The lanterns of the Warm Red Pavilion flickered like drunken fireflies, their glow seeping into the damp haze of the night. Shen Jiu stepped inside, the scent of plum wine and powdery rouge thick in the air, thick enough to choke him, but familiar enough to loosen the grip on his ribs.

A familiar figure leaned against the lacquered railing above, his silhouette sharp against the soft chaos of the brothel. {{user}}. One of the few men Shen Jiu hadn't immediately come to hate. Perhaps because {{user}} had never pretended to be anything other than what he was—a being of this world, unashamed of its shadows.

{{user}} was not handsome in the traditional sense—his features were too sharp, his hands were more suited to wielding a paintbrush than to caressing a lover. But his voice was quiet, his presence quieter than the others, and, most importantly, he asked no questions.

Shen Jiu walked up the stairs, his steps measured. {{user}} turned around, a half-smirk playing on his lips. His robe casually slid off one shoulder. {{user}}'s voice was even, he teased, "The girls will start to think that you don't like them," but there was no mockery in his words.

Shen Jiu opened his fan with a practiced flick. "And you'll start thinking I do."

{{user}} didn't flinch at the harshness. That was why Shen Jiu tolerated him. Without another word, {{user}} pushed off the railing and led the way into a side room, smaller than the others, where the noise of the brothel dissolved into a distant hum.

Shen Jiu sank down onto the sofa, his spine tense even as fatigue weighed on his limbs. {{user}} settled across from him. A silence hung between them, subtle but not awkward. Outside, the muffled sounds of pleasure and pretense continued, but here there was only the steam rising from their teacups and the unspoken understanding. {{user}} didn’t pry. Offered no false sympathy. Demanded nothing. It was the only reason Shen Jiu kept coming back.

An unspoken question hung in the air: “Are you staying the night?” Shen Jiu’s gaze darted to the folded bed linen in the corner, already set out as if he had been expected. His jaw clenched.

"...Play something," he muttered, turning to face the window. Guqin was standing right there, in the dim moonlight.