Chapter 765 - Tianlong Comes to Heal the Poisoned Father
~ The Han Estate
The Han merchant estate was grand. Not palace grand — merchant grand. The walls, dark stone, were solid and practical. The gate, iron and wood, was sturdy. The courtyard, the stone-paved entrance, was clean and well-maintained. The garden, the spirit-flowers, the medicinal herbs, the small pond, were the pride of a merchant family that dealt in rare goods.
The guards, the two men at the gate, bowed. The spiritual energy emanating from the carriage, from the man inside, had preceded him. The qi, the Divine Transcendent pressure, was subtle but absolute. The guards, mere Foundation Establishment cultivators, felt it. Their bodies, their muscles, their bones, responded. They bowed. Deeply. The bow of men before something they could not comprehend.
The servants arrived. The maids, the old retainers, the household staff. They lined the courtyard path. Their heads were bowed. Their bodies trembled. The Emperor, the Immortal Master, had come to their home.
Tianlong stepped from the carriage. His dark robe, his golden skin, his gold-crimson eyes, his dark hair. The presence, the sheer, overwhelming, divine presence of a being whose cultivation transcended everything they knew, filled the courtyard.
Lady Han followed. Her brown dress, her curly hair, her swollen lips. The flush on her face, the recent activity, was visible. But the servants, the guards, the maids, did not comment. Did not look. Did not see.
The headmistress followed. Her formal robes, her thick body, her enormous tits, her composed face. She walked behind, her hands clasped, her posture that of a senior attendant.
At the gate, standing, was a woman.
She was thick. Not fat — thick. The kind of body that came from bearing children and living well. Her hips, wide and full, strained against the dark fabric of her dress. Her ass, the thick, heavy cheeks, was prominent. Her boobs, enormous, heavy, maternal, pressed against the bodice. Her face, beautiful and mature, was composed. Her eyes, both of them, were covered. A white bandage, the silk wrapping, was tied around her head. She was blind.
Lady Han’s mother. The Lady of the Han household.
She gave a bow. The motion, the formal, practiced bow of a noblewoman, was elegant despite her blindness. Her body, the thick frame, bent at the waist. Her boobs, in the bodice, shifted.
"Thank you for arriving here, Immortal Master," she said. Her voice was warm. Musical. The voice of a woman who had been raised with grace and education. "My husband truly needs your help."
Her voice carried the maternal gentleness of a wife who had watched her husband wither for years. The desperation, carefully controlled, was beneath the surface. The poise, the aristocratic dignity, was the armor she wore.
Tianlong’s gold-crimson eyes, on the blind woman, swept her body. The assessment, the evaluation, was immediate. The thick hips. The heavy ass. The enormous boobs. The mature, full, maternal body. The comparison, the natural, inevitable comparison between mother and daughter, was made.
’Like mother, like daughter.’
His eyes moved from the mother’s thick hips to the daughter’s hips beside him. Lady Han, her body, the full frame, the curvy figure. The mother, her body, the fuller frame, the more mature curves. The similarity, the bloodline, the shared genetics, was clear.
A smile, small, knowing, private, formed on his lips.
He nodded. The gesture, the imperial acknowledgment, was minimal.
He walked in. Through the courtyard, along the stone path, through the garden. The blind mother, walking in front, her hand on her daughter’s arm, led the way. Her steps, measured, were confident despite her blindness. She knew this path. Every stone, every turn, every flower. The years of living here had mapped the estate in her mind.
His eyes, behind her, were on her hips. The sway, the natural, unconscious sway of a thick woman walking, was there. The hips, the wide, full, heavy hips, moved beneath the dark fabric. The ass, the thick cheeks, trapped in the cloth, shifted with each step. The motion, the rolling, undulating, hypnotic motion of maternal hips, was there.
He compared. Lady Han, walking beside him, her hips, similar but younger. The mother, in front, her hips, similar but fuller. The same shape. The same curve. The same thick, heavy, breeding hips.
’The daughter was good. Tight. Well-fucked. Trained. But the mother... the mother has more. More thickness. More weight. More to grab. More to...’
"Immortal Master," the blind mother said, her voice warm, breaking his reverie. "Please mind the step here. The third stone is slightly raised. My husband tripped on it once."
The warning, the considerate, maternal warning of a woman concerned for her guest’s comfort, was delivered without turning. She knew he was behind her. She could feel his presence. The qi, the divine pressure, was unmistakable.
"Thank you," he said. His voice was calm. Polite. The courtesy of a man who acknowledged kindness.
They entered the main house. The interior, the dark wood, the lacquered furniture, the scrolls on the walls, the spirit-lanterns casting warm light, was the home of a prosperous merchant family. Not ostentatious. Comfortable. Lived-in.
They arrived at the master bedroom.
~ The Healing
The father lay on the bed.
Lord Han. The merchant patriarch. The man who had built the family business, who had traded in rare goods, who had traveled the merchant routes, who had been attacked by a demonic cultivator, who had been poisoned, who had been paralyzed, who had been dying.
His body, once strong and robust, was withered. The skin, pale and thin, clung to his bones. His face, gaunt, was gray. His eyes, open but vacant, stared at the ceiling. His breathing, shallow and ragged, was labored. The dark qi, the demonic poison, was visible. The black veins, the corrupted meridians, the dark lines running beneath his skin, were there.
The wife, the blind mother, stood at the bedside. Her hand, finding her husband’s, held it. Her composed face, the mask, cracked. The tears, the wet, silent tears, ran from beneath the bandage.
The daughter, Lady Han, stood beside her mother. Her dark eyes, wet, were on her father. The guilt, the shame, the knowledge of what she had done to pay for this moment, was there. She had traded her body. Her virginity. Her anal. Her dignity. Her soul. For this moment. For this healing.
Tianlong stood at the foot of the bed. His gold-crimson eyes, on the dying man, assessed. The poison, the dark qi, the corruption. His divine perception, extending through the body, through the meridians, through the organs, saw everything.
He lifted his hand.
The golden light, the divine vitality, blazed. The qi, pure, absolute, transcendent, poured from his palm. The light, warm and golden, enveloped the dying man. The dark qi, the demonic poison, recoiled. The black veins, the corrupted lines, retreated. The organs, the failing liver, the damaged kidneys, the corrupted heart, healed. The skin, the pale, thin skin, filled. Color returned. The face, gaunt, filled. The eyes, vacant, focused.
The father gasped. His first full breath in years. His lungs, healed, expanded. His body, restored, strengthened. The dark qi, the demonic poison, was drawn out. Pulled. Extracted. The black substance, the corruption, emerged from his pores. It coalesced, forming a shape. A small, dark, plant-like mass. The poison, the demonic cultivation parasite, was there.
Tianlong’s hand, closing, crushed it. The black mass, the parasite, shattered. The dark qi, dispersed. The fragments, the dust, fell.
"He was poisoned with a demonic parasite," Tianlong said. His voice was calm. Informative. The tone of a physician delivering a diagnosis. "It fed on his vitality daily. Drawing his spiritual energy, his life force, his essence. Slowly. Over years."