Chapter 2869: Lingao-Guangzhou Exchange Conference (4)

Watching this wealthy young master push his luck, Qingruo felt anger stirring in her chest. In the private rooms each day, guests lost themselves in pleasure, and inevitably some grew bold enough to make suggestive remarks to the waitresses. She had witnessed it all. She was no green girl fresh off the boat, not easily offended—she knew how to handle such situations. But even when guests grew willful, they rarely dared to get handsy right from the start.

This Master Mi had been a patron of hers during her days at the pleasure house. Back then, he hadn't been a particularly objectionable customer. What had possessed him today, she couldn't fathom. Though anger simmered within her, her face maintained its practiced smile. She laughed gently: "This gentleman certainly knows how to amuse. I suppose he wishes me to match couplets, with the loser drinking a forfeit. Very well, this humble servant shall oblige—'Wine in the cup, not drinking makes you a pup; A pair of oily hands, just like pig's trotter stumps.'"

As her words landed, all the gentry at the table—save for Fu Bu'er, who still sat there in a daze—erupted in laughter. Mi Yijing had spent years rolling through pleasure quarters; his face had long grown thicker than city walls. He declared shamelessly: "Such literary talent, miss, such talent. I'll drink a cup myself." With that, he drained his cup in one swallow.

Qingruo immediately smiled and curtsied. "Master is most magnanimous." She turned to withdraw.

"What? You won't even share one cup with me?" Mi Yijing stepped into her path.

"This servant is merely an attendant here. The rules forbid me from accompanying guests in drinking."

"Oh?" Mi Yijing tapped his fingertip against the table, eyeing Qingruo sidelong with a knowing smile, as though this were the most natural thing in the world. "My, my, dear Miss Qing, how have you been?" He deliberately stretched out "Miss" into a suggestive drawl, his voice carrying that particular hoarseness from the courtesan quarters. "After all these years apart, I've missed you terribly. What's this? Changed your signboard and now you don't acknowledge old patrons? Don't forget, when you were at Lotus Fragrance Court, I, Master Mi, supported you for a full three months!"

Those few words were like lifting a curtain, scattering Qingruo's past across the room for all to see. The gentry at the table exchanged glances, curious yet not daring to interject. In truth, several of the Guangzhou elite who frequented pleasure houses had already recognized Qingruo. But observing her current appearance and occupation, they had pretended otherwise. Who could have expected this rash fool to expose her so publicly?

Yet Qingruo's eyelashes didn't so much as flutter. She maintained that same mild smile. "Master Mi has quite the memory." She curtsied, her voice pitched neither too loud nor too soft. "This humble one remembers your patronage from those days. Now, thanks to Senator Pei's favor, I manage the singing troupe at Ziming Tower—I sell art, not smiles. If you're feeling nostalgic, why not request a tune? This humble servant will make an exception and sing one for you, as a way of returning the kindness of those years."

A single sentence drew the boundary crystal clear. How could Mi Yijing accept such a gentle rebuff? He toyed idly with the gold ingot used as a paperweight, tapping it against the table's edge with a rhythmic clinking. "Enough with the act! I know perfectly well what the top girl at Lotus Fragrance Court commanded! Back then, I paid ten taels for a single song from you, and now you're changing your tune? Spare me the pretense. Name your price. How much for a night in the outer quarters? I'll pay, plus double the 'name-change money'!"

As he spoke, his left hand had already circled around Qingruo's waist, his fingertips hooking into her sash. With a light tug, the bow loosened halfway with a soft rustle. Qingruo felt a chill on her back but didn't flinch. Instead, she spun with the momentum, letting the sash slip through Mi Yijing's fingers like a silk fish refusing to be caught. Her voice remained soft, yet carried a crispness honed from years of handling wayward customers:

"Your Lordship's favor is appreciated; this humble one is grateful. But Ziming Tower is not Lotus Fragrance Court. The rules here are not those of the Great Ming. Since Your Lordship has come here to enjoy himself, he must follow Australian rules."

