His mother was waiting outside.
Yan Mei crossed the corridor in three quick steps and pulled him into her arms before he could speak, before he had even cleared the doorway.
His face sank into her cleavage exactly as it had on his first morning in this body, the silk and the bare upper curves of her breasts closing warm around his cheeks.
She wore a long dress cut so low that the inner slopes of her heavy breasts lay completely bare, pressed together into a deep valley that smelled of her floral oils and clean skin and gleamed faintly with the sweat of a mother who had been worrying for hours. The weight of them settled against his face. The heat of them soaked into his skin.
When she squeezed him tighter, the valley closed around his face until he could breathe nothing but her.
The side cuts of the dress ran high from hip to waist, so that whenever she moved, the outer curves of her ass appeared and vanished again on both sides, and the guards posted at the meeting hall door stared at it openly while she was busy with her son, their professional faces cracked by a lust that nobody in a demonic household bothered to hide. One guard's hand twitched toward his belt and stopped. The other swallowed so hard that Yan Chi heard it over his mother's heartbeat.
Yan Chi did not move.
Her breasts cushioned his face and her heartbeat thudded against his ear through warm flesh, and his cock twitched traitorously against her hip while she held him like the son she still believed he simply was. The valley between her breasts smelled of jasmine and honey.
Where his cheek pressed against the silk, he felt her nipples stiffen faintly, two hard points that he could have mapped with his eyes closed.
When he turned his face a fraction, his lips brushed for one filthy half-second across the bare inner slope of her left breast. Soft. Warm. Salted faintly with worry-sweat. His cock jumped so hard that she must have felt it.
She only held him tighter and stroked his hair, proud of him and blind to what her embrace was doing to him.
He breathed her in and let the Pervert System's hunger record every moment of it: the weight of her breasts, the scent of her oil, the flex of her ass as she rose onto her toes to hold him closer, the guards' stares, the pressure of her belly against his erection through the dress. Over her shoulder he could see the high side cut framing a pale curve of her cheek, and he did not look away from that either. When she shifted her weight, the cheek nearly escaped the cloth entirely, round and pale and soft, and one of the guards made a sound that might have been a prayer.
Ding!
[Received: 5 Pervert Points]
[Reason: Voyeuristic / intimate contact (Target: Yan Mei)]
He almost laughed into her cleavage. Five points for a mother's hug. Sixty for a stranger's raw tits that morning. The system's scale of values was a filthy poem and he was learning every stanza. The system never slept.
"I'm proud of you, my son," Yan Mei said after a moment, voice thick with emotion she did not try to hide. She stroked the back of his head the way she had when he was small and feverish, unaware that the son in her arms was hard against her hip and counting points. "I knew you were as strong as your father. I knew it. Even when everyone said otherwise. Even when—" Her voice caught. "You're my Chi'er. Don't you dare get hurt in the market again without telling me."
She kept hugging him until the meeting-room door opened again and Elder Yan Li and Yan Jing came out with Yan Tian.
Elder Yan Li looked at her—at the cleavage swallowing her son's face, at the side cuts flashing ass-cheek to the corridor, at the mature beauty that had made other clan leaders jealous for years—and walked out with an angrier face than before.
Until now he had been a little happy that Yan Tian had a weak son; jealousy of Yan Mei's beauty had lived in him for years like a worm of its own. Find the original chapter at g.com.
Countless times he had thought of getting his hands on that wife. Of bending that waist. Of putting his cock where only Yan Tian was supposed to go. Of making those heavy tits bounce for him the way they bounced for a husband who did not deserve such a feast alone. Of spreading those side cuts wider until the whole of her ass was his to slap and squeeze and bury his face in.
Yan Tian was too powerful. The Heavenly Realm gap was a wall.
Now even Yan Li's own son had lost to Yan Chi, and the weakling branch was suddenly less weak, and the wife still walked the corridors looking like a dual-cultivation fantasy in silk.
He still could not stop looking back at Yan Mei's ass after walking a few steps.
Her perfect round cheeks flexed under the dress's side cuts. The high slots flashed the undercurve of soft butt-flesh. When she shifted her weight to hold her son closer, one full cheek nearly escaped the cloth entirely — pale, round, heavy enough to bounce if someone slapped it hard enough. His dick started swelling inside his pants, thick and shameless. He imagined his hands on those cheeks the way Yan Jing's hands had been on the twins' in the market. He imagined Yan Mei bent over the meeting-hall table the way Yan Tian bent her over private furniture in rooms with sound barriers.
Yan Jing noticed his father's stare and looked sicker. Elder Li left with his son before the stare became a scandal that Yan Tian would answer with more than words.
Yan Tian noticed the look. Pride flickered across his cold face—pride in having a beautiful wife other men wanted and could not take, the exhibition edge of a man who liked being envied, the same hunger that had made him fuck her blindfolded in front of masked guards. Yan Chi saw it over his mother's shoulder and filed the information away with everything else this demonic family taught: beauty was power, desire was currency, and weakness was the only unforgivable sin. He filed away, too, the swelling at the front of Elder Li's trousers and the way Yan Jing's bruised face had gone pale as he watched his father want Yan Mei, because it was filthy knowledge, and in this house filthy knowledge was the most useful kind.
He eased out of Yan Mei's hug at last, promised to eat properly and rest, let her smooth his hair once like he was still small, felt her soft breast brush his arm as she released him, and left the corridor before Elder Li's jealousy could find a new target in the son who had just taken the twins back. His cock was still half-hard from her tits. The five points glowed. The ring on his finger pulsed once, faintly, as if the twins in his room had felt him thinking of them.
