Chapter Text
The wind carried with it the scent of wet earth, the cloying fragrance of rice wine, and the faint traces of incense from the temple at the village’s edge. Shen Jiu stepped lightly on the cobbled road, his boots barely making a sound against the stone. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the village.
It wasn’t particularly wealthy, but neither was it destitute—a successful village, where the air was thick with the hum of commerce, and the distant mountains loomed over the far horizon like silent witnesses to the everyday lives of its people.
The streets were crowded with townspeople moving about their business. Some carried baskets of vegetables, others led oxen with bundles of firewood stacked high on their backs. A few children played in the dirt by the roadside, their laughter faint but ringing in the stillness of late afternoon. The sound of a hammer striking metal echoed from a nearby blacksmith’s forge, the heat from the fires mixing with the cool breeze.
Shen Jiu moved through it all with the practiced ease of someone who had learned to blend into any environment. His cloak billowed lightly in the wind, its dark fabric matching the shadows he seemed to slip into effortlessly. Despite the quiet murmurs that followed him—a few of the more observant villagers recognizing his face—Shen Jiu did not slow his pace.
The rumors of his promiscuity and prowess as the Xiu Ya Sword had spread long before his arrival, but none dared voice them openly when a member of Cang Qiong Sect walked among them. Even now, there was an air of quiet fear in the eyes of those who saw him pass, though none would dare approach.
He was here for a mission—a task that, under normal circumstances, would have been dismissed as irrelevant. Prostitutes going missing in the early hours of the morning? Hardly a matter worthy of a Sect member’s attention. But the madam of the brothel had sent word to Cang Qiong, desperate enough to bypass the normal channels for a request for help.
As Shen Jiu neared the center of the village, his eyes flickered over the faces of the people he passed. The brothel, the source of his assignment, was not far ahead, tucked away behind the sloping roofs of humble shops and food stalls.
Despite its obvious nature, it was still a business, and a relatively well-kept one at that—its red lanterns hung with a certain precision, signaling that it was not a place for the poor or destitute, but rather for those who could afford a touch of perfumed indulgence.
The building’s exterior was modest by brothel standards—no garish displays, no loud music to entice the drunkards, just a painted sign hanging above the door in simple, calligraphy-styled characters: Pink Lotus Blossom.
The whole village had been whispering for weeks about the disappearances. It was not common for prostitutes to go missing in the dead of night, especially with the type of clientele that frequented the Pink Lotus Blossom. The village was close-knit, with every person knowing everyone else’s business.
Word had it that the madam was desperate—too proud to show it but cautious enough to know that something had gone—was currently—terribly wrong. No one would care if a prostitute or two disappeared, but the madam had money, and when a wealthy businesswoman like her was involved, that drew attention. She sent word to Cang Qiong Sect, and that’s where Shen Jiu came in.
He hadn’t been interested in the case at first. Well, interested wasn’t the best word, perhaps he didn’t want to put himself in more position for scorn. Prostitutes were little more than a step above slaves, as far as the world was concerned, and the general public’s indifference to their fate had always left a bitter taste in his mouth. One that swirled and fed the ugly beast within.
And with rumors of him being the kind of man who had no qualms about spending time in such places—rumors that came from his lovely martial siblings attention—he had obviously thought it best to stay away by a thousand Lǐs.
What had changed his view completely was when during the Peak Lord Meeting, all of his martial siblings had spoken as if this matter was of little importance. As if prostitutes, in their righteous cultivation, were only good for demonic feasts.
As if they were hall masters who couldn’t be bothered at the report of students bullying the others so severely their bruises would take weeks to fade. As if this was merely a change of weather, that one shouldn’t concern themselves because when the harvest is dry and withered, surely rain shall set by this week’s end? Worry not, worry not—the village will find something else to eat!
Blatantly ignoring the sick and hungry who beg for crumbs of bread their heavenly mouths feast upon, tossing the leftovers into shit ridden pig pens for the animals to snort and drool over.
Shen Jiu was a man of many qualities and despite how much his martial siblings wished to bestow it on him, a monster, he was not. Cold? Yes. Cruel? Depends on who’s being spoken to. But a monster?
He believed his martial siblings should look in the nearest mirror.
As he reached the threshold of the brothel, he paused, allowing his eyes to sweep across the building. His expression remained unreadable, but there was a certain tension in his posture, the kind that suggested he was preparing for something unpleasant.
The Pink Lotus Blossom was quieter than Shen Jiu had expected. No festive music, no raucous laughter pouring out from behind screens. The late afternoon sun cast shadows across the crimson tiles outside, the red paper lanterns fluttering slightly in the spring breeze.
A fresh coat of paint lined the wood, but even that couldn't hide the creeping sense of unease. Something rotten had settled here, and no amount of perfume would cover it.
He stepped past the threshold, his boots silent against the polished floorboards. The scent inside was cloyingly familiar—sandalwood, flower oil, powdered rouge, and the faintest trace of rice wine. It wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it was oddly grounding.
