Li Muzhan had seen many beauties in his time—Grand Disciple Wen Yinyue, Mei Ruolan, Gong Qingyun, Xiao Yuan, as well as Su Yunyun of the Yuhan Camp and the residents of Star Lake Villa. Yet, few had drawn two consecutive sounds of admiration from his lips.

Jin Qiaoqiao was truly a siren, the nemesis of every man alive, almost impossible to resist. Li Muzhan was no exception, though his heart was currently steeped in killing intent, leaving no room for lust, only pure appreciation as he observed her with narrowed eyes.

“Mr. Jiang, Qiaoqiao is beautiful, isn't she?” Wan Niang smiled, pursing her lips.

Li Muzhan looked at Jin Qiaoqiao and slowly nodded. “Exceedingly so.

Her reputation is well-earned.” Wan Niang smiled sweetly. “Qiaoqiao is not only beautiful; her sword dance is unmatched.

Mr. Jiang will appreciate it even more once he sees it.” “Nothing could be better; I was just thinking I’d like to witness the marvel of a sword dance.” Li Muzhan chuckled, draining his wine cup in one go.

Wan Niang gracefully filled it for him with her slender hand. Clutching his cup, Li Muzhan laughed.

“I hear many men court Miss Jin. I wonder which distinguished figures are among them?

Do tell.” Wan Niang gave a charming smile. “Those pursuing Qiaoqiao are as numerous as gnats crossing a river, but there are a few top-tier contenders.” “Who is the strongest?” Li Muzhan asked with a smile.

Wan Niang paused in thought. “There are several whose skill level is too close to call—it’s hard to say who ranks higher.” “What is your estimation, Wan Niang?” Li Muzhan pressed, as if unwilling to drop the subject until he had a definitive answer.

Wan Niang pursed her lips, raised her cup to clink against Li Muzhan’s, and drank it down swiftly. She chuckled softly, “…If I had to say, the most powerful of them all is Young Master Lin!” “Oh?” Li Muzhan’s brow arched slightly.

Wan Niang laughed. “This Young Master Lin Ping is not only handsome and dashing, but his family background is exceptional.

He is the legitimate heir of the Lin family, with full rights to succession, and he is also the Young Master of the South Altar of the Sanxiao Hall. In terms of both lineage and power, he is top-tier, unmatched.” “Are there no other figures who can compete?” Li Muzhan asked with a smile.

Wan Niang beamed. “There are others, of course.

Such as the City Governor’s son, and Young Master Fang—both are formidable and should not be underestimated.” “So, they still fall short of Young Master Lin,” Li Muzhan nodded slowly. Wan Niang lightly laughed.

“You are perceptive, Sir!” Li Muzhan sighed, shaking his head. “If that is the case… then Miss Jin is effectively Young Master Lin’s possession, easily attained, no?” Wan Niang shook her head and laughed softly.

“That is not necessarily true.” “Oh?” Li Muzhan picked up the wine ewer and poured a fresh cup for her himself, smiling. “How so?” Wan Niang giggled.

“While Young Master Lin is the strongest, he cannot dictate Qiaoqiao’s affections. Qiaoqiao prefers scholars!” Li Muzhan let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head repeatedly.

Scholars—hehe, scholars! ……………………………………………………………… He had already discerned that Jin Qiaoqiao was a master hiding her true strength.

Her brilliance was restrained, her inner light merely flickering beneath the surface. Externally, one could not truly gauge her depth, only sensing she was versed in martial arts and some cultivation techniques, though her inner force seemed shallow.

However, Li Muzhan could perceive that Jin Qiaoqiao practiced an extremely peculiar martial art—one capable of concealing the vast majority of her power, deliberately creating a false impression. For some unknown reason, he suddenly felt a sense of familiarity, as if he had encountered her aura before.

Though he hadn't met her, her presence carried a feeling he knew intimately. Perhaps they practiced the same martial art, or perhaps she merely resembled someone he had once known.

In any case, the feeling was strange, stirring an urge toward closeness. For someone with such profound inner force to be hidden away in a pleasure house suggested she was involved in some unspeakable affair.

It would be best not to provoke her. But for a person of such caliber to claim a preference for scholars seemed almost laughable.

In the eyes of martial arts masters, scholars were weak, incapable of lifting even a chicken. The strong naturally look down upon the weak, believing a single little finger could erase them—like a lion viewing a lamb.

How could love possibly bloom between them? “Qiaoqiao truly does prefer scholars.” Seeing Li Muzhan’s unconvinced, half-smile, Wan Niang shook her head and sighed.

Li Muzhan smiled. “Are you saying that just to comfort me, Wan Niang?” Wan Niang sighed.

