Song Qing walked.
Each step echoed slightly in the grand, familiar corridors of the Spirit Hall.
His own bright blue hair seemed almost offensively vibrant against the muted opulence, catching the flickering light from ornate lamps lining the walls.
Emerald green eyes, usually filled with confidence or detached amusement, held a flicker. A nervous energy he rarely experienced.
'This,' he thought, a faint line creasing his smooth brow, 'is going to be monumentally awkward.'
He was heading towards Qian Renxue's private sanctuary. Her chambers.
There was something he needed to discuss. Something vital.
Something… deeply, intensely personal.
He reached the carved door, grander than most, signifying her status.
He hesitated. Just for a breath. A moment to steel himself.
Then, a gentle knock. Soft taps against the heavy wood.
"Come in, Qing."
Her voice. Melodious, clear, carrying easily through the door. It held a warmth that both soothed and amplified his unease.
Song Qing pushed the door open, stepping over the threshold.
And there she was.
Qian Renxue.
Seated gracefully on a plush sofa, bathed in the soft light filtering through a large window. Beyond the glass stretched the vast, intricate tapestry of Martial Soul City.
She wore elegance like a second skin. A flowing dress, the colour of pale lavender, accentuated every curve, every line of her graceful figure.
Her blonde hair, a cascade of liquid gold, was styled with impeccable care.
And her eyes… those stunning, intelligent purple eyes… held a calm, knowing depth as they met his.
It felt like she already knew.
"Renxue," Song Qing greeted. The name felt heavy on his tongue.
A small smile touched his lips, but it felt tight, embarrassed.
Qian Renxue's answering smile was genuine. Warm. Inviting. Undeniably beautiful.
"Come, sit with me, Qing." Her gesture was fluid, graceful.
He crossed the room, the luxurious carpet muffling his footsteps. He sat beside her, but maintained a careful, polite distance.
A knot twisted in his stomach. Raw unease.
'How do I even start this? How do you tell someone… this?'
He could feel a betraying heat creeping up his neck, a blush he couldn't control.
Qian Renxue, ever perceptive, seemed to sense the turmoil radiating from him.
"Is something the matter, Qing?" she asked softly. Her voice was laced with genuine concern, her purple eyes searching his face.
Song Qing drew a deep, steadying breath. Or tried to. It hitched slightly.
"There's something… I need to tell you, Renxue." His voice was lower than usual. "Something… personal."
He faltered again. The words caught in his throat. Finding the right ones felt like navigating a minefield.
Qian Renxue, sensing his struggle, reached out. Her hand, cool and gentle, rested on his forearm. A simple touch, yet grounding.
"You can tell me anything, Qing," she reassured him, her gaze unwavering. "You know that."
Her touch, her quiet confidence in him, lent him a sliver of courage.
"It's about…" He swallowed. "It's about… my relationship with Teacher."
The words tumbled out, a rushed confession, escaping before he could second-guess himself again.
Qian Renxue's expression remained serene. Calm. Unchanged.
She simply continued to look at him, that quiet curiosity still swirling in her purple depths. No shock. No outrage. Nothing.
A wave of guilt crashed over Song Qing. Intense. Suffocating.
'This feels so incredibly wrong. Telling her this. Her own daughter. About her mother…'
He felt like the lowest form of life.
"We… we have become intimate," he confessed, the words barely a whisper now. He couldn't meet her gaze, staring instead at the intricate pattern on the carpet. He felt like a complete, utter scumbag.
Silence stretched for a moment. Qian Renxue's hand remained on his arm, a steady point of contact in his swirling guilt.
Then, the faintest, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips.
"I see," she said softly. Her voice held no surprise. No condemnation. Just… acceptance?
Song Qing finally risked looking up, his emerald eyes wide with confusion. "You're… you're not surprised?"
A soft chuckle escaped her. Light. Melodious. Almost amused.
"Not really, Qing," she admitted gently. "To be honest, I have long since expected that something like this might happen between you two."
His surprise deepened. "You have?" How could she?
"Mother's feelings for you…" Qian Renxue paused, choosing her words carefully. "...have been quite evident for some time now." A slight, knowing twinkle entered her purple eyes. "Especially to me."
She tilted her head slightly. "And yours for her, Qing… though perhaps less obvious initially, less acknowledged even by yourself… they have also grown. It was visible, if one knew where to look."
