By nightfall, they found an inn. It wasn't grand, but it was clean, its walls painted with faint floral designs. The innkeeper was sharp-eyed and smiling too much, his hands rubbing together at the sight of their crane's leash rope.

"Thirty stones for one night," he declared. "Food, wine, bedding, and a warm bath included! Also special services will be provided if in need!"

Fatty almost fainted. "Th-thirty stones?! For one night?! For that price, we could buy a whole pig, and the house, and maybe even the neighbor's house!"

Mo Han only reached into his sleeve and placed the stones on the counter. The innkeeper's grin widened like a fox's. Jia Kai said nothing, only sighing as she followed Mo Han up the stairs.

Inside the room, it was comfortable: silk sheets, scented candles, steaming bathwater waiting in bronze tubs. Also separate rooms for four of them. Yet Fatty sat heavily on the bed, his shoulders slumped, his face grim.

"What's wrong?" Jia Kai asked, tilting her head. "You've been restless since we entered the city."

Fatty groaned. "I… I don't like it here. The women staring at me, the eunuchs grabbing me, the smell of perfume thicker than air. It's… it's dangerous, brother Han! What if those Eternal Night women really… really come at me in my sleep?!" He flopped backward on the bed dramatically. "I'll die of shame!"

Mo Han chuckled low in his throat. "No one's going to drag you away, Lambu. You're safe as long as you stay with me."

Fatty peeked up, eyes watery. "Promise? Because I feel like my purity is in peril every time I breathe in this city."

Mo Han smirked, pouring himself tea. "Your purity, hm? Let's see if it survives the month."

Jia Kai shook her head, half amused, half worried. "Enough. Rest. Tomorrow, we'll see what game these elders truly play."

Mo Han leaned back against the wall, sipping his tea, his gaze steady on the flickering candle. The scents of silk and wine seeped through the window from the streets below. The city whispered of pleasure, of danger, of traps disguised as promises.

And Mo Han, calm but unyielding, already began thinking of enslaving this rich city.

-

Eternal Night Mansion…

The plump administrator walked briskly down the corridor with a scroll hugged to her chest. The seal of the Pink Blossom Tree sect gleamed a soft rose under lamplight.

She paused before a moon-door. "Elder Park, I've brought a recommendation."

A woman's voice floated from within, mellow and dangerous, like a cat. "Enter."

The administrator swept aside the beads and stepped into a room.

Elder Park reclined on a wide chair. Her beauty was that of a steel blade dipped in honey; look too long, and you might not notice the cut.

"The letter?" Elder Park held out two fingers, and the administrator placed the scroll with both hands.

Park cracked the wax, unrolled the parchment, and read. The moment her gaze touched the seal—Pink Blossom Tree—the corners of her mouth curled in distaste. With a flick of her wrist, she brought the scroll toward a candle flame.

"Another one," she murmured. "How many times must we burn their recommondations?"

The flame kissed the edge. Paper browned, then curled. A second breath and it would have been ash—but in the wavering orange, a line of characters flashed as if written with a different ink:

—heavenly body constitution of a dual cultivator…

Elder Park's eyes snapped sharp. Her other hand held the burning edge to save the last remaining lines. She smoothed the half-charred scroll against her knee, reading the remaining lines in quick, devouring sweeps.

The administrator's breath hitched. "M-My lady…?"

Park ignored her. The letter was brief—too brief—but it carried Matriarch Shijin's personal signets and those words again, in formal phrasing at the close: Heavenly-grade dual cultivation constitution confirmed, recommendation tendered with accountability. The kind of wording that said Send him back if you dare.

"No," Park breathed, barely a word. "No… how would a heavenly-rank constitution crawl out of that pink tree?" Her eyes grew cold as winter jade. "Shijin's hand is too smooth by half. She wants the Mansion to fix her sect's future. She thinks to slip her disciples with false words."

The administrator swallowed. She had seen this look once—on a night when a merchant house said no to a simple request and lost a warehouse by dawn.

"My lady," she ventured cautiously, "what if… it is true? Heavenly rank is rare. If we—if the elders—"

"—learn of it?" Park finished, voice silk-thin. "Then the old men and women will beg, and that boy will be received as an elite personal disciple. And Shijin will smirk behind her sleeve for a decade." She rolled the scroll back up with steady fingers. "I will not let the Pink Blossom Tree succeed. Not while I breathe."

The administrator's face seemed to pale. "What should I do?"

"What you always do," Park said. She reached for a small black pouch and dropped it; it landed with the sound of soft wealth. "Reject him without fuss. Slow the ink. Misplace the slate. Tell him to come in two days, then two more, then 'regretfully'—no slots this cycle. And make sure the elders never learns about the boy."

The administrator bowed, scooped up the pouch with practiced humility, and hid it within her sleeve. "As you wish, Elder Park." She hesitated, then asked, "What if another elder hears rumor?"

Park's smile showed no teeth. "Which rumor? That the Pink Blossom Tree sent another pretty letter? The Mansion receives a hundred a month. As for the boy… if he is clever, he will leave. If he is not, the city will eat him. Either way, Shijin will learn not to play games at my gate."

The administrator backed out through the beads. The moon-door clicked shut. Elder Park stared at the singed edge of the scroll a moment longer, then rolled it tight and slid it into a drawer among others too alike to count.

Under her breath she said, almost curious despite herself, "Heavenly?" Then she extinguished the candle with two fingers before sliding them down her body.