Chapter 5: The Scarlet Ribbon Pavilion

With the arrival of the Frost’s Descent, a slight wind brushed past, and a light drizzle began to fall. After finishing the set of Qi-dissipating boxing techniques taught by the monk Wu Shi in front of the door, Wu Yueling saw that the white frost on the fence had already started to vanish, and the dim sky was giving way to a gentle, persistent rain.

Since she began practicing the Pure Heart Sutra, she found her mind becoming ever more serene, her hearing more acute, and, most importantly, her physical constitution superior to what it once was—her breath flowed smoothly, her spirit seemed to shine brighter than that of the average person.

This internal art was merely a method of circulating energy to achieve a gentle tranquility. Coupled with this set of Qi-dissipating boxing, it somewhat resembled Tai Chi; yet, these movements were solely for dissipating Qi, not for attacking—lacking any offensive quality, suitable only for defense. Of the two forces, Yin and Yang, it seemed to lack the Yang.

But Wu Yueling felt it was just as well. She was only at the beginning of her journey, and such noticeable changes were already welcome. According to Wu Shi’s words, she needed to practice her breathing exercises every morning for at least three years to achieve modest results, and ten years to excel. Only after that could she hope to become a master, or, with fortune, a grandmaster.

All things must proceed step by step, advancing steadily, without impatience or the desire for instant success, lest one lose their sanity and end up worse off.

Standing at the door, she gazed out into the gentle rain. The air was cool, and the breeze stung just a little. Inside, Madam Lu and Wu Shi were chatting; Madam Lu would occasionally seek guidance on the philosophies of life, hoping also that the Buddha might bless her son Lu with scholarly success, so that the family’s name would be honored.

Though Wu Yueling had accepted the monk’s instruction, she did not see the need to become a Buddhist herself. Still, she recognized the wisdom in understanding Buddhist principles, for many were sound and useful in the world.

Her main goal now was to adapt to life in this world, to meet new people and see new things. If opportunity permitted, she would go into business, earn some money, and later travel to Chang’an, living simply and contentedly. If she could never return home, then she would simply stay here.

Leaning against the doorframe, listening to the patter of rain on the eaves, she watched the mist winding through the distant green mountains and breathed in the fresh air, lost in thought. Occasionally, a bird undeterred by the chill autumn rain would fly overhead, its lonely cry pulling Wu Yueling back to reality.

She boiled water a few times, and when the rain outside had stopped, the villagers resumed their comings and goings. From the door, she spotted an old man in a straw hat passing by, holding a few large fish. He seemed familiar. Looking closer, she realized he was the same villager who had given her fish to eat last time.

With a fishing pole slung over his shoulder and straw sandals on his feet, he strode through the muddy ground with a certain carefree ease, soon entering a distant clay house to join his slightly plump wife.

At that moment, a snot-nosed child emerged from the house, wielding a small stick—first poking at the mud, then leaping through puddles, utterly mischievous. Wu Yueling recognized him as the boy who had rudely called her “mute” the other day.

To think he was the child of that rustic Zhao Lu! Although Wu Yueling had been here for half a month, she had only really interacted with the Lu family; if she needed anything from others, Lu Feng would go on her behalf, since she could not speak and found it hard to communicate with the villagers.

With the rain cleared, the children all emerged to play, gathering noisily in the street. Before long, as Wu Yueling was warming some flatbread, she heard the sound of children crying outside.

“What’s all that commotion?” Monk Wu Shi rose from his couch and glanced out the door. He saw two boys grappling and fighting in the mud, and frowned.

“It’s just children causing a ruckus, nothing unusual. In a bit, their fathers might join the fray as well,” Madam Lu replied, evidently accustomed to such scenes.

“That’s not ideal. Everything should be handled with calm and peace. Allow me to go and mediate,” the monk said.

He donned his kasaya and went out to break up the two boys rolling and brawling in the mud. Meanwhile, Wu Yueling finished heating the flatbread and brought it to Madam Lu before stepping outside herself. She saw the monk happily reasoning with a crowd of mischievous children, only to have a handful of mud flung at his red robes. The two boys promptly forgot their quarrel and burst into laughter at the monk’s expense.