Song Qing felt his cheeks burn hotter. He hadn't realized. Had he been so transparent? Had his growing affection for Bibi Dong been that obvious?
"Besides," Qian Renxue continued, her smile widening now, shifting into something teasing, a playful smirk gracing her perfect lips, "I have always known that I was not as… important… to Mother as you are."
The words held a matter-of-fact quality, but Song Qing caught a fleeting shadow in her eyes, a hint of past hurt quickly masked.
He frowned slightly, a pang of sympathy mixing with his guilt. "Renxue, don't say that. It's not true."
"Oh, but it is, Qing," she countered, her tone light, almost dismissive, though the underlying truth resonated. "And honestly? I came to terms with it long ago. Seeing you happy, seeing her genuinely care for someone… it's not entirely unwelcome."
She leaned back slightly against the sofa cushions, studying him now with open amusement dancing in her eyes. The atmosphere shifted subtly.
"So, Qing," she began, her voice laced with playful accusation, that smirk firmly in place. "You little rascal."
Song Qing braced himself.
"You are not just content with enjoying my company, my attention… but also my mother's?"
The question hung in the air, direct, teasing, and utterly disarming.
Embarrassment warred with a strange, unexpected flicker of something else. Excitement?
He felt cornered, exposed, yet strangely… not condemned.
"How does it feel, Qing?" Qian Renxue pressed, leaning forward slightly, her purple eyes locking onto his. Her smirk widened, becoming more predatory, more challenging. "To have such an intimate connection with both mother and daughter?"
Her gaze swept over him, lingering for a moment. "Are you enjoying the beautiful bodies of both of us?"
Song Qing stammered, colour flooding his face again. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. How could he possibly respond to that?
"Renxue, please…" It was a weak deflection.
Qian Renxue laughed again, the sound clear and bright, yet carrying an undercurrent of challenge. "Oh, come now, Qing. Don't be so terribly shy all of a sudden. You know it's the truth, don't you?"
Her expression softened fractionally, though the teasing glint remained firmly in her eyes. "I must admit, Qing," she said, her voice dropping a notch, becoming more serious, yet still playful, "I am indeed a bit jealous."
His heart sank slightly. Guilt resurfaced. He hadn't wanted this to hurt her.
"And perhaps," she added, her eyes narrowing slightly, "just a little angry at you. For doing something like this to my mother, even if she welcomed it. For involving yourself so deeply."
The playful tone was still there, but underlined with a genuine possessiveness.
Then, Qian Renxue's smirk returned, broader, more pronounced than before. It held a new kind of promise. A challenge.
"But…" she purred, leaning closer still, invading his personal space, her scent – lilac and something uniquely hers – filling his senses. "...perhaps there is a way for you to seek my forgiveness, Qing."
Song Qing looked at her, his breath catching. He watched her expectantly, a knot of apprehension tightening in his gut, mingled now with a rising tide of anticipation.
"You will have to please me, Qing," she said, her voice dropping to a husky, seductive whisper. Her purple eyes locked onto his, intense, demanding.
He knew. Instantly. He knew exactly what she meant.
Their dynamic had always simmered beneath the surface. Her fascination with him, his own growing attraction to her… and woven through it, her subtle, sometimes overt, desire for him to take charge, to be the dominant one, to push past her elegant facade.
He nodded slowly. A shy hesitation warred with a nascent confidence, a thrill sparking deep within him. The permission, the invitation, was explicit.
Qian Renxue watched his acceptance, a flicker of triumph in her eyes.
Then, with deliberate, languid grace, she reached for the front of her elegant lavender dress. Her fingers, long and slender, went to the delicate buttons.
One by one, she began to undo them.
Her movements were slow. Measured. Seductive.
Each undone button was a revelation.
The soft fabric parted, revealing glimpses of the smooth, pale skin beneath. The gentle slope of her collarbone. The swell of her breasts, hinted at by the fine material of her undergarments.
Song Qing watched, transfixed. His mouth went dry. His breath hitched in his throat. The air crackled with sudden, intense electricity.
He reached out, his hand trembling almost imperceptibly. He gently cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking the unbelievably soft skin.
Qian Renxue leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a bare second, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
Then, her eyes snapped open, meeting his again. They held a playful, demanding fire. A challenge issued.
