Anhe City was situated on the far border of the Southern Domain, where it met the Western Domain. It was a small city of modest scale — barely a hundred thousand residents, no noteworthy experts to speak of, and even the City Lord was only at the first level of the Dao Source Realm.
In the grand scheme of the Star Boundary, such a city was practically invisible.
Its population had always been sparse, but with the outbreak of the great war between the two realms, Anhe City's position on the border between the Southern and Western Domains had driven most of its residents to flee deeper into the Southern Domain. Terrified that the Demon Race might one day storm the walls and slaughter everyone, the population had dwindled by more than half.
Yet in times of chaos or prosperity alike, one trade never ceased to thrive — the flesh trade.
Anhe City was small, but it boasted no fewer than several brothels.
The largest among them was the House of Spring Wind and Drizzle. Perhaps because the turmoil of war had only intensified people's appetite for decadent pleasures, the brothel's business was booming despite the fact that the city had lost more than half its residents. At the entrance, madams and porters bustled back and forth welcoming and seeing off patrons, while powdered and rouged girls beamed with smiles, their sweet, warbling voices calling out warmly to entice customers.
The interior was lavishly decorated. Vivid murals of seductive figures adorned every surface, saturating the entire establishment with an air of sensual indulgence. In the main hall, tables of patrons clinked cups with alluringly dressed girls, drinking and carousing, their hands wandering freely under the table — drawing giggles and coquettish squeals. Behind closed doors, muffled sounds of breathless moaning drifted through the walls.
**BOOM!**
A man suddenly came flying out of a second-floor room, crashing heavily onto the first-floor floor. He rolled several times and lay still.
The raucous hall fell into an eerie silence as every head turned toward the source of the commotion.
A young man lay sprawled on the ground — unshaven, filthy, reeking of alcohol, completely motionless. Dead or alive, no one could tell. Fights in brothels were hardly uncommon, so the patrons weren't particularly shocked; they merely stared at the prostrate figure with undisguised disdain.
When something like this happened, it usually meant the man had either gotten into a dispute and been beaten, or had enjoyed himself without the means to pay his bill. Neither scenario warranted sympathy.
The patrons remained unfazed, but Madam Song — who was managing the entrance — was furious. She whirled toward a man in black fitted clothing on the second floor and unleashed a torrent of abuse: "You trying to kill someone?! If you break the furniture, are you going to pay for it?!"
Madam Song was the long-standing madam of the House of Spring Wind and Drizzle. Her cultivation was modest, and though she had been quite the beauty in her youth, age and a figure that had seen better days meant she could no longer serve as an entertainer herself. She was relegated to greeting guests at the door.
Seeing Madam Song's fury, the man in black on the second floor offered an apologetic smile: "Please calm down, Mama. This fellow was being completely unreasonable."
"What happened? What happened?" Madam Song sashayed over to where the young man lay and gave him a kick. Getting no reaction, she gasped: "Don't tell me he's dead!"
The man in black said: "Hardly. He has some cultivation in him, and I didn't use much force. How could he die?"
Just then, a young woman draped in thin gauze stepped out from the room. The gauze was semi-transparent, hinting at every curve beneath in a way that drew every man's gaze upward.
The woman leaned over the railing, looked down, and pouted: "If he's dead, he deserves it." Then she called down in a coquettish whine: "Mama, you have to stand up for your daughter! This man drank here for days on end and didn't have a single coin to pay!"
"No money?" Madam Song's willow eyebrows shot upward, her face blazing with indignation. "No money and he dares visit a brothel? What kind of shameless brat is this?"
"Exactly!" the woman on the second floor echoed with equal disdain. "At first glance, he looked dashing and refined — I thought he was some wealthy young master. Turns out he's just a down-on-his-luck vagrant. What a loss."
Madam Song snorted coldly and waved her hand: "Search him. See if he has anything worth taking."
Two porters promptly stepped forward and began rifling through the young man's clothes with rough, probing hands.
After a moment, both looked up at Madam Song and shook their heads: "Nothing."
"Disgusting!" Madam Song bared her teeth. "Drag him out and mince him for fertilizer."
The two porters didn't hesitate for a second. They each grabbed an arm and hoisted the young man upright.
A nearby patron chuckled: "A bit harsh, aren't you, Mama Song? It's only a few days' worth of drinks, and you'd mince the man for fertilizer?"
Madam Song's face remained ice-cold: "Are you going to settle his tab? If you're willing, I'll spare his life."
The patron scratched his head sheepishly: "Forget it. Pretend I said nothing."
Madam Song shot him a glare, then turned back to the young man on the floor. But upon closer inspection, a flicker of surprise crossed her features. She raised her hand: "Wait!"
The two porters stopped immediately, turning to look at her.
Madam Song stepped forward and fanned the air in front of her nose, clearly struggling with the thick stench of alcohol. She frowned: "Is this boy still breathing?"
The two porters exchanged a glance. One pressed a hand to the young man's chest, the other held fingers beneath his nostrils, and both nodded: "Still alive."
Madam Song let out an "Oh," circled the young man once, then came to stand before him. She produced a silk handkerchief, laid it over his chin, and lifted his face for a careful examination. Her eyes lit up, and she smiled: "Take him downstairs, clean him up, and bring him to my room."