The woman led Han Yu away from the hall and into a side corridor.
They passed by several doors, each with soft light leaking from within. Han Yu kept his senses extended, observing everything that was hidden along the way.
Finally, they reached a wide room.
Inside, around thirty won were seated on cushions and low chairs. So were chatting. So were reading. So were drinking tea. So were quietly playing instrunts.
They all wore different styles, though all were elegant.
The room itself was warm and calm, with large windows covered by thin curtains. The walls were decorated with paintings of mountains, rivers, and flowers.
Han Yu imdiately felt it.
Every one of them was a cultivator.
Most were at the Early Stage of the Qi Refining Realm. A few were at the Mid Stage.
None were weak mortals.
The woman gestured lightly. "Please choose."
Han Yu looked slowly.
One woman wore robes in soft green. Her hair was tied loosely, and she had a quiet, scholarly air. She was reading a book and occasionally smiling to herself.
Another wore red and gold, her posture confident. She laughed loudly with two others, her voice clear and lively.
One wore pale purple, her eyes gentle. She was pouring tea carefully for the woman beside her.
Another wore dark blue, her hair braided tightly. She was polishing a flute, her movents precise.
There was a woman in white who looked almost cold, her expression calm and distant, like untouched snow.
There was one in pink who kept glancing around, clearly curious about everything.
There was one in grey who sat quietly in a corner, eyes half closed, as if ditating.
Each had her own style.
Not just in looks, but in presence.
Han Yu realized sothing.
This place did not gather won by appearance alone. It gathered them by talent, temperant, and cultivation.
"These are not decorations," he thought. "They are assets."
He walked slowly.
He stopped in front of the woman in dark blue with the flute.
She looked up, her eyes sharp but calm.
"Yes?" she asked.
"You play?" Han Yu asked.
"Yes," she said simply. "Flute and zither."
"Your cultivation?"
"Early Qi Refining," she replied without hiding it.
Han Yu nodded. "Co with ."
She stood smoothly and bowed lightly.
The woman who led Han Yu smiled. "Excellent choice."
They returned to the shared hall.
By now, Changli had Little Cherry with him, laughing loudly at his jokes. The other hunters also had companions, though so looked more nervous than happy.
Han Yu sat, and the woman in blue sat beside him.
She poured him a cup of wine and offered it politely.
"May I know your na?" she asked.
"Chen Xiu," Han Yu replied.
She nodded. "I am called Snow Reed."
Han Yu knew that the nas they gave were but just nicknas and not their real nas. It was rather common for this line of work and he didn't mind. He just took a sip and observed the hall again.
Music began to play.
A performance was about to start.
But his attention was only half on the stage.
The other half was deep inside the Frost Lily Pavilion.
He could feel it. There were faint pulses of Spirit sense coming from there.
Hidden strength.
Hidden eyes.
And sowhere above, or perhaps below, soone far more powerful than anyone in this hall was quietly watching everything.
"Madam Cold Fang," Han Yu thought again.
"This place is a nest. And the spider is not simple."
The performance began not with loud sound, but with silence.
STEP STEP STEP
Five courtesans stepped onto the small stage at the front of the shared hall. Their robes were coordinated in pale shades of blue, silver, and white, like frost and moonlight. Each carried a different instrunt.
One held a long bamboo flute.One carried a pear shaped lute.One had a small drum resting against her thigh.One sat behind a zither laid across a low stand.The last held a pair of delicate chis.
They bowed together, slow and graceful.
Then the music began.
The flute opened first, a long soft note that sounded like wind sliding across snowfields. It was followed by the zither, its strings plucked gently, like falling ice crystals. The lute joined, warr and rounder in tone, balancing the coldness of the first two. The drum entered softly, heartbeat slow and steady. Finally the chis rang, light and clear, weaving through the lody like stars in a winter sky.
The hall quieted.
Even the hunters, who had been laughing loudly monts before, leaned back and listened.
Han Yu watched, but only with half his attention.
The other half was deep, far deeper than the stage.
His spirit sense was stretched into the depths of the Frost Lily Pavilion.
He could still feel it.
A gaze.
Not sharp. Not aggressive. But present.
It was like standing in a forest and feeling that sothing was watching from behind the trees, not moving, not revealing itself. It was a feeling Han Yu was very, very familiar with. And along with it ca faint pulses of spirit sense.
Not active scanning. Not the kind that swept through space and announced its presence.
This was passive sensing.
The kind that blended into the flow of spirit Qi in the air. Most cultivators would mistake it for nothing more than natural movent.
But Han Yu had survived ambushes, assassins, beasts, and battlefields.
To him, this was obvious.
Soone powerful was here... Watching.
But he did not know if that gaze was on him, or on everyone. That uncertainty was the dangerous part. He could not try to observe it directly. If he focused too strongly, there was a chance that whoever it was would notice.
And in a place like this, he did not want to start a conflict. So he leaned back, pretending to watch the performance.
The music swelled.
The flute cried like wind through mountain passes.The drum echoed like distant thunder.The zither rippled like frozen rivers breaking under spring light.
People applauded softly.
Han Yu felt a faint tug on his sleeve.
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