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

Chapter 744: Chapter 744 - A Misunderstanding Costs Too Much

She halted. Her body, the fake princess’s body, the borrowed robes, froze. Her dark eyes, wide, found the source.

The eldest prince. The scholarly man in white and silver robes. Her senior brother. The Divine Integration cultivator stood in the corridor, his sharp eyes, his handsome face, his composed expression, looking at her.

She acted. The performance, the deception, was instant. Her dark eyes, wide, confused, blinked. Her body, the posture, shifted. The confusion, the innocence, the act of a woman who didn’t know what was happening, was played.

"Who? Me?" she said. Her musical voice, the princess’s voice, was pitch-perfect. The same tone, the same cadence, the same inflection. The twin, the identical bloodline, made the voice indistinguishable.

"Indeed," the elder said. His sharp eyes, on her, narrowed. The suspicion, the doubt, was in his gaze. "You aren’t you. Hiding too much from me."

She blinked. Her dark eyes, wide, innocent, held the confusion. "It does not matter."

The elder sighed. His scholarly face, the frustration, the concern, was visible. His senior brother, his junior sister, was acting strangely. The behavior, the secrecy, the evasion, was not like her.

"How dare you?" he said. His voice was soft. The tone of a senior brother scolding a junior sister.

He walked. Toward her. His pace, measured, was the pace of a man approaching a woman he intended to confront. His sharp eyes, on her face, on her body, on the robes, were assessing.

She moved. A bit closer. A bit nearer. The motion, the subtle approach, was designed. Her body, the slender frame, the borrowed robes, shifted. The neckline, the dark blue and silver fabric, parted. A fraction. The cleavage, the soft, pale skin between her small breasts, was revealed. The motion, the exposure, was subtle. Calculated. The act of a woman using her body to distract.

The elder’s sharp eyes, on the cleavage, on the pale skin, on the curve of her breasts, faltered. His composed face, the scholarly demeanor, cracked. The flush, the red, the visible blood rushing to his face, was the response of a man whose eyes had found something they shouldn’t.

His mouth opened. His lips, the scholarly lips, parted. The words, the accusation, the confrontation, were forgotten. The cleavage, the pale skin, the soft curve, was all he could see.

"You..." he said. His voice was thick. The word, the start of a sentence, trailed off.

Before he could speak, before he could act, before the situation could escalate, a voice cut through the corridor.

"MASTER!"

The scream, the female voice, the shout of a woman in danger, came from behind. The princess, the real princess, the one in the disciple’s robes, the one who had been walking toward the palace grounds, had arrived. Her dark eyes, wide, streaming, were on the scene. On her senior brother, standing close to her sister. On the cleavage. On the proximity.

And then he arrived.

Tianlong came through the void. The spatial portal, the golden rift, opened in the corridor. His body, the dark silk and crimson robe, the golden skin, the dark hair, the gold-crimson eyes, emerged. His hand, large and pale, came up. The palm, flat, extended, blocked.

The elder’s hand, reaching for the fake princess, was stopped. The palm, the divine qi, the absolute force, caught the elder’s wrist. The grip, the pressure, the divine power, was overwhelming. The elder, his Divine Integration early stage cultivation, was nothing against the Emperor’s hand.

The elder was thrown. His body, the scholarly frame, the white and silver robes, was hurled backward. The force, the divine qi, the telekinetic push, sent him flying. He hit the corridor wall. The purple crystal, the impact, cracked. The elder, groaning, slid to the floor.

The fake princess, the junior sister, the woman in the borrowed robes, trembled. Her dark eyes, wide, were on Tianlong. On the Emperor. On the being whose power, whose presence, whose divine qi, filled the corridor like a tidal wave.

Tianlong’s gold-crimson eyes, on the fake princess, held the recognition. The knowing. The amusement.

’Am I going to deflower her again?’

The thought, the private, internal, amused thought, was his. He knew. He had known from the moment he saw her. The qi signature, the cultivation base, the subtle differences that only a Divine Transcendent being could perceive, told him. This was not the princess. This was the twin. The junior sister. The prodigy.

He smiled. The smile, small, knowing, was the smile of a man who had been presented with an unexpected gift.

The fake princess, unaware that he knew, trembled. Her dark eyes, wet, looking up at him, held the fear and the gratitude of a woman who had just been saved.

"Emperor," she said. Her musical voice, the princess’s voice, was shaking. "Thank you for arriving. They tried to..."

She trailed off. She hid behind him. Her body, the slender frame, pressed against his back. The act, the damsel in distress, the helpless woman saved by the powerful man, was performed. The performance, the deception, was Oscar-worthy.

But the moment she said "Emperor," he knew. The word, the address, was wrong. The princess, Jin Yuhan, his princess, his pet, the woman whose body he had fucked, whose cultivation he had catalyzed, whose mind he had reshaped, called him "Master." Not "Emperor." The address, the formal, distant, impersonal "Emperor," told him everything.

’Not the princess. The twin. The exchange worked. The deception was successful. She thinks I don’t know. She thinks I believe she is the princess.’

’This is going to be fun.’

He turned. Toward Eldest Prince, who was groaning on the floor. Toward the guardian, the old cultivator, who had arrived, his peak Divine Integration qi radiating, his face alarmed.

"I am the prince," the elder said. His scholarly face, the impact bruise, was pale. He bowed. Deep. The bow of a man before a being he could not challenge. "I was just talking to my companion. See?"

Tianlong’s gold-crimson eyes, on the elder, were cold. The assessment, the judgment, was the gaze of an emperor evaluating a subject.

"What companion?" he said. His voice was calm. Dangerous. The tone of a man who had caught someone in a lie. "You just tried to dare molest her."

Eldest Prince, his face white, his hands raised, protested. "Please do not say that, Emperor. I just..."

Before he could finish, a voice. From behind. From the corridor.

"What happened here?"

The voice, the cold, beautiful voice of the prodigy, came from the doorway. The woman, the real princess, the one in the disciple’s robes, the one who had been hiding, arrived. Her dark eyes, wide, confused, acted the part. The confusion, the innocence, the act of a woman who didn’t know what was happening, was played.

Eldest Prince, his eyes on the woman in the disciple’s robes, widened. His face, the shock, the confusion, the dawning realization, was visible.

’Two of them. Identical. One behind the Emperor, one in the doorway. The same face. The same body. The same voice. But different clothes. Different posture. Different... everything.’

’I confused them. I... I was talking to the wrong one. The one behind the Emperor is... the one I was approaching was... and the one in the doorway is...’

’Damn it. I messed up.’

He gave a curt nod. His scholarly face, the embarrassment, the shame, was visible. "Please forgive me. It seems there is a huge misunderstanding from my side. I confused..."