Chapter Text
The receiving room of the fourth, and hopefully final, brothel Lan Wangji and his brother were visiting that night was lavishly appointed in red silks marked with the Qishan Wen’s sun and flames. Each of the brothels they’d visited in Qishan—not a single one of which would have met the standards of the Great Houses in Gusu or Yunmeng—had been bedecked in the flames, crawling up silks and carved into walls and doorways. It was excessive. Even Lanling’s Houses were less ostentatiously Jin than these places were Wen. Lan Wangji hated it. It made his skin crawl with the wrongness of it. The Houses were meant to be designed for the workers. The flames emphasized that the Wen family was what was of importance here, not the workers, who should have been celebrated and honored.
He hadn’t understood before why nobody referred to the brothels in most of Qishan as Houses. They weren’t. It wasn’t as if even Gusu didn’t have brothels—places where they simply didn’t have the finances or leadership to apply for the expensive licensing—but even they followed the laws protecting the workers or faced the consequences. Legally, any clan of any size could shut down a brothel or a House that wasn’t following the laws, regardless of the clan whose laws they supposedly operated under, but the Lan and the Yu in particular were known for locating and shutting them down.
The legal Houses were safe places for people to ply their trade with guards there for their protection. There were always shadow houses, brothels, where the guards were paid by the owners to ignore certain infractions.
Here, people lounged in small groups on plush pillows or low chairs. Some talked quietly amongst themselves, and some eyed Lan Wangji and his brother with interest. They were dressed in everything from intricately decorated layers that looked relatively well maintained to women in nearly transparent robes and men in nothing but loose-fitting pants that seemed held in place by pure luck and hope, although judging by the looks some of them were getting from other patrons, maybe the hope was not that the pants would stay in place.
Lan Wangji swept his gaze across the room. Nobody seemed to be wearing any fabric more expensive than cotton, and some even looked to be wearing hemp. Most were barefoot, although whether that was meant to be some sort of illusion of seduction or the ease of home, he didn’t know. It was possible the Wen who ran this brothel were simply not going to spend money on shoes. He wouldn’t put it past them.
This brothel’s money was wasted on the superficial—flowing silks and plush pillows and elegant hanging lanterns—but even that couldn’t hide the signs of neglect. The floor was scuffed, the pillows were stained, and the clothing of the aides, mostly those who looked too young to work, who were scurrying around to provide tea and wine to waiting patrons was threadbare at the elbows and torn at the hems.
Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen had been sent to Qishan following rumors of a brothel allowing murder. The bodies found in Qishan’s slums bore marks of what had been described as torture, although Lan Wangji had gotten no further details on what that had entailed. If Lan Xichen had heard, he hadn’t deigned to share.
He doubted this was the place they’d been sent to identify. All the permits had been in order on a previous examination; the Yu had confirmed as much when they’d been asked. Either the permits were forgeries so excellent they were as good as real or they were real. Besides, Lan Wangji assumed the place they were looking for would have looked more expensive to draw in the population with the money to purchase the opportunity to end a life or much more drab precisely because nobody cared. This place was too middling for either. In any other place, under any other clan, this place could have been as legitimate a House as they claimed to be now.
The petitioner who had reached the Nie had been desperate, and Nie Mingjue had asked them—Lan Xichen, specifically—for help, so they had gone. Lan Xichen had left their uncle in charge and taken his younger brother to spend nights visiting brothels with their white-and-blue robes, forehead ribbons, and swords stored in Qiankun pouches hidden in the folds of nondescript brown robes. They’d even tied their hair in simple topknots, held in place by a piece of brown leather.
Since the bodies that had been found didn’t seem to follow any pattern, as many women as men, as many young as old, they’d split the duties between them, one purchasing some time with a woman and one with a man to spend a few hours questioning them about the conditions of their work. To actually partake broke more than one of the Lan guidelines, so neither Lan Xichen nor Lan Wangji actually…partook. It also meant that checking for physical signs of mistreatment was much easier with the men than the women. If the request hadn’t been so urgent, they would have brought at least one of the Lan women with them, but there hadn’t been time to arrange it, at least not with the women already on this rotation of their duties.
