Chapter 96: Gold Cannot Buy It

Inside the Pleasure Ward, though night had not yet fallen, song and dance seemed to have never once ceased. Fragrance and wine blanketed the entire street, the finest proof that the place was perpetually thronged with visitors.

“Brother Little Sage, I don’t think we can afford a place like this. Maybe we should turn back?”

Wild Goose Hill said as much, yet his eyes kept darting toward a young courtesan.

Little Sage’s curiosity had scattered itself over every corner of the quarter. Whether it was the dazzling haze cast by the crimson pavilions, or the alluring charm of the girls beneath their rouge, or even the guests seated inside the houses, all of it seemed so unreachable. This was the life he had never dared imagine, and now it lay right before his eyes.

“Why don’t we go in and have a look? We’re already here, aren’t we?” Little Sage urged him on, gripping Wild Goose Hill by the arm and trying to drag him inside.

“Hey, hey, don’t go in there. Everyone says women are a disaster waiting to happen. Best not to touch them!”

“A disaster?” Little Sage peered inside, then looked left and right before turning back to rebuke him. “Look at those slender arms, those bright, misty eyes, those lips! So—well, so lovely! Which part of that looks like a disaster to you?”

Watching Little Sage like that, Wild Goose Hill could only shake his head over and over.

Inside a pleasure house, Little Sage and Wild Goose Hill each had a courtesan draped in his arms, and with a beauty at their sides they drank cup after cup.

“Well now! Wild Goose Hill, still think this place is some kind of disaster?”

Wild Goose Hill had cast off all restraint, his clothes half askew as he raised his cup in cheer. “A disaster? Hahaha! Keeper, bring me another disaster!”

The courtesans passing by their private room all wore faint looks of disgust. One glance was enough to tell they were country bumpkins from some backwater, endlessly babbling about disasters as though no one could see how vulgar they were.

That morning, after keeping an appointment with Jade Peach, and by noon feeling the emptiness in his stomach, Rogan had gone back to Red Peace Manor with her, carrying a faint, sweet warmth in his heart, to see whether the others were awake.

The road over the small earthen rise was muddy, and Jade Peach was not used to walking on her own. After only a few steps she was already out of breath. Fortunately, Rogan had brought a little waterskin when he left; he let her sip from it from time to time, and after taking a longer route along the flatter roads, they finally staggered to the eastern side of Eternal Peace City well past noon.

A sign hanging high over the ward street caught Rogan’s attention: Pleasure Ward. Jade Peach smiled softly and tugged at his sleeve.

“Don’t go wandering in there. You might get your soul stolen by some heavenly beauty.”

Rogan felt a surge of embarrassment rise to his face, his ears turning red in an instant. Jade Peach was delighted by his reaction at once.

“I was only teasing you. This is the Pleasure Ward, one of the famous streets of Eternal Peace City. There are quite a few sisters here, just like me. If we follow this road, we should be able to reach where we live.”

Rogan understood then that her words carried a gentle warning, the sensitivity peculiar to women of the pleasure quarters: the feeling that they were no pure lotus, already unable to remain unstained while growing from mud.

“In that case, it doesn’t sound like such a frightening place. Is there another way we can go?” Rogan did his best to avoid the awkwardness between them.

Jade Peach pretended to be puzzled, her red lips parting in mock surprise. “Why wouldn’t we take the shorter road if there is one?”

“I just thought...”

She laughed lightly. “There’s no need. We’ll go together. It’s nothing much.” With that, she looped her arm through his, and the two of them entered the Pleasure Ward like a pair of lovers.

The riot of red and green within the ward made one dizzy. Rogan felt as if he had lost all sense of direction. The street was long, lined on both sides with pleasure houses, and enchanting beauties stood there in bright, teasing postures. Yet Rogan somehow felt he could see the road from one end to the other. It was too short. Far too short.

“Sir,” Jade Peach whispered near his ear, “in your heart...”

Just those few words were enough to make a man’s whole spirit bloom with joy. Rather than saying Jade Peach was peerless in beauty, it was more like standing with the sun at his back, gentle and warm.

“In your heart, what kind of woman is Jade Peach?”

A question meant to kill a man.

How could this even be called a question? Rogan was no smooth-talking romantic, but he still understood that when a woman asked a man such a thing, it was not a request for emotional counseling. The hidden meaning was obvious: praise me. Right now.

After a brief pause, Rogan spoke at once. “To me, Jade Peach is flawless as white jade, bright as the crescent moon. A flower beyond this world, washed in spring light and sunset glow.”

He had no idea where that sudden flourish of poetry had come from. Ever since arriving in the Tang era, he had been infected by the culture here, and when the mood struck him, he liked to toss out a couple of lines. Having said all that, Rogan was secretly pleased with himself, already expecting Jade Peach to praise him and fall into his arms the next instant.

Things, of course, did not go as he imagined. Jade Peach lifted her brows, smiling with curved eyes.

“Men are always the same. Their mouths are full of sweet talk, and even if they bite into a piece of sugar cane, they want to melt it in their hearts. In truth, women are like falling snow: vague, rootless, blooming on your shoulder, and vanishing only because you can’t hold them.”

Rogan was left rather bewildered and hurried to explain. “How could you be snow? You’re not like snow at all. You won’t melt away so easily.”

As he spoke, snow began to drift from the sky. A few flakes landed on Jade Peach’s shoulder, and she carefully lifted one with her fingertip and placed it into Rogan’s palm.

“See? Isn’t it just snow after all?”

Rogan had no answer. He could only stare at the falling snow with helpless resignation.

Then, all of a sudden, a crowd gathered near a shop at the far end of the street. A few burly men brushed against Rogan as they passed, not even bothering to look back.

“What’s going on? Why are so many people heading that way?” Rogan asked.

Jade Peach seemed unconcerned. “Maybe someone’s trying to dodge payment and take advantage for free.”

Rogan nodded. After all, nobody knew the workings of pleasure houses better than she did. A few steps later, he heard voices nearby speaking loudly and excitedly.

“Did you hear? That place actually had a farmhand take out gold and try to pay for wine with it!”

“Nonsense! I’ve never heard of any farmhand who could ever earn gold. It must have been stolen!”

At once, Rogan’s instincts told him something was wrong. He exchanged a look with Jade Peach, and she immediately understood his concern.

One pleasure house was packed with people. Aside from the owner and the customers, most of them were there for the spectacle. Rogan and Jade Peach pushed their way through the crowd and, as expected, saw Wild Goose Hill and Little Sage standing before a red table, arguing with the staff.

“Honored guests, it isn’t that we distrust you. There is an order in Eternal Peace City: gold and silver are not to be used as currency. You’ve taken out gold, and you have no papers to prove your identity. We cannot let you pass.”

Little Sage and Wild Goose Hill were reeking of wine, their refinement shattered. The young courtesans beside them had clearly been frightened, and one after another they had fled. Now that so many onlookers had come to watch, the two men’s dignity had been reduced to nothing. They had to win back some ground.

“The gold was obtained lawfully by us!” Little Sage argued earnestly.

The proprietor had taken the gold bar in hand. Engraved upon it was the seal of Kuang Xiangde of the Looking-Green Pavilion, enough to prove its origin. But because Wild Goose Hill and Little Sage could produce no official pass, the matter remained suspicious.

“You don’t have a travel pass, and we have no custom of accepting gold here. If you can’t produce payment, we’ll report this to the magistrate and let him decide! You’d both do well to think carefully.”

Everyone present understood that if the matter were handed over to the authorities, the outcome would certainly not be a pleasant one.