The Peony Pavilion usually smelled of jasmine and expensive vice, but tonight, it tasted like copper and ozone. The Magistrate's men had left, leaving behind a wake of overturned chairs and shattered pride. I stood by the main stage, watching the remaining "noble" guests scurry away like rats fleeing a sinking ship. My skin still felt cold from where Yanchi had touched me, a lingering chill that no amount of silk could warm.
Madam He didn't waste time. She stood in the center of the hall, her shadow stretching long and jagged against the splintered floorboards. She didn't look like a madam anymore; she looked like a general surveying a battlefield.
"Gather around. All of you," she snapped. Her voice wasn't loud, but it had enough edge to cut through the whimpering of the younger girls.
The staff huddled together—musicians, servants, and the girls who were usually the life of the party—now just looking pale and exhausted. In my head, I was already judging the room. Half of them are praying for their jobs, the other half are praying they didn't leave a paper trail.
"Listen to me, and listen well," Madam He began, her eyes scanning every face. "The Magistrate didn't find what he wanted tonight. That makes him hungry. And a hungry man like Lu Yanchi is a man who doesn't mind getting his hands dirty."
She paused, stepping over a broken wine jar. "If I find so much as a drop of blood on this floor—if any of you bring your private messes into my house—I won't just fire you. I will kill your careers."
It was a harsh rule, but in this city, truth didn't save you. Blackmail did. And blood? Blood was a lantern hung outside your door—telling the executioner where to knock. Madam He turned to me then, her expression softening just a fraction, which somehow made it even scarier.
"Ning. A word."
I followed her into the dim corridor leading to the kitchens. She stopped near a stack of crates, her voice dropping to a low hiss. "He's coming back, Ning. And he won't bring a troop of guards next time. He'll come for the girl, not the house. You need to bury whatever it is he thinks you have. Deep."
"I know," I whispered. But in my head, the gears were grinding. Deep? I've buried secrets in the very foundation of this city. But Lu Yanchi wasn't looking for a secret. He was looking for a ghost.
Madam He left me there, her silk robes swishing with an angry finality. I leaned against the cold stone wall, trying to get my lungs to work properly. Just breathe. You've survived worse than a handsome magistrate with a grudge.
"Miss Ning?"
I jumped, my heart nearly leaping out of my chest. Xiao Shi was standing in the shadows of the laundry room door, her face a mask of pure terror. Her small hands were shaking so hard she had to grip the doorframe to stay upright.
"Xiao Shi? What's wrong?" I moved toward her, my own panic rising.
She didn't speak at first. She just beckoned me into the small, humid room filled with piles of dirty linens and the scent of cheap lye. She pointed toward the basket of laundry that had been collected from the VIP suites right before the raid.
"There was a guest," Xiao Shi whispered, her voice barely audible over the bubbling of the water vats. "Lord Wan's cousin. He wasn't scared of the guards, Miss Ning. He was... he was shaking before they even kicked the doors in."
She pulled out a white silk sleeve, part of a robe that belonged to the high-ranking officials who frequented the Pavilion. I stepped closer, the humidity making the stray hairs on my neck damp. There, on the pristine white silk, was the mark.
The blood wasn't random.
It was too clean. Too round.
Like a stamp pressed into silk.
My stomach dropped as the smell hit me—metallic, sharp, still warm. Not old blood. Not dried. Fresh. And in the center of the blood circle—barely visible—was a thin imprint, like a ring pressed into skin. A seal.
Someone had been bleeding inside my Pavilion while I was smiling on stage.
Suddenly I understood something I didn't want to understand: Lu Yanchi didn't raid Peony Pavilion to catch criminals. He raided it because a body was supposed to be here.
A corpse with my Pavilion's name on it.
I looked at Xiao Shi. She looked like she was about to cry.
"Miss Ning…" her voice cracked. "That guest… he didn't leave."
My breath stopped.
Because if a man had bled in my house and didn't walk out—then the next raid wouldn't be about law. It would be about murder.