The atmosphere in the small, rented courtyard was thick, heavy with a scent that was part incense, part lust, and part the musky aftermath of conquest. The sunlight filtering through the lattice windows did little to dispel the intimate, twisted dynamic that had settled over the room like a fog.
Sect Mistress Lianhua sat perched on Wang Jian's lap, her back pressed flush against his chest. She was no longer the regal, robed figure of authority who had commanded thousands.
She was wearing her new "uniform," a scandalous, shimmering two-piece bikini made of the finest, most diaphanous silk. It was a garment fit for a mortal dancer in a pleasure house, not a cultivation master.
The top was barely a strip of fabric, straining to contain the sheer, overwhelming mass of her breasts, leaving the deep valley of her cleavage and the soft under-curves completely exposed.