As it was his brother’s turn to meet with one of the women, Lan Wangji focused on the men. Even the ones dressed in the nicest clothing seemed too skinny. Not gaunt or ill, but thin in a way that made him uncomfortable.
The man in front of them, a truly unremarkable man in every way from his height to his weight to his clothes, bowed deeply and flagged over a woman in the same Wen red robes.
The woman approached with her hands folded in front of her. She had wide eyes and a gentle face, although there was something imperious to the way she walked and the tilt of her chin. She looked far too naive to be working here, but Lan Wangji doubted she could be as innocent as she seemed.
“Wen Qing, please take this young master to a free room in the Bamboo Wing.” He looked back to Lan Xichen. “Are you sure you have no preference for your partner for the evening?”
Lan Xichen shrugged easily, smiling guilelessly. It was honestly impressive how easily he could simply not look like he was the leader of one of the Great Clans. “As I said, we’re visiting from far away, and I’m not familiar with your women, although Fenghuang comes well recommended.”
“Of course, of course. Wen Qing, bring him our foreigner, since he’s new to our lands as well.”
Wen Qing bowed and held out a hand to direct Lan Xichen down a hallway blocked by curtains of bamboo-patterned silk, presumably giving name to the wing. She beckoned toward a group of women lounging nearby, and one of the women rose gracefully. She didn’t seem particularly foreign in any way that was apparent to the eye, although she was tall, nearly Lan Xichen’s height when she straightened from her bow.
“And you, gongzi?” the man asked. “You requested one of our gentlemen. Have you any preference? Our men range in age from eighteen to their upper forties, and I can find some older if you prefer, but that will require a bit of a wait, unfortunately; we also have most physical forms you might be interested in. Some of our men are particularly well muscled, if that is the kind of evening you wish to have.”
“My brother spoke for both of us.”
“Any particular proclivities?” the man pressed.
“I will trust your discretion.” The words were sour in Lan Wangji’s mouth, and he had to actively force his lips not to turn down.
The man’s smile brightened as though he’d just solved some great secret. “Of course, of course. Wen Ning, come here.”
The man who approached could easily have been a close relative to Wen Qing. Then again, many of the people here did carry familial traits. A clan establishment, then? Some of the most famous Houses, particularly in the lands belonging to the Yao, were operated at all levels almost entirely by members of the same family.
If they were Wen, it was possible—although also possibly a stretch to assume—they reported to Wen Ruohan. He certainly would have the contacts willing to partake in the kind of abuse that had been reported, although it seemed unlikely he would let the building fall into such disrepair. There was dirt in the corners.
“Wen Ning, take this young master to the room in the Qilin Hall. And send him our Yiling Laozu.”
Yiling Laozu? Was that a name or a title? And either way, how did he come by it?
Wen Ning wasn’t as good as Wen Qing at keeping his face emotionless. He stuttered out an acknowledgement, then led the way to an unadorned stairwell that didn’t seem to see as much use as the rest of the building. The floor was much cleaner than that of the main room, but there were far fewer lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Only about half of the ones present were even lit; it lent the area a strange sort of hazy darkness. They went up three flights of stairs and down a hallway of closed doors that seemed entirely empty before they reached a room at the far end. Whatever proclivities the man implied, he hadn’t wanted it near his regular customers.
Wen Ning stopped at the door. “Is there anything I can get you, gongzi? It will only take a moment for your company for the evening to arrive. He’s housed nearby.”
Housed like he was an animal in a pen.
“I am sure your rooms are well appointed.” Lan Wangji let Wen Ning begin to turn away before he spoke again. “Wen Ning, he said your name was?”
The young man jumped, seemingly surprised that Lan Wangji was still speaking to him, but he bowed and nodded. “Yes, gongzi. I am Wen Ning.”
“What conditions do you work under?”
Wen Ning stared at him in something akin to horror. “G-good? Ah, I mean—that is, our employer sees to it that we are fed and housed, and my sister, you saw her—Wen Qing—is the best doctor in all of Qishan.”
