The cold wind of the terrace cut across the upper gallery of the Firmament Auction, but it could not cool the skin of the two women.
Qīng Yǔ had pressed her back against the cold stone, sliding down until she sat on the floor. The sky-blue silk of her tunic clung to her chest from her rapid breathing, and her hands covered her folded knees. A few steps away, Huáng Bìyù kept her hands locked on the marble railing. Her knuckles were white from gripping the stone so hard, her gaze fixed on the emptiness of the capital.
The quiet between them lasted minutes. Neither dared look at the other.
"Hey… Yùyu…" Qīng Yǔ's voice came out hoarse, almost vanishing in the wind.
Huáng Bìyù squeezed her eyes shut, jaw clenched.
"We haven't been children for a long time, Senior Sister," Bìyù answered. The firm commander's voice cracked at the end, betraying the tremor she tried to hide. "Don't call me that. And this is no time for idle talk."
Qīng Yǔ let out a weak laugh, without any trace of the elegant posture of a medical master. She rubbed her forehead against her knees.
"Do you remember… the Hot Springs Pavilion?" Qīng Yǔ murmured, her voice muffled against the fabric of her own clothes. "When we were thirteen and ran away from the banquet?"
Bìyù did not answer immediately, but the warrior's tense shoulders gave away the memory.
"Behind the screen…" Yǔ continued. "We saw that Forging Master with his disciple in the thermal water. Do you remember how we felt?"
"We left right after," Bìyù cut in, dry.
"We did, but I remember feeling my heart beat in my throat," Qīng Yǔ said, slowly raising her face. Her eyes were slightly reddened. "I thought that was the worst shame of my life. I thought that scare, of seeing something forbidden, was the limit of everything."
Qīng Yǔ paused, swallowing hard. Her chest rose and fell slowly.
"Today… in there…" her voice truly trembled. "Bìyù, he didn't even speak properly to us. He was just there. And my body… I felt so much disgust at myself… at my own thoughts. It wasn't just childish curiosity."
Bìyù released the railing. The warrior turned her body and sat on the cold floor beside her sworn sister. The coppery armor clicked against the stone.
"The Dragon blood in my lineage…" she spoke, looking at her own hands. "It always tells me to fight. When I see someone strong, my instinct is to draw the sword. It's been my pride since I learned to walk."
She drew a deep breath.
"But in there, my instinct didn't want to fight. I locked my knees because I knew that… if I relaxed for even a second, I would kneel on that carpet."
Silence fell heavy over the terrace again. Qīng Yǔ ran her hands over her face, smiling foolishly and letting her arms fall between her legs.
"Heavens…" Qīng Yǔ murmured, staring at the cold stones. "I can't stop thinking about him."
Huáng Bìyù leaned her head back against the stone wall behind her and closed her eyes, letting out a long, exhausted, defeated sigh.
"…Yeah."
------
While the fairies tried to calm themselves, the ground-floor hall of the Firmament Auction still boiled. Almost none of the patriarchs and young masters moved from the benches. They crowded at the edge of the stage, irritated by the interruption and demanding to know who had taken the drop and why the two fairies had gone up to the private floor.
In the center of the platform, Mèng Lián kept her hands crossed in front of her body. The carmine silk fitted her torso, and her face carried the calm expression of someone who administered the largest market in the capital.
"The lot has been withdrawn from the public auction and the negotiation closed directly by the Fairies of the Empire," she announced, her clean voice echoing through the sound matrices. "The secrecy of our clients is the first rule of this house. The Firmament Auction ends its work for the night. Have a good rest."
Ignoring the complaints and the bags of coins some leaders tried to push toward the guards, Mèng Lián turned her back and crossed the side passage. The velvet curtains closed behind her, cutting off the noise of the public.
Upon crossing the back corridor, the hostess posture evaporated. She climbed the mahogany staircase and found Lóu Jiàn and Jiàn Wúshuang on the second-floor landing.
"The hall is being emptied," she said, her voice cold. "The two little girls left for the terrace, completely shaken. The bait worked."
Lóu Jiàn nodded, his face expressionless.
