The solution arrived with Yan Fan's old shameless grin riding Yan Chi's borrowed skull.
"Sorry," he murmured to her sleeping ears. "But I don't have a choice."
He put his hands on her breasts and squeezed without shame.
The woman moaned a little in her faint — a sweet, broken sound that went straight to his cock — but he did not stop.
He grabbed and kneaded.
Thumbs brushed her erect nipples in slow circles.
Palms drank the soft give of flesh that felt as yielding as Cao Ning's had through cloth yesterday morning and somehow better raw, skin to skin, warm and heavy and perfect under the forest light. Yesterday he had squeezed silver-haired breasts through silk and earned a slap. Today he had a golden-haired beauty unconscious under his hands and no one to stop him, and the difference between the two moments sat in his cock like a second pulse.
The first squeeze made her tits overflow his fingers.
Flesh bulged between his knuckles. The weight of her filled his palms completely. He felt the faint ridged texture of an areola under his thumb and the harder peak of the nipple at its center, and he pressed both until her unconscious body answered with a tiny sound.
The second squeeze made her nipples harden further into his palms.
He watched them change — from already-stiff to sharper, darker, more insistent — as if even poisoned sleep could not keep her body from responding to a man's hands. A thin shine of spit from the masked man still glazed the left tip. Yan Chi's thumb smeared it in a slow circle, and he told himself he was only cleaning it, and he knew he was lying.
He could feel the faint stickiness of the masked man's saliva still on the tips.
Instead of being disgusted he found himself rolling those wet nipples between finger and thumb until they stood sharper, darker, and another faint sound left her throat. Her chest rose into his hands on a shallow breath. Her golden lashes fluttered without opening.
He could not stop.
Her nipples poked into the centers of his hands. Warm. Hard. Perfect. He lifted her tits, pressed them together until the cleavage deepened into a valley deep enough to bury his face in, watched them fall and bounce when he released — that heavy, natural bounce of a twenty-year-old woman's full breasts — and did it again because watching them move was its own reward.
Bounce.
The flesh slapped softly against itself. A faint sheen of spit from the masked man's mouth still gleamed on the left nipple. Yan Chi's thumbs found both tips and rolled them in slow circles until her unconscious body answered with a hitching breath and a tiny arch of her back that pushed her chest harder into his palms.
He rolled the pink tips between finger and thumb until they darkened further.
He pinched gently and pulled upward, stretching the flesh, then released and watched it settle. He did it again, slower, watching the way the underside of each breast curved and then flattened against her ribs. The fingerprints the masked men had left were still visible on the outer curves; he covered them with his own, erasing their marks with his, and the filthy satisfaction of that made him squeeze harder until her breasts reshaped completely around his grip.
Squish.
Juice was not the right word, but the give of her flesh under pressure felt like something that should have a wet sound attached to it. His cock jerked in his trousers. A dark spot of precum had already soaked through the cloth over the head. He ignored it and kept kneading, learning the weight of each breast separately, then together, then separately again, as if the system were grading him on thoroughness.
That bastard was lucky to play with this pair, he thought, and kept playing, squeezing, learning the weight of her, while forest light painted gold across her naked stomach and the mound of her cunt and the faint rope marks on her ankles.
Her breasts overflowed his hands no matter how he held them.
He buried his face between them for one greedy breath, smelling sweat and fear and the floral scent of her skin under the poison, feeling the soft walls of her cleavage close against his cheeks. Then he pulled back and kept kneading because the system had not chimed yet and he needed the points and — honestly — because stopping felt like putting down a feast he had only just started eating.
He bent and sucked one nipple into his mouth for a single filthy heartbeat.
He tasted the other man's saliva and her own skin. The nipple stiffened further against his tongue. He released it with a wet pop and told himself that was for the points too, even though the system had not asked for it. He switched to the other breast, sucked once more, then went back to kneading with both hands while his cock ached against his trousers and the forest held its breath around them.
The system chimed inside his skull, bright as victory.
Ding!
[REWARD]
[Received: 60 Pervert Points]
[Reason: Grabbing raw breasts of a woman (first time)]
A first-time bonus.
He had not expected this much — sixty points for a handful of soft tits, more than the entire Cao Ning mission had paid, more than watching his mother bound and blindfolded had paid, a number that made Yan Fan whistle inside his skull. Seventy-five points now — enough and more.
He released her breasts with a last reluctant squeeze.
Her flesh settled slowly back into its natural shape, nipples still dark and wet from his mouth and the masked man's before him. He wiped his palms once on his trousers and bought the antidote at once. The pill materialized cool against his palm with a faint green glow, dense with medicinal qi that made his newly sensitive meridians itch.
He tipped her head gently with his other hand.
