The mountain path stretched endlessly, and the palace depths felt vast as the sea. Biting cold wind and swirling snow made December's chill vivid, trembling through the air. The breeze whistled, chilling lips and teeth.
Elder Mu felt it sharply. Nearing the New Year, the capital's festivity hadn't reached the back mountains. Here, desolation reigned, with leafless trees and frozen streams. Alone in his room, he warmed himself by a charcoal fire.
"Ha... ha..."
He exhaled, pushing open the door. Icy wind swept over him, making his frail, thin frame shiver harder. Though an unknown force had reshaped him, his constitution surpassed most men, especially his manhood, so extraordinary it could shame nearly all. Yet summer's heat and winter's cold still gripped his mortal body, urging him to stay wrapped in blankets.
But he had to cook for Qing and confront his intensifying desires. Elder Mu felt his heart grow restless, cravings vivid and burning like oil on a flame, scorching his mind into a haze. The silhouette in his dreams, the fairy-like figure flashing during his self-pleasure, grew clearer.
He should feel shame, should slap himself. A wretch like him, a worm in the Elder Mud, decayed as rotten leaves, how dare he covet that pure, lofty figure, like a goddess descended to earth?
Gurgle, gurgle...
Yet his massive testicles worked ceaselessly, producing seed at an unimaginable pace. Countless sperm swam within, hot and itchy, like ants crawling inside, swelling unbearably. Bulging like bull's eggs, they held an unfathomable amount of semen. With each step, the sacs swayed like lanterns at his crotch, almost sloshing audibly.
Like an engine, they urged his thick, iron-like cock to swell, hard as a cannon barrel, red-hot, turning purple-black. Veins bulged, wrapping it like vines. It strained against his pants, raising a tent in the loose fabric. The massive glans, thirty centimeters long, pressed through two layers, its Elder Mushroom-like crown clear and menacing, like a serpent rising from a pool, leaking sticky fluid that soaked the cloth.
"Qing... Fairy... Qing..."
Elder Mu's body shivered in the cold, yet his crotch burned like coals, imbued with strange magic. It drove him from his shelter, a powerful urge stirring his heart. Trembling, his eyes gleamed oddly, breath heavy. He stared at the mountain palace like a fool, rushing forward. Snow buried his knees, the cold curling his body, but it couldn't quell his burning heart.
He longed to see Qing, his fairy, his endless pursuit, the meaning of his existence, his every beautiful dream. A day apart felt like three autumns, but he wished to be the breeze at her side, forever near, even if she never glanced at him. He'd be content.
Elder Mu crossed ridges and peaks. The stone steps, slick with snow, became treacherous. The short path felt eternal yet fleeting. Gasping, he reached the summit.
Huff... huff...
The wind carried snow, its merciless chill roaring past. Flakes landed on his nearly bald head, making him shiver. But his longing drew him to Lunar Tower. The sight left him agape.
An unseen force tamed the wind here. Beyond a few meters, it fell powerless, meeting an invisible barrier. Even the fiercest gusts became gentle breezes. Snow and rain couldn't touch the elegant yet simple palace. Its railings stayed clean, and grass sprouted from stone cracks. Spring hadn't arrived, yet spring's vitality bloomed. Some say the moon makes the goddess, or the goddess makes the moon desolate...
Elder Mu didn't understand, but he knew where Qing dwelt was paradise. This marvel thrilled him. His wrinkled face lit with curiosity. He tiptoed to the barrier, extending a bony finger to touch it. Expecting resistance, his hand passed through.
"This..."
Never having seen such a thing, he gaped, feeling the barrier's edge but finding no substance. Inside was warmer. Emboldened, he stepped forward, crossing the divide.
The world opened up. No wind penetrated. Snow and ice slid off the barrier like glass, a man-made marvel, harmonious and natural. Elder Mu marveled, touching the cold outside, a snowflake melting in his palm. Retracting his hand, the water seemed purified, clean as if untouched.
Moved, he glanced at the hall's plaque: "Lunar Tower," its three characters glowing green, shimmering with mana, rippling with immortal power, sustaining the barrier. He realized it was Qing's magic.
