Lan Hua sat very still before the bronze mirror, unable to tear her gaze away from the stranger reflected back at her. It was her second day there, but it still felt absurd and unreal.
Long black hair tumbled down her shoulders, thick and lustrous, adorned with dangling gold pins shaped like plum blossoms. Her face was heart-shaped, with delicate brows and lips painted the color of crushed berries. The robe she wore was crimson, embroidered with curling peonies, and the neckline dipped scandalously low by her old-world standards.
A courtesan's face.
Not Vivian Lan, CEO of a multinational conglomerate. Not the Ice Queen in sleek suits who once ruled skyscrapers and markets.
This was Lan Hua—the Peony Courtesan of the Red Lantern House.
The name pulsed in her head, not from memory, but as though it had been carved into her bones. She knew it instinctively, the way one knows a heartbeat belongs to the body.
Her pulse raced.
"Miss Lan Hua," said the maid from earlier, bowing low. "The patrons are already asking for you. Madam requests that you do not tarry."
Lan Hua's mind spun. Patrons. Madam. She had been reincarnated, not as a noble lady or a princess, but as a courtesan—an entertainer, a plaything for men, a woman celebrated and reviled in equal measure.
The maid lingered, fidgeting nervously.
"Madam says your beauty draws silver like rain. Without you, tonight will be disappointing."
Lan Hua narrowed her eyes. Already, she could feel it: expectation, calculation, and exploitation. Different setting, same story.
Her CEO instincts snapped awake. Fine. If this is the hand I've been dealt, then I'll learn the game. And when I learn the game, I'll own it.
"Help me dress properly," she ordered.
The maid blinked at her sudden sharpness but obeyed quickly, adjusting the silk, fixing the hairpins, and sliding embroidered slippers onto her feet.
When Lan Hua rose, the courtesan's body moved like water, swaying with trained elegance. Every step was a performance. Every glance, a calculated blow. She realized with dawning horror—and admiration—that this body had been trained its entire life to captivate men.
No wonder the nobles adored her.
No wonder their wives despised her.
*****
The gathering room was already buzzing when Lan Hua entered. Nobles reclined on low couches, servants poured wine, music from a guqin rippled through the air.
"Ah, the Peony herself arrives!" a corpulent minister bellowed, raising his cup.
Men clapped, calling her name. Their eyes gleamed as if she were both goddess and prey.
Lan Hua forced a smile, letting her new body's instincts guide her. She dipped into a graceful bow, her sleeve trailing like a petal. Applause thundered.
"Miss Lan Hua, a toast!" shouted another noble.
She raised her cup but did not drink. Not again, she thought, remembering the poisoned glass that ended her first life. Instead, she let the wine touch her lips, pretending to sip while keeping her mind razor-sharp.
Whispers trailed behind her.
"Her beauty outshines the moon."
"A shame she's only a courtesan."
"She thinks herself clever, but in the end, she sells smiles like all the rest."
The words cut deeper than she expected. Adored. Scorned. Celebrated. Dismissed.
Even here, even now, the rules hadn't changed. A woman could be brilliant, dazzling, even indispensable—but in the eyes of men, she was always something to be bought and sold.
Lan Hua's jaw tightened. I'll prove them wrong. I'll build something they can't ignore.
*****
The evening unfolded like theater. Courtesans performed dances, sang songs, and recited verses. Lan Hua joined when called upon, her voice steady, her wit quick. She noticed how nobles leaned closer when she spoke, captivated not only by her face but by the sharpness of her tongue.
At one point, a younger courtesan named Mei Xiang slipped beside her, smiling sweetly.
"Sister Lan Hua, Madam says you must remember: a courtesan's beauty belongs to her patrons. Do not waste your sharp tongue on politics."
Lan Hua arched a brow. "And if a sharp tongue earns more silver than a song?"
Mei Xiang's smile faltered. She lowered her voice. "Be careful, Sister. The higher you shine, the more they'll want to see you fall."
Politics. The word wasn't just for kings and ministers—it was alive even here, in painted halls and silken sleeves. Rivalry among courtesans was a blood sport of gossip, alliances, and betrayal.
Lan Hua filed the warning away.
*****
Later, after the nobles drifted into drunken laughter, Madam summoned her to a private chamber. The woman was middle-aged, with a painted smile that never reached her calculating eyes.
"You were magnificent tonight," Madam purred, fanning herself. "Your wit dazzled them."
"Did it earn us silver?" Lan Hua asked coolly.
Madam chuckled. "Always straight to business, aren't you? Yes. More than usual. But remember, Hua'er, silver is only half the game. Influence is the other."
Lan Hua tilted her head. "Influence?"
Madam's smile sharpened. "Our house does not merely entertain. We match. Noble daughters, merchant sons, generals' heirs… all through us. We weave the marriages that bind this kingdom. You are not just a courtesan, Hua'er. You are a matchmaker."
Lan Hua's breath caught. Marriage mergers. Right. She was thinking to o much about her new identity that day, she forgot her second duty there.
It clicked into place like gears in her CEO brain. This wasn't about romance or poetry. It was about alliances. Contracts. Power.
And she, of all people, had been reborn into the perfect position to exploit it.
She lowered her eyes to hide the fire sparking in them. "I understand, Madam."
"Good girl." Madam patted her hand, but her grip was iron. "Play your role well. Win their hearts, but never forget—you belong to this house."
Lan Hua smiled faintly. For now, she thought. But not for long.
*****
Back in her chambers, she stripped the heavy hairpins from her head and set them aside. Her scalp throbbed, but her mind was alive, sharper than it had been in years.
She stared into the mirror once more.
Adored, yet scorned. Desired, yet despised. A courtesan.
But also a CEO.
Lan Hua pressed her painted lips together, her reflection fierce.
"They think I am a pawn," she whispered. "But I will be the one who moves the board."
Outside, the lanterns of the Red Lantern House glowed, casting the night in hues of crimson and gold. Music drifted on the air, mingling with laughter and gossip.
And somewhere beyond the lantern light, unseen eyes watched her—eyes belonging to princes and rivals who would one day learn the truth:
The courtesan they adored and scorned would rise higher than them all.