Seeing the fight ended, the monk returned, shaking his head with a helpless smile—he had only succeeded in getting his kasaya smeared with mud. Wu Yueling covered her mouth to stifle a laugh; this monk was indeed amusing, with a touch of childlike innocence. She stepped aside to let him in, wetted her hands, and took his kasaya, writing on it: “Let me wash this mud out for you, Master!”

Wu Shi pressed his palms together in gratitude. “Then I must thank you, little benefactor!”

Despite teaching her martial arts, the monk never assumed the airs of a master, continuing to address her humbly as “little benefactor.”

After eating her flatbread, Wu Yueling walked to the riverbank, stepping on smooth pebbles as she used a laundry stick to clean the kasaya before hanging it to dry back home. Once finished, she informed Madam Lu and set off toward Jingzhou City.

Walking along the muddy path, she recalled the odd events of the past few days: first, that shifty man—apparently called Zhang Mule—a name as unremarkable as his character, who looked like a market scoundrel and had accused her of being a ghost on sight. Wu Yueling was certain there was more to this, but she would have to wait until her skills had improved before investigating further.

As for the man who had harassed her, she had asked the manager of the cloth shop and learned he was likely the second son of the Cui family—a notorious rake. She rubbed her forehead, finding him troublesome indeed. She’d already kicked him where it hurt, making an enemy of him, but she wasn’t afraid—she’d deal with whatever came her way. Worst case, she’d just use her revolver and be done with him.

Nevertheless, she hoped they wouldn’t come up with any devious schemes. She had to ensure Madam Lu’s safety, after all—she was caring for Lu Ziji’s mother, and if anything happened, how could she account for it?

She hadn’t encountered the masked assailant from the previous night before, nor had she offended anyone else. All she wanted was to live a peaceful life here, not yearning for riches, just safety and stability.

Before long, she reached the city gate, entered, and headed for the southern district to begin another busy day.

At the cloth shop managed by Manager Fang, Wu Yueling greeted them and noticed a young man standing nearby.

Manager Fang’s brow was as furrowed as ever, his face deeply troubled, and the young man beside him looked equally distressed, agonizing over an account book.

Wu Yueling could only sigh—why did ancient people always wear such pained expressions? As the saying goes, “a smile makes you younger by ten years,” whereas fretting only ages and embittered you.

“You’ve come at just the right time, Miss Yueling. Ah, this is a bad debt from the jewelry shop. Now that foreign merchants seldom travel south, business is bleak, and even the wealthy families of Jingzhou aren’t buying, so our goods pile up unsold,” Manager Fang explained, snatching the account book from Fang Rui’s hands and respectfully placing it before Wu Yueling.

With a glance, Wu Yueling saw the jewelry shop’s expenses always exceeded its sales—no wonder there were losses. She examined the ledger, picked up a brush, and calculated the profits and losses. The inventory was filled with luxury items—no high-end customer could afford to buy them often.

So she wrote her suggestion: “Why not produce some porcelain or semi-imitative jewelry, selling them at affordable prices? If branded well, perhaps sales will increase.”

Manager Fang squinted at the loss figures, his face contorting as if tasting something spicy, but a flash of surprise lit his eyes when he read her note, as if suddenly enlightened but still a bit unsure.

He asked, “Miss Yueling, are you suggesting we sell fake jewelry?”

Fang Rui immediately interjected with disdain, clearly looking down on counterfeit goods. “Business must be built on trust. If we sell fakes, it’s only a matter of time before we’re despised.”

Wu Yueling glanced at the young man, smiled mysteriously, and continued writing, “We tell customers upfront that these are imitation items—cheap and attractive. Ordinary folk can afford them!”

“Bah, trickery and deceit won’t get you far!” Fang Rui scoffed, looking bored.

Manager Fang slapped the table and burst out laughing.

Fang Rui thought his father supported him and grinned triumphantly, casting a provocative look at Wu Yueling—see, you’re just a short-sighted woman. If his father hadn’t scolded him for being outdone by a woman, he wouldn’t be competing with Wu Yueling now.