She smiled through every sentence, yet every sentence elevated "rules" above all else. Mi Yijing found himself suspended mid-air, his heart itching like cats' claws, yet unable to tear through the pretense in public. So he simply leaned in closer, nearly brushing her ear, and spoke in a voice meant only for the two of them:

"Playing coy with me? Have you forgotten that night you begged me to ransom your freedom? 'If Master Mi can save me from this fire and water, Qingruo will serve at your side for life'—those were your own words. Now the water's receded and the fire's out, and you want to welch on the debt?"

His voice was low, but he deliberately breathed hot air into Qingruo's ear, reeking of wine and provocation. A flash of cold light finally crossed the corner of Qingruo's eyes, vanishing in an instant. She tilted her head slightly, letting a loose strand of hair fall past her ear to block Mi Yijing's breath. Her voice was soft as the rolling notes of a pipa strummed in an old courtyard:

"Your Lordship has quite the memory, still recalling this humble one's foolish words from those days. But times have changed—"

Her fingertip traced a light line across the tabletop, leaving a trail of moisture, as if wiping away an old debt with a single stroke. "If Your Lordship had rescued this humble servant from the life of wind and dust back then, naturally I would have served at Your Lordship's side. But it was the Australians who saved me. Now I eat Australian grain, and my contract is with Ziming Tower, not your Mi Residence. If you come to enjoy yourself according to the rules, this servant will pour your tea and attend you. If you refuse to follow the rules, I cannot oblige."

The words were soft as cotton, yet each one cut like a knife, pressing heavily upon the word "Senator." Mi Yijing seethed within, but his face smiled even more brazenly. He suddenly straightened, snatched two wine cups from the table, and thrust them at Qingruo:

He pressed his cup hard against Qingruo's lips. The rim bore rouge, leaving a faint lip print. "Back then you fed me; now I feed you. One cup for one cup—call it interest!"

Qingruo lowered her eyes to regard that lip print. A flash of disgust finally crossed her gaze. Yet she still refused to take the cup, only raising her hand to push the wine aside. Her voice dropped very low, yet remained loud enough for those at the nearby tables to hear:

"At Lotus Fragrance Court, wine was for honoring guests; at Ziming Tower, wine is for honoring rules. If Your Lordship forces this drink, you force this humble one to break rules. And when rules are broken here, there is no room for old feelings. Do not forget, Your Lordship, you are a guest of the Senate. Do not lose face for the Senators..."

Mi Yijing's heart jolted, but his grip only tightened. He blocked Qingruo entirely with his body, obscuring the view of others, and laughed softly:

"Using the Senators to pressure me? When you were singing tunes in my arms back then, you weren't nearly this spirited."

His right hand secretly reached for Qingruo's waist to pinch her. If he pinched hard, Qingruo would surely cry out in pain, and then he could counterattack, accusing her of "putting on airs." Just as his fingertips touched her thin blouse, he grabbed at empty air—Qingruo's entire form had slipped beneath his arm using the motion of a curtsey, her steps so light she seemed to be treading on cotton. She stood steady at arm's length away, her voice still soft, yet audible throughout the room:

"Your Lordship, please choose your words carefully. Lotus Fragrance Court is old scenery; Ziming Tower is a new chapter. No matter how beautiful the old scenery, it cannot cover the seal of a new chapter. If Your Lordship truly values old feelings, then please be gracious and do not make things difficult for this humble one—or embarrassing for yourself."

The word "embarrassing" landed like a sleeve-wind slapped in public, stinging Mi Yijing's ears. When he moved to pursue, he saw that Qingruo had already retreated to the beaded curtain. She sank into a deep curtsey, her green dress flowing like water, and vanished in an instant. The curtain swayed a few times before falling still, leaving only a wisp of cold fragrance drifting among the cooking oil and wine fumes—like an old tune with new words, ending abruptly.