Lan Wangji doubted a woman working in this brothel was the best doctor in all of Qishan, although one in one of the major Houses might have been, but Wen Ning seemed to believe it. Lan Wangji made a note of it. Wen Ning and his sister were close, and that could be used should he need leverage against either of them.
“Do you often need doctors?”
Wen Ning flushed. “N-no, I mean…I mean, incidents happen, sometimes, but…but that happens everywhere, right?” He swallowed, backing away. “We have tea and food prepared if you’d like me to send it along with Yiling Laozu.”
Lan Wangji took pity on him and allowed him to continue backing away. “It is unnecessary.”
He inclined his head and stepped through the door into the room. Wen Ning bowed and stayed bowed until Lan Wangji closed the door behind him, then he heard the young man hurrying off toward the stairwell.
The room wasn’t ostentatious, but it wasn’t exactly what he would have called tasteful, either. The windows were covered in Wen-red silks, and more loops of gauzy red fabric hung from the ceiling, beneath many of the lanterns. It cast the whole room in a red shadow, like a spray of blood.
A large bed in the center of the room took up most of the space. They hadn’t bothered putting anything resembling blankets on it, a further mark against them. Even if this wasn’t the place they were looking for, Lan Wangji didn’t like what he saw. Nothing spoke to the comfort of its workers and only barely to the comfort of its patrons. Unlike the Great Houses, there was clearly no expectation of dalliances lasting long into the evening or the next morning. There was no incentive here for patrons to stay longer than necessary. This didn’t seem indicative that the laws about the number of patrons a worker could see in a night were followed.
He turned his attention to the rest of the room. There were chests along the far wall and a small table near the foot of the bed. Perhaps one of the chests held blankets, although he didn’t bother investigating. This whole room made him uncomfortable. A nearby basin with a warming talisman held steaming water with neatly folded rags embroidered with more Wen flames. Several vials of oil and swaths of red fabric lay nearby. The oil, at least, was obvious enough.
Lan Wangji circled the bed to look at the fabric. There were four pieces of relatively inexpensive silk, each nearly twice the length of his arm. Ropes of nearly the same length lay coiled beneath. Lan Wangji picked one up, running his fingers across the rough material. They wouldn’t even have used this type of rope on livestock in Gusu.
A brown stain caught his eye, and he raised it to look closer. He’d never seen a bloodstain on a rope, but he would have been willing to swear that that’s exactly what this was. He pressed his lips together in disdain.
Someone tapped quietly at the door, then pushed it open. Lan Wangji turned toward the sound in time to see a man, presumably the Yiling Laozu he was waiting for, step through and close the door quietly behind him. A metal band of a dark, stained silver perhaps two finger-widths wide was visible around his throat.
Yiling Laozu’s lips quirked up into a practiced smile at the rope in Lan Wangji’s hands. It nearly passed for a true smile. It was only with a lifetime of reading his brother’s face that Lan Wangji could see the brittle edges of it. Lan Wangji dropped the rope back to the table and turned fully to examine the man.
He was only a little younger than Lan Wangji, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. He could have been even younger, but nobody would be stupid enough to pass off an underage worker. It was enough to get even the roughest brothel shut down with prejudice in any jurisdiction. The Yu, in particular, were notorious for the violence with which they handled that situation. They had been effective enough that the problem had almost entirely vanished in the last decades. Nobody risked the wrath of the Yu, not when a daughter of the Yu had married into the Jiang and could bring the might of both Yunmeng and Meishan.
Yiling Laozu bowed, giving Lan Wangji a glimpse of long, dark hair bound at the nape of his neck by a long, red ribbon. When he straightened, he stood with his arms slightly out to the sides and palms up, as though letting Lan Wangji see his purchase. He was a man well aware of his value, and the only person Lan Wangji had seen in silk since they arrived.
His innermost robe, visible only at his neckline, was a deep red, darker than the rest of the Wen fabric that dominated the room. The rest of his robes were black, patterned with the Wen sun in a silver-black thread, noticeable only when he moved and caught the light. The lining of the outer robe was the same dark red. His robes were cinched closed with a wide leather belt. He stood barefoot, which seemed somehow more astonishing than the fact that Lan Wangji’s mouth had gone a little dry.
