The three-story edifice looms, its timeworn wood groaning softly under the burden of years, a living testament to tales untold. Men shuffle toward its beckoning doors, their expressions a prove of hushed desires and unspoken yearnings, eyes glinting with a hunger that belies their furtive smiles. Above them, vibrant lanterns dance, their hues—scarlet, amber, jade—casting a kaleidoscope of shadows that flicker like the whispers of the night. The air is thick with the scents of jasmine, sandalwood, and something indefinable, a fragrance that promises both ecstasy and oblivion, mingling seamlessly at the threshold of the establishment known as "Live Happily, Die Happily."