The Red Lantern House was not only for drunken laughter. Sometimes it was for strategy.
Tonight, the Madam had arranged a private banquet for noble ladies—the wives and daughters of ministers, generals, and scholars. They came not for music or wine, but for whispers and information. And every courtesan knew: this crowd was the sharpest knife of all.
Lan Hua walked into the perfumed hall in a robe of pale lavender, her hair pinned simply. She had insisted on a calmer look after last night's extravagance. Better to draw attention with words, not jewels.
Dozens of eyes flicked toward her as she bowed.
"So this is the famed Peony Matchmaker," one lady drawled, her fan snapping open. "They say even princes whisper her name."
Soft laughter rippled. Lan Hua recognized the tone instantly. Boardrooms were full of it. The smile that hides a knife.
The speaker stepped forward, robes heavy with brocade. Lady Zhao, the general's wife. A woman known for her sharp tongue and sharper pride.
"Tell me, Miss Lan Hua," Lady Zhao continued, her voice sweet poison, "how does it feel to build marriages while never being worthy of one yourself?"
Gasps fluttered across the hall. Several noble daughters lowered their eyes, uncomfortable. The Madam stiffened in her seat.
Lan Hua's heart gave a single hard thud.
So this is my first test.
A courtesan had no right to insult a noble's wife, yet silence meant defeat. This was the trap: dance on a knife's edge and survive.
She smiled faintly, letting the silence stretch until every gaze was locked on her. Then she lowered her lashes, voice calm.
"Lady Zhao asks a clever question. Allow me to answer with another."
She lifted her cup and tilted her head.
"Is the physician required to fall sick before he treats? Must the farmer starve before he grows grain? Must the strategist fight before he commands soldiers?"
A ripple moved through the crowd.
Lan Hua's eyes gleamed. "Marriage, my lady, is not unlike war. It requires foresight, negotiation, and careful balance of interests. I may not be wed myself, but that makes me impartial. Objective. Free from bias. Would you trust a general who could only fight for his own clan, or one who could outwit all his rivals?"
Silence. Then the corners of several noble mouths twitched upward.
Lady Zhao's fan stilled.
Lan Hua pressed on, voice smooth as silk. "Besides, I find it amusing—men write laws though most have never been kings. Scholars pen poetry though many have never loved. Yet a courtesan must be wed to understand the bonds of marriage? How curious."
The room erupted. Some ladies covered their laughter with sleeves, others clapped lightly. Madam's eyes shone with delight.
Lady Zhao's face mottled red. "You dare compare yourself to scholars and generals?"
Lan Hua leaned forward slightly, her smile sharpening. "I dare compare myself to anyone who underestimates me."
That broke the dam. Laughter rang out, unrestrained this time. Even the stiffer wives allowed themselves a smile.
Lady Zhao's hand trembled around her fan. She snapped it shut with a crack and turned away, muttering something about "vulgar courtesans."
But the damage was done. Lan Hua had not only defended herself—she had won.
---
After the banquet, noble daughters lingered under the pretense of arranging carriages. One, a timid girl in pale green, approached Lan Hua.
"Miss Lan Hua," she whispered, glancing around nervously, "thank you for speaking so boldly. My marriage contract… I…"
Her voice broke.
Lan Hua studied her. The girl's fingers were trembling, her eyes swollen as if from crying. Clearly, she was trapped in some arrangement.
Lan Hua lowered her voice. "You wish for help?"
The girl's eyes widened in hope.
Lan Hua's smile was reassuring, but her mind was already racing. So this is how the game begins. Noble wives and daughters will come to me in secret. Each request will buy me loyalty.
She laid a gentle hand over the girl's. "Tell me the details. Quietly. I will see what strings can be pulled."
The girl nearly burst into tears of relief.
---
Later, in her chambers, Lan Hua stripped off her lavender robe and sank into the chair, exhausted.
The courtesan's body had performed flawlessly—smiles, bows, elegance—but it was her CEO brain that had saved her. That old instinct to dismantle opponents with logic, to win not just applause but credibility.
She stared into the mirror again, this time less in horror, more in awe.
A courtesan adored for beauty. A matchmaker mocked for status. Yet she had already begun to carve out something new.
Her lips curved into a slow smile.
"First blood to me."
---
Meanwhile, far across the lantern-lit district, a man in dark silk lounged at a gambling table. His friends laughed and drank, but he only toyed with the dice, his gaze distant
He had heard the whispers tonight. The courtesan who humiliated Lady Zhao. The Peony who spoke with the tongue of a general.
The so-called Third Prince, useless playboy, smiled faintly.
Interesting, he thought. Perhaps this courtesan will not bore me after all.
The dice clattered, and the night rolled on.