Chapter 101 Tea Language Conceals Sharpness

Chen Mu's gaze was like a knife, scanning the other person up and down.

Every movement this person made exuded high cultivation; he was certainly no ordinary Xianggu.

Moreover, with his current cultivation at the Late Stage of the Dao Entry Realm, he could faintly sense a trace of threat from the other person.

Although extremely faint, it was undeniably present.

"Young Master must be the new top courtesan of the Peony Pavilion, right?" Chen Mu composed himself and asked in a deep voice.

The man merely smiled slightly, walked to the table, and took out a tea set. Warming the cup, rinsing the tea, brewing—his movements were flowing like clouds and water, like a true master of the tea ceremony.

"The title of top courtesan is merely a hollow reputation given by others. I am Shen Qingyin, just an entertainer in this pavilion, barely scraping by with my arts."

As he spoke, he pushed the teacup toward Chen Mu.

"Young Master, please taste this. It is West Lake Shifeng Dragon Well, the first harvest of spring. Only one bud and one leaf are picked; it is worth a thousand gold and hard to come by."

Chen Mu did not touch the teacup, his gaze still locked on Shen Qingyin.

"Young Master, is your Eight Characters Pure Yin?"

Shen Qingyin's hand, as he served the tea, paused slightly, then immediately returned to normal as he chuckled softly.

"Guest, you jest. The Eight Characters and fate are mysterious and profound. I am but a mere mortal; I know nothing of Pure Yin or Pure Yang."

"Moreover, in this Peony Pavilion, those who come and go are all travelers of the Mortal World. Who would ask about one's birth date and horoscope?"

Chen Mu frowned slightly, not planning to beat around the bush anymore, and went straight to the point.

"You don't know your own Yin and Yang, but do you know that you are to be sent to the City God Temple tomorrow?"

Shen Qingyin raised his eyes to look at Chen Mu, a ripple flashing through them. Surprise, realization, bitterness, and finally, a return to calm.

"So, Young Master came for this matter." He put down the teapot and sighed softly.

"What if I know? What if I don't? I am but duckweed; my fate has never been mine to decide."

"Besides, in this vast world, where is not a cage?"

Having said this, he stood up, walked to the open space in the center of the room, and bowed gracefully toward Chen Mu.

"I understand that Young Master has the intention to save me, but I have nothing to repay you with. I can only offer a dance to express my gratitude."

Without waiting for Chen Mu's response, he flicked his plain white sleeves, and his figure rose gracefully. He was as elegant as a Dragon in flight, as graceful as a startled swan.

At first, his movements were soft, slow, and beautiful, his waist swaying gently; he was truly three parts more enchanting than any woman.

But Chen Mu's eyes changed. This was no ordinary dance.

Every turn and every step Shen Qingyin took seemed to secretly align with some profound trajectory.

His sleeves fluttered like a butterfly, his figure moved like a ghost, and as he leaped and shifted, he faintly stirred up the whistling sound of wind.

How could this be a dance? It was clearly a profound Martial Art.

Shen Qingyin's movements grew faster and faster, his figure turning into trails of afterimages under the lamplight. He was like light smoke, flickering and uncertain, yet his breathing remained steady and long. Clearly, his Internal Skill cultivation was not ordinary.

Chen Mu's eyes narrowed. This person had already reached the Dao Entry Realm, and was certainly not just a beginner.

A master of the Dao Entry Realm, willing to be a male prostitute in the Peony Pavilion?

When the dance ended, Shen Qingyin stood still, his breath steady, with only a few fine beads of sweat seeping from his forehead.

He walked back to the table, sat down again, and refilled Chen Mu's tea.

However, as he looked up, tears suddenly welled up in his eyes, natural and genuine, which, combined with that exquisite face, was enough to make one feel pity.

"Guest, you must be laughing at me. For me to show off like this, I truly have hidden difficulties."

Shen Qingyin lowered his head to wipe away his tears, his voice choked with sobs. Chen Mu, however, remained unmoved. "Oh?"