Shen Jiu liked brothels. Not for the reasons people whispered behind their sleeves. Those rumors—the ones that painted him as a lust-driven man, always chasing soft bodies and silk sheets—were little more than rot dressed in silk. He never bothered to correct them. Let them speak. Better a wicked truth than the unbearable pity that might come if they knew what he really felt.
No, he liked brothels because they were safe. Not in the way temples or sect walls were safe, but safe in the way only places filled with women could be. The laughter here—though sometimes weary—was warm. The glances, even cautious, weren’t cruel. No one here looked at him like he was a tool or a burden or prey. Because they had all been prey once too.
If a man worked here, it was only because the world had broken him so thoroughly, there was nowhere else left to stand. Shen Jiu knew that kind of breaking. Knew what it was like to be held down by someone stronger, to have hands take without asking, to be told you should be grateful for surviving it.
The jiejies had protected him once. They gave him a corner to sleep in, a bowl of rice when the streets offered only hunger. They didn't ask for his story. They already knew it. They had worn the same silence. They never touched him without warning. Never raised their voices. They taught him how to thread a needle, how to spot a drunk who didn’t mean well, how to disappear into the space between silk screens and shadowed corners. He owed them nothing—and everything.
But even here, among soft voices and painted faces, there were men. And that alone was enough to sour the air.
A man in a silken robe laughed too loudly in the adjoining room. Shen Jiu’s shoulder tensed while his mouth took to a light sneer.
The Madam emerged from behind a curtain, her hair swept into an elegant bun, robes finer than the average worker’s but showing their age. Her makeup was delicate, but it couldn’t hide the fatigue behind her eyes. She stopped when she saw him—her lips parting in what might have been surprise or relief.
“Immortal Shen,” she said with a careful smile. “This Madam didn’t expect such a high esteemed presence in the flesh.”
He nodded once. “The Sect wasn’t going to send anyone.”
Her expression soured slightly, then quickly smoothed over. “No. I didn’t expect them to. In this industry, my flowers aren’t considered… valuable to many.”
“No,” he agreed flatly. “But valuable or not—a theft of any sort requires investigation.”
That earned him a flicker of something softer—approval, perhaps. She gestured to a low table near the far side of the room, partially covered by a screen. They walked over and were greeted by a servant girl who waited near by.
As it was polite, he sat kneeling as she reached for a kettle and began to pour him tea. Once she was done, she sat back and observed him. Their tea remained untouched.
“Four girls. Gone without a trace. Always around dawn?” he asked, recounting the details from the missive.
She nodded, boring into Shen Jiu’s eyes. “No blood. No screams.” Her rouge lips, wrinkled and cracked from age detailed.
“Their things untouched. We don’t hear anything until we find their rooms empty.”
“And the clients?”
“All alive. All confused. One of them swore he woke up with her in his arms. Thought she went to the kitchen. But she never came back.”
He said nothing, just swept his gaze over the room again. The familiar velvet curtains. The lacquered screens. The dim glow of oil lamps.
“Any witnesses?”
The Madam faintly picked up the tea and took a sip, savoring the taste. Shen Jiu’s cup remained on the table. Cradling her tea, her brow creased in concentration.
“No. Every servant in the halls was questioned. They all had nothing.”
“Hm.”
The incense and opium in the room clouded everything, leaving a weight in his chest.
“It’s strange to be back in a place like this,” Shen Jiu said, more to himself than her.
The Madam only smiled, as if Shen Jiu had confirmed her suspicions.
It made him seethe.
“You’ve been in brothels before?”
He didn’t answer directly, meeting her gaze head on. “Places like this know how to keep secrets. That’s why they survive.”
He finally reached for the tea on the table, the liquid still warm as steam gently rose. A hand brushed his sleeve back, posture straight as an arrow as his hair pin swayed. The scent of florals and nearly butter notes met his nose. A sip rewarded him with a sweet, creamy blend that Shen Jiu approved a quiet sigh.
“I’m sure this madam needs no explanation on the value of secrets.”
She studied him for a moment—too perceptive, too quiet. “You’re not like the others. You walk like you’ve seen too much. And you hate men despite being one.”
His mouth twisted, just slightly. “I don’t hate men.”
Pause. A sip of tea.
“This one simply knows what they’re capable of.”
Another too-loud laugh echoed from upstairs. Shen Jiu’s jaw clenched. Of course that creature would remind him of its presence.
The tea was nearly finished.
“If it’s a man behind these disappearances,” he continued, “I’ll find him. And if it’s not—if it’s something else—I’ll deal with that, too. But I’ll need silence. Discretion.”
“You’ll have it,” she said, voice now subdued. “And a room, if you’re staying.”
“I am.”
He followed the servant girl who appeared at the edge of the screen, her footsteps quiet, her face carefully blank. As they climbed the stairs, Shen Jiu’s eyes traced the faded paint on the bannisters, the gouges in the floor where heels had worn patterns into the wood. His fingers brushed the edge of the wall—testing, feeling. Searching for cracks.
