Chapter 34: Bai Yulan’s Crisis (Please add to your favorites and vote for the monthly ticket!)

Huifang Lane, dusk falls and the lamps glitter—Ningxiang Pavilion.

“Sister Yan, what’s the situation these days?” Bai Yulan sat upright behind her writing desk, flipping through the account book. Her elegant brows creased as she read; business at Ningxiang Pavilion was worsening.

It was near the end of the year, the most prosperous season for spending, yet Ningxiang Pavilion’s revenues had fallen short of expenses.

“Few guests have come these days. Many of our regulars have been lured to Grandview Garden and Qunfang House. They’re running promotions, offering guests discounts without lowering the girls’ pay, so our patrons are drawn away. Even those who used to introduce us new customers are now taking them to Grandview Garden or Qunfang House, where the benefits are greater…”

“We cater to high-end guests—shouldn’t their poaching have little effect on us?” Axiang interjected.

“Axiang, Ice City isn’t that big. There aren’t so many high-end clients. What we need most now is patrons. Without them, Ningxiang Pavilion will have to close.” Sister Yan glanced at Axiang, but explained nonetheless.

Ningxiang Pavilion was the premier pleasure house of Ice City, but Bai Yulan ran it strictly by her principles. For instance, Ningxiang Pavilion didn’t offer opium, unlike others, which all sold it. Most of the girls were long-term affiliates rather than transient workers, and Bai Yulan treated them well. But men who frequent these places crave novelty; compared to the other two establishments, which regularly introduce new girls, Ningxiang Pavilion’s stability lacked allure.

It was fortunate Ningxiang Pavilion had endured this long. For years, Bai Yulan had poured money in to keep it afloat, never profiting. She had considered closing it, but then what would happen to the women inside? Perhaps they’d find better places, survive a few more years, but after that—when age and faded beauty caught up, their fates would be bleak.

Whether Su Wenqing or Master Qin, their interest lay in Ningxiang Pavilion’s name and the dozens of pitiful women it housed—including Bai Yulan herself. Once they acquired it, none would care for their futures, nor would Bai Yulan herself have good prospects, no matter whom she relied upon.

“How long can our funds last?” she asked.

“At most a month,” Sister Yan replied. As manager of Ningxiang Pavilion, she was second only to Bai Yulan and the elder sister to all the girls.

There was no madam here, nor binding contracts. Two kinds of agreements were used: one transformed old indenture contracts into five- or ten-year paid service contracts, giving those girls hope for eventual freedom. When Bai Yulan took over, business boomed thanks to this change.

The other was like monks seeking shelter—a single girl wanting protection could negotiate her own terms, each case different. The former required heavy compensation for breach, the latter almost none, and so girls came and went freely.

Such places couldn’t always employ the same girls, or guests would lose interest. With these contracts, Ningxiang Pavilion quickly became famous in Ice City, and Bai Yulan even won the title of Queen of the Flower Nation.

But what brought glory also sowed defeat.

Those contracts helped Bai Yulan gain control and led her through a brilliant era, but now, circumstances had changed. Rival establishments were stronger, and unscrupulous. In this flesh trade, conscience counted for nothing. Every manner of sordid trick was used, and as a woman in charge, Bai Yulan was often at a disadvantage, forced to swallow losses.

If not for Bai Yulan’s shrewdness, the relationships left by Old Ma, and her skillful management, any ordinary woman would have vanished from Ice City long ago.

But this time, the attack was comprehensive. Master Qin targeted Ningxiang Pavilion; Su Wenqing went after her other businesses.

Bai Yulan had other ventures: textiles, silks, and a women’s clothing factory. Without a foundation, she couldn’t have endured. Yet this time, they were intent on destroying her and swallowing everything.

With the power and influence of Qin and Su, almost no one in Ice City could help her.

Unless she appealed to the Japanese.

But the Japanese were more ruthless, more greedy—they’d strip her and Ningxiang Pavilion to the bone and leave nothing behind.

What she needed now was a sum of working capital. It might not guarantee survival, but with time, she could find a way to break the deadlock.

Plenty of Ice City’s banks were willing to lend, but Bai Yulan knew that once she took a loan, she’d fall into their trap. That was why she insisted on a condition prohibiting the transfer of loan debt—even if the interest was higher, she didn’t mind. But upon hearing her condition, no bank would grant her a loan.

Bai Yulan understood: if she signed a loan agreement, the bank would quickly sell her debt to whoever wanted it. Even if she had the funds to repay, it wouldn’t be easy. Those circling predators watched her every move, aware of her intentions.

There was a traitor.

Among her closest confidantes, though she hated to suspect anyone, matters had reached a point where she could no longer tolerate it.