“Do I please you, Sir?”
Yiling Laozu’s words were precise, but they tasted the same as when Lan Wangji had implied his proclivities. Nonetheless, he nodded.
“You may call me Yiling Laozu, if it pleases you. Should you wish to call me anything else, let me know and I will answer.”
Lan Wangji nodded again, somehow struck dumb by this man’s presence. His every movement and inflection was perfect to the exact degree, but something curdled in Lan Wangji’s stomach. He couldn’t put a name to whatever was making him tense as though he were in danger. There was nothing dangerous. There was only him.
Yiling Laozu approached and gestured to the bed. He moved slowly, with a sway to his hips and an elegant sweep to his arm. “Please, sit. There’s no reason to be uncomfortable around me.” He smiled again, so bright it nearly reached his eyes.
“I am not,” Lan Wangji said. At Yiling Laozu’s confused look, a wrinkle of his forehead and slight tilt of the head, Lan Wangji added, “Uncomfortable around you.”
Yiling Laozu’s smile had begun to fade, but at this, he smiled again. When Lan Wangji sat on the edge of the bed at further urging, Yiling Laozu retreated to just beyond arm’s reach. “I’m here for your pleasure, Sir. May I?” Yiling Laozu’s hands skimmed down his black, Wen-marked silk until his fingertips reached the leather belt around his waist.
When Lan Wangji didn’t stop him, he began to undress. He unwound the belt and placed the leather strap near Lan Wangji’s side on the bed. He didn’t seem at all put off by Lan Wangji’s silence as he worked his clothes open. It was a practiced art, slow and graceful. He hadn’t been ungraceful before, but his movements now were mesmerizing. His hands fluttered from tie to tie, tugging and sliding away, brushing over layers of silk.
He placed each layer so very carefully over the chest, brushing away wrinkles before he went to the next layer. Robe by robe, he seemed to get smaller and younger, like he was removing both the illusion of a well-fed, broad-shouldered man and his armor.
His movements had followed a practiced rhythm that made his hesitation over the final layer all the more obvious. It was only a breath, but it was a breath, and it wasn’t long enough to be playing at seduction. He undid the final tie, turning away to place the innermost robe on top of the rest.
Lan Wangji’s breath caught. Yiling Laozu’s back and sides were littered with scars, some so old they were little more than pale lines on his flesh. Others were newer. Some were still red and raised. Some had barely moved past scabbing, the skin only just knit back together. They looked likely to split open again with the least movement, but Yiling Laozu had never once moved as though he hurt. Some scars dipped low on his back until they disappeared beneath the hem of his pants.
Yiling Laozu turned to face him, and Lan Wangji had to grit his teeth to keep from making a dismayed sound. There were fewer scars here, but an angry, red brand in the shape of the Wen sun stood out painfully on his chest. It was healed just enough that the blistering had faded, and his skin had begun to take to the scars. Lan Wangji had never seen anything so brutal, not even punishments doled out by any of the clans.
He realized he’d stood and had one hand outstretched to hover above the brand.
“What happened?”
“Ah, it’s nothing!” Yiling Laozu gently pressed Lan Wangji’s hand to his skin, although Lan Wangji didn’t miss that his hand was guided above the brand, where the flesh was still whole and soft. There were dark scars around his wrists, whether from shackles or the harsh rope on the table or something else altogether, Lan Wangji didn’t know. “I’m strong; you don’t need to fear that I won’t be able to withstand whatever you want to do.”
Lan Wangji felt sick. He felt like he might be sick.
“Do you want this?” Lan Wangji asked, searching for answers in Yiling Laozu’s eyes. “Is this what you chose?”
Yiling Laozu looked at him, forehead creased in confusion. For just a moment, the veneer of unconcern on his face dropped. “Chose?”
His hand was still resting on Yiling Laozu’s chest, although the younger man’s hands had fallen to his sides. Lan Wangji jerked back and folded one hand behind him. He stepped aside to put some space between them and only then felt like he could breathe again.
