Chapter Twelve: The Blood-Stained Scarlet Sleeve Pavilion at the Grand Alliance of Five Nations

Since the sixty-third year of the Zhaoyue era, after the Fifth Prince of Nansheng, Fu Hua, glimpsed a woman in the imperial capital, he found himself sleepless and restless, incessantly seeking her name and family. Only later did he learn that she was the celebrated courtesan Hua Yan of the Red Sleeves Pavilion, famed throughout the capital—not merely for her exquisite music, but for her aloof dignity, selling only her art, never herself.

Fu Hua was born a warrior, possessed of peerless skill in the arts of war and strategy. Yet Nansheng knew only peace and prosperity; the people lived in contentment. Though the fire of battle smoldered within him, he found no field to test his mettle. He devoted his days to the study of tactics, never frequenting pleasure houses, and thus had never heard of her before that fateful encounter.

From that day onward, the Fifth Prince, wreathed in the chill of battlefield blood, haunted the Red Sleeves Pavilion. Once a man who never touched wine, he now drowned himself nightly in revelry, drunk to the point of collapse. In all of Nansheng, aside from Fu Hua and his wandering brother Fu Chen, which prince did not indulge in a life of feasting and women, wives and concubines in abundance?

Over the years, the Emperor of Nansheng had wished to select for Fu Hua a few distinguished, beautiful, and accomplished noblewomen for marriage. But Fu Hua replied, “Whatever consorts or wives my sovereign commands me to wed, I shall obey, but I shall never touch them in the slightest.” Upon hearing this, the emperor was furious, yet he could neither dictate his son’s private affairs nor wrong the noble daughters of the realm—lest the court officials plague his ears with endless complaints.

Thus, the emperor ceased to intervene in Fu Hua’s marital matters. After all, Fu Hua was the pride of Nansheng—if not quite the equal of the late Gu Qiuci, still an extraordinary treasure.

The young lords who had always regarded Fu Hua with distant respect were dumbfounded to see him in the Red Sleeves Pavilion. “How could such an imposing prince frequent a brothel?” one whispered.

“Li, you are mistaken,” another replied. “Even heroes cannot resist beauty. If even gods are not immune, how could a prince be? Hahaha!”

“There’s truth in that, but for a prince to flaunt his presence in such a place—he’s not so remarkable after all.”

“Indeed, the world is in decline, the world is in decline!”

“Shh! Do you want to die? Keep your voice down. Hahahaha...” They toyed with him in whispers, yet dared not provoke him openly, content to gossip from the shadows.

In time, news of the prince’s drunken escapades at the brothel spread across all five kingdoms. The Emperor, upon hearing this, was livid; his son had always been obedient, if aloof, but now, no matter the punishment—copying royal edicts, house arrest, beatings—Fu Hua would always return to the Red Sleeves Pavilion as soon as he was free.

In short, as long as he lived, no one could keep him from that place. The Emperor considered closing the Pavilion, but that would only confirm rumors that his favorite son was infatuated with a courtesan—a scandal that tongues could not be silenced from repeating. So, he let him be. Two years passed, and the world grew accustomed.

Fu Hua did nothing improper at the Pavilion—he simply listened to Hua Yan play, sipped wine. Hua Yan would occasionally drink with him, but spoke little, often meeting his words with silence.

Fu Hua wished to make her his consort, but upon learning her heart belonged elsewhere, though unwilling, he relented; he would never force a woman’s hand, for his woman must love him willingly.

On this day, Fu Hua came again to hear her play. The air was thick with music and the scent of desire. Dressed in blue with white sleeves, her every gesture drew his gaze, mesmerizing him so much he did not notice another’s approach.

“Tsk tsk, Miss Hua Yan’s music is ethereal, each note delicate and refined. And with lips like cherries and a slender waist, who wouldn’t wish to taste such beauty?” Lord Qin, dapper and refined in appearance, strode into the spacious room, ignoring Fu Hua’s presence, circling Hua Yan. Then he smashed her zither to the ground, seizing her chin in a cruel grip and squinting at Fu Hua. “No wonder even the chaste Fifth Prince has lost his wits over such a fair face.” The more she struggled, the more he gloated.

The commotion drew a crowd. Fu Hua and Qin Gun had long been rivals, their animosity well known throughout Nansheng. For three years, Qin Gun had been in mourning for his mother and not shown his face; now, with mourning just ended, he had come to the Pavilion to cause trouble.

Fu Hua’s grip on his wine cup tightened, his face dark as he enunciated, “Release her.”

Qin Gun only tightened his hold, sneering, “Is that an order? Should the Fifth Prince ever marry this lowly courtesan, will you have us kneel in obeisance to her children—daughters who will become whores, sons who will become slaves?”

The crowd blanched at these venomous words, sweat beading on their faces.

Fu Hua, cold as frost, set down his cup, drew his sword, and advanced, repeating in a voice that brooked no defiance, “Release her.”

Qin Gun hated nothing more than Fu Hua’s arrogance. In a fit of rage, he flung the frail Hua Yan to the cold floor, scraping her palm, her eyes welling with tears.

