The moment Lao Nanfeng casually dropped the words courtesan house, the half-drunk militia guards snapped sober as if splashed with ice water.
"No—absolutely not!" one of them blurted out, voice cracking. "Courtesan houses are strictly forbidden in Gao Family Village! If Dao Xuan Tianzun finds out, that's five taels of silver in fines and fifteen days locked up to reflect on your life choices!"
Lao Nanfeng waved his hand, utterly unbothered, like a man brushing away a fly.
"I know, I know. Don't get your trousers in a knot," he said lazily. "If I were here for that, I'd be asking for a cheap brothel, not a proper courtesan house. Think about it. I just want to sit in the main hall, eat some snacks, and listen to music. That's cultured behavior. That doesn't break village rules, does it?"
The militia exchanged looks.
Snacks.
Music.
Public hall.
…Technically clean.
After a brief, morally conflicted silence, one of them sighed. "Alright. But only that. No funny business."
"Excellent," Lao Nanfeng said, already walking. "See? Reason always wins."
Led by a few locals who clearly knew the way far too well, the group soon stopped before a building that stood out from its surroundings like a peacock among chickens.
The entrance alone screamed money.
Elegant couplets framed the doorway:
Slender fingers pluck moonlight beyond the goblet.
Too lazy tonight to write autumn in painted halls.
Above them hung a horizontal plaque, the calligraphy flowing and confident:
Spring Wind Pavilion.
Lao Nanfeng clasped his hands behind his back and nodded approvingly. "Now this," he said, "is what a proper courtesan house looks like. You can tell just from the couplets—no desperation, no filth, just vibes."
One militia guard scratched his head and chuckled. "It does remind me of the old courtesan house Gao Family Village used to have. Though… compared to this, ours was a bit rough."
Lao Nanfeng whipped around. "Wait. Gao Family Village had one? What were the couplets? Don't hold back."
The guard grinned. "Top line: Business thrives, bedsprings groan. Bottom line: Wealth pours in, belts come undone. The plaque said: Joyful Red Chambers."
There was a beat.
Then Lao Nanfeng burst out laughing so hard he had to brace himself against the doorframe.
"No wonder Dao Xuan Tianzun shut it down!" he wheezed. "That's not a courtesan house—that's a rural fertility shrine! Absolutely vulgar! No refinement whatsoever! A real courtesan house focuses on music, chess, calligraphy, painting—the arts! You don't just charge straight into base instincts like a bull!"
The militia guards laughed along.
One of them, emboldened, muttered, "But Brother Nanfeng… that celestial maiden you're always talking about. The one with her arms and legs showing. That doesn't exactly scream refinement either."
Lao Nanfeng straightened instantly. "You know nothing."
The laughter died.
"That," he said sternly, "is celestial fashion. Completely different genre. The fairy maiden herself radiates purity and wholesomeness. She is nothing like the gaudy, bargain-bin women you see in common brothels."
The guards chose life and shut up.
"Enough talk," Lao Nanfeng said, stepping forward. "Let's go inside and broaden your horizons."
Spring Wind Pavilion's madam appeared almost immediately, as if summoned by the scent of money.
Despite the title, she was barely in her thirties—poised, sharp-eyed, and well-maintained enough that in another era she'd be called a young lady and still get asked for tea.
One look at Lao Nanfeng's posture and the way the militia unconsciously deferred to him, and her smile deepened by three degrees.
"Honored guests, please come in," she said smoothly, already ushering them inside.
The main hall was spacious, lantern-lit, and buzzing with quiet indulgence. Over a dozen tables filled the space. At the center, a dancer moved gracefully while musicians plucked zithers, the melody soft and lingering like incense smoke.
Lao Nanfeng scanned the room.
Salt merchants.
Mostly salt merchants.
Which meant men who were very good at reading danger.
Several of them stiffened when they recognized him.
Isn't that one of the bandit chiefs who accepted pacification with Xing Honglang?
That man's hands aren't clean.
Don't provoke him.
Voices lowered. Laughter softened. Even the musicians played more carefully.
The madam noticed immediately.
A room doesn't go quiet for no reason.
She personally escorted Lao Nanfeng to the best table and waved her hand. In moments, the finest snacks and wine appeared, arranged like an offering.
"Is this your first visit, honored sir?" she asked sweetly. "Would you like me to introduce a few of our top maidens?"
"No, no," Lao Nanfeng laughed. "Just snacks and music. If Dao Xuan Tianzun hears otherwise, I won't survive the night."
"Of course," the madam said, bowing. "Then please enjoy. If you need anything, just say the word."
She retreated—but not far. Her eyes stayed glued to his table.
Lao Nanfeng leaned back, soaking in the atmosphere, grinning like a man who had finally discovered civilization.
He reached into his robe and pulled out a solid silver ingot.
Ever since arriving at Yongji Ferry, his merits had stacked up like firewood. Rewards poured in—silver, favors, and those precious song-and-dance videos from Cai Xinzhi that he guarded like state secrets.
He was rich now.
Very rich.
He slammed the ingot onto the table.
The sound rang like a temple bell.
"Brothers!" Lao Nanfeng roared, laughter booming. "Tonight, the entire house drinks on me!"
The response was immediate.
"Long live the General!"
"Such generosity!"
"From today on, you're Elder Brother Nanfeng!"
The madam's smile nearly split her face.
A General.
She clapped her hands sharply. "Bring out our finest! Let our most celebrated maiden dance and sing for our honored guests!"
The pavilion's star soon appeared.
She was undeniably beautiful—delicate features, steady hands, and a pipa cradled like part of her body. She danced, played, and sang alone, filling the hall with life.
Applause thundered.
Everyone was pleased.
Except Lao Nanfeng.
He frowned.
"…Something's wrong," he muttered.
The madam teleported to his side. "General? What displeases you?"
"She's good," Lao Nanfeng admitted. "Pretty. Skilled. But the tune—too old. Ancient. It sounds like something my grandfather's grandfather hummed while staring at a wall."
The madam froze. "Old-fashioned?"
Well… she couldn't exactly deny it. There were only so many songs in circulation. Courtesans had been recycling the same melodies for generations.
"Then… what should we do?" she asked carefully.
"Have her come down," Lao Nanfeng said. "I'll teach her a tune."
The madam's heart skipped.
Teach… a tune?
She glanced at the maiden on stage, then at Lao Nanfeng's face, then at the upstairs rooms.
Oh no.
Bandit-turned-general. Powerful. Untouchable.
If he took the girl upstairs, her reputation would be ruined.
But could she refuse?
With a sinking heart, the madam ascended the stage and whispered, "The honored guest wishes you to sit with him. He wants to teach you a tune. We… cannot offend him. If he asks for more… just accept it."
The maiden's fingers went cold.
Who was this man?
She forced a smile, clutching her pipa, and walked down.
Her heart pounded wildly as she sat beside Lao Nanfeng, tense as a drawn bowstring, bracing for a hand around her waist, a whispered order, a trip upstairs into eighteen unspeakable postures.
The salt merchants nearby watched with grim sympathy.
Bandit origins, they thought. Poor girl.
Lao Nanfeng didn't notice any of it.
"I don't know composition or notation," he said cheerfully. "I'll just hum it. Listen carefully."
Then he leaned forward.
And hummed—
"No answers, no answers, where is true love found?
My love, my love—could it be him, truly…?"
The maiden blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Her fear stalled, confusion flooding in instead.
This… wasn't what she'd expected at all.