The oil lamp flickered in the upstairs room of the Hall of Loving Benevolence, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls. Outside, the night air of Cangqian was heavy with the scent of jasmine and rot, but inside, the atmosphere was thick with conspiracy.
Liu Zihe sat on the divan, his face flushed with wine and the thrill of the chase. "You guarantee it, Baosheng? You guarantee she will be mine?"
Qian Baosheng, his ruined nose whistling softly with each breath, poured another cup of wine. He looked at the spoiled prince with a mixture of contempt and greed.
"I guarantee opportunity, Young Master," Baosheng purred. "But opportunity requires... lubrication. And lubrication requires gold."
He laid out his request: a thousand taels of silver. He framed it as an investment in the pharmacy, a way to expand the business, but both men knew it was a bribe. A thousand taels was a fortune—enough to buy a fleet of boats, or silence a hundred tongues.
Zihe didn't blink. To a man whose mother controlled the coffers of Yuhang, money was an abstraction. Desire was the only reality.
"Done," Zihe said, slapping the table. "Get me the Cabbage, and I will make you the richest apothecary in the province."
Baosheng grinned, his yellow teeth gleaming in the lamplight. He had hooked his whale. Now he just had to reel it in.
But Baosheng was not merely a pimp; he was a strategist. He knew that Little Cabbage was a fortress built on pride and sorrow. Gold had opened the door, but it would not open her bed. For that, he needed something stronger.
"Young Master," Baosheng said, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The Cabbage is virtuous. Or rather, she clings to virtue like a drowning man clings to a plank. If we wait for her to fall in love with your handsome face, we will be waiting until the rivers run dry. We need a shortcut."
Zihe frowned. "A shortcut?"
"Chemistry," Baosheng said.
He reached into the folds of his robe and produced a small, folded packet of paper. He placed it on the table between them.
"What is this?" Zihe asked, reaching for it.
"Careful," Baosheng warned. "That is 'Spring in the Hidden Valley.' It is a powder of... unique properties. It is distilled from herbs found only in the mountains of Yunnan, mixed with certain animal glands. It warms the blood. It confuses the mind. It turns 'no' into 'perhaps,' and 'perhaps' into 'yes'."
Zihe stared at the packet. "A love potion?"
"An aphrodisiac," Baosheng corrected. "Powerful. Fast. And tasteless."
Zihe looked up, a slow smile spreading across his face. The idea appealed to his vanity—he wasn't forcing her; he was simply helping her realize her desire.
"How do we administer it?" Zihe asked.
"Tomorrow," Baosheng said. "We return to her house to 'discuss the patterns.' While she is distracted by your charm and your gold, I will slip this into her tea. Once she drinks... the fortress will crumble."
"But the sister-in-law," Zihe worried. "The idiot girl. She is always there."
Baosheng waved a dismissive hand. "Leave Third Girl to me. I have a trick for her, too."
The next morning, the sun rose hot and bright over Cangqian. Zihe woke with a headache, but the sight of Baosheng counting silver dollars cheered him.
The servant Baosheng had sent to Yuhang had returned, carrying a heavy chest. Madam Lin, doting as ever, had sent fourteen hundred silver dollars—the equivalent of the promised thousand taels. She had asked no questions, assuming her son needed the funds for "social obligations."
Baosheng's hands trembled as he touched the silver. It was real. He was rich.
But he was also trapped. He had taken the money; now he had to deliver the goods.
"The time is now," Baosheng announced, locking the chest in his strongbox. "It is late afternoon. The husband will be asleep at the tofu shop. The alley will be quiet."
Zihe dressed with care. He chose a robe of deep purple silk, embroidered with silver cranes. He wore his heaviest jade ring and a scent pouch filled with musk. He looked every inch the wealthy predator.
"Do I look ready?" Zihe asked, turning in front of the mirror.
"You look like a god," Baosheng lied. "Now, let us go."
They walked to Peace Alley, the heat radiating off the cobblestones. Zihe felt a knot of tension in his stomach. This was it. The moment of truth.
Number Five Peace Alley was silent. The door was closed.
Baosheng knocked. "Sister-in-law! It is Baosheng! We have returned!"
The door opened. Little Cabbage stood there, looking tired but composed. She wore the same simple clothes, but her hair was neatly pinned. She recognized them immediately, and a flicker of apprehension crossed her face.
"Mr. Qian," she said, bowing slightly. "Young Master Liu."
"We have come to finalize the commission," Baosheng said breezily, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "The Young Master is eager to see your samples."
Little Cabbage hesitated, then stepped back to let them in. "Please. Sit down."
The main room was dim and cool. Third Girl was sitting on the floor in the corner, playing with a cricket she had caught in a bamboo cage. She looked up and giggled at Zihe's purple robe.
"Pretty bird," she mumbled.
Little Cabbage bustled about, playing the hostess. She fetched three cups and a pot of tea. She poured for the men, then poured a cup for herself, placing it on the edge of the table.
"I have some samples upstairs," she said. "Please wait a moment."
She turned and walked toward the narrow staircase.
