Time blurred in the brothel's endless cycle of drinking and noise.
By day, Jin Yue hid in the low servant rooms beneath the back stairs, wrapped in a borrowed shawl, pretending to nap like the other girls.
By night, he floated between tables, refilling cups, offering shy smiles, bowing his head whenever hands reached too close.
But he never let a man touch him.
He had methods.
Every shift began with him slipping a pinch of crushed Flowstone dust, a diluted, harmless variant, into the wine jugs. It wasn't enough to harm, only enough to send even seasoned drinkers into a faster, deeper stupor.
The drunker they are,
the more they speak.
And they spoke plenty.
Businessmen, petty officials, guards hired by Uncle Zhang, even the brothel's own doorkeeper.
Jin Yue heard them all.
He caught snatches of conversation as he poured drinks:
"…Uncle Zhang made a big deal bringing in that new girl…"
"…but she hasn't worked a single night, sick or something…"
"…locked in her room, boss says…"
"…if she dies, Zhang will lose money…"
"…not our problem."
"…some girls just break…"
Jin Yue kept his expression soft and helpless, but inside his pulse sharpened.
Shen Ling was alive.
Sick.
Locked away.
Not sold yet.
Not broken.
Not shipped off to another district.
Here.
Still here.
He bowed as one guest waved him over, pouring wine with practiced elegance.
The man laughed loudly, leaning close to his veil.
"Little mute, you pour well. Shame you can't talk, your voice would fetch even more silver."
Jin Yue only widened his eyes, just a touch, and stepped back demurely.
The man laughed harder, already drunk, and slapped the table.
The powder in the wine soon dragged him into a slurred stupor.
Jin Yue slipped away to the next table, collecting more fragments of whispered gossip like pearls on a string.
By the end of the second night, the scattered rumors he collected began to weave themselves into something clear. Shen Ling had arrived at the Golden Lute Pavilion bruised and shaken, dragged in after fighting desperately along the way. Her injuries worsened into a fever on the second day, leaving her too weak to stand, much less entertain guests. The brothel madam told everyone she was "resting" until she recovered, though the truth was closer to imprisonment, she was locked in a room no servant girl was allowed to enter.
More troubling were the whispers about Uncle Zhang. He planned to return within two or three days to complete the sale, meaning Shen Ling's fate was already sealed unless Jin Yue intervened. And only the guards with Wind Pulse abilities were permitted near the corridor where the locked room was kept, patrolling it with unsettling vigilance.
Piece by piece, the entire picture formed, grim and unmistakable.
Shen Ling was alive.
Barely.
And time was running out.
Shen Ling was trapped behind a door Jin Yue had not yet located.
But he would.
He moved through the hall in a slow, silent circle, pretending to collect empty cups. Lantern light glimmered on the soft veil covering his face.
Guests didn't notice him.
But someone else did.
For two nights in a row, Jin Yue felt a strange, steady gaze settle on him from across the room,
a presence that didn't match the drunk, greedy crowd.
But whenever he turned slightly to look, that gaze vanished behind shadows or swirling silk curtains.
For now,
he decided,
Shen Ling comes first.
Tomorrow night, he would find the guarded room.
And then…
the lion's den would lose its prized prey.