Behind him, the brothel hummed to life again, soft and heavy with memory.
The room was small but clean. Not gaudy like some brothel chambers—just red silk curtains, a low table set with a cold teapot, and a single bed with neatly folded linens. Faint music drifted up through the floorboards, muted by distance and age-thickened wood.
Shen Jiu stood by the window, fingers loosely holding his white fan adorned with painted cranes, watching the fading sun dip beyond the tiled rooftops. His reflection in the pane was of jaded pale artwork.
Behind him, the servant girl finished setting a tray of tea and rice cakes on the table, her sleeves brushing the lacquered surface as she adjusted it with too-careful precision.
"You're new," he said without turning.
She stilled for a second, then bowed slightly. "I've been here three months, Immortal."
"New enough."
Silence.
He finally turned to look at her. She was young—no older than thirteen, probably plucked from a peasant village by the madam for her quiet hands and sharp eyes. Her hair was tied simply, her face clean of powder. Not yet old enough to be working the floors.
“You were here when the last girl vanished?” he asked, his fan covering his mouth as his eyes leveled her a look.
She nodded, gaze lowering.
Shen Jiu moved to sit on the edge of the bed, gracefully lowering himself and watching her from beneath lowered lashes.
“Tell me what you saw.”
The girl hesitated. Her fingers twisted in her sleeves. “I didn’t see anything.”
“You did,” he said softly with a tilt of the head. “You’re just afraid to say it out loud.”
Her breath caught.
He let the silence stretch just enough to feel heavy before he continued, voice calm but clipped. “The madam said the last one vanished after going upstairs with a client. What did you notice? Before or after. Even the smallest detail.”
She looked up finally, and something flickered in her face. Not fear. Guilt. Shen Jiu would readily admit he latched onto it with vigor.
“Perhaps this immortal cultuvator has already found a suspect? An accomplice?” He muttered to himself, closing the fan to tap it against his chin. The little girl quivered and Shen Jiu almost smiled triumphantly.
“She—Xiao Li—she was... nervous that night,” the girl said, voice low. “She told this humble servant her client had been asking strange things. About dreams. About her childhood. She thought it was just another rich man with a scholar’s mouth. But…she didn’t come down the next morning.”
“Her room?”
“Empty. The bed was made. Window open.” She whispered, eyes still low to the floor.
Shen Jiu’s gaze sharpened. “Was the window locked before?”
The girl nodded quickly. “Always.” Her breath was shaky, nearly rushing to answer. “The madam makes sure of it. She checks each night. Said it keeps the girls safe from thieves and letchers.”
He stood again, slow and smooth. “No one climbs into a brothel through a third-floor window. And no girl jumps out of one without screaming.”
She lowered her head.
“What about the client?” he asked.
“The madam had him questioned. He swore he remembered her beside him. Said he dreamed of her even after he woke. When he saw the room was empty, he thought she’d left to fetch breakfast.”
“Did anyone see her after she went up?”
The girl hesitated again. “No... but sometimes I think I hear... things. Not screams. Just...” She searched for the word. “Whispers. After midnight. Not in words. Like... wind where there shouldn’t be.”
Hearing all of this, something made Shen Jiu’s expression still.
“…Do the girls speak of anything strange? Before they disappear? Any shared complaints? Bad dreams? Illness?”
She hesitated. “One of them said... she felt watched. Even when the room was empty. That the shadows moved when she wasn’t looking.”
A pause.
“And then?” he asked.
“She vanished three nights later.”
He exhaled slowly, and she flinched—but not from fear of him. From the knowledge that this conversation meant something terrible was already too close.
“Have you seen anything strange yourself?” he asked, this time gently. “Anything that made the hairs on your arms rise?”
She swallowed. “Once. I brought tea to a room that should’ve been empty. I heard breathing. Slow. Like someone sleeping. It was loud enough that this servant heard it from outside.”
“But when I opened the door, no one was inside.”
He was quiet for a moment, eyes distant.
"You are brave to tell me this," he said at last.
Her surprise flickered briefly across her face.
“But a fool for doing so with no guarantee for your safety.” Hurt flickered and Shen Jiu swallowed guilt he felt. No matter. He spoke truth and truth only—it would do her well to take this as lesson in the future.
Yet, watching her nod with her head down, posture small and meek, he couldn’t help it. His fan snapped open and looked to the side, gaze leading to out the window where he watched the villagers prepare for the night.
Haughtily, Shen Jiu sighed. He added, softly, “Keep your ears open. But not too wide. If you see or hear anything else, you come to me directly. Not the madam. Not the other girls. Me.”
She bowed. “Yes, Immortal Master.”
As she moved to leave, he stopped her with a quiet command.
“One more thing.”
She turned, hands clasped with her head lowered.
“That window. The one Xiao Li disappeared through.”
“Yes?”
“Tonight, I want it unlatched.”
She bowed.
“Yes, Immortal Master.”