The words — simple, genuine, the compliment of a senior to a junior — hit Liu Mei like a physical blow. Her beautiful face — composed, sharp, the mask of a three-thousand-year-old spirit — crumbled. Her amethyst eyes filled. Her enormous tits — barely contained by the purple fabric — heaved.
"Thank you," she whispered. Her voice cracked. "Thank you, Senior."
A soft pulse formed on her face — a blush. The first physical blush she had experienced in three millennia. The color — pink, delicate — spread across her sharp cheekbones, down her neck, to her chest.
Tianlong's gold-crimson eyes returned to Jin Yuhan. The princess — pushed against the wall, her nose bleeding, her dark eyes rolling — was trembling. Her small hand — the one not bracing against the stone — had found his cock. Her fingers — pale, ash-covered — wrapped around the shaft. She stroked. Mechanically. The motion she had learned from Shen Wuji, applied to a different master.
