Red Sleeve House

I am a courtesan.

By the time I was six, I could sweet-talk a wealthy merchant into buying me the candied figurine I wanted.

At eight, I flirted with a government official, and he immediately took the Hetian jade pendant from his waist and gave it to me.

The brothel madam praised my knack for seduction, saying I was a born, shameless vixen.

But my older sister called me an idiot, hid me behind her, and cried as she told me never to show my face in public again.

I didn't understand why, but my sister was crying.

I didn't want her to cry, so I listened to her.

After that, I stayed tucked away in the back courtyard's kitchen, with a terrifying scar painted on my face.

I hid like that for ten years.

Then my sister went to perform a dance at the prime minister's residence, and all I got to see was her corpse being dragged by a horse through ten miles of streets.

I found the madam. "Ma'am, I want to start taking clients."