No one seated there, including Number Eight, truly believes Henwell can earn ten gold coins in re monts.
Yet Henwell isn’t lying. The annual revenue from various sectors of Peace Haven is staggering.
Take the military alone: roughly a hundred thousand troops.
Every year, Henwell disburses over four million gold coins just in soldier salaries, not counting other military expenses.
Maintaining Peace Haven’s army requires over eight million gold coins annually.
And that’s just ongoing costs, excluding procurent for newly ford units.
Henwell’s ability to generate wealth is imnse; otherwise, supporting such an elite force would be impossible.
So earning one gold coin per second isn’t an exaggeration, he likely makes even more.
In the Tudor Dynasty, one gold coin isn’t just a single coin but a unit of asure, roughly thirty grams.
Peace Haven’s gold coins contain over twenty-five grams of pure gold.
Their purchasing power is roughly equivalent.
By this calculation, spending ten gold coins in one night isn’t extravagantly lavish.
At least ten inns in Peace Haven et this standard.
In Silver Peak City or Yinxin City, such spending is considered modest.
The true luxury cos from the elite, who casually spend hundreds or thousands of gold coins.
As Henwell jokes with the group, the suspended stage begins its performance.
Petals cascade down from above, and the surrounding lights dim intentionally.
Several barefoot won in flowing dresses descend gently onto the floating platform, holding a floral rope.
They gather gracefully in the center of the stage at tis, then dance lightly along the chains.
All eyes fix on them as the crowd cheers loudly, tossing coins toward the center of the stage.
More dancers appear, pulling ropes and holding flower baskets, skillfully catching every coin thrown.
Then, a dancer in colorful attire steps onto the swaying chain outside the railing in front of Henwell.
Balancing on the narrow, two-finger-wide chain, she dances elegantly, captivating his gaze.
After a mont, Henwell raises his hand and applauds. “Not bad! Quite the skill! Here’s a reward.”
At his signal, steward Number Eight pulls out a gold ingot and precisely tosses it to the colorful dancer.
She catches it, bows to Henwell, then drops the gold into the basket carried by the passing dancer.
With a charming smile, she returns to the center of the stage.
The two won beside Henwell pout playfully. “You’re so unfair, sir! What’s wrong with us that we don’t catch your eye?”
“If you like watching dancers, I can co up and perform for you!”
Henwell chuckles. “Alright, but it’s too dangerous. Beautiful ladies shouldn’t risk it. You’ll get your rewards, of course.”
Number Eight pulls out two more gold ingots and hands them to Henwell.
With a flick of his fingers, the gold ingots fly straight into the cleavage of the two won, making them giggle as they lightly tap him in response.
Just as Henwell laughs heartily, a voice nearby interrupts, sharp with anger. “You’re insulting Yu Caixia by giving the sa rewards to those ordinary won!”
Henwell glances at the young man standing angrily by the railing and gestures to an empty seat. The ssage is simple: if you can afford a private box, then co chat with .
The young man’s face flushes red. “You’re secretive and suspicious. I can tell you’re no good, could you be a wanted criminal by the court?”
Henwell is speechless. Even fanatical admirers now?
He shrugs. “Miss Caixia didn’t say anything about it. Why are you so worked up? It’s my money—I give it to whoever I want. These two beauties have served from the start; they deserve their rewards. If you can dance for , I’ll reward you too.”
“You… you… you’re so crude, to insult like this!”
Henwell shrugs again. “It’s just a dance. How is that an insult? Miss Caixia danced earlier, and I rewarded her. She didn’t feel insulted, so why do you? Do you think Miss Caixia deserves to be insulted?”
At that mont, a charming, slightly older woman rushes over, lifting her skirt to catch the visibly agitated young man.
“Young Master Wang, you’re here today? How co I didn’t know? I should be punished for not reserving a private room for you. It’s my fault. Tonight’s expenses for our young master are on . Please, co this way. I’ll have Wind Chi make it up to you with drinks.”
Under the steward’s coaxing, Young Master Wang reluctantly leaves the area.
Steward Number Eight leans close and whispers in Henwell’s ear, “That man is Wang Miaocai. He’s not particularly talented, but his uncle is a compiler at the Hanlin Academy. Rumor has it he might be transferred to the Censorate after the year-end exams.”
Henwell asks, “Is he trouble?”
“Young Master, you worry too much. He’s just a small-ti figure.”
As they talk, others tactfully step aside to serve Henwell the newly arrived dishes. They know that knowing too many secrets can be dangerous.
After a while, the now off-stage Miss Caixia returns, dressed simply and holding a pot of wine.
She performs a deep, respectful bow. “It’s my fault for dampening your spirits today, young sir. I’ve co to apologize.”
With the steward’s approval, the guards allow Caixia to approach the private table.
Caixia looks no older than seventeen or eighteen, a blend of innocent youth and the wistful grace of a seasoned courtesan, stirring a tender sympathy.
After presenting the fine wine with reverence, she pours herself a cup. “May I ask how to address you, young sir?”
Henwell sniffs the wine from the silver flask and laughs, “Just call Henwell.”
“That sounds like a na from a faraway land. Miss Caixia apologizes to you, Young Master Henwell.”
With that, Caixia downs her cup in one gulp.
Henwell smiles and raises the flask, drinking all the wine at once.
After finishing, Caixia coughs lightly and praises, “Young Master Henwell, you have a generous spirit. So bold and strong—truly a man among n! May I be so bold as to ask why you wear a mask? Though I haven’t seen your face, your starry eyes reveal you’re a handso gentleman.”
Henwell chuckles, “Flattering . I’ve fought in battles and suffered facial injuries. My appearance is disfigured, so it’s inconvenient to be seen. Besides, if I didn’t wear a mask, my fierce scars might frighten others.”
Caixia raises her cup again. “A general defending his land, this humble girl must toast you once more. May your military fortunes flourish! As for what you said earlier, I must respectfully disagree. If your scars co from protecting your country, how could they be frightening? If anything, the enemy must be terrified by your valor!”
Henwell laughs, “You’ve got quite the silver tongue! I’ll drink another cup with you.”
User Comments
0 comments from readers