Chapter Text
He’d known this day would come. For several years now, he’d been aware of it. He’d seen two other youngsters who’d been taken in by the brothel before him make their Petal Ceremony and knew how well they had fared. During the weeks before his chosen birthday, the madam and the other prostitutes had been making gentle chiding remarks, telling him to eat well or keep his face out of the sun so he would look his very best on this day. A week before today, his madam had his measurements taken and ordered a beautiful red, silk robe to be made for him.
Red, the colour reserved for weddings. Tonight would be his wedding night, but the one to take Wei Ying's virginity would not be his husband. Only a fleeting visitor willing to pay a large sum for his first time.
Only now did he realize he had shut himself off for what it truly meant. Only now did he recognize the lengths he had gone through to not see what was right in front of him. Only now did he know that he was not ready, that he was not willing, and that he was scared.
But he couldn’t utter those words. He couldn’t speak. All he did was sit at the edge of the bed in his red robe, his gaze lowered to the floor, as he waited for his very first customer. His stomach felt like a bottomless pit. His rectum frankly felt already uncomfortable. The madam had been gentle and patient when explaining to him how he should prepare himself, on how he should clean himself thoroughly inward and out. It wasn’t until he had put himself through those instructions, performed the action of opening himself and cleansing a part of himself that he generally associated the least with pleasure and cleanliness, that he fully understood the bizarre task he was about to perform. With a total stranger.
What would they be like? Most likely it would be a man. Women didn’t frequent the brothel; although it was not unheard of for a woman to come by and hire someone for a night, they usually had their paramour collected by a servant and returned soon after. It was considered to be more discrete. Also, the women who hired a nightingale usually favoured other women.
Many kinds of men visited the brothel. Rich men, poor men. Large men, small men. Muscular, rough-looking men and wispy men with soft voices and delicate mannerisms. Old men and young men. In the past, many of them had inquired after Wei Ying when they had spotted him, as he was changing the sheets, washing clothes or serving tea in the reception lounge. He’d often felt flattered knowing someone would be interested in having him, especially if they were handsome themselves. He would smile at them, sometimes even wink. Now the idea disgusted him.
His heart somersaulted in his chest when he heard his madam’s soft voice and her footsteps outside his door. He swallowed with difficulty and felt a tremor race through his body. His hands clasped together in his lap and he his inner voice pleaded: Please, not now. Not yet!
But his door opened and his madam entered. Wei Ying found himself too scared to look up, his hands grabbed the edge of the bed and he clasped the wood. His own breathing sounded impossibly loud and he could feel his heart beating in his ears like the sound of a drum.
‘This is our Wei-gege,’ said his madam softly, and despite his downcast gaze he could tell that she gestured at him by the way the tip of her long sleeve moved into his peripheral vision. ‘As you can see, he is untried, untouched and pure. You have my guarantee.’
‘He has received instructions?’ The man’s voice was soft, kind. Somehow it mortified Wei Ying even more. He shut his eyes and tried to suppress the nausea churning his stomach.
Oh, by the immortals, please. I am not ready for this!
‘He has been educated. He knows what is expected of him, how pleasure is best given and best received. But of course he lacks all experience.’
‘Naturally.’
Wei Ying tried to focus on anything but the job at hand, hoping it would still his nerves. The man was well-spoken, he thought. Not local, judging by his accent. He opened his eyes and dared to look the slightest bit ahead. All he could see were white shoes and the hem of a set of blue robes. A rich man, he concluded immediately. Of course.
The shoes stepped closer and Wei Ying’s breath hitched. It took all of his restraint to keep himself from arching back and out of reach of the stranger.
Be brave , he told himself. Be strong.
Calloused fingertips touched his chin. The man didn’t force his head up, he just implied that he wanted for Wei Ying to do it and allowed him to take his time. Wei Ying swallowed again before tilting his head up for the customer. For the man who’d bought him.
He was handsome. Unquestionably so. Friendly-looking. His forehead bore the sacred ribbon of the Gusu-Lan sect, the famous cultivators from the mountain land, and his hair was crowned with an elaborate silver ornament. A nobleman.
Immortal ones, hear me now…
The man’s fingertips released his chin, pressing his cheek instead. ‘Will you rise?’ asked the man. It sounded like a request, not an order. Wei Ying nodded, timidly. The man withdrew his hand and stepped back, folding his hands in front of himself. He looked completely calm, serene almost. Was this habitual for him? To go and buy inexperienced young men for his own pleasure?
