This pair of figures, a man and a woman, were paper figures brought down from above, and they couldn’t speak at all. They looked quite awkward, actually.

However, this world seemed just like that. Looking around, almost everything appeared to be like paper figures.

The pair followed Ye Qiu again to that brothel, standing at the entrance. It wasn’t long before a young woman dressed in a qipao emerged from inside.

She had already recognized Ye Qiu; wasn’t this the young man she saw yesterday?

"Young master, you’re here again?" the young woman in the qipao asked.

"Is your oiran upstairs?"

"She is," the young woman in the qipao replied.

Ye Qiu directly tossed a wad of joss paper over; upon seeing it was money, the young woman in the qipao became very enthusiastic and led Ye Qiu and the pair of figures inside.

Ye Qiu glanced around; inside, it was indeed resplendent, very much like a brothel with the characteristics of Jiangnan.

Many young women and men were coming in and going out.

They looked like people living in ancient times.

The more Ye Qiu observed, the stranger he felt.

Did these lonely spirits and wandering ghosts really not know that they were just mingling as ghosts?

Or did they know and were indulging in pleasure?

"Young master, our oiran is upstairs."

The young woman in the qipao said.

Here, having money seemed to make one a master. She led Ye Qiu and the pair of figures upstairs to a private room on the third floor. Standing outside the door, no sound could be heard.

"Young master, please take off your shoes."

Take off his shoes?

Ye Qiu took off his shoes and stepped inside, discovering there was an indescribable characteristic within.

From the soul consciousness Ye Qiu absorbed, it could be deduced that this had the architectural style of the Ming and Qing Dynasties.

Clearly, this had existed for a long time and wasn’t something Ye Qiu directly burned with those paper houses.

When Ye Qiu sat inside, the pair of figures stood to the side. As the young woman in the qipao went further in, after a while, she returned and said, "Young master, Miss Jia invites you in."

It turns out this oiran’s surname was Jia.

Ye Qiu stepped inside while the pair of figures waited outside.

As he entered, Ye Qiu surprisingly caught a fragrance.

It was indeed a floral scent.

This shouldn’t be an illusion?

These things, including these buildings, were supposed to be like soul existances, normally invisible or unperceivable to ordinary people.

Just like those crystal coffins buried underground becoming crystal palaces.

Unexpectedly, here he could smell a very pleasant fragrance.

How could this be?

Ye Qiu parted the beaded curtain and saw, by the window there, a young long-haired woman gazing outside.

Ye Qiu hadn’t seen her face yet, but judging by her figure, she was indeed a rare beauty.

In every era and every race, certain beauties might emerge. It was a matter of probability; naturally, the emergence of beauties couldn’t be entirely absent.

Of course, the more races there are and the greater the population, the higher the probability of beauties emerging.

"Miss, the gentleman has arrived."

The gentleman?

Wasn’t that Ye Qiu?

This young woman in the qipao didn’t know Ye Qiu’s surname but saw him as a scholarly gentleman?

The young woman known as Miss Jia turned around.

At first glance, Ye Qiu was so surprised that his eyes almost popped out.

He hadn’t expected that possessing a soul among humans, he would see the most beautiful woman, albeit temporarily someone like Cao Ling. Unexpectedly, now in this world, he saw an even more beautiful woman.

However, she wasn’t just a beauty; she was a ghost’s soul or rather a semblance of the ghost’s soul’s appearance from when she was alive.

If that were true, then Miss Jia was indeed stunning when she was alive, almost a perfect score.

More beautiful than Cao Ling by more than one point.

Miss Jia’s melancholic and resentful gaze evoked an unspeakable tenderness.

"Songstress unaware of the nation’s grief, still sings ’After the Court Bloom’ across the river."

Miss Jia remarked.

It’s evident that this Miss Jia was indeed a talented woman who sold her art but not her body.

"Sir, may I know your honorable surname?" Miss Jia adjusted her violet gauze skirt, looking at Ye Qiu and asked.

"My surname is Ye."

"So it’s Young Master Ye. I wonder, having spent so much money, what does Young Master Ye wish to see me perform?"

"Play and sing."

Play and sing?

Miss Jia was momentarily taken aback but soon recovered.

She took out that guqin and placed it on the floor, knelt, and began to sing with a remarkably pleasant voice.

She sang "Spring River Flower Moon Night."

Originally, Tang and Song poetry could be sung, and their tunes and melodies were quite pleasant. Many modern song lyrics, especially Huaxia-style ones, are adaptations of these classical poems.

Ye Qiu hadn’t expected that it could be sung in such a form.

"Young Master Ye, please have some tea."

Miss Jia’s maid brought a pot of tea and a teacup.

Smelling the tea, Ye Qiu caught the tea fragrance, but at a glance, it seemed like just the usual tea people drink.

Ye Qiu didn’t touch it.

He didn’t drink.

He merely listened to Miss Jia playing and singing.

When the first piece finished, half an hour had passed.

"Very good," Ye Qiu said.

"Young Master Ye flatters me," Miss Jia replied.

As Miss Jia began her second piece, Ye Qiu asked, "Miss Jia, may I try?"

"Young Master Ye can also play and sing?"

Miss Jia asked in surprise.

"A little bit."

When Miss Jia personally brought the guqin over, there was still lingering warmth and scent from both the guqin and Miss Jia herself.

Ye Qiu found it curious; weren’t ghosts or souls typically devoid of warmth?

How could there be warmth here?

Ye Qiu took the guqin and played and sang the same "Spring River Flower Moon Night."

However, Ye Qiu’s singing style, melody, and musical style were different.

When Ye Qiu began to play, not only did Miss Jia listen intently.

Downstairs at the brothel, many also gathered together.

The spring river’s tide reaches level with the sea, and the bright moon rises with the tide, sparkling across a thousand miles; where isn’t the spring river moon bright? Rivers twist and turn around flowered fields; the moonlit grove all appears like snow, frost seems to fly unnoticed, white sands on sandy shores invisible, river and sky merge without a speck of dust, the bright moon alone in the sky, who first saw the moon on the riverbank? When did the river moon first shine on man? Life is ever endless, but the river and moon remain the same year to year; who knows for whom the river moon waits, only knows the Yangtze sends the water away.

...

Wasn’t this Miss Jia’s song?

Who on earth was singing?

How come it was a man’s voice?

How could it be so pleasant?

Listening to the music and song drifting down from above, the men and women downstairs seemed entranced, as if dreaming.

"Ye, Young Master Ye, you’re amazing! You really can sing and even better than me," Miss Jia exclaimed, looking in surprise at the young man before her.