“Qingya Xiaozhu—quite an elegant name!” Xia Chen remarked, marveling that such a refined label hid a den of intimate encounters.

Li Xi, sharp as ever, knocked on the door, explaining as he went.

“Qingya Girl runs this courtyard—she’s got some fame in the capital, a darling of the literati. Word is, even court bigwigs drop by now and then.

“Entry demands a fee and drinks, but whether you stay the night depends on if Qingya Girl takes a shine to your flair. Still, even if she passes, you can choose from the maids or attendants!

“She’s a big name in the capital—a renowned beauty…”

Xia Chen blinked, intrigued. Qingya had a knack for business—this Qingya Xiaozhu was a high-end private club, plain and simple.

Leveraging her personal brand, she built a reputation, then set herself apart from brothels and dives with a “mutual consent” gimmick—differentiation boosting her edge.

This “you chase, I choose” vibe was catnip for curious scholars. They say there’s no top poet, only top warrior—bookworms, with their lofty standards, never saw themselves as lesser.

The harder to win, the more they craved it. One failed night here? They’d return—second, third tries…

That tantalizing “look but don’t touch” itch spiked repeat visits brilliantly.

Genius!

Xia Chen nodded, growing curious about Qingya. Was she the true master here, or just a front?

“Got an invite?”

A round-faced girl peeked out, her clear, cute features framed by the gate.

Li Xi handed over the invitation. The gate swung open. Xia Chen, masked as Li Xi had prepared, stepped in, hit by a waft of rouge.

The round-faced maid led them inside. The courtyard hummed with twenty or thirty souls—mostly scholar-clad. They glanced up at the trio, then looked away.

Xia Chen took a back seat, scanning the scene.

The yard buzzed with charm—maids danced gracefully, others played wine games like Flying Flower or Winding Stream Feast.

After a few looks, Xia Chen shifted to the center, where a dancer swayed.

Her attire was light, but her poised grace stood out—not vulgar, more like a refined lady. No wonder this modest Qingya Xiaozhu drew such a crowd.

Truly refined—now, what of Qingya herself?

“Her looks must outshine even this, or her fame wouldn’t soar so high.”

Xia Chen mused, when a hauntingly lovely guqin melody drifted in, stirring the crowd.

“Qingya Girl’s coming out!”

He listened quietly until the notes faded, Li Xi’s voice breaking in.

“Qingya Girl masters poetry, songs, tunes, and more—her guqin’s famed as peerless. Folks claim it holds its own against the Imperial Courtesan Bureau’s talents.”

Xia Chen nodded, peering indoors. A slender silhouette flickered in the lamplight, shadowed on the screen.

“Gentlemen, apologies for the wait!”

A crisp, enchanting voice rang out. A stunning woman emerged, smiling, and even masked, every eye lit up.

A true lady of grace!

Seeing Qingya’s unveiled face, Xia Chen chuckled—playing the contrast card, eh?

Intriguing!

“No trouble, Qingya Girl—we’re here for drinks, and it’s barely dusk. Hardly a wait!”

A man in the front row boomed, masked yet richly dressed, his gaze burning toward her.

“Exactly—beautiful ladies are always worth waiting for!”

A portly man chimed in.

Qingya giggled, lifting a handkerchief to veil half her face, her shy charm begging to be cradled.

Her entrance dimmed every maid’s glow, casting them into shadow as all eyes locked on her.

The courtyard’s vibe hit a new peak—silence shattered, voices vying to win her smile, snag her favor, and claim tonight’s prize.

Qingya scanned the room, her gaze brushing each mask. It lingered briefly on Xia Chen, as if peering through to unmask him.

With all eyes on her, the crowd caught it, turning to size Xia Chen up.

Closer scrutiny tightened their chests. Masked or not, his casual wine-sipping poise stood out too much.

Some folks were born to draw stares.

“A noble scion, maybe?”

Guesses swirled, but panic stayed low. Fellow patrons, masked and equal—fair game, no fuss.

“Gentlemen, how about a round of Flying Flower Game?”

Qingya smiled. The game, a scholar’s delight, had players recite poems with a key word—losers drank, testing poetic reserves.

All nodded, brimming with confidence.

Xia Chen played a few rounds, tossing out lines, but kept a low profile—not too flashy.

Though a martial clan, Zhendong heirs studied too—not masters, but versed in basics.

Time ticked by—Winding Stream Feast, Pass-the-Flower Drum Game, even poetry duels unfolded. The modest yard pulsed with fervor.

Xia Chen nodded—Qingya was sharp, pacing this flow perfectly.

She’d built the mood to a crescendo.

A few scholars shone, their poems solid even to Xia Chen’s eye.

“Gentlemen, this humble one’s feeling weary—I’ll retire for now. Have your fill of fun!”

Qingya rose, curtsying with warm elegance, every inch a refined lady.

All nodded, tension mounting—they knew the main act approached.

Who’d win her favor tonight, basking beneath her skirts?

The standout scholars—stars of the night—stood, eyes brimming with certainty, each convinced they’d stay.