Inside the Fengle Tower, silk music filled the air with festive sounds.

In the southern city’s Qinghe Street, where land was worth its weight in gold, the best shopfront rentals cost thousands of taels yearly. However, at this end of Rouge Alley, prices were much more modest. While the proprietors of Fengle Tower saved on rent, they invested all those savings into this wooden pavilion.

The entire tower was crafted from wood, with twenty-four seasonal flower scenes intricately carved into its crossbeams. Twenty-four beautiful maidens were named after the twenty-four solar terms. Especially on summer nights, when river breezes cooled the air and wooden windows were slightly ajar, the tower echoed with laughter and playful sounds. Like orioles and swallows in dance, while below by the river, teahouses and pleasure boats created a bustling night market ablaze with lanterns—a truly dazzling display of prosperity. Though not as opulent as Qinghe Street, it held more of the common people’s worldly splendor.

In the innermost chamber of Fengle Tower’s top floor, precious incense burned in bronze vessels and ancient paintings hung from the walls. Two singing girls knelt to one side, softly strumming their jade zithers. By the ornate curtains and pearl lamps, a carpet with a moon-blue background and peony patterns covered the floor. Colorful silk tassels swayed fragrantly, their delicate threads and ethereal flowers seeming weightless. When beauties stepped upon it to dance, their embroidered socks and silk skirts merged with each pattern.

“Why question how the night passes in pleasure? Such wonderful moments, how long can they last? When it’s time to drink, then drink; when it’s time to sing, then sing…”

“Biiguang” was Fengle Tower’s famous wine, jade-green with a sweet, fragrant aroma. Drinking it while taking the powder made one feel as if walking on clouds, floating like an immortal—Qi Yutai loved it.

After the imperial examination case mysteriously implicated Fan Zhenglian, the Investigating Officer of the Criminal Court, his father learned about how he had previously mistreated a merchant’s wife at Fengle Tower. He was confined at home for a long period and cut off from funds. Apart from a proper birthday celebration at Yuxian Tower, he had few chances to go out and “enjoy himself.”

Qi Yutai suddenly realized why he didn’t know about the changed painting—he hadn’t been to Fengle Tower in two months.

Fortunately, he had a generous sister. The banknote Qi Huaying gave him recently was enough for several indulgent visits to Fengle Tower.

“I don’t care who you are!” the man said contemptuously, pushing open the door and walking straight in. Without waiting for Qi Yutai to speak, he reached to grab him, intending to shove him out.

Qi Yutai sat up straight and glared at the man before him, shouting, “What reckless fool dares to barge into young master’s chamber!”

Qi Yutai had come to Fengle Tower to “enjoy himself.”

Though he could no longer clearly remember the merchant’s wife’s face, seeing the replaced silk painting now brought those hazy memories into sharper focus.

From the toppled candlestick, the weak flame suddenly gained strength, flaring up brightly. The fine wool carpet was already highly flammable, and when doused with wine and touched by flame, it rose like a fire snake. With wooden beams and bamboo frames all around, the fire snake easily found paths to spread, its red glow growing ever more intense.

Fengle Tower’s entrance stood wide open, with courtesans and patrons having fled outside. In the black night, shadows suddenly wavered at the flower windows of the topmost pavilion, as if someone inside was frantically pounding on the windows.

The “Awakening of Insects” chamber was specially reserved by the proprietor for himself, and ordinary people wouldn’t enter. This person’s familiar manner and natural attitude suggested they were very likely the previous “guest.”

After taking the powder, Qi Yutai would become exceptionally excited, escalating his torment of others, not stopping until he left no patch of skin unbruised. When his mind was heated, he showed no tenderness, no matter how gentle and lovely the other person might be—in his eyes, they were merely tools for venting his desires.

Only when the other’s struggles gradually subsided did the room fall quiet except for faint breathing? The beauty in the painting hung her head, gazing sorrowfully at everything in the room while fine rain drizzled like silk.

Qi Yutai was stunned for a moment before understanding dawned.

It was Qi Yutai’s first time suffering such humiliation, and he immediately flew into a rage. Previously, when out in public, he had always restrained his temper somewhat out of consideration for his father. But today, with no guards or servants present, and the powder’s effects still coursing through him, he felt all his blood rushing to his head. He grabbed a candlestick and hurled it at the man before him.

This person was none other than Qi Yutai, the young master of the Grand Tutor’s mansion.

The leather water bags thrown into the sea of flames would burst, their contents extinguishing portions of the fire. The patrol guards had all donned their fire-resistant armor vests beforehand, throwing batch after batch of water bags into the flames.

However, today he had come out without his guards, with only one servant watching downstairs. Having never mentioned his status as the Grand Tutor’s son at Fengle Tower, no one took him seriously—even this lowly merchant dared to speak so rudely before him.

