Chapter 4: Dead End (4)

Chapter 4: Dead End (Part 4)

Mother Yu hurriedly chimed in, "Master Zhao has a sharp eye. Her mother’s given name was Yao; you have met her before."

Not only met her, but used her. Master Zhao gave a contemptuous laugh. "Then that’s no surprise."

He remembered Yao-niang—she was pretty and very diligent, using every trick in the book to please him. Once he was satisfied, he would reward her with silver, and that whore would be all gratitude, thanking him profusely. Now, she had used the silver earned from selling her flesh to raise a delicate, tender-skinned daughter, only for the girl to come full circle and end up selling herself to him as well.

"Come here," Master Zhao said, patting the seat beside him.

Zhaozhao sat down clutching her pipa, her back held so straight it looked as if it had been struck by a blade—a visible, palpable stiffness.

She remained silent and motionless. Master Zhao didn't speak either, watching her with leisurely composure. She knew she should say something clever and ingratiating, but all her usual wit and agility had vanished; she felt like a lively little lamb that could no longer frolic before the butcher's knife.

"Master Zhao," Zhaozhao forced a smile, tilting her head to ask, "what would you like to hear?"

"I don't want to hear music."

Master Zhao stared at Zhaozhao. The girl’s appearance was truly beautiful, but it was a pity she hadn't been "broken in" yet. If he wanted to be the first to touch her, he would have to be the first guest, which meant paying a high price.

Spend a fortune just to buy a few drops of blood? It wasn't worth it.

He settled for second best. "Is your mother here?"

Zhaozhao replied, "My mother is ill and cannot see anyone."

If she couldn't even see people, how could she entertain guests?

Master Zhao felt his mood dampened. He cursed his bad luck, turned his head toward his friends at the table, and resumed discussing the great affairs of the world.

They went from the banditry in the south to the chaos of war in the north, then complained about how treacherous officials in the imperial court were slandering loyal subjects. They lamented that the Emperor, misled by these slanders, had ordered the battle-hardened Prince Ning to be relocated to Yunzhou. They sighed and lamented for the loyal ministers and generals, hating that they themselves were not among the high officials of the court, lacking the opportunity to display their ambitions. They claimed that if they were given the chance, they would surely be able to turn the tide.

Zhaozhao was left on the sidelines. Listening to these gentlemen chatter, she vaguely understood that the world was in chaos, but she couldn't empathize. She had lived her whole life without ever leaving Qingyang County; the world was too far away from her, a different realm entirely.

She sat there idly holding her pipa, catching the eyes of the other girls in the room. Seeing that they all wore the same look of boredom, she felt relieved—once they entered a room, if they weren't kicked out by the guests, they were paid by the hour.

Usually, when accompanying guests, they had to be talkative and charming, finding ways to drag out the time to earn more. Today, these cynical squires were easy to serve; they didn't need to be amused or coaxed. Just sitting quietly and listening to them curse and flatter each other was enough.

There were some who couldn't keep their mouths shut, chiming in to curse the treacherous officials in hopes of currying favor with the gentlemen. Unexpectedly, they didn't get any favor, but were instead sneered at: "What would a whore like you know!"

The girl shut her mouth in grievance, and the other girls laughed inwardly, deciding to say nothing more.

Zhaozhao was counting the hours while holding her pipa when her hand suddenly tightened. Master Zhao had grabbed her hand, kneading it like he was playing with a cat's paw.

Zhaozhao was in great pain, but she bit her lip to keep from frowning. In truth, it wouldn't have mattered if she frowned; Master Zhao wasn't even looking at her. He was just in the middle of cursing the eighteenth generation of some treacherous official's ancestors and wanted something to vent his frustration on, so he grabbed Zhaozhao’s hand.

As he watched his friend talk incessantly, he treated Zhaozhao’s hand as if it belonged to the damnable traitor. The more he spoke, the more indignant he became, and the more indignant he became, the harder he squeezed.

