But that look on Eric’s face didn’t last long.
He lifted the champagne glass he'd taken from me, as if to drink… but after a brief pause, he set it down with a mutter.
“No need to rush. If we can at least seal the spirit stone mine contract within the next moon and a half… it should be enough to patch things up…”
“Spirit stone mine contract? Wait—what…”
“I didn’t mention it?”
You didn’t even say the
‘spirit’
in spirit stone, okay?
Just as I was about to call him out on it, a familiar face appeared behind Eric’s shoulder.
Philip.
I let out a sigh at the sight of him, all dolled up like a peacock.
Right… I forgot he was coming, too.
Tight breeches, an overly ornamental coat, and that ridiculously strong cologne… it wasn’t hard to guess why he was here.
As I stared, Eric turned around to see him as well. Philip, locking eyes with Eric, offered a sly smile and spoke.
“Been a while, Young Lord.”
“…Indeed.”
Eric answered curtly, his eyes sharp with obvious wariness.
Philip gave him a look that said
‘what an unlikable fellow’
, then as usual, sidled right up next to me and nudged my side.
“Oho~ Trying to show off you’ve married into the Duke’s clan? You’re really dressed to kill today.”
Gritting my teeth, I scanned the room for Helena and hissed back,
“What about you? I’m about to faint from your cologne alone. Does Mother really think you're here to find a bride dressed like that?”
More like a woman-for-a-night, if anything…
It was then I spotted Mother laughing merrily at a table far across the room—right in the middle of the most prominent socialites of this salon.
Since when did she sneak into that group?!
As usual, I was left stunned. That braggart Vivian Cavendish hadn’t been able to secure an invitation, yet my mother strutted in like she belonged there. Even if she looked like she’d tagged along uninvited, she was still firmly planted among the capital’s most elite madams.
She’s my mother, but I truly don’t understand her sometimes…
“What’s with the look? I’m not married yet because I haven’t met the right one. When true love arrives, then I’ll settle down.”
“At this rate, you’ll go through every woman on the continent before you meet that so-called ‘true love.’”
Just as Philip and I began to bicker like usual, Eric quietly pulled me closer and muttered,
“Didn’t you say you needed the restroom earlier? Shall we go now, da… darling?”
Darling?
My eyes widened in shock as I turned toward Eric.
His face was flushed red to the ears, and his crimson eyes trembled like candlelight in a breeze.
Wh-What did he just say…?
This man—who would never say anything so cringeworthy on a normal day—had just…
“Darling?”
Surprisingly, Philip was more taken aback than I was. His face twisted in disgust, and he muttered the word
“darling”
over and over again like it was a curse.
“I need to use the restroom before either of you… For the love of…
Darling?
There’s a man calling my sister
darling
right in front of me—blegh!”
Philip pretended to gag, and Eric shot him a cold glare.
“Are—Are you glaring at me right now…?”
The atmosphere suddenly took a strange turn.
I quickly grabbed Philip’s arm.
“Alright, alright! Enough, let’s just go to the restroom together, yeah?”
Practically dragging him away from Eric, I separated them before things escalated.
Philip grumbled about how awkward it was for a man and woman to go to the restroom together, but still followed my lead, subtly clinging to my hand. For all his talk, Philip had the instincts of a beast—he could always tell when someone was stronger than him.
I shoved Philip to the opposite side and walked into the women's latrine alone.
"…Take care, alright?"
"I was going anyway."
Philip frowned. I scowled right back and entered the restroom.
The floor was polished marble—so slick it was practically a trap for the unwary.
I nearly lost my footing but barely managed to stagger over to one of the cushioned seats meant for women to fix their makeup.
Each seat was partitioned off, creating a cozy, secluded space.
A chandelier… in a latrine? Really?
I grimaced at the reflection staring back at me from the mirror.
Southern bumpkin Emelline...
If this keeps up, I’ll leave the salon with spiderwebs in my mouth from not speaking to anyone. Dammit, isn’t there any solution?
When I saw Mother a few days ago, she’d actually given me some fairly useful etiquette techniques for navigating high society.
I racked my brain trying to recall and apply them.
Not that one… or that… and that one—I still don’t know how that’s supposed to work…
That’s when I heard a group of women enter the room, their chatter loud and unfiltered.
One voice said,
“Did you see how Young Lord Merlin couldn’t take his eyes off Dorothy earlier?”
“No way! He’s clearly more interested in Olivia. She’s way more beautiful than I am. Olivia, what do
you
think about Young Lord Merlin?”
Ugh. Hypocrites.
