80. The Forbidden Feast

Elder Mu's heart pounded, his eyes locked on Qing Jiang's face, searching for any hint of rejection. Her subtle lick of her lips, the faint haze in her bright eyes, sparked a fire within him. The untouched dishes on the lacquered table sat ignored, their savory aromas drowned by the musky stench of his earlier offering. Qing stayed silent, her expression a mix of distraction and thought, as if grappling with feelings too heavy to speak.

"Immortal?" Elder Mu ventured, his voice shaky with caution, his weathered face creasing with hope.

Her gaze sharpened, meeting his, the heat of his excitement unsettling her. She wanted to refuse, to push back his nerve, but her throat, still coated with the sticky remains of his semen, betrayed her. The taste lingered, disgusting yet oddly tempting, quieting her protest. Her fingers brushed the empty jade bowl, its faint warmth steadying her, yet the strange pull inside her grew stronger.

Sensing her hesitation, Elder Mu's boldness surged. Her silence wasn't a no, it was a yes in his mind. With a jerky step, he moved closer, legs parting as he stood before her.

To Qing's shock, he dropped his pants, the fabric pooling at his feet with a soft snap. His cock, painfully hard from watching her drink, sprang free, thicker than her arm, its purple tip glistening with a bead of precum that dripped in a sticky thread. The massive head, larger than her fist, pulsed with heat, its musky scent flooding her senses.

The sudden closeness, less than a foot from her face, sent a jolt through her. Her mind raced to her mother's words and old texts: the union of yin and yang, bringing harmony and life. But this huge thing, could it fit inside her? Panic fluttered in her chest, mixing with a curious heat.

Elder Mu, spurred by her stunned silence, gripped his cock with bony fingers, stroking it shamelessly. His hands moved fast, like a farmer pumping water, his swollen balls swaying like heavy bells. Qing's gaze wavered, her breathing quickening, her body betraying her with a dampness between her thighs.

Her legs clamped together, her chest heaving in time with his strokes, her nipples hardening beneath her silk robes, rubbing the fabric with each breath. His pace sped up, her breaths matching, her lips parting to gasp. The friction made his cock gleam, its heat pouring out.

With a deep groan, he aimed at the jade bowl. Thick streams of semen shot out, splattering the bowl's base with force, splashing the table and dishes in white. Droplets hit Qing's hand, warm and sticky, as her thighs pressed tighter, her pussy growing wetter, the dampness soaking through her robes.

Exhausted, Elder Mu squeezed out the last drops, filling the bowl to the brim.

"Immortal, please, enjoy," he said with fake dignity, as if offering a rare treat.

Qing stared at the mess, silent. The semen had spilled over her dress, seeping to her thighs, warm and slick. She couldn't tell if the dampness was his or her own. A faint, sweet scent, like lilies, mixed with the musky odor, teasing her senses.

Her fingers trembled, lifting the bowl, the steaming liquid sloshing like creamy tofu. Under his eager gaze, she drank again, gulping the fresh, hot semen. The taste overwhelmed, coating her throat, yet she felt no disgust, only a strange satisfaction.

Her body absorbed it, the energy blending with her cultivation, fueling the fire in her core. Setting down the empty bowl, her eyes flicked to Elder Mu's still-hard cock, its massive length dripping with leftover semen. She looked away quickly, her heart racing.

Feigning pain, he clutched his chest. "My injury, it's not healed!" His acting was overdone, and Qing shook her head, brushing off his trick.

With a wave of her hand, her magic cleaned the table, restoring its glossy shine. Rising, she glided toward the hot springs, the moon glowing softly in the night sky. Elder Mu, half-naked, followed, his eyes fixed on her swaying hips, round and inviting beneath her dress.

At the misty springs, he stopped at the water's edge, knowing an invisible barrier usually blocked him. Resigned, he turned to fetch her clothes when her voice floated through the fog.

"Aren't you here to heal?"

His heart jumped. Stripping off his remaining clothes, he dove into the spring, his lanky frame splashing clumsily. His long cock swayed like a tail, odd yet bold. The warm water rippled around Qing, her dark hair floating like ink, her silhouette graceful in the mist.

Elder Mu slowed, captivated by her beauty, like a vision: a lady by the water, distant yet striking. His heart ached with awe and self-doubt. Could a broken old man like him stand beside her?

The thought of her with Feng Wei twisted his gut. Qing turned, her naked body partly hidden by water, her perfect curves and full breasts stunning. Her nipples, pink and slightly erect, caught his eye, and he swallowed hard.

She raised an arm to cover herself, a faint blush coloring her ears. His intense gaze made her skin tingle, hotter than the spring. Their breaths mingled, close enough to feel each other's warmth.

He stepped closer, their heights uneven, her tall frame towering over his hunched one. She looked down, he looked up, their eyes meeting briefly before she turned away.

"Start the healing," she said softly, her voice steady but her eyes nervous.

"Immortal!" His tone shifted, firm, unlike his usual pleading. "Qing!"

Her eyes widened at her name, meeting his gaze. His cloudy eyes were clear, steady, filled with honesty that stirred her heart. When had she last seen such a look? With Feng Wei, in a moonlit tower, or when Elder Mu faced death to protect her?

"I love you," he said, his voice raw. He poured out his past: a life of pain, nameless and broken, tossed into Yong Row's filth, surviving on scraps and shame. Meeting her gave his dull world color, his pain meaning.

Qing listened, her heart wavering. Did she hate her grandfather, the emperor, for his cruelty to this man? She feared his answer, but he surprised her.

"I don't hate him," he said, his eyes bright. "Without that suffering, I wouldn't have met you."

Her heart skipped. His words cast her as his salvation. Yet he noted her youth, her immortality, his mortality, humbly asking to stay by her side, even if she loved another. His sincerity touched her, stirring feelings she couldn't name.

Was this the "love" her mother spoke of? She wasn't sure, but she knew she'd grown used to his presence, his awkward efforts to please her, the rare smiles they brought.

Her lips parted, her voice soft but firm. "Do you want to cultivate, to seek immortality?"