Dawn painted the Forbidden City in shades of gold and vermilion as imperial officials gathered in the Hall of Supreme Harmony. The massive space—large enough to accommodate a thousand officials—was filled to capacity, tense whispers echoing off the intricately carved ceiling as the court awaited unprecedented proceedings.
Sam stood to one side of the Dragon Throne, his posture casual despite the formality of the occasion. He wore simple dark robes with minimal ornamentation, a deliberate contrast to the elaborate court attire surrounding him. His presence alone was enough to silence nearby officials, their eyes carefully averted from his silver gaze.
The court had spent three days in frantic deliberation following the Emperor's death. Traditional protocols dictated immediate succession by the Crown Prince, but Sam's enigmatic presence had disrupted normal power transitions. When word spread that Master Zhu had expressed "certain preferences" regarding succession, the entire court hierarchy had thrown itself into chaos.
Now they awaited the outcome, an unprecedented ceremony hastily arranged under conditions that violated centuries of tradition.
A gong sounded, its deep resonance silencing even the most persistent whispers. The massive doors at the hall's southern end swung open, revealing a procession led by the most senior imperial officials.
And behind them—shocking the assembled court into stunned silence—walked Princess Zhu Youzhen, dressed not in mourning gray but in the golden robes of imperial authority.
The procession moved slowly along the central axis—the Dragon Path that traditionally only the Emperor could walk. Youzhen's face remained composed, though Sam's enhanced perception detected her elevated heart rate and the faint tremor in her hands hidden within voluminous sleeves.
As she approached the throne, the Grand Secretary stepped forward, unfurling an imperial decree inscribed on yellow silk. His voice trembled slightly as he read the document—a hastily crafted justification citing historical precedents for female rule dating back to Empress Wu of the Tang Dynasty.
"...and therefore, by acclamation of the imperial council and with divine blessing, Princess Zhu Youzhen shall ascend the Dragon Throne as Empress Regnant, ruling in her own right until such time as heaven provides a suitable male heir."
Murmurs of shock rippled through the assembly. Not Empress Regent as many had expected—a temporary caretaker until a male could assume power—but Empress Regnant, a direct ruler in her own name.
Youzhen ascended the dais steps with measured grace, turning to face the assembled court before seating herself upon the Dragon Throne. The yellow robes of imperial authority draped perfectly around her small frame, the elaborate phoenix headdress framing features carefully composed into a mask of serene authority.
Sam watched with detached amusement as court officials dropped to their knees, then pressed their foreheads to the floor in the kowtow of absolute submission. Their compliance had nothing to do with tradition or legitimate succession—it stemmed entirely from fear of the silver-eyed foreigner whose unprecedented influence had reshaped imperial succession overnight.
"The Empress will now receive oaths of loyalty," announced the Grand Secretary, his voice steadier as the ceremony proceeded without supernatural intervention.
One by one, the highest officials approached the throne, performing elaborate kowtows before reciting pledges of absolute loyalty to the new Empress. Sam noted the careful calculation in each man's eyes—weighing self-preservation against traditional power structures, immediate survival against long-term ambition.
Near the back of the assembly, a commotion disrupted the carefully choreographed proceedings. An elderly official—Wei Zhongxian, former Grand Secretary under the previous Emperor—pushed forward against protocol.
"This is abomination!" he shouted, his wizened face contorted with righteous fury. "A woman upon the Dragon Throne violates every principle of cosmic harmony! Heaven itself will punish this transgression!"
Guards moved to seize him, but Sam's raised hand halted them instantly. The entire hall fell silent as he stepped forward, approaching the protesting official with unhurried steps.
"You believe heaven objects to this succession?" Sam asked, his voice carrying clearly through the silent hall.
Wei Zhongxian drew himself up to his full height—still a head shorter than Sam. "The natural order demands male rulership. Five thousand years of civilization confirm this truth!"
Sam smiled, the expression chilling rather than warming his features. "Then surely heaven will intervene to prevent this catastrophe. Let's observe its response, shall we?"
