The Red Lantern House glittered as usual that night, lanterns swaying in the warm breeze, courtesans' laughter spilling like wine into the street. But Lan Hua noticed the small, cloaked figure waiting at the back gate long before the guards did.
"Miss Lan Hua," the maid whispered breathlessly, rushing into her chamber. "A young lady begs audience. She… she claims it is a matter of life and death."
Lan Hua frowned, setting down her brush. These things were rarely exaggerated. In her past life, clients came to her with the same tone: desperate, cornered, grasping for rescue. Only here, it wasn't corporations collapsing—it was lives.
"Bring her," Lan Hua said.
Moments later, the cloaked girl was ushered inside. She threw back her hood, and the air in the room shifted.
Lan Hua recognized her immediately.
The pale oval face, the high-born posture—it could only be General Han's daughter. Han Yue. A girl whispered about in corridors of power, promised as a political bride since childhood.
And now she stood trembling, clutching her sleeve.
"Miss Lan Hua," she whispered, voice breaking. "Please… save me."
Lan Hua gestured for tea to be poured. "Sit," she said gently.
Han Yue obeyed, hands shaking. Tears welled in her eyes, smudging the kohl. "My father has arranged my marriage to Lord Wen's nephew. He is cruel, everyone knows it. I begged my father, but he says loyalty to Wen outweighs my tears."
Her voice cracked. "If I marry him, it will be the end of me."
Lan Hua's heart twisted. She remembered boardroom daughters forced into mergers, their voices drowned out by men in suits. Here, the gilding was different, but the chains the same.
"Why come to me?" Lan Hua asked softly. "I am a courtesan, not a minister."
Han Yue's eyes burned with desperate hope. "Because you are not just a courtesan. They call you the Peony Matchmaker. They say you arrange alliances with fairness, with cunning. If you cannot help me… then no one can."
Lan Hua's lips curved faintly. Even the daughters of generals have heard.
She leaned forward. "Then tell me—if not Lord Wen's nephew, whom would you choose?"
Han Yue flushed, looking down. "…There is a man. A scholar-official from the Hanlin Academy. His family is not rich, but his name is clean. He once helped me when my carriage overturned in the rain. He… he treats people gently. My heart…" She faltered. "My heart is already his."
Lan Hua considered quickly. A scholar lacked the wealth of Lord Wen's clan, but reputation was its own currency. If she could present this not as defiance but as a political advantage…
Her CEO brain clicked. Rebrand the weakness as strength. Transform a liability into prestige.
She smiled faintly. "Then we will make your scholar shine brighter than any noble. Leave it to me."
Han Yue grasped her hands. "Truly? You can do this?"
Lan Hua's tone was calm as iron. "I never promise what I cannot deliver."
*****
The next evening, Lan Hua arranged a banquet—not with patrons, but with carefully selected guests. Two merchants who owed her favors. One aging minister fond of poetry. And, by invitation, the scholar himself—drawn in with the excuse of reciting verses for the courtesans.
The moment Han Yue entered in plain dress, her face flushed with innocence, the minister's eyes softened. "So this is General Han's daughter? A pity her fate is already decided."
Lan Hua poured his cup with graceful ease. "Fate is only decided when contracts are signed," she murmured.
The scholar recited poetry—humble, heartfelt, praising loyalty and filial piety. Lan Hua guided the conversation deftly, turning each line into subtle praise of his virtue, each cup of wine into admiration for his character.
By the end of the night, the minister himself was murmuring, "Such a union would bring honor to both families."
The merchants chimed in eagerly, sensing where the wind turned.
Lan Hua only smiled, sealing the moment in wax within her mind.
*****
Within days, the whispers reached General Han.
"Your daughter's suitor is no mere scholar," ministers said. "He is a man of letters, praised even by the Peony Matchmaker's circle. Such virtue cannot be ignored."
When Lord Wen protested, others countered: "Do you want to be known as the man who chained the general's daughter to a brute, when a scholar of honor stood waiting?"
Caught between reputation and politics, even Lord Wen could not press too hard.
General Han relented at last. "Very well. The scholar, then."
*****
The wedding was modest but pure. Han Yue's smile as she walked into her scholar's courtyard lit brighter than the lanterns.
She pressed Lan Hua's hands one last time, tears shining in her eyes. "I am free because of you. I will never forget this."
Lan Hua only smiled, her voice smooth. "Loyalty is worth more than silver. Remember that."
*****
The story spread like wildfire.
"They say the Peony Matchmaker saved General Han's daughter."
"She turned a forced marriage into a political alliance!"
"She's more powerful than ministers—she decides futures."
The Red Lantern House filled with nobles seeking her counsel. Courtesans watched in awe, envy, and fear.
And in her chamber, Lan Hua wrote one line across her parchment, ink dark as night:
"Every match is a merger. Every loyalty, an investment."
*****
From the shadows of the palace, a pair of sharp eyes watched her name rise higher and higher in rumor. The Third Prince leaned back in his chair, lips curving in amused intrigue.
"So the Peony Matchmaker dares move generals and ministers like chess pieces…" he murmured. "Interesting. Very interesting."