The gravity inside the Supreme Box was an invisible force crushing the air.
Huáng Bìyù and Qīng Yǔ remained frozen two steps from the ebony door. The dense, intoxicating scent of sandalwood, ozone, and boiling Yin filled the lungs of both heroines, making the fluid foundation they both possessed tremble and heat shamefully beneath their silks. The man reclining in the immense velvet armchair radiated no hostility or murderous intent, but the lethargy of his dark gaze weighed like a sky on the verge of collapsing. And around him, the four goddesses that surrounded him formed a wall of beauty so profane it blinded the good sense of any mortal.
The diseased, suffocating silence of the cabin was broken by a soft, crystalline sound.
Yù Qíng let out a low, melodious, and deliciously welcoming laugh. The goddess in blue glided through the air, her bare feet hovering millimeters above the black rug, and stopped at a safe and courteous distance from the two guests.
The smile on the priestess's crimson lips was not the smile of a monster; it was the compassionate smile of an elder sister welcoming lost visitors in from the rain.
"The wind in this box is very thick for flowers that have only just climbed the mountain," Yù Qíng's velvety voice floated through the room, dissolving the imagined hostility and relaxing the atmosphere with a perfect sweetness. She extended her pale hand toward two luxurious carved ebony seats. "Please, sit. The dust of the auction and the urgency of seeking the lot must have left you exhausted."
Bìyù blinked, forcing her own Earth Dragon Qi to anchor her boots to the floor, swallowing hard the flush that threatened to stain her neck. She held Yǔ's trembling hand and walked rigidly to the indicated chairs. The two heiresses sat, backs straight, the nobility of their clans fighting not to waver before the silent man at the center of the room.
Mò Yán approached with the polished elegance of a court diplomat. The snow-haired young woman moved without making a single sound, her black and white silk Hanfu perfectly aligned. She served the steaming tea into the porcelain cups before the guests.
"Silver Mist leaves," Mò Yán murmured, her voice melodious, low, and strictly ceremonial. Her aristocratic face displayed only the serenity of an impeccable servant, masterfully concealing the Yin throbbing in her own belly at her husband's proximity. "They will help stabilize the young mistresses' breathing and calm the meridians after the tumult of the auction."
Qīng Yǔ held the warm cup in both hands, feeling the absurd purity of that simple tea sweep away part of the panic clouding her mind.
"I am grateful for the kindness, Senior," the Celestial Plume whispered, her blue eyes brimming slightly with relief at realizing the hostesses seemed peaceful.
Yù Qíng settled gracefully against the back of Zhì Yuǎn's armchair, resting her pale hand on the man's broad shoulder with an undeniable affection — possessive, but carefully masked beneath the mantle of chastity.
"My husband forged the dewdrop that the world outside calls a miracle," Yù Qíng began, her black eyes glinting with a genuine curiosity. "We are merely travelers admiring the landscapes that cross our path. And yet, I confess I find myself wondering... what makes two seeds so rare and noble empty their own clans' coffers merely to water the marginal lands of an empire?"
The question did not sound like a demand, but like the admiration of a benevolent goddess.
Qīng Yǔ met Yù Qíng's eyes. The pure empathy and apparent absence of arrogance in the woman in blue calmed the healer's heart.
"The marginal lands also belong to our people, my Lady," Yǔ's voice gained firmness when speaking of her calling, the light of compassion shining on her flawless face. "The plague of the Pestilence Beasts and the diseased earth do not choose between commoners and nobles. The light our ancestors bequeathed us was not made to illuminate only jade palaces. Out there, mothers weep for children who cannot breathe. The cultivation we have accumulated does not serve merely to prolong our own lives. If the strong do not sustain the weak, the foundation of our entire world rots."
Huáng Bìyù nodded, the defensive posture of the golden warrior softening before the nobility of her sworn sister and the understanding of that celestial family.
"The Two-Faced Empire was not erected upon tyranny," Bìyù completed, her contralto voice echoing with an unshakeable pride and a blind justice. "Our laws forge power as a shield. Any Transcendent cultivator who raises a hand against a mortal is punished by our tribunals. The blood of the Luan and the Dragon ensures that order prevails over barbarity, and that the innocent find a safe roof on stormy nights."
In the corner of the room, a loud, sharp crack cut through the heroic explanation.
Crack.
Yù Méi, sprawled widely in a recliner with the golden dress split up to the groin, had just crushed a whole walnut using only her thumb and forefinger. The Brutal Blade chewed the kernel with her mouth half open, her almond-shaped eyes staring at the ceiling with the purest and most lethal boredom, giving not the slightest care about protection laws, self-abnegation, or imperial tribunals.
The warrior's scandalous lack of decorum made Bìyù narrow her amber eyes, instinctively assessing the raw, savage force leaking from that golden woman's body. The tension threatened to return, but was quickly swallowed by a supremely pure aura from the other side of the room.