Before anyone could react, Sam's hand shot out, gripping the elderly official's throat with precise pressure. He lifted Wei effortlessly, the old man's feet dangling above the polished floor as he gasped for breath.
"I see no lightning strikes," Sam observed conversationally, looking around the hall. "No earthquakes. No heavenly armies descending to prevent this supposed cosmic violation."
Wei's face purpled, hands clawing ineffectually at Sam's iron grip. The assembled court watched in horrified silence, no one daring to intervene.
"The Mandate of Heaven is merely a convenient fiction," Sam continued, his voice coldly philosophical. "Like divine right, it exists only as long as people believe in it."
With a casual flick of his wrist, he snapped the old man's neck. The sound—a sharp crack—echoed through the silent hall. Sam released his grip, allowing the body to crumple to the floor in an undignified heap.
"Does anyone else wish to test whether heaven objects to our new Empress?" he inquired, looking around at the petrified officials.
Silence answered him, hundreds of eyes carefully averted from both the corpse and Sam himself.
"Excellent," Sam concluded, returning to his position beside the throne. "Please continue with the ceremony."
After a moment of stunned paralysis, the Grand Secretary cleared his throat and resumed the proceedings. Officials approached the throne with renewed enthusiasm, their kowtows deeper and pledges more effusive than before. The example made of Wei Zhongxian had eliminated any immediate resistance to female rule.
Throughout the remainder of the ceremony, Youzhen maintained perfect composure, betraying no reaction to the casual murder committed before her. Only Sam, with his enhanced perception, detected her slightly elevated breathing and the minute tremor in her hands concealed within voluminous sleeves.
When the last official had pledged loyalty, Youzhen rose from the throne. Her first official proclamation—extending the mourning period for her father while establishing her own administrative structures—was delivered in a clear, steady voice that carried authority beyond her seventeen years.
As the court dismissed, officials backing away with repeated bows, Sam remained beside the throne, his posture relaxed despite the tension pervading the hall.
"Your first day as absolute ruler," he observed when they were relatively alone, servants and guards maintaining careful distance. "How does it feel?"
Youzhen regarded him steadily, her expression guarded. "Not as I expected."
"Power rarely feels as anticipated," Sam replied. "Especially when obtained through unexpected means."
She glanced toward where servants were discretely removing Wei Zhongxian's body. "Was that necessary?"
"Absolutely," Sam confirmed without hesitation. "Early resistance must be crushed completely to prevent wider spread. The death of one vocal opponent prevents the need to execute dozens later."
Youzhen frowned slightly. "Fear is a poor foundation for legitimate rule."
"Fear is an excellent motivator as long as the object of fear remains present to enforce it," Sam corrected. "Your history is filled with examples of successful terror-based governance. The First Emperor unified China through methodical slaughter of opponents. The Tang Dynasty consolidated power through strategic executions. Your own Ming founders established control through purges of political rivals."
"Those were different times," she argued, though without much conviction.
Sam laughed, the sound echoing off the carved ceiling. "Human nature hasn't changed in ten thousand years. Fear remains the most reliable method of ensuring compliance."
---
In the weeks that followed, Sam spent increasingly less time at court functions. His presence at Youzhen's ascension had cemented her position, but other matters now occupied his attention. He had transformed a secluded section of the Eastern Palace into what servants fearfully called his "workshop"—a space forbidden to all but himself.
Strange sounds emanated from this forbidden area—humming vibrations that made teeth ache, occasional flashes of light that leaked through papered windows at odd hours, and sometimes voices that seemed to speak in no language known to any scholar in the empire. Servants assigned to the Eastern Palace reported hearing Sam muttering to himself about something called a "nanolathe" and "spatial calibration fields," terms that meant nothing in any Chinese dialect but filled listeners with inexplicable dread.
One unfortunate servant who had dared peek through a slight tear in the paper window was found the next morning, his eyes burned from their sockets, repeating "the silver light, the silver light" until his heart simply stopped beating.
After that, the Eastern Palace servants developed remarkably poor eyesight and hearing regarding Master Zhu's activities.