“Ah, Miss Yueling, you’re a genius! This idea is workable. If the real thing is too expensive, we can sell cheaper imitations, being honest about what they are—people can still buy them for decoration, and they’re not inferior to genuine goods. Excellent idea! Ha ha!” Manager Fang laughed heartily, though to Fang Rui, the sound was jarring and unpleasant. Wu Yueling returned his gaze with a look of playful challenge and satisfaction.

With nothing more to do, Wu Yueling left early. She hadn’t seen the Gu family’s patriarch recently; their business was neither booming nor failing, at least still profitable. She wondered if the managers were honest, but Gu Yi seemed strict and inflexible—likely such matters wouldn’t arise.

Leaving the shop, she watched the bustling market, where most wore plain linen robes—poor folk selling food and trinkets—though a few wealthy young men, dressed in white, strolled toward a grand building, waving paper fans.

That was none other than the Scarlet Ribbon Pavilion—a place of pleasure and entertainment, according to what Gu Renyi had previously told her and what she’d overheard in passing. In plain terms, it was a brothel for the rich.

Curious, Wu Yueling wandered closer, thinking about how she might spend her wages when they came. The elegant Scarlet Ribbon Pavilion had three stories, each with five or six windows where painted beauties leaned out, casting flirtatious glances at passersby.

Wu Yueling thought that if she weren’t a woman, she’d be tempted to go in and take a look. As she lingered, music and singing drifted down from above. Though not as pleasant as modern pop songs, it was soothing enough.

As the music played, the beggars and down-and-outs squatting across the street looked transported with delight. Some, clothed in rags and looking like beggar children, closed their eyes to listen, as if utterly lost in the sound. Wu Yueling chuckled—if she belted out “Blue Plateau,” she’d probably frighten them into scattering.

“Ah, the new songstress at Scarlet Ribbon, Lan Xiaojing, only sixteen. Her ‘Song of Reminiscence’ makes me think of lost loved ones—one cannot help but weep,” someone commented.

“Yes, remembering better days—how far we have fallen! Alas!” another replied.

Wu Yueling shook her head in exasperation. It was one thing to enjoy a free performance, another to weep so pitifully. Weren’t they men, after all?

She looked at the ragged crowd squatting by the wall, speechless—strong enough to work, yet sitting here crying as if at a funeral.

Suddenly, a plump, heavily made-up older woman emerged from the Scarlet Ribbon Pavilion, shouting, “Why all this crying, as if at a wake? Someone, drive these beggars away with sticks!”

A gang of toughs rushed out behind her, carrying cudgels, and set upon the beggars, who scrambled away—some clutching their heads, others too slow and beaten so badly they could only crawl off, cursing until the pain silenced them.

Wu Yueling closed her eyes, unwilling to watch any more, for it was both upsetting and heartrending. That painted old woman must be the madam of the house.

“My, what a lovely young lady we have here,” came a sharp, nasal voice. Wu Yueling caught a whiff of cheap perfume and opened her eyes to see the very woman she had guessed was the madam.

“Why not come inside and have a look around? There’s food, drink, and fine clothes—everything you could want,” the madam said, her plump face twisted into a sly grin.

Wu Yueling thought, am I really that gullible? I went to university—if I go inside, I’ll probably never come out. She quickly shook her head and stepped back.

She had to, as the toughs had already closed in, eyeing her up and down.

“Don’t be afraid, young lady. Come, let me treat you to some delicious pastries—you’ve never had anything so sweet and tasty!” the madam coaxed.

Wu Yueling shook her head and turned to run, cursing under her breath.

“Should we chase her, Madam Guan?”

“No need. Just follow her and find out where she lives. We’ll buy her when the opportunity arises,” Madam Guan remarked disdainfully, glancing at the idle Wu Hou in the distance.

“Yes, ma’am!”

A few of the thugs conferred and went after Wu Yueling.

Out of the madam’s reach, Wu Yueling exhaled deeply, chiding herself for her curiosity—now she’d attracted unwanted attention. She checked her belongings and realized her pass was missing; she must have left it on Manager Fang’s desk. She had no choice but to go back for it before leaving the city.

Little did she know, several followers were tailing her. When they saw her connected to the Gu family’s cloth shop, one of them ran back to report. Only when Wu Yueling left the city did they stop following—otherwise, with the gates closed, they would have to spend the night out in the wilderness.