Zhaozhao feared her five fingers were about to be crushed into a pulp. She endured it without making a sound, and dared not pull her hand away, fearing that if she offended the patron, she wouldn't get her standard pay after the session ended.

However, just as Master Zhao reached a peak of righteous indignation, he suddenly slammed the table. *Crash!* It sounded like a thunderclap, so loud that everyone in the room was stunned.

Even Master Zhao was stunned. It was a deafening sound, yet his palm felt neither hot nor numb.

He turned his head and first saw Zhaozhao’s paper-white face, then a tender, delicate arm lying across the table, trembling pitifully.

It turned out he hadn't used his own hand to strike the table; the girl’s wrist bone had hit the sharp corner of the table, squarely and painfully.

The people in the room looked at each other in silence. It was an older girl who broke the stalemate when she saw Zhaozhao’s wrist turning a bruised purple. "Oh my, that looks like a nasty injury. Zhaozhao-er, can you still move your hand?"

The pain radiated from her left hand, making half her body feel like it was burning; Zhaozhao couldn't even tell where it hurt the most. She wanted to go to the backyard to draw a bucket of well water to ice her hand, but if she left early, her pay would be docked. She said softly, "...It's nothing."

In truth, it was something. She tried to move her arm but found it hurt too much to move at all. She had to use her right hand to lift her left hand off the table.

Her arm hung down, swaying limply, and she endured the pain without a change in expression.

To Master Zhao, she looked like an injured cat or dog. Pitiful, yes, but not worth him lowering his status to apologize.

He chuckled, without a hint of remorse. "I was wondering what soft, squishy thing I was squeezing. So it was your hand. What, does it hurt?"

He laughed, and Zhaozhao accompanied him with a smile. She truly wanted to swing her pipa at his head—a commoner's rage could spill blood five paces away.

But she had a mother to support, and she was young and hadn't lived enough yet. Even as cold sweat broke out on her forehead, she had to grit her teeth and play the submissive servant. "This lowly one is not in pain."

Master Zhao laughed twice, inexplicably delighted. He fished a silver pouch from his sleeve and tossed it to Zhaozhao without counting it. "Good girl, the student surpasses the master; you're even more sensible than your mother!"

Zhaozhao knew this wasn't a compliment, but with the silver pouch in her hand, she felt both pain and joy, her expression a mix of gloom and brightness.

Master Zhao watched her with interest, thinking that such a frail, alluring face would surely be more interesting to watch when crying than when smiling.

After the session ended, Zhaozhao followed the other girls into the main room to wait for Mother Yu to distribute their pay.

They waited for half an hour, and the sky had turned dark before Mother Yu returned from seeing off the guests. She entered the room, handed out the silver, and waved for the others to leave, keeping only Zhaozhao behind. She asked, "Does Master Zhao like you?"

Zhaozhao looked down at the bluestone floor, silently keeping her hands behind her back. "It's hard to say. The old gentleman kept pulling at me."

She knew well enough that Master Zhao treated her like a toy—something to be played with, not someone to be liked.

Mother Yu brought her pipe to the candle, lit it, and took a puff, staring thoughtfully at Zhaozhao from head to toe.

Zhaozhao felt uncomfortable under her gaze. She reached into her sleeve, pulled out the pouch of silver, and placed it on the table. "A reward from Master Zhao."

According to the house rules, half of any tips earned by the girls had to be turned over. Mother Yu picked up the pouch and weighed it. There was over a dozen taels—enough to pay for Zhaozhao to play music for ten days and nights without stopping; even if she played until her fingernails split, she wouldn't earn this much.

She had long known Zhaozhao was a good one, and she had bet that she would have a bright future, but she hadn't expected her bad luck to arrive so quickly.

"Keep this money," Mother Yu said, taking a drag of her pipe, her expression heavy with worry. "Tomorrow night, you must hold your ground for me!"