The journey was harsh. Hooves struck the ground day and night. Ten days later, Mei and her son, Zhu, reached their hidden home in Hunan. Tucked deep in the mountains, it was secret, surrounded by wild land. No one lived nearby.
It was a safe hideout. Even Weiting's great power could not find them fast. Zhu could train without trouble.
Yet, Mei felt no happiness in their return. The death of her lost allies hurt deeply. Weiting's hold on the martial world grew stronger daily. He ruled all.
Sect leaders praised his skill and honor. No one remembered her husband's unfair death.
Worse, rumors flew through the martial world. Whispers blamed Mei and Zhu for strange actions. Some said they worked with Japanese invaders. Others tied them to her husband's murder.
The claims were silly, almost childish. But clear gossip made them seem true. Many in the Hongmen stopped talking to them. With the government chasing them, Mei and Zhu lived on thin ice.
"Damn it! It must be that dog Weiting's work," Zhu growled. He hit a courtyard pine with his palm.
Mei nodded quietly. Only Weiting could twist truth like this, making lies seem real.
A month passed. Zhu and Mei trained apart, working hard. They made little progress. Thirty days of effort brought no gain, not even to the first heaven's strength. Anger ate at them.
Zhu's parents were fighters, but he loved books. He spent more time in school than training. Raised in wealth, his fighting skills were weak despite his bloodline.
Mei, held back by her skill, struggled with the secret manual. No matter how hard she tried, she could not improve.
Fear grew. The "Five Limits Method" needed the thirty-third heaven to control the Five Limits Divine Fist's backlash. For now, they could only build basic inner power.
At night, Mei made Zhu sit on the bed to grow his energy. By day, she taught him outer skills.
Her husband's sudden death left his "Vast Heaven Soft Palm" untaught. Mei had to share her own skills: the seventy-two forms of Snowflower Swordplay and the Maiden's Heart Technique. These were her sect's secret arts, made for women.
They were not perfect for Zhu, but she had nothing better to give.
That day, after lunch, the sky grew dark. Mei urged Zhu to practice swordplay. The Snowflower Divine Sword was hard, its moves tough to learn. Zhu could not recall them.
The move "Proud Snow in the Wind" puzzled him. Mei showed it many times, her sword flashing in soft arcs, petals blooming in the air. It was lovely. But Zhu could not learn it.
Mei's patience, already thin, snapped. Zhu felt her anger. The more he hurried, the worse he did. His moves turned wild, shapeless.
Pain cut Mei's heart. She swung a branch, knocking the sword from Zhu's hand. "What is this swordplay?" she yelled. "Are you even trying? Do you want to avenge your father?"
Zhu's face turned red. He said nothing, grabbed the sword, and tried again.
Rain started, soft drops at first, with far-off thunder. Soon, it became a heavy downpour. Big drops soaked their clothes.
Normally, they would have gone inside. But Mei, crushed by Zhu's failure, stood firm. She stayed silent, cold, making him practice in the rain.
Zhu knew her purpose. But under stress, he stumbled more. Usually quick, he could not remember if a side slash came before a diagonal cut or a step back.
Thunder boomed. Rain hit his body hard. His mother's words rang in his ears. Shame filled him. He wanted to use his sword on himself.
Mei watched, caught between sorrow and despair. Zhu's fighting talent was far less than his father's. She was a poor teacher. At this pace, ten years might pass without reaching the thirtieth heaven.
A loud crack broke the air. Lightning hit a banyan tree in the courtyard. The thick trunk split, falling toward Mei.
She closed her eyes, still. If her family's blood debt could not be paid, why live? Making Zhu train only caused more pain. Death seemed better.
"Mother!"
Zhu's frantic cry cut through the air. The tree crashed down. Mei felt a sharp hit, pain rushing through her body. Her mind spun, foggy.
Then, warm arms held her. A man's hot breath clouded her senses, lifting her to the sky. A familiar voice called her pet name, as if her husband had returned, holding her like before.
She opened her eyes. Rain and tears blurred her sight. The face before her looked like her husband's handsome features. It felt like a dream.
Mei reached out, her arms wrapping around his neck. She whispered her love and longing.
"Jueren, my Jueren, Mei misses you so…"
Zhu froze, shocked. He saw his mother stand still as the tree fell. Scared, he rushed forward, pushing her to safety. They rolled on the ground, his back scratched raw by the trunk.
He ignored the pain, planning to kneel and beg forgiveness. But then, his mother held him close, her touch warm. What was this?
