The cold sterile air of Li Jian's Shanghai apartment did nothing to numb the burning humiliation in his chest. His fingers tightened around the phone, the screen displaying an image that shattered seven years of trust - his girlfriend's bare legs wrapped around his CEO's waist, their bodies tangled in the silk sheets of *his* bed. The timestamp mocked him: 2:17 PM. While he'd been sweating over quarterly reports in the office, they'd been sweating between his sheets.
A dry, humorless laugh escaped his throat. He'd played the perfect corporate drone - working late, sucking up to management, believing promotions came to those who earned them. And for what? A broken bed and a broken heart. The phone clattered onto the glass coffee table as he stalked to the balcony, throwing open the French doors. Shanghai's neon skyline twinkled below, indifferent to his rage. Hot, humid air heavy with exhaust fumes slapped his face.
"Fuck this city," he muttered, the realization crystallizing in his mind. No more pretending. No more playing by rules that only bound the foolish.
The battered Samsonite suitcase emerged from the closet like an old friend. Methodically, he packed - three tailored suits (useless now), his laptop (the only tool he'd need), and the antique pocket watch his grandmother had given him before she passed. His fingers hesitated over framed photos before leaving them behind - let the apartment's next occupant deal with those ghosts.
A vibration made the coffee table hum. Her name flashed on the screen: *Xiao Li - 1 New Message*
Jian swiped it open with unnecessary force.
*"We need to talk. It's not what you think."*
His thumbs flew across the screen: *"It never is."* He blocked the number before the read receipt could appear, then dropped the phone into his suitcase like disposing of evidence.
---
Dawn found him slumped against the window of a southbound train, watching Shanghai's sprawling gray mass shrink into the distance. The rhythmic clatter of wheels on tracks lulled him into a trance. He'd only purchased a one-way ticket to Ningbo - after that, transportation became increasingly primitive. A rusting intercity bus with cracked vinyl seats. Then a three-wheeled motorcycle taxi piloted by an ancient man who smelled of tobacco and garlic.
"You Feng Laolao's grandson?" the driver rasped as they bumped down a potholed road lined with persimmon trees.
Jian nodded, watching terraced rice fields ripple like green velvet in the morning breeze.
The old man chuckled. "City slickers like you don't last two weeks here."
Jian didn't respond. He wasn't planning to last. Just needed somewhere his failures couldn't find him.
---
Huanying Valley unfolded before him like a scroll painting from his childhood - wandering ducks splashing through muddy lanes, weathered houses with curling roof tiles, the medicinal scent of herbs drying in wooden racks. The village hadn't changed since his last visit for Grandma's funeral five years prior. That day, the scent of joss sticks had clung to his black suit for weeks.
The ancestral home crouched at the village edge beneath a mantle of purple wisteria. Jian's fingers found the spare key right where Grandma said it would be - beneath the fourth roof tile from the left. The carved teak door creaked open, exhaling decades of memories in a puff of dust motes.
The main room held only essentials - a sturdy wooden table scarred by generations of hot pots, a bamboo couch with faded floral cushions, and above the hearth, Grandma's photograph wreathed in the last wisps of long-cold incense. Jian automatically struck a match, lighting three joss sticks. The sweet sandalwood scent coiled through the room as he bowed three times.
That's when he saw it.
Centered on the low table, as though waiting for him, sat an ornate wooden statue no larger than his palm - a phoenix entwined with a dragon in an eternal dance. The carving pulsed with strange warmth when his shadow fell across it. Something compelled him to reach out.
The moment his fingertips brushed the aged cedar-
***Ding!***
A crystalline chime reverberated through his skull. Golden characters flared behind his eyelids:
**[System Initializing...]**
**[Welcome, User. Finalizing Bond With Nine Phoenix Consort System.]**
Jian jerked backward, knocking over the teapot. Dark liquid bled across the table as the words stubbornly persisted in his vision.
**[Primary Quest: Increase Affection Levels With Designated Consorts To Unlock Abilities.]**
**[Current Target: "Meilin - Affection 0/100" - Teahouse Owner]**
**[Suggestion: Visit Rosewood Teahouse Before Sunset.]**
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Either I'm having a psychotic break," Jian muttered, "or my grandmother's ghost is playing matchmaker."
A gust of wind carried the sound of distant laughter through the open window - rich, feminine, and somehow knowing. Jian's pulse jumped. Outside, the setting sun gilded the rice fields in liquid gold.
He grabbed his jacket.
The teahouse would still be open.
Jian hesitated at the threshold of the ancestral home, the wooden floorboards creaking under his weight as if protesting his departure so soon after arrival. The village paths were even less forgiving in the fading light - uneven stones slick with evening dew threatened to turn his polished city shoes into death traps. He sighed, kicking them off in favor of the woven straw sandals left by the door. The rough fibers scratched between his toes, another reminder of how far he was from his Shanghai life.
The walk toward what he assumed was the town center took longer than expected. Every few steps, another villager stopped to stare - old women squatting on stoops snapping beans paused their work, shirtless men repairing fishing nets nudged each other, children playing with a deflated soccer ball dissolved into giggles at his approach. Jian kept his head down, feeling more exposed than he ever had in a crowded Shanghai metro.
The scent of roasted tea leaves guided him before he saw the faded vermilion sign: "Rosewood Teahouse" in elegantly peeling characters. Through the latticed windows, warm lantern light spilled onto the packed earth street. The rhythmic click of mahjong tiles and murmur of conversation drifted through the open door.
Taking a steadying breath (why was he nervous? It was just tea), Jian crossed the threshold - and promptly collided with a soft, fragrant obstacle.
