The underground hall held the quiet of a hideout.
The four wives had been waiting for only a few hours. That short time had been enough for Yù Qíng and Mò Yán to cut and adjust the new spiritual silks the slaves had offered as a welcome tribute.
Leaning against the divan, Mò Yán listened to the report, having already dissected the power structure of the surface.
"The Bifront Empire has two courts, Lady," Jiàn Wúshuang reported, his forehead almost touching the carpet. "This political division allowed our underworld to grow without the interference of a unified lea—"
Space tore open in the center of the room.
The dry crack cut off the old man's sentence. The edges of the silver rift folded in on themselves, spitting sparks before the man's leather boot touched the floor. The vacuum closed with a dull thud.
Zhì Yuǎn stepped into the hall.
His charcoal-gray tunic was clean and intact. His broad face was pale, and a line of cold sweat ran down his jaw. But the impact that hit the room did not come from his appearance.
It came from the void within his very core.
The moment the man drew his first breath, the atmospheric pressure collapsed. The oxygen in the hall was sucked away at once. A raw attraction radiated from that hollow body and crashed down onto the slaves' backs. Lóu Jiàn and Jiàn Wúshuang choked. Their cartilage cracked against the floor while dark blood leaked from their noses and mouths as they suffocated against the stone.
On the divan, Bái Wǎn released the cushion, her breath locked. A few steps away, Mò Yán's scarlet eyes assessed her husband's state. He was empty. And the hunger that radiated from the man was already catching the scent of the dense Qi and the Yin circulating in the blood of the four women in front of him.
Yù Méi's instinct reacted before reason. The youngest's blood heated under the new silk and she advanced without thinking, ready to offer herself.
Before the warrior's bare foot could plant itself, a pale hand rose into the air.
Yù Qíng did not turn her face. The eldest did not even change her posture. The extended arm simply blocked her younger sister's path. The woman's black eyes remained fixed on her husband, unblinking.
Zhì Yuǎn did not wait.
He advanced and seized the nape of Yù Qíng's neck. The pull was firm, pressing the eldest's body against his chest. In the same motion, he sank his teeth into the curve between her neck and shoulder.
The skin broke.
Yù Qíng arched her spine in a violent spasm. The blood that flooded Zhì Yuǎn's mouth was sweet and dense, loaded with Yin and Primordial Qi. The vacuum inside him swallowed that energy at once, and the air around the couple filled with a warm, heavy scent, almost intoxicating.
The smell spread through the hall in seconds.
At the same moment, without Zhì Yuǎn making any gesture, Lóu Jiàn, Jiàn Wúshuang, and Mò Zhōng simply vanished. The space around the three of them folded and swallowed them. When the air stabilized, only the four women and the man remained in the center of the hall.
An incense stick of time passed.
Any ordinary cultivator would already have been drained dry in the first minutes. Yù Qíng, however, forced her own Dantian to turn. She deliberately pushed blood and vitality toward the wound. Her body trembled without control, her skin losing color until it was almost translucent, but her pale fingers remained clenched tightly into the back of Zhì Yuǎn's tunic. She staved off her own collapse out of pure possessiveness.
Behind them, Yù Méi clicked her tongue.
The youngest clenched her hands into fists. Watching her sister tremble like that and smelling the sweet blood feeding her husband exhausted her patience.
"I can take over," she said, her voice sharp, taking a step forward. "She's going to pass out any second."
Yù Qíng opened her eyes.
Exhausted, legs failing and blood staining her own collar, the eldest turned her face just enough to meet the youngest's gaze over Zhì Yuǎn's shoulder. Her blood-stained lips curved into a weak smile, loaded with quiet supremacy.
"Wait your turn."
In response, she only tightened her arms around her husband's neck with even more force, pressing her body against his as if she wanted to be sucked dry forever.
The dense heat flooding Zhì Yuǎn's veins finally touched the bottom of his own void. In the abyss of his chest, the dead stars flickered, reigniting under the fuel forged by his wife. The Singularity, tamed by the density of Yù Qíng's Yin and Primordial Qi, retreated. The atmospheric pressure crushing the hall vanished at once.
Zhì Yuǎn separated his lips from the woman's marked neck. His hot tongue gathered the last drop of sweet blood staining his own chin.
Without the anchor of her husband's grip, the strength keeping Yù Qíng upright evaporated. The eldest's knees gave way and her exhausted body collapsed. Zhì Yuǎn did not let her touch the carpet. His broad arm wrapped around her waist, supporting the dead weight with ease. Her skin was translucent, but her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. She had endured.
Mò Yán approached in silence. She extended her arms and carefully took her older sister's body. Yù Méi supported the other side, passing Yù Qíng's arm over her own shoulders.
"I said I could take over," the youngest grumbled, the vein in her neck still throbbing with frustration.
Bái Wǎn rose from the divan. She walked to the center of the room and stopped in front of Zhì Yuǎn. There was not the slightest trace of fear. She raised her small hands, held his broad face, and used the sleeve of her own new silk to wipe the trail of blood still staining her husband's jaw.
