The impregnation of the attendants had been a necessary consolidation of assets. But for the Eternal Goblin Ancestor, true artistry lay not just in acquisition, but in refinement. He looked upon Chu Ling, his Second Wife, his Chief Maid, and saw not just a beautiful vessel for his seed, but raw material. The broken, obedient girl was useful. But a tool with a mind, a will—a sharp, cruel, loyal will—that was infinitely more valuable.
It was time to reforge the blade.
He began not with lessons in cruelty, but in observation. He had her attend him not during leisure, but during the brutal, mundane administration of his empire. She stood silently at his elbow as he received reports of dissent, of failed tribute, of minor inefficiencies.
He would listen, then turn to her. His voice was a calm, pedagogical instrument. "This village elder failed to meet the iron ore quota.The Blackscale Captain recommends execution. What say you, my maid?" Chu Ling,trembling, would whisper, "The… the Captain is wise, Master." "A wasteful solution,"the Ancestor would chide gently. "A dead elder produces no ore. A frightened elder, who has watched his predecessor's family sold to the spirit stone mines, will move mountains. Fear is a tool. Apply it precisely."
Another time, a commander reported the capture of a small band of deserters. "They are to be publicly flogged,Master." The Ancestor's gaze slid to Chu Ling."Well?" "Flogging…makes an example, Master," she ventured. "It makes martyrs,"he corrected. "Offer the ringleader a captain's commission in the army that hunted him. Execute his most loyal follower personally. The others will be conscripted into the penal legions. You divide, you corrupt, you turn their loyalty into a weapon for your own use. Cunning, my dear, is the true currency of power."
He was rewiring her mind. Teaching her to see people not as beings, but as levers and pulleys in a great machine of control. Her fear began to be tempered with a dawning, horrifying fascination.
Then came the practical lessons. He gifted her not jewels, but instruments. A slender, needle-like dagger coated with a venom that caused excruciating pain but left no permanent mark. A set of silver hairpins that could be used to stimulate nerve clusters for agony or ecstasy.
"A ruler must understand the body's language," he murmured, guiding her hand to press a pin into the shoulder of a condemned prisoner brought for this very purpose. "Pain. Pleasure. They are two sides of the same coin. Learn to spend them wisely."
He taught her to read the subtle tells of a face, the flicker in the eyes that betrayed a lie, the minute tremor that spoke of hidden defiance. He taught her the art of the honeyed trap, of offering a seemingly kind choice that led to damnation.
"Your former friends see you as a victim," he whispered to her one night, his lips against her ear as she practiced composing a decree that would triple taxes on a region known for its prideful independence. "Let them. Your weakness is your camouflage. Your perceived brokenness is your greatest weapon. Let them underestimate you. And then…"
He guided her hand to write the final, devastating clause in the decree: …non-compliance will result in the conscription of first-born children into the Imperial Forgeworks. "…strike at the heart of what they cherish most."
The final stage of her education was the most perverse. He cultivated not just her cunning, but her sadism. He would have her administer punishments he designed. At first, she hesitated, her hand shaking. But under his encouraging gaze, his promises of approval, she began to comply. Then, she began to excel.
She discovered she had a talent for it. The same focus she once applied to her cultivation, she now applied to finding the most efficient way to break a spirit. She learned to derive a cold, quiet pleasure from the exercise of absolute power over another's suffering. The silver brand on her hip seemed to burn with a cold fire, a symbol of her dark transformation.
The Ancestor watched her evolution with immense pride. The broken bird was growing talons. The victim was becoming a predator in his own image.
He decided it was time for her graduation.
He summoned a former elder of the Profound Yin Sect, a man who had been secretly petitioning for the release of his disciples from the Prime Minister's bureaucracy. The man knelt before the throne, hopeful.
The Ancestor lounged, silent, and simply nodded to Chu Ling.
She stepped forward, no longer the cowering maid. She was the Chief Minister of the Inner Court, her eyes sharp and calculating.
"Elder," she began, her voice sweet, almost sympathetic. "The Emperor is aware of your petition. He is a fountain of mercy. He agrees your disciples are wasted as clerks."
The elder's face lit up with relief. "Thank you, your majes—!"
"Their talents are indeed unique," Chu Ling continued, her smile not reaching her eyes. "Which is why they have been transferred. To the newly established 'Joyous Spring Pavilion'. Their duty will be to… personally attend to the recreational needs of the Blackscale Guards stationed at the northern frontier. A much more… physically demanding role, I'm sure you'll agree."
The elder's face went from hope to utter horror. The Joyous Spring Pavilion was a polite name for a military brothel. He opened his mouth to scream a protest.
Chu Ling's expression turned to ice. "The Emperor's mercy is not without limits. Your continued breath is contingent on your gratitude for this solution. Now. Thank your Emperor for his generosity and get out."
The man collapsed, sobbing, before being dragged away by guards.
Silence filled the hall.
The Ancestor looked at Chu Ling. A slow, wide smile spread across his face. He began to applaud, a soft, measured clapping that echoed in the vast space.
"Perfect," he breathed, his green eyes alight with genuine admiration. "My beautiful, cunning Minister. The lesson is complete."
He rose and walked to her, cupping her face. There was no lust in his touch, only the pride of a master artisan surveying his finest work.
"From now on, you are my Left Hand. You will root out dissent within the court and the harem. You will devise the punishments. You will be the fear that walks in my shadow. Your cruelty will be a song that keeps my empire in harmony."
Chu Ling looked up at him, and for the first time, there was no hesitation, no shame. There was only a cold, devoted fire. She had found a new power, a new purpose, and it was all thanks to him.
"Yes, Master," she said, her voice steady and cold. "It will be my pleasure."
The broken maiden was gone. In her place stood the Sadistic Minister, a dark jewel forged in the heart of the Citadel, her every facet cut to reflect her Master's terrible will.