Chapter Thirty-Six: Miss Shishi

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Under normal circumstances, in ancient times, as long as you had enough silver, you could select any woman from a brothel at will. But in truth, this idea was mistaken. One must understand that the brothels of old cultivated their courtesans far beyond what ordinary families could offer, even the daughters of wealthy households paled in comparison. Mastery of the arts—music, chess, literature, painting—along with etiquette and social grace, were all essential; only then could a woman be considered a qualified courtesan.

Thus, to approach those celebrated courtesans, money alone was insufficient—you needed talent compelling enough to stir their hearts, and only then might you hope to taste their fragrance. Remember: it was merely a possibility, not a certainty, for some women in this world belonged to none but a single person, untouchable by all others.

Li Shishi was undoubtedly such a woman. She had become the exclusive favorite of the Emperor Huizong; anyone who tried to get close would surely meet a disastrous end.

Zhao Yu’s desire to meet Li Shishi was extraordinarily difficult—she was his father’s beloved, and even if his intentions were pure, should the emperor discover it, the consequences would be unimaginable.

Because of his father’s status, the madam dared not arrange a meeting lightly. Were it not for Little Yu’s reputation in the underworld, Zhao Yu might not even have been allowed through the door.

Even so, Zhao Yu made certain the emperor had not left the palace before daring to disguise himself and venture to Money Alley.

As planned, Zhao Yu was led through the back door into Li Shishi’s courtyard.

Though he had no intention of anything untoward with Li Shishi, the thought of secretly meeting his father’s paramour left him feeling uneasy—thankfully, this so-called father was not one Zhao Yu truly recognized as his own.

The courtyard was tranquil: covered walkways wound through lush greenery, the path lined with vibrant, competing blooms, their fragrance lingering in the air.

Passing through the flower beds and around a rockery, Zhao Yu finally glimpsed a woman seated in a pavilion, dressed in ivory robes, her back turned to him. Though her face was unseen, her exquisite figure told Zhao Yu that this must be Li Shishi.

Before the servant could announce him, her fingers danced lightly, and a gentle, melancholy melody flowed from her fingertips.

The music was soft and soothing, like a silken ribbon winding its way toward Zhao Yu...

If music represented the soul, then Li Shishi’s soul was the purest and cleanest—a single composition, mournful and plaintive, lingered in the air long after.

Zhao Yu, though unfamiliar with ancient music, was entranced, unable to help himself as he murmured, “Ethereal and distant, the goddess of the moon rides the waves, calling passionately to her lover of a past life. The sound of the sea, the endless horizon, as if an eternal sigh drifts across the skies...”

He had seen these words online—they held such poetic imagery that he remembered them.

With a sudden, metallic note, the music stopped abruptly, and the musician turned toward him.

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Her eyes were like autumn waters, brows as distant as a mountain mist. Beneath a delicately upturned nose, her small cherry lips parted in surprise.

Books often describe women as peerless beauties, but what truly defines such beauty? No one can say for certain. Yet at this moment, the phrase leapt unbidden to Zhao Yu’s mind: a beauty for the ages, her reputation well deserved.

Li Shishi’s beauty was almost overwhelming, yet her gaze held a faint sorrow that stirred pity.

But upon seeing Zhao Yu clearly, a fleeting disappointment crossed Li Shishi’s eyes.

“So, the famed Little Yu is so young? With such talent at your age, isn’t it a waste to wander the underworld?”

Her voice was delicate and pleasing, likely nurtured in secluded mansions, and she seemed unaware of the rumors regarding Little Yu’s identity.

For some reason, a thought sprang to Zhao Yu’s mind: “Good cabbages are always rooted up by pigs, and this old pig is anything but proper...”

He waved away his companion, took a deep breath, and bowed respectfully. “Zhao Yu greets Miss Shishi. I have come today with a request.”

“Zhao Yu? You say your name is Zhao Yu?”

Li Shishi repeated the name, her pretty face thoughtful—she had evidently heard it somewhere before.

“You guessed right, miss. I am the eighth son of His Majesty, the Daoist Emperor. Little Yu is merely a nickname given by friends in the underworld, not worth mentioning. I beg you to keep this secret for me.”

As Zhao Yu spoke, he bowed repeatedly.

Hearing this, Li Shishi’s eyes brightened; she regarded Zhao Yu with interest. She was about to speak when hurried footsteps approached from afar.

Both Zhao Yu and Li Shishi turned in surprise. For this meeting, both Zhao Yu and the madam had made arrangements; ordinarily, no one should intrude.

“My daughter! Something’s amiss—His Majesty is here! Little Yu, I must apologize, please hide, and come again another day...”

The madam arrived in a rush, her corpulent form jiggling as she entered from the front.

Zhao Yu was shocked. Wasn’t it said the emperor would not leave the palace? How did he appear so suddenly?

No time to think, his first impulse was to flee, but he heard his father’s lascivious voice ahead: “Shishi, my little darling, did you miss me?”

The madam had not expected Huizong to arrive so quickly, her face instantly turning ashen.

Li Shishi, however, remained calm. She beckoned Zhao Yu and pointed to a cluster of flowers by the pavilion.

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At the sound of the emperor’s voice, it was already too late for Zhao Yu to run—visibility in this courtyard was excellent, and he would be spotted no matter how fast he fled.

Following Li Shishi’s direction, Zhao Yu rushed forward, crouched, and slipped into the flower bed, barely concealing himself as his father’s voice rang out again.

“I knew it! Shishi would never meet anyone behind my back.”

This shameless old man no longer even referred to himself as ‘I, the Emperor’ in her presence, yet his words revealed much.

Li Shishi clearly understood the mind of men. She turned, seated herself again by the zither, and said coolly, “Is the Eleventh Lord having me watched?”

Her gentle reproach and faint anger melted Huizong’s bones, and he hurriedly bowed and smiled apologetically. “Of course not! I simply missed you, so I came in haste.”

Huizong glanced around, then said to the madam, “Why are you still standing here? Go prepare wine and dishes for Shishi’s room.”

The madam’s garments were soaked with cold sweat; hearing the emperor’s command to leave, she felt as if pardoned, answered quickly, and fled like a startled marmot.

“I just improvised a new piece—will the Eleventh Lord critique it for me?”

Li Shishi gave the emperor no chance to refuse, and before she finished speaking, began to play the same melody she had played for Zhao Yu.

Hidden in the flower bed, Zhao Yu grew anxious. Was now really the time for music? Couldn’t she hurry and lead him away?

“Marvelous, simply marvelous! Such music must come from heaven—how rarely can one hear it in the mortal world? Shishi, your zither skills grow ever more exquisite.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

It was clear Li Shishi was unmoved by the emperor’s praise, perhaps even disappointed.

“I am a bit weary; let us return.”

“Allow me to carry you back myself!”

Zhao Yu, hiding nearby, could not help but grumble inwardly—his dignified father, so solemn before his ministers, could wear such a face before his beloved...

Thoughts aside, in this moment, he dared not utter even a squeak.

Indeed, not a single sound...