The morning light crept furtively through the slits of the Patio of the Silent Cloud's windows. The bedroom's dimness still exhaled the dense scent of sweat, ozone, and the sweet musk that had marked the small hours of the night.
Mò Yán opened her eyes. The mattress beneath her seemed to pull her flesh downward. The exhaustion was not the fatigue of illness — the girl's bones felt as though they had been melted and hammered all night long. She tried to move her legs, and a gasp escaped her swollen lips. The phantom friction still burned at the center of her body, the physical memory of the colossal force that had filled and crushed her repeatedly.
The young woman looked at the strips of silver-gray silk torn on the floor. Her pale fingers slid across the damp sheets, seizing the remnants of the fabric she had always worn as a shield. She pressed the stained silk against her chest, burying her face in the cloth to inhale the scent of masculine sweat trapped within it. Her chin lifted slowly, and a thick warmth rose through her neck.
Mò Yán brought her hand to her own lower abdomen.
An immensity of condensed cold pulsed a handspan below her navel with each beat of her heart. The weight was not a cage — it was an internal abyss that made the tips of her fingers tingle, a suffocating urgency that rose through her throat and begged to force the stone walls and the air around her to bend. And yet Mò Yán's breath locked up instantly, submissive and still, at the slightest sound from the man on the other side of the room.
She turned her face on the pillow. Yù Méi snored on the other side of the sheets, one bare and shapely leg thrown carelessly across the covers. Yù Qíng was not in the bed.
Mò Yán raised her torso — the full weight of her breasts swaying freely beneath the thin slip — and looked toward the veranda.
Zhì Yuǎn was already awake. He wore only the charcoal-gray trousers, his sculpted chest marked by faint scratches, exposed to the morning breeze. He sat in the noble-wood recliner. His dark, fathomless eyes dissected the void beyond the city walls, while his long, calloused fingers pinched the dry air.
An imperceptible spatial thread folded around the god's finger, snapping silently before dissolving into invisible dust.
At his feet — perfectly wrapped in the navy-blue tunic and the star-threaded veil — Yù Qíng prepared the tea. The priestess did not speak; her silence was the very water sustaining her husband's rest.
Minutes later, Mò Yán emerged onto the veranda. The heavy silver-gray tunic with its thick golden trim smothered her monumental proportions, and the matte golden-thread veil already covered her face. The young woman's pale shoulders were relaxed, but the stone cracked faintly — pushing dust away from the sole of her boot at the very first step. The diplomat locked her breathing immediately, forcing the muscles of her abdomen to swallow back the brutal force that had nearly escaped into the courtyard flagstones.
Mò Yán set the steaming cup on the table. The liquid trembled slightly in the porcelain, reacting to the icy vibration of her body. She ground her teeth, the tendons of her neck tensing until the tea went perfectly still once more.
"The clay cup struggles to contain the newborn storm, snow flower," Yù Qíng murmured, watching the rim of the cup with a soft and indulgent smile. "It will take a few days before the roots learn not to flood the earth around them."
"The clay cup will prove itself unbreakable, sister Qíng," Mò Yán's voice flowed from beneath the golden veil — calm, her brow lightly damp from the effort of locking her own aura. The water in the cup stabilized. She turned her face toward Zhì Yuǎn, her chest rising in anticipation. "Will our heaven not leave the courtyard today?"
The fathomless void in Zhì Yuǎn's eyes receded. He released the invisible air and looked toward the veranda, a mild and silent warmth descending over the two women like a dense mantle.
"Rotted threads. A patchwork of loose stones blind to space," the god's deep voice resonated — laconic and unshakeable — his fingers drifting to graze Yù Qíng's pale cheek. "There is nothing in today's dust worth the time outside this courtyard."
Yù Qíng tilted her face against the palm of his hand, her red lips curving into a dark smile beneath the star-threaded veil.
