Chapter 10: The Jade Peach Fan
Luo Gan gazed at the brothel before him, as if he had stepped into another world. Old Hu, noticing his dazed state, waved his hand in front of Luo Gan’s eyes, trying to bring him back.
With a mischievous grin, Old Hu teased, “So, which lovely lady has bewitched you?”
Luo Gan returned from his daydream, still feeling the sudden wave of melancholy that washed over him.
He murmured, “Truly, this is a paradise on earth. For those who have toiled their whole lives, perhaps this place remains forever beyond their reach.”
Old Hu scratched his ribs, itching with curiosity. “What do you say is better, a woman’s embrace or a hot bath?”
Luo Gan recalled his recent bath and how inexperienced he must have appeared. Yet, it was odd—for in the modern world, he had seen towering skyscrapers, everyone had showers and baths, if you had money you could go clubbing, if not, you could spend the night at an internet café. There was no shortage of entertainment…
And yet, looking at the people around him, he felt a heaviness in their hearts. Times marched forward, society advanced, but what was it that they, themselves, were missing?
Scholars wielded their brushes, beauties sang and danced, commoners rejoiced and relished life. Some followed the opera, some drank themselves into oblivion.
This era knew nothing of computers, nor the internet, nor telephones. To be sure, there was still a gulf between rich and poor—wealth accumulated over generations, leaving peasants like Luo Gan and Er Hu unable to amass in a lifetime what others had inherited. Even so, people lived with a rustic sincerity. The things that troubled them were not about dowries tallied in apartments, or the absence of a carriage. If you had stories and talent, you could win the favor of the beauties in this house; and if not a winner in life, could still live as a pair of happy lovers.
Luo Gan chuckled to himself. Was he, in fact, living a life less fulfilling than these ancient souls from a thousand years ago? The thought brought a wry smile to his lips.
Old Hu, misreading Luo Gan’s expression, began plotting in his mind.
He said, “Brother, since we’re here, let’s not let the night go to waste. Our meeting was fate, after all.”
Before Luo Gan could respond, Old Hu grabbed his hand and pulled him inside the brothel.
Aning and Qiao Ying each clung to one of them—Aning wrapping herself around Luo Gan’s arm, Qiao Ying embracing Old Hu. Luo Gan was visibly awkward, unaccustomed to such fortune with strange beauties in his arms, while Old Hu was anything but bashful—he grabbed Qiao Ying’s slender waist as if she were a willow branch, fearing it might snap with a careless squeeze.
Qiao Ying, blushing with a hint of flirtation, playfully scolded Old Hu, “You’re terrible! The moment we meet, you call me your little darling, fawning over me, and then you ply me with drink after drink until I’m tipsy.”
Old Hu beamed, “Ah, but that’s not how it is! I’m simply delighted, that’s all. Fine wine and a beautiful night—they’re both essential!”
As he spoke, he clinked his little cup against Qiao Ying’s empty one and drank deeply.
Luo Gan watched Old Hu’s ease with a touch of envy, unsure how to join in the fun. Aning nestled against him, but the two of them looked nothing like wild lovers—more like a pair of siblings from afar.
Seeing Luo Gan so silent, Aning took the initiative, “Brother, why are you so quiet? Are you thinking of some other girl?”
Luo Gan glanced at Aning. She was gentle and sweet, her almond-shaped face adorned with enchanting eyes. Her figure was a little plump, but pleasantly so—holding her was a delight, not at all like the skinny beauties of today, who felt more like armfuls of bones.
Aning’s ample curves left Luo Gan weak all over, forcing him to avert his gaze, which somewhat dampened Aning’s spirits. Not only was he a block of wood, but his demeanor was such a killjoy, he’d spoil even an evening at a tavern, let alone a brothel.
Old Hu tried to smooth things over. “Don’t mind him, dear. My friend here is just inexperienced—he’s never seen beauties such as yourself, so he’s a bit nervous!”
Old Hu laughed heartily, and Luo Gan nodded vigorously in agreement. Qiao Ying and Aning, reassured, joined in the laughter.
Luo Gan and Aning clinked glasses and drank. In the company of fine wine and a beauty, even heroes succumb. After a few rounds, there are no kings or ministers here, only drunkards enjoying themselves.
The drinks flowed and the four of them grew merrier. Luo Gan lost track of how much he drank. The ancient wine was unlike any he’d known—greenish in hue, gentle on the palate, not burning at all. Before long, he was thoroughly tipsy.
