Yanwei's steps slowed for a brief moment as he reached a narrow crossroad in the market, his gaze flicking across the faces that passed him by—too calm, too composed.
What the hell is going on here? he thought, eyes narrowing.
There was something in the air that hadn't been there before. Not just tension—movement. As if the market itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to crack.
It wasn't just his instinct whispering anymore; it was screaming.
A storm's brewing. I can feel it. No one says anything, but even the old vendors are watching their surroundings too closely. Something's off. Very off.
He subtly adjusted the small cloth pouch slung beneath his sleeve, making sure it hadn't shifted. Inside were a few spiritual stones and a list of what he needed—each item crucial for his advancement. Nothing excessive. Nothing flashy.
"I have to buy those things right away," he muttered under his breath, low enough that it was swallowed by the noise around him.
If I delay even a little…I might get dragged into something I don't want to be part of.
Yanwei's eyes scanned the market again, this time not for materials—but for whispers, clues, signs.
"But I need information first about what's going on," he murmured, almost to himself.
Buying blindly in a place like this—when something unseen was shifting beneath the surface—was reckless. If there really was a storm coming, the prices of rare items might skyrocket, disappear altogether, or worse—draw attention he couldn't afford.
Information first. Then the materials. That's the only safe order.
He began weaving through the crowd with a different purpose now, eyes sharper, ears more alert. He wasn't looking for stalls anymore—he was looking for people. The kind of people who knew things but didn't speak until spoken to. The ones who thrived on secrets.
After a few minutes of weaving through the shifting crowd, Yanwei found himself standing before a refined pleasure house nestled at the edge of the market's more decadent quarter. Its lacquered doors were half-open, fragrant incense drifting through the beaded curtains, mingling with faint laughter and the lazy strum of a guqin.
Painted lanterns swayed gently above, casting soft red light over the entrance like a seduction dressed in silk.
Yanwei smirked.
"That's right," he murmured, folding his arms as he took in the scene. "A brothel is the right place to find information."
His tone was light, almost amused—but his eyes remained sharp, calculating.
"After all, what I want to know isn't just the reason behind the heavy air out there… but also clues about the materials I need. And places like this? People talk. Especially when they think no one's listening."
He stepped through the curtain, the scent of powdered skin and spiced wine growing stronger with each breath. He wasn't here for company. He was here for whispers—and he intended to leave with more than just a rumor.
The moment Yanwei stepped through the beaded curtain, the scent hit him—sandalwood, wine, and something sweetly artificial. A blend meant to fog the senses, dull the edge of thought. But his mind stayed clear, razor-sharp beneath the mask of calm curiosity.
Soft laughter rang out like wind chimes in the background. Silks rustled. Music played gently on a stringed instrument from the second floor.
Then came the voice.
"Well, well… what a handsome guest we have tonight."
A woman glided toward him, her robes flowing like liquid moonlight. Her smile was effortless, and her eyes sparkled with practiced delight. She reached out, one long, painted nail trailing lightly across his sleeve—not possessive, not forceful. Just enough to tease.
"You must be tired from walking, young master. Come, let me ease your burdens."
She leaned in, her breath brushing against his cheek, lips close to his ear.
"Anything you desire, you'll find within these walls."
Yanwei didn't flinch, didn't retreat. He allowed the touch, allowed the act. But his smile was distant—cool, almost polite.
Yanwei met her eyes with a look that cut right through the pretense.
"I'm here for information," he said calmly, his voice laced with quiet authority. "Something important. So call whoever's in charge."
He glanced briefly at the velvet-draped halls behind her, then added with a faint smirk, "And send a girl to my room while you're at it."
He reached into his robe and let the edge of a spirit stone pouch show—just enough to gleam.
"You don't have to worry. I can pay."
The courtesan's lashes fluttered, her smile deepening with a hint of intrigue now. No more teasing—this guest wasn't just here to play.
For a brief second, the woman's smile faltered—just a flicker. Barely there. But Yanwei saw it.
After all, brothels were for pleasure, not politics. Requests for flesh? Common. Requests for secrets? Less so. Dangerous, even.
But she recovered quickly, lips curling into a more polished expression.
"Of course, young master," she said sweetly, bowing slightly. "I'll see to it that someone speaks with you… someone with sharper ears than most."
Then she leaned in again, her voice lowering just a little, tinged with something more playful now.
"As for the girl—do you have a preference? We have those who are more… seasoned in their charms, and those who are still learning the rhythm of affection."
Her tone was smooth, elegant—never crude. The suggestion was clear, but the words remained tasteful, veiled behind grace.
She straightened up and added with a wink, "After all, part of our pleasure is in tailoring the night to the guest's taste."
Yanwei didn't hesitate.
"I prefer the latter," he said, voice calm—too calm for a man in a brothel. But his eyes… they lingered just a second longer than needed on the courtesan's lips, the curve of her collarbone.
It wasn't obvious. It wasn't crude.
But it was there.
That low burn. That flicker of want beneath the surface.
He wasn't immune to lust—far from it.
It curled somewhere deep inside him, coiled like a sleeping beast.
But Yanwei was a man who fed hunger only when it served him.
"Send me to my room," he added, tone clipped now—snapping the leash around that impulse.
The courtesan's smile widened, eyes narrowing just slightly. She'd seen it too—the glint beneath the discipline.
"As you wish, young master," she said, voice softer now, more intrigued.
She turned and gestured to one of the girls nearby. "Room Seven. Make sure he's satisfied."
Then, to Yanwei, her words dipped into something velvet-smooth:
"She's fresh. Beautiful. Quiet. Just the type who listens well."
Yanwei said nothing, only nodded once and followed the attendant into the winding corridor.
He wasn't here to indulge, he reminded himself.
But he wouldn't deny what he was either.