79. The Crimson Sunset

As the sun sank below the horizon, its fading light colored the sky with crimson clouds, delicate wisps drifting in the evening breeze. Qing Jiang settled onto a cushioned mat in the grand hall, her legs folded neatly beneath her. Her rounded hips pressed into the soft cushion, their gentle curve outlined by the flowing white dress that clung to her body. Her long, dark hair spilled over her shoulders like a silken waterfall, strands brushing the low, lacquered table before her.

Her shadow stayed still, her presence calm, glowing with an otherworldly charm, as if she were a goddess from the heavens. Her beauty was stunning, her face a smooth canvas of pale, jade-like skin, her features delicate yet bold. But beneath this peaceful surface, Qing's heart stirred with unease. Her soft, thoughtful eyes, framed by long lashes, rested on the table, flickering with hidden worries, like ripples on a quiet pond.

The incident at the hot springs haunted her mind. Months ago, while bathing with her mother, Mei Su, Elder Mu, the old eunuch, had barged in, standing far too close to her bare body. Since then, his boldness had grown unchecked. He lingered near the springs, offering to help with her bath or dressing, his eyes roaming her naked form with shameless hunger. His nerve had escalated, pushing the limits of her patience.

He had tried several times to join her in the bathing pool, seeking to press his body against hers again. Each time, Qing turned him away firmly, her voice sharp, her gaze steady, forcing him to retreat, sulking, to the pool's edge. Yet, his daring acts multiplied, each bolder than the last.

Her meals had become his latest stage for nerve. Tonight's dinner, prepared by Elder Mu, lay spread before her: white fish topped with pearl-like garnishes, sliced meat paired with bright green onions, and a fragrant lotus root pork rib soup. His cooking, though not matching an imperial chef's skill, was surprisingly good. The dishes, simple in look, gave off tempting aromas, their flavors rich and appetizing, stirring her hunger.

The scent of the food rose, blending with steam, teasing her senses. But a sharp, musky odor cut through the savory smell, faint but foul, stinging her nose. The main dish, as always, was called "plain" porridge, but it was far from plain. Elder Mu's tampering had grown bolder over time.

What started as rice porridge mixed with a few drops of his semen had changed. The balance of water to his seed shifted, the white, murky liquid taking over, the rice grains fading. Now, as Qing eyed the jade bowl before her, not a single grain of rice remained.

The thick, foul-smelling liquid swirled in the bowl, sticky and heavy, clinging to the sides with a white, creamy residue. Her gaze shifted to Elder Mu, her eyes piercing yet soft, like moonlight through a thin veil, sharp enough to cut through his mask.

Under her stare, he grinned, his weathered face creasing with a shameless chuckle, pretending innocence. Months of close contact had taught him Qing's nature: kind-hearted, yet slow to refuse or confront directly. Her cool demeanor made her seem like an untouchable goddess, distant as the moon, but beneath it, she struggled with social ease, hiding discomfort behind a blank face.

Her smooth, pale face showed little feeling, except for the occasional spark in her bright eyes. Elder Mu scratched his bald scalp, dry skin flaking like old bark, his expression a mix of humility and cunning. He bowed nervously, his movements stiff, showing his unease.

Today's "porridge" was no porridge at all, uncooked and pure. The bowl held only his morning release, the result of a restless night where his cock had throbbed, hard and stubborn, his balls heavy with thick, potent semen. He had gripped himself with both hands, stroking fast, unloading the hot, sticky fluid into the bowl.

Still warm, it gave off a raw, musky stench that overpowered the delicate aromas of the other dishes, filling the hall with an animal-like smell. As expected, Qing's gaze lingered on him only a moment before turning away, her expression hard to read.

Her eyes settled on the steaming bowl of semen, its pungent smell wrinkling her brows in disgust. Yet, a strange feeling stirred within her, rising from her lower back, spreading through her body like a slow, burning flame. It was a mix of repulsion and a pull she couldn't name, tugging at her core.

