Yù Méi's challenge hung over the destroyed street, echoing in the pathetic silence of the two hundred and eighty armored guards. The army of the Celestial Lance remained crushed against the cobblestones, their faces pressed into their own puddles of urine and cold sweat beneath the invisible pressure of Mò Yán's Mandate.
With her bare arms and legs painted in a thick, steaming red, the golden-haired girl took a step forward. Her bare foot snapped against the grotesque wetness of the ground. She bent her knees, muscles tensing to plunge into the paralyzed crowd and turn the steel helmets to dust.
The sound of the heavy mahogany doors of the Patio of the Silent Cloud opening cut through the air.
The space in the wide street seemed to curve inward.
Zhì Yuǎn crossed the stone threshold. The charcoal-gray tunic was immaculate, the black silk cloak swallowing the morning light. The man's mere physical presence annulled the wind and made the blood in every mortal's veins freeze.
Yù Qíng — already hovering in her invisible seiza through the Void Lotus — floated a few millimeters back and inclined her head in deep reverence. Mò Yán, her body perfectly protected by the continuous barrier of the Suspended Lotus Step, felt the Yin in her womb throb painfully at the glimpse of his profile, driving her scarlet eyes into the flagstones in mute submission.
The murderous intent radiating from Yù Méi vanished the instant the doors struck shut.
Her almond-shaped irises dilated in euphoric joy. The manic, twisted smile transformed into a radiant and pure brilliance.
"Husband!"
Her bare feet struck the bloodied stones. Completely forgetting the army of ants around her, she leapt. Her scarlet-stained arms opened wide, ready to lock around his broad neck and throw her own cheek against that perfect chest.
Five centimeters from Zhì Yuǎn, the leap died.
Yù Méi locked her heels against the stones, nearly stumbling backward in an awkward lurch. Her breathless gasp caught in her throat. The clean, dense, intoxicating scent of sandalwood and ozone that emanated from Zhì Yuǎn's skin collided against the pungent smell of feces, rust, and bile that poisoned the air around her. Away from him, the blood had been a glorious trophy — but before the perfection of that man, the slaughterhouse became the most repulsive filth in the world.
A thick warmth of pure shame rose through the warrior's neck, setting her dirty cheeks ablaze. She pulled her shoulders in, instinctively crossing her arms to hide her soaked palms against her belly.
"My beloved heaven..." Yù Méi took a mortified step back, her eyes dropping to her own filthy legs. "I reek of guts. I'll wash up at the well first. Don't touch me—"
Zhì Yuǎn's large hands moved.
Completely ignoring the slippery viscera and the mud of death, the man's calloused fingers seized Yù Méi's ruined waist with an iron grip. The abrupt pull crashed the clean chest of the charcoal-gray tunic directly against the youngest's blood-soaked body.
Yù Méi's gasp of surprise was silenced the instant Zhì Yuǎn's mouth crushed hers.
His burning tongue invaded her with a brutal possession. The fresh taste of ozone mingled with the salty, filthy, ferrous taste of the blood staining the young woman's lips. The thermal shock of the contact, the undeniable approval, and the dominance of that act fried the girl's nerves.
Yù Méi moaned gutturally, the sound dying against his lips. Her strong legs trembled. She abandoned her own hesitation and threw her bloodied arms around his broad neck, staining the black silk of his cloak and the nape of Zhì Yuǎn's neck with the ruby mud of battle, surrendering to the invasion with a magnificent desperation.
When his face finally pulled back, Yù Méi panted frantically. Her golden eyes were rolled back, her lips swollen and gleaming with saliva. She could barely hold herself upright, her entire body melted beneath the arm that still supported her by the waist.
"Your Law awakened with perfection, Méi." His calloused thumbs traced her dirty cheek. His dark gaze overflowed with a dense and unshakeable affection. "And your filth will never offend my domain."
The girl's hoarse and trembling laugh echoed, her forehead pressing against his stained chest with blind devotion.
Zhì Yuǎn raised his right hand.
Thin, interwoven threads of the Laws of Water and Fire sprouted from his fingers. The intention enveloped Yù Méi's body in a surgical spiral. The water instantly removed the dark blood, the viscera, and the soot in a purifying torrent that evaporated in the same second beneath the mild action of fire's warmth — heating the jade skin. In the blink of an eye, the warrior's flesh was immaculate. The chest and cloak of Zhì Yuǎn's tunic were washed and dried by the same invisible beam.
Yet Yù Méi's golden silk dress remained torn at the shoulders, with stripped slits that exposed her full thighs to the groin.
"Restore your Lotus flow, Méi." Zhì Yuǎn lowered his hand, his dark eyes assessing the rags covering his wife. "The dust of this street has already served its purpose."
The vibration of space activated beneath the girl's bare soles. The absolute repulsion barrier of the Suspended Lotus Step swallowed her body, sealing her from the tainted air and preventing the flies drawn by death from daring to come near.
Yù Qíng floated gracefully to her husband's side. Her crystalline, venomous laugh danced through the red-bathed alleyway.
"Karma guided the tracking dogs from the flesh cube you pressed in the forest, my love." The woman in blue tilted her face beneath the star-threaded veil. "They knocked on our door to demand the corpse of their ward."
Zhì Yuǎn did not look at the street. He merely observed the torn rags on Yù Méi and the excess of useless, suffocating fabric that Yù Qíng and Mò Yán wore to hide their own glory. Concealing the light of the three so as not to offend the sight of mortals suddenly revealed itself as an unforgivable waste of energy and silk.
