Wanhua Xilou was the most renowned opera house in Shengjing. Its entrance, adorned with carved beams and painted rafters, bore a vermilion plaque, while the interior exuded an air of serene elegance, with sandalwood tables and chairs radiating refined taste.
The ground-floor hall was arranged with dozens of yellow rosewood Eight Immortals tables, where the aroma of tea mingled with the sounds of gongs and drums from the stage, drifting among the scattered seats.
On the second floor, six carved private boxes were hung with mottled bamboo blinds, reserved for high-ranking officials and nobles who reclined against Cloud Brocade cushions to enjoy the opera. Maids and servants bustled about, serving seasonal fruits and delicacies.
Whenever a famous performer took the stage, the golden nanmu railings on the second floor would be lined with embroidered sleeves, while hairpins and jewels glittered in the light of the applause from below—truly a place of worldly splendor.
The star dan performer of Wanhua Xilou, Hua Luo, possessed a graceful figure as supple as a willow and a singing voice as clear and melodious as a nightingale’s call. With a flick of her flowing sleeves, she captivated countless spectators, yet no one knew she was actually the Right Envoy of Shigu Ge.
Shen Shuangren was born with a bodhisattva’s heart, specializing in rescuing helpless orphans from mass graves and dilapidated temples, bringing them back to Shigu Ge to teach them literacy and martial arts.
On the surface, she taught them the skills to make a living, but in secret, she trained these children to become her eyes and ears—
After all, in Shengjing City, who could be better sources of information than performers, maids, and street vendors?
Hua Luo was Shen Shuangren’s most accomplished disciple. By day, she sang “The Peony Pavilion” on stage, her eyes sparkling as she coaxed private secrets from high-ranking officials and nobles.
At night, she shed her stage costume, a flexible sword coiled around her waist. When taking a life, not even a drop of blood would stain her satin shoes embroidered with twin lotus flowers.
In the bronze mirror backstage, two nearly identical faces of breathtaking beauty were reflected.
In the flickering candlelight, Hua Luo dipped her fingertip into cinnabar rouge, tracing it meticulously along Shen Shuangren’s lip line.
Her movements were exceedingly gentle, as if painting a meticulous portrait of a noble lady.
Both women now wore intricate feixian hairstyles, adorned with pearl buyao hairpins of the same style on their temples.
When they turned their heads simultaneously, their reflections in the mirror almost overlapped, with only the cinnabar chastity mark on Hua Luo’s left wrist distinguishing the real from the imitation.
Suddenly, the pipa music from the front stage rose sharply, the melody shifting into the brisk tempo of the third act of “Nichang’s Lament.”
Hua Luo abruptly grasped Shen Shuangren’s wrist, the gold-gilded fingernail guard leaving a faint mark on her skin. “Sister Shen, it’s your turn to take the stage.”
In the front hall, gongs and drums erupted abruptly—the show was about to begin.
Shen Shuangren—no, at this moment, she was “Hua Luo.”
With her flowing sleeves swirling, she ascended the stage, the pearl buyao hairpin swaying before her forehead, casting fragmented glimmers of light.
Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a familiar figure in the private seats below—
Nan Yanxiu, dressed in a black brocade robe with his hair tied in a jade crown, tapped the tabletop rhythmically with his knuckles.
In truth, Nan Yanxiu had long set his sights on the Su family.
Some days earlier, during the floods in Jiangnan, the three thousand taels of gold allocated by the court for disaster relief had vanished under suspicious circumstances.
Nan Yanxiu ordered Mo Yu to investigate discreetly and discovered that the funds had been secretly embezzled by the Su family, who then lent the money to disaster victims at a thirty percent interest rate.
Further investigation revealed that Su Jianxuan had taken advantage of the situation to forcibly seize farmland from the people, driving many to drown themselves in the river.
Knowing that Shigu Ge specialized in targeting wealthy and unprincipled nobles, he had sent people to monitor Su Jianxuan day and night.
Sure enough, two days earlier, his informants reported that the young master Su had received a personal invitation card from Hua Luo of Wanhua Xilou.
Now, the white jade wine cup before him reflected the stage lights, his narrow phoenix eyes gazing at the stage with a faint, knowing smile, as if he could see through everything.
Shen Shuangren’s heart tightened, her fingertips trembling slightly, nearly disrupting her singing.