“Qiaoqiao has witnessed too much of the world’s ugliness; she only seeks a righteous and upright scholar for a simple, tranquil life.” Li Muzhan smiled and shook his head, gesturing to their surroundings. “Accustomed to such opulence, being adored like a queen—do you truly believe she can cast that aside for a simple life?

Wan Niang, do you believe that?” Wan Niang smiled. “Qiaoqiao’s desires are different from most people’s.

She disdains fame and fortune. Young Master Lin has little chance.” Li Muzhan chuckled.

“Does that mean I, too, have a chance?” Wan Niang smiled sweetly. “Since you are also a scholar, Sir, then yes, you naturally have a chance.” Li Muzhan burst into loud laughter, shaking his head.

“Wan Niang, I possess enough self-awareness to know that even if Miss Jin were completely blinded, she wouldn’t spare me a glance!” Their voices were not loud, but the surrounding silence amplified them, letting them drift far afield. “Who is making such a racket?” A sharp voice called from nearby.

It was Lin Ping. He stated sternly, “Disturbing Miss Qiaoqiao’s sword practice is an egregious offense.

Silence yourselves immediately!” Li Muzhan laughed, shaking his head as he spoke slowly. “If I have to speak a few words, I must tread on eggshells?

I might as well be lying in my own bed at home. Why endure this restraint here?” Lin Ping huffed coldly.

“If you wish to speak, do so at home. Do not disrupt Miss Qiaoqiao’s performance!” ………………………………………… They exchanged a few more words.

Li Muzhan remained slow-paced and languid, tinged with disdain. Remarkably, the usually ill-tempered Lin Ping only resorted to verbal sparring, refraining from physical confrontation.

Li Muzhan understood: Lin Ping was determined to leave a cultured impression on Jin Qiaoqiao. Otherwise, based on his temperament, he would have slammed the table and attacked long ago.

Lin Ping was never a fool; otherwise, he wouldn't have been selected for Star Lake Villa. He likely had guessed Jin Qiaoqiao’s temperament and dared not reveal his domineering side.

To suppress himself so thoroughly for a woman—he must be deeply in love. A flash of inspiration struck Li Muzhan, and he chuckled.

Jin Qiaoqiao stood poised on the stage, perfectly still, like a carved jade maiden. It was then she spoke, her voice soft yet crisp: “Young Master Lin, Mr.

this gentleman—let us all speak a little less, lest harmony be disturbed.” Li Muzhan smiled and cupped his hands. “Since Miss Qiaoqiao has spoken, I shall naturally comply.” “Hmph, listen to Miss Qiaoqiao!” Lin Ping sneered coldly.

He was internally furious, feeling that Li Muzhan had stolen a step ahead and gained an advantage over him, leaving a knot of unresolved frustration in his chest. Seeing his state, the two old men retracted their hands from the two women’s laps, turned, and asked, “Young Master, shall we teach him a lesson?” Lin Ping paused, glanced up at Jin Qiaoqiao on the high platform across the way, took a breath, and waved his hand.

“Forget it—he’s lucky today!” “Young Master, I cannot swallow this insult. After we leave, I will deal with him properly and ensure he never dares set foot in White Cloud City again!” one old man grumbled roughly in a low voice.

Though his appearance was imposing, his complexion slightly ruddy, making him look martial, his words lacked that martial spirit. Cold light flickered in his eyes.

Lin Ping considered this, then shook his head. “Do not let a small matter cause a large loss.

Forgive him this time.” “…Yes,” the red-faced old man conceded reluctantly. “Hush…” Lin Ping suddenly raised a finger to his lips, staring intently at the high platform ahead.

Amid the lingering melody of the zither, Jin Qiaoqiao began her sword dance. The long sword moved slowly, matching the rhythm of the music, yet faintly, an image appeared before the audience: a formation of figures, holding their swords in perfect, synchronized movements.

Li Muzhan inwardly cursed—this subtle illusion carried a mesmerising technique belonging to the spiritual domain, something achievable only by those possessing profound, unusual skills; it was not innate. This confirmed it: Jin Qiaoqiao indeed possessed a secret heritage and had ulterior motives.

He watched, frowning, and that familiar sensation resurfaced. Suddenly, a thought sparked, a light illuminating his mind—Jade Cold Palace!

……………………………… No wonder she felt familiar! Though he hadn't met her, that sense of familiarity persisted.

It was due to the Jade Cold Palace—she must possess one of its supreme skills! He instantly thought of Su Yunyun, picturing her delicate body and captivating eyes.

How was she faring in the Jade Cold Palace now? Could she be implicated in this?

