The Red District never truly slept.
Even after midnight, laughter and sobs mixed with the sound of rain dripping from cracked roofs. Smoke from oil lamps clung to the walls, painting everything in shades of gold and ash.
The boy carried a bucket of foul water down a narrow hallway, his bare feet silent on the warped floorboards. Every step stirred the stench of wine, sweat, and incense. From behind thin curtains came the muffled sounds of men and women chasing warmth that never lasted.
He emptied the bucket into the gutter outside and watched the dirty water snake away through the street cracks. The night air bit cold, and somewhere down the alley, a fight broke out — the thud of fists, the sharp cry of pain, and then laughter again.
Just another night.
When he turned back, a hand smacked the back of his head.
"Keep moving, rat. Don't loiter where customers can see you."
A woman in a faded red robe glared at him, her lips smeared with smudged paint.
"Yes, Miss Ralo," he muttered, lowering his head.
He made his way to the main room, where Madam Sura sat like a queen in her little kingdom of decay. Her long red shawl shimmered under lamplight, and a half-burned cigar rested between her fingers. Gold bangles clinked softly as she counted coins.
"You're late," she said without looking up.
"Sorry, Madam," he said. "Rin was—"
"I don't care," she interrupted. "That girl's always coughing. If she dies here, I'm not wasting a coin to bury her. Understand?"
He clenched his fists. "Yes, Madam."
Sura's gaze flicked up, sharp as a blade. "And stop scowling. You eat because I let you. Be grateful."
"I am."
She smirked faintly, leaning back. "Good. Then make yourself useful. Clean the west hall. The floor's sticky again."
He nodded, took the mop, and moved through the house. His arms ached. His stomach grumbled. But he worked — he always worked. The stench of spilled liquor and cheap perfume filled his nose until he barely noticed it anymore.
From the main hall came the muffled laughter of drunk patrons. Through the thin walls, he heard the clink of glasses, soft singing, and the occasional shout. Then, between those noises — two men talking, their voices low.
"…I heard Madam Vira got her hands on a vitality pill. Straight from the Inner Wall."
The boy froze.
"They say some of the nobles took the Vitality Pill before bedding his mistress," a drunk voice slurred. "Could go all night, they said — like a beast in heat!"
"Bah, nonsense," another snorted. "That pill's meant for the dying, not for rich men chasing pleasure."
"Still," the first whispered, "they say his skin shone afterward… like fire under flesh."
"Then why she keeping it here"
"Because she's waiting for a buyer. Someone from the noble quarter, maybe even a cultivator or someone rich who knows. And she doesn't want the guards sniffing around."
Their voices drifted off as the men stumbled toward the exit, laughing about things they didn't understand
The boy paused in his sweeping. A pill that could heal and make a man burn with life? Such things didn't belong to people like him. But for Rin…
Once the halls quieted, he slipped into the small storage room at the back. There, Rin lay on a thin mat, wrapped in a tattered blanket. A single candle flickered beside her.
Her face was pale. The fever had left a red flush on her cheeks, and her lips were cracked.
"Brother… you're back," she murmured, trying to sit up.
"Don't move." He knelt beside her, wringing a damp cloth and placing it on her forehead. "Sleep. You need strength."
She smiled weakly. "Did Madam scold you again?"
He shrugged. "That's normal."
"Then it's fine," she said softly. "You always make it fine."
He didn't reply. The lie was too heavy tonight.
He looked at Rin again. Her chest rose weakly, the sound of her breath thin and fragile.
He thought about the pill, if such a thing existed, maybe even a single pill could save her.
But how could a street rat like him ever touch something that valuable?
---
The next morning came gray and wet. The district reeked of sour rain and burned oil. He stepped outside to dump the slop bucket, watching men in tattered coats drag bodies toward the gutter.
The Red District didn't bury its dead — it hid them.
"Boy."
He turned. Madam Sura stood in the doorway, wrapped in her shawl, eyes sharp despite the sleepless night.
"Go to the east market later. Pick up herbs. Tell the shopkeeper it's for me. He'll know what kind."
"Yes, Madam."
She paused, tapping her fingers on the doorframe. "And keep your ears open. Some dogs from the Ash Hounds have been nosing around again. If they ask about the pill, you say nothing. Understand?"
He hesitated. "…Yes."
Sura frowned. "Curiosity kills faster than poison, boy. Don't test it."
He gave a short nod and left.
---
The streets outside were alive again — merchants shouting, beggars calling, children running through puddles with empty bowls. The boy walked quickly, his hood drawn low. Every face here looked the same: tired, hungry, waiting for something that would never come.
As he crossed an alley, someone grabbed his shoulder.
"Oi. You got a coin, rat?"
He turned to see a member of the Ash Hounds — broad-shouldered, scar across his lip, eyes dull with cruelty. Another leaned against the wall behind him, chewing a stick.
"Madam Sura's little errand boy, huh?" the scarred man said. "Heard you been hearing things lately."
"I don't know anything," he said quickly.
"Didn't ask if you did. We just like talking."
The man smiled and backhanded him across the face. Blood filled his mouth.
"Next time, bring something worth taking."
They shoved him into the mud and left, laughing.
He sat there for a long moment, staring at the filthy ground. His reflection in the puddle looked strange — thinner, angrier, older.
When he returned to Madam Sura's with the herbs, she barely looked at him. "You're late."
He dropped the bundle on the counter. "Ran into dogs."
She grunted. "Then you're lucky to still have your teeth. Go clean yourself up. You look like a corpse."
He obeyed silently. But that night, as he sat beside Rin again, her breathing weaker than ever. She is one step away from death. The boy thought maybe that pill is the best chance for Rin. Something inside him hardened.
He whispered to the darkness:
"I'll find that pill. Whatever it takes."
Outside, thunder rolled again — like the echo of something vast waking in the distance.
And in the streets below, whispers of Madam Vira's pill spread like smoke through the rain.