Wei Feng didn’t move. He remained standing, a silhouette in the gloom, and simply watched her. His eyes, stripped of all languor, roamed over every inch of her, from the lace bordering her thighs to the way the white silk corset cinched her waist and enhanced the generous curve of her breasts.

“A… bold choice, my empress,” he finally murmured, his voice a deep purr that vibrated in the stillness. “The white of surrender for the woman who has just declared war on the entire world. A delicious contradiction.”

Wei Shuyin did not look away. A confidence she hadn’t felt in two decades flowed through her veins, a warmth that had nothing to do with her newly stabilized Dominion.

“I did not dress for the world,” she answered, her voice soft but firm. “I dressed for its sovereign.”

He smiled, a slow, satisfied grin that wasn’t quite lecherous, but something deeper, more possessive.

“And the sovereign is pleased with the offering,” he said, stepping closer. “Although such an exquisite offering deserves to be unwrapped with its due reverence. And I, Shuyin, am a very, very devout man.”

He stopped in front of her. The heat of his body was a promise. His hands rose, not to touch her skin, but to rest on the silk covering her shoulders.

“Your performance tonight was a work of art,” he whispered, his warm breath grazing her cheek. “You’ve torn the fangs from a rabid dog with words alone. You exposed him before the entire continent, without raising a single sword.”

“I was serious,” she said. “I will not tolerate anyone insulting my family.”

“Your family?” he repeated, and his fingers began to trace the edge of the corset, a touch as light as a butterfly’s wing that nonetheless made her shiver. “Are you referring to my brother, the man who threw you to the wolves with his silence? Or to me?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

He leaned in until his mouth was next to her ear. “I thought my favorite lesson to teach you was how to use a sword, but I was wrong. My favorite lesson is this: seeing you in your power, seeing you become the queen you were always meant to be. It excites me more than any wine, more than any treasure.”

His hands moved with torturous slowness to her back, searching for the corset’s laces.

“But even a queen,” he continued, his voice growing deeper, huskier, “must kneel before her god. And tonight, my love, the temple opens its doors for worship.”

With a gentle tug, the laces gave way. The corset loosened, and the relief from the pressure was instantly replaced by the vulnerable caress of cool air on her skin. Her breasts, freed, were offered to the candlelight, full, heavy, their nipples already hardened like pink pearls, betraying an anticipation her impassive face did not show.

“There they are,” he sighed, in a tone of pure aesthetic appreciation. “The twin suns that feed this empire. My dear niece has the cherry blossoms of spring, but you… you have the ripe fruits of autumn. Heavy. Full of the promise of a sweet, intoxicating nectar. Do you know what a true connoisseur does with such a fruit, Shuyin?”

“Enlighten me, Master,” she whispered, her own voice trembling.

He didn’t answer with words. He knelt before her. The act of submission from such a dominant man stole her breath. He took a bottle of wine from the table, the same one he had sent her during the banquet, the “Breath of the Twilight Empress.” He uncorked the seal.

He didn’t pour the wine into a glass. He poured a small pool into the palm of his own hand, warming it with his skin’s heat. The heavenly aroma filled the room.

“A connoisseur,” he said at last, his voice now a guttural murmur, “first warms the fruit, prepares it, awakens its essence.”

His hand, slick with the ancient wine, ascended her thigh, over the delicate silk of her stocking. The cold of the liquid and the heat of his skin created a contrast that made her gasp. His hand didn’t stop. It climbed over her stomach, drawing slow, wet circles on her skin, until it reached her breasts. With almost religious reverence, he began to massage one of them, coating it with the ancient wine, his expert fingers working the skin, the muscle, awakening sensations she had forgotten existed.

“Nnngh… Wei Feng… ah…”

“Shhh, I’m not finished yet,” he whispered. “My new Mandate, Shuyin, is no longer about taking, but about giving and receiving. It is an eternal banquet. And you, my queen, are the guest of honor and the main course. Feel.”

He channeled a thread of his Qi through his hand. She felt it. It wasn’t the raw, overwhelming power of a Sovereign. It was a generous, warm power that did not invade, but invited. His Qi did not seek to conquer her meridians, but to cleanse them, to polish them, to prepare them.

“Your newborn power is an ocean, Shuyin. Vast, yes, but roiled by the storm of its own birth. It needs to be calmed, to find its depth. My power will be the seabed upon which yours will rest. Let me stabilize you.”

The massage continued, now on both breasts. His thumbs drew circles on her nipples, which contracted and hardened under his expert touch. The pleasure was so intense it was almost painful, an exquisite agony that had her on the verge of a scream. The wine mixed with the sweat that began to pearl on her skin, creating a profane and addictive scent.

When she thought she could bear no more, his mouth descended. Not to kiss her. To drink.

He licked the wine from her skin, his hot tongue tracing every curve, every valley of her torso. He drank directly from her breasts, gently suckling her nipples, savoring the mixture of wine, skin, and desire.

“Ah, yes… there… stop… please…!” she moaned, arching her back, offering herself more to him in an act of total surrender.

