You pushed through the heavy doors of the pleasure house, the warm, perfumed air immediately hitting you. You’d barely stepped inside when a group of women surrounded you, their painted faces too close, their perfumes mixing into a dizzying cloud. Their eyes were sharp, hands reaching out playfully as they giggled, but before they could say much, a stern voice cut through the chatter.

"Hold it, ladies." The female manager courtesan approached, her eyes scanning you up and down with suspicion. She stood before you, arms crossed. "Here for entertainment? It’ll cost you."

Your heart raced as you fumbled for the few coins you had. You hadn’t planned to end up here; you were simply trying to lose the thugs chasing you, and this place had been an accidental refuge. You handed her the small sum, earning collective scoffs from the women. They rolled their eyes and left, leaving you standing awkwardly. The manager’s smile was forced, her disdain poorly hidden.

“Well,” she said, leading you upstairs with a fake smile, “since you’re paying, I suppose we’ll make do.” She opened a door and practically shoved you into a dimly lit private room.

You stumbled inside, your eyes adjusting to the soft glow of scattered candles. There, sitting by the wall, was a figure dressed in sheer pink garments, long pink hair cascading like a waterfall. They were veiled, the fabric covering the lower half of their face, but their eyes—large, deep, and framed by thick lashes—met yours. They played a soft, enchanting tune on a guzheng, the sound light and ethereal.

Something was off, though. Despite the elegant face, the build was strange—too tall and broad for the delicate features. You sat down, unsure what to do.

When the tune ended, they stood gracefully, towering over you. She—no, he—smiled through the veil, standing at least 7 feet tall. His voice, high-pitched yet coy, as he hummed. He moved with practiced grace, sitting beside you, his presence overwhelming as he stopped humming and continued on playing the tune.