Chapter 9: The Azure Pavilion

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After a long and exhausting journey, the sun had already slipped behind the hills. Luo Gan and Erhu sat on the stone steps, each with an empty fish basket slung over his back. The young men tasked with attracting guests to the inn bustled about, their smiles as practiced and insincere as those of modern salesmen.

Seeing the hour, Luo Gan and Erhu realized that returning home would be inconvenient. Traveling mountain roads by night, in pitch darkness, they could easily run into bandits and come off worse for it.

Erhu waved energetically at a young usher, but the boy, taking in their ragged clothing, sized them up as penniless and ignored them. This greatly displeased Erhu, who felt his efforts to attract attention were too subtle, so he waved even more vigorously. The usher only looked at them with greater disdain.

Agitated, Erhu jumped up and shouted, “Brat! What, are your ears buried in mud?”

The usher sneered, “Filthy beggars! You’ve got hands and feet, but you’re squatting there trying to make a buck—shameless!”

What? Just for sitting here, he called them beggars? Was this kid courting death?

Erhu bristled, ready to charge, his imposing presence and the whiff of his body odor nearly knocking Luo Gan out, and sending the usher scurrying back in alarm.

Luo Gan grabbed his companion before he could lunge. Seeing Erhu restrained, the usher grew bolder and taunted them, “I said you’re beggars! You are beggars! For a few coins you throw away your dignity—pathetic!”

He jabbed a finger at Erhu’s nose. The insult stung more than a curse. Had Erhu been holding a hoe, he might have taught this brat a lesson he’d never forget.

Luo Gan, however, understood the situation. Dressed as they were, in filthy hemp robes and straw sandals worn nearly to dust, they hardly looked presentable. Even a real beggar would seem more respectable compared to the smartly dressed ushers in town. Frankly, Luo Gan thought himself lucky if people didn’t toss a few coins their way.

He patted himself down, searching for something. “Don’t worry,” he said to Erhu.

Erhu’s eyes lit up, “Aha! You brought something? Let’s teach him a lesson!”

Sensing something was off, the usher kept cursing while edging away, ready to bolt.

At that moment, Luo Gan tossed a copper coin at the usher’s feet. The boy bent to pick it up, eyes widening when he recognized the inscription: “Kaiyuan Tongbao.”

“We want a room,” Luo Gan said. “Take us in.”

The usher’s attitude changed instantly. Bowing and scraping, he gestured for them to follow. Luo Gan clapped Erhu on the back, but Erhu was still stunned.

Taking a few steps forward, Luo Gan saw that Erhu hadn’t recovered from the insult, so he signaled the usher to make amends. Unwilling but unable to refuse, the usher hesitated until Luo Gan flipped him another coin. This time, the usher was delighted and immediately called Erhu “Master” with exaggerated warmth.

The inn was small, but after a day’s toil, Erhu collapsed into sleep almost at once. Luo Gan gazed at his companion, at a loss.

He turned over the clues for his current task in his mind, but nothing came to him. In frustration, he slapped himself, and another prompt appeared in his vision: the mission progress was still only 2%, with no further discoveries.

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A sudden melancholy overcame Luo Gan. Did he truly have to save these peasant brothers? Why not simply investigate the rat demon directly? In the end, wasn’t his only goal to win the competition?

Yet the memory of the dragon-man incident was still fresh. Erhu had risked himself to save him. Luo Gan shook his head—one should always repay even a drop of kindness with a spring. If he abandoned his humanity, how would he be any different from the heartless county magistrate?

Enough. He glanced again at Erhu, who was snoring thunderously, and quietly slipped outside, inquiring patiently of the innkeeper where he could bathe.

Inside, steam rose thickly. Luo Gan shed his dirty clothes, muddy prints marking his skin. He’d seen a bit of the world, he thought, and tonight he could savor another facet of life.

Easing into the bath, his pores opened and his body relaxed, the hot water melting away his fatigue until he felt almost immortal.

Suddenly, his scalp itched. He hadn’t had a proper wash since arriving in this era. Looking around for soap or shampoo, he noticed others smearing something on themselves.