Despite his mysterious projects, Sam maintained his arrangement with the new Empress with methodical regularity. Though his visits to the imperial bedchamber were never officially acknowledged, the entire palace knew when Master Zhu entered the Empress's private quarters. Guards would suddenly find urgent reasons to patrol distant corridors. Ladies-in-waiting would develop immediate needs to inventory distant storerooms. Even the palace cats seemed to vanish when Sam's purposeful stride carried him toward the imperial apartments.
On this particular night—two months into Youzhen's reign—Sam appeared at her private entrance without formal announcement. The guards, as always, stepped aside without meeting his gaze, suddenly fascinated by architectural details in the opposite direction.
He found Youzhen reviewing administrative documents, her formal court regalia replaced by simpler robes for evening work. At his entrance, she looked up, her expression momentarily unguarded—revealing both apprehension and anticipation.
"Master Zhu," she acknowledged, setting aside her brushes with careful precision. "I hadn't expected you tonight."
"Expectation creates complacency," Sam replied, approaching her writing table with predatory intent. "An Empress should never become complacent."
Without preamble, he swept the carefully arranged documents to the floor, scrolls and writing implements clattering across polished stone. Before Youzhen could protest, Sam grabbed her wrist, pulling her upright with casual strength.
"I've spent twelve hours recalibrating spatial phase inversions," he informed her, already working at the fastenings of her robes. "I require physical distraction."
"There are imperial concubines trained specifically for such—" she began, but her words cut off with a gasp as Sam ripped the silk robe open, buttons scattering across the floor.
"I don't want trained responses tonight," he growled, pushing her backward until she collided with a carved screen depicting celestial dragons. "I want you."
Despite her initial protest, Youzhen's body betrayed her immediate arousal—nipples hardening beneath her thin undergarment, pulse visibly quickening at her throat. Two months of these encounters had trained her body to respond instantly to his touch, regardless of imperial dignity.
Sam tore away her remaining garments with calculated roughness, leaving her naked and trembling against the priceless artwork. His own robes followed, revealing his already hardened cock with its distinctive silver patterning.
"See how wet you are already?" he observed, fingers finding her core with unerring accuracy. "The mighty Empress, soaking at the mere prospect of being fucked."
Youzhen's face flushed with equal parts shame and arousal as his fingers probed her slick folds. Despite her position as absolute ruler of the world's most sophisticated civilization, these encounters reduced her to pure physicality—imperial authority meaningless against Sam's dominance.
"Please," she whispered, hips unconsciously pushing against his exploring fingers. "Not against the—"
Sam silenced her with a bruising kiss, teeth catching her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. His free hand gripped her thigh, lifting it to his waist as he positioned himself at her entrance.
With a single powerful thrust, he entered her completely, driving her back against the antique screen. The priceless artifact—commissioned by emperors centuries before—creaked ominously as Sam established a ruthless rhythm, each thrust pushing Youzhen's naked body against its lacquered surface.
"Wrapped in imperial silk all day," Sam growled against her ear, pace increasing relentlessly. "Issuing commands, receiving kowtows. But here—just a woman desperate to be filled."
His words should have offended imperial dignity, yet they heightened her arousal immeasurably. Youzhen's legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper as her head fell back against the screen, exposing her throat to his hungry mouth.
Sam activated his psionic abilities, projecting waves of enhanced sensation through her nervous system. The effect was immediate and devastating—Youzhen's body convulsed around him, her first orgasm hitting with such intensity that her scream echoed through the imperial apartments.
Ladies-in-waiting stationed in distant antechambers exchanged knowing glances, carefully pretending not to hear their Empress's cries of pleasure.
"Again," Sam commanded, maintaining his relentless pace through her climax. His enhanced stamina allowed him to continue without pause, driving her oversensitized body toward a second peak before the first had fully subsided.
The screen behind them gave an ominous crack as Sam's thrusts increased in force. One panel splintered, ancient wood finally surrendering to the violence of their coupling. Youzhen barely noticed, her consciousness narrowed to the overwhelming sensations coursing through her body.