He did look like he could afford it.
Slowly – not because he was trying to look enticing, but because he was half-afraid his knees would give out or that he would incite a spell of dizziness if he rose too quickly – Wei Ying rose to his feet. He did not tremble, he realized, and felt grateful for it. Even though his red robe had long sleeves, closed high at the neck and ran all the way down to his ankles, he felt exposed. Vulnerable. Only one layer of silk separated his skin from the touch of a stranger.
The man’s gaze trailed him, up and down, to remain resting on his facial features. Wei Ying wasn’t sure he was allowed to look back and carefully dragged his eyes up to see the other man’s face. There was a notable absence of lust in his clients gaze: only mild interest and… compassion? It was so unlike anything Wei Ying had expected that it made him gasp audibly, and a violent shiver made his body shake. His hands reached up to grab onto a lock of his hair, which his madam had combed and oiled for him and gathered in a silk ribbon the exact colour of his robe, and he daredn’t look at the man again.
Immortals, please, have mercy…
‘He will do,’ the man said. ‘Tell him to prepare. I will wait for him, outside.’
Prepare? Outside? Wei Ying’s eyes darted upward. Wasn’t he properly prepared yet? His madam thanked the man and bowed to him, the man greeted them both with a gentle nod, turned and left.
Wei Ying blinked and turned his gaze towards his madam. His lips parted but no words formed. Was he going to be taken somewhere? Had this man bought him on behalf of a woman after all?
‘Oh Wei Ying!’ His madam stepped towards him and took his hands in hers. ‘This man is of the Lan sect of Gusu. He has bought your contract!’
‘B...bought?’ His head reeled. ‘Bought me?’ Not just for the night?
‘Yes! You are to gather your belongings. You’re moving to Gusu!’
Wei Ying felt his head spin and he touched down on the bed.
Gusu? But for what? For whom?
He pressed his hands against his lips and suppressed the need to scream.
‘I… I don’t want to go.’
He was standing outside, on the little courtyard of the brothel, surrounded by red lanterns. He’d been allowed to change back into his normal garb – a discoloured, yellowing undergarment, a threadbare robe of grey wool, a black overcoat. The only thing still reminding him of the fact that this was the night of his Petal Ceremony was the red ribbon in his hair: the red robe was tucked away at the bottom of his bag. He had very few things he owned for himself: another set of garments, a bamboo flute with a red tassel, a stuffed donkey and a lantern with a drawing of a bunny on it he made when he was twelve, and which he had repaired numerous times now. His madam had added a volume of pornography he had seen before, and which detailed the copulation of men, and a small vial of oil.
Now he was standing next to this nobleman of Gusu, who looked so beautiful and graceful and regal in his sect garments, and Wei Ying felt poor and miserable and frightened to his core. All he knew was that the Gusu-Lan were practically monks. Why would they need a virgin male prostitute? He was imagining all sorts of horrifying things. Dual cultivation? Sacrificial rituals? Was he soon supposed to satisfy the needs of a whole sect by himself?
He’d been telling himself to be brave all day: while preparing himself, while waiting for his first ever customer, while changing out of his red robe and packing his things. Now the build-up of tension was taking its toll, and when he blurted out the words at his madam – his kind madam, who had always been more gentle and caring towards him than could be expected from a woman in her position – he couldn’t keep tears from forming in his eyes and cascading down his cheeks.
‘Wei Ying,’ she said, and took his hands in hers. He sobbed and stepped closer, huddled himself against her small form, hoping for a final embrace.
‘Please,’ he whispered. ‘I’m scared.’
‘I assure you there is no need.’ It was the cultivator who spoke, soft and patient like before. ‘We will take good care of you, Wei Ying. You have my word.’
‘Go on now.’ Madam did not embrace him: she patted his forearms and urged him away from her. ‘Dry your eyes.’ She brushed his cheek with one hand. ‘This is a good step for you, Wei Ying. Have faith in that.’ She withdrew her hand. ‘Now follow your new master.’
Wei Ying sniffed, nodded and tried to dry his cheeks, only for new drops to quickly replace the old. He put his bag down, folded his hands and bowed to his madam. Was this the very last he’d see of her?
‘Come.’ The man of Gusu took him by the arm and led him away from the brothel, his home for the past eight years, and ignored Wei Ying’s silent weeping.