First client?

Shiding Tower

Zhong Lin approached the manager of Shiding Tower and, for ten coppers, rented some tables, chairs, benches, and a day's use of the open space out front.

Shiding Tower was one of Heishan County's four premier restaurants, famed for its elegant vegetarian cuisine and expertly crafted medicinal dishes designed to nourish and detoxify.

Its focus on vegetarian fare and health tonics made it especially popular with women, including the courtesans of various brothels who often ordered meals here.

These courtesans rarely appeared in public themselves, but their servants and attendants were always on the move.

Zhong Lin had no reputation. To break into the market quickly, he needed clients to see his work—and the best way was to set up right outside Nuǎnxiāng House.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that Xu, the scholar, had ulterior motives. At first, he hadn't thought much of it, assuming Xu had genuinely pointed him toward opportunity. On reflection, though, something felt off.

Why would someone help a stranger without cause—especially a potential rival? Unless it was a trap, it didn't add up. Xu could've sabotaged him outright instead of offering advice.

Caution was key. So Zhong Lin held back, opting not to stake out Nuǎnxiāng House directly. Instead, he chose Shiding Tower—a spot where he could still reach the courtesans' servants and seize a chance.

He set up the borrowed furniture, hung two framed paintings of past-life celebrities from yesterday, and sat confidently behind the table, waiting.

With max-level realistic painting skills and added color rendering, his work was like a handcrafted photograph.

It was noon—the peak hour for restaurant traffic. Even the brothel courtesans were waking up for their meals.

Passersby immediately noticed Zhong Lin and his hanging artwork.

The vivid, lifelike style—near-photographic in its resemblance—captivated them instantly. Within minutes, a crowd gathered. The sharp ones grabbed their meal boxes and dashed off, likely to report back.

Zhong Lin watched, inwardly delighted. Business was about to boom. How much should he charge?

"Guess I misjudged Master Xu. I'll treat him to a meal sometime," he mused.

As he pondered, a pretty maid approached and tapped the table.

"Did you paint these?"

Her hair was styled in twin buns, tied with blue ribbons, the strands glossy and smooth over her shoulders. Bright, lively eyes appraised Zhong Lin, her round face and delicate features exuding charm.

If even the maids were this lovely, the mistress she served must be stunning. Earning money *and* feasting his eyes on beautiful courtesans? Perfect.

"Yes, I did," Zhong Lin replied.

He didn't mind the disbelief on her face—it was understandable.

He hardly looked the part of an artist. Thin and wiry, with sun-darkened skin, he radiated the rugged air of a mountain youth, worlds apart from the frail, scholarly vibe.

For someone like him to produce such paintings was hard to swallow.

Zhong Lin chuckled. "Whether I painted them or not, a test will tell. Can't fake this, can I?"

The maid glanced again at the lifelike portraits and nodded. "Follow me."

Business had arrived.

Overjoyed, Zhong Lin rolled up his scrolls, packed his brushes and ink, and followed. The furniture? No worry—Shiding Tower's staff kept watch, eyeing him earlier like he might sneak off with it.

As Zhong Lin left with his paintings, the crowd dispersed.

Nuǎnxiāng House sat beside the moat, linked to the Baisha River outside the city—an idyllic setting.

Trailing the maid, Zhong Lin stepped into the brothel, curiosity piqued. This was an ancient gentlemen's club, after all.

The entrance opened into a grand hall, its center dominated by a meter-high stage—clearly for the courtesans' performances. Tables and chairs surrounded it, spaced generously near the stage, growing denser toward the edges.

Upstairs were private rooms, not enclosed by doors but separated by screens, offering a clear view of the stage below.

It wasn't the raucous scene he'd imagined—only a few servants mopped the floors. It was just noon, after all; the brothel's peak came at night.

"Don't wander. Stay with me," the maid said, glancing back before swaying her slender waist past the stage, out of the hall, and toward a rear courtyard.

"Xiaoxue, who's this?"

A middle-aged man emerged from a corner, frowning at Zhong Lin.

"Greetings, Steward Zhang," the maid, Xiaoxue, curtsied gracefully. "He's a painter I found for the mistress."

"A painter? Him?"

Steward Zhang sized Zhong Lin up, his face twisting oddly.

This rustic kid a painter? What a joke—am I blind?

"Steward Zhang, he really is. I saw him at Shiding Tower. His paintings are so lifelike—it's like people step out of them. The mistress loves self-portraits, so…"

"Enough," Zhang cut her off, waving impatiently. "Don't you know our girls at Nuǎnxiāng House get their portraits from Miaohua Workshop? Kick him out."

"But…"

Xiaoxue hesitated. She'd seen Zhong Lin's work and knew her mistress would adore it. Sending him away felt like a waste.

"Insolent! A mere maid daring to talk back? Don't think Fu Xiang's favor means I can't touch you. Two more months, and it's your turn to be 'combed,'" Zhang snapped, his face darkening with menace, like a wolf eyeing a rabbit.

Xiaoxue paled, lowering her head. "Yes, sir."

Zhong Lin, silent till now, scowled. He itched to punch this Steward Zhang. A golden opportunity—ruined? Who the hell was this guy?

Before he could speak, Zhang snorted and stormed off, leaving no chance for protest. Xiaoxue tugged Zhong Lin toward the exit.

"You're scared of him?" Zhong Lin asked.

Xiaoxue, now a frightened rabbit, had lost her earlier charm. "Steward Zhang's one of Nuǎnxiāng House's managers. He oversees us maids and servants," she whispered.

"What's Miaohua Workshop?"

"A painting guild. They handle all the portraits for our mistresses here. No outsiders allowed."

Zhong Lin nodded, piecing it together. It was like a school cafeteria monopoly in his past life—only one contractor got the gig.

Xu's scheme clicked into place too. As a painter, he had to know about Miaohua Workshop's deal with Nuǎnxiāng House. Pointing Zhong Lin here wasn't kindness—it reeked of sabotage. No painter's guild tied to a brothel was just a bunch of artists.…