I immediately thought of Merlin—the third son of a viscount, if I remembered correctly. What an unpleasant man.
This whole exchange was nothing but a fake display of modesty, wrapped around the not-so-subtle goal of pushing the detestable Merlin off onto someone else.
I peeked my head slightly past the partition and spotted Olivia and Dorothy. One of the other women had her back turned, so I couldn’t see her clearly.
They were still engrossed in their conversation and hadn’t noticed me.
Should I go out and try to build rapport with them? Maybe drop some sly jabs at Merlin and bond over mutual disdain?
As I hesitated, I heard my mother's voice echo in my head—something she said when she visited the estate to gift me that blasted love potion.
“When you enter a latrine, lie in wait like a hunter for their prey. The real moves happen here, not in the ballroom. Nobles don’t just powder their noses—they plot. In places where no eyes are watching, the claws come out. Attack enough, and weaknesses start to show.”
Scheming as it sounded… well, she
had
attended far more gatherings than I had.
Just then, I heard Olivia’s voice from beyond the partition.
“Oh right, maybe the one who’s
truly
suited for Lord Merlin is Vivian. I heard he’s a regular at ‘The Rose That Blooms at Night.’ Isn’t Vivian as well?”
Huh? Vivian?
I widened my eyes and peeked over the top of the divider. There she was—Vivian—standing beside Olivia and Dorothy.
Wait a second! I thought she didn’t get an invitation!
That day, she had shown up with a painting as a bribe and still left empty-handed when Margaret rejected her.
Ugh, that witch. If she sees me, she’s going to taunt me until her tongue falls off.
I quickly ducked back behind the partition the moment I felt her gaze coming my way.
Damn. I need to get out of here, fast.
Then I heard Vivian mutter in a troubled voice,
“Th-That rumor isn’t true…”
“Oh my, why’s your face so red, Vivian? You don’t think we’re mocking you, do you?”
“Of course not! We’re just curious what it’s like to be the Queen of the Night. Isn’t that right, Olivia?”
“Exactly, Dorothy! Girls like us from noble houses are too refined to understand that kind of… world.”
Their laughter rang out—clear, lilting, and cruel.
…Something about this situation feels off.
“And listen—whenever three girls are seen walking together, always pay close attention. Three is an odd number, right? One of them is bound to be left out. And that one, the one who’s left behind…”
As I stood awkwardly by the mirror, I could hear Vivian’s shaky voice trying desperately to squeeze into Olivia and Dorothy’s conversation.
From what I gathered, Olivia and Dorothy had planned to attend with another friend, but that friend had come down with a fever. So they brought along Vivian to fill the gap. Since one seat opened up, even Margaret hadn’t blocked the invitation from being passed to her.
“…So that’s why she’s groveling like that, that rude little wretch.”
Can’t say I don’t get it.
Eventually, Olivia and Dorothy grew visibly dismissive toward her… and then left the powder room without her altogether.
Once the two were gone, silence fell like a shroud.
I kept my eyes on the mirror, holding my breath.
Sniffle.
I heard Vivian trying to stifle a sob.
Ugh… no, don’t make me do this…
“You should always show kindness to the one left behind.”
That’s what Mother always said.
But seriously… this one time, I really don’t want to.
Clicking my tongue, I turned and pulled open the stall divider.
Vivian had her face buried in both hands, crying like she didn’t even realize I was there.
Left with no choice, I cleared my throat.
“Ahem.”
Vivian’s head snapped up.
Her eyes went wide when she saw me.
“Y-You!”
Yeah. It’s me, sweetheart.
“How did you even sneak in here?!”
Sneak in? Oh, right—she left the manor before seeing me receive the invitation. Still, for her first thought to be
“you infiltrated”
...
You know me too well, Vivian. Maybe you should die next.
I ground my teeth and forced a smile.
“I was invited by Lady Margaret, thank you. Unlike someone who had to beg her way in.”
Vivian’s face turned beet red.
“Y-You heard all that?!”
“Loud and clear. So what?”
Red, white, then finally pale as a ghost—Vivian cycled through the color spectrum like a spirit about to faint.
Oh no… don’t tell me she’s actually going to collapse.
“Don’t you dare faint. If you do, I’m leaving you here. No physician. No dashing noble to carry you off.”
“I wasn’t expecting anything like that!”
She screeched back, only to sniffle again like a child who didn’t get their way.
You were expecting it, though.
After blowing her nose hard into her cheap handkerchief, she held it up in protest.
“Get out! Go! Go out there and announce to the world how Vivian Cavendish has been humiliated! All because I tried to mess with
you
! That must be satisfying, huh?”