***
His own door slid open under his hand, and the sight inside stopped him the way Yan Jing's bed had stopped him on the night of the Invisible Pill, except that this time the two bodies on the mattress were waiting for him.
Qiuyu and Dongyu were naked on his bed and kissing each other as though nothing else in the world existed.
Their mouths moved together slowly. When they parted for breath he could see their tongues, wet and pink, and the shine of spit on their identical chins. Then they kissed again, deeper, and one of them moaned into the other's mouth — a small helpless sound the lust worms pulled out of her whether she wanted it or not.
Their breasts were pressed together so that their nipples dragged against each other with every small movement.
Both of them shivered at it. Hands wandered over each other's waists and hips as if lust were the only language left to them after the worms and the market and the long morning of shame. Pink nipples scraped pink nipples. Soft flesh flattened and spilled. When Qiuyu arched, Dongyu's breast filled the hollow under her sister's collarbone for a heartbeat before they settled again.
One of them had her fingers between the other's thighs, working slowly in the slick folds there.
Circling. Dipping. Coming away glistening before she began again. The soft wet sound of it filled the quiet room — squelch, squelch — quiet enough that Yan Chi could hear it over his own pulse. When the fingers found a clit and pressed, the twin on her back broke the kiss with a gasp and then dragged her sister's mouth back down. Get faster updates on g.com.
The oil was gone and the slave silks were gone, and all that remained was bare skin flushed pink from throat to thighs, and two round asses lifting a little as they kissed, still marked with fading pink handprints from Yan Jing's public groping.
Without an audience to shame them, the worms sang louder, a hunger with nowhere to aim itself, circling and circling until the door opened.
Then both of them looked up at him with dark eyes and wet mouths and turned their bodies toward him like offerings that knew exactly what they were offering.
Qiuyu drew her fingers out from between her sister's legs. The fingers shone. Dongyu took them into her mouth and licked them clean without ever looking away from him, tongue curling around each knuckle, cheeks hollowing, the wet sound of it going straight to Yan Chi's cock.
"Master," they said together, and the word stroked down his spine and settled heavy in his cock.
The slave-control ring was cold in his fist. He slid it onto his finger, and something subtle shifted in the room as the worms answered their new master. He saw both sets of pupils widen a fraction as the bond settled into place, and felt it himself, a fine invisible thread drawing out of the metal and into two warm bodies on the bed. Qiuyu gasped and arched her back as though the ring had touched her, her nipples drawing tighter still, and Dongyu's thighs pressed together and then fell open again, a fresh shine of wetness answering the claim. The Qi Refining foundation hummed in his core. Behind him, the whole mansion was whispering about the weak son who had stopped being weak, and in front of him, the twins he had lost one night and taken back the next waited naked on his sheets, with loyalty and need wound together into a single call.
He closed the door fully, and the latch fell into place, and the corridor ceased to exist.
For a while he did not answer them.
He looked, and let himself look the way the Pervert System had taught him, slowly and thoroughly.
At the full breasts — identical, flushed, nipples still stiff from the market air and from rubbing against each other. At the curve of their hips. At the pink folds between their thighs, still shiny where Dongyu's fingers had been working, still marked faintly by the dark line where the humiliating thread had rubbed all morning. At the way their nipples stood and their mouths stayed parted on that single word.
Up close and hungry, he found he could tell them apart at last.
Qiuyu's left breast hung a little fuller when she leaned forward. Dongyu's mouth was the gentler of the two. For the first time since he had woken in this body, the future felt close enough to touch.
"Master," Qiuyu whispered, crawling a little closer across the silk, her breasts swaying beneath her and her ass lifting behind. "We've been waiting for you."
The sway of her breasts was hypnotic. The lift of her ass showed the fading pink of Yan Jing's public slap and the clean pink of her pussy beneath it, wet and open and waiting. She crawled until she was close enough that he could smell her — market dust and leftover oil and the sweet musk of a woman the lust worms would not let cool down.
Dongyu licked her lips with her eyes on the hard line in his trousers. "Master, please. The worms, we need—" Her hand slid down her stomach toward her own wet cunt and stopped there, waiting for a permission that the new ring had made unnecessary and the old loyalty made essential. Her fingers hovered over her clit. A bead of slick ran down her inner thigh and darkened the silk beneath her.
He smiled, slow and hungry.
The ring had grown warm on his finger, answering the two pulses beating in the women on his bed. At the edge of his sight, sixty points glowed patiently, fifty-five carried out of the forest that morning and five more from his mother's embrace in the corridor. Somewhere beyond these walls, Yan Jing was nursing his ruined face and his ruined reputation, and Elder Li was hating him with a Heavenly Realm hatred that he was not yet strong enough to fear as he should, and all of Jinling was already retelling the story of the market road in a hundred mouths. Somewhere a fruit seller was no doubt already swearing that the young master's throw had been a secret technique capable of shattering stone.
None of it reached into this room.
He stepped toward the bed, letting the shadow of the door fall across the last of the corridor light, and reached for his sash with hands that did not shake. The jungle was behind him, and the market, and the family hall. Ahead of him on silk sheets that smelled of their skin and his own cultivation sweat, two grown women waited for him, naked and wet and calling him Master, and for the first time since he had come into this world, he had the strength and the ring and the hunger to answer them.