Fairy... so powerful!
Sighing, he crept to the open hall door, unable to see inside. Softly, he called, "Qing? Qing?"
He knew she'd sense him the moment he entered, but as a servant, he had to greet his master.
"Fairy? Qing?"
He called softly, heart pounding. No cold, moonlike "mm" answered. Silence lingered.
Emboldened, he peeked inside, eyes hopeful, seeking the figure haunting his sleepless nights. Holding his breath, he crossed the threshold like a sneaking rat, each step silent, fearing noise. He searched, circling the hall, but found no trace of life, filling him with loss.
Yet this loss held a thrill. Loss, for his beloved wasn't here; thrill, for he was alone in Qing's sacred space, like a bear stealing honey while the bees were away.
Elder Mu gazed at the hall's center, seven or eight steps leading to the master's seat. At banquets, the host would sit there, maids fanning behind, eunuchs at the steps, guests below, toasting and singing. After drinks, they'd recite poetry, revel, or admire Bright Hua's vibrant capital from the pavilion.
In Ming's time, this was his retreat, gazing at his empire from the peak, his flourishing court. When tired, he'd rest here before descending. In his later years, frail and sick, a cold breeze could fell him. He stopped coming, and the place grew lonely, maintained but empty. Until Qing, who loved quiet, chose it.
Elder Mu climbed the steps, a place he'd only approached to serve meals, never to look down from. His eyes drifted to the snowy storm outside, visions flickering.
"See! This land, a painting, home to heroes, so beautiful it humbles them, yet it's mine!" Ming declared.
"But it's fleeting, not what I want..." A familiar voice, not mad or wild.
A clear, magnetic voice beside Ming, low and resonant, stirred Elder Mu's haze.
"...I want to go back."
Ming's smile faded, his face darkening, silent.
Elder Mu shuddered, gasping, back in reality.
"Ugh..."
He shook his head, the vision gone, fear lingering. Dread gripped him, fearing the mad voice that tormented him would return, a ghost in his mind.
After a while, he calmed, gazing at Qing's seat and table, eyes glazing. He caught a faint, girlish fragrance, like curling smoke, lingering in his nose. He sniffed, like an addict, gulping the air's faint scent, as if to swallow it all.
Then, his eyes lit up. He saw a cushion. Pure white cotton, covered in fine silk, exquisitely crafted, soft and inviting.
Elder Mu's breath grew ragged, excitement disrupting his rhythm, his eyes gleaming. Below his gaunt belly, the red-purple cock stood rigid, tenting his pants, absurdly large on his frail frame, like a branch thicker than the tree.
This was where Qing sat! Her flawless, moon-like hips had rested here!
He crawled to the floor, sniffing like an addict, glancing around guiltily, his cloudy eyes checking for Qing's sudden return. Confirming her absence, he dove into the cushion, his wrinkled face pressed to its silken surface, burrowing in.
A rich, floral sweetness hit him, like waves of heat, mist-like, intoxicating as poppies, driving him wild. Like a starving beast, his ugly nose sucked in air, wrinkles trembling, greedily absorbing the scent. Years of use made the fragrance enduring, unyielding to his voracious sniffing.
He burrowed, wishing to sink his head into it, as if plunging into Qing's firm, round hips, inhaling her private essence.
Fairy's ass! Her hips! Her scent!
Her hips, like the pure moon, curved like a crescent, breathtaking, two perfect petals like crafted jade, blooming like April's peach blossoms, pink with youthful allure, sweet and tempting, driving desire.
After a while, crazed, he licked the cushion Qing used for meditation, like a rat stealing cream, slathering foul saliva on the warm, fragrant fabric, soaking it. His eyes were obsessed, dazed, his crotch near bursting. He reached to undo his pants.
A clear sound rang outside, a fragrant breeze halting the storm, powerful mana rippling like ocean waves, shaking space and dimming time.
Elder Mu's erect cock wilted in fear. Guilty, he scrambled down, leaping off, kneeling like a crowing rooster, banging his head, shouting, "Greetings, Qing!"