She swiftly spun around, her skirt blooming like a white lotus. The silver needles hidden in her sleeves flashed coldly for an instant as she turned.
Meanwhile, Su Jianxuan below the stage was already entranced.
When "Hua Luo" gently waved her water sleeves and cast a flirtatious glance his way, the jade-ribbed folding fan in this young master Su's hand clattered to the ground.
The jade inlaid in the fan ribs struck the bluestone floor, emitting a crisp sound.
After the song ended, Shen Shuangren, playing the role of Hua Luo, gracefully bowed toward Su Jianxuan with a light wave of her water sleeves.
She deliberately let the pearl earring brush against the side of her neck, where a specially made fragrant powder had been applied—one that would emit an intoxicating scent when warmed.
Su Jianxuan snapped open his folding fan, his eyes gleaming with frivolity. "This little flower-dan finally knows who the high branch worth clinging to is."
As the fan fluttered, it stirred a breeze that mingled the ambergris scent from his robes with the agarwood incense on Shen Shuangren.
The slender servant beside him leaned in with a fawning smile. "Young master, the girl from Zuixian Lou you sought the day before yesterday must have angered this little beauty. Look at the way she's gazing at you…"
The servant's eyes darted around, his gaze lingering on the jade pendant at Shen Shuangren's waist—a token Hua Luo never parted with.
Shen Shuangren lowered her head, her long eyelashes casting a shadow beneath her eyes.
Yet, the corners of her lips curled into an almost imperceptible cold smile, perfectly concealed by the strands of hair falling over her face.
Her fingertips lightly twisted a handkerchief embroidered with a subtle night-blooming cereus pattern, perfectly feigning a coy and reluctant demeanor.
Su Jianxuan's Adam's apple bobbed as he snapped his folding fan shut.
"Wait here, all of you!" Su Jianxuan waved impatiently, casually tossing the priceless jade-inlaid fan to his servant.
The luminous pearl set in the fan ribs traced a glowing green arc through the air. As the servant fumbled to catch it, Su Jianxuan's robe swept over the table, knocking over a celadon teacup.
"Crash—"
Tea spilled across the redwood table, spreading into a dark stain.
This sound was just right
His breath carried the heavy scent of alcohol, his other hand already tugging at his own gold-woven belt. "This young master would rather taste you…"
Shen Shuangren lightly tapped her toes, spinning as her pomegranate-red skirt bloomed into a brilliant arc.
"Young master, why the hurry~"
She poured another full cup, this time tracing a hidden circle at the bottom with her fingertip. "This wine… should be savored cup by cup…"
After three cups, Su Jianxuan's eyes began to glaze over.
He staggered to his feet. "Strange… strange…" Suddenly clutching his chest, he gasped, "This wine…"
Shen Shuangren watched coldly as he collapsed to the floor, her voice softening. "Has the young master drunk too much? Shall this humble woman call someone to escort you back to your residence?"
Just then, the drumbeats from the front stage shifted into the urgent rhythm of "Ambush from Ten Sides."
Shen Shuangren feigned panic as she pushed him away. "The troupe leader is calling for the next act!"
On stage, Hua Luo was singing the most poignant passage of "Nichang's Lament." As her flowing sleeves whirled, the cinnabar dot on her wrist glistened vividly, as if she had never left this theater.
Nan Yanxiu's pupils contracted slightly. The "Hua Luo" from earlier had clearly had a wrist as smooth and flawless as jade.
"Your Highness?" Mo Yu keenly sensed the change in his master's aura.
"Where is Su Jianxuan?"
Nan Yanxiu suddenly asked, his gaze sweeping over the empty seats downstairs.
Mo Yu's heart skipped a beat. "This subordinate will—"
"Crash!"
A sharp sound of shattering porcelain suddenly came from the backyard, followed by the dull thud of something heavy hitting the ground.
Nan Yanxiu abruptly stood up, his black cloak overturning a glass lantern that shattered into pieces on the floor. Splattered lamp oil ignited into eerie blue flames on the gold-woven carpet.
On stage, Hua Luo's flowing sleeves suddenly wrapped around her neck, her singing abruptly shifting in tone. "Alas—a beauty's fate is ever fleeting—"
The final note rose into a piercing, trembling cry that echoed long among the beams and pillars.
Yet the seated guests seemed utterly unaware. Several salt merchants even tossed gold melon seeds onto the stage with foolish grins, the coins clinking crisply against the wooden boards.