His mind knew she thought he was his father. Yet, the warmth of her hold kept him from pulling away. When he saw her clearly, his heart raced.
Since her husband's death, Mei wore plain white mourning clothes. Now, wet, the thin cloth stuck to her skin, showing her full curves. Her breasts stood high, her waist slim, her hips round.
Through the open collar, a water-blue mandarin duck bellyband, a cloth undergarment covering her chest, showed clearly. Two faint red peaks were just visible.
Zhu's mouth dried. His hands sweated. For his mother's honor, he knew he should pull away and beg forgiveness.
But he could not.
He stared at the mother he always admired. Her beauty glowed as she whispered softly, calling "Jueren" like a gentle bird. Each word hit his heart, as if meant for him.
Her soft legs wrapped around his, rubbing lightly. In that moment, Zhu forgot his lessons, forgot the wise teachings. His respect for his mother turned into a man's desire for a woman.
Her starry eyes looked drunk, her breath sweet like flowers. Her lips, bright as ripe fruit, seemed to call for his kiss.
Forgetting all morals, Zhu's mind blurred. He leaned down, kissing her lips. His hand slid through her collar, touching her round breasts.
His fingers grazed her soft skin, following the curve of her chest. Her breasts were warm, heavy in his hand, her nipples stiffening under his touch. A soft moan escaped her, "Mmm," her body leaning slightly into his hand.
Lost in thoughts of her husband, Mei held Zhu's embrace tightly. Her heart flew. When his lips met hers, she opened her mouth eagerly, her tongue touching his. But the kiss was awkward, rushed, not like her husband's.
It woke her suddenly. Reality struck like lightning. Her eyes widened in horror.
She called on her full power. Twenty-eight heavens of strength burst out, throwing Zhu back. Blood poured from his mouth as he hit the mud.
"Ah!"
Blood splashed her face. Mei regretted her strength at once. But seeing her open chest, her bellyband moved, and Zhu's clear arousal, even after falling, anger filled her.
She remembered the hard heat of his cock pressing between her thighs during their embrace, rubbing her pussy through their wet clothes. Fury buried all else.
She covered herself, grabbed a branch, and whipped it across Zhu's back, ignoring his wounds.
"Beast! Beast!" she cried, tears falling. "How could I raise such a monster? What did you do to me? I'm your mother! Your own mother! How could you do this to me?"
The branch struck hard, tearing Zhu's back into a bloody mess. He knelt, still, taking the blows.
The wounds burned, but his heart hurt more. After that brief moment—her soft lips giving in, her breasts warm in his hands, her thighs shaking against his cock—he could never see his mother the same.
He loved her deeply, not as a son, but as a man. For another second of that joy, he would take any punishment.
"You've shamed me!" Mei sobbed. "How can I face your ancestors, your father? I raised you with care, not to become a beast!"
"Mother!" Zhu's voice cracked with pain. He felt no regret, ready to bear any sin for that feeling again. But her pain hurt him deeply.
"I… I just want to avenge Father," he said. "My skills are so weak… only the Blood Shadow…"
Mei's shame grew. Zhu showed no sorrow, his eyes glancing at her. Grief and anger surged. She raised the branch, aiming for his head.
If her son was this wicked, better he never lived.
"Mother!"
Zhu cried out, stunned by her harshness. Still, he did not move.
At the last moment, Mei saw his face, so like her husband's. A small question rose in her heart.
* Why am I so angry? So hurt? Is it really because of Zhu's actions? *
Her wrist turned. The branch flew away. The quick move hurt her elbow, pulling it out of place.
She stood still, staring at Zhu. Her face changed, thoughts racing.
* No. I'm not angry at him. I'm angry at myself. *
* When I pushed Zhu away, part of me wanted to stay. I wanted that feeling to last. When his cock rubbed my pussy, my clit pulsed, and I was wetter than anyone. *
* My anger, my grief, they are not true. Deep down, I liked his closeness. I'm the one betraying Jueren, betraying our ancestors. I'm the true wicked beast. *
The truth spun in her mind. After a long pause, Mei fixed her elbow with a snap.
Her voice grew cold, like endless snow. "You're grown. I can't control you. You're the last of the Song line. That bloodline must not end, no matter what."
"But know this: what happened can never be. If you think such things again, I won't punish you. I'll blame myself for raising a beast."
"It's my fault. I'll cut my throat and beg your father's forgiveness."
She turned and walked into the house, not looking back.
Zhu, lost in her thoughts, knelt in the rain, too weak to stand.