She continued her task. Her fingers worked deftly at the remaining fastenings, the hidden hooks and eyes of the sophisticated garment.
With a final, fluid movement, the lavender dress loosened completely, whispering down her body to pool in a silken heap around her feet on the plush carpet.
She stood before him.
Naked.
Glorious.
Her body, usually hinted at beneath layers of elegant fabric, was now fully revealed. Voluptuous curves, pale skin that seemed to glow in the soft light, perfectly proportioned limbs. Fuller, perhaps, than he had imagined, yet utterly stunning. Breathtaking.
Song Qing felt a powerful surge of raw desire flood through him, hot and urgent. The earlier guilt and awkwardness evaporated, burned away by the sheer sight of her.
His gaze drank her in. Every detail. The curve of her hips, the flatness of her stomach, the proud thrust of her full breasts, crowned with delicate pink aureoles and taut peaks.
His own fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, his movements less graceful than hers, driven by a sudden, sharp need. His gaze never left her face, her challenging eyes.
Shirt discarded. Trousers followed. Boots kicked aside.
Soon, he stood before her, equally bare.
The space between them pulsed with heat, with unspoken tension. Their bodies were close, mere inches separating them, warmth radiating from their skin.
Qian Renxue reached out, her turn to initiate contact. Her fingers, cool at first, threaded through his bright blue hair, the touch light, almost teasing, yet charged with meaning.
"So, Qing," she whispered, her lips incredibly close to his, her warm breath ghosting over his skin. Her eyes searched his, the playfulness still there, but deeper now, more intimate. "Whose beautiful body do you like more? Mine… or Mother's?"
The question, meant to tease, to perhaps provoke, struck a different chord in him now.
The last vestiges of shyness, of hesitation, vanished. Replaced by something else. Something primal. Possessive. Dominant.
It wasn't a conscious decision. It was instinct. A response to her challenge, to the situation, to the raw desire coursing through him.
Without a word, his hands moved. Not gently this time.
He grasped her shoulders, turning her around with swift, undeniable purpose. She offered no resistance, her eyes widening slightly in surprise.
His hands settled firmly on the full, round curves of her buttocks. The skin was incredibly soft, yet firm beneath his palms.
Smack.
The sound was sharp, startling in the quiet room. Not harsh enough to cause real pain, but firm enough to sting, to assert control.
He gave them another playful, yet undeniably firm, spank.
"How dare you question me, Renxue?" he growled, his voice deliberately low, roughened, adopting a tone of command he hadn't known he possessed.
A soft gasp escaped Qian Renxue's lips. A delicious shiver traced its way down her spine, visible even on her pale skin.
"Oh, Qing…" she whimpered, the sound a captivating mixture of surprise, a flicker of fear, and undeniable, burgeoning pleasure.
She leaned back against him instinctively, her body trembling slightly, pressing her bare back against his chest. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the sudden rapid beat of her heart against his own skin.
"Please…" she whispered, her voice dropping, becoming breathy, submissive. She tilted her head back slightly, trying to look at him over her shoulder. "Forgive me… Master."
The title, whispered in that tone, sent a jolt straight through Song Qing. It wasn't forced; it felt utterly natural coming from her in that moment, a part of the game she clearly wanted to play.
He held her close, his arms wrapping firmly around her waist, pulling her back flush against his hardening erection. He felt her immediate response, her body heating up even more, a soft sound catching in her throat.
He turned her back around slowly, deliberately, keeping his hands firmly on her hips, controlling her movement. His gaze met hers. Softened slightly now, but still firm. Still in command.
He leaned in, agonizingly slowly. His eyes locked with hers, purple depths swirling with anticipation, excitement, and that intriguing hint of submission.
He felt the electric tension build between them, thick and palpable.
It was time.
Gently, he tilted her chin up with one finger, forcing her gaze to remain on his. Then, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.
Soft. Tender at first. A gentle exploration. A claiming.
Then, the kiss deepened. Became more passionate. More demanding. His tongue slipped past her lips, seeking hers.
Qian Renxue responded with breathtaking eagerness. A small moan vibrated in her throat as her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss further. Her body molded against his, soft curves pressing against hard muscle.
This was their first kiss.
A moment she, perhaps, had longed for. A moment he hadn't expected to happen quite like this.
For Qian Renxue, it was pure, unadulterated bliss. The dominance, the unexpected confession leading to this… it was intoxicating.
