Chapter Six: The Most Difficult Kindness to Bear Is That of a Beauty

Not long after Chacha left, Han Chu patiently began to play the zither. Her skill with the instrument was the secret to her meteoric rise in the pleasure quarters, and the one thing she had always taken pride in. In the entire city of Jingzhou, many young nobles had heard her music before they ever laid eyes on her. Enchanted by the sound of her zither, they became all the more captivated by her reputation for beauty.

Han Chu truly loved playing the zither, and she was gifted at it. Since entering the Drunken Blossom Pavilion at the age of five, she had devoted herself to its study for a full ten years. In the end, not a single teacher in all of Nanxi dared claim they could teach her further.

The zither Shen Yu had entrusted Chacha to deliver was not the finest Han Chu had ever seen; it could only be considered above average at best. Yet for some reason, she found herself unwilling to part with it.

Ever since her fame as the “First Beauty of Nanxi” had spread, Han Chu had received countless exquisite zithers, most of them gifts from her admirers. They did not send these instruments in the hope of becoming her soulmate, but rather to win a night of her favor. Understanding the baseness of their intentions, Han Chu grew to resent even the finest of those gifts.

But now, her livelihood depended on Shen Yu, and she knew he had no need to curry favor with her. Yet he had given her a zither—surely that showed some genuine feeling? Otherwise, why would he risk offending the Ming family to take her in?

Having not played for over a month, her fingers felt stiff. Han Chu smiled ruefully, played a piece, then carefully put the instrument away. She had just covered the strings with a bright red silk cloth when she heard a crisp “clack”—a green object tumbled from the folds of the cloth and rolled to the ground.

Han Chu picked it up. It was a jade earring, translucent as water and carved into the shape of a camellia blossom, gleaming with lush color in the sunlight.

A single glance told her it was precious, both for its craftsmanship and the quality of the jade—rarely seen even in her world. Han Chu recalled that when Chacha had delivered the zither, there had indeed been a flash of green at her earlobe—she must have been wearing these earrings.

Had Chacha noticed she’d lost one? Concerned that Chacha might be anxious over its loss, Han Chu quickly wrapped the earring in a silk handkerchief, intending to return it at once.

But after making four or five trips, she found Chacha’s courtyard locked and silent, with no sign of her anywhere. Perhaps she’d gone out searching for the earring? Han Chu grew worried—what if Chacha was distressed over its loss? Yet the vastness of Rainbow Courtyard and her own unfamiliarity with the place left her hesitant to go searching; she might only lose her way.

After much deliberation, Han Chu decided to wait, hoping Chacha would return. Yet even as dusk deepened, she did not appear. Han Chu kept glancing at the opposite courtyard, nerves on edge, until she finally drifted off to sleep at her desk.

She awoke to find the moon high in the sky—night had long fallen.

Still anxious not to keep Chacha waiting for her earring, Han Chu ignored her hunger and opened her window to peer across the courtyard. This time, she saw a faint light flickering there.

Clutching the earring, Han Chu hurried over. As she reached the courtyard, she found the gate ajar. Regretting her inability to call out, she steeled herself for a little boldness.

She pushed the gate open and slipped inside, treading softly. A lantern hung in the courtyard, as if waiting for someone. By its glow, she saw only one room lit by candlelight, shadows dancing on the paper windows.

Seeing this, Han Chu wasted no time and ascended the steps. This door, too, was slightly open.

How careless of Chacha, she thought. Then again, it suited her—always so free-spirited.

Smiling to herself, Han Chu raised her hand to knock, but suddenly a sultry moan floated from within—languid, honeyed, deeply suggestive.

Han Chu, raised in a brothel and no stranger to the ways of men and women, instantly recognized the sound. Her hand hung suspended in midair, unable to finish the knock.

She knew she ought to leave, yet her feet felt as heavy as lead, her throat aching with the bitter reminder of her lost voice.

She started to retreat, desperate to escape the intimate scene barely a door away. But the sounds from within were brazen and loud, every syllable crashing into her ears.

“Young Marquis, Chacha has missed you…” The woman’s voice was coy, light.

“I’ve missed you too, Chacha…” The man’s tone was husky, deep.