He opened her soft lips with his thumb the way Elder Chang would open Cao Ning's in a different bath room on a different day that Yan Chi did not yet know about, and fed the pill between them. Her tongue was warm against his fingertip. He stroked her throat until she swallowed, feeling the pill go down under his fingers, watching her face for the change.
Within minutes color returned to her cheeks.
The grey poison-tone faded from her mouth. Her breathing deepened into something clean and steady. He watched the change the way a physician watches a fever break — the flush returning to her lips first, then to the tips of her ears, then to the soft skin of her throat where a pulse began to beat stronger under his fingers.
The fingerprints on her breasts remained, some his, some theirs.
The shine of saliva on her nipples remained. The wetness on her shaved pussy remained, catching the forest light in a way that made his cock twitch again against his trousers. But she was no longer dying, and that was what the points had bought, and he told himself the groping had been necessity even while the system sat satisfied in his skull with sixty new points glowing like coins.
Before she fully woke, Yan Chi stripped off his outer shirt and covered her naked body with it, tugging the cloth over her tits and down across her hips and the still-glistening line of her pussy. If she found herself bare and him kneeling there with an obvious hard-on tenting his trousers, he would get punched through a tree — Qi Refining or not, gratitude or not. He sat back on his heels, arranged his face into something that looked like righteous concern instead of a man who had just farmed sixty points off her unconscious breasts, and waited with his hands visible and empty on his knees.
She woke.
Confusion first — brows drawing together, golden lashes lifting on eyes the color of clear amber. She stared at the canopy for a long breath, as if she could not remember why the sky was made of leaves, and then her awareness tumbled back into her body all at once. Embarrassment hit sharp and pink across her cheeks when she felt a man's shirt on her skin and nothing of her own underneath, when she realized her breasts were bare under the cloth and her pussy was uncovered and a stranger was kneeling three feet away looking carefully at her face and nowhere else. One hand flew to the shirt's collar and clenched it shut over her chest. The other checked her spatial ring with a flick of qi, confirming it was still there, confirming she still had options.
She sat up carefully, still holding the shirt closed.
For a moment her eyes flicked past him to the flattened ferns and the torn pink silk in the undergrowth and the place where her sword had landed, and he saw her put the pieces together: chase, poison, fall, men, and then this shirtless young man with careful eyes. Color climbed her throat. She glanced down at the shirt once, as if measuring how much of her it covered and how much it did not, and her knuckles whitened on the collar.
With a flash of spatial storage she replaced his shirt with fresh robes from her ring.
Light, elegant, high-quality cloth in soft white and gold that covered her beautiful figure again without quite erasing the memory of what he had seen and touched. For one heartbeat, as she pulled his shirt off and the new robes had not yet settled, he saw her breasts again — full, red-fingerprinted, nipples still darkened — and then the silk closed over them and the moment was gone.
The robes settled over her breasts and hips with a whisper of expensive silk.
Golden hair fell over one shoulder as she dressed. She handed his shirt back without looking at the obvious tent that had been in his trousers earlier, and he took it and pulled it on quickly, grateful. The cloth still smelled of her. He tried not to notice.
Her eyes found him, clear and assessing despite the lingering weakness, and for a moment he thought she might ask what he had done with his hands while she slept — might notice the faint extra redness on her nipples, might smell something on her skin that was not only the masked men's mouths.
She did not. The source of this chapter is g.com.
"What's your name?" she asked instead.
Yan Chi blinked, surprised by the sudden question after everything. "Yan Chi."
She smiled — small, tired, genuine, the kind of smile that made his freshly earned points feel almost honest. "Thanks for saving me. I'll definitely reward you for your bravery." She took a ring from her finger — simple metal, engraved with a seal he did not recognize, the kind of seal that made his newly sensitive qi-sense itch with importance — and pressed it into his palm. The metal was warm from her skin. "You must be participating in the next awakening ceremony. If you pass and come to the main sect, show this ring to the guards. They will help you meet me if you need any help."
She also gave him a few pills from a jade bottle — cultivation resources that hummed faintly with dense qi against his fingers, the kind of pills a branch young master could not buy with ordinary spirit stones even if he emptied his father's private vault. Three pills. Maybe four. Each one glowed faintly green through the jade. She closed his fingers over them with a brief, firm press of her own, and for a heartbeat her hand was warm against his and he remembered how her breast had felt under that same palm, and he kept his face carefully blank.
Then she turned without giving her name and left the clearing with steps that steadied as the antidote finished its work. Golden hair flashed once between the trees. White and gold robes vanished into green. She did not look back. She was gone, and the clearing smelled of crushed ferns and spent fear and the faint floral ghost of a woman whose tits he had squeezed for points, and somewhere in the ferns her torn pink robe and ruined black underwear lay like evidence of a crime he had interrupted and then continued in a smaller, quieter way.