Bái Wǎn, settled on her own heels on the plush rug, raised her divinely soft, round face. The young woman's sky-blue irises overflowed with a compassionate innocence.
"It is rare and very beautiful to find a lake where the deepest waters do everything to protect the shallow shores," Bái Wǎn's sweet, serene voice caressed the heiresses' ears, sounding like the most untouched and orthodox of fairies. "The ancient, forgotten texts of the world spoke of lands where justice flowed like a gentle river, without the need for blood. The effort the young mistresses make to maintain this peace in the face of chaos... is a song that gladdens the heart of this weary world."
Qīng Yǔ broke into a wide smile, her blue eyes overflowing with genuine emotion. Bái Wǎn's presence and the young woman's touching words were the definitive beacon that convinced the Celestial Plume that those people were saints isolated from worldly corruption.
"I am deeply grateful for your words, fairy," Yǔ whispered, the final tension abandoning her delicate shoulders. The healer looked from Yù Qíng to the silent man at the center of the room. The compassion and urgency of her mission took the lead. "We are fighting against time on the northern plains. Your Tear of Creation, Seniors, will save tens of thousands of lives. But... our empire would be eternally blessed if souls so elevated, wise, and gentle honored us with their presence."
Bìyù straightened her posture, assuming the polished authority of the Dragon's heiress, and extended her joined hands before her body in a formal and respectful bow.
"The Imperial Palace of the Pale Gold possesses the richest and most serene pavilions on this continent," Bìyù declared, extending the invitation that was the greatest honor the utopia could offer a stranger. "We have libraries that have kept tomes since the Golden Era, courtyards of crystallized energy, and purifying springs. We extend the invitation for you to be our Guests of Honor. Our ancestors would be flattered to receive you, Senior. And our land would certainly flourish further still with your invaluable wisdom."
Yù Qíng lowered her black eyes. A smile of maternal indulgence disguised the manic predation of her Sea of Devotion with absolute perfection.
"The roots of our humble family would love to know the soil where flowers so noble, just, and pure grow," the priestess purred, her velvety voice distilling the final spell, accepting the key to the fortress on the family's behalf.
Zhì Yuǎn, who had not uttered a single word or even changed the inclination of his face throughout the entirety of the heiresses' political and moralistic explanation, finally moved his eyelids. The dark, vast, lethargic gaze descended upon the two girls.
His Wisdom dissected the stagnant naivety and the fluidity of both women's 2nd Transcendent Stage, and the Universe in his Dantian weighed the environment subtly.
"Your empire's hospitality will be duly appreciated," Zhì Yuǎn's deep, profound, and absolute voice reverberated through the box.
There was no threat in the god's tone. There was no malice or cheap lust. But the cosmic density of those few words struck the chests of both women like a physical and inevitable hammer. The immaculate Yin of Bìyù and Yǔ boiled instantaneously, the heat rising through their legs and settling in their lower abdomens with a biological violence that knocked the breath from both of them.
The nation's heroines rose abruptly, their legs wavering, their perfectly pale faces now stained by a feverish and scandalous flush that shamed them to the very depths of their souls. Their morality repudiated the reaction, but their flesh implored for his presence.
"W-We will await your arrival, Seniors," Yǔ stuttered, her melodious voice failing miserably as Bìyù pulled her by the arm toward the ebony door, fleeing the intoxicating heat of that man before they lost their very heroic composure in front of those apparently so pure and chaste goddesses.
The door closed with a hurried, breathless click.
Silence reigned in the Supreme Box for three seconds.
And the glass mask shattered.
Yù Qíng did not restrain herself. The goddess in blue slid off the back of the armchair and threw herself directly into Zhì Yuǎn's lap. The priestess flung her arms around her husband's neck, the sweet smile melting away and giving place to a sadistic, manic, and crushing possessiveness.
"My heaven..." Yù Qíng's voice tore through the quiet, the whisper dropping to a hoarse, filthy register drunk with anticipation as she grazed her soft lips against his warm jaw. "Those idiots' roots are so firmly planted in the illusion of justice. So pure. So perfectly clean. Take me to their palace, husband."
She drove her pale nails into his broad shoulders, her black eyes blazing with the inextinguishable fire of the furnace.
"I beg you... sink your weight into that perfect little glass garden, my heaven," the primogenita panted against Zhì Yuǎn's neck, the dark possessiveness in her gaze already dissecting another's purity. "I want to watch all those heroic laws breaking as they swallow you."
Zhì Yuǎn slid his large, warm hand along the full curve of his wife's waist, his dark eyes burning with a dense, predatory heat as he pulled her against his own chest. The Two-Faced Utopia had just handed over the key to its own paradise, throwing its golden gates open directly into the abyss.