Volume One The Youngest Among Three Hundred Chapter Two Fragrant Pavilion

“Is the System Daddy here?”

Chen Chang’an’s spirits soared—indeed, whoever offends the Ye family is doomed, and crossing into another world always comes with a system; an unchanging law through the ages.

“But judging by the voice, it’s a woman. So it must be the System Mommy.”

With this thought, Chen Chang’an fervently chanted in his heart, “Come on, come on, I’m ready!”

The next instant, a dizzying sensation overwhelmed him, as if he’d been tossed into a washing machine and spun endlessly. His consciousness blurred, the scenery around him shifted, and his ears were filled with a muffled roar. The oppressive weightlessness left him gasping for breath.

When his feet finally found solid ground again, his eyes—

No, his eyes still saw nothing.

Yet, miraculously, every detail of the scene before him projected itself with perfect clarity into his mind, as though his consciousness alone received the world.

It was night. The sky held a sparse scattering of stars and a bright moon. Cicadas sang softly. On either side, weeping willows cast flickering shadows, their branches swaying. A winding, narrow path stretched out from beneath his feet, leading far into the distance.

To describe it more precisely—it was as though the process of capturing images through the pupils had been omitted, and the vision transmitted straight to his nerves. The assembly line was streamlined, and efficiency improved.

“Where is this place? It was broad daylight just now; why is it suddenly night?”

Chen Chang’an realized what he was experiencing was not the arrival of a system, but some supernatural event. He was about to speak again when the gentle, mysterious voice returned: “Young Master Chen, please walk forward.”

“At the end of the path stands the Fragrant Pavilion. Open the door and come inside—I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Oh, all right!” Chen Chang’an didn’t hesitate—at a time like this, with no one to rely on, he could only pin his hopes here.

He tidied his clothing and ran a hand through his messy hair, then walked forward. When he reached the end of the path, his blind eyes “saw” a scene of exquisite beauty.

A wooden canopy woven from green vines covered the open space before a lacquered gate. Countless colorful paper lanterns hung from the canopy, swaying gently in the night breeze. Faint characters, ink-stained and faded, adorned their surfaces.

The lanterns cast soft, undulating waves of orange light, illuminating the seven-story pavilion beyond. Its eaves were lofty and sharp, its walls of blue brick and black tile, but the architectural style was utterly foreign to this dynasty.

Between two red columns, a lacquered wooden door bore a half plaque. In elegant, flowing script, two bold characters—Fragrant—were written with striking visual impact.

As for the rest of the plaque, the portion with the word ‘Pavilion’ had been sliced clean away, as if by a sword, the exposed surface gleaming in the night.

Fragrant Pavilion—judging by the name and the decor, it was most likely a brothel.

“Uh… Why bring me to a brothel? Is this one last pleasure before death?”

“Wait, something’s not right, this place…”

A chill shot straight from Chen Chang’an’s feet to the crown of his head. As a child, he had once glimpsed this very scene by chance on Chang’an Street—and had been blinded by its searing light.

“What’s the connection…?”

Truth be told, as an outstanding dropout of the twenty-first century, he felt a wave of apprehension. But facing imminent execution…

He swallowed, straightened his back, and kept walking, step by measured step.

Why should he be afraid? If I were afraid of you, I’d have no faith in fate.

Seven steps brought him to the door. As he approached, a rich scent of peach blossoms filled his nose—the door was made of peachwood.

He coughed twice, rolled up his sleeves, took a steadying breath, and pushed the heavy door open.

The hinges groaned and creaked, the sound drifting on the night breeze. As the gap widened, the scene inside unfurled like a living painting.

The courtyard was square, paved with blue bricks. In the upper left corner stood a well, beside which grew a peach tree—only the trunk, without leaves or blossoms.

In the center, a marble round table and matching stools gleamed, set with tea and wine vessels. It seemed long abandoned; a scattering of yellowed leaves lay atop.

Night reigned, yet the lanterns cast light as bright as day.

“It’s damn beautiful!” Chen Chang’an, for all his lack of literary flair, could say no more.

The moment he stepped into the courtyard, he felt a slight bulge in his breast. Reaching in, he pulled out a booklet—he had no idea when it had appeared.

It was stitched in thread, the cover inscribed in the same elegant hand as the plaque outside—Fragrant Pavilion Chronicle—simple, yet touched with the weight of ages.

A martial arts manual? Some peerless technique? The kind that requires self-castration to master? Surely not. After all, who would ask how many sorrows one can have, only to compare them to a eunuch visiting a brothel? The brothel and the knife are at odds.

Eliminating wild guesses, he licked his finger and turned the pages. There were eight chapters. The first was an introduction to the Fragrant Pavilion—essentially, a user manual for this “plug-in.”

A thousand years ago, Chang’an stood at the crossroads of the demon, immortal, devil, Daoist, and Buddhist realms, a hub of all paths, bustling beyond compare. The Fragrant Pavilion was founded in those days.

Within its walls, seven courtesans—each a peerless beauty—entertained the greatest of all races daily: demon kings, immortal emperors, devil lords, and more were frequent guests.

Later, war engulfed the nine provinces. Smoke and flames, endless slaughter, and wails of anguish ravaged the land. The ancient city of Chang’an was destroyed overnight.

The Fragrant Pavilion and its seven courtesans, protected by treasures left behind by the greats of many races, broke free of the cycle of reincarnation and became undying spirits.

“Spirits?” Chen Chang’an thought of the blue elves from stories of distant seas and mountains, but he knew this was something else entirely.

A shiver ran through him, but he kept reading.

Ages passed, and now, in this world, you—Chen Chang’an—are the only one with dual destinies. You have the duty and responsibility to help these spirits ease the loneliness and cold that have tormented them for a millennium.

The Fragrant Pavilion is one of the few ancient institutions to survive to the present. Within its halls are endless treasures, elixirs, and secret manuals left by immortal emperors and demon kings. If you can win the favor of the seven courtesans, you’ll receive rewards on the spot.

You may even randomly acquire one of the courtesan’s secret arts.

Favor ranges from 0% to 100%. The higher the favor, the greater the quality of reward and strength of the secret art.

The favor level also determines how long you can stay in the Fragrant Pavilion, where spiritual energy is abundant and cultivation is twice as effective.

When a courtesan’s favor reaches 100%, you may share a night with her. As millennia-old spirits, intimacy with them brings a great leap in cultivation.

That was the general introduction. The remaining seven chapters detailed each courtesan, but aside from the first, Peach Blossom, the rest were blank.

Chen Chang’an extracted the key traits for Peach Blossom: kind and gentle, prone to melancholy, often weeps by the window, loves peach blossoms, loves poetry.

“Classic traits of a courtesan—loves poetry, eh!” Chen Chang’an’s lips curled into a smile.

He turned the page and found a section entirely relevant to himself.

Current favor with Peach Blossom: 0.01%!

Loneliness alleviated: 2.5%!

Gifts obtained: none!

Courtesan’s secret arts: none!

Current allowable stay in the Fragrant Pavilion: three quarters of an hour!

Chen Chang’an closed the booklet, feeling a rush of complex emotions.

Seven courtesans, untouched by men for a thousand years—alleviate their loneliness and you’re rewarded with all sorts of treasures. This freeloading seemed a bit too easy.

The golden finger is perverse, but this gameplay is even more so!

“Never mind that. The most important thing now is survival—clearing my name comes later.”

Suppressing all stray thoughts, Chen Chang’an straightened up, put on a smile, and called toward the first floor of the pavilion, “Is anyone there?”

With a creak, the door to the first floor of the pavilion swung open: “Young Master Chen, please come in!”