The song and dance performances during the day are mere embellishments, giving those Flower Houses in Fengri City without a courtesan competing in the Courtesan Competition a moment to shine, but nighttime is when the Blue Moon Association truly comes alive.

Onstage, the master of ceremonies draws aside a red wall, revealing eighteen gilded plaques hanging upon it. Each plaque is unique in design, yet all are inscribed with names.

For example: Hong’en Hall, Lian Xiang.

All of them are songstresses competing in tonight’s Courtesan Competition.

The master of ceremonies, warm and enthusiastic, gives a rundown of tonight’s rules for the Courtesan Competition. The rules might be much the same every year, but it’s still worth spelling them out—otherwise, if a scuffle breaks out, it won’t be easy to wrap things up.

Next to the red wall stands a large red-lacquered rack, divided into eighteen tiers, each with flower lanterns of three colors—white, red, and blue—representing three ranks. Next to every lantern is a plaque, all currently showing "zero," used for keeping count.

When it’s time, whoever earns a flower lantern will have the songstress’s name plaque taken from the red wall and hung on the red rack at the corresponding lantern’s spot, both in amount and in rank.

Put simply, this is a "scoreboard." Whoever amasses the highest-valued collection of flower lanterns becomes tonight’s courtesan. The patron under whose name a songstress receives the most lanterns gets to drink and chat with her, and might even have a chance for a fragrant encounter. Only a chance, mind you—the Flower House has the final say.

"Dong!" The first strike of the gong echoes as the first flower chamber on the third floor swings open, and a dazzling figure glides gracefully down the stairs...

The competing songstresses appear on stage one by one, according to their rank, each showing off her charms—some flaunting their dancing, some displaying their singing skills. With their Charm Skills in full swing, they quickly have the whole audience heated up.

The first songstress’s figure is outrageously voluptuous, with a teasing face, bewitching gaze, and hips moving like a water snake. Anyone with blood in their veins would feel heat stirring in their lower belly. This is the kind of enchantress that steals men’s souls.

The music hushes. The songstress obediently steps aside to sit on a wicker chair, scanning the crowd with a gaze that sweeps out like a netful of hooks, snaring all those fire-bellied men below and sending their blood rushing.

The moment the master of ceremonies announces that patrons may now bid lanterns for this songstress, someone shout-laughs from the crowd: "Ten white flower lanterns!"

Ten white flower lanterns—one thousand taels of silver—thrown down with a single line.

Immediately, an attendant rushes over with a money chest and a finely crafted lantern plaque for the bidder to complete the procedure, while backstage someone fetches the songstress’s name plaque and hangs it on the red rack, and a white flower lantern is kindled, with "Ten lanterns" written underneath.

This is just the beginning—fans of this songstress are in no short supply.

"Twenty white flower lanterns!"

"Fifty white flower lanterns!"

"Ten red flower lanterns!"

...

An ordinary family might spend only a hundred silver or two in a whole year, but here, money flows like water—silver coins rain down like snowflakes, traded for numbers and plaques alone.

Shen Hao never did see the thrill in splashing out mountains of cash just to buy a few smiles. Tossing away a fortune for a little bit of bragging rights—was there really any real benefit? Even if a songstress fancies you, she’s the Flower House’s money tree; getting anywhere with her will cost you twice as much. What’s the point?

As Zhang Qian and Gan Lin both say, the prices of songstresses at the Courtesan Competition are sky-high. Unless you’ve got so much silver you’ve run out of places to spend it, they wouldn’t cough up a single tael.

Zhang and Gan are the sensible, seasoned sort, and also not the type of rich fool with too much money to burn, so they keep their heads clear—but not everyone’s like them.

Cultivators, especially those with higher cultivation or official posts, barely even glance at money. If they’ve got it on hand and feel like splurging, expenses run like water. Not every cultivator can match Zhang and Gan’s self-control.

As for ordinary people, well, they’re just leeks to be harvested. In a setting like this, with seductive songstresses throwing out all their charms, if you’ve got money in your pocket, you won’t care if it’s worth it or not—you’ll just spend it. Later regrets be damned; at the moment, everyone is bursting with bravado.

One or two thousand is just a warm-up. The first big bid thunders down from the second floor—ten Blue Moon Flower Lanterns! One hundred thousand flake silver!

The already raucous hall bursts into an even greater uproar.

The one who called out those ten Blue Moon Flower Lanterns is seated not far from Shen Hao, and as it happens, Shen Hao knows him. The man is He Huan, the shopkeeper of Fengri City Auction House.

Now, He Huan stands at the railing by the atrium, grinning ear to ear, exchanging lingering glances with the songstress on stage, who returns a bow, eyes full of secret intent. Looks like they’ve hit it off.

Shen Hao cracks a smile—one hundred thousand silver is a massive sum to him, but to a bigwig merchant like He Huan, it’s hardly a fortune.

After He Huan, the big money starts raining down—ten thousand, twenty thousand, thirty thousand. By the time the first songstress’s bidding period closes, her lanterns tally up to a storming two hundred and ten thousand taels of silver!

Now that’s what you call a grand opening.

After that, one songstress after another steps onto the stage, and the crowd is just as eager—silver notes fluttering down like snow. Unless you’ve seen it with your own eyes, you can’t know what "spending money like water" truly means.

Shen Hao, for one, suddenly had a whole new understanding of the phrase "Gold-Burning Cave."

The difference between the rich and the average folk is palpable here—so stark it’s beyond words.

The first songstress bagged two hundred and ten thousand; the second, two hundred thousand; and the next five all hovered around two hundred and ten thousand. Listening to Zhang and Gan on the side, this year’s Blue Moon Association is even wilder than last year—back then, none of the first five songstresses broke two hundred thousand; this year, they all surpassed it.

Shen Hao also noticed something interesting: no matter how much the hosts fawn over the officials in the reserved seats, the ones actually throwing down the truly big money are always the merchants. The establishment types might, at most, light up ten or so White Flower Lanterns if they’re feeling bold.

Everyone’s got their concerns—no matter how much money you have, you still have to worry about whether you can explain it. Nobody dares make a scene too easily.

Take Shen Hao himself—he’s willing to spend money, but he’d never dare show off in a place like this. If your official income and your expenses don’t match and someone’s watching, trouble’s bound to follow.

So, those within the system prefer to participate by contributing verses.

A new poem that over half the crowd approves of lets the songstress earn a Blue Moon Flower Lantern. Don’t underestimate the power of this—there are plenty of scholars present, many hired by the Flower Houses just for the occasion, many itching to show off for a bit of silver and some reputation.

But for now, the only ones stepping up with new verses are the officials. For instance, Xie Youlin has already offered two poems. Poems that win more than half the scholars’ recognition are few and far between.

Of course, someone of Xie Youlin’s status—his verses must be "good poetry," and there’s never a shortage of flatterers calling them masterpieces outright.