The void in Lín Jié's mind was absolute. The bureaucrat's ripe, voluptuous body melted against the scarlet velvet, her green eyes rolled back in a blind stupor, while the volcanic, thick torrent of super-dense Yang continued to surge and fill the depths of her womb.
Yù Méi, Mò Yán, and Bái Wǎn watched the ink woman's annihilation with a voyeuristic hunger, intoxicated by the thick scent of sandalwood and fluids that poisoned the air. The spectacle of that divine possession was so overwhelming that the three wives had temporarily forgotten the rest of the room.
Until a strangled, wet, scandalous moan tore through the dimness.
"A-AAHH! Nngh... yes... mnn!"
The sound did not come from Lín Jié. It came from the immense black wood headboard.
Yù Méi blinked, snapping her face around abruptly. Mò Yán and Bái Wǎn gasped, their irises dilating as they caught the scene unfolding only a few inches away.
Yù Qíng had her head thrown back against the headboard, her dark blue robe hanging completely open. The goddess in blue was not merely watching. While her husband wrecked the newcomer, the priestess had been carried to her own peak by the old legends of the empire.
Kneeling across the sheets, Huáng Bìyù had her immaculate face buried against Yù Qíng's pale, full breast. The unyielding Dragon warrior sucked the goddess's soft flesh with shameless avidity, her warm tongue lapping and her teeth marking the swollen nipple with dark bruises. On the other side, Qīng Yǔ was no less devoted. The Holy Healer's pale hand was completely drenched, her skilled, eager fingers rubbing the priestess's swollen nerve in a manic, perfectly measured rhythm, while her other hand caressed her own intimacy over the silk in pure, luxurious empathy.
"M-More... my fairies... ahnn!" Yù Qíng whimpered, her cold hands buried in the hair of the two former heroines, pulling their faces against her own sweaty body.
The overload of watching her husband devour Lín Jié's untouched Yin, compounded by the wet, continuous adoration of the Two Pearls against her own flesh, shattered the eldest sister's control.
"AAAAAH! MY HEAVEN!" Yù Qíng screamed at the top of her lungs, her spine arching violently against the wood.
The priestess's drenched core suffered crushing spasms, pouring a thick torrent of nectar that soaked Qīng Yǔ's fingers. Yù Qíng shuddered from head to toe, gasping with her mouth wide open, her body dissolving into a long, devastating climax under the care of her improvised handmaidens. The sound of wet smacks and suction continued for a solid minute while she heaved noisily, her black eyes rolling back in the dimness.
Yù Qíng let out a low, husky laugh. The goddess in blue pushed Bìyù and Yǔ's faces away with fraternal, indulgent little pats on their flushed cheeks, crawling unsteadily across the scarlet sheets toward her husband.
Left behind, Qīng Yǔ panted. The Holy Healer fairy's pale hand was thick and drenched with the priestess's purest, burning Yin. Numbed and hypnotized by the corrupted devotion of the atmosphere, Qīng Yǔ continued rubbing her own intimacy with her other hand while raising her nectar-dripping fingers toward her own lips, desperate to taste the goddess's essence.
But, millimeters before reaching her mouth, the fairy's wrist was caught in an iron grip.
Yù Méi, who had been watching everything with her living-gold eyes wide open, yanked Qīng Yǔ's hand with force. The younger sister was seething with a rustic, impatient jealousy at having been left out — relegated to merely watching while her husband hammered the newcomer and her eldest sister reveled with the two fairies. Without any shame, the golden warrior closed her mouth around the ex-heroine's drenched fingers. Yù Méi sucked Yù Qíng's Yin with a loud, animalistic avidity, cleaning Qīng Yǔ's skin mercilessly, refusing to allow her own sister's sweet nectar to be tasted by someone else while her own hunger continued to be ignored.
"Your nectar is as sweet as always, eldest sister," Yù Méi purred, licking her stained lips with a predatory smile and an expression of absolute adoration directed at the priestess moving away.
Yù Qíng merely laughed — a crystalline, indulgent sound — as she stopped precisely beside Zhì Yuǎn, who still kept his shaft buried in the depths of Lín Jié.
Yù Qíng lowered her face. The ink woman's blue-eyed, sharp gaze dropped to the secretary's stomach. Lín Jié's abdomen was slightly distended, feverish and throbbing, filled to the brim with the god's volcanic essence.
Yù Qíng's sweet, lethal smile disappeared, replaced by a shadowy, absolute, calculating possessiveness.
"Your seed is a fire too heavy to lie dormant in an untrained womb, my love," the priestess whispered, her cold fingers tracing the bureaucrat's warm stomach. Yù Qíng tilted her face toward Lín Jié, who was still blinking lethargically. "You cannot simply hold what our heaven has given you, woman of ink. If you allow that essence to rest in your womb, your mortal biology will attempt to adapt. It will attempt to conceive an heir."
