“Hey, have you heard?
The Hundred Flowers Pavilion just brought in a gorgeous Daoist priestess.
She claims she’s from The Profound Heaven Sect, and her religious name is Jinhui…” “No way.
How could a disciple of The Profound Heaven Sect possibly work a pleasure house?” “Who cares if it’s real or fake?
She wears that official Xuantian Sect robe, and just playing along gives you an incredible rush.
Oh, and they also have someone claiming to be from The Sword-Seeking Sect—says her name is Mu Qianqian…
She’s actually fully decked out in flawless white robes with a rainbow-hued longsword.
She looks completely legit.” “Don’t tell me she’s Mu Jianli’s martial sister.” “Who gives a damn if she is or isn’t?
Just treat her like she is!” “Fair point!
I’m absolutely going to meet this Miss Qianqian tonight.
I’ve been drooling over the swordswomen of The Sword-Seeking Sect for years.” “I’m booking Jinhui!” …
Under Yue Xiaochan’s dynamic ability to extrapolate a theory, the new wardrobe inventory at the Hundred Flowers Pavilion was far from limited to just one or two sects.
It comprehensively cataloged nearly every major orthodox faction in the martial world.
Aside from the bottom-tier sects that were too low-class to even have standardized uniforms, the righteous sects were collectively targeted—they didn’t even spare the Buddhist nunneries.
The shocking news that you could cross paths with martial heroines from literally every sect spread like wildfire, saturating every single corner of the Imperial Capital in the blink of an eye.
The Hundred Flowers Pavilion, which had been completely dead and freezing cold just hours prior, suddenly found its entrance swarming with a massive horde of patrons by late evening.
The crowds were practically busting down the doorframes.
The stampede included rough rogue wanderers, wealthy civilian merchants, and even high-ranking imperial court officials who had hurriedly changed into plain civilian clothes to join the frenzy.
The few dozen available hostesses were instantly buried under a mountain of demand.
Countless patrons crammed into the main hall, shoving and shouting at each other to the point of nearly breaking out into full-blown physical brawls.
The hostesses were seasoned performers who stayed entirely in character.
That Miss Qianqian effortlessly projected an icy, razor-sharp aura of an elite swordswoman, refusing to let anyone easily touch her.
It wasn’t until a massive stack of silver taels was shoved into her hands that she reluctantly and coldly allowed a patron to sit by her side.
Elsewhere in the luxury private suites, there were faux Buddhist nuns chanting scriptures and Daoist priestesses intensely analyzing Daoist classics.
It was a complete, living encyclopedia of the martial world’s beauties.
Peering down from the roof joists to observe the chaotic spectacle below, Yue Xiaochan—who had personally directed the execution of this farce—grinned from ear to ear, her mouth unable to snap shut from pure joy.
If they generated this volume of business every single day, wouldn’t the Hundred Flowers Pavilion literally be swimming in mountains of gold?
Once the news traveled back to their enemies, it was bound to choke quite a few of those hypocrites to death with sheer rage.
Now that was real entertainment.
At this exact moment, Yue Xiaochan’s admiration for Xue Mu had reached a point of absolute reverence.
She even found herself thinking that if he had actually gone ahead and kissed her earlobe earlier, it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal…
But then, she suddenly remembered that Xue Mu had currently locked himself away in his bamboo pavilion with Menglan to do God knows what.
The brilliant smile on Yue Xiaochan’s face instantly froze solid.
A sudden, deeply uncomfortable weight flared up in her chest—a chaotic emotion she couldn’t even begin to rationalize.
By all logic, even if those two actually hooked up, it had absolutely nothing to do with her…
It wasn’t like she was in a position to be falling in love with anyone right now anyway.
Besides, if a disciple of her sect managed to permanently reel in a brilliant master strategist, it would be a massive win for their organization…
So why on earth did the mere thought of it make her increasingly irritated?
Shifting from grinning in pure euphoria to pacing in restless agitation, Yue Xiaochan walked back and forth a few times before finally inventing a baseline justification for herself: Menglan was one of the core managers of this regional branch.
With Martial Aunt Qingqing accompanying Master to infiltrate The Six Gates, Menglan was technically the absolute number-one authority on the ground.
How could she just hide away doing God knows what, leaving her—the Young Sect Master—to babysit the storefront operation?
This was completely unprofessional!
She had to go swap places with her immediately!
With her resolve firmly locked, Yue Xiaochan took flight like a bird, hurtling straight toward Xue Mu’s bamboo pavilion.
Even under the crushing suppression of the capital’s Formidable Array of Compliance, which capped her output at a mere fifty percent, Yue Xiaochan still crossed the distance in the blink of an eye.
The upper tier of the bamboo tower was illuminated by a soft, flickering candlelight, radiating a warm, peaceful glow into the quiet night.
Losing track of her own exact motivations, Yue Xiaochan slowed her momentum, silently drifting down onto the edge of the bamboo structure.
Hooking her fingers over the roof eaves, she peeked through the window frame.
Xue Mu had a fresh scroll of paper laid out before him.
Holding a brush, he was writing at a furious, synchronized pace—a focused look that admittedly made him look even more attractive…
Menglan stood gracefully right by his side, quietly grinding ink for him.
