"Guards, arrest this disrespectful boy at once. This is a direct order from your royal princess—Princess Lianhua Tianchen."
"But Big Sister—please!" Her younger brother stepped forward, voice trembling with urgency. "We may be royal, but he still has the right to speak his mind. Please, for me." His eyes widened with pleading sincerity, so full of desperation they could melt a glacier.
Lianhua hesitated. For a fleeting second, her gaze softened. But then her royal composure hardened once more. "No," she said, voice steady and cold. "I'm sorry, little brother. Do not show this boy any respect—he is dangerous, and I see what others do not."
Inside the courtyard of the royal palace.
"What is this commotion?"
The Emperor's voice cut through the courtyard like a blade—calm, regal, impossible to ignore. His gaze fell upon Ren, who royal guards restrained.
The Empress stood beside him, serene and radiant. Her beauty was striking: luminous eyes, regal poise, and a body shaped by divinity and power.
The royal princess watched Ren like a predator, her gaze cold and unyielding.
"This man has disrespected me, Father. I am placing him under arrest," she declared. "He dared call me ugly, and worse—he questioned my claim that my beauty rivals that of Empress Lingxi, Mother. He's essentially saying that both she and I are unworthy of admiration."
The Emperor's expression darkened, his glare brimming with disdain.
"How dare you suggest that my daughter is not comparable to Empress Lingxi," he said, voice sharp as tempered steel. "Have you even seen her? The Empress is the most beautiful woman our mortal empire has ever known. Her grace is legendary. Her visage, revered. Guards—take him away. Now."
"I never said she was ugly," Ren said, voice calm but laced with scorn. "It's her temperament that's repulsive—spiteful, petty, devoid of grace. You both raised her wrong, or she's simply a lost cause. Credit where it's due, though... You did better with your son, Mingyu."
A voice like silk dipped in fire chimed in from the shadows.
"That's Prince Mingyu Tianchen to you."
She emerged, cloaked in flame and elegance.
The Empress.
The legend who fractured treaties with a smile.
Whispers called her the Imperial Lady of Flame.
Bolder tongues used other terms—sexy MILF Empress, among them.
Those tongues rarely lasted the week.
Ren didn't resist as they dragged him through the palace halls, past columns carved with divine ancestry and relics of old wars. The guards hesitated—then shoved him into the strongest holding cell in the royal complex. It pulsed with runes older than empires.
The royal princess didn't trust his background. A man like Ren—whose bloodline could fracture treaties—was not to be handled lightly.
Yet Ren said nothing.
He sat cross-legged on the cold stone and closed his eyes.
The air shimmered around him. The palace was built atop a nexus of Ancient God Qi—rich, undiluted. It flowed through the walls, the floor, the breath of the imperial flame.
Ren inhaled slowly, letting the Qi seep into his meridians. Let them think he was contained. In truth, he was feasting—refining his cultivation in silence.
Then, without warning, his mother-in-law appeared.
Cecillia Morningstar. The devil herself.
She materialised inside the cell like gravity incarnate—unannounced, uninvited, and utterly in control.
She straddled Ren without hesitation, her presence pressing into him with deliberate provocation. Her body whispered devilry; her intent roared it. Darkness folded the chamber into void—except for them. Ren, illuminated by Ancient God Qi. Cecillia, glowing with infernal allure, an Earth-born devil elevated to myth.
And seated atop the True Immortal—the creator of the Ancient Clans—she smiled.
"The creator seated," she murmured, "and the devil herself… right where she belongs."
Ren's voice was low, gaze sharp. "So. You joined the Ancient Devils Clan after all. Interesting choice. And now you call me True Immortal?"
Cecillia smiled, devilry incarnate. Her eyes shimmered—not just with desire, but with something older. Something aching. Almost devotional.
"Oh, my dear son-in-law," she whispered, voice velvet and sin. "This devil mother missed your presence more than she'd admit. That pent-up longing? Let it unravel. I do so wish to feel you again."
