Chapter Forty-Seven: The Auction

In the private room on the second floor, the air was thick with the subtle fragrance of sandalwood. A young gentleman, dressed in a dark blue long robe, sat alone savoring his tea. He idly fanned himself with a folding fan, his poise elegant and refined—a man of evident distinction. Beside him, a beauty was pouring him tea.

The beauty, known as Zhehua, was one of the leading courtesans of Fragrant Pavilion. She had cherry-red lips and pearly white teeth, her figure slender and graceful. Every glance and smile was captivating. Yet as she noticed the young noble’s attention never once lingered on her, but instead remained fixed on the hall below, his head tilted to observe the commotion, a hint of surprise arose in her heart. She swept a stray lock of hair behind her ear, rose, and sat by his side, gently tugging his sleeve. With a soft, flirtatious smile, she asked, “Young master, you have been watching the hall for some time now. Is there something amiss? Or have I failed to serve you to your satisfaction?”

The young gentleman looked at her, a faint smile on his lips. “Miss, I’m curious—what price will Miss Fragrant command tonight?”

Zhehua was taken aback, then laughed. “So, the young master intends to purchase Fragrant herself.” She clapped her hands, summoning a servant, and glanced at the gentleman. “May I ask what price you are willing to offer?”

“No matter the sum. Whatever it takes to acquire her,” he replied with a light laugh, sipping his tea from a blue-and-white porcelain cup.

Such generosity left Zhehua momentarily stunned, a trace of melancholy flickering in her eyes. Though she worked in a famed brothel and mingled daily with wealthy merchants and nobles, even receiving jewelry and fine silks from admirers, she was ultimately still a woman of the night. In a few years, when her youth faded, she would be forgotten—this was a truth that weighed heavily on all women in her trade. Their greatest hope was to find a man who truly cherished them, with whom they could spend a lifetime in mutual affection. Yet women like them were seldom accepted by respectable families.

People often said courtesans were heartless and actors faithless. When she first entered this house, older sisters had warned her never to fall in love with a man. So, she learned to earn her own keep and do what was required. Seeing Fragrant’s good fortune tonight—a wealthy young lord ready to buy her freedom—Zhehua felt both happiness for her and a pang of sorrow for herself. It seemed she would never find a man who truly cared for her.

The servant left to carry out his orders, and meanwhile, the auction in the main hall was reaching a fever pitch.

“After that exquisite dance, we now begin the auction for Miss Fragrant,” the proprietress, an elegant matron, announced as she took the stage once more. “The starting bid: one thousand taels.”

“One thousand five hundred!” someone called out at once.

“Two thousand!”

“Three thousand!”

“Five thousand!”

Arno watched the enthusiastic crowd, feeling a bit dizzy. What kind of bidding increments were these? The price was climbing far too quickly.

He glanced at Ling Zexin, who had pulled up a stool, crossed his legs, and was fanning himself with a look of utter ease. With a smug glance at Arno, he asked, “Arno, what do you think of Miss Fragrant?”

“Uncle Six, can you stop thinking about such things all day? Be careful you don’t ruin your health from excess,” Arno replied with open disdain. He’d always thought that playboys like Ling Zexin were a disgrace to men.

“Bah, you little rascal. You’re just young, that’s all. When you grow up, you might like women even more than I do.” Ling Zexin shot him a look. In his view, no man was without desire; those who claimed otherwise were simply hypocrites.

“Don’t worry. I’ll never be like you when I grow up.”

Ling Zexin, surprised, ruffled Arno’s hair. “You know, Ling Shuno, I’ve always thought you were far too clever—nothing like a four-year-old child. Are you a prodigy or something?”

Ling Zexin had felt this way for some time. After all, talking with Arno was never a struggle, which left only two possibilities: either Arno was exceptionally bright or he himself was dim-witted. He certainly didn’t believe the latter, so the only answer was that Arno was a child prodigy.

“Enough nonsense. Why did you come here tonight, anyway?”

As they spoke, the bidding for Miss Fragrant had already risen to ten thousand taels. Suddenly, a voice cut through the clamor like thunder, “Twenty thousand taels.”

Though not loud, the voice silenced the entire hall, and all eyes turned to a servant standing nearby.

“The young master upstairs is willing to pay twenty thousand taels for Miss Fragrant,” the servant repeated, scanning the crowd. “Is there anyone who wishes to bid higher?”

The onlookers exchanged bewildered glances. No matter how beautiful she was, twenty thousand taels was no small sum. Besides, with the last bid at ten thousand, this was a direct jump of ten thousand—an outrageous increase by any measure. A wave of astonishment swept through the crowd.

“Thirty thousand taels.” A new voice rang out, calm and unyielding.

All eyes turned in that direction. Arno felt extremely uncomfortable, and when he glanced back, he realized it was Ling Zexin himself, sitting behind him, fanning himself with a look of leisure.

“Forty thousand taels,” came the voice from upstairs, the young gentleman now aware of Ling Zexin’s presence. He had expected to secure Miss Fragrant with such a bid, never imagining someone else would compete, so he raised the price by another ten thousand.

“Fifty thousand taels.” Ling Zexin’s attention was now fully on the rival bidder. He was curious to see just who would dare bid against him, how wealthy the other might be.

“Eighty thousand taels,” the young gentleman declared, growing weary of raising the bid by mere thousands and opting instead for a dramatic jump.

“One hundred thousand taels,” Ling Zexin answered without hesitation, determined not to yield. In all his years frequenting such establishments, he had never encountered a situation like this. There had never been a woman he desired that he could not claim.

“One hundred thirty thousand taels.” Now the hall was in an uproar. The crowd buzzed with speculation about the identities of the two bidders. Even for the top courtesan of Fragrant Pavilion, a sum of ten or twenty thousand taels would be considered extravagant—this was simply unprecedented.