Her beautiful face carried a slight, subtle blush at this moment, and her fluid, watery gaze drifted over to settle on Xue Mu’s profile from time to time.
It was impossible to decode the exact metrics of her expression, but to Yue Xiaochan, it looked entirely like a display of pure, unadulterated affection.
It was a picture-perfect scene of domestic harmony, a beautiful scholar accompanied by his adoring maiden…
The knot of discomfort tightening in Yue Xiaochan’s chest grew heavier, until she finally couldn’t take it anymore and swooshed directly into the room, materializing right in front of them.
Xue Mu didn’t even lift his head.
He kept writing at a steady pace, completely desensitized to her sudden ghost-like entrances by now.
Menglan, however, instantly tightened her posture, offering a crisp, formal bow.
“Young Sect Master.” Yue Xiaochan’s wide eyes darted back and forth between their faces, failing to detect any immediate traces of illicit workplace intimacy.
Scrambling for a conversation starter, she demanded, “What are you two even doing in here?” Xue Mu spoke without stopping his brush strokes.
“Didn’t I tell you earlier?
This uniform maneuver isn’t a long-term sustainable corporate model.
Even if your Master is completely unrivaled beneath the heavens, she can hold the frontline for you for a moment, but she can’t babysit a red-light establishment for the rest of her life.
Besides, what happens if the righteous path kicks up such a massive public uproar that the imperial court is forced to revoke your business license?
This roleplay play is merely a temporary solution to secure immediate liquidity.
We must launch the second phase of the playbook.” “Oh, right.” Yue Xiaochan edged closer to his side, desperately pretending to act nonchalant.
“And what exactly is Phase Two?” “Mm…
While you were out hunting down people to strip their clothes off, I had Menglan escort me on a tour of the local bookstores.
The baseline infrastructure is exactly as you described: aside from martial world gossip columns and imperial histories, the shelves are entirely packed with mass-produced cultivation manuals.
They even have textbooks on farming, agriculture, mining, and metallurgy—but there is an absolute zero presence of narrative literature.” “And how does that connect to Phase Two?” Yue Xiaochan asked curiously, leaning her head down to scan the text he was writing.
Xue Mu paused his brush, casting a sidelong glance at her.
“Children shouldn’t read this.” Yue Xiaochan let out a defiant huff.
“I don’t care, I’m reading it anyway.” Xue Mu’s calligraphy was strictly beginner-level—just neat enough to manage the Liu style, and there were many traditional characters he could read but not write.
Yet, the moment he put pen to paper, he found himself writing traditional characters effortlessly, wondering if this was another perk of the pattern on his palm.
Still, in a world that cared little for literary refinement, his merely “neat” handwriting passed for excellent.
At the very least, Meng Lan and Yue Xiaochan found it pleasing to the eye, both instantly sharing the same thought: A handsome man with handwriting to match.
Xue Mu was writing a story—a short novel, as he called it.
Instead of plagiarizing, he tailored an original piece to fit his current circumstances.
While he relied on familiar story tropes, the narrative relied entirely on his own prose.
The novel opened conventionally enough.
It told the story of a wandering swordsman who, after being wounded in a duel, was rescued by a kind-hearted woman named Qianqian.
She nursed him devotedly for over a month, during which the swordsman secretly fell in love with her gentle, kind nature.
Gradually, however, he realized something was amiss with his surroundings.
The air outside was often filled with the cacophony of musical instruments, drunken revelry, and flirtatious banter between men and women.
Sometimes, Qianqian’s voice was among them, sounding seductive to the bone.
Once his wounds healed enough for him to walk, the swordsman quietly stepped outside to look.
He discovered he was in the Baihua Pavilion, the capital’s most famous brothel.
And Miss Qianqian…
was its top courtesan.
Having spent years crafting marketing proposals, Xue Mu’s prose was far superior to his calligraphy.
He spun a deeply moving and tragic tale.
He captured the swordsman’s infatuation, the sweet moments they shared, and the eventual heartbreak and confusion upon discovering his beloved was a prostitute.
The agony of debating whether to leave kept Yue Xiaochan completely spellbound, unable to look away.
When Qianqian returned to the room to tend to him once more, the swordsman tried to pull her close, seeking intimacy.
To his surprise, Qianqian refused.
Naturally, the swordsman flew into a rage.
“You give yourself to those men, yet you play the virtuous woman with me?” Qianqian replied with deep sorrow, “Are you one of my clients?
Do you also just want to toy with me like they do?” The swordsman was left speechless.
That tangled, agonizing conflict eventually twisted into something darker.
One day, after Qianqian entered a room with a client, the swordsman actually began to spy on them.
Xue Mu brilliantly depicted the swordsman’s warped, unstoppable thrill—a mix of intense torment and twisted excitement from watching his beloved in bed with another man.
Even more vividly drawn was the passion in the bedroom scene itself.
Drawing upon a lifetime of reading tens of thousands of erotic novels, Xue Mu delivered an incredibly sensual and raw sequence.
Intertwined with the swordsman’s complex emotions as a voyeur, the story instantly hit its climax.
Only then did the story reveal its true teeth—it was actually a damn piece of erotica!