"The game of hiding the light is over." The observation resonated deep and pragmatic — the weight of an incontestable cosmic truth. "The dregs of this plane don't even possess the eyes needed to comprehend what they're seeing. They don't deserve the sweat of your discomfort. Go in. Change those shackles."
Yù Qíng's eyes gleamed. Mò Yán felt the Yin in her womb melt in obedience.
They turned their backs on the two hundred and eighty guards paralyzed on the ground and followed the man back into the interior of the courtyard.
Fifteen minutes later, the doors of the main bedroom opened.
Yù Qíng slid out. The veil and the meters of heavy tunic had vanished. She wore her beloved short navy-blue dress, the thin silk embracing her soft bust and falling elegantly to the knees. Her porcelain legs floated freely in the air, her seductive majesty exhaling a lethal sweetness.
Beside her, Yù Méi marched in a fresh golden silk dress — open at the neckline, her arms perfectly bare, her vivid gold hair falling to the full curve of her hips. The girl smiled, her skin finally breathing without the smothering of the opaque tunic.
But it was the third figure that made the darkness in Zhì Yuǎn's eyes seethe with pure possessive heat.
Mò Yán crossed the threshold. The sterile, suffocating modesty of the old gray disguise had been annihilated. The snow-haired woman now wore an exquisite Hanfu forged beneath Yù Qíng's skilled hands.
The upper portion was fashioned from an incredibly fitted and purest white silk, embracing her ribs like a second skin. Delicate gold threads drew herons and clouds across the pale fabric, descending to a dark, thick sash that marked her narrow waist with brutal precision. Below the sash, a heavy, flowing black silk skirt fell in elegant pleats, moving with each step with the density of night itself.
But what stole the air from the courtyard was the cut of the crossed collar.
The neckline of the white Hanfu had been pulled dangerously low, revealing the full and monumental curve of her heavy breasts. The pale valley rose and fell in a breathless rhythm, protected only by the tightness of the pale silk itself — which scandalously displayed the colossal one-hundred-and-ten-centimeter bust. The immaculate skin of her neck and chest was stained with a feverish flush, a warm and sweaty pink that contrasted with sickening beauty against the white of the clothing and the snow of her long, loose hair.
The restrained flower was monumentally bold. Mò Yán's face displayed the thick warmth of her own shame, the skin of her small ears painted the same rosy tone. But she did not lower her face. With her hands joined before the black skirt, her scarlet irises held her husband's gaze with a passionate, intense, and deeply corrupted submission.
Any trace of the apathy Zhì Yuǎn reserved for the world outside simply ceased to exist before his women. A possessive and volcanic hunger took over the man's face.
He took a long step. The massive presence crushed the courtyard's air as his calloused hands seized Mò Yán's narrow waist, pulling her with violence against his rigid chest. The woman gasped, her full breasts squeezed by the white silk pressing against his charcoal-gray tunic, her heart beating out of rhythm against her ribs.
"Much better," the hoarse and filthy baritone raised the hairs on the back of all three women in the courtyard.
Zhì Yuǎn's large hands slid downward with absolute propriety. His fingers seized the full flesh of Mò Yán's buttocks through the black silk, kneading the soft curves with firmness and lifting her slightly against his own pelvis. The rocky, throbbing volume — already perfectly awake beneath the dark silk trousers — pressed against his wife's abdomen.
The thermal shock of the touch and the hard friction tore a low, strangled moan from the full lips. The pure Yin at the bottom of Mò Yán's body melted into an involuntary pool of dampness, soaking her intimacy in the exact second his weight demanded it.
The man's face descended, taking her mouth in a deep and carnivorous kiss. The burning tongue invaded the warm cavity, savoring the blind submission. The kiss dragged on for endless minutes, drowning them both in a spiral of desire that liquefied the woman's knees — leaving her entirely dependent on the implacable grip on her own buttocks to avoid collapsing onto the courtyard flagstones.
When the lips finally separated, Mò Yán was breathless. Her scarlet irises floated in a blind stupor.
Zhì Yuǎn gave one final heavy squeeze to the full flesh before releasing her slowly. His dark gaze still burned with the promise of the Furnace.
"Hold onto that hunger, Yán." The voice vibrated directly into the woman's trembling spine. "We will remove that silk and finish this when we return. For now, I need to clarify a tragic misunderstanding with the owner of this dust. Concealing your faces outside is no longer necessary. We depart this city today."
He turned his face toward the city and closed his eyes for a fraction of a second.
His Wisdom required no steps or peripheral investigation. The Inner Universe expanded silently. The invisible currents of perception swept the entire Celestial Lance — ignoring the markets, the inns, and the walls. His mind drove itself directly into the peak of local military power, isolating the figure of Lǐ Kuáng seated on the main throne of his fortress, bellowing orders about the murders in the forest.
The dark eyes opened.
"The fool demands explanations," Zhì Yuǎn murmured, raising two fingers of his right hand.
The sharp sound of fabric being torn burst through the courtyard.
The Law of Space yielded to his will in an oblique pull. A black and silver rift tore open in the air — ripping through the physical coordinates that separated the Patio of the Silent Cloud and the throne room of the City Lord's fortress.
The black silk cloak billowed as the man took the first step into the luminous abyss.
"Follow me."
And the three calamities smiled, parading their unveiled and lethal beauty directly into the center of destruction.