“The New Year’s almost here. Since business is poor, let’s let everyone rest. They’ve worked hard all year,” Bai Yulan said softly.

“Yulan, are you planning to close?” Sister Yan was startled.

“Yes, everyone’s pay will continue. They’ve struggled with me for years,” Bai Yulan nodded.

“But closing still costs daily expenses. And how long do you intend to shut down?” Sister Yan didn’t understand—Spring Festival was the most lucrative time, and closing now seemed wasteful. Even with poor business, losing less would be preferable.

“Tell them—those who wish to leave, I won’t stop. Those who choose to share hardship with me, I will repay one day. That’s all.” Bai Yulan closed her account book. She’d never wanted to run a pleasure house, but circumstances left her no choice. This was Old Ma’s legacy; she couldn’t simply shut the doors and abandon so many livelihoods.

“Yulan, you’re really closing Ningxiang Pavilion!” Sister Yan’s face paled—what would become of its hundred souls?

“If we keep it open now, will it survive any longer?”

Sister Yan was stunned. Bai Yulan had such resolve, willing to abandon even what she cherished as her life.

“Axiang, post the notice. Starting tomorrow, Ningxiang Pavilion is closed,” Bai Yulan instructed. “Tell outsiders we’re closing for renovations.”

“Yes, Sister Yulan,” Axiang replied.

Sister Yan was shaken and confused, unable to discern which of Bai Yulan’s words were true, which false.

Sister Yan left. Bai Yulan lifted her gaze, watching the back of the woman who had followed her for years, then closed her eyes.

She truly felt she’d failed—even her closest people had betrayed her. She’d struggled to help them and appointed them to manage Ningxiang Pavilion.

That night, the affair with Zhou Sen—though not deliberately arranged—had been crucial, and Bai Yulan played a key role. Yet she still hadn’t uncovered who was behind it, so she held back for now.

“Sister Yulan, Young Master Zhou could help you…” Axiang approached, pouring Bai Yulan another cup.

“I’ve told you not to mention him again. Did my words mean nothing to you?” Bai Yulan shot Axiang a glare.

Axiang lowered her head, afraid to speak.

That man had never interested her; if not for what happened that night, she wouldn’t even have bothered to learn about him—a cowardly “whipping boy,” nicknamed “Little Worm.” Even if Bai Yulan was low-born and married before, she wouldn’t accept just any man.

…

Achoo!

Zhou Sen, reading documents by the lamp, felt a tickle in his nose and sneezed. Strange, he hadn’t caught a cold.

Could someone be speaking of him, though his ears weren’t burning?

Tomorrow at work, he’d first go to the police morgue. Ever since he’d started investigating the Shelkin case, he’d never visited the victim’s body.

As the self-appointed leader of the task force, he was rather unqualified—though he didn’t want to be too qualified, either.

He had so little information, he couldn’t even figure out what sort of organization the Russian Patriotic Alliance his father Anthony had joined was. He’d scoured all the books and manuscripts left by his father, but found no mention. Did Anthony join simply for status, or to hide some earth-shattering secret?

Now it seemed clearly the latter.

But who could he ask?

Ivanovich was a member too, but they’d had a falling out—if Zhou Sen showed up, Ivanovich likely wouldn’t speak to him.

Lin Dakuan?

That fellow seemed entangled in the case as well—perhaps Zhou Sen should find another chance to approach him.

The only other option was Akiyama.

He wouldn’t even reveal what secret mission Anthony had undertaken—so he probably wouldn’t share the truth either.

Information was so scarce—even knowing the general direction of future events, he was clueless about what was actually happening outside, which was of little use.

There was a radio in the study—at least a channel to the outside world.

In these days, electromagnetic shielding technology didn’t exist yet, so as long as he knew the broadcast frequencies, he could pick up external broadcasts.

The original Zhou Sen had listened mostly to the gramophone; the house had a fine collection of vinyl records. But the radio was Anthony’s domain—he always listened behind closed doors, and whenever Zhou Sen entered, Anthony would turn it off immediately.

Did Anthony use the radio to learn about the outside world?

Zhou Sen’s heart pounded—if he could receive the broadcast from Pagoda Mountain, he’d learn about the resistance situation within the interior.

But in the dead of night, radio stations usually didn’t operate, except for special ones—a basic fact.

Zhou Sen checked the radio, turned the volume to its lowest, and pressed the power button. Hearing the “hiss” from the speaker, he was delighted—it worked.

Thrilled, Zhou Sen gently turned the tuning dial; it was light and smooth. One round brought nothing but static.

Suddenly he slapped his forehead—he’d forgotten the antenna. Without it, how could the radio receive signals?

He found the antenna, connected it, and kept adjusting its angle…

Carefully, he returned to the initial frequency.