Zihe watched her go, his eyes devouring the sway of her hips. As soon as her foot hit the first step, Baosheng moved.
He moved with the speed of a striking snake. His hand flashed over the table. The paper packet was open in his palm. A cascade of fine, yellow powder fell into Little Cabbage's tea cup. It dissolved instantly, leaving no trace.
Baosheng sat back, his face a mask of innocence. He winked at Zihe.
Zihe's heart hammered against his ribs. It was done.
Little Cabbage returned a moment later, carrying a bundle of embroidered silk. She laid the pieces out on the table.
They were exquisite. Dragons with eyes of gold thread; peonies that seemed to bloom from the fabric.
" magnificent," Zihe breathed, genuinely impressed. "You have magic in your hands."
Little Cabbage smiled, a genuine, shy smile. "Thank you, Young Master."
She reached for her tea cup.
Zihe held his breath.
She lifted the cup to her lips. She took a sip. Then another. She drained the cup.
"It is hot today," she murmured, fanning herself with her hand.
Zihe glanced at Baosheng. How long? his eyes asked.
Baosheng held up three fingers. Minutes.
"The work is perfect," Baosheng said loudly. "But we need to discuss the measurements. Young Master, perhaps you should examine the detail in the sunlight?"
He gestured to the open door.
Little Cabbage nodded. She felt a sudden flush of heat rising in her cheeks. The room seemed to be spinning slightly. It is just the heat, she told herself.
"Third Girl!" Baosheng called out. "Come here, child. I have something for you."
Third Girl looked up, her eyes wide. Baosheng pulled a bag of sugared plums from his pocket—a bribe he had prepared earlier.
"Take these," he said. "Go play in the courtyard. Catch more crickets."
Third Girl snatched the bag and ran outside, squealing with delight.
Now they were alone.
Little Cabbage swayed. She gripped the edge of the table. Her skin felt too tight. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. A strange, heavy warmth was spreading from her stomach to her limbs.
"Are you well, Sister-in-law?" Zihe asked, stepping closer. His voice was low, intimate.
"I... I am dizzy," she whispered. She looked at him. The room blurred. The purple of his robe seemed to expand, filling her vision. He didn't look like a stranger anymore. He looked... necessary.
The drug was working. It stripped away fear and replaced it with a pliable, confused longing.
"You are tired," Zihe said softly. He reached out and took her hand. His skin was cool. Hers was burning.
She didn't pull away.
"Let me help you," he murmured. "Let me help you rest."
He guided her toward the stairs. She stumbled, leaning her weight against him. The scent of his musk pouch filled her head, drowning out the smell of poverty and tofu.
They reached the bottom of the stairs. Zihe's hand moved to her waist. He could feel the heat radiating through her thin tunic.
Victory was inches away.
But just as Zihe placed his foot on the first step, a shadow fell across the open doorway.
"Wife?"
The voice was rough, tired, and familiar.
Zihe froze. Little Cabbage stiffened in his arms.
Standing in the doorway, blocking the sun, was Ge Pinlian.
The Dwarf had come home early.
Baosheng's face went white. This was not in the plan. Pinlian was supposed to be asleep at the shop until sunset.
Pinlian blinked, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. He saw the two men. He saw the expensive silks. And he saw the young dandy with his arm around his wife's waist.
For a second, there was silence. The kind of silence that precedes an explosion.
But Pinlian did not explode. He did not roar.
He looked at Zihe. He looked at the gold ring on Zihe's finger. He looked at the pile of expensive fabric on the table.
And then, he smiled.
It was a terrible, obsequious smile. A smile of a man who sees an opportunity, not an insult.
"Ah!" Pinlian said, stepping into the room and wiping his dusty hands on his apron. "Guests! Distinguished guests! Why did no one tell me we had company?"
Zihe released Little Cabbage, who swayed and grabbed the banister for support. Her mind was fogged by the drug, but fear was cutting through the haze.
"We... we were just discussing the embroidery," Zihe stammered, stepping back.
"Of course!" Pinlian beamed. He looked at Baosheng. "Old Qian! You brought a patron? Why didn't you send word? I would have bought wine!"
Baosheng recovered his wits. He realized instantly what was happening. Pinlian wasn't angry. Pinlian was greedy. The Dwarf saw a rich man in his house, and he smelled profit.
"We didn't want to disturb your work, Brother Ge," Baosheng said smoothly. "The Young Master is very impressed with your wife's talent. He was just... helping her. She felt faint."
"Faint?" Pinlian looked at Little Cabbage. Her face was flushed, her eyes glassy. "She works too hard. Always sewing. Sit down, woman! Get the guests some tea!"
He turned back to Zihe, bowing low. "Please, Young Master. Forgive the mess. We are simple people. But we know how to treat a friend."
Zihe looked at Pinlian, then at Little Cabbage. He realized the game had changed. He hadn't been caught; he had been invited in.
The husband wasn't a guardian. He was a pimp.
And the drug in Little Cabbage's veins was still rising.
To see how the nightmare unfolds under the husband's nose, read the next chapter.