Yan Chi stood holding the ring and the pills, shirtless in the forest breeze, cock still half-hard from the memory of her breasts in his hands, and a dirty thought rose before he could stop it.
Should I have enjoyed her bottom before waking her up?
Her soft round ass under his palms.
The shaved pussy still wet from another man's mouth. He could have done more. Touched more. Spread her thighs wider while she slept. Tasted the flower-sweet slick the masked man had already sampled. Maybe even rubbed his cock between those soft buttocks the way the masked man had started to — fucking the cleft without entering, coming on her back in thick ropes, wiping it away before she woke so she would never know.
He could picture it too clearly.
Her unconscious body under him. Her breasts flattened against the stone while he ground between her cheeks. The wet sound of his shaft sliding through the spit and precum the masked man had left. The system chiming again and again as first-time bonuses stacked. The Pervert System would have paid him for it. First-time bonuses stacked for men who were shameless enough to take them, and he had already proven he was shameless enough when he put his hands on her tits and squeezed until the system chimed.
He looked at his hands — the same hands that had squeezed a stranger's raw tits for points, the same hands that had fed her antidote and covered her shame — and Yan Fan's voice in the back of his skull said next time take the ass too while Yan Chi's borrowed conscience muttered something about gratitude and boundaries and the fact that she had smiled at him afterward like he was a hero.
He shook his head, half laughing at himself, and put the ring away carefully in his system storage beside the pills, feeling the cool click of spatial transfer that still felt like magic even after days of owning the system. It was still a very fruitful encounter — the kind that turned a morning of rage into a morning of resources, realm, and a connection he did not yet understand. Cultivation resources dense enough to matter. A powerful connection waiting on the other side of the awakening ceremony — someone important enough that main-sect guards would move for a ring. Qi Refining first stage humming in his veins like new music. And sixty raw points that had tasted like tits under forest light.
He checked the system once more: seventy-five points minus twenty for the antidote left him at fifty-five, Qi Refining first stage steady, the golden-haired beauty's ring a cool weight against his storage sense. Fruitful did not begin to cover it. He only wished the twins' rescue could be bought as cleanly as an Illusion Pill — twenty points, a scream, a fleeing pair of cowards, and two women back in his bed instead of Yan Jing's. Life was not that neat. But it was getting closer.
He put his shirt back on. The cloth smelled faintly of her floral scent where it had covered her body, and he inhaled once before he could stop himself, then snorted at his own shamelessness and started moving. He picked up her torn pink robe from the ferns, folded it once, and left it on the stone where she might find it if she circled back — or where the forest would reclaim it if she did not. The ruined black underwear he left where it had landed. Some evidence was better forgotten.
He glanced once more toward the direction the masked men had fled, listening for return crashes that did not come, then started back through the jungle toward the city at a run.
Staying here in case they returned was stupid. The Illusion Pill's fear would not last forever. Men who had nearly raped a golden-haired beauty on a stone slab would come back for their swords and their pride once the nightmares faded, and Yan Chi did not intend to be the shirtless young master they found waiting.
The twins were still ahead of him — Qiuyu and Dongyu, twenty years old, oil-stained and worm-ridden and waiting in the wrong mansion for a master who had finally gained the realm to snatch them back.
Yan Jing was still ahead of him, smirking somewhere with Grand Elder Yan Li's shadow at his back. And for the first time since transmigration, Yan Chi felt strong enough to make both of those problems bleed. Qi Refining first stage. Fifty-five points. A ring that opened main-sect doors. A mouth that still remembered the taste of a stranger's nipple under forest light, and a cock that still remembered the weight of her breasts in his hands.
The mountain path opened ahead of him, root-crossed and sloping down toward the lower ridges where Jinling's smoke would soon be visible.
He ran with Qi Refining qi cycling through his legs, faster than the old Yan Chi had ever dreamed of moving, and the forest blurred green around him. Ferns whipped his calves. A startled deer crashed away through the brush. The stream he had heard that morning flashed silver beside the path for a stretch and then vanished again under moss and stone.
Jinling's distant walls caught the late morning sun.
He ran toward them with fifty-five Pervert Points in his pocket and a golden-haired stranger's ring against his storage sense and the memory of her tits under forest light still warm in his palms, and behind him the clearing went quiet except for birds already reclaiming the canopy and the slow drip of dew from a fern onto empty grey stone.
Somewhere in that city, Yan Jing still had the twins. Somewhere in that city, the entrance ceremony still waited. And somewhere between the two, Yan Chi promised himself, there would be a night when he walked into Elder Li's mansion without any pill at all — and took back what had been stolen.