Deep in the Yin-le District, where shadow danced with lantern light and lust flowed like wine, stood the Golden Lantern. Not golden, not a lantern—but a pleasure house courtesan so renowned that even the imperial court spoke her name in reverence. Its paper windows glowed amber in the twilight, promising secrets coin alone could not buy.
Inside, behind creases of scented screens, Madame Xue glared at an empty pipe on a silk pillow, wisps of honey-aroma still drifting from its bowl. "Get Lian," she instructed an attendant while ironing out an advertisement for this evening's avant-garde show: "The Crimson Lotus Dance." Her fingers ran over the calligraphy's sweeping strokes again with pride and concern.
"The gold paint has come from the southern provinces," said the attendant. "But Lian has been smoking since noon."
Madame Xue let out a sigh. "Take him water with ground ginger. And conceal his pipe—tonight's performance demands clarity, not dreams. Distinguished guests are coming tonight, including Lord Jin from the northern provinces. His patronage would secure our future."
________________________________________
In a silken-draped privy chamber, the son of the Minister of Rites, Zhang Rong, pinned the son of the Minister of War, Liu Yan, to a lacquered screen. Their parents' feud was legendary at court, but their bodies now told another tale.
"Three years," Zhang growled, his fingers pressing into Liu's sash. "Three years without seeing the outline of your mouth."
Liu's laughter was harsh and cracked as Zhang's teeth grated against his throat. "Your father would have you cast out if he knew you'd sooner thrust your sword into me than into the thick of war."
Zhang retorted by ripping Liu's robes wide open, revealing the smooth, unblemished skin underneath—so much smoother than his own, scarred by training. "Let him. I'd sooner be a shame than a liar."
Their congress was forceful, gentle, a combination of flesh and silk. Liu wrapped himself around Zhang's arms, his hands tracing crescent curves across the lover's back as Zhang thrust deeper into him in a rhythm that groaned the bedframe. Sandalwood and sweat filled the air, their muffled moans devoured by the distant rumble of the pleasure house as it prepared for the evening's performance.
When they were done, mussed and spent, Liu tracked the new bite along Zhang's shoulder. "The Crimson Lotus Dance begins in a moment. We must leave."
Zhang kissed him again, slow and claiming. "This is not finished."
Far away, in vermilion walls of the Forbidden City, Crown Prince Wei set aside his tutors. Yesterday's lesson in the art of military tactics had failed to interest him—a disturbing trend for the future emperor of the Dragon Throne.
"You seem distressed today," observed his most trusted advisor.
"Poetry fills my mind," replied Wei, though this was not exactly the case. He had been read stories by his courtiers—stories of a dancer whose loveliness could not be put into words, whose movement was said to convey the heavenly and the human in one step.
"Poetry," asked the counselor with an eyebrow raised. "That is why I found this among your scrolls?" He produced a tiny paper notice—precisely the one Madame Xue had clutched in her palm a few blocks away. The Crimson Lotus Dance, to be danced at the Golden Lantern.
The Prince's expression was as impassive as rock. "A king must know all things about his kingdom, even matters in the Yin-le District."
"A ruler must also stay out of scandal," the counselor retorted. He pulled from his sleeve a scholar's humble robe and cap. "The royal eye must sometimes stray incognito."
By evening, the Golden Lantern's viewing hall was crowded with Luoyang's nobles. Lord Jin, resplendent in green silk, took center stage, his jade amulet glinting under the lanterns. His piercing gaze noticed nothing—least of all the Crown Prince in disguise in the corner.
The lights dimmed. A lone flute note pierced the silence.
From behind parted drapes emerged Lian, his flesh a canvas of gold infused with life, his face hidden behind a jade carvings ornate mask—as was the tradition for all players at the Golden Lantern. Even in the haze of opium, he glided with ghostly elegance, every movement liquid but controlled. The drums pounded like a heartbeat as he twirled, red silks whipping like storm petals.
Wei leaned forward, scholar's mask never far from his mind. This is no ordinary player. Lian's defiance was real—a challenge masquerading as disrespect.
In the back of the room, Jin's fists wrapped around his wine cup. The northern lord, known for his cold reserve, stared with raw hunger.
When masked glances passed over the throng, it lingered for a breathless moment—once over Wei, once over Jin.
A spark.
________________________________________
The Night After
As soon as the final notes had passed, Lian vanished behind the curtains, and Madame Xue's maids had ushered the door shut. No one would approach him that night.
Wei slipped out unseen, his brain still seething with the dancer's steps. In his palace apartment, hidden from sight, he sat by the window, moonlight tracing silver lines upon his fingers. He closed his eyes, and there—behind his eyelids—Lian's golden form danced once more, ephemeral as a dream.
At the Golden Lantern
Madame Xue interrupted Jin, her smile courteous but unyielding. "Lord Jin, excuse me. Lian is not attending patrons this evening."
Jin's tone fell low and threatening. "Name a price."
"Things can't be explained in terms of what one pays for them," she said, eye flicking up to the alcove where Wei had disappeared. "Only deserved."
Lord Jin seethed, his first emotion in his life. He pushed out a hissed breath, his fists clenched tight in his sides.
"I am staying the night here," he told Madame Xue, his tone unopen to debate. "And tomorrow I visit him."
Madame Xue bowed low, her smile inscrutable. "As you wish, my lord."
In one of the corridors of the maze of halls of the pleasure house, Lian removed his mask and breathed deeply, the weight of the night resting upon his shoulders.
END OF CHAPTER 1