She leaned in, breath warm against his ear.
"And dear son-in-law…" Her smile curled with mischief. "I may have told the Ancestor of the Ancient Devil Clan who you are. Don't be cross with me—I did it out of love. Consider it a little punishment for not visiting your mother sooner. I missed your company… and the way you make me feel."
Ren's grip tightened as he drew Cecillia closer. Her breath caught against the heat of him.
"You're cruel," she whispered. "Teasing your mother-in-law like this… I should've done something unforgivable. Then maybe you'd really punish me."
She giggled—a sound like starlight cracking. Her fingers traced the edge of his jaw, then the hollow of his neck. Her lips hovered—close, but not yet touching.
"I truly desire your children, Ren."
Cecillia whispered, her fingers tracing lazy constellations across his chest—each touch deliberate, each motion steeped in memory and provocation.
Her hand found his belt, undoing it with the grace of someone who'd done this before—not out of habit, but ritual. She smiled at what was revealed, eyes gleaming with hunger and reverence. Lowering herself, she brought her face close, breath warm against him, her presence folding the air into silence.
Then, with a flick of mischief, she brushed her lips against him—slow, deliberate, like a vow sealed in heat. Not vulgar. Not rushed. Just… intimate. A gesture that spoke of longing, possession, and the kind of history that doesn't fade.
Cecillia's gaze shimmered with playful defiance. She didn't stop at reverence—her lips travelled lower, tracing the sacred terrain beneath with languid devotion. Her touch was mischievous, yes, but also worshipful, as if tasting the essence of a legacy yet to be born.
She giggled softly, the sound like moonlight rippling across a forbidden river.
Ren didn't speak. He simply smiled—a quiet, knowing curve of his lips. Then he claimed her, fingers threading through her hair with the solemn grace of a high priest guiding his chosen devotee.
She followed without hesitation, her movements deliberate, her breath a hymn. Her rhythm was not just lust—it was ceremony. Each motion precise. Each pause intentional. She was chasing reunion, not indulgence.
She wanted to taste him.
She didn't stop. She wouldn't.
Because with Ren, her hunger was not indulgence—it was worship.
And in that moment, she was not merely a lover.
She was the Earth-born Devil, kneeling like a priestess before her god.
Cecillia swallowed with delight, eyes shimmering with mischief and longing.
"There was so much," she whispered, licking her lips. "I couldn't take it all."
Then she giggled—a sound like starlight breaking through stormclouds.
"You're clearly pent-up, son-in-law. Why don't you release it inside me instead? Raw. Unfiltered."
Her voice dropped to a reverent hush.
She smiled—not with seduction, but with certainty.
Because for Cecillia, desire was never fleeting.
It was a legacy waiting to be born.
"That's it, son-in-law," she breathed, voice trembling with delight. "Only you can reach places no man ever has."
Her fingers gripped his shoulders, her breath hot against his skin.
Cecillia lay beneath him, her body trembling, breath caught between reverence and madness.
Ren pressed down with the full weight of his power—his gaze locked onto hers, his presence absolute. Each motion was deliberate. Each thrust, a vow.
She gasped, fingers clawing at his back. "Don't you dare make yourself infertile in this moment."
Her voice cracked with desperation and devotion. "Impregnate your mother-in-law. Finally. I want your children."
Her body arched, writhing beneath him. "Gods, I've lost count."
She laughed, breathless and wild, eyes shimmering with heat.
"And you—Ren—you haven't even released once yet."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, reverent and raw.
"My daughters are going to be furious with me.
They won't blame you—they'll blame me. And I'm fine with that.
It's part of the game. Part of the fire."
She wrapped her legs tighter around him, pulling him deeper.
"I love them so much… but I'll make sure I'm the one who bears your children first."
Her eyes locked onto his, fierce and pleading.
"You drive me mad. You only grow more dangerous, more divine, as the years pass."
