The festival drums had fallen silent, but the echo of rejection still rang in Liu Zihe's ears.
He sat in the upper room of the Hall of Loving Benevolence, staring at the dregs of his wine. The image of Little Cabbage turning her back on him—a gesture so casual, so dismissing—burned in his mind like a brand. He was the Magistrate's son. He was the Golden Prince. Women did not turn their backs on him; they prostrated themselves.
Qian Baosheng watched his patron with the calculating eye of a spider assessing a trapped fly. He knew that Zihe's pride was wounded, and a wounded pride was the most profitable kind of currency.
"She is difficult," Zihe muttered, spinning the heavy gold ring on his finger. "You said she was vulnerable, Baosheng. You said she was abandoned. But she looked at me as if I were a stain on her sleeve."
Baosheng poured more wine, the liquid gurgling softly in the silence.
"That is her virtue, Young Master," Baosheng lied smoothly. "A woman who falls too easily is not worth catching. The Cabbage is a fortress. She has walled herself up against the world because she has been hurt. Yang Naiwu broke her heart, and now she trusts no one. Her coldness is not rejection; it is armor."
Zihe looked up, his eyes narrowing. "Armor?"
"Precisely. And armor can be pierced. But not with clumsy advances in a tea shop. You cannot hunt a tiger with a slingshot. You need a siege."
Zihe sighed, the fight draining out of him. "Perhaps you were wrong, Baosheng. Perhaps she is truly unreachable. The festival is over. The boat is waiting. Maybe I should just go back to Yuhang and forget this peasant tragedy."
Baosheng froze. If Zihe left now, the flow of gold would stop. The plans Baosheng had made—the debts he intended to pay off with Zihe's money—would collapse.
He needed to set the hook deeper.
"Go back?" Baosheng scoffed, injecting a note of incredulity into his voice. "And let the town whisper that Liu Zihe ran away from a tofu maker's wife? Let Yang Naiwu laugh in his study, knowing that you failed where he succeeded?"
The mention of Yang Naiwu was the spark. Zihe's face darkened.
"No one laughs at me," he hissed.
"Then stay," Baosheng urged. "But we must change tactics. The blunt instrument failed. Now we use the scalpel."
"To besiege a fortress," Baosheng began, leaning forward, "one must first clear the field. Young Master, you travel with a circus. Your barge is filled with servants, sycophants, and spies. If you make a move on Little Cabbage with a retinue of fifty people watching, the whole province will know by morning. Your father will know. Her husband will know."
Zihe frowned. "So?"
"So, secrecy is our ally. Little Cabbage is a respectable woman. She cannot be seen entertaining a Magistrate's son who travels with a parade. If she is to yield, she must believe that her indiscretion will remain hidden. She needs to feel... safe."
Zihe nodded slowly. "What do you propose?"
"Send the boat away," Baosheng said. "Send the servants back to Yuhang. Tell them you wish to stay in Cangqian for a few days of quiet study and reflection. Tell them you are tired of the noise. Keep only one or two trusted men. Stay here, in my humble home. Become... invisible."
It was a bold request. To separate a spoiled prince from his entourage was to strip him of his armor. But it also appealed to Zihe's vanity. He liked the idea of a secret conquest, a private war.
"Very well," Zihe said, standing up. "I will send them back. But Baosheng... if this is a trick to leave me stranded in this mud-hole..."
"Young Master," Baosheng bowed low, hiding his smirk. "I am your creature. Your success is my survival."
The next morning, the great barge pushed off from the dock, carrying Zihe's confused servants back to Yuhang. They carried a message to Madam Lin: The Young Master is well. He finds the air in Cangqian beneficial and wishes to remain for a few days.
Madam Lin, indulgent as always, did not question it.
Now, Liu Zihe was alone. He was stranded in a small room above a pharmacy, with only a syphilitic pimp for company. He felt a thrill of danger. He was off the leash.
With the entourage gone, the atmosphere in the pharmacy shifted. It became conspiratorial, intimate.
Baosheng ordered a lunch of exquisite delicacy—steamed river eel and lotus root soup—to be served in the upper room. As they ate, Zihe grew impatient.
"The field is cleared," Zihe said, tapping his chopsticks on the bowl. "Now, how do we breach the wall? I cannot just knock on her door and offer her gold. Her husband—the Dwarf—will be there."
Baosheng smiled, a slow, yellow baring of teeth. "The husband is an obstacle, yes. But he is also a key. He is poor, Young Master. He works all night. He sleeps all day. And most importantly... he is simple."
"Simple?"
"He sees the world in two colors: hungry and full. If we fill his belly, he will not look at who is feeding him. But we are not targeting the husband yet. We are targeting the wife's pride."
Baosheng poured wine for both of them. "Little Cabbage is known for one thing besides her beauty: her needlework. Her embroidery is the finest in the county. She stitches flowers that look like they have scent. She does this to supplement the meager coins the Dwarf brings home."
Zihe looked confused. "You want me to buy embroidery?"
