The grand presentation was over. The stunned lords had departed, carrying with them the image of the broken Matriarch that would forever quell any thought of dissent. For Niu, however, the ceremony was merely a brief interlude in her new, unchanging reality. She was led back to her stable-suite not by guards, but by the silent, masked attendants, her steps placid and unhurried.
The Ancestor's work was not finished. Breaking her spirit was only the first step. Now, he focused on perfecting the product.
Her days settled into a rhythm of serene, deeply degrading routine. Each morning, she was awakened not by a bell, but by the dull, pleasant ache of her own overfull breasts. The attendants would arrive, their movements efficient and impersonal. They would guide her to a specially designed milking bench, upholstered in the softest leather, where she would kneel and lean forward, her massive, heavy breasts settling into polished crystal basins.
The milking was not a mechanical process. It was a ritual. The attendants' hands, slick with a qi-infused unguent that stimulated production and soothed irritation, would work her udders with a practiced, rhythmic motion. At first, it had been a sensation of shocking vulnerability. Now, it was simply a relief. The pleasurable release of pressure, the gentle hands on her skin, the faint, sweet smell of her own milk—it all combined into a potent sensory experience that reinforced her docility.
The milk itself was a marvel. White shot through with faint silver veins of her residual Phoenix energy and the dark gold of the Ancestor's Netherworld Qi, it was a potent elixir. Each drop was collected in spirit-jade containers, its qi content measured and logged by the ever-watchful System.
This milk became a coveted commodity within the Citadel. A single cup was granted as a high reward to loyal guards, instantly restoring their qi and vigor. It was the primary sustenance for the toddler Tyrant, Lu Feng, who thrived on its powerful energy, his own evil aura growing denser with each feeding. And the Ancestor himself drank it daily from a chalice of carved bone, a symbol of his absolute consumption of his enemies.
The psychological conditioning deepened. The Ancestor, in a moment of inspiration, introduced a reward system. On days her yield was particularly high or rich in qi, she would be rewarded. Not with freedom or kind words, but with sensory pleasures: a special fruit whose juice was euphoric, a longer, more thorough brushing of her hide, or the Ancestor himself petting her head and murmuring, "Good Niu."
She began to anticipate these rewards. A Pavlovian response took hold. The desire to please, to be a "good Niu," became her primary motivation. The proud Matriarch who had once commanded a hidden clan was now mentally reduced to the level of a domesticated animal seeking a treat.
Her world shrank to the boundaries of her stable and the milking parlor. The outside world, her daughter, her former life—all of it faded into a distant, foggy dream. The present was all that mattered: the ache of fullness, the relief of release, the reward for a good yield.
The Ancestor often came to observe, sometimes bringing a wife or a concubine to witness the Dynasty's most productive asset.
"You see," he said to a horrified Lin Xian'er, who was forced to attend to Niu's medical needs. "There is no discontent here. No ambition. No painful memories. She has achieved a state of perfect, simple purpose. Her value is clear, her function defined. Is that not a form of peace? A peace our wayward son and his friends will never know."
Lin Xian'er could only nod, her healer's soul screaming in silence at the perversion of it all.
One evening, the Ancestor came alone. He did not speak. He simply sat on a cushioned divan and watched as the attendants finished the evening milking. When they were done, they bowed and left.
Niu remained on the bench, her body relaxed. The Ancestor approached. He dipped a finger into a fresh container of her milk and tasted it.
"Excellent," he murmured. "The potency increases."
He walked over to her and began to stroke her hair, then her neck, then the broad, strong expanse of her back. His touch was that of an owner assessing his prized livestock. She leaned into it, a soft, contented sigh escaping her lips.
"This is where you were always meant to be, Niu," he whispered, his voice hypnotic. "Not leading a failing clan. Not scheming for power. Here. Providing. Sustaining. Your body nourishes the heir of the man who conquered you. There is a beautiful poetry in that. A perfect circle."
He cupped one of her heavy, milk-softened breasts in his hand, weighing it approvingly. "You are more useful now than you ever were as a Matriarch. You are more beautiful in your purpose than you ever were in your pride."
A single, traitorous tear welled in Niu's eye, but it was not a tear of sadness. It was a tear of profound, terrifying acceptance. The last fragment of Su Moqing shattered and blew away. There was only Niu. The good producer. The contented cow.
She turned her head and nuzzled against his leg, a gesture of pure, animalistic gratitude.
The Ancestor smiled. The transformation was complete. The System chimed softly.
[Asset 'Niu' Reconditioning: 100% complete.]
[Status: Perfect Producer. Qi-Lactation Yield: Peak Efficiency.] [Trait Acquired: 'Bovine Serenity'. Mental resistance to outside stimuli and memories of previous life permanently nullified.]
[New Passive Effect: 'Nurturing Aura'. Proximity to asset slightly increases milk production and docility in other lactating members of the harem.]
He had not just broken her. He had farmed her. He had taken a human soul and successfully husbanded it into a state of perfect, productive peace. The Fourth Wife was gone. Only the hucow remained, and she was, finally, perfectly tame.