The depths of the central pillar were cold and smelled of thick dust accumulated over centuries.
Zhì Yuǎn pushed open the dark metal doors. The hinges groaned loudly in the empty corridor. He entered the Throne Ruins.
The circular chamber was lined with veins of dead jade and oxidized silver. In the center, a massive stone pillar marked the axis of the Shattered Heaven's matrix. The air there was still, as if time itself had stopped along with the machine.
He stopped in front of the structure.
His dark eyes swept over the grooves carved into the jade. In just a few seconds, Zhì Yuǎn understood how the matrix worked. It functioned as a crossing bridge — but the mortal world was a dry husk. Even all the remaining Qi stones in this world would be insufficient. To open the ceiling of the world, the portal required a massive volume of energy.
Zhì Yuǎn pressed his calloused fingers against the dull jade. He measured the density of his own internal void. He had enough stored power to force that heavy mechanism to turn at that exact moment. He could break the portal open through brute force and leave.
His hand released the stone.
Spending his own reserves now would be a waste. The floor above offered an infinitely more comfortable method of replenishment. The justification of "requiring massive energy for the journey" was the perfect excuse to take over the sect's main pavilion and drag his wives to bed without haste. Besides, it would help Yù Qíng with her goal.
The diagnosis was complete. Zhì Yuǎn turned his back on the ancient machine, crossed the dark threshold, and climbed the stone stairs toward the Main Hall.
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The Main Hall of the Shattered Heaven smelled of old incense and candle wax. The Sect Master's throne, carved from solid cedar, sat atop a stone dais.
Yù Qíng did not walk up the steps. She floated over them.
The woman in navy blue slowly lowered herself onto the patriarch's seat. She crossed her legs, rested her elbow on the armrest, and propped her chin on her hand. Her dark eyes swept over the tapestries with boredom. The center of power in the South was nothing more than a poorly decorated living room to her.
Right below the dais, Yù Méi let her body fall into the Grand Elder's armchair. The thick wood creaked under the girl's new density. She sprawled her long legs, crossed her arms, and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
— Hard chair — the youngest complained, her voice breaking the silence of the hall. — And I'm hungry. Where's the kitchen in this place?
In the center of the red carpet, Mò Yán remained standing. The heir of the mountain had her hands clasped in front of her silver-gray tunic, her eyes fixed on the floor. Her father was still pinned to the stones in the courtyard outside, unable to move, but the diplomat's mind was already receiving orders only from the new hierarchy.
— The pantry holds nutrition pills, dew essence, and purified herbs — Mò Yán replied, her voice melodious and strictly formal.
Yù Méi snorted.
— I don't eat grass and I don't swallow wind — the blonde retorted. — I want meat. The hindquarter of a big animal. Rare. If the cook decorates the tray with leaves, I'll make him swallow the plate along with it.
Mò Yán did not question the barbaric demand inside an orthodox cultivation hall. She bowed her torso in obedience.
— I will arrange it immediately.
The white-haired woman turned on her heels and walked toward the great doors of the hall. Three sect servants trembled in the corridor, sweating coldly and peeking at the scene.
— You heard — Mò Yán ordered. Her voice lost its submissiveness and took on its usual dry authority toward subordinates. — Bring the meat and tea. Quickly.
The servants ran down the stone corridors, tripping over their own feet.
On the throne, Yù Qíng picked up an empty porcelain cup from the side table and spun it between her cold fingers.
— Sit, Mò Yán — the eldest said, her tone soft. — Our husband will be coming up soon.
Mò Yán obeyed. She knelt and waited, her entire body tense in silence.
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The servants of the Shattered Heaven returned running moments later. They placed the silver tray with the rare hindquarter of wild boar in front of Yù Méi and the pot of hot tea beside Yù Qíng. The men retreated with their heads lowered and disappeared down the corridor.
Yù Méi grabbed the bone with both hands and tore off a large piece of meat. The juices ran down her chin.
In the center of the carpet, Mò Yán remained standing.
Yù Qíng brought the porcelain cup to her lips. She took a sip and looked at the white-haired diplomat.
— A millennium of absolute dominion over the central pillar must have produced heavy fruits — the eldest said, her voice soft. — What are your mountain's reserves, Mò Yán?
Mò Yán did not hesitate. She had already severed her loyalty to her own father.
— Our main vault holds three million bars of solid gold. In addition, we possess six hundred boxes of Low-Grade Qi Stones. It is the greatest wealth in the South.
Yù Qíng let out a low, crystalline laugh.
— Three million gold bars and weak minerals. A fortune for stagnant parasites — her tone was casual. — What your leaders consider the pinnacle of wealth will end up being useless to us.
Mò Yán's throat tightened.
— The space inside my husband has an infinite hunger — Yù Qíng continued. — What's in your grand vaults doesn't fill even a drop of that void… I think you'll have to contribute in another way.
Yù Méi chewed with her mouth open and laughed.
— She still thinks we meditate sitting cross-legged on the floor, sister — the youngest commented, pointing the meat bone at the diplomat.
Yù Qíng leaned back against the throne.
— Have you ever heard of the concept of dual cultivation, snow flower?
Mò Yán's breath faltered.
