By the time the first peach blossoms bloomed along the canals, her name had spread farther than she could have imagined.
Lan Hua sat in the Red Lantern House's inner hall, sipping tea as one of the maids breathlessly reported the latest whispers from the city.
"They call you The Peony Matchmaker, Mistress," the girl said, eyes bright. "They say you're like the flower—graceful, but impossible to uproot once planted. Nobles are fighting to have you arrange their marriages."
Lan Hua's lips curved into a faint smile. She had not chosen the title, but she would not refuse it. Peonies were prized in every household—symbols of prosperity, beauty, and dominance. A fitting emblem for what she intended to become.
The reputation had not come overnight. It began with the general's daughter whose fate Lan Hua had secured with one carefully brokered match. The girl's tearful gratitude had carried into the ears of her father, and from there into the barracks, the markets, and the halls of court. "The courtesan who arranges marriages like a statesman," soldiers whispered.
And then came the merchants. A powerful spice trader had approached her, nervously clutching ledgers in his hands, seeking a match for his heir. Lan Hua had arranged not just a marriage but a merger—two merchant clans bound together with ironclad contracts. The ink was barely dry before profits doubled.
From then on, it was no longer just about silk veils and sweet words. She had become the broker of futures.
*****
That evening, Madam invited her into the upper chamber. The heavy scent of incense curled between them as Madam studied Lan Hua with a mixture of suspicion and admiration.
"Your name carries weight, girl," Madam said at last. "Weight can turn into gold. Or into chains. Do you understand?"
Lan Hua bowed, her expression calm. "Then let us balance it carefully. A house with only beauty will fade with time. A house that controls alliances… will endure."
Madam's fingers tapped the armrest. For a long moment, it seemed she might rebuke her. Instead, she let out a laugh. "Peony Matchmaker, indeed. You've turned my courtesans into pawns and partners both. Very well. Let us see how long you can keep the bloom from wilting."
*****
The following week, Lan Hua rode through the city in a sedan chair hired by a merchant clan. Crowds parted to let her pass, whispering behind their hands.
"Is that her?"
"The one who united the spice houses?"
"They say she saved the general's daughter from ruin."
"A courtesan arranging noble marriages… who does she think she is?"
But admiration outweighed scorn. Children pointed, flower-sellers called out, and even the guards by the city gates offered her respectful bows.
Lan Hua sat inside the chair, serene, though her heart beat faster at the thought. Fame was a double-edged sword. The higher she climbed, the sharper the blades waiting to cut her down.
*****
At a tea house near the river, a group of scholars debated animatedly.
"She's nothing more than a courtesan with pretty words."
"And yet her matches have secured trade routes and stabilized two clans. Can you name another who has done the same?"
"Hmph. Dangerous. A woman wielding influence in this way will earn the Crown Prince's notice."
The debate spilled into poems. By nightfall, scrolls praising the "Peony Matchmaker" were already being sold at the markets—some mocking, some adoring.
*****
Back in her chamber, Lan Hua lit a single lantern and unrolled her own ledger.
"Peony Matchmaker," she murmured aloud, testing the words. "A crown of petals… or a noose of thorns."
But as she wrote down the names of her new allies, she allowed herself one small, private smile.
Each match she arranged was not just a union of families, but a thread weaving her web tighter around the city. And soon, even the most powerful would find themselves caught.
Unseen beyond her window, a man lingered in the shadows of the alley. His robe was plain, his face hidden beneath a wide hat, but his eyes gleamed with interest as he watched her silhouette through the paper screen.
"The Peony Matchmaker," he whispered, as if savoring the words. "So this is the woman causing the city to stir."
Then he turned, vanishing into the night—leaving only the faint scent of sandalwood behind.