Luzon Mask

6. Joy Club

Juan had his own informants in Joy Club.

The moment he stepped through the entrance, news of his arrival had already reached “Third Brother.” As soon as Jasmine left, a wiry man quietly appeared at Juan’s side.

Third Brother was a Song City local with a fox-like face, exuding an almost supernatural charm. The lines at the corners of his eyes resembled the winding dragon veins of a moat, encircling his small, dark eyes. He grinned like a cunning old fox, bowing as he ushered Juan into the deepest VIP room in the club, reserved exclusively for him.

Third Brother whispered a report about Big Mike’s movements, but Juan waved him off, saying firmly, “Not today.”

“I’m here for both business and personal matters,” Juan said. “Business: I want to meet the financial director to discuss donations for the Mask Festival. Personal matters, we’ll talk later.”

Third Brother was once the steward of Juan’s household. After Juan sold the sugarcane plantation to enter politics, he arranged for Third Brother to work at this, the city’s largest and oldest entertainment venue. Third Brother knew Juan’s temperament well: meticulous in big affairs, but “conveniently muddled” when it came to women. In his view, with Juan’s brains and qualifications, it was unthinkable that he hadn’t truly won over a woman.

To Third Brother, women were practical first and foremost—marriage, children, and domestic life were the proper path. He couldn’t fathom why Juan, who studied abroad in America, lived such a tiring life. Less book learning might’ve done him good, he thought. He was convinced Juan’s “personal matter” was like that of other prominent figures: eyeing one of the pretty girls in the club. Whoever Juan wanted to meet, Third Brother decided to send the toughest one to him, hoping he’d face hardship and give up quickly. Though odd-looking himself, Third Brother had a virtuous wife and a peaceful home life. He genuinely wished Juan would settle down soon, living the stable “wife, kids, and warm hearth” life he enjoyed.

It was from Third Brother that Juan learned the Lin family had three sisters. But who held power or managed the books? Third Brother couldn’t say for sure. After all, they guarded their privacy fiercely and never removed their masks.

The door was gently pushed open.

“Honorable Official,” a masked woman entered gracefully. Juan tried to identify her by her headpiece—was she Rose, Frangipani, or Jasmine? But the girl dodged his gaze, and when Juan moved behind her, he saw she wore no adornment on her head.

Guess I’ll have to figure out which sister this is on my own, Juan thought.

He inhaled deeply, trying to catch her scent, and felt he had a good guess.

The woman moved with the grace of a cat, her voice soft and syrupy. “Mr. Juan, you don’t visit unless there’s a reason,” she said, her words like a spring breeze brushing over old vines, soothingly provocative.

She approached slowly, picking up a wine glass, drawing near to Juan as if unintentionally yet deliberately. Her voice was as soft as a cat stepping on a carpet. “What do you smell?”

“The scent of flowers. But not the kind I grew up with.”

“Oh, I heard you like the smell of the old sugar mill.”

Juan paused, then chuckled. “Yeah, my family used to own a sugar plantation. Sweet to the point of cloying, so heavy you want to escape, yet you can’t bear to let it go.”

“Do you not like flowers, then?”

“I do.” Juan set down his glass, speaking slowly. “Admiring flowers and eating sugar are the same—dopamine spikes, pure bliss.”

The woman’s eyes crinkled with a smile, like ripples on water. From behind her back, she produced a black rose and handed it to Juan. “Then you must be careful. Some flowers hold honey, some hold medicine, and some… hold poison.”

Juan took the flower, placed it on the table, and knew exactly who she was.

She pulled out a stack of documents and placed them lightly on the table. “I heard you came in person for the Mask Festival. Joy Club is willing to be deeply involved. Regarding donations, my father has added some materials for your review.”

Juan’s brow twitched as he flipped through the pages—budgets, applications, approvals. He nodded. “I’ll take these back to review. Boosting the economy and creating jobs benefits everyone.”

“For a woman, you’re decisive and formidable. Not simple.”

Her lips were as vivid as flowers, her movements graceful, each gesture carrying a poetic air. She handed him a glass of red wine, her voice so soft it seemed to melt into the glass. “This city sometimes needs a bit of ‘dark light’ to truly thrive and enchant.”

Juan mused, “Good or evil, it takes a balance of yin and yang to walk the great path.”

The woman raised an eyebrow and smiled lightly. “Well said! A true man never looks down on anyone. That’s why you’re a true man. We trust you deeply and are eager to work with you! But we have one request. With the upcoming Song City mayoral election, would you consider running for deputy mayor as the running mate of mayoral candidate Lin Qingyuan—me—to form a joint campaign team?”

Juan laughed, amused. “Which Lin Qingyuan?”

“The one far away yet right before you.”

“You?!” he said. “Joy Club’s stage isn’t big enough for you to play on?”

“You support women in politics, don’t you? Jasmine said you invited her to be your secretary.”

“But—”

“But, thank you for the reminder. My father said, why not aim directly for the city’s top office? What do you think? Isn’t that good for everyone?”

“Hmm, I suppose so. The city needs a bright, dazzling face.” Juan saw through the old fox’s move. Ling Jiagong, sensing the tides turning against him, was making a desperate gamble, clinging to the mayoral seat as his last straw.

Juan wasn’t entirely clear how deeply each Lin family member was tied to the shipwreck case. The governor’s special investigation team operated in secrecy, and Juan’s information was limited.

He said diplomatically, “I have no obsession with power. My family has been regional councilors since I was a kid—our seat’s practically hereditary. Even if I don’t take a deputy role, I’ll still be a councilor. The North District is full of my family. This is my home.”

“But my father hopes you’ll stay and help me—us,” Rose emphasized the “us.”

Juan pondered. “You can run for office. Whoever wins, I’ll support fully.” But in his mind, he thought, The old fox’s move is still a blunder. It won’t save his kingdom. But if the girls can step out of his world, it’d be good for them—and a fresh force for the city. Like the Mask Festival, they always bring new vitality to this old town with their creative ideas.

Rose read the meaning in Juan’s eyes: a woman running for office was just a glorified beauty pageant. Who ran or what they looked like didn’t matter. Joy Club had countless beauties and could even “customize” any man’s ideal woman. Their image management studio excelled at crafting every fantasy men desired.

“We’ll make you satisfied.” That was the studio’s motto. Changing a face or identity there was just a command away.

The woman promised Juan, “My father says we can pull strings to ensure your family’s territory not only holds but grows stronger.”

Juan smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Besides what your father says, I want to hear what you say.”

He asked, “Can I ask you something? Why do you crave power and wealth so much?”

Rose countered, “Don’t you want to bring glory to your ancestors?”

“Not really.”

Rose paused, then said, “Wealth and power aren’t just for personal gain. They’re safety, honor, responsibility, and a symbol of societal respect. As for me, I’m just following my father’s orders.”

Juan thought to himself, How can the sisters be so different? I could never fall for a woman who calculates like a man. He found Ling Jiagong absurd—hiding his son while throwing his daughters into this cruel, merciless world to be battered.

Suddenly, he longed to see the girl called Jasmine. He wanted to take her away from this place that would eventually taint her, to bring her into a fairy-tale world crafted just for her, where she could be his princess forever, living a carefree, happy life.

He feared that if little Jasmine stayed here, she’d slowly turn into a black rose—shrewd, solitary, like the ever-wakeful, cold moon in the sky.