Chapter 038: Apricot Blossoms

Standing motionless in the shadowy darkness, he resembled a statue sculpted from clay.

As time slipped by, the rear courtyard of Apricot Blossom Pavilion gradually became busier, people coming and going now and then. Swallows flitted and orioles sang, slender waists and voluptuous figures swayed—beauties of every kind adorned themselves with charm and grace.

Yao Qian hid himself in the darkness, his eyes fixed on the courtyard. Indeed, Apricot Blossom Pavilion was worthy of being called the most extravagant brothel in all Pingyang. The number of stunning girls was beyond count; moreover, unlike those surgically enhanced faces and internet celebrities from his previous worlds, these women were unadorned beauties, like lotuses rising from clear water, naturally exquisite. Having spent much time in the brothel, they knew well how to reveal their most alluring selves.

In the silence, their appeal was even more potent.

Though his body was young and vigorous, and his mind inevitably wandered as he beheld these dazzling beauties, he quickly suppressed such thoughts, not forgetting the purpose that had brought him here.

As dusk deepened, the women vanished from the courtyard. Only the brothel’s guards, serving girls, and maids hurried about. Suddenly, Yao Qian’s expression shifted as he noticed three men approaching together in the distance.

These three were dressed differently from the others, with sabers and swords at their waists, their faces fierce and intimidating—men whose mere appearance could cow the common folk.

Yao Qian’s eyes brightened at the sight of them.

He watched as they drew nearer, and stepping out from the shadows, he faced them directly.

A faint scent of powder and perfume lingered in the rear courtyard, drifting on the air and stirring one’s thoughts.

The three men quickly noticed Yao Qian. One strode forward, stopping in front of him and barked harshly:

“Who are you? This is the rear courtyard of Apricot Blossom Pavilion. If you don’t work here, you’re not allowed to enter!”

With so many beauties in the brothel, trouble was frequent. Some unruly types would try to sneak in through the back to rendezvous with the girls, and there were even those with far worse intentions.

These men were the hired guards of the Pavilion, tasked with dealing with such intruders.

Clearly, this guard took Yao Qian for a penniless scoundrel hoping to take advantage without paying.

Yao Qian couldn’t be bothered to reply and instead looked past him to the two men behind.

Who could have guessed that the one responsible for so many bloody crimes in Pingyang could openly become a deputy captain among the Pavilion’s guards—second only to the chief, wielding power over dozens, holding life and death in his hands, arrogant and untamed.

But thinking about it, it made sense. What kind of place was Apricot Blossom Pavilion? Far from clean, its open façade hid a closed, shadowy world—the perfect haven for vice and filth. Who knew how many restless spirits haunted its walls?

Yao Qian held no illusions that this ancient society’s brothels cared for democracy or freedom, or that the girls could come and go as they pleased.

One might even say that for every girl trained here to entertain guests, four or five more had died or been ruined, reduced to bones in nameless graves.

People saw only the dazzling courtesans and their exquisite talents, never realizing that beneath the brothel, beneath every famous beauty, lay the bones of countless ruined women.

Most of these “masterpieces” were the handiwork of the brothel’s own guards.

But the people remained silent, the authorities turned a blind eye—how could such things ever come to light?

“This isn’t a place for idlers, sir,” said one of the two men behind, sensing Yao Qian’s gaze. “If you seek pleasure, the front door is open to you.”

This man was about thirty, dressed in a martial artist’s uniform, exuding a fierce aura, though his tone was far more pleasant.

Yao Qian smiled. “I’m not here for pleasure, but to find someone. You must be Zhu Guohui.”

“I am indeed Zhu Guohui,” the man replied, stepping forward, his expression unchanged. “May I ask what business you have with me? I don’t believe I’ve ever wronged you.”

His manner was gentle, not at all like a ruthless man of the Jianghu. Yao Qian almost doubted himself, but the thought passed quickly.

In the next instant, everything changed.

The man behind Zhu Guohui suddenly struck—there was a metallic ring as he drew a broadsword, thrusting it at Yao Qian’s lower back with the silent swiftness of a poisonous snake.

But ever since cultivating the Demon Ox Technique, Yao Qian’s flesh and senses had been greatly strengthened. What might have escaped an ordinary man’s notice was as clear as day to him.

Without looking back, he drew his own blade and slashed down, meeting the attack head-on.

Steel clashed with a resounding clang!

The attacker’s face changed dramatically as a tremendous force sent his own sword flying from his grasp. It landed several meters away, quivering in the ground.

The sudden reversal stunned all three guards. None had expected this seemingly slender youth to possess such formidable strength and acute senses, able to detect an ambush from behind. Their faces turned grim.

Zhu Guohui recovered quickly. Without a word, he slipped a metal rod—about the length of a forearm—into his hand and swung it at Yao Qian’s head.

Had it connected, it would have smashed his skull beyond hope.

Seeing Zhu Guohui’s attack, Yao Qian’s lips curled in a cold smile. Since they’d seen through his intentions, there was no need for further words.

He lashed out with a kick, sending the man behind him flying.

The man felt as though a great bell had struck his chest, bones cracking, and screamed in agony as he crashed to the ground.

With the threat behind him dealt with, Yao Qian swept his iron chain across the front.

Bang!

The iron rod collided with his weapon in a sharp, metallic clash.

The enormous force numbed his arm, but Zhu Guohui, seasoned by countless battles and ruthless by nature, responded instantly.

With a flick of his left hand, the iron rod revealed a hidden dagger, aimed straight for Yao Qian’s chest!

A wily rabbit has three burrows; the best attack is a surprise.

In contrast, Yao Qian’s own experience was paltry. Caught off guard, he managed to twist aside, the blade slashing only his sleeve without breaking the skin.

Zhu Guohui’s face betrayed his surprise. “Iron body training?”

But Yao Qian no longer cared for conversation. Never since he began his cultivation had he been so frustrated; even the demon-possessed Chen Shanqi had lost to him in open combat, yet these three fought dirty, using every trick and ambush to keep him on the defensive.

This was his first time battling martial artists of equal rank and finding himself at a disadvantage.

It stirred something savage within him.

At that moment, Zhu Guohui and the remaining man pressed the attack—iron rod sweeping for his legs, sword thrusting at his eyes.

Now he was truly enraged.

Letting out a long, fierce cry, he surged forward instead of retreating, charging at the swordsman while swinging his chain.

Clang!

His weapon crashed against the iron rod again. The sword slashed at his chest; Yao Qian tensed his body, and though his clothes tore, his skin was unscathed.

The attacker’s face filled with shock—he had not expected this. But in the peril of life and death, that instant of surprise proved fatal.

Yao Qian’s blade swept across his throat. A fountain of blood erupted, and a fine head rolled to the ground, eyes wide in disbelief, as if unable to accept such a swift, meaningless death.