Song Qing, though his technical first kiss had indeed been with Bibi Dong, pushed that thought firmly aside. This moment was for Renxue. He wanted her to cherish it, untainted.
They clung to each other, kissing deeply, passionately. Tongues danced, explored. The earlier awkwardness was a distant memory, consumed by the fire ignited between them.
Their hands weren't idle.
His roamed her body, no longer hesitant. Possessive. Firm. He squeezed her hip, traced the curve of her waist, his fingers brushing the underside of her full breasts. Each touch elicited a shiver, a soft gasp from her.
Her hands explored his back, his shoulders, tangled in his blue hair, sometimes pulling gently, urging him closer.
The conversation resumed, fragmented, whispered between kisses and breathless touches. Their words were now laced with raw passion, with undisguised desire.
Qian Renxue's teasing continued, but the tone had shifted. It was less about provocation, more about expressing her own burgeoning affection, her longing, wrapped in playful barbs.
"You're so bold now, Qing," she'd murmur against his lips, before initiating another deep kiss.
"Only because you allow it," he'd counter, his hand sliding down her back, cupping her buttock firmly again.
She shivered at the contact, pressing closer.
They spent time simply exploring, rediscovering each other in this new, intimate context. His hands learned the shape of her, the softness of her skin, the sensitive spots that made her gasp or tremble. Her hands learned the hard contours of his muscles, the breadth of his shoulders, the texture of his hair.
The initial guilt Song Qing felt had morphed into pure, driving excitement. The dominance felt… right. Natural in this dynamic with her. It was exhilarating to see the effect he had on the usually poised, almost untouchable Qian Renxue.
He pressed her back against the plush sofa, looming over her slightly, pinning her wrists gently above her head. Her eyes widened, a spark of thrilling fear mixing with the desire.
"Tell me," he commanded softly, his lips hovering just above hers. "What do you want, Renxue?"
"You, Master," she whispered, her voice husky. "I want you to…" She hesitated, then plunged ahead. "To touch me. Everywhere."
His lips curved into a satisfied smirk, mirroring the one she often wore. He released her wrists, letting his hands trail down her arms, over her shoulders, finally cupping her breasts. They were heavy, soft, filling his palms perfectly. He teased her nipples with his thumbs, watching them pebble instantly, watching her breath catch, her back arch slightly off the sofa.
She moaned softly, her eyes fluttering closed.
This raw display of control, this uninhibited exploration, felt incredibly freeing for Song Qing. He wasn't the hesitant visitor anymore. He was the one in charge, and she was reveling in it. There was no mercy in his touch now, only focused intent to pleasure and possess, and Qian Renxue clearly loved every second of it.
He lowered his head, kissing a path down her throat, over her collarbone, his lips finally closing over one taut nipple. He suckled gently at first, then more firmly, eliciting a sharp gasp and a tightening of her fingers in his hair.
After exploring one breast thoroughly, leaving it flushed and sensitised, he moved to the other, giving it equal attention. Qian Renxue was writhing slightly beneath him, lost in the sensations.
He continued his exploration downwards, kissing her stomach, trailing fingers over her hipbones, dipping lower.
Suddenly, Qian Renxue's hand caught his wrist, stopping his downward exploration just before he reached the juncture of her thighs.
Her eyes opened, clear and focused again, though her breathing was ragged, her cheeks flushed pink.
"Qing," she said, her voice regaining some of its usual strength, though still husky with arousal.
He paused, looking at her quizzically, maintaining his dominant posture.
"Before… before we go further…" she breathed. "Tell me. What exactly did you and Mother do?"
The question hung heavy in the charged air.
Song Qing looked into her demanding purple eyes. He saw the genuine curiosity there, mixed with that competitive spark he was starting to recognize. He hesitated only for a moment. Honesty felt like the only path now.
"She… helped me," he admitted, his voice low, slightly rough. "She used her hand."
Qian Renxue's eyes widened slightly, absorbing this.
He didn't stop there. "And then… her mouth."
The confession was blunt. Stark.
Qian Renxue processed this, her expression shifting. There was no shock, no disgust. Instead, a fierce determination ignited in her eyes. A challenging glint.
A slow, predatory smile spread across her lips. It was breathtakingly seductive.
"I see," she purred, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, well. Mother has been busy."