She laughed softly, a sound laced with memory and madness.
"I still remember when I took your innocence. When I claimed you for the first time.
I felt guilty—for what we had.
And for your mother.
We've been best friends since we were babies.
She trusted me. She never imagined I'd touch her son."
Her voice faltered, then deepened with longing.
"But you were wicked. You seduced me long before you touched my daughters."
Her eyes shimmered with heat and regret.
"You looked at me with hunger. With that storm in your gaze.
You wanted to taste me. To claim me. To do whatever you pleased with my body.
And I let you. Only you."
She paused, breath catching.
"There are things I never did with my three ex-husbands—men I killed without regret.
But with you… I surrendered."
Ren's body remained perfectly still—poised, powerful, divine.
Yet within, he was pouring into her, endlessly, unstoppably.
His essence surged deep, flooding her womb with a force that defied time.
Cecillia moaned, her voice thick with triumph and awe.
She tightened around him, her body clenching greedily, drawing him deeper, claiming every breath of him.
Her tongue lolled, her eyes half-lidded with bliss.
"So much… gods, you're still releasing…" she whispered, trembling.
She could feel it—hot and heavy—leaking from her even as he remained buried inside.
And yet he didn't move. He didn't falter.
This was only the first round.
There would be a hundred more.
She arched her back, legs wrapped tighter around his hips.
Her nails dug into his back—desperate, trembling, hungry.
Her nails sank deeper, and his flesh yielded—not in weakness, but in permission.
Thin red lines bloomed across his back.
Then he kissed her—fiercely, hungrily, without restraint.
His lips crushed hers, his tongue claiming her mouth as deeply as his presence had claimed her soul.
It wasn't gentle.
It wasn't careful.
It was Ren unleashed.
The Ren she remembered.
She smiled with delight, breathless and dazed, seeing that side of him again.
And then she saw it.
Not just Ren.
But the Emperor Shadow.
Merged. Whole.
His eyes burned with ancient fire. His aura—vast, terrible, undeniable.
He was no longer divided.
No longer torn between restraint and desire.
He had let go—for this one moment with her.
They hadn't stopped.
Not yet.
This was the hundredth round.
Ren had her pinned against the Shadow Wall, her back arched, her legs wrapped around his waist like chains forged from longing.
His rhythm was deep, relentless, divine.
And Cecillia met him with equal force, her body trembling, her breath a storm.
Their mouths met in a kiss that devoured breath and memory.
She moaned into him, her core tightening so fiercely he could feel her entire being pulling him deeper.
Ren reached places no other man could.
Not because of technique.
But because he was hers.
And she was his.
She kept rising—again, again, again—her body a tempest of devotion and possession.
Neither had faltered.
They were immortals.
They were more than deities.
And Ren could feel it—how fiercely she welcomed him, how her body responded like heaven and hell entwined.
Because she was both.
A devil in flesh.
Every impact echoed through the wall behind her, shadows rippling like silk.
She was moaning, clawing, tightening.
And Ren was pouring himself into her again—not just essence, but soul.
They had summoned a modern shower on Earth.
Steam curled around them, soft and familiar.
Ren held Cecillia close, her back against the shadowed wall, his hands resting on her hips as they kissed—slow, lingering, no longer urgent, just present.
The moment had quieted.
Now they simply embraced, letting the warmth settle between them.
Cecillia looked up at him, eyes shimmering with longing.
"I want to raise them with you. I want to see them grow, together."
Ren didn't speak. He just held her tighter.
She smiled, mischievous and warm.
"And after that? I want grandchildren. From three of my daughters."
She chuckled softly.
"They're your wives too, remember? They miss you as much as I have. Expect a visit from them soon… or maybe you should go to them. You have the ability."
She laid her head on his chest, listening to the rhythm of his immortal heart.
Outside, the world turned.
Inside, they stayed—wrapped in warmth, in memory, and in the quiet promise of futures yet to come.