The Heroine Disguises Herself As A Man To Enter The Academy, And The Hero Loses His Memory And Forgets his First Love. - Chapter 3

The stage was drenched in music and scent, seductive and luxurious. Spring-like desire hung in the air.

Before him stretched a scene of gold and glitter, so bright that Zhu Bafu had to squint. Like a country bumpkin seeing the world for the first time, his jaw dropped as he looked around, overwhelmed.

At the center of the stage, a group of scantily-clad dancers twisted their waists and moved with seductive vigor. Nearby, flirtatious girls in thin silks waved fans, giggling coyly with patrons. In a quieter corner, a frost-cold top courtesan sat with perfect posture by the window, eyes fixed upward toward the moon, her gaze unmoving. Around her, patrons loaded with gold and silver gifts hovered in eager clusters.

This was a place with every kind of woman imaginable—those who made men feel powerful, and those who dared them to try.

“Hey, kid. What’s your name and how old are you?”

The voice startled Zhu Bafu out of his gawking. He had completely forgotten about the noble young man standing ahead of him.

Realizing his rudeness, Zhu Bafu quickly bowed respectfully and answered,

“I’m Zhu Bafu, just turned eighteen this spring. May I ask for your name, Young Master?”

The young man gave a sly smile as he walked forward.

“Me? It’s better you don’t know. No one’s dared speak it in years—best to leave it unspoken.”

“Huh? Is it really so bad you can’t say it aloud?”

The young man gave a low chuckle.

“Not quite. I just worry if you do say it, your head might end up… elsewhere.”

What the heck?! Is his name really that dangerous? Like, surname “Kill,” given name “The Emperor”? Kill-The-Emperor?! Come on, even the census office wouldn’t allow that! They’d chop off his head before letting him register!

Still puzzled, Zhu Bafu trailed behind the mysterious young man. They walked through the noisy hall, deeper into the heart of the estate. The man moved like he belonged there, completely at ease.

They passed down a long corridor leading to the rear garden. At the end, a few lotus lanterns swayed gently above a stone water terrace. A guqin and a stick of incense rested idly on a table—fragrance still lingering, music now faded. Clearly, the woman had left in a hurry; her sheer shawl was still draped beneath the stone bench, its scent clinging to the air.

The nobleman picked up the gauzy fabric with a flick of his fingers, brought it to his nose for a sniff, then glanced sideways at the elegant pavilion above, where candles danced behind paper windows. Turning back, he flashed Zhu Bafu a wicked smile.

“Piglet, the woman you’re here to see—she’s up there.”

Zhu Bafu followed the man’s gaze. He saw shadows flickering behind a paper screen—two silhouettes, one male, one female.

The man was tall and lean, standing at the window with his back turned. The woman’s graceful form leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him from behind.

Wait—wait a minute! Is this… is this a full-blown cheating scandal?!

Could that be… the famed top courtesan of the capital, Liu Rongrong? Even from the silhouette alone, her figure was impossibly delicate and elegant.

“Looks like we came at the wrong time. Seems she has company,” the nobleman said coolly.

“Y-Yeah… she does… So maybe… we should head back?” Zhu Bafu suggested, pointing behind them.

But the young man didn’t move. His lips curled in a faint, unreadable smile as his gaze remained locked on the silhouettes.

“Go back? You mean pretend I didn’t just see them cuddling—and walk away?”

The nobleman’s black eyes slid toward Zhu Bafu, sharp and unreadable. The look alone made Zhu Bafu gulp hard.

Oh crap… right. Back at the door, this guy said Liu Rongrong was his woman. His lover.

Which meant—the man in her room, being embraced by her right now—that was…

Heaven help him! This was supposed to be his first innocent brothel visit—why had he stumbled right into a love triangle?! And the worst kind too: full-on caught-in-the-act drama!

“Tell me, should I be mad?” the nobleman asked without emotion.
“Is this the kind of moment where I’m supposed to feel jealous?”

What kind of question is that?! Your woman is hugging another man! Of course you should be mad!

But… she was a courtesan. She sold feelings for a living. That was her job. She didn’t owe loyalty to any one man. Claiming she was unfaithful seemed… off. And even if the young master did get jealous, what could he do? Punch the guy?

