What You think my brother is stupid and look down on him

Banruo City, Huancai Pavilion.

Shanghua wore a red veil over her face, seated behind a grand partition curtain embroidered with exquisite landscapes.

Her eyes lowered, her expression focused as she gazed at the zither beneath her fingers.

Her slender, jade-like hands moved with graceful yet rhythmic precision.

The melody was elegant, carrying a hint of fervor.

To the discerning ear, her skill had already reached a masterful level.

Even those unfamiliar with the art could at least acknowledge its beauty.

After all, great artistry often possesses the virtue of appealing to both refined and common tastes.

Yet no matter how skilled the performance, the music must suit the occasion.

Playing a lively tune at a funeral, no matter how flawlessly executed, would likely earn one a beating.

Shanghua strained to focus on every note she played, drowning out the unspeakable sounds that frequently seeped through the partition.

The melody was refined, but the patrons beyond the curtain were anything but.

The crude vulgarities of men intertwined with the coy, accommodating voices of women.

Two starkly contrasting sounds clashed in dissonance.

Shanghua’s fingers moved faster, her body bending slightly as she tilted her ear closer to the zither, clinging to the solace of its music.

Just a little longer… and she could escape this nauseating place.

Suddenly—

Thud!

The abrupt noise made Shanghua instinctively look up. A sizable chunk of silver had been tossed onto the stage.

The partition curtain wasn’t fixed on all sides but hung suspended from above.

This design was deliberate.

Those who performed behind this curtain were destined to become one of Huancai Pavilion’s prized courtesans.

Beyond their delicate beauty, they were required to master at least one of the four arts—zither, chess, calligraphy, or painting.

Their demeanor was also cultivated differently from the norms of the Western Oxen Continent, instead mirroring the elegance of other great lands, lending these women an exotic allure.

For now, Shanghua remained a qing guanren—a chaste entertainer who did not take clients. At most, she played the zither behind the curtain, her face veiled.

Only on rare occasions was she required to serve tea, engage in light conversation, or share a laugh.

Physical contact was strictly forbidden. Huancai Pavilion knew how to maximize the value of their prized courtesans, never sacrificing long-term profit for petty gains.

Yet they also never missed an opportunity to monetize every possible advantage.

The curtain’s design was one such scheme—wealthy patrons below could toss silver onto the stage.

The partition was designed to be parted by force. If one threw enough money, the curtain could be forced open, offering a fleeting glimpse of the veiled courtesan behind it.

Of course, even if seen, it meant little.

But breaking the rules—that was a thrill in itself, a perverse badge of honor.

And so, some were willing to splurge extravagantly for it.

What of the untouchable courtesan behind the curtain? I can fling silver and force her into view for all to see.

Shanghua’s fingers faltered, the elegant melody halting abruptly.

Thud!

Another piece of silver struck the curtain, forcing it apart.

Shanghua’s eyes widened in alarm at the parted fabric before she hurriedly shut them, her hands scrambling to return to the zither.

"What tune is this?"

A brash, arrogant voice cut through the partition, shattering the music and piercing Shanghua’s heart.

"This is a pleasure house—play something fitting! Can’t you strum Eighteen Touches?"

His words didn’t stop, nor did the silver tearing open the curtain.

Shanghua’s skin crawled. Her fingers moved instinctively, resuming the melody without reply.

"That expression—more theatrical than an actress. What a picture of innocence."

"You think a qing guanren never has to take a client?"

The zither’s notes stuttered, then descended into discord.

"Just you wait. One day, you’ll beg me to play Eighteen Touches for—"

Before he could finish, another voice cut in.

"Touch what? I was enjoying the music just fine. What are you braying about? Is your brain only filled with filth?"

Shanghua stopped playing, her gaze lifting.

The curtain, forced open moments ago, slowly fell back into place. In that fleeting moment, she glimpsed a young man in opulent robes standing tall, his posture unwavering.

Then the fabric settled, and he vanished from sight.

"Who the hell are you? Do you know who I am?"

"Whether you’re a turtle or a tortoise, I couldn’t care less. But when it comes to status or wealth, I’ve yet to lose."

The hall had fallen silent, leaving only the two voices.

Shanghua stared at the curtain, ears straining.

"A thousand taels in gold notes—pin it to the stage! Stop embarrassing yourself with loose change! If you want to compare status… even your father would kneel to apologize to me. Don’t believe me? Go ahead—lay a single finger on me today!"

A pause.

Then uproarious laughter erupted. Shanghua knew—the braggart had backed down.

She waited, but the man who had spoken up said nothing more. He didn’t even demand she resume playing.

After a moment, Shanghua took a deep breath and returned to the zither.

Beyond the curtain—

Chu Xingchen reclined calmly in the VIP seat, ignoring the gazes of the surrounding courtesans. His eyes turned to Xu Jin beside him, a smirk playing on his lips.

"As expected of a core disciple of the Mysterious Purity Heavenly Sect—always well-prepared."

Xu Jin glanced at the thousand-tael gold note pressed onto the stage. His money had been spent, yet Chu Xingchen had reaped the glory.

But it didn’t matter. Just gold.

As the zither’s melody resumed its former grace, Xu Jin leaned in and murmured,

"I see your point, but isn’t this a bit too flashy?"

"Got a better idea? I thought Banruo City was a slum, but it’s a den of extravagance." Chu Xingchen sprawled lazily in his seat.

"High status gets things done. Wealth makes people take risks for you."

"And a little showmanship can be a smokescreen. If this identity gets tarnished, we’ve got backups."

"But… are you sure the flow of faith leads here? Or did you just want to indulge in something you shouldn’t?"

Xu Jin shot him a sidelong glance, meeting Chu Xingchen’s oh-so-innocent expression.

Who was it that strode in here like he owned the place, spending my money without hesitation?

And who was it that played the big spender with my funds, enjoying all the perks alone?

"I’m certain. What’s your next move?"

"Throw money around until all of Banruo City knows us. You got more gold or silver notes on you?"

"You don’t have any?"

"Brother, my sleeves are clean. I never visit these places—why would I carry any?"

Xu Jin said nothing, his expression screaming do you think I’m an idiot?

Chu Xingchen sighed. "Really, I don’t. With my status, my cultivation—you think I’d hoard mere mortal wealth if I had it?"

Xu Jin exhaled softly, then retrieved a stack of gold and silver notes from his spatial ring, handing them over.

The logic was sound.

Chu Xingchen cheerfully accepted: "Don’t worry. Once we become esteemed VIPs here, there’ll be no place we can’t go, no person we can’t bring in for questioning."

Xu Jin eyed him skeptically: "You’d better be talking about something serious."

"Greetings, honored gentlemen."

A syrupy, practiced feminine voice rang out. Chu Xingchen and Xu Jin turned to see a woman of lingering charm, dressed in flamboyant attire, swaying toward them.

Seeing no trace of disdain on their faces, the woman brightened and quickly added:

"My deepest thanks to you both for helping Shanghua out of that predicament earlier. She told me she wishes to serve tea later to the gentleman who came to her aid."

Chu Xingchen nodded understandingly. "Noted. I’ll take my brother along later—we’ll give her the courtesy."

The woman faltered. This was the first time she’d heard of someone bringing a "brother" to a beauty’s gesture of gratitude.

Hesitating, she murmured, "But…"

Chu Xingchen rose to his feet, his tone turning sharp.

"What’s the matter? Think my brother here’s too dim-witted for your standards?"

Xu Jin drew a slow breath.

Frankly, the only one looking down on him right now was Chu Xingchen himself.