“Nonsense! Now your heart is all for Han Chu. You grow tired of old loves so quickly! Chacha is so hurt…”

At this, the room fell silent, but only for a moment before Shen Yu replied, “Didn’t I tell you? She’s beautiful, yes, but she’s been with Helian Qi—how could she compare to you, who gave yourself to me untouched…”

Han Chu no longer wanted to hear more, yet could not help but listen.

“Isn’t she stunning? Doesn’t your heart stir for her?”

“Perhaps, but she’s just a courtesan… Let’s not speak of her anymore, or are you trying to ruin my mood?”

Just a courtesan! Han Chu laughed soundlessly.

Another moan echoed from within, even more wanton than before. Then Chacha, her voice honeyed and pleading, begged, “Young Marquis, Chacha cannot bear it, please…”

Hearing this, Han Chu’s stomach churned. Though she’d eaten nothing, she felt sick. Holding her hand to her mouth and nose, she stumbled back, forgetting the steps behind her. She missed her footing and fell.

For once, she was grateful for her loss of voice—otherwise, she would have screamed. Yet her fall was noisy enough to interrupt the lovers inside.

“Who’s there?” Shen Yu called sharply. The door was flung open, candlelight spilling out and washing the scene in golden glow.

Shen Yu stood in the doorway, his expression obscured by the backlight.

Han Chu sat on the ground, looking up. He was bare-chested, clad only in loose silk trousers, the sash already undone, as if about to be discarded.

Shen Yu, too, was scrutinizing her.

“Han Chu?” he asked in a low voice, still holding the door with one hand, a dagger in the other.

By the scattered candlelight, he could see the delicate features of her face—brows furrowed, lips pressed tight, her complexion pale, eyes filled with barely concealed disgust.

A heavy weight seemed to settle on Shen Yu’s chest, robbing him of breath. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

It was almost laughable—Shen Yu, who was so glib with every other woman, sweet-talking them to rapture, could find no words at all before Han Chu. If word got out, it would be embarrassing enough, but who would believe that the dashing "Young Marquis" would be at a loss for words before a woman?

Even Shen Yu himself could hardly believe it.

But the truth was plain: at this moment, he too seemed to have lost his voice, able only to look at Han Chu in silence, unable to explain.

They stared at each other in silence. At last, Shen Yu recovered himself and stepped over the threshold to help her up. “What are you doing here?”

He bent to reach for her, his fingertips just brushing the hem of her robe when Han Chu suddenly recoiled, as if from a plague, and stood up on her own.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen—even her aversion was exquisite. Shen Yu looked at her with a wry smile, the light falling differently on each of them: he could see her clearly, but she could not see him as well.

“Han Chu…” Shen Yu called her name again, his voice tinged with longing, guilt, and worry.

It was as if hearing her own name pierced a wound; Han Chu retreated quickly. Her gaze darted past Shen Yu into the room, where she caught a glimpse of Chacha, her dress barely covering her chest, leaning against the screen with a smile.

In that instant, Han Chu understood everything. She had seen enough jealous scenes in her life, but when it came to herself, she had failed to recognize it.

She had thought Chacha was a fellow sufferer, but now it seemed she herself was the more pitiable one.

Han Chu smiled bitterly, no longer meeting Shen Yu’s eyes. She turned and fled the courtyard. She heard someone call after her—she knew who it was—but right then, her feet throbbed with pain, and she could not bear to stop.

“Han Chu!” Shen Yu called again, starting after her, but Chacha caught his sleeve. “How did Han Chu get in here?” she asked, voice sweet and trembling on the verge of tears.

Shen Yu glanced at her, brows furrowed, silent.

“Go after her, please—comfort her, don’t let her be so sad,” Chacha pleaded, her head lowered.

Shen Yu saw the marks on her neck, the pink imprints of his kisses.

But what had he done wrong? Was it only right for Han Chu to have lain with Helian Qi, but not for him to enjoy intimacy with other women?

At this, a surge of resentment rose in him. He looked in the direction Han Chu had run, but finally steeled his heart and said to Chacha, “Leave her be. Let’s go back.” He sheathed his dagger, slipped his arm around Chacha’s shoulders, and led her back inside.

Night deepened, painting the room once more in passionate hues…