Chapter One – East of Shenzhou
The road cut through a dense forest, the whisper of pine needles barely masking the creak of lacquered wheels. Inside a silk-draped carriage, a man sat with his head tilted back, sweat slicking his short-cropped hair despite the evening chill.
The carriage was a masterpiece of opulence polished mahogany panels inlaid with gold filigree, jade studs along its edges, and crimson curtains embroidered with dragons. Every passerby would know instantly: its occupant was a man of status.
And yet, the man inside looked anything but regal. His sharp features were softened by a smirk that spoke of arrogance and indulgence. A jade wine flask dangled loosely from his fingers, the last drops clinging to the rim like dew. His green robe shimmered faintly in the dim light, the golden cloud motifs marking him as a son of privilege.
This was Liang Ming—second son of the illustrious Liang family, one of the most influential merchant families in all of Shenzhou. A man whispered about in tea houses for his love of women, wine, and wagers. He was as infamous for his charm as he was for his recklessness.
The horses snorted as the carriage jolted forward, speeding through the final stretch of forest road. Ming's lips curled into a satisfied smile as lantern light began to flicker in the distance, warm, seductive, promising.
They had arrived.
The Pleasure City.
A jewel hidden on the outskirts of the capital, it pulsed with life long after the imperial court fell silent. Here, silken voices lured men into perfumed rooms, dice clattered like distant thunder, and the wine never stopped flowing. It was a sanctuary for the powerful and the damned alike—a place where secrets were bought and sold like jade.
As the carriage rolled past the crimson gates carved with laughing foxes, Liang Ming leaned forward, anticipation gleaming in his dark eyes. Tonight would be a night worth remembering.
Liang Ming stepped out of the carriage with the swagger of a man who believed the world owed him its pleasures. The soft glow of lanterns bathed the Pleasure City in hues of crimson and gold, and the intoxicating scent of jasmine and rice wine clung to the air like a lover's embrace.
Everyone knew his face here. Liang Ming the scandal of the Liang family. A man whose vices were whispered about in the marble corridors of Shenzhou's grand court. Even his wife, a woman of high birth and quiet dignity, could not feign ignorance of his nightly escapades. He was a man with everything wealth, connections, influence and yet nothing could sate his hunger for indulgence.
Two women slid to his side the moment he crossed the threshold, their movements like flowing silk. They were exquisite, dressed in emerald and scarlet cheongsam slit high to reveal long, toned legs and bare glimpses of skin as pale as moonlight. Their perfume—sweet, sharp—coiled around him as they leaned close, their laughter like bells designed to drown out conscience.
"Master Liang," one purred, her lacquered nails brushing his sleeve.
But Ming barely spared them a glance. His eyes had already found her.
Seated near the lacquered tea table, head bowed in practiced obedience, was a girl who seemed to have stepped out of an artist's dream. Her kimono was short and soft pink, sleeves slipping down her slender arms, revealing skin as smooth and pale as fresh rice paper. Her hair—long, silken, and the same delicate pink as her attire—flowed over her shoulders like a waterfall of blossoms. She moved slowly, gracefully, as she poured steaming tea into porcelain cups.
And yet… she did not look up.
A flicker of irritation burned in Ming's chest. He wasn't used to being ignored.
His lips curved into a grin as he turned sharply to the women clinging to his arms. "I want her," he declared, his voice leaving no room for negotiation. "No one else."
The women stiffened. Jealousy darkened their painted smiles.
"She's new, Master," one said, her tone tight, laced with venom she couldn't quite hide. "She might not know how to serve you."
"I don't care." His voice dropped, sharp as a blade. "I said I want her. Name the price. I'll pay any amount."
Heads turned across the hall. Whispers rippled like waves, but Liang Ming paid them no mind. Power—and the arrogance it birthed—radiated off him like heat.
He strode toward the girl, the sound of his boots echoing against the polished wooden floor. She still didn't lift her gaze, her delicate hands continuing their task with serene precision.
"You there," he said, his voice thick with desire and command. "How much must I pay to have you in my bed tonight?"
For the first time, she looked up.
And in that instant, the hall seemed to still.
Her eyes—almond-shaped, wide, and shimmering with an uncanny light—met him. They were not dark like ink, nor warm like amber. They were pale, almost translucent, like glass kissed by the moon.
She said nothing. Only dipped her head once in silent agreement.
Something in that quiet submission made Ming's blood heat with triumph. He grinned, teeth flashing like a predator's.
"Good," he murmured, turning to leave. "Follow me."
She rose gracefully, her movements soundless. A faint smile—soft, unreadable—played on her lips as she fell into step behind him, head still bent in feigned humility.
No one else noticed the fleeting curve of her mouth. But if they had, they would have seen a smirk like the shadow of a blade, there and gone in a heartbeat.
(she's not who she seems)?