Dual Cultivation: Gathering SSS-Rank Wives in the Cultivation World

Chapter 740: Chapter 740- The Long Dynasty’s Power

Tianlong’s gold-crimson eyes, on the pendant, held assessment. The artifact, the sacred level treasure, was valuable. For the mortal world. For the upper realm’s middle tier. For him, a being at the Divine Transcendent Realm, it was a trinket. A pretty stone.

He took it. His hand, large and pale, lifted the pendant. The amethyst, the formation diagrams, the qi, rested in his palm. He looked at it. Turned it. The light, the purple glow, reflected off his golden skin.

"The kingdom is blessed," he said. His voice was flat. The words, the formal acknowledgment, were delivered without enthusiasm. "I will remember this."

He handed the pendant to Liu Mei, who stood behind him. Her amethyst eyes, on the stone, held recognition. The Astral Heart, the artifact of her province, the treasure she had once protected as ancestor, was now a gift.

A tribute. Her eyes, wet, looked at Tianlong. His woman. His pet. The ancestor of the Purple Astral Province, carrying her own province’s treasure as a handmaiden.

"I would take rest," Tianlong said. His voice carried the weight of dismissal. The audience, the formal reception, was over.

He turned. His dark silk and crimson robe, the imperial attire, shifted. His gold-crimson eyes, sweeping the hall, found Liu Mei. The purple-haired woman, her voluptuous body, her purple robes, her amethyst eyes, was looking toward the corridor. Toward the deeper part of the palace. Toward the ancestral wing.

"You want to go somewhere," he said. Not a question. An observation.

Liu Mei’s amethyst eyes, meeting his, held the longing. The desire to see her descendants. Her people. The province she had left three thousand years ago. The home she had been sealed away from.

"Master," she said. Her husky voice was soft. "If you permit. I would visit the ancestral hall. My descendants. They... they have waited."

Tianlong’s gold-crimson eyes, on her face, held the warmth. The warmth of a master granting a pet’s request. He nodded. A small gesture. The permission was given.

Liu Mei’s amethyst eyes, wet, shone. She bowed. Deep. The bow of a woman whose master had given her something precious. Not freedom. Not autonomy. Permission. The permission to visit her own people, in her own province, as the possession of the man who owned her.

She walked. Her voluptuous body, her purple robes, her amethyst hair, moved toward the corridor. Her hips, wide and curved, swayed. The motion, the graceful, practiced sway of a woman who had learned to move for her master’s pleasure, was visible to everyone in the hall.

Zihao, watching her go, his face composed, his eyes sharp, turned to Tianlong. His warm smile, the host’s smile, was carefully maintained.

"Your Majesty," he said. His voice was careful. "The woman beside you. The one with the dark hair. She... she looks remarkably like a disciple who arrived with my son."

His eyes, on Jin Yuhan, the princess, who stood behind Tianlong, her slender body, her formal robes, her dark eyes, were sharp. The resemblance, the facial structure, the bone structure, the cultivation base, was uncanny.

Tianlong’s gold-crimson eyes followed Zihao’s gaze. To Jin Yuhan. To the princess, whose upper realm memories had been activated, whose sealed identity had surfaced, whose twin sister, born in the upper realm, was somewhere in this palace.

"Wait," Zihao said. His warm voice carried confusion. He looked around. At the hall, the attendants, the guards. "Where is my son? The eldest?"

The young man, the scholarly elder, the Divine Integration cultivator who had been introduced as Zihao’s "son" in the political sense, was not present. He had been in the throne room when the ships arrived. He had bowed. He had prostrated. But he was not here now.

A courtier, an attendant, stepped forward. His face, pale, was nervous. "Your Majesty. The eldest prince. He... he went to attend to the junior disciples. The ones who arrived with him. They were... they were in the east wing."

Zihao’s eyebrows rose. His warm smile tightened. The eldest prince, his political son, his heir, had left the formal reception of the Emperor of the Long Dynasty to attend to disciples. The breach of protocol, the diplomatic faux pas, was significant.

"I see," Zihao said. His voice was tight. He looked at Jin Yuhan again. At the princess. At the resemblance. "Indeed. Indeed. The family resemblance is... remarkable."

His eyes, sharp, assessing, moved from Jin Yuhan to Tianlong. The connection, the implication, the possibility that the Emperor of the Long Dynasty had a woman who resembled the disciple who had arrived with his son, was noted. Filed. Stored.

Tianlong’s gold-crimson eyes, on Zihao, held no reaction. The observation, the connection, the political analysis, was expected. The princess, her upper realm identity, her twin sister, the entire situation, was known to him. The system had told him. The memories had surfaced. The plot was unfolding.

He looked at Jin Yuhan. The princess, her dark eyes, her slender body, her formal robes, stood. Her posture, her composure, was maintained. But her eyes, her dark eyes, were different. The fragmentation, the dual consciousness, the upper realm memories surfacing and integrating, had changed her. The lower realm princess, the timid, frightened girl who had been taken from Qinghe, was still there. But another presence, another identity, another layer, was emerging. The upper realm woman. The twin. The being who had been born here, in this province, and had been taken to the lower realm.

Her dark eyes, meeting Tianlong’s, held the fragmented recognition. The palace, the purple crystal, the air, the qi, was familiar. Not from the lower realm. From here. From a life she didn’t remember living.

’This place. I know this place. The purple walls. The crystal light. The formations. I... I was here. As a baby. Mother. Mother was here. She gave birth to me here. And then... and then they took her. Dragged her away. Because she belonged to a bigger dynasty. Because she was...’

The fragments, the pieces, the shattered mirror of her upper realm identity, floated in her mind. Not complete. Not coherent. Fragments. Images. Feelings. The sense of belonging. The sense of loss. The sense of a twin, a sister, left behind.

Tianlong’s hand, on her shoulder, rested. The touch, the divine qi flowing through his palm, grounded her. The fragments, the chaos, settled. Not resolved. Settled. The presence of her master, the being whose divine qi had catalyzed her breakthrough, whose cock had triggered her memory awakening, stabilized her.

"Rest," he said. His voice was low. Meant for her. "We will deal with that later."

She nodded. Her dark eyes, wet, were grateful. The gratitude of a woman whose master understood, whose master cared, whose master controlled.

~ The Chambers — Night

The room was purple.

The walls, the crystal, the formation light, the same purple that defined the entire palace, filled the chamber. The bed, enormous, carved from purple jade, was covered in silk sheets. The window, the crystal pane, overlooked the Astral Garden. The garden, the silver-leafed trees, the spirit-flowers, the crystal stream, was beautiful in the moonlight.

The door closed. Tianlong’s hand, on the frame, pushed it shut. The sound, the click, the finality, was the sound of privacy. Of intimacy. Of what was about to happen.

"Stand by," he said. His voice was directed at the guards outside. The two Divine Integration soldiers, their masked faces, their dark armor, bowed. Their post, outside the door, was taken.

He turned. His gold-crimson eyes, in the purple light, swept the room. The two women, who had followed him, who had walked behind him through the corridors, who had been rubbing their crotches against his sides as they walked, were there.