Chapter Twenty: Encountering a Rival in the Brothel

The elite guests specially invited by the courtesans had begun to arrive one after another, and under the guidance of the attendants, the twelve tables gradually filled with people, some in twos and threes. Yet, as hosts, all that was placed before them were some fruits and wine. In contrast, the neighboring table, though seating only one person, was already being served an unlimited supply of delicacies.

It is said that without comparison, there is no harm. These people were all wealthy or influential, and they hardly cared about a bit of abalone or lobster. They could be indifferent, but they could not tolerate such a lack of proper respect. What mattered most to these distinguished guests? Face! If others have it, so must they—if others have more, they must have more still!

Thus, the attendants tasked with leading guests were bewildered, for many tables began to point toward Feng Jingzhe. Why should they be treated worse than that notorious wastrel, whose character was so poor? Even if he had recently made some money and become a nouveau riche, such blatant favoritism was unacceptable.

Anyone who could attend tonight was a person of stature, each carrying at least a thousand or so silver taels. The attendants had no authority to decide, so all they could do was report the guests' dissatisfaction to the maidservants attending the courtesans. Not wishing to offend these rare patrons, the result was a hurried instruction to the kitchen to start serving dishes at once. Moreover, just as Su Zixuan had done, another table's worth of food was quickly ordered.

Now chaos erupted in the kitchen. Staffing was not an issue, for this was one of the foremost entertainment venues in Chang’an. But where could they find enough ingredients on such short notice, especially items like sea cucumbers, which required soaking ahead of time? Suddenly adding twelve tables’ worth of food was simply impossible.

Su Hongluan, now operating under the alias Tang Hongdou, felt a surge of fury upon hearing the report—she wished she could storm out and drag someone off for punishment. The name Feng Jingzhe had become her nightmare, a nemesis; every time he appeared, disaster followed. Just as now—she wanted to add more tables, but was told it could not be done.

Meanwhile, Fan Zihui, the younger brother-in-law of the Minister of War, was already seated outside; it would never do for his table to go without dishes. Yet the most crucial guest in her plan, Gu Beichuan—the young master Gu—had not yet arrived. If she could not serve a proper banquet, leaving him with leftovers, he might simply rise and leave; how could she afford that?

But not serving food was equally impossible. If the twelve inner tables had only a few plates of seeds and pastries, and the central figure of her scheme, Fan Zihui, left in anger, then even winning first place would be meaningless.

As she pondered this, Su Hongluan’s fists clenched tighter and tighter. Just then, a group finally entered the entrance of Hongxiuzhao.

Leading the way was a young man of twenty-six or twenty-seven. One had to admit, he was exceptionally handsome—at least six feet tall, with chiseled features and a commanding posture. He held a folding fan, which he gently waved as he walked with poise and style. He was as striking as the real Daniel Wu, exuding the aura of a boss making his grand entrance.

Many of the women present were drawn to his charisma, their legs unconsciously pressed together as a blush spread across their cheeks.

Beside him was another young man, similar in age. Though not quite as handsome, he was still an impressive figure, radiating scholarly elegance and adding a touch of distinction. His eyes gleamed with confidence, and when he looked at people, that confidence was unmistakable. Perhaps it was true that a belly full of poetry brings natural grace; these two together, however, were a real distraction to Feng Jingzhe’s appetite.

“Damn it, I’m the one who traveled through time, the chosen one of fate, am I not? How is it that any random pair who arrive are so high-class, when I’m supposed to be the protagonist? Could this be the legendary pay-to-win players?”

He poured himself two swigs of wine, and only when he saw the next person enter did his mood balance out a bit.

With Sun Fatty’s physique, it was impossible to ignore him in any crowd. Watching the fellow’s swaying gait, it was clear he too was among the twelve tables of honored guests.

Indeed, Fatty’s eyes lit up as if he had spotted a treasure. Feng Jingzhe took a new cup and filled it with wine.

“Hehe… Third Brother, I knew you’d be here…”

“Well, Rich Boy, who’d have thought you look so proper usually, but it turns out you’re a VIP too…”

Sun Fugui didn’t understand what VIP meant, but he could roughly guess.

“Food for the Heavens received several invitations, so knowing you’d be here, I came to see the world…”

As they spoke, the two dazzling men sat at the next table.

At that moment, the Daniel Wu lookalike glanced over, meeting Feng Jingzhe’s gaze. He nodded graciously. Strangely, though it was their first meeting tonight, Feng Jingzhe felt an inexplicable aversion in his bones, as if their destinies were at odds.

Feng Jingzhe couldn’t be bothered, deliberately turning his head away. When faced with someone more handsome than himself, he had to show attitude.

Yes, having died once, he could afford to be capricious.

The other man was evidently cultured and did not take offense at the discourtesy. Instead, he cupped his hands and greeted Fan Zihui at the same table.

“Who is that? Do you know him?” Feng Jingzhe asked.

Sun Fugui nodded and whispered, “He’s the fourth prince…”

“From the palace?”

Feng Jingzhe was a bit surprised.

“Shh… He hasn’t revealed his identity, so we should pretend not to know…”

In truth, everyone present was doing the same, acting as if they hadn’t seen anything.

“Damn it, Fatty, why didn’t you say so earlier? Are you trying to set me up? A prince—maybe I should go grovel now, is it still possible?”

Sun Fugui spun around in shock, staring at Feng Jingzhe.

“What is it? Is there a flower on my face?”

“Third Brother, do you really not know, or are you pretending?”

“What’s there to know? I only met him for the first time tonight…”

Feng Jingzhe drank some wine, baffled, waiting for Sun Fatty to explain.

“If you didn’t know, why did you turn your head away when he greeted you?”

“I turned away because he’s…not…not as handsome as me… What’s that got to do with what you’re saying?”

Sun Fugui watched Feng Jingzhe intently, as if trying to discern whether he was lying.

“Well, it’s nothing, really. Since you didn’t know, let’s just drink…”

“Uh… Hey, Third Brother, put the wine jug down, let’s talk properly…”

Sun Fatty, feeling his head was less sturdy than a wine jug, quickly ducked and decided to share what he knew.

“The fourth prince… The fourth prince actually grew up with your wife… Childhood sweethearts, the kind that were inseparable…”

“Damn, are you saying this sausage has had a thing with my wife for ages… sob sob…”

Sun Fatty hastily covered Feng Jingzhe’s mouth.

“Third Brother, don’t get worked up… Calm down… Just childhood friends, nothing more… It hasn’t gotten that far yet… not yet…”