"Careful there, city boy."
The voice was whiskey-smooth and amused. Jian looked down to see a woman steadying the tray of teacups he'd almost sent flying. She was... arresting. Voluptuous curves barely contained by a high-collared qipao of indigo silk, silver streaks glinting in her carefully coiled black hair, eyes like dark honey assessing him with unsettling directness. The system notification in his vision pulsed helpfully:
**[Meilin - Current Affection: 0/100]**
"Sorry," Jian managed, catching the scent of osmanthus and something muskier beneath the tea aroma. "Still getting my bearings."
Meilin's painted lips curved as she set the tray aside with a deliberate clink. "That much is obvious." Her gaze traveled from his rumpled button-down to the ridiculous straw sandals. "Feng Laolao's grandson, aren't you? The whole village's been buzzing since Old Liu dropped you off."
Before he could respond, she plucked at his sleeve. "Hm. Shanghai silk. Too delicate for our summers." The brush of her fingertips against his wrist sent an unexpected spark up his arm. "Come. Your first lesson begins now."
Without waiting for agreement, Meilin turned toward a curtained alcove, her hips swaying beneath the tight qipao in a way that made it impossible to look away. The system notification flickered:
**[Affection +1!]**
**[New Quest: Participate in Tea Ceremony.]**
Jian exhaled sharply. Whatever this "system" was, it certainly had interesting methods. As he followed Meilin's retreating figure, two older men at a corner table smirked into their teacups. One muttered something that sounded like "Another one caught in the spider's web."
The alcove was a cocoon of shadows and incense. Meilin knelt gracefully at a low table already set with a delicate celadon teapot and two cups. "Sit," she commanded, not looking up as she measured out fragrant green leaves. "We'll see if city hands can handle real work."
Jian lowered himself onto the cushion opposite her, noticing how the lantern light gilded the curve of her neck. "What makes you think I can't?"
Meilin's eyes glittered as she pushed the tray toward him. "Prove it."
The teapot weighed more than expected, its rounded belly warm from the preheated water. Jian mimicked Meilin's posture - back straight, left hand supporting the base while the right tilted the spout. But when he went to pour, a tremor ran through his wrist. Scalding water sloshed dangerously close to the rim of her cup.
Meilin's hand shot out, her fingers closing around his to steady the pour. The sudden contact sent another jolt through him - her skin was improbably soft yet strong, calloused in unexpected places.
"Like this," she murmured, adjusting the angle of his wrist with subtle pressure. Her breath smelled of ginger and something sweet. "Control the stream like you'd control a lover's gasp."
Jian nearly dropped the teapot.
Meilin chuckled deep in her throat, withdrawing her touch to cradle her own cup. "First time a woman's touched you, city boy?"
"I've had tea before," Jian deflected, watching the steam curl between them.
"Not like this." Meilin lifted her cup in a deliberate arc, inhaling the aroma before taking a slow sip. A bead of liquid clung to her lower lip before her tongue darted out to catch it. The system notification blinked like a persistent heartbeat in his peripheral vision:
**[Observation: Target's Physiological Responses Suggest Increased Interest]**
**[Affection +3!]**
Jian took a hasty gulp of his own tea - and immediately regretted it as the near-boiling liquid scalded his tongue. Meilin's laughter filled the alcove, bright and unguarded.
"Ah, still so impatient." She refilled his cup with infuriating poise. "In the city you rush. Here, we savor."
Her knee brushed his under the table. Whether accidental or not, the contact lingered a second too long. Jian found himself cataloging her every movement - the flutter of lashes when she tasted the second infusion, the way her throat moved when she swallowed, the deliberate way she adjusted the qipao's high collar to reveal a sliver of collarbone.
An elderly woman swept aside the beaded curtain, her gaze darting between them with knowing amusement. "Meilin, the Zhao account needs settling."
Without breaking eye contact with Jian, Meilin reached into her sleeve and produced an abacus, sliding it across the table with a clatter. "You can calculate a tip, can't you, Shanghai?"
It was a test. The abacus looked ancient, its beads worn smooth by generations of fingers. Jian touched the wooden frame, half-expecting another system alert. Instead, Meilin's foot pressed against his under the table.
"Don't think," she murmured. "Just feel."
His grandmother had taught him the basics years ago, when summer visits meant math lessons at this very table. Jian's fingers moved hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence as muscle memory took over. The rhythmic click-clack filled the alcove, a counterpoint to Meilin's slow, measured breathing.
When he pushed the abacus back, her painted nails trailed across his palm. "Not entirely hopeless."
The old woman snorted. "You going to keep him all night, Meilin? The Zhang boys were asking about using the back room for-
"Not tonight." Meilin's tone brooked no argument. She rose in a whisper of silk, forcing Jian to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. "We're closed."
The dismissal was clear. Jian stood, surprised to find his legs unsteady. Whether from the tea or the intensity of Meilin's attention, he couldn't say.
At the door, a hand on his arm stopped him. Meilin leaned close, her perfume wrapping around him like smoke. "Don't be a stranger, city boy." Her lips grazed his ear. "The night's young."
**[Affection +5!]**
**[Quest Completed: Participate in Tea Ceremony]**
**[Reward Unlocked: "Tongue of the Dragon" - Enhanced Taste Sensitivity]**
The humid night air hit Jian's face like a slap as he stumbled into the street. Back in his grandmother's house, the dragon-phoenix statue seemed to glow faintly on the table. Somewhere in the distance, a woman laughed - low and knowing.
Jian touched his still-tingling ear and grinned.