Chapter 479 --479
The old Marquis physically flinched.
Even though he wasn’t actually that type of degenerate man—and he loved his wife with a fierce, terrifying devotion—he absolutely did not dare to talk back. He just stared at his porridge in defeat.
Sometimes, the Great Vanguard General of the Empire truly believed he had married a literal, fire-breathing tigress. It stung his pride, but he should have thought about the consequences before falling head over heels for her decades ago.
Now? What could he possibly do? He was already completely sold to this old lady. He certainly wasn’t going to pick a fight with her.
’After all... she was the one who controlled all the retirement funds and the coffin money.’
The old Marquis immediately fell right back into character, plastering on a hopelessly charming, apologetic smile.
"Yes, yes, it is entirely my fault, My Lady," he coaxed, leaning in and acting completely whipped. "Please forgive this foolish old man."
The grandmother pushed his face away with a look of utter disgust, though the corner of her lips twitched slightly. "You are getting far too old to still be acting like some young, charming hunk. At least have some shame, you shameless old man."
"Yes, yes, I am a terrible sinner," the grandfather agreed eagerly. He paused, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly before pitching his voice down like a servant asking their master for a favor. "But... Wife... could I perhaps get a little bit of pocket money?"
The grandmother’s eyes narrowed into terrifying slits. She looked at him with sheer annoyance. "Money? For what?"
"Well..." the grandfather chuckled nervously, avoiding her gaze. "Actually, some of my old war buddies are going out to the capital to... you know, enjoy a certain place. Can I go?"
"Huh?" The grandmother crossed her arms, her aura instantly dropping the temperature in the room. "What ’place’? Since when do you go out to ’enjoy places’ with those useless old cronies? Absolutely not. Go to the training grounds and run some drills. You are getting fat."
The word ’fat’ shot through the Great Vanguard General like a poisoned arrow.
He immediately looked down at his own stomach in absolute shock. It was perfectly flat. He discreetly reached up and squeezed his own bicep. The muscle was still as hard and firm as a solid block of iron. He genuinely didn’t think he had gotten fat at all.
But... if his wife said he was getting fat, then he was getting fat. It was a universal law of nature.
He opened his mouth for a split second, desperately wanting to defend his muscular physique, but he immediately clamped it shut. He knew exactly what would happen if he dared to call his wife a liar. If he argued, God only knew the horrors that awaited him. He would absolutely be locked out of their chambers and forced to sleep on the cold, hard ground of the courtyard tonight.
So, the terrifying, undefeated warlord of the empire simply nodded obediently, swallowed his immense pride, and kept his mouth completely shut.
On one side of the capital, the fierce grandmother was ruthlessly confiscating her husband’s pocket money to ensure he didn’t sneak off to watch some theatrical performance. She felt perfectly at ease, entirely convinced that her fragile, traumatized granddaughter was safely resting in her chambers.
Unknown to her, that "fragile" granddaughter was currently sitting in a blacked-out carriage barreling toward the most notorious male brothel in the entire empire.
The carriage deliberately avoided the wide, sunlit main roads. Instead, it wove through a labyrinth of narrow, shadowed alleys. After a bumpy twenty to thirty minutes, the carriage finally rolled to a halt. It didn’t stop at the flashy, lantern-lit front entrance where the drunk nobles paraded. It parked discreetly behind the brothel’s heavy, unmarked back gate. After all, if anyone recognized the newly-registered young Madam of the Marcuset Vanguard casually strolling into a brothel, the resulting rumors would cause an absolute political earthquake and a massive headache for her to clean up.
Heena pulled the hood of her cloak up, stepped up to the wooden door, and gave it a sharp, rhythmic knock.
’Click.’
The heavy door slowly creaked open.
And damn... no matter how many times Heena had transmigrated, no matter how many different worlds and dimensions she had seen, she was still momentarily shocked every time she encountered this trope.
The door wasn’t opened by normal bouncers or old maids. It was opened by three "servants" who were already looking absolutely, ridiculously hot. They were tall, with flawlessly sculpted faces, dressed in sheer, dark silk robes that were casually tied at the waist, leaving a scandalous amount of their chiseled chests completely exposed. They offered her deeply charming, devastatingly handsome smiles as they bowed her inside.
But that was just the appetizer.
As Heena stepped past them into the dimly lit, incense-heavy VIP parlor, she saw the main attraction. Lounging across the plush velvet couches and silk carpets were seven ’more’ guys.
They were all striking a series of perfectly calculated, outrageously seductive poses. One was trailing a lazy finger down his own exposed collarbone; another was smirking at her through a veil of long, silver hair; a third was casually biting his lower lip while reclining like a decadent, lazy emperor, his robes pooled dangerously low on his hips.
Together with the three at the door, all ten of them turned their intensely charismatic gazes upon her, their voices blending into a smooth, deeply hypnotic, and perfectly synchronized purr.
"Welcome, My Lady."
Literally, Heena was utterly speechless. For a solid five seconds, her genius, calculating brain just completely blanked, entirely overwhelmed by the sheer, concentrated ridiculousness of the aesthetic honey-trap she had just walked into.
Now she completely understood why people in this era compared these high-end courtesans to fox spirits and vixens. Damn. They were literal, walking honey-traps. Looking at them, Heena realized they were perfectly capable of enchanting absolutely any noblewoman into completely forgetting her marriage vows, her morals, and her family name in a heartbeat.
She had to actively force herself to control her emotions, locking her features into a literal mask of icy, untouchable indifference.
But before she could even open her mouth to state her business, the men swarmed.
They moved gracefully, seamlessly rotating around her like a pack of impeccably dressed, heavily perfumed wolves, trapping her in the center of the room.
"My Lady, you must be parched from your journey. Shall I pour you some warm jasmine tea?" one purred, leaning in just close enough for her to feel the warmth of his chest.
"Are you hungry, My Lady? The kitchens have prepared fresh pastries, I could feed them to you myself," another whispered, his silver hair casually brushing against her shoulder.
"Or perhaps you are tired?" a third offered, looking up at her from beneath thick, dark lashes with a deeply innocent gaze. "Would you like me to draw you a hot bath and massage your shoulders?"
Heena just stood there in the center of this ridiculous, hyper-seductive circle, her face completely blank. But internally, her mind was screaming.
’’Come on! This is a black-market brothel, not a cozy countryside inn! What the heck do you mean by eating and bathing and all this domestic nonsense?!’’