Dawn mist clung to the fortress walls as Madam Feng's forces crested the valley ridge—black jade banners snapping cold in the wind, ranks of widowed generals and loyal retainers in mourning armor, qi heavy with grief and nascent soul pressure. At the center, her carriage—ebony wood carved with phoenix motifs twisted into thorns—halted with deliberate grace.
Madam Feng stepped down alone.
Tall, elegant even in vengeance—long raven hair bound severe, robes of deep crimson silk clinging to mature curves, face proud and beautiful despite lines etched by loss. Her eyes burned dark fire, nascent soul aura pressing like winter storm. Age meant power in cultivation; she carried both with unyielding poise.
Wei Chen's pride stood arrayed on the battlements—Tie Lan front and center, iron sword drawn, forces at her command. Yu's tribe growled below, Zhao Ling's phoenix guards integrated, Lin Xue and Su Mei flanking Wei Chen.
Madam Feng's gaze swept them, lingering on Zhao Ling—soft, awakened, glowing beside the dragon. Then longer on Wei Chen—golden sun brand visible under open robes, shameless strength radiating.
"Princess Zhao Ling," Madam Feng called, voice carrying velvet over steel. "Step forward. The empire stole my clan's future. Your bloodline owes repayment. Come willingly, and your… companions live."
Zhao Ling's hand tightened on Wei Chen's arm, phoenix qi flaring defiant. "I owe nothing. My path is chosen."
Tie Lan's sword rose. "You trespass on sworn ground, matriarch. Turn back."
Madam Feng's lips curved faint—cold amusement, but her eyes heated on Wei Chen. "The Iron Orchid… bent to a dragon's will. Intriguing."
Wei Chen stepped to the edge, fan open, golden fire dancing. "Demand all you want. She's pride now. Mine."
The matriarch's aura pressed heavier, testing wards. "Pride. Such a pretty word for conquest. I've heard whispers—the dragon who breaks proud women, forges devotion in jade beds. Is that how you claimed the princess? The general?"
Hidden tension simmered in her gaze—vengeance twisted with darker curiosity. Loss had hollowed her, but power stirred something taboo. Age-gap hunger, matriarch pride cracking under rumors of his fire.
Su Mei laughed low. "Jealous, old woman? Want to feel it yourself?"
Madam Feng's eyes flashed. "Insolent demon. I challenge the dragon. Duel. Win, and I retreat. Lose…" her voice dropped velvet, "and you kneel to me instead."
Wei Chen's grin sharpened. "Terms. But my pride sets the field."
She nodded once. Forces parted. The valley floor cleared—mist swirling as they descended to meet.
Madam Feng moved first—nascent soul qi exploding in crimson phoenix shadows, thorns lashing like vengeful whips. Wei Chen countered with fan sweeps—six-strand flame roaring bright: sun core, frost precision, demonic corrosion, primal earth, phoenix rebirth, iron discipline.
Clash shook the valley—her thorns piercing his fire, drawing blood. His counter blasts cracked her wards, heat sinking deep into her channels.
She pressed close mid-duel—palm striking his chest over the brand, nascent soul power trying to suppress. But the contact ignited—his Yang flaring hot against her mature Yin, phoenix blood recognizing kindred fire.
Madam Feng faltered, breath hitching. "This… heat…"
Wei Chen gripped her wrist, pulling her flush. "Feel it? Not conquest. Choice."
Her proud mask cracked—eyes widening as taboo hunger stirred. Loss, vengeance… and sudden, shameful want. The dragon who awakened young beauties—could he thaw her frozen core?
Forces watched stunned as she broke the hold, stepping back flushed. "Enough. For now."
She turned to Zhao Ling. "This isn't over, princess. Blood debt remains."
But her gaze lingered on Wei Chen—dark promise mixed with desire.
Madam Feng retreated, forces following. Whispers would spread: the matriarch hesitated.
Wei Chen pulled his pride close as they returned to the fortress. "She'll come again. Harder."
Tie Lan's sword lowered. "And alone next time."
Zhao Ling shivered against him. "She looked at you… like she wanted—"
Wei Chen kissed her temple. "We'll be ready."
But north, in her carriage, Madam Feng touched her lips—heat lingering where his fire had brushed.
Soon.
To be Continued
© Kishtika., 2026
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