The figure haunting his dreams appeared at the door, unchanged: snow-white robes, flowing hair, a face like a dream, her beauty a masterpiece of nature.
Elder Mu trembled, fearing punishment for sneaking in. Fines or lost wages meant little; expulsion would crush him. But Qing's usually serene eyes seemed distracted, unfocused. Hearing him, she nodded faintly, like a reflex, saying nothing, passing the kneeling eunuch.
Qing walked the palace, crossing snow and hills, her eyes lost. The rugged path paled beside her heart's turmoil. Her magic could span mountains and moons, but not her confusion; her dao could unravel nature's laws, but not her heart's knot, tied tight.
A knot only a blade could cut, to break the chains, to cross stars and moons. But at what cost?
"I'll have no ties with him."
Qing knew her oath was spite, unfairness, falling for Lian's provocation. She recalled Feng and Lilith's talk, their lascivious, natural ease, as if practiced countless times. As Xian said, more than Qing could imagine. And Qing never knew Feng had so many confidantes, even her sister, tied to him.
Her steps light, she climbed the steps, sitting at her table. Lost in thought, she missed the cushion's wet, saliva-stained patches, too distracted to care.
Her heart wasn't calm, she couldn't fool herself. But heartbroken, despairing? Hardly. Like a cold wind through a cracked valley, it left a faint scar, a breeze brushing through, leaving traces.
Seeing Qing's perfect hips on the cushion he'd defiled, Elder Mu, sneaking glances, felt a surge of heat from waist to crotch, his softened cock rising again.
Fairy's hips, sitting on my saliva...
His wrinkles, his spit, his face's warmth mingled with Qing's hips, indirect but maddening. His kneeling pinned his long, hot cock to the floor, the massive glans pressed to wood, cold cloth tempering his fevered mind. He shifted slightly.
Qing closed her eyes, thinking or dozing. Elder Mu stayed still, heart uneasy.
After a long time, she softly asked, "What is love?"
She'd asked her mother, who spoke of past joys with her father. But now, only scars and distance remained, their vows shattered, laughable.
"Love?"
Elder Mu looked up, his wrinkled face blank, Elder Mumbling, "I... I don't know..."
He truly didn't. His past was gone, his early life only pain and torment. Family, friends, even his name, lost.
"Romance?" Qing asked gently.
"I..." Elder Mu paused, "I don't know."
I love you, Qing! I'd do anything, die for you, just to stay near.
But looking at his withered arms, he felt inferior, heartbroken. How could someone like him win even a sliver of Qing's love, Bright Hua's brightest pearl?
Yet seeing Qing's confusion, her fairy-like aura dimmed, like a lost girl, he felt jealousy and envy. Yes, jealousy! He sensed it. Her confusion wasn't for him, but another man.
Elder Mu envied, hated, longed to take his place, but dared not speak. If Qing fell into another's arms, smiling sweetly, her cold face blooming for him, her moonlight shining for him...
No! No, no, no!!!
He roared inwardly, hysterical, the thought igniting jealous rage, wanting to burn everything.
"Fairy... is mine! Mine! Mine!!!"
Unaware, a strange force stirred in him, like an evil flame, a surge of courage. Holding back, he spoke, "Are... you sad?"
Qing paused, looking at the wrinkled man, older than her father, reeking of decay yet carrying an indescribable aura.
"Mm."
Oddly, she nodded, admitting her confusion to this old man, something she'd never shared with her master, mother, or sister. Qing was just an eighteen-year-old girl, not a perfect goddess or ancient demon. Despite her cold facade, she was untouched by worldly passions, a maiden new to emotions.
Whose youth isn't confused? Whose rainy days don't return?
A blush flickered in her eyes.
"Is... it a man?" Elder Mu asked, head low, eyes flickering with the same blush, stammering, heart racing, fearing blame but pressing on.
"Mm."
Qing nodded slightly after a pause.
"Who... who is he! I... I..." Elder Mu, flushed, blurted, "I'll beat him for you!"
"You beat him?"
Qing half-laughed, half-cried. This hunched, frail eunuch, against Feng, radiant as the sun, tall as a pine? He'd likely fall to a single blow, crushed by Feng's mighty power.
The gap was like gods to ants. Feng, though below her, was a prodigy, crushing peers, defying ranks. Elder Mu couldn't even fend off a few mortals, who'd beat him bloody, leaving him helpless.
But... Elder Mu had one edge over Feng. His cock, dragon-like, a foot long, red-purple, thick as a woman's arm, veined, with matted gray-black hair, and testicles like water-filled sacs, larger than fists, studded with bumps. Feng's, perhaps fourteen or fifteen centimeters, was less than half in size or girth.
Thinking this, Qing blushed. She hadn't noticed their talk had grown... Elder Mu's naive words eased her gloom, lifting her mood.
Her flush stunned Elder Mu, his heart racing, suppressed desires stirring. His cock surged, tenting his pants. Qing, on her cushion, saw it, blushed, looked away, silent.
Elder Mu's breath quickened, desire burning. Qing's near-ignorance fueled his boldness, a chaotic force amplifying his audacity. He stood, yanking his pants to his knees, revealing hairy, bony legs.
His massive, blood-filled, red cock sprang free, hard as iron, swaying, its hardness astounding. Having pleasured himself before Qing several times, he no longer feared as before. His burning desire made the cock thicker, longer, impossibly large on his frail frame, like a parasite.
Qing's gaze drifted to the snowy distance, her pupils trembling, betraying her calm facade. An old man near seventy, and a peerless fairy-like maiden, should have no connection, yet they shared a silent accord. Or perhaps, both indulged this unspoken freedom, neither piercing the veil, neither speaking.
Only Elder Mu's strokes quickened, his breath heavier. The huge glans' slit oozed precum, smeared by his foreskin, coating the head, shining red, sticky on his withered fingers, glossing the veined, dragon-like shaft, like a serpent from magma.
"Gonna... shoot!!!"
*Spurt, spurt! Spurt, spurt!*
With a low roar, his massive testicles swelled, stretching smooth, then contracted like a pump, unleashing a flood. Thick semen surged like a volcano, unstoppable. One stream, two, three, over a dozen... Each stream, thick enough to fill a bowl, arced through the hall, strong enough to reach meters away.
*Splatter, splatter!*
It hit wood, pillars, sounding solid, reeking, viscous, some half-solid like jelly, pooling on the floor. Whether by chance or intent, some streams aimed at Qing's face. A flash of light, like a shield, blocked them. Qing's face flushed, her eyes flickered, the semen sliding off, landing on her table.
The thick fluid, teeming with seed, rolled futilely, chilled by the wind, unable to reach warm, sweet places.
After a while, his desire sated, Elder Mu panted. Before he spoke, Qing said, "Go now..."
He startled, about to beg, then heard more.
"...It's cold lately. Pack up and move to Lunar Tower."
She paused, adding, "Or the food will cool."
A needless excuse. The palace's food boxes kept meals warm despite snow.
Elder Mu barely heard beyond "move to Lunar Tower," overjoyed, nearly leaping. Living there, he'd see Qing upon waking?
"Yes! Yes, yes!"
He pulled up his pants, ignoring the mess, rushing to pack.
After he left, Qing reached out, her slender fingers touching the thick semen on the table, retracting as if shocked. Her finger held a drop. She brought it to her flawless face, rubbing it with her thumb, like jelly. She stared, a blush deepening in her eyes.