“Are you ever asked what you want? Do you ask to be used like this?”
Yiling Laozu looked more bewildered than before. “Sir, you may use me as you wish. If I’m not to your liking, there are many others who may please you more, although none are as skilled as me in these matters.”
“Which matters?”
“Sir, were they not clear?”
Yiling Laozu stepped back to one of the chests along the wall. He pulled it open. There were some implements Lan Wangji had never seen and couldn’t even guess at their use, but he recognized others. Thick leather paddles; long strips of leather that looked like they bore the marks of human teeth; thin canes; long, coiled whips.
The next chest contained knives of a variety of sizes. Some were massive, curved blades. Others were little more than daggers, some as small and wickedly thin as razors.
A third chest held shackles the like Lan Wangji hadn’t seen outside of torture chambers. Most were heavy loops of iron, but some had thin, sharp protrusions along the inside that were stained with dried blood that matched the patterns of deeper scars on Yiling Laozu’s wrists.
He reached for the next chest, but Lan Wangji stopped him, voice hoarse. “Enough. Come here.”
Yiling Laozu obeyed without question, turning from the chests as if he’d forgotten them entirely. He sank to his knees in front of Lan Wangji and bowed his head. Lan Wangji didn’t touch people as a rule, but he wanted to sink his hand into Yiling Laozu’s hair and offer some sort of reassurance. He folded both his hands behind his back.
“How are you treated here?” Lan Wangji asked, trying to keep his voice even and gentle. “Are you fed well? Does their doctor care for you? Do you ask to do this kind of work?”
“Sir, why would I ask for any kind of work? This is what I was raised to do. As soon as I turned sixteen, as soon as I was old enough to be licensed, they began training me. This what I’ve done since I reached adulthood. I do the work I’m assigned.”
Lan Wangji had been on raids of other brothels since his adulthood, but he’d never seen anyone so completely owned, so unaware of himself as a person. Even at the worst of the brothels, the workers had always known what had happened to them. Yiling Laozu seemed to not even understand the questions Lan Wangji was asking.
“Have you been educated?”
“I can read, and I understand the value of things.”
“When you work, what portion of the fee are you given?”
“It all goes toward my housing, food, and clothing, same as everyone else.”
Lan Wangji let out a slow breath that he worked very hard to keep steady. Laws governing the Houses were emphatic that none of the pay was ever to go toward a worker’s room and board. That was the responsibility of the House and the House alone. He stepped toward the door.
“Tonight, sleep well in this room. I will pay them to leave you alone for the night.”
He’d nearly reached the door when Yiling Laozu caught him by the wrist. Yiling Laozu flinched back when Lan Wangji spun to face him but regained his composure quickly, dropping Lan Wangji’s wrist and stepping away, head bowed and hands clasped.
“Please, Sir, if I’ve displeased you…What were you looking for tonight? I can be it. Or if it’s something I can’t be, I can find it for you here. We—” He hesitated, hand straying toward the brand on his chest, but falling back to his side before he got quite far enough for Lan Wangji to be certain if he was reaching for the mark or gesturing to something else. When he spoke again, his voice was low and quick and desperate. “Sir, please. Even if you don’t want to look at me, please, stay a little longer. They’ll be angry if you leave right away, and A-Yuan needs—”
He shut his mouth with an audible click of his teeth.
Clan politics had long made Lan Wangji suspicious of anyone who let too much slip, especially if they seemed too earnest or too surprised by what they’d said, but the look of pure horror on Yiling Laozu’s face made him suspect he truly was desperate to keep Lan Wangji there, and this A-Yuan, whoever they were, had something to do with it.
That alone made him step back from the door. Yiling Laozu didn’t relax until Lan Wangji had returned to stand in front of the bed, although he made no move to sit.
Once he’d stopped moving, Yiling Laozu reached for his robe and began dressing again. He was just as elegant and graceful as he had been undressing, although the practiced seduction was gone.
“What is your name?” Lan Wangji asked. “It cannot be ‘Yiling Laozu.’”