All eyes turned to Fu Hua, wondering if the warrior prince would unleash his wrath for her sake.

As Fu Hua closed the distance, the crowd held their breath.

Qin Gun threw back his head and laughed, refusing to give ground. “I was born to be a gentleman, but the prince bullies me so! What choice do I have?” His father had raised him on the doctrine of sovereign and subject, but his own ambition could not be quelled—especially as the nation praised Fu Hua’s military genius.

With three steps between them, Fu Hua’s eyes grew murderous. In a flash, he drew his sword and leveled it at Qin Gun’s chest.

“If the sovereign wills a subject’s death, the subject must die. If you intend to strike, Prince, do it quickly. Don’t keep me waiting,” Qin Gun taunted, convinced Fu Hua would not dare.

The blade, cold and gleaming, rested on his neck as Fu Hua, catching sight of Hua Yan desperately shaking her head from the floor, let his gaze darken.

“Very well. As Lord Qin wishes.”

With that, Fu Hua’s grip tightened. Qin Gun collapsed with a crash, his head falling to the floor with a spray of blood.

Unperturbed, Fu Hua helped the terrified Hua Yan to her feet.

Screams erupted. The onlookers kowtowed, begging for mercy.

Fu Hua swept them with a glance, and they fled in panic.

He had long tolerated Qin Gun’s provocations, not from fear but from indifference—so long as his bottom line was not crossed, he would not stoop to quarrel. Today, Qin Gun had sealed his own fate.

The world’s tales of the prince’s ruthless efficiency were not born of empty rumor.

News of Fu Hua’s bloody execution of Qin Gun at the Red Sleeves Pavilion spread like wildfire, shocking all who heard. The Duke of Qin, upon reclaiming his son’s corpse, wept without end, having lost wife and now beloved son within three years.

Who could endure such suffering?

The next day, the Duke stormed into court, demanding the Emperor punish Fu Hua and avenge his son’s spirit.

The officials clamored in outrage, denouncing Fu Hua’s conduct.

That night, the Emperor summoned Fu Hua to the royal study, beating and scolding him, but Fu Hua offered no defense, submitting to his father’s will.

The Duke of Qin, on his knees, sobbed, “Your Majesty! My son’s body is not yet cold. You must see justice done!”

“Of late, the Fifth Prince has frequented brothels, and now he has openly killed Lord Qin Gun. If not punished, the people’s anger will not be appeased,” said Lord Li, an ally of the Qin clan.

Another minister declared, “The law is the same for emperor and commoner. According to Nansheng’s statutes, a life for a life.”

“Though the dead cannot return, Duke Qin, you have my condolences. The prince’s conduct was improper, but my investigation found that Lord Qin Gun provoked the conflict with his words and actions. According to law, a subject who offends his sovereign’s house should be executed along with his entire clan!” said Prime Minister Wang, usually silent and noncommittal toward Fu Hua, now unexpectedly speaking in his defense.

Thus, Qin Gun’s death was deemed just.

The words “executed along with his clan” rang through the hall, and the Duke of Qin paled in terror, hastening to protest, “Your Majesty, my Qin family has served loyally for generations, never uttering a word of rebellion!”

“Oh? ‘Should the Fifth Prince marry this lowly courtesan, must we kneel to his children—daughters who will become whores, sons who will become slaves?’ These words were spoken by your son, witnessed by all at the Pavilion. How do you explain this?”

“Outrageous!” the Emperor thundered, at last breaking his silence.

“Please, Your Majesty, calm yourself,” the ministers pleaded, exchanging uneasy glances.

Such traitorous words deserved execution of the whole clan—death was too lenient a punishment.

“Is this how you raise your children, Duke Qin?” The Emperor flung the petition to censure Fu Hua at his feet.

“I have failed as a father, I deserve a thousand deaths,” the Duke quavered.

At that moment, a guard announced, “Your Majesty, the Fifth Prince requests an audience.”

“Admit him.”

At the entrance, Fu Hua entered composed, as if unaware of the charges against him. In the center of the hall, he bowed, “Your son greets the Emperor. Long live the Emperor.”

The Emperor, his tone somewhat softened, nonetheless asked sternly, “Fu Hua, do you know your crime?”

“I do not,” Fu Hua replied calmly, as if truly ignorant.

“Was Lord Qin Gun killed by your hand?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Fu Hua glanced impassively at the Duke of Qin. “He touched what he should not have touched, spoke what he should not have spoken. He deserved to die.”

“Your Majesty, my son—” the Duke sobbed, at a loss. Not only had he failed to secure justice, but his entire clan now stood threatened.

“Your Majesty, the truth is clear. Please decide,” urged Prime Minister Wang.

“The Fifth Prince, Fu Hua, will be punished with one hundred strokes and the loss of two years’ salary. Though Lord Qin Gun defied the prince, since he is dead, the Qin clan is spared further punishment. Court dismissed.”

“Your Majesty is wise. Long live the Emperor.”

After this, the Red Sleeves Pavilion was deserted.