A soft gulp broke the silence, startling Elder Mu. His eyes lit up, burning with excitement, his breath catching in his throat.

Qing's face stayed calm, steady as still water, her movements graceful. She lifted the jade smoobowl to her lips, the petal-like curve of her mouth brushing the rim. Slowly, with purpose, she drank his semen.

Her slender neck moved gently with each swallow, the thick, warm liquid sliding down her throat. The musky, rancid taste filled her mouth, disgusting yet oddly thrilling, waking her senses. Elder Mu's semen was thicker, more pungent than most, a sign of his strange vigor, defying his age and constant indulgence.

For most men, such excess would sap their strength, leaving them weak and spent, but his body produced it endlessly, the fluid sometimes thickening to a heavy, potent state. Qing, unaware of this oddity, sipped with a wrinkled brow, each swallow fueling the heat within her.

Her body grew warm, her robes suddenly heavy, tempting her to peel them off. A restless energy surged from her racing heart, her blood heating her limbs, setting her nerves on fire. She felt like a volcano about to burst, her body trembling with pent-up power.

The sticky liquid coated her mouth, throat, and chest, as if his essence had sunk into her being, clinging tightly. Yet, it satisfied a hidden thirst, a raw need she hadn't known. Her sips grew faster, the bowl emptying as she took in the taste, swallowing every drop.

The semen broke down in her stomach quickly, like cotton candy in water, leaving a lasting warmth. Qing had noticed something unusual about Elder Mu's semen, unlike Feng Wei's, which she'd seen in brief, careless moments.

Mu's was thicker, more pungent, and oddly strong, as if it held a mystic power to heal and renew, able to spark life in empty lands. Was this true of all men's seed? Her mother, Mei Su, had explained conception, how a man's essence could create life, as it had with Qing and her sister, Li.

But Elder Mu's felt different, almost legendary, like the elixirs of old tales, full of a strange, vital force. Her body reacted on its own, her cultivation technique kicking in without thought, turning the semen into pure energy.

The warmth spread through her, blending with her lunar powers, mixing smoothly like water and milk, fueling a fire in her core. Her posture relaxed, her body sinking slightly, as if her bones had softened under the heat.

A tingling bloomed in her belly, damp and strong, like kindling catching fire, spreading to her limbs. Beneath her crisp white robes, her nipples hardened, pressing against the silk of her undergarments.

The smooth fabric, once soft as a touch, now felt rough, rubbing her sensitive tips, sending shivers through her. The itch was familiar, a feeling she'd known before: when Elder Mu's semen had splashed across her skin, when he glimpsed her bare pussy in a weak moment, or when she saw Feng Wei tangled with Xian Lilith.

It was desire, raw and sudden, stirring deep within her. Her mother had called it a natural awakening, the stirring of a young woman's heart, like spring rain feeding the earth. Her sect sisters, giggling behind their hands, called it "wanting a man," their teasing voices light but wise.

Qing set the jade bowl down, her eyes catching the stubborn drops clinging to the rim, their milky glow shining in the dim light. Her lips parted slightly, her gaze cloudy, a spark of longing flashing in her eyes, like a star lighting the night sky.

The silence grew heavy, thick with tension. Elder Mu, watching her every move, noticed the subtle change in her manner, the faint lick of her lips, the dazed look in her eyes. His heart raced, his excitement hard to hide, as he sensed a chance.

Qing stayed still, her face a mix of distraction and thought, as if wrestling with ideas she couldn't speak.

"Immortal?" he asked, his voice shaky with caution, his eyes searching her face for any hint of refusal.

Her gaze sharpened, meeting his, the heat of his excitement unsettling her. She wanted to say no, to push back his nerve, but her throat, still coated with the sticky remains of his essence, betrayed her. The taste lingered, disgusting yet tempting, quieting her protest. Her fingers brushed the empty bowl, the faint warmth of the jade steadying her, as she wrestled with the strange pull inside her.