Although Song Miaozhu had never been to Cuiliu Alley before, she had long heard of its reputation.
True to its name, Cuiliu Alley was the top destination in Fengdu City for seeking pleasure and indulgence.
All the most famous ghosts known for their beauty and figure gathered here to do business.
Of course, ghosts had no physical bodies, so they couldn't interact like the living. Instead, the business here sold an experience—service, atmosphere, and emotion.
Each street and alley in Fengdu had its own specialty.
Chunyi Alley , near Fragrant Cloud Pavilion, prided itself on talent and artistry.
Yin Shui Alley, specialized in paper crafts, incense, and daily necessities for ghosts.
Cuiliu Alley , meanwhile, dealt in beauty, charm, and emotional fulfillment.
Sister Xiang Yun had once mentioned that the strip bar across from her pavilion would be a better fit for Cuiliu Alley. It made sense—the allure of that bar matched the aesthetic and atmosphere of this place perfectly.
Cuiliu Alley and Chunyi Alley had never gotten along, always looking down on one another.
Today, Song Miaozhu was headed to Yunlai Pavilion, said to be the oldest pleasure house in Cuiliu Alley.
Shops in this alley came and went, but Yunlai Pavilion had always stood firm.
She had asked some ghost acquaintances about it in advance and received a poem in reply:
"In Fengdu's autumn, where spirits dwell,
This tower gathers beauties none can quell.
Even Xi Shi and Pan An would pale,
Before Yunlai's jade trees, so fair and hale."
Song Miaozhu hadn't even reached Yunlai Pavilion yet—she'd merely stepped into Cuiliu Alley—but the difference was already striking.
Every shopfront had attendants welcoming guests, each one flawless in figure and face.
Even the ghosts passing through the street appeared in the prime of their youth—unlike the varied ages and appearances common in Yinshui Alley, where elderly ghosts, children, and even those who died gruesomely roamed freely.
In Yinshui Alley, ghosts who didn't bother fixing their deathly appearances might earn a disdainful glance, but no one would comment.
Here in Cuiliu Alley such "eyesores" would likely be chased out.
A ghost's appearance was fixed at the time of death, but with the expenditure of ghost force, they could shift their soul body to look like any age or time from their life. The more different it was from their death state, the more ghost force it cost.
Generally speaking, ghosts who died violently would tidy themselves up a bit before going out, as a gesture of basic etiquette. It didn't cost much ghost force and was the most respectful, low-effort option for socializing.
Only those who had died young, or those obsessed with appearances and blessed with ample hell coin savings, would go the extra mile to maintain a youthful and attractive form.
That made it clear—most of the ghosts wandering through Cuiliu Alley were quite well-off. Just walking down the street was already a way of burning ghost force, and ghost force was essentially hell coin.
Song Miaozhu walked along with the crowd of ghosts, quietly observing the store greeters and staff on either side of the street, wide-eyed in fascination.
On the left side of the street were all establishments from the Southern Wind Hall, their staff composed entirely of striking male ghosts.
There were sunny and youthful types with easy smiles, dominant and muscular types with sculpted torsos, the dangerously refined kind who looked like they'd seduce you with a single glance, cool and stoic types that practically radiated detachment, and of course the elegant, noble ones who seemed born to wear brocade and speak in poetry. Every aesthetic was represented. There were even carefully categorized subtypes—delicate noble sons from ancient dynasties, brooding warlords from the Republican era, sharp-eyed modern CEOs in suits that clung in all the right places...
Each one stood there like temptation incarnate, their eyes lingering just long enough to stir the imagination.
As someone who had never dated, who had been single since birth, Song Miaozhu was entirely unprepared for this sort of spiritual-level eye candy. When one particularly magnetic ghost made eye contact with her, her heart genuinely skipped a beat before she yanked her gaze away.
She took a deep breath. "Okay, okay. You've seen enough pretty faces online to not fall apart over some ghostly eye contact.And these were ghosts—nice to look at, but untouchable. A harmless fantasy, at best."
Trying to calm herself, she turned her head to the right side of the street.
And immediately felt her brain short-circuit.
On that side were all brothels. The staff? Women. All kinds of beautiful, devastatingly charming women.
There were gentle, soft-spoken ones in flowing robes with eyes like rippling lakes. Cold, mysterious beauties with high ponytails and blade-like stares that cut through the night. Playful, cat-eyed seductresses who winked as they leaned in doorways, and noble, refined madams who moved with such grace they made the moonlight pause for them.
And somehow, this side hit even harder.
Song Miaozhu froze mid-step, her thoughts tangled. Her gaze lingered far longer on the women than it had on the men. She felt a warm flush rising again, this time tinged with admiration and something else. Something she didn't quite want to name. Her mouth felt dry, her heartbeat unsteady, and her eyes absolutely refused to look away.
Elegant or wild, cold or warm, each woman on this street carried a magnetism that reached straight into her chest and pulled something loose. Something she hadn't even known was there.