"Please," she gasped, no longer certain whether she was begging for mercy or more.
Sam hoisted her away from the damaged screen, carrying her with his cock still buried inside her. He deposited her roughly on her writing desk, administrative documents from dozen provinces crumpling beneath her naked body. Without missing a beat, he resumed his powerful thrusts, hands gripping her thighs to spread her wider.
"Look at you," he taunted, silver eyes gleaming in the lamplight. "The Dragon Throne's occupant, spread across state papers with her imperial cunt stretched around my cock."
Youzhen moaned helplessly, shame and arousal creating an intoxicating cocktail that pushed her toward another climax. Court scholars would have been horrified to see official documents—some bearing imperial seals—stained with the evidence of their coupling, ink smearing against her sweat-slicked skin.
Sam leaned forward, capturing one nipple between his teeth and biting just hard enough to send jolts of pain-pleasure racing through her system. The combination of sensations—his cock filling her completely, teeth at her sensitive breast, the forbidden nature of their coupling in the imperial study—triggered her second orgasm.
This time she screamed his actual name—not the formal "Master Zhu" she used in public—the intimate familiarity revealing how thoroughly she'd surrendered to him despite her imperial status.
Sam's hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her cries as his pace increased to inhuman speed. "I'm going to fill you with my seed," he growled against her ear. "Right here on top of imperial edicts. Let your courtiers wonder why some pages stick together tomorrow."
His crude words pushed her toward a third climax as he finally allowed himself release. Hot pulses of his seed flooded her womb as he drove himself impossibly deep, grinding against her oversensitized flesh to extract maximum pleasure from their joining.
For long moments they remained locked together, breathing heavily amid the scattered remnants of imperial governance. Ink stained Youzhen's back and buttocks, administrative documents hopelessly compromised beneath their combined fluids.
"The screen was priceless," Youzhen finally observed when she could speak coherently. "Commissioned during the Hongzhi Emperor's reign."
Sam withdrew from her body, his perfect physiology already recovering while she remained trembling and disheveled. "I'll have artisans repair it," he replied indifferently. "Though explaining the damage should prove interesting for your household staff."
Youzhen winced as she sat up, body tender from his forceful attentions. "We've wrecked three imperial antiques this month alone."
"Perhaps you should reinforce your furnishings," Sam suggested with mock helpfulness, already retrieving his scattered clothing.
As he dressed with efficient movements, Youzhen remained perched on the edge of her desk, naked and thoroughly debauched. Imperial dignity seemed absurdly distant—her body marked with evidence of their coupling, his seed leaking onto priceless documents beneath her.
"Court begins in six hours," she noted, making no move to cover herself. "You'll attend?"
Sam paused, considering her question. "Briefly. Your trade negotiations with the Portuguese representatives might prove marginally interesting."
He approached her again, fully dressed while she remained naked. One finger traced the curve of her jaw in an almost tender gesture. "Clean yourself up, Empress," he advised, voice softening slightly. "Your officials prefer the illusion that their ruler remains untouched by carnal concerns."
With that parting observation, he left through her private entrance, guards carefully maintaining their studied unawareness of his passage.
---
In the grand audience hall the following day, Sam observed court proceedings from his usual position—slightly apart from the formal arrangement of officials, yet close enough to the Dragon Throne to signify his unique status. The court had adapted to his irregular attendance, officials visibly relaxing when he missed sessions while becoming excessively formal when he appeared.
Today, Youzhen conducted trade negotiations with Portuguese merchants seeking expanded access to Chinese ports. Her performance impressed even Sam's jaded assessment—she displayed comprehensive knowledge of previous agreements, anticipated negotiation tactics, and maintained perfect composure despite having been thoroughly ravished mere hours earlier.
Only Sam's enhanced perception detected subtle evidence of their nighttime activities—the slight stiffness in her movements when shifting position on the throne, the faint mark beneath her high collar where his teeth had left an imprint, the barely perceptible wince when a particularly deep bow required her to bend forward.
