The sun dipped toward the horizon, and Xianle District began to bloom as night lanterns were lit one by one. The rustle of silk, children's laughter, and hearty conversations filled the evening air.
"Aihan! Aihan! Come on, let's hurry. I want to secure a good spot!"
"Slow down," Aihan said, chasing after her. "Didn't you already pay for an exclusive spot? Why are we still rushing?"
"Because I want to choose the best of the best," Mu Ying said, weaving deftly between shoulders and food stalls. She pulled Aihan along, who had long since resigned herself to Mu Ying's whims. "That way, we get both the view and the food."
Soon, the Grand Music Pavilion rose before them. Even in a district built entirely to impress, it dominated the street.
"Let's go in," Mu Ying said, dragging Aihan along as they ascended the entrance steps alongside the bustling crowd.
Once past the threshold, they were greeted by architecture so grand it left them gasping in awe.
"Wow, it is so beautiful," Aihan said unconsciously, speaking for both of them.
Mu Ying had frequented the pavilion since she was tall enough to peer over its balustrades, but she had never seen it like this. The new upper floor had been crafted from cedar and lacquer, its eaves swept upward like a bird's wings. Red lanterns, each as large as a water barrel, hung from every corner, painting the white walls amber. From within came the rich scent of fresh wood polish and heated wine.
"Look," Mu Ying breathed, stopping despite herself. "They really did it."
The ground floor was open on all four sides, supported by pillars carved with entwined peonies and phoenixes—pillars so thick that two people could not wrap their arms around them. Inside, a stage of dark sandalwood gleamed, polished so finely that it reflected the dancers' slippers.
They climbed the stairs. The new floor was quieter and far more expensive, leaving the noise of the street to fall away. Here, the lattice screens were made of thinly sliced mother-of-pearl instead of paper, letting light through while shielding guests from prying eyes. Low tables were set with celadon tea sets, each space separated by gauze curtains that drifted lazily in the evening breeze. From this height, all of Xianle's lantern-lit river was visible.
Mu Ying pressed her hands to the railing. "From here, you can see everything. Worth every single coin."
While they were strolling along the walkway, admiring the view and observing the crowd, a pavilion attendant walked up to them.
"Does the young miss have a tally?" the attendant asked politely. Mu Ying internally commended his sharpness for recognizing her in the crowd, despite her simple, ordinary clothing.
'Well, perhaps it is because I visit this place so often for their wine and beauties,' Mu Ying thought, momentarily dreaming of the flavors of aged liquor. Before her mood could sour, she thought, Ah, the owner truly knows how to entice a guest. But still, who could resist?
All of this played out inside her head while she maintained a principled attitude and a ladylike smile. She handed the attendant her wooden reservation tally. The attendant accepted it with a slight bow and went ahead to make preparations.
Mu Ying turned back to Aihan, who was still memorizing every detail as if afraid she might miss something. It was the first time Aihan had been granted the opportunity to step beyond the walls of her everyday life into this world, and Mu Ying was determined to make her enjoy every bit of it—even if it was just a partial view of the grand city.
It wasn't long before Mu Ying heard the shuffle of approaching steps, followed by a slight, polite cough. She turned to acknowledge the attendant.
"Miss, your table has been prepared. Right this way, please," the attendant said, bowing slightly as he gestured toward their path.
Mu Ying smiled and looped her hand around Aihan's arm. Roused from her stupor, Aihan allowed herself to be dragged along behind the attendant.
They took their reserved seats just as the drums began. Dancers in water-green sleeves spun out across the floor, their silks snapping like whips before softening into clouds. A qin master recited a new poem about frontier snow, his voice thin, clear, and exact.
The melody flowed effortlessly, painting vivid tales in the listeners' souls.
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The clamor hit him before the light did.
Mo Lin had come on foot, taking the back lanes behind Xianle rather than a carriage. A carriage would be remembered.
He paused at the outer threshold of the Grand Music Pavilion and let the district's energy wash over him. After spending four years among the bare wood halls and cold stone courtyards of the academy—where a single extra brazier was considered an indulgence—the sheer extravagance of the place struck him first.
The building was larger than he remembered. The new upper floor cast its light far into the street, the cedar still smelling of sap beneath its fresh lacquer. Sixteen red lanterns hung from the eaves, each large enough to bathe an entire banquet table in light. The oil required to burn them for a single night could light his father's estate for a month.
He adjusted his bamboo-green changpao, checked that his jade pendant hung straight, and lowered his gaze, adopting a modest and composed expression.
He stepped through the entrance, wrapped immediately in the rising din, the scent of hot wine, cosmetic powder, and fresh cedar.
Below, the ground floor was entirely open. Officials he recognized only by their sons' names laughed far too loudly over their wine, merchants bowed excessively low, and dancers waited in the wings, quietly adjusting their sleeves.
The sandalwood stage had been polished to a mirror shine.
He understood at once why Hao Rong had chosen this location. In a place so crowded and bright, a scholar could be seen by everyone and yet noticed by no one.
It was a den of wits and connections—the perfect stage to quietly form potential alliances.
While he was observing his surroundings, an attendant walked up to him.
"Sir Mo Lin?"
"Who is asking?" Mo Lin inquired.
"Young master, are you here for the Hao reservation?"
Mo Lin nodded once. "I am"
The young attendant responded with a polite smile.
"Your reservation has been prepared on awaiting your presence, sir. This way." He offered a deep bow and gestured forward to guide him. Mo Lin followed the attendant to his designated table.
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The drums faded. The dancers bowed, their long sleeves settling like still water. The qin master finished his verse on the frontier snow.
The entire floor broke into thunderous applause.
Mu Ying clapped, delighted, and reached for the wine pot. It was empty.
"I told you to slow down," Aihan laughed, still a little breathless from the performance.
"You drank it all while staring."
"Then you stared too much and didn't drink enough," Mu Ying countered. She rang the small table bell to signal an attendant, but no one came.
Aihan shook her head and stood up. "Stay here. I'll go find an attendant to bring more wine and pastries."
"I want the ones with the honey glaze—"
"I know," Aihan said, rolling her eyes. "The best of the best."
She slipped past the gauze curtain, heading toward the outer corridor where the attendants usually waited.
The pavilion seemed to exhale. With the music paused, the upper floor fell into a low, contented murmur of fluttering fans and refilled cups.
Mu Ying waited. One incense stick's worth of time passed. Then another. The attendant had not come, and Aihan had not returned either.
Frowning, she pushed the gauze curtain aside.
In the corridor, barely ten steps from their table, a wine-stained man had Aihan firmly by the wrist. He was leaning in too close, his slurred words carrying an unwelcome intimacy.
Aihan was desperately trying to pull away, struggling to break free without making a public scene.
However, her quiet resistance and attempts to push him away only aggravated the drunkard. His grip tightened fiercely as he grew more aggressive.
From the raised balcony across the floor, Mo Lin had just closed his eyes as the final line of poetry drifted away. In the sudden quiet of the room, the man's harsh voice carried across the space with perfect clarity.