Xue Lan reclined across the silk-draped bedding like a deity resting between rituals. Her robe was gone, tossed to the floor hours ago, and her skin still shimmered faintly from the aftermath of Lin Mu's mouth. Her thighs bore the drying traces of what he had licked so reverently, her nipples still stiff from the teasing aftermath of climax.
The room smelled of sweat, incense, and shame. A low-burning spirit lamp cast a golden glow over the curves of her body, turning her into a figure half-dreamed, half-devoured.
Lin Mu knelt beside the bed, posture perfect, trembling. His mouth still tasted of her. His chin was slick. His cock remained stiff and untouched, bobbing with each subtle breath. The only sounds were the occasional flutter of night wind against the window and the slow rhythm of his pulse pounding in his ears.
"You pleased me tonight, Mu'er," Xue Lan said, her voice silk over a blade. She reached out and brushed a strand of his damp hair aside with lazy affection. "And so you've earned a task."
Lin Mu looked up, eyes wide. "Anything, Lan'er."
Her lips curved into a smile that was half affection, half cruel amusement.
"Go to Chi Jiao."
His breath caught. He didn't move.
"She's the one I want next," she said, voice calm, decisive. "You'll tell her."
His heart thudded once, hard. "Tell her…?"
"That she's been chosen."
She turned, reaching with her lithe arm toward the side table. There, resting among oils and small lacquered boxes, was a folded length of crimson silk—the kind used to bind the wrists of lovers during private rites in noble households.
She held it between two fingers and let it dangle in the air for a moment before pressing it into his hands.
"This," she said, "is the token. She'll know what it means."
He stared at it. The silk was warm, fragrant with Xue Lan's scent, still carrying the faint musk of her skin.
"You will find her," Xue Lan continued, drawing his gaze back with the weight of her tone. "You will kneel when you give it to her. You will bow your head. You will say, clearly, that I wish to be used by her. That she is to take me. That I will be waiting."
Lin Mu nodded slowly. "Yes, Lan'er."
"And," she added, leaning forward to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing the lingering dampness from his skin, "you will tell her you'll be there when she does. Watching. Preparing. Cleaning."
A shudder ran through him.
"Say it," she whispered.
"I will be there. I will prepare you. I will watch. And I will clean her after."
Xue Lan sighed, pleased. She leaned closer, her lips ghosting across his temple.
"Good husband."
He trembled.
"Go now," she said. "Before I change my mind and make you watch someone else first."
Lin Mu stood slowly, tucking the ribbon reverently into the inner fold of his robe. He didn't tie it—he simply held it close, as if afraid it would vanish if he let go.
His cock was still hard, still leaking. The pressure behind it was maddening, but he made no move to relieve it. He had no right.
He left barefoot, stepping into the cool corridor of their home. Each step whispered across polished wood.
He passed disciples who watched him without comment, but with knowing eyes. Everyone already knew. The Jade-Faced Cuck, carrying the token of invitation, chosen as messenger for his wife's next lover.
As he neared the training courtyard, he heard them before he saw them.
"Who do you think she picked?" one girl whispered.
Another giggled. "Chi Jiao, obviously. She's got that huge Yin-Seed technique. You'd pick her too."
"Did you see Lin Mu's face earlier? He looked like he was about to cry—and cum."
A cluster of disciples watched as he passed. One called out, "Delivering your wife again, Mu'er?"
He didn't respond. He couldn't. His ears burned, his cock throbbed, and still he walked.
Chi Jiao's training ground was a private pavilion by the west cliff. As he approached, the sound of fabric whipping through air and the soft grunt of exertion met him. Then he saw her.
Chi Jiao was shirtless—her toned, powerful frame glistening with sweat. Her breasts were round and full, rising and falling with her controlled breath. Her nipples were hard from the chill. Her abs flexed beneath each shift of her stance.
She was barefoot, and her lower robe hung low on her hips, exposing the ridge of muscle along her waist. The aura of the Yin-Seed Technique pulsed visibly from her core, swirling like heat rising from stone.
Lin Mu stopped at the courtyard's edge. She turned, eyes already on him. She had known he would come.
Her gaze traveled down his form—bare feet, flushed face, the bulge beneath his robe, the red silk in his trembling hand.
She didn't speak.
He stepped forward, and with deliberate reverence, he dropped to his knees.
"Lady Chi Jiao," he said softly. "I've come to deliver this."
He extended the ribbon.
"Xue Lan has chosen you. She invites you to use her. To take her. Tomorrow."
Silence stretched between them.
"I will be there. I will prepare her. I will serve you. I will clean you afterward."
Chi Jiao stepped forward, towering over him.
She reached down, took the ribbon, then slipped it into her sash. Her breasts swayed slightly with the motion, glistening in the moonlight.
Then she crouched and lifted his chin with two fingers.
"Of course I'll fuck her."
Her voice was amused. Powerful.
"And I want you on your knees the entire time. Don't blink. Don't miss a drop."
She stood and turned, walking back into the pavilion.
Lin Mu remained kneeling, his head lowered, the echo of her words burning in his ears.
And his cock—still shamefully hard—throbbed against the silk of his robe, untouched and aching.