No wonder people spoke of immortals after drinking. If only he’d read more poetry, he could have penned a few verses to commemorate this night, perhaps one day his words would be studied by future generations, his name preserved in history.
Lost in such daydreams, Luo Gan stumbled out of the private room, bracing himself against the wall, forgetting even what he meant to do.
A melody floated through the air—tender and winding, at times joyful or sorrowful, wild as an emperor ruling his realm, carefree as a recluse in the mountains, deep as fish dwelling in the sea, or grand as a roc soaring the skies.
When the song ended, its lingering notes hung in the air, capturing Luo Gan’s full attention. He hurried to the balustrade and saw a woman of extraordinary grace playing the zither center stage, surrounded by scholars, nobles, and officials all applauding.
“Miss Jun Tao’s artistry is unmatched!”
“To have heard her twice in my life—I can die without regret!”
“No one can surpass her beauty and skill!”
The applause and cheers nearly raised the roof. Miss Jun Tao wore a pink gauze dress, gold hairpins in her dark hair, earrings shaped like twin phoenixes, and held a peach-blossom fan half-shielding her face, bewitching yet dignified, elegant in every gesture.
Luo Gan found her dazzling amidst the crowd, like the morning star in the night sky. What truly seized his attention, though, was the peach-blossom fan in her hand—it flashed in his vision, sending out signal after signal, growing ever more insistent.
He thought, “This can’t be—so outstanding, and she’s a key clue too? I guess I have no choice but to go talk to her!”
Miss Jun Tao appeared weary, busy entertaining her guests, as the proprietor stepped onto the stage, hands clasped.
“Friends from all directions, honored guests out for a stroll after supper, I am deeply grateful for your company tonight. Without further ado, who among you will have the pleasure of spending the night with Miss Jun Tao? It all depends on your sincerity!”
A few helpers carried a large wooden board on stage, and unrolled a sheet of rice paper twice the size of those used by the scholars outside.
A buzz of excitement spread through the crowd. “Who will win the courtesan’s favor tonight?”
“The Third Young Master is certainly a strong contender!”
“Prince Song is not to be underestimated—his wealth is boundless!”
“But if a scholar shows his talent, who knows what will happen—how exciting!”
The Third Young Master, hearing this, looked displeased. He glanced at Prince Song, who sat nearby; the tension between them was palpable even before a word was exchanged.
The Third Young Master was elegant and refined, a jade pendant at his waist, the very image of a young aesthete. Prince Song was quite the opposite—portly, well-kept, his plain attire unable to disguise the air of officialdom about him. Both were flanked by attendants, looking as if a troop of bodyguards had come to watch a concert.
The proprietor called out, “Enough talk! Let the bidding begin!”
A guest shouted, “Twenty gold!”
Another chimed in, “Twenty-five!”
The Third Young Master sneered and signaled his attendant, “Forty.”
The crowd murmured in awe—such extravagance was expected of him.
Prince Song merely smiled and had his attendant bid, “Fifty.”
Unwilling to be outdone, the Third Young Master quickly raised it to sixty, but Prince Song went straight to eighty.
Back and forth they went, the contest escalating from a game of wealthy men’s amusement to a battle of pride between the Third Young Master and Prince Song. Soon, the two were shouting their bids themselves.
“One thousand gold!” cried the Third Young Master.
“Two thousand!” Prince Song retorted.
The Third Young Master was stunned. How much had this scoundrel embezzled to throw around two thousand gold pieces? Was he really so desperate for face that he’d spend his entire fortune?
Prince Song had bid an impossible sum—just for the sake of pride. The two of them were locked in a battle neither could gracefully escape.
The proprietor, beside himself with joy, hoped the contest would grow even fiercer, while the rest of the guests egged them on, finding great amusement in watching the rich clash.
Sensing the situation spiraling, Luo Gan realized that if things continued, Jun Tao would end up belonging to someone else. Who knew when he’d next return to the county? Best to take a gamble right now!
As Prince Song, pleased with himself, prepared to claim victory, he leered at Jun Tao, who hid her face behind her fan, retreating a step.
“So, it’s just the two of us, Miss Jun Tao?” Prince Song smirked.
The proprietor glanced around. “If there are no further bids, then tonight will…”
“Wait!” Luo Gan shouted, drawing every eye in the house.
“I bid ten thousand gold!”
A thunderous uproar erupted. The Third Young Master, Prince Song, and even Miss Jun Tao herself stared in disbelief at the unkempt young man who had just shattered the night with his astonishing offer.