The night was an enchanting fusion of shadows, as the dusk gently descended.
The night market flared to life, streets crisscrossed with the bustle of commerce. Stars drizzled across the sky; the melodious sound of phoenix flutes spiraled amidst the gleaming moonlight.
Inside the tavern, it was inevitable for drunken patrons to spout risqué jests.
——That Mr. Feng is already eighty years old. Now locked up in the Ministry of Justice prison, his household still harbors a newly taken concubine, whose eyes are particularly alluring.
——Eighty? The old fellow can still get it going.
——Painfully sweet, she is; every night the concubine gets to pick which finger.
The group tried to keep their voices down, fearing they might be overheard by the man seated at the head of the table, not realizing that Cui Yun had exceptionally keen hearing, catching every word with clarity.
He pretended to hear nothing and remained silent, foregoing any reprimand.