Yiling Laozu paused, looking up from the final tie on his inner robe. He looked Lan Wangji over before he spoke. “My sister calls me A-Ling. You can call me that, if you want. I hear the ones who run the business referring to me as Xuanyu. Sometimes it’s Wen Xuanyu; sometimes it’s Mo Xuanyu.” That faint smile etched its way across his face again, something painfully self-depreciating in it. “I prefer Mo, I think.”
“Mo Xuanyu, then.”
Yiling Lao—Mo Xuanyu lowered his head and smoothed the lapels of his robes. He stooped to pick up the rest of his layers and lay them on the foot of the bed, then flipped the lid of that chest up and dug around in it for a moment before holding up a simple, bamboo dizi.
“Can I play for you, Sir? It will help pass the time, and the only person allowed up here when I’m working is Wen Ning. Nobody will overhear.”
Lan Wangji sat on the edge of the bed and inclined his head.
Mo Xuanyu perched on one of the unopened chests and licked his lips before he began playing. The songs were simple melodies that disciples in Cloud Recesses would have mastered as young children, but he played them well enough and with a wistful smile. Sometimes he would introduce pieces with little phrases, “a song I heard Wen Qing singing when Wen Ning was sick last winter,” “one of my aunts sang this to me when I was young,” “I heard someone playing this on the streets last festival season.”
It painted a picture of a life lived entirely within these walls, learning what he could of the world from other workers or patrons. It twisted Lan Wangji’s heart in ways he didn’t understand.
Mo Xuanyu finished his final song and popped to his feet. He placed the flute back inside the chest with more care than he’d shown for anything else that night. He bowed deeply.
“Thank you, Sir, for staying, and for letting me play. I don’t often get to.”
“That last song,” Lan Wangji said, “where did you learn it?”
Mo Xuanyu’s forehead was creased with confusion when he looked up. “I don’t know, Sir. I’ve always known it, I think. I haven’t heard anyone here singing or playing it. Why, if I may ask?”
“It is common in a region far from here. Were you born in Qishan?”
Mo Xuanyu shrugged. “Probably. I don’t remember much from before I was five or six and the aunts were taking care of me after the Wen took me in.”
He didn’t look upset at his lack of knowledge. Another thought to file away and consider later when Lan Wangji could speak to his brother and talk his way through the evening’s events.
Lan Wangji stood and bowed to him.
Mo Xuanyu waved his hands at him frantically.
“No, no, no! You don’t need to, Sir. Please, I’m only…You’re obviously from a powerful family. You don’t need to bow to me.”
Lan Wangji finished his bow and stood to take one last look at the man in front of him. He didn’t know what he planned to say. Warning Yiling Laozu of a potential raid was out of the question. Wishing him a good night seemed too familiar. Telling him to stay safe or be careful was ridiculous.
“I will try to come see you again,” he said instead, which was far more ridiculous.
A true smile lit up Mo Xuanyu’s face, and Lan Wangji was glad to have been the cause of it.
“I’ll learn more songs to play for you, if you want.”
“That would be…enjoyable.”
Lan Wangji had never fled from anything in his life, but he suspected that if his brother had seen the way he left the building, he might have called it just that.
Lan Xichen hadn’t yet returned to the inn. Lan Wangji paced the length of their shared room for the half hour it took Lan Xichen to return. He continued to pace, even after his brother slipped into the room as though he’d expected Lan Wangji to be asleep. On any other day, he would have been. On any other day, when Lan Wangji wasn’t burning with…something.
Lan Wangji passed by Lan Xichen in the doorway twice before Lan Xichen moved to sit at the table.
“Wangji,” Lan Xichen began, voice very gentle, “did something happen?”
“This is the place.”
“Are you sure? I didn’t see—”
“I am sure.”
Lan Xichen raised his eyebrows at the interruption but asked only, “Do you want to leave for Qinghe now or in the morning?”
“Qinghe?” Lan Wangji had expected to return to Cloud Recesses.
Lan Xichen’s gentle smile turned grim. “I think, given the chance, the Nie clan will enjoy striking back at Wen Ruohan.”
By which he meant Nie Mingjue would enjoy striking back at Wen Ruohan.
“Now.”