"The imperial treasury cannot accept further silver debasement," she informed the Portuguese envoy, her voice carrying perfect authority. "Previous shipments have contained increasing amounts of copper alloy. This violates our agreement and undermines mutual trust."
The Portuguese merchant—a veteran trader named Alvaro Mendes—attempted to deflect with practiced diplomacy. "Your Imperial Majesty misunderstands. Market fluctuations in Europe have temporarily affected silver purity. This represents no intentional deception."
Sam smiled thinly as Youzhen countered without hesitation: "Then perhaps the Celestial Empire should reduce access proportionate to quality reduction. If silver purity has decreased by twelve percent, perhaps available ports should decrease accordingly."
The merchant blanched visibly, recognizing the financial implications of restricted trade access. "Your Imperial Majesty shows remarkable understanding of metallurgical assessment," he conceded, bowing deeply.
As the negotiations continued, Sam found himself studying Youzhen with unexpected interest. Unlike previous sexual partners who quickly became tedious once conquered, the young Empress continued to intrigue him despite months of regular coupling.
Was it their shared genetic heritage? Sam wondered, observing the distinctive line of her jaw that would eventually manifest in his own mother centuries later. Perhaps some subconscious recognition of their biological connection created this unusual sustained interest.
Or perhaps it was something else entirely—the same qualities that had attracted his progenitor, Robert Kestrel, to this bloodline. Intelligence, adaptability, and an innate understanding of power dynamics seemed to run through the Zhu lineage with remarkable consistency.
Whatever the cause, Sam acknowledged a connection with Youzhen beyond mere sexual gratification. While he had threatened to claim all the imperial princesses, he'd found himself curiously uninterested in pursuing these additional conquests. Something about Youzhen herself—not merely her position or their genetic connection—continued to engage his otherwise easily jaded attention.
The court session concluded with favorable terms for the empire, Portuguese representatives bowing deeply as they backed away from the throne. Sam noted the glances directed his way—foreigners clearly aware of his undefined but obviously significant role in imperial governance.
When the formal audience ended, Sam departed without acknowledging Youzhen directly. Their public interactions remained strictly formal—a deliberate separation between her official role as Empress and their private arrangement.
Returning to his workshop in the Eastern Palace, Sam resumed his mysterious project, losing himself in calculations and adjustments to equipment no human of this era could possibly comprehend. Equations spanning multiple dimensions filled makeshift surfaces, temporal coordinates mapping possibilities beyond conventional physics.
Hours passed in focused concentration until a trembling servant interrupted with news from the imperial household—the Empress requested his presence for an urgent matter. Sam dismissed the messenger with a curt nod, annoyed at the interruption yet intrigued by the unusual summons.
Youzhen rarely initiated their meetings, particularly during daylight hours when court business occupied her attention. Something significant must have developed to warrant this breach of their established pattern.
---
Three months into her reign, a genuine crisis finally forced his engagement. Youzhen received him in her private study, dismissing even her most trusted attendants as he entered.
"Master Zhu," she began without preamble, "I require your direct intervention."
Sam raised an eyebrow at her unusually demanding tone. "Oh?"
"Reports confirm Manchu forces have crossed the northern border in significant numbers," she explained, indicating a map spread across her work table. "Three separate invasion columns approach strategic garrisons."
Sam glanced at the map with mild interest. "Military matters fall under imperial authority. Deploy your armies."
"I've ordered mobilization," Youzhen replied, frustration evident in her voice. "But corruption has hollowed out our military capacity. Supply depots report full inventories that don't actually exist. Garrison commanders claim troops at full strength while selling positions to merchants' sons who never serve. Weapons and armor inventory exists on paper while actual armories stand half-empty."
"Systematic corruption," Sam observed without surprise. "The inevitable result of bureaucratic self-preservation prioritized above national security."
Youzhen slammed her hand down on the table—a shocking breach of imperial composure. "I cannot defend the empire with administrators who serve only themselves! Unless these invasions are repelled, my reign ends before it truly begins."
Sam studied her with newfound interest. This display of genuine passion—anger breaking through carefully maintained imperial dignity—suggested depths he hadn't fully appreciated.