"The harvest loses its sap if it strays too long from the mill, my love," the priestess murmured, her cold fingers covering her husband's hand before she looked toward the diplomat. "The auction begins tomorrow. The bones little Méi crushed need to be seeded into the city's market to feed our funds."
A crash of splintered wood shook the cabin wall. Yù Méi burst through the double doors, driving her heels into the floor. The youngest wore her dark-gold martial tunic, tying the black opaque veil over her nose with violent yanks. The solid metal door handle had been reduced to a crumpled ball of steel in her hands.
She hurled the metal into the garden.
"Rotten iron and crumbling wood," Yù Méi growled, her almond-shaped irises sparking vivid gold. Her chest rose and fell noisily. "My hands have been tingling. My blood is boiling. By our heaven, if we don't get out into the street right now and find something that breathes for me to hit, I'm going to punch a hole straight through the floor of this courtyard."
---
The Central Market of the Celestial Lance seethed. The smell of roasting beast meat mingled with the crackling steam of the forges and the dry dust. Through the wide cobblestone streets, the crowd flowed at its natural rhythm. The absurd Qi density of the Higher Realm created no anomalies — it merely nourished the cradle of that civilization. A simple merchant pulled a cart loaded with ore using only his sweaty shoulders and steady breath, displaying a vitality that would easily eclipse that of any warrior from the lower world. To them, this world was not heavy. It was simply the world.
The three shadows glided through that sea of common people and armed cultivators, indifferent to the commotion. Not a sliver of skin was visible.
What the filthy passersby did not perceive was the repulsive barrier surrounding them. The flow of the Suspended Lotus Step enveloped all three bodies completely, like a translucent energy shield. The dense soot, the cart dust, and the acid vapor of the forges simply struck and slid off Yù Méi's golden silk, Yù Qíng's star-threaded veil, and Mò Yán's silver tunic — keeping them immaculate and untouchable at the epicenter of that city.
As they crossed a narrow alleyway blocked by crates of reeking leather, a wall of flesh blocked the passage. Five stocky mercenaries. The leader — a rough man with a face carved by old scars — stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowing with a brazen and raw hunger as they swept over the three veiled figures.
He let out a low whistle, almost a growl of pleasure.
"Damn... would you look at that. Three goddesses walking like they own the alley." The large man tilted his head, his gaze sliding slowly down Mò Yán's matte golden veil, then across Yù Qíng's star-threaded one, before stopping on Yù Méi's vivid gold hair. "Half a snow-white face glowing under the veil... another one with black eyes that looks like she'd fuck you with a glare alone... and this little blonde with hair like liquid gold. Imagine what those thick tunics are hiding, huh?"
The thugs behind him laughed low, licking their lips, their hungry stares fixed on the curves the heavy silk could barely contain.
The leader took another step forward, opening his thick arms to completely block the path, his crooked smile full of yellowed teeth.
"Tight little alley here, dollfaces. To pass, you're going to have to pay the toll with those divine little bodies." He slowly licked his teeth, his hoarse voice dropping to a falsely courteous and mocking tone. "But relax... we'll be real gentle. Me first, nice and slow, so you feel every inch. Then my brothers will want a taste too. Maybe we'll even have you moaning instead of screaming."
Yù Qíng did not so much as blink at the threat. The priestess cast a sideways glance at Mò Yán and continued to advance, a lazy smile forming beneath the veil.
Mò Yán did not hesitate. She took a single step forward. Her scarlet irises burned through the matte golden veil. The glacial, heavy core in her womb contracted once against the world.
"Kneel."
The whisper froze the light in the alleyway.
The mercenary's spine snapped at a sick angle. Crack. The attacker's two knees exploded against the cobblestone, shattering the rock beneath the undeniable force of the command. The man's body locked in a humiliating prostration, his forehead smashed into his own puddle of spit. The four thugs behind him choked in unison, their legs trembling hysterically, their faces turning purple from the inability to breathe beneath the residual pressure hanging in the air.
Mò Yán was about to take her next step over the prostrated body when a leather boot struck the ground hard beside her.