Shen Qingyin looked up, eyes brimming with tears, and recounted his story.

"I am originally from Shen Family Village, thirty miles outside Yunmeng City. Although my family was not wealthy, we did not worry about food or clothing."

"Unexpectedly, my father was addicted to gambling and lost all the family's land. My mother fell ill from overwork and became bedridden. I also have a younger brother, three years my junior, who is studying at school. He is gifted, and the teacher said he would surely achieve fame in the future, but we have been unable to scrape together the tuition fees..."

Shen Qingyin's voice carried a heartbreaking sorrow.

"My family could no longer sustain itself, so I had no choice but to sell myself here to earn money to support them."

"I force a smile during the day and face the lonely lamp every night. Seeing that you have an extraordinary demeanor today, unlike those... those who only know how to seek pleasure, I made so bold as to dance to express the bitterness in my heart."

This pitiful speech from Shen Qingyin, coupled with his tear-stained face, would likely have made an ordinary person feel pity long ago.

For a moment, even Chen Mu's gaze wavered slightly.

This person portrayed fragility and resilience so realistically, especially with the martial arts foundation and contradictory temperament hidden in his dance, which made one involuntarily want to explore the story behind it.

But at the very moment Chen Mu's mind relaxed, alarm bells suddenly rang in his head.

Why did this story sound so familiar?

Isn't this the template of the story about the gambling father, the sick mother, the student brother, and the broken self?

A trap. It was all a trap.

In his past life, when he was a wage slave on Blue Star, he didn't know how many similar sob stories he had heard at drinking parties, dinner tables, and on internet forums.

Tea-selling girls, volunteer teachers, relatives of the critically ill—the scripts were all identical.

Chen Mu's eyes instantly cleared, and he couldn't help but sneer inwardly.

Good heavens, in this world of demons and chaos where Martial Arts are supreme, he actually encountered this kind of professional-level emotional scam.

The man before him, no matter how outstanding his temperament or how stunning his dance, once he used this script, he immediately seemed extremely suspicious.

Moreover, this speech had a fatal flaw.

How could a Martial Artist at the Dao Entry Realm sell himself into a male brothel for the sake of family livelihood, letting others bully and toy with him?

Furthermore, with the strength displayed in his dance, he could easily take a job as a bodyguard or escort, and his monthly salary would be more than a hundred taels.

His purpose for debasing himself here was clearly not simple.

Shen Qingyin clearly noticed Chen Mu's change, and a flash of astonishment crossed his eyes.

This trick of his was foolproof and had never failed. Even those high-ranking officials with deep schemes, under the assault of his appearance, background, and tears, would more or less feel ripples in their hearts.

But this young man before him—his eyes had shifted from initial amazement to scrutiny, and now to complete clarity. The speed of this change was startling.

The two stared at each other, the air instantly solidified, and for a moment, neither spoke.

Just at this moment, a scream, shrill to the point of distortion, came from downstairs.

"Chen Mu, you son of a bitch, come save me! I'm about to be slept with by a man!"

It was Qi Huan.

The voice was mixed with terror, anger, shame, and a despair bordering on collapse; he was clearly at a critical moment of life and death.

Shen Qingyin was also startled by the scream, his expression changing slightly, but he quickly returned to normal and tried to persuade him softly.

"There seems to be some disturbance downstairs. Guest, it is better not to meddle in other people's affairs and just sit here..."

Chen Mu had no time to listen to him finish. With a flash, he was already at the door, leaving behind only one cold sentence: "Your story—make it fresher next time."

The door opened and closed, and the figure was gone.

Shen Qingyin sat alone in the room, watching Chen Mu's disappearing back, his expression complex. He slowly raised his hand to wipe away the tear stains at the corners of his eyes, his movements smooth and natural, as if the sorrow from just a moment ago had never existed.

He picked up the cup of cold tea, swirled it gently, and the corner of his mouth curled into an elusive arc.

"This Chen Mu is truly interesting."