He recalled his abrupt departure, realizing it had been somewhat heartless. What had happened then was a mistake, yet thinking back now brought a wave of warmth.

Though Su Yunyun seemed like a demonic woman, she possessed an undercurrent of tenderness that was hard to detect without intimate knowledge. Her core was fragile, yet her exterior was strong—a necessary shield for self-protection.

The more he thought about it, the more guilty he felt, suddenly driven by an impulse to visit the Jade Cold Palace to see Su Yunyun. Li Muzhan glanced at Wan Niang, certain that she, too, belonged to the Jade Cold Palace.

He felt no particular closeness toward her but smiled lightly. “Miss Qiaoqiao’s sword dance is indeed superb.” Wan Niang smiled faintly.

“This is just the beginning, Sir. The best part is yet to come; there is no need to rush.” Li Muzhan nodded and smiled.

“Very well. Since Miss Qiaoqiao dances so well, she must be deeply skilled in swordsmanship—a true martial arts master, I presume?” Wan Niang chuckled, shaking her head.

“Sir, you misunderstand. A sword dance and swordsmanship are not the same thing.

The former is an entertaining dance; the latter is a method of killing. They are entirely different.

No matter how well one dances with a sword, it remains mere showmanship, useless in actual combat.” “So that is how it is…” Li Muzhan adopted an expression of sudden realization. At that moment, Jin Qiaoqiao’s sword movements gradually quickened, forming a lotus flower that bloomed slightly, dazzling in its radiance.

The crowd roared its approval, and applause thundered. Li Muzhan joined the applause.

To render a sword dance into such a form was truly an art; the average person could not achieve this. What was remarkable was the clarity of the lotus formed by the sword light—it was vivid and lifelike, as if a real lotus had burst into bloom upon the stage.

One lotus flower, then another, and in the blink of an eye, three lotuses bloomed sequentially, lined up side by side—truly magnificent. Li Muzhan applauded vigorously, his eyes shining.

Such swordsmanship involved more than just technique; it was a unique method of controlling the blade. Even he couldn't replicate it.

He fixed his gaze intensely on Jin Qiaoqiao’s hands, ignoring the pervasive sword light, focusing only on the movements of her wrist rotation, the subtle shifts of her feet, and the turns of her waist and shoulders. These few movements were deeply etched into his memory.

He began analyzing them unconsciously, trying to decipher the mystery of this sword control method, but could not grasp it immediately, so he forced himself to memorize the motions. The cheers rose higher and higher, the sword light flashing until, eventually, the stage seemed covered in a curtain of light, enveloping the platform.

Jin Qiaoqiao lightly touched the stage with her toes, spinning like a ballet dancer of later ages, stirring up swirling masses of sword light—flashing like cascading waves, their flowing brilliance spreading across the platform. ………………………………………… The zither music abruptly ceased, and simultaneously, the sword light snapped back.

Jin Qiaoqiao retracted her blade, standing perfectly still in the center, breathing heavily, and bowed to the crowd with her sword held before her. The crowd erupted in applause, praising her with expressions of lingering satisfaction, their eyes fixed on Jin Qiaoqiao.

“Young Master Lin sends three yellow flowers!” someone shouted loudly. “Young Master Fang sends three yellow flowers!” another called out.

“Young Master Pan sends three yellow flowers!” “Mr. Jiang sends four yellow flowers!” A wave of murmurs swept through the audience as people turned to locate this "Mr.

Jiang." A single yellow flower cost ten taels of silver—a sum not everyone could afford to spend so lavishly. The person who sent the most yellow flowers was entitled to place them on Jin Qiaoqiao’s hair personally—the only opportunity to get close to her.

Thus, even common wildflowers commanded a price of ten silver taels each. Ten taels was no small sum, and forty taels for four flowers was a fortune, especially given the low cost of living then; forty taels could comfortably support a family for twenty to thirty years.

Li Muzhan emerged from the room, waved a hand toward the crowd, and stroked his newly grown beard with a slight smile. The discussions intensified instantly.

No one had expected that the benefactor of four yellow flowers would be a middle-aged scholar appearing somewhat down-at-heel. In the eyes of the onlookers, those who sent yellow flowers were usually wealthy young dandies, squandering money they had nowhere else to spend.

If it were their own fathers, they would certainly not be so extravagant. Wan Niang smiled sweetly, approaching Li Muzhan and calling out loudly, “Sister Qiaoqiao, it is this Mr.

Jiang who gifted four yellow flowers.” Jin Qiaoqiao, standing on the stage, gave a faint, formal bow. “I thank Mr.

Jiang for his generous gift!” The money from the yellow flowers did not go to the Tanchun Tower but was pocketed entirely by her. For her, this was the real windfall.