“Stop?” he murmured against her skin. “My love, the appetizer has barely begun.”

He guided her to the bed and laid her down on the black silk sheets, a brutal and perfect contrast. The white silk of her stockings and garter belt against the darkness of the sheets was a vision of pure decadence.

“Now, the theoretical lesson,” he said, his voice regaining a hint of playful seriousness. He sat beside her and took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “I taught my niece the postures through sight. You, my queen, I will teach through touch. Close your eyes. Don’t think. Just feel the poetry.”

He placed his other hand on her belly, just above her core. And the transmission began. It wasn’t images. It was pure sensation.

She felt the posture of “The Sovereign’s Throne.” She didn’t see it; she felt it. She felt her legs wrapped around a powerful waist, her body upright, in control, receiving her consort’s energy not as a plea, but as a tribute. She felt a wave of authoritative power course through her.

Then, “The Phoenix’s Offering.” She felt her body arched back, her breasts pointing to the sky, her core open and vulnerable, in an act of surrender so absolute it was in itself a form of power. She felt a vulnerability so profound it was indistinguishable from strength.

Finally, she felt “The Black Dragon’s Nest.” Her legs over his shoulders, her body opened at the most intimate, deepest angle, receiving not just flesh, but the very essence of his power—a torrent that filled her, overflowed her, anchored her.

She opened her eyes, panting. Her face was flushed. The silk lingerie she wore now felt damp and sticky against her skin. Her own body had reacted to each of the “lessons” with brutal honesty.

“Wei Feng… that… was…”

“The prologue,” he interrupted her, with the smile of a predator who has found his most desired prey. “Now, for the practical application. And this time, there will be no interruptions. Not from my stupid brother, nor from religious fanatics.”

He moved over her, his body a blanket of heat and power.

“We will begin with the ‘Phoenix’s Offering’,” he added. “I think it’s fitting for a queen who has just been reborn from her own ashes.”

He guided her with expert ease, his hands firm yet gentle. He helped her arch her back, his hands supporting her waist, until her body formed a perfect arc, her breasts aimed at the ceiling, her neck extended in a gesture of surrender. It was a posture that required immense strength and trust.

He knelt between her legs. His hardness, hot and throbbing, brushed against her already soaked entrance.

“Look at me, Shuyin,” he commanded, his voice like contained thunder. “I want you to see the face of your god as you claim your throne.”

He entered her. It wasn’t a thrust. It was a coronation. A slow, deep, definitive movement that filled her completely and tore a long, guttural moan from the depths of her being.

“Aaaaahhhhh… yes…”

He didn’t move. He remained inside her, allowing their bodies to acclimate to one another, their Dominions to acknowledge each other. She could feel his power, that of the Enlightened Hedonist, flowing into her—not to fill her, but to polish her own. She could feel the last rough edges of her newborn Sovereign power being smoothed away, the wild energy becoming docile under her will, anchored by his presence.

“Feel how your power settles,” he whispered, his forehead now pressed against hers. “It’s no longer a gift from the heavens. It’s no longer an accident. It is now yours. Forged in duty, tempered in betrayal, and finally, polished in pleasure. In my pleasure.”

And then he began to move. Slow at first, each thrust a reminder of his presence, his possession. But the rhythm gradually increased. Reverence gave way to need; worship became a storm. His thrusts were hammer blows of pleasure, each one striking a deep point inside her that made her scream his name.

“Wei Feng! More… ah, yes, right there… harder!”

“You want more, my queen?” he growled, his voice hoarse with effort and passion. “The great Ice Empress, begging for more with such vulgarity? What would the court say?”

“To hell with the court!” she cried, her control shattered. “I only want you! Take me! Break me! Make me yours until there’s nothing left of the empress and only the woman who belongs to you remains!”

That was the answer he had been waiting for. Total surrender. With an animalistic roar, his thrusts became wild, brutal. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the silent chamber, a profane and primitive rhythm. The sandalwood bed protested with every strike, a scandalized witness to the fall of a queen and the rise of a goddess.

He felt her tighten around him, the spasm of her orgasm seizing her in violent waves. Her scream was muffled against his shoulder, a sound of pure, inconceivable release. The intensity of her climax was the final blow for him. With a guttural growl that seemed to shake the palace’s foundations, he emptied himself inside her, a torrent of heat and essence that sealed his possession.

They collapsed together onto the sheets, a tangle of sweaty limbs and broken breaths. The silence that followed was sacred. He held her against his chest, exhausted but triumphant, and stroked her hair, stuck to her temple with sweat.

“The lesson…” he panted, “is over. For now.”

She snuggled against him, feeling for the first time in twenty years a peace that no meditation, no power, had ever given her.

“No,” she whispered against his chest, her voice barely audible but filled with a new and terrible certainty. “It’s not over.”

She looked up at him, and in her golden eyes, there was no longer a trace of the Ice Empress. There was only the glint of a woman who had found her true Dominion, her true sovereign.

“It’s just beginning.”