The evening air was sharp with the scent of rain-soaked lotus leaves when Lan Hua returned to the Red Lantern House.
Her sedan chair had barely crossed the threshold when the servants hurried to her side, whispering with wide eyes. "Mistress… a guest awaits you in the Jade Pavilion."
Lan Hua frowned. She had arranged no meetings tonight. "Who?"
The maid hesitated, lowering her voice. "They would not give a name. But… their seal bore the emblem of the Crown Prince."
*****
Lan Hua dismissed the maid with a calm nod, though her pulse quickened. So it had happened. She had known, with every new title, every match that shook the balance of the city, that sooner or later her name would reach royal ears.
But so soon?
She adjusted her robes, smoothed her hair, and walked through the moonlit corridors of the pavilion. At the threshold, she paused, inhaled once, then stepped inside.
The chamber was quiet, lanterns dimmed to a soft amber glow. A man sat at the low table, his back straight, his robe dark as night. No attendants flanked him, no banners announced his rank—but the stillness of the air, the weight of his presence, was unmistakable.
The Crown Prince.
*****
Lan Hua lowered herself into a graceful bow. "This humble courtesan greets Your Highness."
He regarded her in silence for a long moment, his eyes like twin blades of obsidian. Finally, he gestured for her to rise.
"You are Lan Hua," he said, his tone flat, but carrying an authority that filled the room. "The courtesan who has turned matchmaking into politics."
Lan Hua's lips curved faintly, though her heart thudded beneath her silk bodice. "I am merely serving those who come to me with requests. If politics finds its way into marriages, it is hardly my doing."
The Crown Prince's gaze sharpened. "A clever tongue. But words, however polished, do not hide the truth. Your influence grows too quickly. The nobles whisper your name more often than they whisper mine. That is… unwise."
The warning hung in the air, colder than the drizzle tapping against the paper windows.
Lan Hua met his eyes, unflinching. Inside, she measured her next words carefully. To challenge openly would be suicide. To cower would be death of another kind—the death of her reputation.
"Your Highness overestimates me," she said softly, her tone respectful yet steady. "I am a courtesan. My name is carried by idle mouths because gossip delights in novelty. But gossip fades with the next scandal. Your Highness's name is eternal."
A faint smile touched his lips, though it did not warm his eyes. "You flatter me."
She lowered her gaze, letting silence stretch just long enough to suggest humility, before adding: "If my small efforts have stabilized households, it is only because disorder weakens the city. I seek not to rise, but to preserve harmony. Surely that cannot offend the Dragon Throne."
The Crown Prince leaned back, studying her with cool interest.
"Preserve harmony?" His voice turned silken. "Or build a web in which even generals and merchants dance to your tune? You think I cannot see it?"
Lan Hua allowed herself the ghost of a smile. "If they dance, it is because they wish to. I merely provide the music."
His eyes narrowed, but before he could retort, a soft laugh broke the tension. "You speak boldly for one of your station. Perhaps that is why they call you the Peony Matchmaker."
The name slipped from his tongue like venom.
Lan Hua bowed again, concealing her racing thoughts. He knows. He listens.
"Flowers bloom," the Crown Prince continued, "but they also wither when frost comes. I would advise you, Lady Lan, to lower your petals before the cold sets in. Stay low. Do not meddle beyond your worth."
The words were a blade sheathed in silk.
Lan Hua's hands tightened on her fan beneath the table, but her expression remained serene. "I hear Your Highness's wisdom. A flower that reaches too high risks being plucked. I shall remember."
The Crown Prince rose, his robe whispering against the tatami mats. For the first time, he stepped close enough for her to see the faint scar running from his temple to his cheekbone—a reminder that this man had not only lived in palaces but also battlefields.
He paused at her side, his voice low. "You are clever, Lan Hua. Too clever. Clever women are dangerous. Some might call them useful. Others… a threat."
He turned and strode toward the door. Without looking back, he added, "The choice of which you will be is not yours. It is mine."
The door closed behind him, leaving the chamber heavy with incense and silence.
Lan Hua exhaled slowly, finally allowing her composure to crack in the solitude. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her skin clammy despite the steady flame of her lantern.
So this was power. Not the whispers of courtesans, nor the negotiations of merchants, but the direct weight of a throne.
She crossed to her table, pouring herself tea with a hand steadier than she felt.
"Stay low," she murmured, echoing his warning. "But flowers that bow to frost still bloom when spring comes again."
*****
The next morning, the Red Lantern House was already buzzing with rumors.
"The Crown Prince was here last night."
"He came in secret, without guards."
"What business could a courtesan have with him?"
Lan Hua ignored the chatter, focusing instead on her ledger. She had no intention of slowing her steps. But she would walk them more carefully now, aware that every move was watched.
*****
That evening, in the garden, she found Mei Lian leaning against a pillar, her smile sharp as ever.
"So even the Crown Prince has noticed you," Mei Lian purred. "How exciting. Though I wonder—when he warns you, does he whisper sweetly, or does he threaten like a man who crushes ants?"
Lan Hua's fan snapped open, her smile cool. "A pity you were not there to hear it, Sister. Perhaps then you would understand the difference between a man who crushes ants… and one who decides which blossoms to keep in his garden."
Mei Lian's smile faltered, but she covered it with a tinkling laugh. "Blossoms with thorns often find themselves cut first."
"Then let us see," Lan Hua replied, gliding past her. "Which thorn draws blood, and which thorn protects its stem."
*****
That night, alone in her chamber, Lan Hua wrote in her journal, her brushstrokes deliberate.
Today I stood before the frost itself. I bent, but did not break. If he thinks I will stay low, he underestimates the strength of roots buried deep.
She set the brush aside and gazed at the lantern light flickering across the paper walls.
Unseen to her, across the rooftops of the city, another man listened as a messenger delivered his report.
"The Crown Prince met with her in secret," the messenger said. "He warned her to stay low. She answered without fear."
The man leaned back in his chair, lips curving into a slow smile. His plain robe and wine cup could not disguise the glint in his eyes.
"So," he murmured, "the Peony Matchmaker is not only beautiful, but brave. Interesting. Very interesting indeed."
The Third Prince raised his cup in a silent toast to the night sky.