No, no! I’m just here to observe! Don’t drag me into this! I have nothing to do with this mess!

“Piglet,” the nobleman said again, his tone colder.
“Do you know how a man wins back a woman?”

Zhu Bafu heard the crisp crack of the man’s knuckles.

“D-Don’t fight! Gentlemen don’t brawl over women! Confucius would cry if he saw this! Have you considered his feelings?! There are peaceful ways to resolve this! Trust me!”

In a panic, Zhu Bafu grabbed the man’s robe and pulled him back.

“Look—fighting over love is something girls do! Women… women are weird creatures. They don’t like it when you solve things with violence. It makes you look like a brute! That guy up there might be baiting you, trying to make you act out! If you want to win a woman, you don’t need fists. There are better ways!”

The nobleman narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Oh? Like what?”

“Huh? Like what?”

“Yes. What are these other ways? I’m listening.”

Oh no oh no oh no—what do I say now?! I’ve never even fought over a girl before!

“Uhh… Young Master, do you happen to have money? Like, powerful family connections? Maybe a dad or uncle in the imperial court?”

“I suppose you could say that.”

What does “suppose” mean?! Can you give a straight answer for once?! But judging by that entourage at the gate earlier… yeah, this guy’s definitely not some peasant.

“Then use silver to crush him! Gold to bury him! Flex your wealth and status—don’t lift a finger! Show her that a life with you means luxury! What woman doesn’t love money? No one wants to cry in a wooden cart when she can laugh in a gilded sedan!”

The young master chuckled, clearly entertained. He raised an eyebrow.

“Well said. I like it. Let’s go—we’ll fight him with wealth.”

“W-We?” Zhu Bafu choked. “Wait—what do you mean we?!”

“We’re going upstairs. To see who’s richer.”

“Pfft—Young Master, please! Calm down!”

He’s the rich one! Why drag a broke kid like me into this?! I can’t afford this war!

“A broken mirror—are you still here? The green willows by the Zhangtai steps have all been snapped…”

Before the word “Liu” could be written, a slender, fair hand lifted the sheet of soft calligraphy paper from the desk.

The silk skirt trailed along the floor as Liu Rongrong walked with languid grace, her steps swaying in an enticing rhythm.

Inside the fragrant boudoir, clouds of incense smoke curled upward. Her gauzy skirt floated like mist around her legs. Slowly, she moved to the edge of the bed. One pale arm, bare and delicate, reached out to pat the man resting on the bed.

“Write the last character for me.”

That “Liu” was her surname. She wanted him to finish it.

His handwriting was famed throughout the capital, revered by scholars who all sought to imitate it. His script was exquisite—so much so that even a single word fetched gold.

But now, she wanted him, in her own private chamber, to use that legendary brush to write something lewd—frivolous verses, suggestive phrases.

The man leaned lazily against the bed’s headboard. He wore only a plain white inner robe, loosely fastened at the chest. A narrow, tantalizing glimpse of skin peeked from beneath the collar. Long black hair spilled like silk over the bedding. A lock of it fell over his eyes, obscuring his view of the woman before him.

“Spare me,” he murmured, lips barely moving. Though the words were soft, the disdain in his voice was plain.

“Why?”
Rongrong tilted her head, blinking her sparkling, flirtatious eyes. The shoulder strap of her robe slipped naturally down her arm, so effortlessly that it was hard to say if it was accidental or seductive.

With a sudden motion, the man reached out and tangled her hair in his fingers. He yanked her close, bringing her face to within a breath of his lips—then froze.

Through clenched teeth, he growled,

“I can’t write it. Because he forbids it.”

“Is it that you can’t write for me, or you just can’t write the words Liu Rongrong?” she asked, her voice light, but her eyes sharp.

The man didn’t respond. Instead, he threw off the blanket, got up, and began to dress.

She moved to help him with his robes, but he gently brushed her aside.

Left standing alone, Rongrong tugged the strap back onto her shoulder.

“If you’re so afraid of him, then why come at all?”

His hands paused. He turned his face to look at her, resting casually against the bedframe.

