Red Lantern Pavillion Ch. 01

The Red Lantern Pavilion -- Third Floor, Private Chamber

The room smelled of camellia and wine, but the air had a sharpness to it--like the moment before a blade was drawn.

Yuan Fei entered with practiced grace, every step a performance of soft silks and lowered lashes. The door slid shut behind her with a thud of finality. Alone now, with no madam to perform for and no drunk prince to coo over, she became quiet. Still. Waiting.

He stood at the far end, silhouetted by the lacquered window screen, his back turned.

"You're late," Li Jinyan said without turning. His voice was low, even, like a blade slid from a sheath. "Or are you always this slow when summoned?"

She dropped into a kneel, forehead bowed to the floor in a motion that was more instinct than habit.

"I came as soon as I was called, Your Highness."

He turned then. The hood was gone. His face--too sharp for boyhood, too calm for desire--was unreadable. He studied her as one might study a horse before riding it for the first time: not with tenderness, but with calculation.

"I was told you don't speak unless required," he said.

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Good. Then listen."

He crossed the room in measured strides, stopping before her. She didn't flinch when his hand slid beneath her chin, lifting her face. His touch wasn't cruel--just firm. Testing. His eyes scanned hers, seeking signs of fear or defiance. He found neither.

"I don't want to be flattered. I don't want to be worshipped. I don't want you to play the musician or the mother," he said. "I want obedience. Absolute."

Yuan Fei's breath hitched--not from fear, but from something she hadn't felt in a long time: recognition.

"Yes, Your Highness," she whispered.

He let go of her chin, satisfied.

"Strip. Slowly. Then kneel by the table. I want to see if you understand what silence truly means."

Yuan Fei rose, her hands moving to the sash at her waist. No coy glances, no teasing gestures--just the quiet rustle of silk sliding from skin. When the robe fell away, she knelt where he had told her, her eyes lowered, her body still.

Li Jinyan moved without comment, drawing a small lacquered case from his traveling satchel. He placed it on the table beside her with the same care a soldier gives to sharpening a blade before war. When he opened it, the soft scent of sandalwood escaped.

Inside: a coiled length of silk cord, two polished wooden rods with fastenings at each end, a pair of small metal clamps, black leather cuffs, a braided flogger, and a delicate bottle of amber-hued oil sealed with wax. A blindfold of black silk rested atop them all.

He let her see. He wanted her to see.

"You will not move without permission," he said, voice quieter now. "You will not speak unless I ask. You will not come until I allow it."

He picked up the blindfold and stood behind her.

"Do you understand?"

Yuan Fei swallowed. Her knees ached already against the hard floor, but the ache was nothing compared to the warmth spreading through her chest. He meant it. Every word. No pretense. No begging to be nursed or tamed. Just order. Precision. Control.

"Yes, Your Highness," she said softly.

He slid the blindfold over her eyes, knotting it at the back of her head with a slow, deliberate pull.

"Good," he murmured by her ear. "You won't see anything else tonight. Only feel."

She sat in darkness, breath steady but shallow, every sense heightened.

Li Jinyan moved like a shadow--silent, efficient. She heard the faint clink of metal, the whisper of silk, the scrape of flint. Then a new scent--honey and spice--drifted into the air.

Wax.

She knew that smell. Rare temple wax, used in noble offerings. And he was lighting it now. For her.

"Touch," he said simply.

His fingers brushed her wrist, wrapping it in soft leather before buckling the restraint. The second followed, her arms bound behind her back--not cruelly tight, but inescapably secure. Her balance shifted. Her breath caught.

"Sound."

The flogger's tassels kissed the back of her thigh in a teasing stroke. Then again, firmer. Not painful--yet. Just enough to stir the nerve endings awake.

"Temperature."

He uncorked the oil and poured a stream along her spine. Warm. Smooth. His fingers followed, massaging it in with deliberate care, pressing into the muscles at her lower back. It was soothing... until he abruptly stopped, letting the air chill her skin.

Then: the wax.

It dripped in a slow bead down her shoulder blade.

She jerked.

A second drop. Closer to her spine.

He said nothing. He wanted her to feel it all--the hesitation before, the sting after, the heat, the cool, the press of breath just behind her ear.

He leaned close.

"Tell me what hurts the most," he whispered.

Yuan Fei exhaled shakily, still kneeling, still blindfolded.

"... Not being touched at all," she said.

He smiled.

"Then I'll make you beg for every inch."

Yuan Fei didn't know how long she knelt.

Time became heat, sensation, breath.

He traced the wax trails with his fingers--some hardened, some still warm. The clamps came next, affixed slowly, precisely. One to the inside of her thigh. Another to a tender curve of flesh he made her expose by shifting her posture with nothing more than a palm on her neck.

Her body obeyed. Her mind began to unravel.

Then the flogger again--this time harder. A strike to the back of her thigh, then across the small of her back. She jerked against the restraints but didn't cry out. The pain sharpened everything.

