair and delicate, lips red and teeth white, he froze in place. His eyes glazed over, and for a brief moment, he thought he was looking at a demon wrapped in human skin.

“Well, well. So you’re the one who ran his mouth at Changchun Courtyard today…”

The demon-faced man smiled and lightly patted his cheek. His fingers were cold and pale, delicate at a glance, but only the man tied up could feel the truth.

Because where those fingers touched his skin, he could feel the calluses.

The kind that only came from holding a blade for years.