The Prince Consort's Secret (GL) - Chapter 14

Brothels—at least the high-class ones—are far more refined than people think. Most courtesans here sell their talents, not their bodies. Some do engage in s3x work, but they’re rare and of a much higher class, catering only to powerful officials and renowned scholars. The places that deal purely in carnal trade are called yaozi—vulgar, low-tier joints. If you ask me, this place is more like a theater than anything else. No wonder even the dignified Crown Prince comes here.

In such an upscale establishment, every few steps we took, officials would stop by to exchange pleasantries with the Crown Prince. Naturally, they’d recognize me as Mu Han, so I had no choice but to shrink into the background, posing as a lowly guard.

Eventually, we made our way to a table reserved by the madam, located close to the stage, surrounded by scholars wearing flowing headscarves and Confucian hats. While rank and faction mattered little inside the brothel, appearances still did—especially for high-profile officials who needed to avoid gossip.

Once seated, the Crown Prince raised his brow and said to me, “Everyone from court’s here—except for Minister Zhang and Minister Li. Looks like Zhen’an Brothel has better connections than even Father Emperor.”

Qin Huaiyu chuckled. “Even the famously upright Minister Liu from the Ministry of Rites was dragged here by Guangshi.” He shook his head, and the Crown Prince perked up.

“Guangshi? Where is he? I didn’t see him.”

I didn’t know anyone in their circle, which made me feel slightly annoyed. Following Qin Huaiyu’s pointing finger, I looked over and saw four people seated at a nearby table. Two looked like scholars, wearing the square scarf of literati. One was a striking middle-aged man, clearly annoyed by something. The last had his back turned, holding a wine cup, swaying erratically.

The Crown Prince laughed. “Oh, he’s right beside us. Looks like he’s drunk, no wonder he didn’t greet us.”

Qin Huaiyu stood. “I’ll go check on him.” With that, he made his way to Guangshi’s table, leaving just the two of us. Thankfully, we still had the company of the courtesans, and things remained lively. Even the courtesans who did sell themselves were masters of poetry and performance—more like lively modern girls than ancient demure ones.

As I chatted with the women beside me, I saw Qin Huaiyu say something to the drunken man. The man sluggishly turned, pulled Qin Huaiyu down beside him, and had him sit at their table. So now we were down another companion.

Shaking my head, I glanced over again and suddenly saw the drunk man stand up, stagger to the middle-aged man’s side, throw an arm around his shoulder—and plant a kiss on his cheek. The man exploded, furiously brushing his sleeve and storming off.

I was stunned. The Crown Prince burst into laughter. Not long after, Qin Huaiyu returned, supporting the same beautiful, drunk man. Two other scholars followed them to our table. The courtesans immediately recognized him, calling out, “Young Master Ning! General Ning! Drunk again?”

Wait—this guy’s a general? Didn’t expect that.

Qin Huaiyu helped the mumbling Guangshi into a seat. “These are Big Xiao and Little Xiao—brothers from the barracks.” He introduced us all briefly using our aliases: Young Master Lin and Young Master Mu.

So they were military men? In those bookish outfits? Strange, but then again, anyone who hangs out with Guangshi can’t be that normal.

I rose to exchange pleasantries, as did the Crown Prince. Once seated again, he asked what had just happened.

Qin Huaiyu explained, “Guangshi asked Minister Liu who was prettier: Chancellor Zhang or some young courtesan. Minister Liu tried to mediate and said, ‘Of course, it’s Young Master Ning.’ So Guangshi went up and—well, you saw what happened. Minister Liu’s always been prim and proper. I’m surprised he held out as long as he did before storming off.”

Everyone laughed. The Crown Prince joked, “There are few who can tolerate Guangshi.”

I added dryly, “Indeed. Only reprobates like you two can put up with him.” I gave the three of them a look—their fans fanned in unison.

The Crown Prince and Qin Huaiyu said in perfect sync, “We’re very proper. We can’t tolerate him either.”

I rolled my eyes. At that moment, Guangshi suddenly straightened up and looked at me, his gaze bleary. “Who’s this? I don’t think we’ve met before. You… Ah! You’re—!”

Qin Huaiyu whispered something in his ear, and Guangshi visibly sobered up. He looked at me with sudden clarity. “You’re Young Master Mu!”

I nearly rolled my eyes again. He probably knew who I really was. Courtesans and scholars unfamiliar with the court might think I’m Mu Han, but any official would notice I resemble the Crown Prince. They might even suspect I’m the Princess. Still, not many knew she liked to sneak out—and never to such public places.

I could only hope no chaos would erupt that dragged me into the spotlight. If everyone started speculating, word would spread, and I’d be outed. But really—this is a brothel. What are the odds I’d be the only one unlucky enough to draw attention?