"The east and west stairs are blocked," he answered, making a short signal to the men in the corridor. "If any young master tries to come up to demand satisfaction, kill them quietly and throw them in the canal."
"Without making a scene out front," Jiàn Wúshuang completed, hand on the hilt of his blade.
Mèng Lián continued down the carpeted corridor to the end of the gallery. The heavy door of the Supreme Private Chamber was just ahead. Even before approaching, the air already carried the dense scent of sandalwood and an intimate heat leaking through the cracks.
The skin of the redhead's neck warmed. She recognized that presence immediately.
She stopped three steps from the entrance, drew a deep breath to maintain composure, and remained outside, ensuring the silence of the corridor so as not to disturb her Lord.
------
Inside, Yù Qíng's laughter died after being provoked by her husband for a good while.
Still on top of Zhì Yuǎn, the eldest's black eyes darkened, taken by the accumulated hunger of someone who had spent the previous day with a depleted Dantian.
Without asking permission, Yù Qíng pushed aside the navy-blue silk of her dress and opened the belt of Zhì Yuǎn's tunic. The man's shaft sprang free, still wet and shining from Bái Wǎn's mouth, radiating a dense heat that made the air in the private chamber grow heavy.
Yù Qíng wrapped the base with her fingers and slid her hand slowly along the wet length, her gaze locked on his. The corner of her mouth lifted in a thin, provocative smile. She leaned against his ear.
"Always spoiling Wǎn'er…" she whispered, loaded with possessive jealousy while her hand rose and fell with deliberate slowness. "Letting her taste you first…"
She tightened her hand a little more, her thumb deliberately brushing the already sensitive glans, drawing a dry growl from his throat.
"Now it's my turn."
The eldest raised her hips and sank her own body in a single motion, swallowing the length to the base in one high gasp.
"Aah… my heaven…" the sigh tore through Yù Qíng's throat. Her nails dug into his shoulder while the dense Yang filled her inner walls. She locked her jaw, throwing her neck back. "Fill me…"
Yù Qíng began to ride him with a determined, almost possessive rhythm. On the divan, Yù Méi crawled quickly across the carpet, her dress half-open. The youngest climbed onto the armchair and pressed her chest against her sister's back, stretching her neck to capture Zhì Yuǎn's mouth in a hungry kiss, sharing saliva and air while Yù Qíng moved on his lap.
On the other side, Mò Yán undid the collar of her Hanfu with trembling fingers, exposing her bust. The diplomat crawled to the man's right side and offered the full flesh, whimpering softly when Zhì Yuǎn's hand descended and roughly crushed her breast. Bái Wǎn nestled at his feet; the girl with oceanic hair embraced her husband's rigid leg and began distributing wet, reverent kisses across the hot skin, her blue eyes rolling back with gentle lust.
However, Zhì Yuǎn's dominance did not accept passivity for long. He could not remain underneath.
With a dry movement, his hands seized Yù Qíng's waist and Yù Méi's body, turning the weight of the two and throwing them without ceremony onto the velvet carpet. The other two were pushed slightly aside.
"Hey!" Yù Qíng and Yù Méi fell sideways, adjusting their disheveled dresses and pouting, indignant at having been pulled from the top so quickly.
Zhì Yuǎn ignored the tantrum. He left the armchair and knelt between Yù Qíng's legs, pinning the first wife's back against the velvet and imposing a deep, continuous rhythm.
"Haaah… yes…" Yù Qíng arched her spine with every thrust. The Primordial Mill in her Dantian turned, grinding the Yang he injected into her. Even underneath him, she still tried to mark the rhythm with her nails on his back, as if wanting to remind him who had started.
He did not allow it. He held her wrists above her head and deepened the movement until the eldest's voice broke into short, uncontrolled moans.
When he felt her body tremble at the limit, Zhì Yuǎn released her and pulled Yù Méi by the hips.
The youngest was turned facedown without delicacy. He took her from behind, the impact making the warrior's firm flesh resound loudly in the silence of the room.
