Chapter 7: Dead End (7)

Chapter 7: Dead End (7)

Master Zhao ate watermelon, too lazy to look at her properly: "Feeling any better?"

His voice was so soft she had to strain her ears. Zhaozhao stared at the blue bricks, where firelight danced: "Not better. Still hurts."

Master Zhao was amused. He beckoned, signaling her to come closer.

Zhaozhao stood rooted, unwilling to step into the silent crowd of servants, even though her status was lower than theirs.

"Master Zhao," she hugged the pipa, eyes on nose, nose on heart, still only knowing to ask this one thing: "What tune would you like to hear?"

"Not listening to tunes." Master Zhao rubbed his temples, and instantly another soft hand appeared behind him, massaging his temples.

He closed his eyes in comfort, humming: "Mama Yu says you're only fifteen this year, truly a fine age. When I bought Little Nine home, she was also fifteen, face full of trembling caution, ready to bite at any moment."

There was meaning behind his words. Zhaozhao lowered her eyes, waiting for him to continue. But the surroundings suddenly fell silent. She waited a long time, but he didn't speak again.

She looked up, meeting Master Zhao's leisurely gaze, eyes glistening, peach-blossom eyes full of affection.

With these eyes, he looked her up and down: "Painted your face like this, you're very afraid of me?"

"..."

"Guarding against me?"

"..."

"Hate me?"

"..."

He twisted her intent, calling her wariness coyness, and put on a face of not bothering with a little girl, telling those around: "You all get out."

"Yes." The shadows answered in unison, flowing away like water.

"Mama Yu says that useless mother of yours ruined her face and got pregnant, so she's as good as ruined." Master Zhao turned the jade thumb ring on his finger, casually: "At such a young age you have to support the family, not easy, is it?"

Zhaozhao hugged the pipa, gaze cold and still: "As long as I don't have to meet... every day..."

"As long as you don't have to meet clients like me every day, life's bearable?"

Master Zhao laughed magnanimously, voice gentle: "You child, only remember my bad, not my good. I hurt your hand, but I also gave you ten-odd taels of silver, right?"

He calculated the accounts clearly, using reason to block her mouth, then continued: "My Little Nine, at your age, also had to support her mother. But she wasn't as pretty as you, nor as obedient. When receiving clients she was always beaten and scolded, wronged terribly, several times she didn't want to live anymore..."

"Later she met me. I helped her redeem herself and bought her home. From then on, everyone in the manor called her Concubine, and no one dared mention she was once a whore."

Hearing this, Zhaozhao raised her head, limpid eyes reflecting candlelight: "Redeem herself?"

Ordinary prostitutes could buy their freedom easily—just find a buyer to redeem them. But to strike off the register was hard as climbing to heaven; one had to bribe officials top to bottom to erase the lowborn status.

Master Zhao saw through her, laughing: "No need to be surprised. I'm acquainted with the County Magistrate. Getting someone off the register is effortless, just a word."

He tapped his palm with the fan handle, continuing: "Little Nine came home with me. Her half-dead mother was also brought to the manor to be cared for. Her ruined body grew stronger by the day, practically destined for a hundred years."

Master Zhao wasn't old, had a bewitchingly good voice. Every word he uttered scratched at Zhaozhao's ears.

She clearly knew this scoundrel had ulterior motives, that these words were to hook her heart. Yet when Master Zhao smiled and beckoned, saying "Come here," she still moved step by step as if possessed.

Before the long couch, Master Zhao took the pipa from her arms, then took her hand, blowing gently on the wound, leisurely: "Good child, you're delicate. Your mother raised you to this state with difficulty. Why let countless men ruin you, wasting your mother's painstaking care?"

Zhaozhao examined the dark circles under Master Zhao's eyes. She'd heard County's Liu the Half-Immortal say: a man with this face has heavy lust, destined to die on a woman: "Then by Master Zhao's meaning, how should I live?"