Mi Yijing stood frozen in place. After a long moment, he spat a harsh "bah," raised his foot to kick over a stool, but then remembered he had come to Lingao bearing his whole family's fortunes. He could only force down that surge of anger, which burned his own ear tips red. The gentry throughout the room, seeing there was no more entertainment, each lowered their heads to pick at their food, yet couldn't help exchanging glances—Young Master Mi's "old flame" had obviously refused to rekindle. Instead, she had wielded the word "rules" to peel off a layer of his face in public.

Mi Yijing remained standing there, his face flushed crimson. Gao Ju had already risen first and reached across half the table to press down on his shoulder, the palm carrying the subtle force practiced in officialdom, though his tone remained as mild as casual conversation:

"Master Mi! Today is a banquet courtesy of Chairman Wang, and also a welcome for our fellow countrymen from Guangzhou. If we cause any kind of scene, when the report goes up tomorrow, Chairman Wang will not look good. Your father just won that 'South Sea Fertilizer Powder' project in the city, and he's counting on the Senate's continued support. Ruining proper business over a woman—it isn't worth it."

A few words that both beat and cajoled, invoking Chairman Wang while also pointing out the Mi family's new venture. Mi Yijing's veins pulsed at his temple, but he finally stopped struggling. Gao Ju smoothly called toward the door: "Someone come! Bring a hot towel for Master Mi, and steep a pot of strong Pu'er to sober him up. Bring two bottles of iced Kvass as well." Turning back, he smiled at the assembled guests: "Please pour for yourselves, everyone. Let us use tea in place of wine and continue listening to the tunes."

Licentiate Liu nearby was the most skilled at playing along and quickly chimed in: "Yes, yes, yes. The singing troupe has been waiting half the day; their throats must be itching. Miss Qingruo went to urge the food along and will be back shortly. Let us request a 'Full Bloom and Round Moon' first!"

Everyone echoed in agreement, as if trying to bury the earlier embarrassment beneath a veneer of liveliness. Two attendants entered, one on each side, to help Mi Yijing take his seat. A hot towel pressed against his face, the white steam obscuring those bloodshot eyes. Mi Yijing's chest heaved, but knowing that making more of a scene would only bring disaster upon his family, he could only take the opportunity to step down gracefully. He sulkily drank a glass of iced Kvass, still muttering under his breath: "...Just you wait."

Fu Bu'er watched this grand spectacle unfold, feeling quite pleased with himself. He held a handful of melon seeds, having neither risen nor spoken from beginning to end. Now he cracked one open with a sharp snap, the shell splitting into two pieces, and his thoughts split into a few murmurs as well.

A whore is a whore. Change the building and she's still got that foxy bone. What's she putting on airs for? But... heh, she really did smooth out this provincial master. That timing, that sense of proportion—every retreat and advance calculated to perfection. These musician household girls truly aren't to be underestimated!

He stole a glance at Gao Ju. Chairman Gao's face was layered with smile lines, like the drape before a shrine, covering everything completely. Not a hint of genuine emotion showed through. Fu Bu'er clicked his tongue inwardly: Official types really do talk pretty—every sentence a soft knife, cutting people without raising a temper. Then he turned to observe Mi Yijing—that face had been steamed purple by the hot towel, looking like a pig's bladder inflated on a winter day, yet unable to vent his anger. Fu Bu'er suddenly found it amusing. His mouth split open, nearly swallowing the melon seed shell. He hurriedly coughed twice to cover his reaction.

Someone came to pour tea for him. He waved them off, his mind continuing to mutter:

That Qingruo girl... bah, lowly class, but this move of 'soft knife cutting flesh' is even sharper than the sickle in my field.

Thinking this, he actually felt a measure of schadenfreude. He grabbed another handful of melon seeds and cracked them noisily.

(End of Chapter)