"More… hit harder, A-Yuǎn!" Yù Méi demanded, pushing her buttocks against his weight. Unlike her sister, she did not ask with sweetness. She demanded. Each thrust drew from her a hoarse, satisfied sound, as if she were finally receiving the force her body had always sought.
Zhì Yuǎn grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, forcing her to arch her spine. Yù Méi laughed between moans, the sound low and wild.
Next came Mò Yán.
The diplomat was laid on her back on the carpet. Even with her neckline open and her breathing irregular, she still tried to maintain some composure. Zhì Yuǎn did not allow it. He lowered himself over her and buried his face between her full breasts while entering her in a single thrust. Mò Yán's refined posture dissolved in seconds. Her long legs locked around his waist and a muffled moan escaped her throat when he bit the sensitive skin above her breast.
"My Lord…" her voice came out trembling, almost too formal for the situation. He answered by accelerating the rhythm until any remnant of diplomacy disappeared and only the reactive body remained beneath him.
Last, Bái Wǎn.
The girl with oceanic hair was kneeling a few steps away, watching everything with flushed cheeks and hands in her lap. When Zhì Yuǎn turned to her, sitting in a lotus position, Bái Wǎn did not move immediately. She only raised her face, her light-blue eyse shining with devotion.
"My God…" she called, her voice low and trembling.
Only then did he make a slight gesture with his hand, allowing her to approach.
Bái Wǎn crawled to him and settled on his lap, lifting her skirt. Carefully, she aligned her body and descended slowly, seating herself on his shaft to the base. A long sigh escaped her lips when he filled her completely. Her thin arms wrapped around her husband's neck, and she began to move, dictating the rhythm with short, restrained motions, almost reverent.
Zhì Yuǎn let her lead for a time. His large hands rested on the sides of her waist, only accompanying, without rushing. Bái Wǎn moaned softly with every descent, her face hidden in the hollow of his neck, her entire body surrendered.
When her rhythm began to fail, he held her by the waist and laid her on her back on the carpet. Without withdrawing, he deepened the movement, now imposing his own cadence. Bái Wǎn arched her spine, her fingers tightening on his shoulders.
"Nnhh… aahh…"
Her moan broke into a long, trembling spasm. The small body trembled beneath him as the orgasm crossed her, her inner walls clenching the shaft in short, wet convulsions. Zhì Yuǎn continued for a few more minutes, prolonging her pleasure until the spasms diminished.
The night advanced.
The dual cultivation stretched for hours inside that closed private chamber. Torn silks, sweat, and the constant exchange of Yin and Yang filled the environment until time lost meaning.
When the first lights of morning began to brighten the Capital of Pale Gold outside, the limit of their bodies collected its price. Yù Méi, Mò Yán, and Bái Wǎn lay asleep on the carpet, their bodies sweaty and relaxed, exhausted by the assimilation of Qi.
Only the oldest root refused to yield.
Completely drained, with her black hair stuck to her pale neck, Yù Qíng crawled facedown across the velvet until she reached Zhì Yuǎn's legs, who had returned to sitting in the armchair.
She no longer had strength in her legs to rise, but the obsession to replenish her Dantian was absolute. Without asking permission, she opened her lips and took her husband's shaft into her mouth. His large hand stroked the nape of her neck, accompanying the slow movement.
When the last torrent of Yang gushed, Yù Qíng swallowed every drop without hesitation. She withdrew her face with a wet click, carefully cleaned his shaft with her tongue, and laid her flushed cheek against his thigh, falling asleep in the same instant with a satisfied smile.
Silence finally returned to the Supreme Private Chamber.
Zhì Yuǎn leaned back against the backrest and released the air in a long sigh. The exhaustion he felt was not of the body—the endurance of his Inner Universe had not even been shaken—but a deep mental exhaustion. During all those hours, he had needed to exercise absolute control over his own instincts, suppressing the violent thirst so as not to suck a single drop of his wives' blood. He had limited himself only to satisfying them and transferring the Qi they needed.
He closed his eyes, listening to the measured breathing of the four women asleep around him, while preparing his mind for the steps he would take in the Imperial Palace.