The air inside Hongliu’s main hall shimmered with heat and candlelight, every breath thick with incense and the heady sweetness of rice wine. A sea of eyes followed the fluid sway of Xuan Ge’s body as the final notes of the pipa curled into silence. Silver ornaments chimed with each motion of his wrists and ankles, the delicate sound a counterpoint to the pounding rhythm of clapping hands. To the watching crowd, he was the very picture of effortless grace, smiling faintly as though his only concern in life was to please them.

In truth, his thoughts were far from idle.

As his body spun, veil trailing like smoke in the air, another memory pulsed beneath the music: the dim back chamber earlier that day, where the madam’s voice slid through the gloom like a blade through silk. “He is important,” she had said, pouring tea she never touched. “You will have no other assignments until you succeed. Win him, and the payout will be enough to make your freedom... conceivable.” The weight in her tone was enough to still the laughter in his throat. She had not told him why this man mattered, only that he was not to fail. And Xuan Ge had never treated any mission lightly.

The dance drew toward its close. He kept his eyes half-lidded, letting the candlelight glint off his violet irises, playing the part of the untouchable courtesan even as he tracked his true quarry in the crowd. There - watching. Unaware.

His final turn bled seamlessly into the plan. A single, precise step faltered; his balance shifted just enough to send him drifting forward, the cascade of hair and silk veils following like falling water. He let the curve of his body fold toward the target, stopping just short, the faint brush of his scent—spiced amber and white tea—spilling into the air between them. The world around seemed to hold its breath.

“Oh- my lord,” His voice was soft, almost startled, as he straightened with a fluid motion, lashes lifting to meet the target's gaze. “forgive my clumsiness. The dance... carried me farther than I intended.” A faint, embarrassed smile touched his lips, as though the thought of stumbling in front of him were mortifying. Yet in the depths of his eyes, something sharper flickered—gone before it could be named.

He inclined his head, letting a strand of hair slide forward over his shoulder, deliberately leaving the faintest trace of the moment to linger. Around them, applause still roared for the performance, but he heard only the quick, even beat of his own heart as he stepped back, the image of grace restored. This was only the opening move.