Unfortunately, Fan Zhenglian was already dead. Because of his death, rumors gradually shifted to fresher matters. An Investigating Officer was slowly forgotten, let alone a long-dead merchant’s wife who had been completely forgotten.

…

He remembered it was in this same room, with the same pearl lamps and carpet. In his hazy state, he had seen the woman’s face—a very pretty and fair face, beautiful and moving. Her autumn-water eyes stared at him in terror as she kicked and hit him, but such slight strength meant nothing against a grown man. He pinned her down on the couch, forcing her to look at the painting of beauty welcoming spring hanging on the wall…

Two months ago…

But instead of a beauty bringing wine, someone else entered.

The door creaked open with a “squeak.”

The patrol guards pushed through the crowd with great effort. Shen Fengying walked at the front, his face black as a pot bottom.

The beauty on the couch tremblingly propped herself up, clutching her clothes tighter. With tears not yet dry, she hastily wiped her face with a handkerchief and stumbled out. Qi Yutai still reclined on the couch, pouring the remaining wine down his throat in one go, sighing in satisfaction.

It must be that since he hadn’t come for so long, the Fengle Tower owner wanted to make money and had given this room to others.

He had been patrolling outside, already in the city center, thinking that since it was past midnight with no fires reported, he could rest early. But before he could finish giving instructions, someone came from the fire watch tower with news that Rouge Alley was ablaze.

The Fengle Tower owner later fawned over that guest—the one who ruined his favorite ‘Spring Rain Beauty’ painting!

Cold Food Powder was forbidden and hard to obtain. Qi Qing had people watching him, and the proprietors of Qinghe Street’s restaurants would always inform the mansion when they saw him. Without money after being cut off by Qi Qing, he couldn’t even move freely to enjoy himself elsewhere.

A crowd of onlookers packed the entrance to Rouge Alley.

“Fire! Fire!”

The beauty on the wall wept silently, her brows tightly knitted.

“Something’s wrong,” he frowned. “How could this room have other guests?”

In the night, the small wooden tower stood in darkness, transformed into a mountain of flames. Blown by the wind, thick smoke and burnt stench continuously poured from the mountaintop, lighting up the alley as bright as day.

Seeing someone inside, the man’s expression changed: “Who are you?”

Since becoming the Grand Tutor’s son, from childhood to now, others have always treated him with utmost courtesy. Even imperial relatives would show some respect for his father’s sake, let alone someone of ordinary status.

Because he always paid generously and vaguely hinted at his distinguished background, the Fengle Tower owner didn’t dare slight him. Or perhaps they knew his identity but simply kept quiet about it.

The zither strings in the room suddenly stopped. The singing girls withdrew their hands and respectfully replied: “Young Master, two months ago, a guest dining in this room accidentally spilled wine and stained the painting, so it was replaced with a new one.”

Shen Fengying looked at the flames before him, his heart sinking.

Beside him lay a barely breathing beauty, clothes half-removed, black hair disheveled, body covered in blue and purple bruises, face swollen.

However, this building appeared to have caught fire from above, with the upper floors burning more intensely than below. Shen Fengying called to his patrol guards: “Get the water bags—”

The newcomer was a middle-aged man wearing honey-colored brocade silk robes, adorned with gold and jade at his waist, holding a folding fan. An enormous jade ring on his thumb marked him with the most familiar style of wealthy merchants in the capital.

Qi Yutai was stunned. He hadn’t been to Fengle Tower for a long time.

He instinctively stepped back two paces, his spine touching the window behind him. Turning to pull open the wooden window to cry for help, his hand grasped the window’s edge, but it was as if an invisible wall lay across the outside—he couldn’t push it open at all.

Use and discard.

The wall had originally hung a painting of “Insects Awakening Offering Spring,” depicting a jade incense burner with heavy smoke, green willows in urgent wind, and a beauty leaning by the window watching fine rain—Qi Yutai had particularly liked it. However, it had been replaced with a new painting showing clouds and thunder gathering as if spring rain approached, with dragons and serpents writhing in the cloudy shade—a stark contrast to the previous gentle sentiment.

The beauty beneath him wailed and sobbed, tears falling like broken strings of pearls.

Just an hour ago he had passed through Rouge Alley, the street food vendors all driven away—how had a fire started?

His dreams of finishing work early instantly evaporated. Shen Fengying cursed while leading his patrol guards back.

Recent times were different, showing signs of addiction. Looking closely, he had taken the powder just half a month ago, yet couldn’t resist for even that long. Moreover, the powder’s effects seemed slightly different from before, more intensely pleasurable, and impossible to break free from.

Qi Yutai couldn’t understand why his father was so fixated on a mere merchant’s wife, even sending people to investigate her hometown after hearing about it, ultimately finding nothing—that family had all perished.

