Chapter 34

Chapter 34: Returning to the Old Trade (Part 2)

“Shopkeeper.”

Shen Tang tied Moto at the entrance and slipped inside.

The shopkeeper had his head down, fingers snapping across an abacus. Only when he heard a clear youthful voice did he glance up. His eyes swept over Shen Tang quickly, then dropped back to the beads.

“What booklet are you looking for, customer?”

Shen Tang pointed toward the sign outside.

“Your shop is buying art drafts? What’s the price?”

The shopkeeper’s fingers paused. The crisp clack of beads died in an instant, leaving a faint echo that seemed to hang in the air.

He looked up again, studying her face as if confirming something. A thin, knowing smile curved his mouth.

“You want to sell paintings?”

Shen Tang nodded fast. “Yes. I want to try.”

The shopkeeper shook his head. “The kind of paintings this shop needs… you can’t provide them. It’s not suitable. Try somewhere else.”

Shen Tang blinked. “I paint, you buy. How is that not suitable?”

The shopkeeper chuckled, then softened his tone like he was explaining something to a child. “This work—we usually hire older, married painters. The skill requirement isn’t high. As long as it’s decent to the eye. What matters is age and experience.”

Shen Tang didn’t understand at first. Then the implication clicked, and her expression turned strange.

“Oh,” she said slowly. “That.”

She cleared her throat and returned the hint with one of her own. “I get what you mean, Shopkeeper. But sometimes age and experience aren’t the important part. Knowledge and… perspective matter more.”

The shopkeeper choked on the air. “You understand?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Shen Tang shot back.

She’d been called a spoiled, pleasure-chasing wastrel by Qi Shan more than once. If she didn’t understand what kind of commissions existed in the world, what kind of “persona” was that supposed to be?

Besides, Shen Tang had made a living with a brush before. Her memory was full of holes, but her hands remembered. Portraits, commercial work, stickers, fan art—she’d drawn whatever people paid for. She wasn’t a genius, but she could absolutely eat by her craft.

The shopkeeper hesitated. His notice had been hanging for days with no takers, and his client had been pressing him hard. Shen Tang was the first to walk in.

And the arrangement was simple: submit the art first, get paid after. If it was bad, he lost nothing.

Finally, he said, “Fine. You can try.”

Then he laid out the requirements—payment method, content, the client’s expectations.

This commission wasn’t vague. The client wanted something specific: Moonlight Tower’s top male courtesan wanted a set of portraits—sensual, suggestive, but not crude—with himself as the subject.

Shen Tang barely heard the rest once the name landed.

“Moonlight Tower?” she repeated. “Those three words?”

She dipped a fingertip in tea and wrote “Moonlight Tower” on the wooden table as if her finger were a brush. The strokes came out bold and fluid—wild, but controlled, the whole line pleasing to the eye.

The shopkeeper’s gaze sharpened with interest. Handwriting like that didn’t come from an amateur.

“Yes,” he said. “That Moonlight Tower.”

In all of Xiao City, there was only one.

Shen Tang said, “I can do portraits. The other requirements are fine too. But I haven’t seen that male courtesan.”

The shopkeeper waved it off. “That’s not a problem.”

Usually the subject would meet the painter. If the courtesan wasn’t famous enough to be untouchable, he’d even dress up and pose, begging the painter to make him look good.

A set of portraits like this wasn’t something any house could arrange. It was a privilege for the top names—meant to spread reputation, attract patrons, and keep money coming even after youth faded.

In short, it was a personal album—art made to sell beauty.

Shen Tang nodded, interest growing. “Then I should come back later?”

“Later for what?” the shopkeeper said. “Now is best.”

Shen Tang glanced at the blazing sun outside. “Now? In broad daylight?”

The shopkeeper laughed. “He’s a hot name. If you go at night, he won’t have time for you—let alone posing. And those places get messy after dark. Not somewhere a young… person should be wandering into at night. This hour is perfect.”

Shen Tang didn’t argue.

She only asked, “Shopkeeper seems very familiar with Moonlight Tower.”

“Familiar is too strong,” the shopkeeper said casually. “Xiao City has plenty of houses like that. I’ve worked with all of them. Moonlight Tower just has a bigger name and better business, so we deal more often.”

Shen Tang hesitated, then asked the question she actually cared about. “If I wanted to buy one of Moonlight Tower’s menials… how much would it cost?”

The shopkeeper’s eyes flickered. In his head, a full melodrama assembled itself—a poor painter trying to buy a loved one out of the mud.

“That depends,” he said. “Man or woman, old or young, able-bodied or not. Prices change.

But I’ll warn you—those managers are all smiles on the surface and knives underneath. They’ll demand blood. Even a menial can cost three to five times the normal price.”

Shen Tang exhaled softly. “Sounds about right. Trying to pull someone out of a place like that… you’d have to peel off a layer of your own skin.”

A bold thought took shape.

If Elder Chu was willing, she wanted to buy him.

Qi Shan—the “guide” she was relying on—might vanish one day. If she had Elder Chu in hand, wouldn’t that solve the problem?

She didn’t know Elder Chu’s address, but she knew where he worked. A monk could run, but a temple couldn’t.

Shen Tang had assumed “plenty” was just a figure of speech. She didn’t expect Xiao City’s central district to be packed with such businesses—five full streets of doors and signs.

It was daytime, so the road felt cold and hollow, like a stage before the show.

Shen Tang stared. “Th-this many?”

The shopkeeper looked unbothered. “The commandery yamen encourages construction. How could there not be many?”

“The commandery yamen encourages… building brothels?” Shen Tang repeated blankly.

The shopkeeper led her to a freshly renovated building and told her to wait outside while he went in to explain. He returned shortly, satisfied.

“Perfect timing. He just woke up. Once he finishes his makeup, he’ll come.

Let’s get a private room at the tea shop across the street and wait.”