"What specifically do you request of me?" he asked, suddenly more engaged than he'd been in months.
"Help me save China," she answered directly. "However necessary."
"However necessary?" Sam repeated, emphasizing the qualifier. "You understand what that might entail?"
Youzhen met his gaze steadily. "I do."
Sam smiled—a genuine expression that transformed his usually cold features. "Now you're thinking like a ruler rather than a scholar."
Moving to her side, he examined the map more carefully, noting deployment markers and supply routes with experienced eye. "Your military situation is indeed precarious, though not yet catastrophic. The immediate threat can be addressed through targeted intervention."
"And the systematic corruption?" she pressed.
"That requires a more comprehensive solution," Sam replied, his voice hardening. "One you've previously resisted on moral grounds."
Youzhen drew a deep breath, imperial resolve visibly hardening her expression. "Do what must be done. Save the empire first—we can debate methods after survival is assured."
Sam laughed, genuinely amused by her pragmatic capitulation. "As you command, Empress."
That night, as Youzhen prepared for sleep in her imperial chambers, Sam appeared unexpectedly at her private entrance. The guards—knowing better than to question his movements—stepped aside without comment as he entered without formal announcement.
"Master Zhu," she acknowledged, dismissing her ladies-in-waiting with a gesture. "I didn't expect you until morning."
Sam approached her directly, his movements predatory and purposeful. Without speaking, he pulled her against him, claiming her mouth in a dominant kiss that broke through imperial composure instantly.
Youzhen responded with surprising eagerness, weeks of suppressed desire evident in her immediate surrender to his touch. When he finally released her, she was breathing heavily, imperial dignity temporarily forgotten.
"What—" she began, but Sam interrupted by lifting her bodily and carrying her toward the imperial bed.
"You asked for my help," he reminded her, depositing her on the silk coverlet. "I require payment in advance."
Understanding dawned in her eyes as Sam began removing her sleeping robes with efficient movements. "Here? In the imperial bedchamber?"
"Precisely here," Sam confirmed, stripping away layers of silk to reveal her naked form. "Where generations of emperors have sired dynasties, I'll remind the current ruler exactly who placed her on the throne."
Despite the crudeness of his statement, Youzhen made no protest as he removed his own clothing. Her body responded instantly to his touch, back arching as his hands claimed her breasts with possessive familiarity.
"Tomorrow," Sam told her between forceful kisses, "I begin solving your corruption problem. Tonight, I remind you of our arrangement."
He entered her without preamble, her body already wet and ready despite the unexpectedness of his arrival. The imperial bed—constructed to exacting specifications with symbolic meaning in every design element—creaked beneath his forceful thrusts.
"Yes," Youzhen gasped, her legs wrapping around his waist as imperial decorum dissolved completely beneath skilled hands and relentless penetration.
Sam activated his psionic enhancement, flooding her nervous system with amplified sensation. Her response was immediate and violent—back arching sharply as pleasure beyond mortal parameters coursed through her body.
"Remember," he growled against her ear as she shattered beneath him, "power takes what it wants."
Hours later, as she lay exhausted in tangled silk sheets, Sam outlined his approach to the empire's immediate problems. His plan—methodical, comprehensive, and utterly merciless—would address both the immediate military threat and the underlying corruption simultaneously.
"It will be bloody," he warned, tracing patterns on her bare shoulder as she listened. "Officials who've enriched themselves at imperial expense will face exemplary punishment. Military commanders who've sold positions and supplies will meet particularly creative ends."
"How many will die?" she asked quietly.
"Hundreds directly," Sam replied without hesitation. "Thousands indirectly as examples ripple through the system."
Youzhen closed her eyes briefly, imperial conscience warring with pragmatic necessity. "And there's truly no alternative?"
"None that will save your empire," Sam confirmed. "Corruption this systemic requires cauterization, not bandages."
After a long silence, she nodded once—the briefest acknowledgment transforming into imperial authorization for unprecedented bloodshed.
"Do it," she whispered. "Save China."