— That wasn't a rhetorical question — Yù Qíng tilted her head, her black eyes fixed on the girl. — I'm genuinely curious. I didn't find anything referring to my husband's invention during our research.
— This servant has no such knowledge, my Lady — Mò Yán replied, embarrassed.
Yù Qíng smiled.
— Well, I'll explain how we cultivate then… — her tone took on a purely didactic calm. — It's a brutal physical sacrifice. The body collapses from exhaustion long before his hunger ends.
The words collided head-on with Mò Yán's moral foundation.
— Judging by how red your face got, I think you already understand how we cultivate… — the eldest observed. — Don't tell me, you're imagining indecent things with my husband?
The epitome of chastity lowered her head, burying her chin into her own chest to hide her embarrassment.
— What a disobedient servant — Yù Qíng shook her head in feigned disappointment. — I think we'll have to punish her, won't we, Méi?
The sound of chewing was the only noise in the hall for a few seconds.
Yù Qíng looked at the youngest.
— Méi.
— Hm? — Yù Méi was too busy tearing into the meat to pay attention to her sister's teasing.
— Never mind — Yù Qíng gave up with a sigh. — Snow flower, I'll explain in detail how my husband cultivates with us. So pay close attention…
While the priestess lectured about dual cultivation, the mind of the diplomat — who had spent twenty-five years preserving her own purity and viewing lust as the path of beasts — went into collapse. The mental image of the man in the gray tunic driving his weight into her, using violent friction to extract energy and forge power, short-circuited with the girl's repressed body.
The sound of footsteps interrupted the priestess's words. Zhì Yuǎn crossed the dark threshold and entered the Main Hall.
Yù Qíng's relaxed posture on the throne did not change, but a satisfied smile appeared on her face. On the red carpet, Mò Yán stiffened her spine. With her face still burning from the raw explanation she had just heard, the diplomat kept her eyes fixed on the floor, unable to face the man in the gray tunic.
Zhì Yuǎn walked straight toward the dais. His shadow fell over Yù Qíng, who raised her face to meet him. Her dark eyes shone with expectation. For a second, she simply looked at her husband — and in the very next moment, without her perceiving any movement, Zhì Yuǎn was already seated on the cedar throne, with her on his lap.
The priestess was not surprised. She simply smiled, even more satisfied, and nestled against his chest as if that were her natural place in the world.
Zhì Yuǎn slipped an arm around her waist, holding her firmly. With his other hand, he gently caressed her cheek, his thumb lightly rubbing her soft skin. Yù Qíng closed her eyes for a moment, her eyelashes trembling, and when she opened them again, her gaze shone with quiet and deep admiration.
He had used the Law of Space. She hadn't perceived any movement. No sound. No displacement of air. Just… he was there.
Mò Yán, still kneeling on the carpet, felt her face burn once again. Seeing the main wife being treated with that casual, almost possessive intimacy while she herself was prostrated on the floor was a humiliation of another kind.
Zhì Yuǎn did not look at the diplomat. He simply continued caressing Yù Qíng's cheek as he spoke, his deep voice echoing through the hall.
He briefly explained the situation with the matrix. The machine was intact, but the fuel had dried up. To activate the portal of the central pillar, he would have to personally visit the other three sects of the South — Misty Peak, Stone Cauldron, and Iron Abyss — and forcefully reconnect the ancient matrices. The central pillar would be the last, according to the inscriptions.
— Traveling and activating the ancient matrices will require a colossal expenditure of my reserves — Zhì Yuǎn continued, his unshakable tone. — We're going to stock up on energy. A lot of energy.
Silence engulfed the sacred hall.
Mò Yán held her breath. His words violently collided with the explicit lesson she had just received from Yù Qíng. Long journey. Colossal expenditure. Need for massive energy.
The diplomat understood perfectly what the coming nights would demand of her.
The man's gaze weighed on her. He needed energy, and her flesh was excellent fuel according to her Lady. Shame, fear, and repressed excitement fused into an unbearable heat in the girl's lower belly. Her hands grew cold with sweat.
Mò Yán did not retreat. She bent over the plush carpet and touched her forehead to the floor, accepting her own sentence.
— This servant… is ready to fulfill her duty — her voice came out thin and trembling, but filled with absolute submission.
On the cedar throne, Yù Qíng opened a wide smile, still nestled in her husband's lap.
Below, Yù Méi threw the clean bone onto the silver tray with a loud clack. The youngest wiped her greasy mouth with the back of her hand and stood up from the armchair, cracking her neck.
— Good — Yù Méi said, her voice rough and impatient, breaking the dramatic weight of the room. — Because I just finished eating. When do we start?
Zhì Yuǎn looked at the three women for a second. Then he sighed, tired.
— No one said she was going to participate.
The silence that fell was so dense that even the energetic Yù Méi froze.
Mò Yán, still on her knees with her forehead on the floor, felt her face burn even more. The humiliation of having offered herself alone was so strong that she almost wished the floor would swallow her. But she didn't move. She didn't stand up. She simply tightened her fingers on the carpet, waiting for someone — anyone — to say something.
Yù Qíng rested her chin on her husband's hand and looked at him with an amused smile.
— My heaven… she offered herself on her own. I think our snow flower is more eager than she appears.