She rubbed her face. "Okay, wow. That's… new."
For a moment, all she could do was stand there, overwhelmed, as if she'd just been slapped across the soul by beauty itself. She gave a nervous laugh. "No wonder all the hottest, most confident ghosts ended up here."
Just walking a few hundred meters down Cuiliu Alley, she was already drowning in charm. If ghosts had physical bodies—if you could touch them—then with her financial means, she really wouldn't need to find a partner among the living at all.
Cuiliu Alley's ghosts would be more than enough.
Wait—
A brilliant idea struck her.
"What if… I recreated these beauties as lifesize paper servants?"
Imagine a whole house filled with paper male models, their muscles sculpted and painted to perfection…
And beside them, rows of stunning paper women—each elegant curve, each delicate feature rendered faithfully from her memory. She could even customize them to her taste: give that cold beauty a fan, or that scholarly type a pair of gold-rimmed glasses…
Instantly, her flustered admiration turned into calm, analytical study.
"This one's muscle definition is perfect—take notes!"
"That jawline is impeccable—must remember for later."
"Ooh, those lashes… Her face shape is trickier, but I think I can manage it with layered folds."
"Look at her waistline, just the right amount of curve—need to practice sculpting fabric to match."
"The way his eyes smolder... Can I even draw that kind of expression? I should study more reference photos."
"And her waist-to-hip ratio—ideal for flowy hanfu silhouettes. Elegant but still grounded."
"That expression! Confident, just a little teasing. How do I capture that without losing subtlety?"
"That jawline is impeccable… oh, and her collarbone, how does it look that delicate and that lethal at the same time?"
She pivoted on her heel, studying a calm-eyed courtesan with a fan half-lowered across her lips. "That's the kind of expression I want—mysterious, unreadable. I need to improve my brush technique."
A passing warlord ghost caught her eye. "Military uniform. Sharp lines. Very paintable."
But her attention inevitably drifted back to the women.
That icy beauty in white? She had an aura that could freeze the sun. The flirtatious fox-spirit-looking one in red? Her smile alone deserved a ten-page sketch study.
She began mentally cataloguing everything—the curve of a back, the fall of long hair over one shoulder, the graceful bend of a wrist, the artful disarray of collarbones and fabric.
By the time she reached Yunlai Pavilion, her head was spinning not with embarrassment but with technical schematics. Her mind had turned into a sketchbook filled with visual references: strong shoulders, soft smiles, daring stares, fluttering sleeves, and hair like waterfalls.
Of course, a few glances on the street wouldn't be enough to build her dream harem.
But it was a start.
And she had to admit, if she had to choose—if she could only bring one type to life first—well... the paper women were winning by a landslide.
Without even realizing it, she had already arrived at Yunlai Pavilion. The moment she looked up, her breath caught. The building stretched endlessly into the mist, towering with carved eaves and lantern-lit balconies. It was magnificent.
"This place is enormous," she whispered.
The building stretched so far in both directions it seemed to melt into the mist, its towering silhouette carved from dark wood and ghostlight jade, every detail elegant without being ostentatious. Even the lanterns glowed in tasteful gradients, casting soft golds and silvers across the entrance.
She hesitated at the threshold, struck once again by just how refined everything in Cuiliu Alley was. Dressed in her finely layered fourth-grade paper robe—ink-dyed silk and cloud embroidery trailing behind her—Song Miaozhu might've passed for a noblewoman from a vanished dynasty. The embroidery shimmered faintly under the lantern glow, drawing a few curious glances.
From within the entrance, a graceful figure in a flowing white robe approached. The man moved like drifting clouds, light and serene. His voice, when he spoke, was like spring water over smooth stone.
"Is this your first visit, dear guest? I am Fu Feng. May I offer a brief introduction?"
His name was soft, and so was he—his every movement gentle as a willow swaying in the breeze. He was slender, but carried the dignified air of an immortal from the pages of a painting. His features were like jade, the kind that would draw millions of fans in the world of the living.
Song Miaozhu gave him a once-over, eyes narrowing slightly.
She wasn't immune to beauty. Fu Feng's soft-spoken charm and delicate air were very much her type—well, one of her types. The kind she might write poems about but never dare to date. Too fragile. Too noble.
Still, she appreciated the aesthetic. The world had enough rugged men who flexed instead of speaking. She already knew how Yunlai Pavilion worked. Companionship required payment in hell coins, and even ghostly flirtation had a price tag.
Without a flicker of hesitation, she pulled a few yellow first-grade hell bills from her inventory, then, on second thought, traded them for a single golden first-grade ingot. She placed it neatly in Fu Feng's hand, her tone brisk and businesslike.
"I have a question for you before anything else. Would any of the male or female ghosts of Yunlai Pavilion be willing to sell their portrait rights before reincarnating?"
Fu Feng accepted the gold ingot with practiced ease. His initial thought was simple: Generous guest. Reliable spender.
But then, the question caught up with him.
"...Wait. What did you say?"