On the floor was a small bowl filled with a viscous substance. He scooped some up and rubbed it into his hair—instant relief.

His pleasure caught the attention of a man nearby. “Never used soapberry before?” the man asked.

“Fake?” Luo Gan replied, confused.

“Soapberry,” the man explained. “That stuff on your hands—it’s just the flesh of the berry steeped in hot water.”

So that’s it! Why, in modern times, people ate this stuff all the time—who knew it had such uses? Luo Gan examined the soapy liquid on his hands, lost in thought.

Seeing his curiosity, the man passed him another bowl of paste.

“Lotus root powder?” Luo Gan guessed.

“No, bath beans. Rub them on your body,” the man instructed.

Luo Gan found it odd but, encouraged by a demonstration, gave it a try. Instantly, the comfort was overwhelming—the mud stains vanished, leaving his skin clean and refreshed.

He scooped up more and scrubbed his face vigorously, but an alert kept sounding in his vision, distracting him. With no choice, he slowed down, gently massaging his face.

His behavior was so peculiar that the bathers nearby edged away, leaving him alone except for the patient man beside him.

“You’re quite something,” the man chuckled. “You really know how to enjoy life.”

Luo Gan, embarrassed as the others left, was grateful that this man didn’t shun him.

“May I ask your name, sir? I’m Luo—I'd like to be friends,” Luo Gan said.

“Just call me Old Hu. We’re already friends,” the man replied.

Luo Gan was delighted. The two exchanged smiles, and Old Hu glanced up at the full, bright moon.

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Old Hu said, “The moon is so round and beautiful tonight. If you’re not tired, do you want to see the mortal world’s favorite scenery?”

Luo Gan was thrilled and set off with Old Hu.

Soon, Old Hu led Luo Gan to a bustling district alive with music and dance. At the entrance, scholars composed poetry, beauties looked down from high balconies, and the crowds surged in and out. If there was a “Night Shanghai” in another era, then surely this must be “Night Anping.”

They stood before Anping County’s foremost brothel—the Tower of Azure Longing.

Old Hu sighed, “Ah, little brother, it’s a shame we’re not learned men.”

Luo Gan looked puzzled, so Old Hu smiled and explained.

“Here, they say they sell only art, not their bodies. But every guest pays real silver for their pleasure. There’s only one way to enter and enjoy the company of these fairies for free.”

Luo Gan, inexperienced in matters of the heart, had barely tasted love—even his short time with his goddess-like companion was but a fleeting memory. He had never really known the flavor of women.

The ladies in the brothel, with their myriad charms, needed only a glance to ensnare the souls of the men below, stealing their hearts and making them masters of their fates, while their money flowed in like water. The brothel had stood longer than most of its girls had been alive; countless women and guests had come and gone.

Through the lattices, one could glimpse men and women toasting each other, singing and laughing, embracing and flirting.

Luo Gan felt uneasy and muttered, “What a den of vice! No wonder the authorities want to clean up the town!”

He turned and asked Old Hu, “So who gets in for free?”

Old Hu pointed to a large board at the brothel entrance, where paper and ink were provided. Several scholars stood in line—some frowning, some pacing—deep in thought.

One of them picked up a brush, dipped it in ink, and with bold strokes, composed a poem on the spot, the process smooth and natural, though his sleeve was soon stained black.

He tore off the paper and respectfully handed it to the brothel doorkeeper for review.

Old Hu and Luo Gan crowded forward to read the poem. Old Hu couldn’t help but exclaim in admiration, while Luo Gan noted the ink stains on the scholar’s sleeve.

“An excellent poem!” Old Hu praised.

“Yes, very moist indeed,” Luo Gan replied, mishearing the word for “moving.”

Old Hu laughed, “Luo, if you had the talent of that scholar, this whole brothel would be your playground!”

Luo Gan gazed up at the towering building. “If I had that talent, I’d have become an official in this era long ago! To linger in brothels would be to lose one’s ambition.”

Yet his eyes were full of envy, fixed on the brothel’s windows, longing for what lay within.