"I want you to become a patron," Baosheng corrected. "I have a plan. A way to get you into her house, past the door, and into her presence—legitimately. Without scandal."
"How?"
"I am an old friend of the Ge family," Baosheng lied smoothly. "I have known Pinlian for years. I will go to them. I will tell them I have a wealthy friend—a scholar from the city—who is looking for exquisite embroidery for his mother's birthday. I will say that this friend demands only the best, and is willing to pay a fortune for it."
Zihe's eyes lit up. "A commission."
"Exactly. A commission that requires a personal consultation. I will bring you to their house. You will play the role of the wealthy patron. You will praise her work. You will offer a price so high it will make her dizzy. You will let her see your gold, your elegance, your... generosity."
"And the husband?"
"The husband will see the money," Baosheng said. "He will welcome you with open arms. He will see a golden goose waddling into his kitchen. He will leave you alone with her to discuss 'patterns' and 'thread counts.' And once you are in..."
Zihe laughed, clapping his hands. "Brilliant. It is a siege by seduction."
"It gets better," Baosheng added, his voice dropping. "Once she takes your money, she is compromised. She has accepted a gift from a man who is not her husband. It creates a bond. A debt. And debts, Young Master, must be paid."
Zihe was ecstatic. He pulled a heavy pouch from his sash—the gold his mother had given him.
"Here," he said, tossing it to Baosheng. "One hundred silver dollars. Use it to pave the way. Buy whatever you need. Bribe the neighbors. Just get me through that door."
Baosheng caught the pouch. It was heavy. He felt the weight of it in his soul. One hundred dollars. It was more than he made in a year of selling dried lizards and aspirin.
"Consider it done," Baosheng said.
But as he pocketed the money, a shadow crossed his face. He had not told Zihe everything.
He hadn't told him about Liu Zihan.
Earlier that morning, while Zihe was sleeping, Baosheng had received a visitor in the back alley. It was the man in the straw hat—the former servant of the Yang family.
Zihan had been brief. "I saw you with the Magistrate's son," he had whispered. "I know what you are doing. You are hunting the Cabbage."
Baosheng had tried to deny it, but Zihan had produced a piece of paper. A letter. A love letter written by Little Cabbage to Yang Naiwu.
"I have this," Zihan had said. "It proves she is an adulteress. It proves she is loose. If you want to trap her, this letter is the bait. But it will cost you."
Baosheng had hesitated. He didn't want a partner. But he realized that the letter was dynamite. If Little Cabbage resisted Zihe's charms, the letter could be used to blackmail her into submission.
"How much?" Baosheng had asked.
"Fifty dollars," Zihan said. "And I want to watch the show."
Now, sitting across from the oblivious Zihe, Baosheng calculated. He had a hundred dollars from the prince. He would have to give fifty to the thief. That left fifty for himself.
It was still a fortune.
"One thing, Young Master," Baosheng said, standing up. "To make this work, you must look the part. No garish silks. No heavy perfumes. You must look like a man of taste. A man who appreciates art, not just flesh."
Zihe nodded, his vanity stroked. "I will be the very image of a gentleman."
That afternoon, Baosheng went to Peace Alley.
He found Ge Pinlian sitting on the stoop, whittling a piece of wood. The "Dwarf" looked tired, his face gray with fatigue.
"Brother Ge!" Baosheng called out, putting on his friendliest mask.
Pinlian looked up, suspicious. "Baosheng? What do you want? I have no money for medicine."
"I don't want money," Baosheng beamed. "I want to give you money."
He sat down beside Pinlian, ignoring the smell of sweat and sour beans. "I have a friend. A very wealthy gentleman from Hangzhou. He is looking for embroidery. Specifically, he wants a set of bed curtains for his mother. He asked me who in Cangqian has the finest hands."
Pinlian snorted. "My wife?"
"Who else?" Baosheng spread his hands. "I told him about your wife. He is interested. He wants to see her work. He is willing to pay... twenty dollars for a set."
Pinlian dropped his knife. "Twenty dollars?"
It was four months' wages. It was a fortune.
"Is he serious?" Pinlian whispered.
"He is waiting in my shop right now," Baosheng lied. "Can I bring him here? Tomorrow? To see samples?"
Pinlian scrambled up. "Yes! Yes! Bring him! Tell him she is the best! Tell him she sews with rays of sunlight!"
Baosheng smiled. The gate was open. The beast was tamed.
He walked back to the pharmacy, whistling through his ruined nose.
"It is done," he told Zihe. "Tomorrow, you enter the fortress."
Zihe paced the room, nervous energy radiating off him. "Tomorrow," he repeated.
He didn't know that he was walking into a web far more complex than a simple seduction. He didn't know about the thief in the shadows, or the letter that could ruin lives. He only knew that the beautiful, sad woman he had seen in the doorway was finally within reach.
Outside, the sun set over the canal, turning the water the color of blood. The stage was set for the second act.
To see the meeting in the house of the Dwarf, read the next chapter.