In the dark alley, the old servant moved through the ruins like a phantom.
Yet, his actions resembled those of a scavenger; he picked through the dilapidated houses, occasionally finding brand-new, plastic-wrapped garments. Tucking them under his arm, he hurried toward the secret chamber.
Outside the chamber, the old servant composed himself before entering with a submissive, downcast air.
There, resting by the bedside, lay a naked body—slender yet curvaceous, voluptuous and alluring. Her cascade of thick, dark hair was loosely gathered, draping over one fragrant shoulder like lustrous black silk.
The hair flowed down like water; though it began gently, it was soon parted by the steep, rising curve of a snow-white breast. The bosom was massive and full—the upper slope bulging outward, the lower heavy and rounded like the belly of a bee, vast as a melon. Yet, the nipples stood erect like tender bamboo shoots, pink and delicate, their tips firm and pointed.
The skin was a soft, rosy pink, smooth and unblemished, carrying a peculiar charm that blended the qualities of a young maiden, a mature woman, and a youthful bride—a breathtaking, intoxicating beauty.
A tiny droplet of milky white pooled in the indentation of each pointed nipple; were it not for the jade-like arm cradling those two round treasures, the slightest movement—a mere sway of the flesh—would have caused the sweet, warm milk to spill forth eagerly.
The old servant cast a greedy glance but immediately lowered his head, not daring to let Jiang Yingji notice anything amiss. He still recalled the heart-stopping moment from just before: he had ejaculated—for the umpteenth time—and his cock, having gone soft, was being squeezed out by the tight, milking grip of her honeyed depths. He had just lifted Jiang Yingji's naked body into his arms, greedily suckling her breasts and kissing her deeply to nourish himself for the next round of battle...
When suddenly, he noticed the long, dark lashes of the beauty in his arms lift; her eyelids fluttered gently, and a soft, sleepy moan escaped her lips.
He realized instantly that she was about to wake up. A cold sweat broke out over him, the hairs on his body stood on end, and his heart pounded wildly—he felt as though his very soul were about to leave his body.
It was thanks to the revitalization of this physical vessel—which had deepened the bond between soul and body—that he experienced such intense sensations; this sudden fright made him feel as if his spirit were actually detaching, snapping him into instant alertness.
He scrambled to clean up the aftermath, gathering and disposing of the sodden sheets and used stockings, airing out the room, and putting on fresh linens... Fortunately, he managed to finish everything just as Jiang Yingji slowly stirred to consciousness.
He felt a lingering anxiety; although he had done his best to eliminate the "evidence" within the limited time, the most damning proof remained deep inside the Queen's pussy—thick, turbid fluids were even still slowly trickling out.
By a stroke of luck, the Queen had no idea how long she had been unconscious and assumed the fluids inside her belonged to Tang Lin. Thus, he barely scraped by, escaping suspicion. "So, *this* is the pair of panties you found?"
Jiang Yingji held up the low-rise thong with a look of mild exasperation. Her slender, jade-like fingers stretched the elastic nylon cords; the garment expanded from a scrap barely the size of a palm into a width spanning her hips.
Yet, this stretching made the straps incredibly thin—likely to the point of digging painfully into her flesh—while another thin cord dangled below.
The fabric was barely a finger's width across, featuring only a small triangular patch—smaller than her palm—where the upper and lower sections connected.
The old servant looked up, assuming a humble posture, and gave a dry, awkward laugh. "Mistress knows the sort of work the women here—who were once the most numerous—used to do."
"Even back in the Ming Dynasty—an era far more conservative than today—the disgraced women and female convicts in the *Jiaofangsi* (Imperial Music Bureau) wore outfits that would make people today blush and their hearts race. Besides, we don't exactly have a choice right now, do we?"
Jiang Yingji looked at the old servant with some surprise. Previously, the servant had always been cautious and taciturn in her presence; she had simply regarded him as a useful tool.
She hadn't realized he possessed such a "glib tongue." Still, a bit of cleverness wasn't a bad thing—especially given her current perilous situation and the lack of other spirit-bound servants at her disposal.
She did recall that during her clash with Tang Lin, the old servant had blocked a single blow before feigning death and vanishing. However, when she was later ambushed by a mysterious figure, it was thanks to the old servant's quick thinking that she had been saved.
In her mind, his merits and faults effectively cancelled each other out.
※※
In the end, Jiang Yingji put on the thong. The old servant had somehow managed to find an evening gown that fit her surprisingly well; although it featured a daring slit that rose almost to the top of her thigh, it was certainly better than nothing.
Curiously, the old servant had also produced a wide array of stockings in various styles and types. She rarely wore them; after all, stockings were originally designed to conceal imperfections or flaws on the legs.
Her own legs, however, were long, shapely, and flawless—smooth, fair, and radiant, as if carved from a single piece of unblemished jade. Their natural, bare appearance surpassed the look of even the finest stockings, rendering such adornments unnecessary.
Yet, since the old servant had gone to the trouble of finding them, she casually slipped on a pair of black stockings. The ones chosen were incredibly sheer; the fine, smooth threads stretched over her even softer, silkier skin, creating a tantalizing contrast where the lustrous, rosy flesh glowed beneath the hazy black mesh, lending her legs a rich, glossy sheen.
Even she was slightly surprised by how stunning her long legs looked in the stockings.
Of course, the "Queen of Shanghai" was unaware that, unlike the other garments, the stockings were the one item the old servant had sourced with meticulous care. Ordinary stockings could not achieve such a perfect balance of fine texture and extreme sheerness—lighter than a cicada's wing, yet retaining a smooth, supple feel against the skin.
Neither velvet nor nylon could replicate this quality; only through the use of extraordinary powers—such as those possessed by telekinetics skilled in precise manipulation—could such gossamer-thin material be woven with sufficient durability.
Even in the present day, such items were priceless rarities, worth their weight in gold. Jiang Yingji failed to notice the elderly servant nearby breathing more heavily... for at that moment, she was holding up a sheer lace bra, troubled by the fact that her magnificent breasts—despite her not being pregnant—had begun to lactate.
It was just like when she was carrying Dong'er—perhaps even more abundant; her breasts felt engorged, as if brimming with rich, viscous fluid, to the point of causing a slight, aching pressure.
The slightest movement or pressure against her breasts sent a tingling, electric-like sensation and a surge of fullness rushing toward her nipples, causing fluid to seep out.