Earning one hundred and ten taels from yellow flowers in a single evening was enough to stun observers, further cementing Jin Qiaoqiao’s status. Being this wealthy, she could easily buy her freedom, needing no rich patron.

She could choose whomever she pleased based on mutual affection, regardless of wealth. Li Muzhan cupped his hands and smiled.

“Miss Qiaoqiao is a woman whose talent rivals any man’s; I admire her greatly. This small token is merely a gesture of respect!” At that moment, a beautiful, middle-aged woman ascended the stage, dressed in a black gown, her hair unbound, skin like chilled jade, radiating an aura of languid sensuality.

She stood beside Jin Qiaoqiao and spoke, her voice slightly husky yet possessed of a seductive resonance. “Mr.

Jiang, please come up and place the yellow flowers on Qiaoqiao.” “That is Madam Yang,” Wan Niang whispered softly, smiling. “Madam Yang is a good person, kind-hearted, and takes good care of us unfortunate women.”……………………….

Li Muzhan nodded with a smile. “That is precisely what I intended, thank you, Madam Yang.” He smiled at Wan Niang, then turned and walked toward the north, emerging from the staircase there to step directly onto the high platform beside Madam Yang.

Up close, the feeling intensified. Madam Yang was like a perfectly ripe peach, her skin almost bursting, radiating pure allure.

She extended a hand, and a pretty maidservant presented a wooden tray holding four small yellow flowers, indistinguishable from common wildflowers found in any field. “Mr.

Jiang, would you trouble yourself to place these four flowers on Qiaoqiao for her? Are you reluctant?” she asked with a slight smile.

Li Muzhan laughed. “I couldn’t ask for more; I am delighted to oblige!” “Hmph!” A cold snort suddenly rang out, causing the bodies of those in the hall to tremble, as if a heavy hammer had struck beside their ears.

The sound was immense. Li Muzhan frowned, turning his gaze upward, his eyes meeting Lin Ping’s.

Lin Ping stood leaning on the railing, his gaze sharp, almost physical; the cold swords that seemed to materialize from his eyes threatened to pierce Li Muzhan through, a truly frightening sight. Any ordinary scholar would have wilted under such a stare, fleeing in disarray or standing rooted to the spot, legs trembling.

Li Muzhan, however, merely smiled at Lin Ping. “May I inquire as to the esteemed name of this young master?

What guidance do you offer?” “I am Lin Ping,” Lin Ping replied coldly, cupping his hands. Li Muzhan raised an eyebrow, considered for a moment.

“Are you perhaps the Young Master of the South Altar of the Sanxiao Hall?” “Indeed,” Lin Ping nodded. Li Muzhan’s face broke into a smile.

“My apologies for the lack of recognition, Young Master Lin. I have long heard of your fame!

But how have I offended you, Young Master Lin?” Lin Ping pointed at the wooden tray before him and remained silent. Li Muzhan laughed.

“If Young Master Lin wished to present flowers to Miss Qiaoqiao, why not be more generous and let me take advantage of the loophole?” Lin Ping’s face flushed red, his eyes blazing with icy light. He did wish to be more generous, but the allowance his father provided each month was finite.

If he squandered it recklessly, he wouldn't last a few days, and then he couldn't afford to visit Tanchun Tower. Li Muzhan smiled.

“I hope Young Master Lin takes this as a lesson, and will be more generous next time. For now, allow me to place these few small flowers for Miss Qiaoqiao.” Saying this, he picked up a small yellow flower and slowly approached Jin Qiaoqiao.

Her large eyes blinked as she stared at him, her expression seemingly articulate, showing curiosity. She was indeed surprised that a middle-aged man would harbor such sentiments.

Men of middle age usually focused on practicality; spending money so senselessly on flowers was rare. Moreover, everyone knew the major young masters were vying for her attention; few dared to join the fray.

Lin Ping’s knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists, his eyes spitting fire, grinding his teeth, wishing he could immediately leap up and deal with Li Muzhan. Li Muzhan saw it but acted as if blind.

He inserted the small yellow flower into Jin Qiaoqiao’s dark, lustrous hair, which shone like black satin, or perhaps like a dark expanse. With the small yellow flower placed, her beauty appeared even more refined and captivating.

Li Muzhan could detect the faint fragrance emanating from her, along with a familiar, cool aura—the very clean essence he had sensed from Su Yunyun back then. This solidified his certainty: Jin Qiaoqiao was indeed a disciple of the Jade Cold Palace.

Having placed the flower, he smiled broadly. “Miss Qiaoqiao, shall we share a cup of wine together?”