Chapter 97: The Courtesan Yan Ruyu

In the center of the main hall on the first floor of the Yanchun Pavilion, there was a vast, semi-circular stage covered in flat, red felt. Along the edge of the stage, a dozen or so musicians sat or stood, holding various instruments such as flutes, sheng, chimes, cymbals, and drums. They were the ensemble accompanying the dance, busily tuning their instruments to ensure optimal performance and avoid any jarring notes that might ruin the atmosphere during the critical moments.

The audience, nearly a hundred people in varied attire, was divided into three groups—left, center, and right—separated by narrow aisles. In the front, a dozen long tables were set with melons, sweet syrups, and fine wine.

Thanks to the money Dou Jiande had slipped to the madam, Li Dong, Qin Qiong, and their group were ushered to seats at the long tables.

A moment later, the fierce-looking man with a long sword strapped to his waist knelt at the table to Li Dong’s right, while his attendants stood by to serve him.

Hearing the clatter of the man’s sword, Li Dong glanced over and felt a secret tremor of surprise. He was an imposing figure, radiating power, though Li Dong wondered who he was and if he were one of the heroes of Shandong recorded in the history books.

He wanted to strike up a conversation but could find no suitable pretext. Suppressing his intense curiosity, he turned to Dou Jiande on his left and asked in a low voice, "Brother Dou, do you recognize that armed man over there?"

Dou Jiande stole a glance. Upon seeing the man’s features, his expression grew startled as well. He shook his head and replied, "I do not. He has a striking appearance, seemingly shrouded in a murderous aura. This place is a melting pot of all sorts of people; it is best not to disturb or offend him."

Li Dong nodded. Dou Jiande’s judgment was indeed keen; he could actually perceive the man’s inner hostility. However, he disagreed with the idea of avoiding him.

Every person has a temper and an insurmountable weakness. As long as one can grasp their nature, a little enticement or guidance is enough to make them useful and obedient. Guan Yu was arrogant, and Zhang Fei was as fierce as iron—yet were they not both led by the nose by Zhuge Liang?

Having spent years in the military, though he might not be as strategically gifted as the great Zhuge, he had managed all sorts of stubborn hotheads...

As he contemplated how to approach the man, the musicians on stage straightened up and began to play. The chattering crowd below fell silent, waiting for the star of the night, Yan Ruyu, to appear.

After a brief melody, the curtain behind the semi-circular stage was drawn back. A delicate figure flickered, and a beautiful woman revealed herself to the crowd.

She wore a gown as vibrant as fire, trailing onto the stage and hiding her feet. Her figure was as supple as a willow, swaying with every step. Her skin was as white as snow, her eyes like apricots, and her cheeks flushed like peach blossoms. She stood center stage, curtsied gracefully, and said, "This humble girl, Yan Ruyu, greets all you gentlemen."

Her voice was sweet and melodic, refreshing as a draught of mountain spring water, enough to make a listener’s heart flutter with desire.

Years in the demimonde had taught her exactly how to pluck the heartstrings of men, stoking their desires into a blaze without ever letting them possess her. And how did one possess her? There was only one way: money. Throwing money recklessly.

Money is universally loved; no one harbors a grudge against it. With wealth, one can do as they please, obtaining the things and people they desire. Money allows one to roam the world, while without it, one can barely take a step.

Sure enough, the audience could no longer sit still and began tossing money onto the stage. Within moments, a rain of coins blanketed the floor, dazzling the eyes.

These were mere trifles—scattered copper coins—amounting to less than a thousand in total.

The swordsman gave a loud shout of "Bravo!" and flung a silver ingot. It rolled across the red felt, standing out sharply against the yellow copper.

Yan Ruyu’s cheeks flushed with joy, and she beamed, offering a special curtsy directed solely at the swordsman.

Dou Jiande could no longer hold back. Glancing at the ingot—a five-tael piece—he reached into his robe and, without hesitation, pulled out a ten-tael silver ingot. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it onto the stage, shouting, "Bravo!" His voice far eclipsed that of the swordsman.

The crowd turned in unison to look at Dou Jiande, their eyes filled with envy, jealousy, and greed, though some, considering themselves refined, looked at him with disdain. Dou Jiande ignored them, smiling as he watched for Yan Ruyu’s reaction.

Yan Ruyu immediately turned toward him and curtsied again, bowing lower and smiling even more sweetly than before.

The swordsman glared at Dou Jiande with fury. Dou Jiande stared right back. Their eyes locked, each trying to outdo the other, until finally, they both turned away in a huff, refusing to speak further.

Li Dong, sitting between them, observed their every move with clarity. He felt a pang of regret; it seemed a rivalry had already formed, and they would not stop until they had outdone the other to win Yan Ruyu’s favor.

What to do? Help one? Help neither? Stay neutral? Li Dong pondered quickly. Money is an external possession—if it’s spent, it can be earned again. As long as there was no direct, violent conflict, he would let these wealthy men be. Hadn't he himself generously tipped a waiter ten taels of silver at the Zuixiang Pavilion yesterday?

Just then, the music swelled. Yan Ruyu returned to the center of the stage, adjusted her dress, and began to dance.

She held her hands in delicate, bird-beak gestures, raising them slowly above her head. With one leg extended and the other arched, her red dress flowed like water. As she leaned forward, the audience in the front row caught a clear view of the cleavage revealed beneath her bodice.

Yan Ruyu’s bosom was ample and firm, the two mounds rising like lively rabbits, seemingly ready to burst forth, with a deep, narrow valley between them that swayed and bounced with every step. The men in the audience felt their throats go dry, gulping down mouthfuls of saliva.

Yan Ruyu stood tall, her expression composed, and continued to dance to the rhythm.

At first, the flute wailed and the chimes tapped gently—the music was soft, like a gentle breeze stirring willows, rain hitting banana leaves, or wind across a wheat field. The audience swayed, lost in the rhythmic flow.

Then, the music grew sharp and metallic, clanging like a silver vase shattering or cavalry charging. The audience sat bolt upright, eyes wide, fixed on Yan Ruyu as she moved like a bird in flight, a dancing flower, a displaying phoenix. They dared not blink, fearing they might miss a single movement, a single glance, or a single smile.

As the performance reached its climax, it sounded like swords clashing, ten thousand horses galloping, lightning striking, and gale-force winds howling. The crowd froze like stone statues, forgotten in time and place, their souls swept away by the music and dance, ascending to the heavens, no longer tethered to the mundane world of flesh and desire.