The young courtesan sat there, utterly stunned.
So were the salt merchants nearby.
Wait… that's it?
He called her down just to hum a song?
For a brief, collective moment, everyone in the Spring Wind Pavilion felt like they'd misjudged reality.
This wasn't lust.
This wasn't power play.
This was—audacious in an entirely different direction.
The girl's mind blanked completely. The melody she'd just been desperately trying to memorize scattered like startled birds.
"Sir…" she said awkwardly, fingers tightening around the pipa. "Could you… could you start from the beginning again? I… I didn't quite catch the first two lines."
To everyone's surprise, Lao Nanfeng didn't flare up. He didn't scowl, didn't bark, didn't throw silver at her face.
He laughed.
"Of course," he said easily. "My fault. Listen carefully this time."
And he hummed again.
Clear. Steady. Unhurried.
Once through.
The girl's eyes lit up.
She plucked a few tentative notes on her pipa, testing, feeling her way along the tune. It wasn't perfect—she missed a beat here, bent a note there—but the shape was there.
Lao Nanfeng hummed it a second time.
That was enough.
By the end of it, she had the entire melody locked into her bones.
Courtesans survived on memory and instinct. This was what they did.
Lao Nanfeng clapped his hands together, delighted. "Excellent! Truly excellent!"
He casually flipped a silver ingot into her hands.
"Go," he said. "Take this tune backstage. Rearrange it properly. You know better than I do what kind of dance suits it. Pull a few girls to help you, polish it up, then come back and stun everyone."
The girl stared at the silver, then bowed deeply, almost tripping over herself as she retreated backstage.
The madam hurried over, whispering urgently, "That's… all?"
Backstage, the young woman looked dazed. "I thought my chastity was about to become a historical footnote. Who knew he just wanted a song?"
The madam clapped her hands. "Then stop standing there like a statue and arrange it! Quickly!"
And so they did.
If there was one thing the pleasure houses of the Central Plains excelled at, it was speed.
They might not rival the legendary Eight Beauties of Qinhuai in Jiangnan, but they were no amateurs. Rearranging a tune, designing a dance, coordinating performers—an hour was more than enough.
Out front, the hall continued with the usual rounds of singing and dancing.
Finally, the madam stepped onto the stage, beaming.
"Earlier, one of our honored guests gifted us a new song," she announced. "The arrangement is complete. Our girls will now present it to you."
Lao Nanfeng straightened, eyes gleaming.
The same young woman returned to the stage, pipa in hand. Several other girls surrounded her, forming a loose formation.
She stood at the center.
Her lips parted.
She sang.
The accompanying girls moved with the rhythm, their steps quick and light.
The choreography wasn't complex—but it didn't need to be.
A fundamental rule of dance was harmony with the music.
The tune Lao Nanfeng had taught—Love Love Love—was bright, lively, almost reckless. The dance followed suit, bursting with youthful energy.
The infamous heartthrob style lived up to its reputation.
This wasn't the usual slow, drifting elegance. The girls darted across the stage, sleeves flying, movements crisp and playful, like butterflies weaving through spring flowers.
Cloud sleeves still flowed.
But now they whipped the air.
The audience gasped.
"Oh!"
"What is this?"
"This feels… different."
"It was almost noisy at first—but now? It's exhilarating!"
When the song ended, the girls bowed and hurried backstage, laughter bubbling between them.
Lao Nanfeng roared with laughter, slamming his palm on the table.
"Interesting! Now this is interesting!" he boomed. "Watching this is like seeing celestial maidens descend! Everyone who performed today—reward them heavily!"
Another silver ingot hit the table with a solid clang.
That was the last of his silver for the night.
Satisfied, he stood, still laughing. "Alright. Let's go."
The militia closed ranks around him as he swaggered out into the night.
His laughter echoed down the street.
"This lively world—this is how one ought to live it! Hahaha!"
The madam chased him to the door, staring after his retreating figure, scratching her head.
"…So what exactly was he here for?"
Puzhou City changed soon after.
Changed violently.
Changed enthusiastically.
Its economy began accelerating at a speed that made people dizzy.
Even Gao Yiye herself made a personal trip to Puzhou.
That alone told everyone how important this city was in the eyes of Dao Xuan Tianzun.
Manpower? Supplied.
Materials? Delivered.
Technology? Introduced.
Overnight, Puzhou became Gao Family Village's top priority.
Blue Hats and Yellow Hats poured in like a flood, hiring locals by the thousands. Mines were dug. Workshops sprang up. Smoke rose everywhere.
Government workshops couldn't afford to pay craftsmen?
No problem. Gao Family Village took them over—and paid more.
City walls crumbling?
"Cement team! Move!"
Bluestone roads riddled with potholes?
"Road crew! You're up!"
Then a Blue Hat stopped before the Prefectural Yamen.
He frowned.
"This is… unsightly."
He drew a red circle on the outer wall.
Qiu Qianfan came running out, half laughing, half panicking. "Hey! What are you doing to my yamen? Haven't you heard—officials don't repair their yamen!"
"Why not?" the Blue Hat asked calmly.
"We're transferred every three years!" Qiu Qianfan snapped. "Why would anyone spend money fixing something their successor will enjoy?"
Which explained why the yamen looked less like an office and more like a condemned ruin.
The Blue Hat nodded. "You may leave. The people won't."
"What?"
"This appearance damages public morale," the Blue Hat said. "We'll cover the cost. You won't spend a single copper."
Qiu Qianfan hesitated, then sighed. "Fine. As long as it's not my budget. You think I like living in that wreck?"
The Blue Hat dipped his brush in red ink and wrote a single character inside the circle:
Demolish.
The next day, Yellow Hats arrived.
"There's a 'Demolish' sign!"
"Charge!"
With hammers swinging, the Prefectural Yamen was flattened.
Qiu Qianfan stood amid the dust, suddenly homeless.
Fortunately, a sharp-eyed local family immediately offered their fabric shop as a temporary office.
And so, until the new yamen was built, the Prefect conducted official business beneath a massive plaque that read:
"Tailoring to Fit, Fair to All Ages."
Two rows of yamen runners stood stiffly on either side.
They looked uncannily like shop mannequins.
Puzhou marched forward—loudly, messily, and with absolutely no intention of stopping.