The hazy feeling rose again. Qi Yutai narrowed his eyes, and just as he was reaching for the last jar of “Biiguang,” footsteps suddenly sounded outside the door. “That was quick,” he snorted, reaching for the wine cup.

Others weren’t allowed in this room, which was why Qi Yutai felt safe taking the powder there. After all, he dared not alert the mansion’s guards when coming here, bringing only his servant. If someone burst in while he was mid-dose, it would be tremendously troublesome—like that merchant’s wife who had barged in last time, though fortunately her low status meant nothing major came of it.

The two men grappled together while the two singing girls, terrified and pale-faced, rushed to flee outside. On the wooden pavilion’s top floor, even the nearest “Clear Bright” room was some distance from “Insects Awakening,” and downstairs in the main hall they were performing “The Lute”—

Half the pleasure-seeking patrons on the street were startled from their beds by the cry of fire in the deep night. Some hadn’t even put on trousers, haphazardly wrapped in blankets as they huddled under the oilcloth awning of a tea stall at the alley entrance, watching the increasingly bright flames in the dark distance.

Strangely, though taking the powder had always been pleasurable before, he could still control himself then. For instance, when his father confined him at home, he had endured half a year without “relaxation.”

A cry of shock and anger—outside, distant thunder rumbled. Qi Yutai came to his senses as the cloisonné cup before he tipped over, the flowing nectar momentarily clearing his foggy mind.

Today, taking advantage of Qi Qing’s absence at court, Qi Yutai had come to Fengle Tower at dusk, making his way with practiced ease to the innermost “Insects Awakening” chamber.

The two men wrestling inside hadn’t noticed the situation outside.

Until thick smoke gradually wafted in from outside, accompanied by panicked shouts, the stage performance of “The Lute” stopped, and someone downstairs cried out: “Fire!”

“Your room?” The man seemed to have heard a joke, looking at him with cold laughter: “What do you think you are? Do you dare call yourself a young master in front of me? I’ve paid silver for this room—I’ll give you the time it takes an incense stick to burn to get out!”

The twenty-four warm chambers upstairs were specially reserved for distinguished guests, their furnishings and decorations more elaborate and beautiful than downstairs. This “Insects Awakening” chamber was where he stayed every visit.

In his passion he could barely distinguish between the painting and reality, feeling as if he had seized the beauty from the painting before him, determined to torment her until she too became a lifeless white canvas before he’d be satisfied.

Patrol guards most dreaded such wooden pavilions when fighting fires—once ablaze they burned endlessly until the entire building turned to ash. Those trapped inside were in danger, as were the guards who entered to fight the fire.

The window had been locked.

Anger flared in Qi Yutai’s heart as he struck the person beside him: “Damn you, secretly disobeying!”

As this person grabbed Qi Yutai, he noticed a fragrance ball hanging from them. Up close, a strange scent entered his crown. That fragrance was like a hundred-legged centipede, crawling numbingly into his brain, making his eyes red, instantly transforming his three parts of anger into ten, wishing only to beat this person to death.

Qi Yutai had no impression of Fan Zhenglian, but regarding this matter, he felt Fan had handled it appropriately, otherwise it would have caused many unnecessary troubles.

The people in the room fought wildly as the singing girls hurriedly crossed the chaos toward the door, their snow-white flowing sleeves brushing the table, knocking over an unopened jar of “Biiguang” which shattered on the floor, liquid splashing everywhere.

Qi Yutai was stunned.

In his dazed state, Qi Yutai noticed this and pointed at the scroll: “When was this painting changed?”

But on the embroidered carpet in the room, no beauties were dancing—only a disheveled man lying askew on the ground, his head resting against the couch leg, silver plates, jade pots, and cups scattered about, emitting strange fragrances. The man’s expression was bewildered as he sprawled on the ground, licking his lips.

Qi Yutai suddenly came to his senses, finding blazing flames before him, their overwhelming heat rushing toward his face.

Provoked by anger, Qi Yutai slammed the table and stood up. Having just taken the powder, his mind wasn’t clear, and he swayed before steadying himself, pointing at the other man: “Such arrogance! Do you know who I am?”

Whether from his recent anger or something else, the previously dispersed heat seemed to rise again. His eyes and heart both burned as he kicked the corpse-like person on the couch: “Go, fetch my lord some ‘Biiguang.'”

Unexpectedly, the wealthy merchant was quite agile, dodging to the side as the candlestick crashed to the ground with a clang. The man grew angry, grabbing Qi Yutai’s head and smashing it against the wall.

“Insects Awakening” was the room Fengle Tower specially prepared for Qi Yutai.

Shen Fengying’s gaze sharpened, then changed to horror.

“There’s someone up there!”

On the highest floor of the pavilion, people were still trapped, unable to escape!