Another strike.

Then silence.

She whimpered--not from pain, but from its absence.

Li crouched behind her, his voice low, hot against her ear. "Already aching without it?"

She nodded, wordless.

"Say it."

"... Yes, Your Highness."

He moved around her like a storm held just barely in check, every touch designed to overwhelm. He teased her with oil-slicked fingers, stopping just before she could find any rhythm or relief.

Then: nothing.

He stepped away again.

She was left panting in the silence, the wax cooling, the clamps biting gently, her muscles trembling.

"Look at you," he murmured, circling her again. "So obedient. So ready to suffer for someone who knows what to do with you."

She bit her lip, trying not to cry--not from pain, but from the rightness of it. She had spent years pretending to dominate, to guide, to soothe men who needed coddling.

And now--finally--she was nothing.

Just sensation. Just flesh.

Just his.

He pressed a hand against her lower back and leaned in, his tone roughening for the first time.

"I'm going to mark you," he whispered. "Not because you belong to me--yet--but because I want to see if you want to."

Her breath hitched. "Yes," she whispered.

"No. Beg."

"... Please," she rasped. "Please mark me, Your Highness."

He exhaled, pleased.

"Good girl."

Yuan Fei couldn't see him, but she felt him--circling, choosing.

The next stroke of the flogger cracked louder, biting across her back with intent now. No more teasing. She flinched, but didn't cry out. The silence pleased him. So he struck again. And again.

Her thighs trembled. Her breath came in shallow gasps. But she didn't beg. Not yet.

Then the clamps tightened.

He twisted one just slightly as he whispered by her ear, "You'll speak when I ask. Scream when I say. And break only when I allow it."

She nodded through gritted teeth.

The next pain came lower--a sudden, stinging slap between her thighs, sharp and unexpected. She gasped, body jolting forward. His hand returned, warm and rough, not to soothe but to remind.

"You like that," he said--not asking.

"... Yes, Your Highness."

Another strike. Harder. Her knees buckled, but the restraints held her up.

Then the wax returned--this time on her breast, right over the sensitive skin near the clamp. She gasped, a choked sob escaping.

He smiled.

"Good. Let me hear it."

More wax. More flogger. A hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back even through the blindfold.

"You want to be ruined," he growled against her throat, voice lower now. "Don't you?"

"... Yes," she breathed, barely able to speak.

"You want to be nothing but a vessel. A thing."

Her body was shaking, slick with oil, welts rising along her back. "Yes, Your Highness. Please..."

He let go of her hair and pulled her upright by the bindings on her wrists. She was off-balance, exposed, trembling--but silent, obedient.

Then, finally, he stepped behind her again.

"You've earned this."

He pushed into her in one hard thrust--no warning, no easing in. Just possession.

She cried out then--raw, involuntary--and it only made him tighten his grip, slamming into her with the full force of withheld release.

He didn't speak. Didn't praise. He used her, utterly.

And when he finished, he pulled out and spilled across her back again, letting the heat of him mix with wax and oil, marking her not with permanence--but with promise.

He stood over her, breath steady, watching the way she stayed still.

"You'll remember this every time someone calls your name," he said quietly. "Because I won't have to raise my voice to own you."

Then he walked away, leaving her trembling, used, and covered--in pain, in silence, in him.

Red Lantern Pavilion -- Yuan Fei's Chamber, Moments Later

The door closed behind him with a heavy finality. His presence lingered like heat in the air--salt, wax, sweat, and something else. Claim.

Yuan Fei remained kneeling on the floor, blindfold still in place, arms bound, breath uneven.

She heard the faint rustle of cloth as someone entered.

"Oh--Heavens above."

Wukong's gasp was sharp, almost motherly, and entirely genuine. The older woman rushed to her side, skirts swishing as she knelt awkwardly beside her.

"Miss Fei--what in all nine hells..." Her fingers fumbled with the restraints. "Did he hurt you?"

Yuan Fei didn't answer. She couldn't--not yet. Her lips parted, but her voice had been left somewhere between wax and skin and that low, commanding whisper in her ear.

"Sweet girl..." Wukong muttered, finally loosening the cuffs and gently slipping the blindfold away. "You're shaking."

Yuan Fei blinked against the sudden candlelight. Her lashes were damp. Her skin blotched with welts, wax, oil, and a trail of something unmistakably personal across her lower back.

Wukong hissed softly between her teeth.

"Royal bastard..." she whispered. "He left you like this?"

Yuan Fei only nodded, slow, like a doll that hadn't been wound tight enough to move.

Wukong dipped a cloth in warm water and began wiping her down--starting with the wax, then the oil. Her hands were careful, but her tone stayed sharp.

"This'll reach Mèng Yao's ears before the sheets are cold," she warned under her breath. "And she won't like it. No one touches you this way. No one."

Yuan Fei finally spoke, her voice hoarse but certain.

