The Red Light District was a place of mesmerizing contradictions. By day, it slumbered in quiet anonymity, blending into the sprawling capital with nondescript alleyways and modest storefronts. But by night, it transformed into a spectacle of opulence and decadence, a world unto itself where the lines between pleasure and lust blurred one’s mind.

Samaya tightened her cloak around her shoulders as she stepped into the district, walking past the very last spot that she had explored with the Emperor. She’d ultimately decided to leave Ah-Liu in the Palace; he would come to get her if anyone got suspicious and came looking

The air was thick with the heady perfume of jasmine and sandalwood, mingling with the faint metallic tang of wine that flowed as easily as water in these parts. The cobblestone streets shimmered with a thin sheen of rain, reflecting the riotous colors of red, gold, and violet that dripped from every corner.

The district pulsed with life. Patrons of every class mingled here, their masks of decorum shed at the entrance. Merchants flaunted wares of silks, jewels, and perfumes from distant lands, their voices raised in enticing offers. Performers lined the streets, their elegant movements drawing crowds—dancers swaying to the rhythm of a pipa, fire-breathers exhaling plumes of flame, and acrobats balancing impossibly on precarious heights.

Above it all, the brothels loomed like gilded temples, their facades adorned with carved woodwork and hanging lanterns. The largest among them bore elaborate signs announcing their names in calligraphy, each more ostentatious than the last.

But none rivaled the Purple Pavilion.

The brothel stood at the heart of the district, an architectural marvel that seemed to embody the very spirit of excess and opulence. Its walls were painted a deep, velvety purple that gleamed like polished amethyst under the lantern light. Tall archways framed by intricate gold filigree marked its entrance, guarded by a pair of imposing eunuchs clad in dark robes embroidered with plum blossoms. A sprawling courtyard lay within, where fountains of crimson water cascaded into stone basins, and laughter mingled with the haunting melody of a guqin.

Samaya approached with measured steps, her commoner’s attire in stark contrast to the grandeur around her. The guards stiffened as she neared, their gazes narrowing with suspicion.

“State your business,” one of them said gruffly, his hand resting on the hilt of a short blade.

“What business should a man have in a place like this?” She asked, her voice heavier than usual.

“This is a place for men of certain pedigree and affluence, not peasants.”

Samaya did not respond immediately. Instead, she reached into the pouch hidden beneath her cloak and pulled out a handful of silver coins. Without a word, she tossed them onto the cobblestones, the coins clinking loudly in the silence that followed.

The guards exchanged a glance. Greed won out over protocol. They stepped aside.

“Inside,” one of them said curtly, waving her through.

Samaya nodded, her expression impassive. Stepping into the Purple Pavilion was like crossing a threshold into another world. The air was warmer here, heavy with incense and the faint strains of music. Silk draperies in shades of violet and gold hung from the ceiling, creating an intimate maze of shadowed alcoves and private chambers. Servants glided silently across the polished wooden floors, their arms laden with trays of exotic delicacies and goblets of spiced wine.

She moved with purpose, her boots barely making a sound against the polished floors. Her eyes darted from one corner of the room to another, scanning the faces of the patrons. Many were draped in opulent silks, their laughter blending with the sound of clinking goblets. She might be a bit out of place here, with her simple clothes. Thankfully, the cloak covered most of her. And it wasn’t unusual for patrons to be anonymous in this district. Despite the opulence, Samaya could feel the undercurrent of tension—whispers in the shadows, fleeting glances exchanged over half-empty glasses.

A woman approached her, dressed in an elaborate silk gown that shimmered like water in the lamplight. Her beautiful deep violet clothes, clung to her body, exposing her just enough to have men tantalized for more. Her face was painted with intricate patterns, each brushstroke emphasizing her high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes.

“May I assist you, sir?” she asked, her tone smooth but detached.

“I’m here for Bai Yue,” Samaya said, her voice low but firm.

The woman arched a delicate brow, her gaze lingering on Samaya’s unremarkable attire.

“Bai Yue is in high demand tonight,” she said, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Her time is … expensive.”

Samaya reached into her pouch again and produced a small gold ingot, its edges worn smooth. She tossed it onto the tray the woman carried.

“That should cover it,” Samaya said evenly.

The woman’s eyes widened briefly before she regained her composure. She inclined her head and gestured for Samaya to follow.

As they ascended a spiral staircase, the sounds of the main hall faded into a muffled hum. The hallway was lined with intricate tapestries depicting mythical creatures and scenes of celestial beauty. At the far end, the woman stopped before a lacquered door, its surface inlaid with a mosaic of jade and mother-of-pearl.

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“She’s expecting you,” the woman said softly, stepping aside.

Samaya gave a small nod, stepping inside.

Hualin’s private chamber was a world apart from the bustling chaos outside. The walls were draped in layers of purple silk, the floor scattered with plush cushions and intricately woven rugs. A low table held a porcelain tea set, steam curling up from the delicate cups.

Hualin herself reclined on a chaise, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder in glossy waves. She wore a gown of midnight blue embroidered with silver stars, the dark fabric sitting starkly against her pale, smooth skin. She looked ethereal. Bai Yue. White moon. The name truly suited her. Her eyes widened in recognition as Samaya stepped into the room.

“Samaya,” she breathed, her voice tinged with surprise.

