Blue Lotus House—the most notorious den of luxury in Tianjin, where fortunes vanish overnight and the décor screams "money well wasted." The ladies here? Absolute knockouts, masters in the art of company, and the talk of the town. They say princes walk in and eunuchs stagger out; dropping a grand in a single evening is just business as usual.
Jack Young strolled up to the Blue Lotus House, flying solo. Not that he was here for a wild night—hell, even if this place was the gold standard of brothels, Jack’s idea of fun didn’t include smoke and mirrors. He was about a century out of sync with the whole scene, and honestly, the nightlife just wasn’t his cup of tea.
Today, Jack was here on invitation—courtesy of those so-called young hotshots.
With a dramatic flick of his sleeve, Jack swaggered inside.
Normally, the Blue Lotus House was buzzing with action, but tonight? Dead quiet. Sure, there were plenty of folks—especially upstairs, packed with martial arts types, some faces Jack even recognized. Yet not a single soul spoke up; they just stood there, watching Jack’s every move like he was the main event.
Downstairs in the main hall, an enormous Octagon Table took center stage. Eight characters, each with their own vibe, sat locked into their corners—no one turned, no one got up, just stone-cold silence.
Jack squinted. "No such thing as a friendly banquet," he thought. If there’s food on the table, there’s probably trouble brewing.
"Well, well, Mr. Young’s here!" piped up a pale, bookish-looking guy, turning like he’d only just noticed Jack. "You snagged the title of Youth Champion of the World at the tournament today, so we locked down the place to celebrate. Come, grab a seat!"
The guy looked real pleased, talked the talk, but didn’t bother to stand up. All smiles, zero effort.
Jack glanced around and deadpanned, "You say ‘grab a seat,’ but with eight of you glued to all eight corners, there’s not a single spot open. Where exactly am I supposed to sit?"