Ugh, gross…
“Hey. Hey. Stop waving that thing around and use this instead.”
I grimaced as I reached into my robe and pulled out a silk handkerchief, offering it to her.
She eyed it like I’d laced it with powdered sleeping pills.
“...What?”
“I said blow your nose with this. Why do I always have to repeat myself with you? Your nose is red. That thing you’re using is like sandpaper.”
She stared at the cloth for a moment, then snatched it from my hand with suspicion still in her gaze.
“...What are you doing? Is this… comfort? Is that what this is?”
Think what you want.
I turned away.
Vivian suddenly raised her voice.
“Don’t tell me this is your way of making me
beg
for forgiveness?!”
“Is groveling the only form of apology you know? You could just try… I don’t know, a normal one?”
So she
does
know she owes me an apology.
People like that—who know they were wrong and still act this way—are the worst. I stared at Vivian, who was furiously blowing her nose into the silk handkerchief I’d given her, her face scrunched up like a steamed bun. Her eyes were as red as a spirit beast’s after a night of weeping.
“Tch… seriously. Why do you still want to come to the Art Salon after going through this kind of humiliation?”
I just couldn’t understand it.
If I’d been born into a “proper” noble house like Vivian, I’d live large—spending spirit stones like water, eating all the delicacies under the heavens.
“You really don’t get why noble heiresses come to these cultivation salons?”
Vivian snapped, her voice as sharp as a sword qi slash. Apparently, speaking politely made her itch.
“I’m already twenty-two! I can’t keep wasting my time fooling around with idle dual cultivation partners!”
So she’s at least self-aware of how wild she’s been...
“Last season, I rejected every marriage proposal I got. Now? I haven’t received a single one!”
She murmured into the handkerchief, clearly fond of its texture.
“I should’ve just said yes when Baron Anthony proposed last season…”
At its root, the purpose of this entire cultivation season—where salons and banquets bloom like lotus petals—was one thing:
Marriage.
Just as spirit beasts have their mating season, so too do nobles have their own ritual courtship period.
How beastly…
Sure, these days, many salons served as networking grounds for clan alliances or merchant sect deals. But the true goal for many women was still the same: attract as many suitors as possible.
Those who did would ascend to the summit, able to choose the finest dao partner among the cultivators.
The rest? They’d be dismissed as leftover maidens and told to wait for the next cycle of matchmaking.
Vivian, it seemed, had chosen passion over practicality last season—sneaking off for late-night rendezvous with her lovers rather than forming political alliances.
And now that no one was courting her, she was in a panic.
I didn’t know how to comfort her, so I just sat there watching.
“Why are you looking at me like I’m pathetic?”
“Me?”
Pathetic?
Isn’t that exactly how you’ve always looked at me, you venom-tongued snake?
“You always acted like men didn’t interest you—so aloof and superior—only to end up bagging someone like Eric in the end! That was at Lady Margaret’s sixtieth birthday, wasn’t it? Acting all noble and untouchable, but behind the scenes…”
“Wait—how do you know about that?”
Granted, nothing had
actually
happened between me and Eric at that birthday banquet… not then, and not now.
But when I questioned her, Vivian clamped her lips shut. Suspicious.
“Wait… you were
there
?”
Unbelievable…
So Vivian had seen me and Eric sneak out onto the balcony during the banquet?
Which means…
“Wait… is that why you picked a fight with me at the boutique…?”
I clenched my fist, my killing intent briefly flaring. Vivian shrieked and clutched her hair like a maiden defending her vital meridians.
“Aaack! Don’t touch me! Ever since you yanked my hair that day, I’ve had to wear a wig on the crown of my head!”
I blinked, dumbfounded at the sight. Then something odd clicked in my mind.
“Wait… Did you just say ‘Baron Anthony’…?”
Vivian, still on high alert, nodded.
“Yeah. Baron Anthony. The so-called ‘New Flesh Movement’ painter you called a nudist. He’s a baron. He came here today with his new fiancée.”
She pointed outside the restroom. Across the hallway stood a man in tattered robes screaming,
I’m an artist
, next to a woman with an ornate updo that looked sharp enough to pierce through a jade wall.
So
that’s
Anthony—the artist Lady Margaret Beaufort adores?
I silently slid into the seat beside Vivian.
“Vivian, your heart must be… suffering deeply, huh?”
“W-Why are you suddenly acting like this?”
…I don’t know. For some reason, I suddenly felt like listening to my mother for once?
But the moment I gave her a slightly awkward smile, Vivian shrieked again.
“Eek! Don’t come any closer!”
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Chapter 71