"... He didn't touch me. He saw me."

Wukong froze, cloth in hand.

"What?"

"I don't want her to stop him," Yuan Fei said quietly. "Don't lie. Don't soften it. Tell her everything."

Wukong stared, eyes narrowed. Not in judgment--but in worry.

"You're not a toy, child."

"No," Yuan Fei said. "I'm not. But I am his now. He just doesn't know it yet."

Later That Night -- Mèng Yao's Quarters

The brothel's top floor was quiet, muffled behind silk screens and papered doors. The scent of incense curled through the air like a warning.

Wukong stood with her hands folded tightly in front of her, eyes lowered as she recounted every detail. She did not embellish. She didn't need to. The truth, unsoftened, was damning enough.

Mèng Yao sat behind a low lacquered desk, long sleeves folded neatly across her lap. She was not a beautiful woman--too sharp, too lean--but she held power the way nobles held swords: with elegance and deadly precision.

She said nothing for a long time.

Then: "He left her marked."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Unwashed. Unclothed. Unfit for the next client."

"Yes."

"And she defended him?"

Wukong hesitated, then gave a slow, reluctant nod. "Said he saw her. Said she belongs to him now."

Mèng Yao exhaled through her nose, slow and thin like steam escaping a kettle. She tapped her long, lacquered nails against the desk.

"He's the prince-inherit of Lanling," she murmured. "One misstep and this place could be ash. But..."

Her lips twitched--something dark, unreadable.

"... I didn't build this house to be used and discarded by overfed boys playing soldier."

She stood.

"Send a message to the palace," she said calmly. "Tell them Mèng Yao requests an audience with His Highness Li Jinyan. Not a summons. A request."

Wukong's eyes widened slightly. "He may refuse."

"Oh, he won't," Mèng Yao said, gaze cool and unwavering. "He's taken something that was never offered. He will come."

She turned toward the window, hands clasped behind her back.

"And if he thinks this brothel is merely a place to take what he wants," she added, "he's about to learn what happens when someone reaches into the lion's den and pulls back their hand missing fingers."

Lanling Palace -- Inner Bathing Chambers

Steam rose in soft, rolling waves around the tiled basin. The air was thick with heat and sandalwood. Li Jinyan reclined in the mineral bath, arms stretched along the stone ledge, muscles loose but mind not at rest.

His eyes were open, fixed on nothing.

The scent of wax still clung to his skin. Beneath the water, faint marks from reins and armor spoke of years of discipline--but tonight, a different kind of restraint haunted him.

She hadn't fought it. Hadn't flinched.

And it shouldn't have mattered.

Footsteps broke his silence--quick, hesitant ones. A palace eunuch, thin and sweating, approached the edge of the room with his head bowed low, stopping well out of splashing distance.

"Your Highness," the eunuch began, voice thin with nerves. "There's a--"

The doors slammed open before he could finish.

Mèng Yao swept into the room like a thunderhead in silk--black robes laced with crimson, hair bound in a crown of pins that could pierce bone if she willed it. She walked straight into the cloud of heat, the hem of her robe licking steam like fire at fog.

The eunuch paled and stepped back, nearly tripping over himself. "M-Mistress! You were told to wait--!"

"I don't wait," Mèng Yao said, without looking at him.

Her eyes locked on the prince.

Li Jinyan didn't move. Didn't blink. He sat up slightly in the water, one knee rising from the bath, lean muscle rippling beneath the surface like coiled command.

"Bold," he said.

"No," she replied. "Necessary."

She stopped a few paces from the edge of the pool, unmoved by the nudity, the steam, or the guards who were undoubtedly closing in just outside the chamber.

"I found Yuan Fei on her knees," she said flatly. "Blinded. Bound. Covered in oil, wax, and you. Not dismissed. Not protected. Discarded."

Li Jinyan exhaled slowly through his nose. "You came to scold me?"

"I came to make sure you understand what you've done," she snapped. "She is not some simpering wine-girl who trembles under a noble's belt. She's the heart of my house. She is the reason this city's rulers keep secrets in my walls instead of burying them in courtyards."

He stood.

Water cascaded off him, glistening in the heat. He didn't bother with modesty. He never did.

"And yet she begged me," he said calmly. "Every mark was asked for."

"And still," Mèng Yao said, taking a single step closer, "you left her like a servant tossed out of favor. Unwashed. Unseen. Unclaimed."

Li said nothing.

Mèng Yao's voice softened--deadlier for it.

"So let me ask plainly: do you intend to claim her? Or have you already had your fill?"

His jaw clenched. His silence said everything.

Mèng Yao nodded once, crisp and final.

"Then hear this, Prince of Lanling: I don't care whose blood sings in your veins. You have until the full moon. After that, if you haven't come for her, she is no longer yours to take."

She turned and walked out, her final words drifting behind her like incense smoke:

"My girls are not left behind. Not even by princes."