The evening sky bled into a deep violet, streaked with the dying embers of the sun.
Lanterns flickered to life along the curved roof of the Crimson Blossom Tea House, their soft glow masking the truth of what happened inside—cards, coin, and shadows traded hands behind velvet curtains.
It wasn't just a tea house.
Everyone in town knew that.
Even the army knew.
And yet, no one dared touch it.
It sat like a jewel at the edge of the city—polished, admired, but dangerous to wear. Soldiers passed by without looking. Officials turned their heads. It was a place of whispers, not war. But tonight, war walked through the door.
Tonight, the mistress had gone all out—gold-trimmed drapes, red peony arrangements, silk cushions fluffed and straightened by trembling girls.
Because he was coming.
Commander Shen Liyan, the pride of the Western Front, the steel-blooded shadow of war, was returning to his hometown for a short leave. Twenty-seven, decorated, and feared as much as he was admired. Mothers told tales of his victories. Daughters whispered about his rare appearances. Men nodded in quiet respect.
He hadn't stepped foot inside Crimson Blossom in years.
But tonight, he would.
And Lady Yao—the mistress's sharp-tongued daughter—had made up her mind.
He would not leave without choosing a woman.
---
Upstairs, behind a beaded curtain, Mei Lin sat in silence.
Her hair had been combed smooth, cascading like silk down her back. A soft rouge colored her lips, and her sleeves trailed like smoke as the old maid tied the final knot on her sash.
The dress they gave her was a muted sapphire, embroidered with pale silver clouds—an elegant hanfu robe that shimmered faintly with every step. Modest, graceful, untouched by the vulgarity of the house.
"You look like a noblewoman," the old maid whispered, voice tight with worry. "You sure you want to go through with this?"
Mei Lin didn't answer. Her fingers lightly touched the bracelet on her wrist—simple jade, worn smooth over years. A relic of her past… or perhaps a dream she never woke from.
"Lady Yao says you sing tonight. For the Commander himself."
There was no escape. Not anymore.
The old maid sighed and touched Mei Lin's shoulder. "Don't let them see your fear."
But Mei Lin had learned long ago how to mask it.
She was a performer.
Not by choice, but by survival.
She stood and let her hands fall to her sides—still, like water before the storm.
Tonight, she would be watched not as a girl.
But as a spectacle.
---
Downstairs, the gambling hall roared with hushed excitement. Coins clicked. Laughter danced. Eyes turned when the heavy door creaked open.
And then he walked in.
Shen Liyan.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a dark indigo military robe, boots polished to a mirror's shine, sword fastened at his waist like a warning. His expression was unreadable—sharp jaw, colder eyes.
He moved like a shadow made flesh.
People parted for him like tide to rock.
He took his seat in silence, ignoring the women who dared to look too long.
Lady Yao approached with a bow that dipped too low.
"My lord Commander… may we offer you music to ease your evening?"
He did not answer. Only lifted his hand with a nod.
Lady Yao snapped her fingers.
"Bring her out."
---
And then she appeared.
Slow, quiet footsteps on polished wood.
A hush swept the room as Mei Lin descended the stairs—every inch the illusion of elegance and grace.
The hem of her sapphire robe floated with each step. Her hair shimmered under the lantern light, her eyes steady and distant like stars refusing to fall.
To the gamblers, she was beauty.
To the girls, she was the gamble.
But to him?
Even she didn't know.
And then—
Their eyes met.
Shen Liyan stilled.
The room faded. The voices dulled.
For a heartbeat, it was only them.
She felt it, too—that strange pressure in her chest, as if a name had been whispered across time.
And she bowed, her gaze never leaving his.
---
She sang.
Her voice was low, silken, threaded with a sadness no one could name. The words spoke of distant mountains and fading promises. Of hearts waiting by windows long after the candle had burned out.
Every note held a truth she could never speak aloud.
Shen Liyan's gaze didn't shift.
Not once.
She could feel his presence like fire in a cold room—steady, searing, silent.
When the final note faded, Mei Lin stood, bowed again, and turned without a word. She walked back up the stairs—unrushed, dignified—as if she hadn't just made the world stop for a moment.
She did not look back.
But he did.
His eyes followed until her shadow disappeared behind the curtain.
And for the first time that night, the soldier known for never flinching… lingered.