Just as I started to relax, Big Xiao leaned over. “Young Master Mu… would you be Mu Han?”

I forced a smile and nodded. He smiled knowingly, and the conversation moved on. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something about those two brothers was… off.

Before I could think more, a hush fell over the crowd. Cheers erupted: “Su Wan’er! Su Wan’er!”

All eyes turned to the stage. The play had already begun. Among the dancing girls, one woman stood out—clad in armor, proud and gallant, with sharp brows and bright eyes that sparkled with confidence. Clearly, this was Su Wan’er.

Born into a military family, Su Wan’er had fallen from grace when her father and brothers lost a battle against the Khitan. Their titles stripped, she was seized as an official courtesan. Trained in martial arts since childhood and blessed with intelligence, she soon became Zhen’an Brothel’s brightest star. A qingguan—one who sold her talent, not her body.

Tonight she performed a tale of a woman disguised as a man, joining the army in her father’s place. Not Hua Mulan, but something similar in this alternate-history setting. If this weren’t a fictional world, perhaps my companions would be the likes of Liu Yong, Su Dongpo, Qin Guan, or Zhou Bangyan—scholars and poets of legend. How surreal it would be to toast them from across the table.

The performance ended to thunderous applause. Su Wan’er bowed with a man’s cupped-hand salute and exited. Guangshi, having drunk some sobering soup, was recovering—but drunk or sober, he was always noisy and insufferable.

Everyone began discussing Su Wan’er. Guangshi blurted, “With my looks and status as a general—Su Wan’er must’ve fallen for me already!”

Even the nearby scholars turned and sneered. We said nothing. Guangshi, perhaps expecting ridicule, looked unsettled by our silence. He inhaled sharply to speak again—but was abruptly interrupted by a dainty hand that reached over and twisted his ear.

“Ow—ow ow! Wan’er, let go!”

Su Wan’er grinned. “Who says I’ve fallen for you? Dream on!”

“Ow! No, I didn’t mean it, my dear—”

“Back from the north again, General? Don’t tell me you ran from the battlefield.”

Guangshi puffed up. “Nonsense! A few Khitan scum? I crushed them like ants! They were calling me Grandpa before the dust even settled!”

Everyone burst into laughter—except for his two “scholar” brothers, who barely managed polite smiles.

Guangshi launched into another longwinded tale of his battlefield glory. We ignored him and chatted about other things. When Su Wan’er got around to me, she winked. “I heard even Young Master Mu has come to visit. Better be careful—don’t let your wife catch you~”

I gave a sheepish grin, suddenly riddled with guilt for Mu Han’s sake.

After teasing everyone at the table, Su Wan’er announced, “Time to go find Lord Song and Lord Zhao. Gentlemen, enjoy yourselves!” With a flirtatious glance, she sashayed away.

Guangshi moaned, “Why do all of you fall for those sappy poets and ignore a dashing general like me?”

I smirked. Not sure where the “dashing” part is—he oozes bottom energy. Only his tone is military-like.

In truth, courtesans gained fame through the praise of scholars and poets. A single famed poem could raise a courtesan’s worth overnight.

Time passed. Several acts ended. But the evening’s star, Han Wu’er, had yet to appear. Scholars nearby debated which patron would be her first.

Then, the stage dimmed. A single pipa chord pierced the air—ethereal and distant, like it came from a celestial realm. The rowdy hall fell silent.

The curtain rose. A delicate figure sat onstage—slim, graceful, devastatingly beautiful. Even sitting still, she captivated every gaze. I glanced sideways. The men around me were gulping, throats visibly bobbing.

Then, a gauzy pink veil dropped down, obscuring the stage. Only a hazy silhouette remained, stirring the crowd’s anticipation.

Han Wu’er began to sing:

“The wedding night, I recall our first meeting—

Only to wish we’d never part again.

A brief secret joy, turned into sorrow and longing,

As springtime fades before my eyes…”

Her voice drifted through the hall like silk in the wind.

By the time she finished, she bowed and left the stage. Young, talented, playful—but fated to walk this path. What a pity.

As everyone sat in stunned silence, a warm male voice suddenly rang out—

“Now that’s a ‘wedding night to remember!’”

Every head snapped toward our table. I buried my face in my hands and glared at Ning Guangshi.

Sure enough, misfortune followed. A scholar nearby muttered, “What uncultured brute dares say such things here?”

It wasn’t loud—but it didn’t need to be. The room had gone quiet.

Despite Ning Guangshi’s sheepish apology, it was no use. The crowd decided that everyone at our table must now compose a poem—and down three cups of wine each.

I watched Ning Guangshi recite a poem effortlessly and drink his punishment without care. Meanwhile, I was internally dissecting him ten thousand times over.

I knew it—just my luck. Of all people to get dragged into the spotlight… it had to be me, the one trying hardest not to be noticed.