Master Zhao kneaded her hand, still like playing with a cat's paw: "Yesterday when I first saw you, I felt perfectly satisfied. Wanted Mama Yu to redeem you. She didn't know her place, opened her mouth asking five hundred taels..."

"Five hundred taels is nothing to me. But I thought, since most of that money won't end up in your hands anyway, why let others profit?"

He raised a brow, tone shifting: "How about this: you spend one night with me first. Once your maidenhead's gone, that old hag will lower the price. Then I'll redeem you, give you the saved silver as private money. How about that?"

Here it comes!

Zhaozhao's eyelid twitched. This scoundrel's buildup finally reached the point.

No wonder those girls got used for free—they believed such ghost talk, lost both person and money, with nowhere to seek justice.

She stayed silent. Master Zhao took it as agreement, pointing at the long couch: "Come sit up here."

Zhaozhao's legs ached and knees weakened from standing. She sat on the edge of the couch.

The little girl truly doesn't understand. Master Zhao found her laughable yet cute, patted his thigh: "Sit here."

Zhaozhao froze for an instant, then abruptly stood, hugging the pipa and retreating several steps.

Seeing her bristling all over, Master Zhao cursed inwardly at the trouble. His voice turned cold: "You want to spoil my fun?"

He dropped the earlier false tenderness. His gaze became aggressive.

Under his stare, Zhaozhao felt ten thousand needles piercing her. She recalled Mama Yu's words—how to refuse without angering the client... after much thought, utterly useless. He clearly treated her as an object. What difference would speaking make?

"I'm here to play music, not to—"

"You? What are you?"

For the umpteenth time, Master Zhao cut her off: "A little whore, still wanting to sell art not body? Pretending to be noble, putting up a memorial arch?"

He sneered: "If you're smart, serve me well. I'm comfortable, you'll naturally benefit. If you don't suit me, then..."

Master Zhao swallowed the rest, the implication lingering for Zhaozhao to ponder.

He had money, power, connections. Crushing a prostitute was effortless. Lightly put: forced himself on her. Heavily: if displeased, killing Zhaozhao's family of three was easy.

Zhaozhao weighed the pros and cons, standing in the ambiguous candlelight, neither advancing nor retreating, barely holding onto a shred of human dignity under Master Zhao's contemptuous gaze.

For some reason, she suddenly found it funny. Her expression became distant and mocking

"Is it very interesting?"

Master Zhao raised a brow.

"Watching someone with no way out wag their tail and beg for mercy—is it very interesting?"

These words carried barbs. To Master Zhao, they were just a cat or dog baring claws. No need to reason with a plaything. Getting red-faced would be beneath his dignity.

Stroking the fan handle, he said lightly: "You child, always misunderstanding my kindness. Forget it. You're slow to understand now, doesn't matter. Plenty of time ahead. I'm in no rush."

Not rushing was false. Not forcing was true.

Coercion and inducement were one thing. Outright rape was another. Master Zhao built himself up from nothing. He had some pride—wealth, looks, connections. He was a local big shot. Young ladies from ten miles around should be throwing themselves at him.

But the young ladies in this poor backwater didn't appreciate him. Neither threw themselves at him nor flattered him. Forced him to treat brothels as his gentleness.

Spending money on spring was already condescending. Using brute force—wouldn't that make him no different from a thug?

At the stalemate, a servant hurriedly reported from outside: "Master, someone from the County has arrived!"

Before Master Zhao could respond, the folding door was shoved open. The visitor wore a scholar's attire, crowned and bearded, looking like an official but lacking official bearing.

Seeing him, Master Zhao instantly reined in his arrogance, nodding and bowing: "So late with heavy dew. What matter troubles you to come personally, Master Secretary?"

The Secretary, relying on his master being the County Magistrate, didn't even look at him properly. His gaze flicked over Zhaozhao like a dragonfly skimming water. Master Zhao understood, ordering servants: "Throw her out!"

(End of Chapter)