"All bark and no bone. You reek of mud," Yù Méi growled, her voice gutturally vibrating with pure carnivorous disgust.
Yù Méi's boot came down like a forge hammer on the back of the kneeling leader's neck. Splat. The skull exploded against the pavement, scattering gray matter and thick blood in every direction.
The thugs had no time to squeal. Yù Méi moved in a bestial blur. The air in the alley cracked four times in quick succession. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Her vivid gold fists drove through the men's noses and jaws simultaneously, obliterating cartilage and bone in a blind and brutal sweep.
The four bodies dropped dead. The storm of viscera and warm blood sprayed across the walls, but struck violently against the Suspended Lotus repulsive barrier, sliding into the gutter without leaving a single drop on the golden, blue, and silver silks of the three women.
Yù Méi cracked the blood-coated knuckles of her victims, releasing a loud sigh as she kicked a loose tooth aside with her boot.
"Pathetic," the youngest complained, her voice flat with boredom. "Their skulls burst like rotten pumpkins. Couldn't even extend my elbow properly. What garbage."
Yù Qíng floated over the dark puddle without breaking her rhythm, her crystalline laugh echoing.
"You tear the sprouts before they even understand the soil has dried, little one," Yù Qíng murmured, her black eyes fixed on the mutilated bodies. "An excellent warning for the rest of this garden not to dirty our path."
Mò Yán continued the march in silence, stepping unflinchingly over the corpses.
---
The trio entered the city's vast resource plaza. But the chaos of negotiations had evaporated. The sound of thick cast-iron chains being dragged filled the muffled air. Dozens of guards in metallic scale armor were locking the gigantic oak doors of the southern district. The smoke of the forges hung over a crowd pinned against the stone walls.
At the center of the market, the Commander of the City Guard raised his blood-stained sword to the sky.
"Protector Gu has been murdered and Young Master Lǐ Wēi is missing!" the Commander thundered, the thick Qi of the Transcendental apex reverberating off the walls, flooding the merchants' faces with panic. "The investigated signature crossed our walls and we believe the young master has been kidnapped. No one leaves! Search the inns, break down the courtyards! Anyone who resists will have their Dantian torn out!"
The crowd abandoned their carts, running and crushing against each other along the edges of the plaza.
The three shadows remained motionless in the open center, like mountains before a flood.
The thick muscles of Yù Méi's arms and thighs began to vibrate in spasms of pure ecstasy. Beneath the veil, she licked her own lips. The Brutal Blade cracked her neck, her teeth grinding.
"They've locked the iron gates," Yù Méi whispered, her voice raw, nearly drooling. "Three hundred armored necks on the same platter. Tell me I can rip the spine out of that Commander and use it to beat the rest of this garbage into paste, Qíng. My hands are trembling. I want to pop about a hundred."
Yù Qíng assessed the army of guards kicking in inn doors, shattering shop windows, and spreading chaos. The priestess's gaze glinted with revulsion.
"Deafening insects," Yù Qíng hissed, her nails digging into her own palms beneath her long sleeves. "They think they can interrupt my husband's silence with this garbage barking and banging. If the filthy hands of this lord touch our wall to search our property... I will turn this entire city into fertilizer soup before sundown."
Mò Yán lowered her veiled face. The glacial ocean in her lower abdomen pulsed violently, synchronized to the youngest's carnivorous fury and the eldest's psychopathy. The diplomat closed her fists beneath her silver sleeves, her nails pressing into her palms as the old peaceful dogmas melted beneath the feverish sickness of protecting that man's territory.
"If their boots dare march to the Silent Cloud..." Mò Yán's voice flowed — cutting and implacable through the dust. "We will make the Commander swallow his own steel before he lays a finger on our gates."
Yù Qíng released a short laugh, her poetry embracing the carnage.
"Let the storm come to us, sisters," the blue-robed priestess murmured, turning her body in the air with murderous majesty to return to the courtyard. "We will have the doors open to receive them."