Lan Hua—known in her past life as Vivian Lan, the youngest CEO in Asia—stood at the head of the mahogany boardroom table, her manicured fingers tightening around a crystal glass of water.
She had built everything from nothing: an empire of mergers, acquisitions, and visionary start-ups. Reporters called her the "Ice Queen of the 21st Floor." Investors called her a genius. Her enemies called her dangerous.
And now those same enemies sat across from her, smiles too wide, contracts too polished.
"You've been overruled, Miss Lan," said Zhao Ming, her COO, voice syrupy sweet. "The board has voted. Effective immediately, you are dismissed as CEO."
Her heart lurched. "Dismissed? I own sixty percent of the shares."
Ming smirked. "Not anymore. We found… irregularities. Evidence you signed away part of your holdings."
Lan Hua froze. Evidence? Impossible. Unless—
Her eyes shot to the man at the far end of the table. Chen Wei. Her most trusted partner. The man she once believed would kill for her. The man she almost let into her bed, years ago.
He wouldn't meet her gaze.
The betrayal settled like ice in her chest.
"You forged my signature," she whispered.
Ming chuckled. "Call it… creative strategy. You taught us well."
Her phone buzzed in her purse. A text from her assistant: Don't drink the water.
But it was too late.
Pain stabbed her stomach, sharp as broken glass. The water she had sipped moments ago burned down her throat. Her vision blurred, the boardroom spinning like a carousel.
"Poison," she gasped, clutching the edge of the table.
No one moved to help her. Not even Chen Wei.
Her empire, her genius, her pride—all ripped away in a single board meeting.
As she collapsed, the last thought she had was bitter laughter: So this is how the Ice Queen falls—not with a hostile takeover, but with a poisoned glass of water.
*****
Darkness.
Then—heat. The scent of incense. The distant pluck of a lute.
Lan Hua jolted awake, her body foreign and heavy. Her skin prickled under silk sheets, her lips painted red. Gold hairpins weighed down her head.
She wasn't in her office tower.
She wasn't even in her own body.
The room glowed with lantern light, walls painted with cherry blossoms. Women in gauzy robes giggled outside the curtain, their voices honeyed.
"Miss Lan Hua is awake," one said. "Tonight's patrons will be pleased."
Lan Hua stumbled to her feet and caught sight of a mirror—no, a polished bronze plate.
A woman stared back at her. Lush black hair cascading in waves. Eyes lined with kohl. Skin luminous, cheeks rouged. A courtesan.
Lan Hua staggered closer. The reflection moved with her. The face was hers, but not hers.
Memories not her own surged—perfume, poetry, men's greedy eyes, whispered scandals. Lan Hua, the Peony of the Red Lantern House. A courtesan and… a matchmaker.
Her heart pounded. She, Vivian Lan, CEO, boardroom warrior… was now a courtesan in some ancient kingdom?
"Miss?" A timid maid peeked inside. "Are you well? The Madam said you must prepare for the poetry gathering. The nobles are waiting."
Nobles. Gathering.
Lan Hua forced herself upright, instincts kicking in. Information first. Panic later.
"What year is this?" she demanded.
The maid blinked. "Year of the Golden Crane, of course."
That meant nothing.
Lan Hua pressed her lips together. Fine. If the universe had truly thrown her into this silk-draped hell, then she would play the game. She had survived boardrooms filled with men sharper than knives—courtesans and nobles couldn't be worse.
"Bring me wine," she said smoothly, her CEO voice slipping into the courtesan's tone. "And tell the Madam that Lan Hua will not disappoint."
*****
The Red Lantern House was alive with music when she stepped out. Silk banners fluttered. Lanterns cast rose-gold shadows across carved screens. Nobles in brocade robes lounged with cups of plum wine, laughing too loud, boasting too much.
Lan Hua walked among them, the courtesan's body moving with practiced grace, hips swaying like a dance. Yet inside, her CEO brain calculated.
These aren't patrons. They're investors. Each one wants returns on their coin. And I'm not here to entertain them. I'm here to own them.
"Miss Lan Hua!" a noble called, fanning himself. "Will you recite a verse for us?"
Her lips curved. Poetry duel? Fine. She had faced corporate sharks armed with legal jargon. A few rhymes were child's play.
She sipped the wine—careful not to swallow too much. Once was enough. Then she spoke:
"Roses may wither, lanterns may fade,
But a clever tongue wins more than a blade.
Beauty is fleeting, wealth turns to dust,
But those who choose wisely, build empires of trust."
Silence. Then thunderous applause.
The nobles roared with delight, coins clinking onto the stage.
The Madam's eyes gleamed with pride. The courtesans whispered, envy dripping like honey.
But Lan Hua only smiled faintly, her mind racing.
Marriage. Alliances. Contracts. That's what this 'matchmaking' business really is. It's no different from mergers back home. And if they think a courtesan is a pawn? Then I'll be the most dangerous pawn they've ever seen.
She raised her cup.
"To wise choices," she toasted, voice calm and commanding. "And to matches that outlast kingdoms."
The nobles cheered.
But in the shadows, someone else watched her—a man in dark silk, smile sharp as a blade. A prince, though she didn't know it yet.
The game had only begun.
*****