Dual Cultivation: Gathering SSS-Rank Wives in the Cultivation World

The voice, the empress’s voice, was there.

Tianlong, his gold-crimson eyes, opening, was there. He snapped his fingers. The two women, Fengwan and Liu Mei, on the bed, vanished. The void portals, the spatial rifts, the divine transportation, opened beneath them. Their bodies, the naked, cum-leaking bodies, fell through. Into the void. Into the dimensional pocket where he kept his things. His treasures. His women.

The bed, the silk sheets, were cleaned. The seed, the cum, the evidence — all erased. The divine qi, the cleansing energy, purged the room. The scent, the musk, the feminine and masculine combined scent of recent sex — gone. The room was fresh. Clean. As if nothing had happened.

Naturally, he should fuck the queen freshly. After all, she was a queen. A royal. Her entrance, her first time with him, should be untainted by the evidence of previous women.

He sat. On the edge of the bed, his naked body, his golden skin, his dark hair, his gold-crimson eyes. He did not cover himself. He did not dress. He sat. As he was.

"Enter," he said. His voice was calm.

The door opened.

~~ The Queen Enters

Empress Lihwa entered.

Her emerald robes, her formal attire, were perfect. Her hair, the dark, imperial hair, was pinned. Her face, the mature, beautiful, composed face, was there. The mask, the empress mask, the dignity, the poise — all were there.

But her hands, her clasped, trembling hands, were there. And her eyes, the dark eyes, the moment they found him — found his body — widened.

He was naked. Completely. On the edge of the bed, his legs spread, his arms behind him, his body on display. His golden skin. His muscular chest. His abs. His arms. His thighs. And his cock. Eight inches, flaccid, thick, the head crimson, resting on his thigh.

The empress, her melodic voice, was gone. The composure, the mask, cracked. Her eyes, the dark eyes, the involuntary, instinctive, biological response of a woman seeing a perfect male body, widened. Her face, the flush, the deep, immediate, uncontrollable flush, was there.

"Emperor Tianlong," she said. Her voice was shaking. "I... I have come to..."

She stopped. Her eyes, still on his body, were there. The staring, the involuntary, helpless, mesmerized staring, was there.

’His body. I have never... Yun’s body is... was... adequate. But this... this is... his muscles, his skin, his... his cock. Even soft, it is... it is bigger than...’

’Stop. Stop looking. I am the empress. I am here to... to negotiate. To discuss. To...’

’To serve him on the bed. That is what he said. That is what I agreed to.’

’For Yuexin. For my daughter. For her secret. For her breakthrough. For her future.’

"Your Majesty," she said. Her voice, the melodic, controlled, forcing-control voice, was there. "I wish to discuss the matter of—"

"There is nothing to discuss," Tianlong said. His voice was soft. "You came to serve. So serve."

He stood. And walked. Toward the bathing area. The adjacent room, the private bath, the hot spring-fed pool that the guest quarters provided, was there. He walked, naked, toward it. His back, the golden, muscular back, the tight ass, the powerful legs, was there.

He looked back. Over his shoulder. His gold-crimson eyes, on the empress, were there.

"Follow," he said.

She followed. Her feet, the unsteady, trembling feet, carried her. Through the door, into the bathing area, toward the pool. Her eyes, on his back, on his body, were there. The staring, the helpless, mesmerized staring, continued.

The pool, the steaming, hot-spring-fed water, was there. He entered. The water, warm, rose to his ankles, his calves, his thighs, his waist. He sat. On the submerged stone bench, his body, half-submerged, was there.

The empress, her emerald robes, her formal attire, stood at the edge. Her face, the flushed, trembling, uncertain face, was there.

"Help me wash," he said. His voice was calm. The instruction, the simple, domestic, intimate instruction, was there.

She moved. To the edge of the pool. Her hands, finding the soap, the spirit-herb soap, the fragrant block, were there. She knelt. Behind him, on the submerged bench, she knelt. Her hands, the soft, mature hands, began. His back. The soap, the lather, the bubbles, formed. Her fingers, on his golden skin, worked. The muscles, the powerful, divine muscles beneath the skin, were there. Her hands, the trembling, uncertain, gradually steadying hands, washed.

"You are tense," she said. Her melodic voice was soft. The observation, the automatic, feminine observation of a woman who had cared for a husband’s body, was there.

"Am I?" he said. His voice was mild.

"Your shoulders," she said. Her hands, on his shoulders, the thumbs, the pressing thumbs, found the knots. The massage, the instinctive, wifely massage, was there. "Here. And here."

The intimacy, the domestic, human, marital intimacy of a woman washing a man’s back, was there. The irony, the sharp, political, devastating irony — that this was not her husband, that this was her husband’s guest, that this was the man who had fucked her daughter on a balcony — was there.

"Yuexin was a lively child," the empress said. Her melodic voice was conversational. The deflection, the desperate, automatic deflection of a woman trying to normalize the situation through small talk, was there. "Always running. Always climbing. She fell from a tree once. Broke her arm. She was four. She did not cry. Not once."

The memory, the maternal, tender, painful memory, was there. Her hands, on his back, the washing, the massaging, continued.

"She started cultivating at six," the empress continued. Her voice was warm. "Foundation Establishment at twelve. Core Formation at thirty. Nascent Soul at sixty. Soul Formation at ninety. A prodigy. Everyone said so."

The pride, the maternal pride, the fierce, protective pride of a mother who had watched her daughter excel, was there.

"And then the bottleneck," the empress said. Her voice softened. "Soul Formation late stage. For ten years. She could not break through. No matter what we tried. No matter what resources we gave her. She was stuck."

Her hands, on his back, paused. The realization, the present realization, the why-are-we-here realization, was there.

"And now she is not," the empress whispered. "Because of you."