Lín Jié's green eyes widened slightly, the orgasmic haze dissolving at the word "heir."
"And our altar has no room for cradles," Yù Qíng's voice dropped to a venomous, non-negotiable whisper, echoing the sick, possessive dogma of those women. "We are the soil that sustains his eternity. We will not allow children to steal our god's attention, time, or burden. You will not conceive, Lín Jié. You will make this seed your own power."
Zhì Yuǎn needed no further words. The silent pact of his universe with the adorable selfishness of his wives was an unbreakable law in his mind. He did not withdraw from his physical possession, keeping his length buried inside her, but his right, calloused hand descended, pressing flat directly against the secretary's throbbing lower abdomen.
"Let your old mortality drain away, Jié," his deep, lethargic voice vibrated through the woman's bones.
The god's Primordial Qi invaded her stagnant flesh. Zhì Yuǎn did not employ the patience of mortal texts. With a surgical, crushing pressure, he forced open millions of locked pores in Lín Jié's Mortal Body simultaneously.
The excruciating pain of the biological tearing threatened to rip a scream of agony from the bureaucrat, but in the same millisecond, Zhì Yuǎn flooded her fried nerves with the anesthetic, thick warmth of his Inner Universe. The agony collided with a colossal surge of endorphins.
The contrast fried Lín Jié's brain.
"AAAAAH! ZHI YUAN!" the secretary's roar tore through her throat. Her back arched in a hyperstimulated orgasm, the spasms milking his shaft hysterically as tears of pure carnal confusion streamed down her face.
Beneath the shock of absolute pleasure, the biological impurity yielded.
A black, thick, fetid slime began to seep from Lín Jié's newly opened pores, expelling the mortal impurities of more than three decades of bureaucracy and martial stagnation.
But Zhì Yuǎn would not allow the cadaverous odor and black sludge to ruin the perfection of his sheets and the intoxicating atmosphere of the room. Without moving his eyes from the panting face of his new wife, the god raised his free hand's index finger.
An invisible fragment of the Law of Destruction oscillated in the air.
The putrid smell and the black slime evaporated instantly, swept from the plane of existence in a silent snap. Lín Jié's skin — now immaculate and resplendent as ripened jade — glowed beneath the lamplight, purified and ready for eternity.
But the void in her womb still pulsed, unprotected.
Zhì Yuǎn used the very flow of the burning Yang flooding Lín Jié's womb to intervene. Guiding the energy with a creator's precision, he imprinted the foundation directly into the secretary's core, structuring her Dantian in physical form and installing the conceptual mechanism of the Primordial Mill into the girl's soul.
"Seize the seed I deposited inside you," Zhì Yuǎn instructed, the absolute command molding the woman's wavering will. His fingers pressed her bare stomach. "Do not let it rest. Use the mill."
Yù Qíng rested her chin on her husband's shoulder, her gaze overflowing with fanaticism.
"Turn the gear our heaven just forged at your center, new sister," the priestess whispered, unveiling the cosmic mechanics that made her immortal. "His Hunger must be processed. Use the Mill's structure to grind his seed. Crush the biological life from it. The mechanical friction will convert the burden of motherhood into your ascension."
Gasping, blinded by the residual pleasure and feeling his member still buried in her core, Lín Jié obeyed.
The secretary's pragmatic mind scoured the newly opened void and found the metaphysical gear — the perfect furnace Zhì Yuǎn had planted in the depths of her being. Lín Jié activated the structure. The Primordial Mill began to turn, grinding the volcanic, unbearable energy of her husband against the walls of that divine gear.
The friction was brutal.
The technique's mechanics inverted the polarity of his Yang nine consecutive times — from Yang to Yin, and from Yin back to Yang. The reproductive seed, heavy and biological, was entirely pulverized by the rotations. It shed its material density of conception and transmuted violently into a dazzling torrent of pure Primordial Qi. The threat was obliterated, replaced by a sea of absolute power.
Golden light infiltrated Lín Jié's Dantian. The 9th Mortal Stage was reformed by the purest Qi it had ever received, and the secretary's reborn Dantian flooded her new meridians with a force she had never thought possible.
The shock of transcendence knocked the ink woman's nervous system out cold. Lín Jié collapsed against the velvet sheets, panting, her green irises completely clouded by a submissive, exhausted devotion, her voluptuous body dissolved beneath the irrevocable mark of the abyss.
Zhì Yuǎn withdrew slowly. The robed god observed the woman's rhythmic breathing — her skin now immaculate, the golden foundation pulsing in her core, entirely free from mortal risk.
"The pact is sealed," Zhì Yuǎn murmured, the gentle warmth in his eyes caressing the ruined, perfect figure of his new wife.
Yù Qíng smiled, laying her pale head against her husband's chest, while the other sisters crawled across the sheets to nestle around the nucleus of their family. The altar was clean, the dust had been ground away, and the furnace remained, as always, eternally lit and exclusively theirs.