"We are all here, my God," she whispered, her clear eyes full of quiet and absolute devotion.
Zhì Yuǎn accepted the touch in silence. Then he walked to the high-backed armchair and sat down. Bái Wǎn followed him and slid her hand to the nape of his neck, her fingers threading into his dark hair.
On the divan, Mò Yán cast her perception over Yù Qíng.
"The foundation is intact," she diagnosed.
Yù Méi brushed a strand of hair stuck to her sister's forehead.
"But she lost a lot of Primordial Qi."
"I can hear you," Yù Qíng murmured, opening her eyes a crack.
"Then she hardly lost anything," the youngest shot back, pulling a silk blanket up to the eldest's shoulders.
Mò Yán placed a recovery pill between the eldest's lips.
"Don't force your cultivation until tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"I can change it to the day after tomorrow."
Yù Qíng swallowed the pill and closed her eyes.
"Tomorrow is fine."
Zhì Yuǎn, on the other side, raised his gaze to his wives.
"Tell me what you found out."
Mò Yán adjusted herself and spoke first, as always.
"We are in the Capital of Pale Gold, center of the Bifront Empire. The Qīngluán Clan controls the eastern half. The Huánglóng Clan controls the western half. Neither holds the throne alone. The empire was born from an ancient truce. They divided troops, mines, and taxes."
She paused briefly.
"Each clan has an Ancestor isolated in the seventh sub-realm of the Immortal Establishment. In practice, the Bifront Empire is a neutral force. It sells weapons and resources to the three Hegemonies competing for the continent: the Court of the Absolute Blade, the Sanctuary of the Prismatic Lotus, and the Vault of Ashes."
Yù Méi, who until then had only observed, spoke for the first time.
"Are those old men still alive? It's been centuries since anyone saw their faces. I doubt they can even lift a weapon anymore."
Mò Yán nodded, unoffended by the tone.
"We assume they are. Cultivators of that level usually isolate themselves for far longer than that."
She turned back to Zhì Yuǎn, her voice returning to a respectful tone.
"The capital's underworld is already almost entirely in our hands. Arenas, pleasure houses, and the eastern routes. To the surface, our two slaves still pass as nothing more than minor lords."
"And Mèng Lián?" Zhì Yuǎn asked.
"She uses the pseudonym Madame Feng. She took over the lower warehouses of the Firmament Auction. It is the only neutral territory in the city, built on the central bridge. All resources pass through there."
Mò Yán's scarlet eyes gleamed slightly.
"If we take the auction, we will have the records. Suppliers, routes, who signs the licenses."
Zhì Yuǎn tapped his fingers on the wood of the armchair.
"Don't move anything yet. I want the records and the complete structure of both clans."
Mò Yán raised her hand and projected two images into the air.
The first woman had black hair and wore light silks.
"Qīng Yǔ, the Holy Healer of the Qīngluán Clan. Twenty-eight years old. Second stage of the Transcendent Realm. She is beloved among the people for her… compassion."
The second, with reddish-brown hair, wore armor over golden silk.
"Huáng Bìyù, the Jasper Pearl of the Huánglóng Clan. Same age and cultivation. The troops of both clans adore her for being the epitome of justice."
Yù Méi looked at the second image with more professional interest.
"That one knows how to fight for real. Her posture isn't just for show."
Yù Qíng, still lying on her sister's lap, let out a low, hoarse laugh. Even exhausted, her smile was predatory.
"A healer full of compassion and a warrior who believes in justice…" she murmured. "So young, strong, and beloved. They must be delicious as a morsel."
Bái Wǎn stopped stroking Zhì Yuǎn's hair, observing the images for a few seconds in silence.
"The one in armor looks big."
Yù Méi let out a short laugh.
"You give that impression too… until someone sees you up close."
Bái Wǎn ignored the provocation. Instead of answering, she lowered her face and looked directly into Zhì Yuǎn's eyes. Her hand still rested on the nape of his neck.
"Does Husband like them?"
"I don't know them yet," he answered, his voice low and monotonous.
Yù Qíng adjusted her head more comfortably on her sister's leg.
"That's why we're going to get to know them."
Zhì Yuǎn did not answer immediately. Instead, he raised his hand and took hold of Bái Wǎn's wrist. With a light pull, he drew her forward and settled her onto his own thighs. The scholar's skirt and long hair spread out, and her thin arms wrapped around her husband's neck by instinct. Her face flushed lightly, but she did not pull back.
Zhì Yuǎn brushed the oceanic hair from the girl's shoulder. The pale skin of her neck was clean, unmarked. The calm pulse of the vein called to the Hunger, but this time there was no fear or demons cracking his reason. He controlled the abyss.
He tilted his face and captured Bái Wǎn's full lips in a gentle, deep kiss. The young woman returned it without hesitation, nestling completely against his broad chest.
The two fairies of the empire, with their clans and their virtues, could wait a little longer.