She pushed herself up slightly, causing Song Qing to shift back, though he kept one hand possessively on her hip.
"We can't have her getting too far ahead, now can we?" Qian Renxue declared softly, almost to herself, but her eyes burned into his. The competitive fire was blazing.
She shifted her position, kneeling beside him on the sofa, her naked body radiating heat and intent.
"Lie back, Qing," she instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument, yet carrying an undercurrent of eager anticipation.
Intrigued, and aroused by her sudden shift in command – a command born from her desire to please him – Song Qing obeyed, leaning back against the sofa cushions. His own erection was prominent, straining towards her.
Qian Renxue looked down at him, her gaze travelling over his body with open appreciation, before focusing intently on his arousal.
"My turn to seek forgiveness," she murmured, though her eyes promised pure pleasure, not penitence. "And perhaps… show you what her daughter can do."
She reached out, her cool fingers tentatively brushing against his heated length. A jolt went through him.
"Hold still, Master," she whispered teasingly, reclaiming the submissive title even as she took control of the act.
Her hand closed around him. Firmly, yet softly. Perfectly.
Song Qing hissed in a sharp breath.
Qian Renxue began to move her hand, slowly at first, learning his shape, his response. Her touch was skilled, deliberate. She watched his face intently, gauging his reaction.
"Like this?" she murmured, varying the pressure, the speed.
Song Qing couldn't speak. He just nodded, his eyes darkening with pleasure. His own hands clenched involuntarily on the sofa cushions.
The dominant persona he had adopted was still present, but it was being tested by the sheer intensity of the pleasure she was inflicting. He watched her, her blonde hair falling slightly forward, her expression a mixture of intense concentration and sensual delight in his reaction.
"Mother used her hand…" Qian Renxue mused aloud, her fingers working expertly, rhythmically. "Was it… good?"
"Renxue…" he groaned, the question pulling a response from him. "Yes."
"Just good?" she challenged, her pace quickening slightly, her thumb stroking the sensitive tip.
"Incredible," he gasped out.
A satisfied smirk touched her lips. "Then I shall have to be better."
Her hand moved faster, slicker now with the evidence of his arousal. Song Qing arched his back slightly, lost in the sensation. He reached out, tangling his fingers in her hair, not pulling, just holding, anchoring himself. She didn't resist, leaning into the touch even as her hand continued its relentless, exquisite work.
Just as he felt himself nearing the edge, she slowed her hand, drawing out the tension.
"But she didn't stop there, did she?" Qian Renxue whispered, her eyes locking with his again. They were dark, filled with promise and a hint of nervousness now. "She used her mouth."
Song Qing swallowed hard, nodding almost imperceptibly.
Qian Renxue took a deep breath. "Then I can't let her claim that victory alone."
She leaned down, her warm breath ghosting over the head of his erection, sending shivers down his spine. Her blonde hair brushed against his stomach and thighs.
Then, her lips closed over him.
Song Qing's eyes flew wide open. A strangled groan escaped him.
The sensation was electric. Overwhelming.
Her mouth was hot, wet, and impossibly soft. She was hesitant at first, tentative, clearly less experienced in this than her mother might have been, but her eagerness, her determination to please him, was palpable.
She learned quickly, mimicking the rhythmic stroking of her hand with her mouth, her tongue exploring, teasing. She glanced up at him occasionally, her purple eyes wide, seeking reassurance or reaction.
Song Qing's dominance reasserted itself, fueled by the intense pleasure. His hand tightened slightly in her hair, not painfully, but firmly, guiding her, urging her on without words. "Yes, Renxue," he managed to grit out. "Like that."
She responded instantly to his low command, her movements becoming more confident, deeper. The combination of her mouth and the occasional stroke of her hand sent waves of pleasure crashing through him, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.
He watched her, her dedication, her focus solely on his pleasure, mixed with that competitive fire against her own mother. It was the most incredibly erotic thing he had ever experienced.
The tension built, coiling tight in his lower belly, reaching an unbearable peak.
"Renxue…" he gasped, his body tensing, signalling the inevitable.
She seemed to understand, her pace quickening, her mouth working with frantic, devoted energy, determined to bring him to completion, determined to be unforgettable.
He surrendered completely, the dominant master momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer force of the pleasure she was bestowing upon him, a pleasure born from confession, jealousy, and a desperate need to connect.