“Because if I didn’t come, you’d feel wronged. You think I came because I owe you?”

Her words made his hands fall to his sides. He walked over to her, and before she could react, he grabbed her arm and shoved her against the bronze mirror. With one swift motion, he pulled aside her long, flowing hair, exposing the pale skin of her neck.

There, stark and crimson, was a vivid kiss mark—no, more than that. A possessive, carnal stain.

Like bl00d splattered across snow, it was impossible to ignore.

“He did this.”
Not a question. A cold, bitter certainty.

Rongrong said nothing.

“You think I should feel guilty?” he asked, his voice trembling as he clutched a lock of her hair in his fist.

Still silent, she crumpled the calligraphy paper in her hand. Just as she was about to throw it away, he intercepted her and took it back.

He smoothed the paper out on the table, pinned it with a paperweight, then casually picked up the brush. In a bold, sweeping motion, he dipped it in ink and slashed a character across the sheet.

A single oversized “Liu”—angry and elegant—landed on the page, completely out of sync with the refined verses that came before. The stroke was powerful, the ending crisp. The shape long and slender, like a graceful girl swaying away from him.

“You planning to show him?” he asked.

She didn’t respond.

“You are, aren’t you? You want him to see that I wrote this.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen… I couldn’t reject him. I didn’t want him to hate me… I didn’t want to be ignored… because I…”

“Enough.”
He cut her off. He didn’t want to hear her reasons anymore. He left the paper on the desk, straightened his clothes, and turned to face her one last time.

She was hugging herself, shoulders trembling. Her teary eyes shimmered, clearly hoping to melt his heart one more time.

But this had to be the last time.

“I’m not interested in being your stepping stone anymore. I’m done being your toy to make him jealous.
If you want his attention—find someone else.”

He moved to open the door, but before he could leave, she threw herself at him and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. She clung to him as if her life depended on it.

Her warm tears soaked through his thin robes.

“You never get mad at me for no reason, do you?
Every time you say you’ll leave, don’t you always stay in the end?
Why?
Is it because of the promotion list?
Because you weren’t chosen again for the East Bureau’s court entry?
You’re afraid if he finds out you came to see me, your future will be ruined again, right?”

He didn’t answer. He placed a hand over her arms, then slightly turned his face toward the candlelight.

The flickering flame cast deep shadows across his handsome features, making him unreadable.

“You’ve known for a long time now, haven’t you?” Rongrong whispered.
“I’m your downfall. Aren’t I, Young Master Chenjing?”

Yes. This wasn’t the first time.

Both of them had grown used to this twisted cycle—his compromises, her tears, and him always coming back.

He had long since gotten used to putting down his pride, swallowing his words, and returning to her side.

“You won’t reject me. You can’t. And this won’t be the last time,” she murmured.
Her soft red lips opened and closed in his dark pupils, a lingering bloom he couldn’t unsee.

But he shook his head—numb and resolute.

“It will be.
Because I don’t want trash anymore.”

Because there was one stupid, simple truth he had just learned from a ridiculous, babbling little bastard earlier that day—

“What is love in this world? It’s all. Damn. Trash.”

That weirdo looked soft and cowardly—skittish, spineless, like a goofy little punk.

And yet, when that idiot had burst into his life spouting nonsense, claiming to deliver a love letter, something about those absurd, half-finished verses—that chaotic mix of dirty jokes and poetry—had felt strangely liberating.

At that moment, he had laughed. A genuine, bitter, releasing kind of laugh.

If he ever got the chance to meet that fool again, he’d…

BANG!

The boudoir door burst open from the outside.

“Grrgghhh…”

A round little meatball of a figure rolled into the room, crashing at Chenjing’s feet.

CLUNK!
It smacked into the leg of the side table.

The figure curled up in the corner, clutching its head and yelling:

“Owwww! You kicked me without warning again!
Can’t you at least give me a heads-up before you throw a leg at me?
Anyone indecent in here—cover up! I don’t want to see anything I shouldn’t!”

Still curled into a ball, the meatball peeked out from between its knees, revealing half a pink, squished face.

…

And just like that—his “blessing” had arrived. A little sooner than expected.