“It’s good to see you, Hualin,” Samaya said, closing the door behind her.

Hualin rose gracefully to her feet, crossing the room in a few quick steps to embrace Samaya. Despite the years and the life Hualin had built here, her grip was firm, her presence grounded.

“It’s been too long,” Hualin said, stepping back to study Samaya’s face. “You look tired. What’s happened?”

Samaya hesitated for a moment, letting herself relax in Hualin’s presence. “We’ll get to that,” she said. “But first, tell me—how have you been?”

Hualin’s expression softened. “As well as one can be in a place like this,” she said with a wry smile. “The work is steady. The patrons, tolerable enough. I have shown enough talent in the art of entertainment that I do not have to take private patrons that often. I’ve missed home, though. Kan. You.”

Kan was her little brother. She’d rescued the pair from slavers together.

Samaya nodded. “Kan is doing well. He has grown. So have you.”

They sat together on the cushions, Hualin pouring tea with practiced grace. Samaya accepted the cup but didn’t drink, her thoughts already turning to the reason for her visit.

“I need your help, Hualin,” Samaya said finally, her tone serious.

Hualin’s gaze sharpened. “Anything,” she said without hesitation.

Samaya hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “There’s something I need you to do. Something dangerous.”

Hualin’s expression didn’t waver, though her hands stilled on the teapot. “Tell me,” she said simply.

Samaya leaned closer, lowering her voice as she began to explain. The details of her plan were shared in hushed tones, Hualin listening intently.

The air in the chamber grew heavy with the weight of what was to come.

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As Samaya descended the staircase, the warm hum of laughter and music from the main hall reached her ears. She kept her steps light, her thoughts already turning to the next phase of her plan. Hualin had agreed without hesitation, and the comfort of their shared determination steadied her resolve.

But as she passed one of the shadowed hallways leading deeper into the brothel, a fragment of conversation caught her attention. It was the unmistakable sound of a man’s voice, smooth and self-assured, laced with arrogance. The words were spoken in slight whispers, however, and if not for her sensitive hearing - which, though not as good as Ah-Liu’s or Siwang’s - was good enough to hear hushed tones behind closed doors, she wouldn’t have been able to listen so clearly.

“…the maid was smitten with me, of course,” the man was saying, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction. “Poor thing thought she’d win my favour by bringing Rin to me. Jealousy is such a useful little emotion.”

Samaya froze mid-step, her pulse quickening. She pressed herself against the wall, cloaked in the shadow of a hanging tapestry, and strained to hear.

“And Rin?” another voice asked, fainter but curious.

“Oh, Rin.” The man laughed, a sharp, mocking sound that made Samaya’s skin crawl. “Nothing she could do about it. I taught her a lesson in what happens when you go against the Kangs. It is unfortunate what she did to herself though. She was such a pure little beauty, I would have liked to taste her a few more times. And now that maid has been… taken care of. Loose lips are such a liability. Don’t you agree?”

A chorus of chuckles followed his words, and Samaya felt her blood turn cold.

Kang Yanxin. It had to be him.

“What about the concubine? The one who came after you.”

“Oh, she’s just a nuisance, riding on the Emperor’s favor. As the favor fades, so would she. Maybe I’ll teach her a lesson then too.”

She would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it if she was not so furious. This man, who already had a trap set for him, was going to teach her a lesson.

How… hilarious.

She wished she could get a glimpse of him. See the man she was about to destroy before she had to leave.

Her wish was granted sooner than she expected. A few young women dressed in beautiful pink robes walked up to the doors and knocked. The conversation inside came to an abrupt halt before Kang Yanxin’s clear voice beckoned them inside.

As one of the girls opened the door, Samaya shifted slightly to catch a glimpse of the speaker, her movements deliberate and silent. From her position, the door was just wide enough for her to peer through. Inside, she saw him seated on a low divan, leaning back with the smug ease of someone accustomed to getting whatever he wanted.

His face was handsome in a conventional sense—high cheekbones, sharp jawline, and lips curled into a perpetual smirk. But any allure his features might have held was obliterated by his expression: the slimy confidence of a predator revelling in his power.

The brothel women, her steps tentative but practiced, entered the room carrying trays of delicacies and wine. She bowed low as she approached, her eyes carefully avoiding Kang Yanxin’s, though he reached out to grab her wrist with casual possessiveness.

Samaya’s stomach churned. She had never met Kang Yanxin before, but this was the man she had been trying to get justice against. She had thought she could take the proper way, get Rin justice and punish the man under the laws of the Empire. Have Rin see the man being executed by the very power that these men loved to flaunt.

It was too late for that now. She’d made a mistake going that route and Rin paid the price for it.

And now, he would pay the price for hurting Rin.

Samaya’s lips pressed into a thin line. Her hand brushed against the hilt of the dagger hidden beneath her cloak. She entertained the thought for a fleeting moment—stepping inside, silencing his laughter forever. But she knew better.

No. His end would come, but not here. Not now. There was more to be done, and Samaya was nothing if not patient.

She slipped back into the main hall unnoticed, her movements fluid and deliberate. The vibrant noise and light of the brothel seemed distant now, her focus sharp and singular.

As she exited the Purple Pavilion, the cool night air met her face, clearing her mind. The memory of Kang Yanxin’s face, twisted with arrogance and mirth, lingered in her thoughts.

He would not be laughing for long.