Following the words written on the folded slip, Mo Han reached a dark night house where many men wearing less clothes were serving food for the guests.
The dark night house was lit with crimson lanterns. Soft music played from the corner, where half-clothed young men carried trays of food and wine, bowing with practiced grace as they moved between the tables.
Mo Han stepped through the doors with a calm face, his sharp eyes scanning the hall. He saw the whispers of wealth and power in every detail—the silk drapes, the polished floors, and the smile-too-wide faces of the servers.
But his gaze finally fixed on her.
At the far end of the chamber sat a woman, cloaked in scarlet robes, her face hidden beneath a red mask shaped like a blooming lotus. Despite the mask, her presence alone commanded the room. A faint oppressive aura radiated around her like a silent warning: no one here could afford to misstep.
