last memory of his old life was the wet smack of asphalt against his cheek, the screech of tires, and the blinding white of headlights. Then nothing.
When consciousness returned, it was to the smell of smoke, damp earth, and something faintly metallic—blood. His blood. He groaned, lungs burning as he dragged in air thick with the scent of pine resin and distant burning wood. Cold rain needled his skin. He was lying in mud, half-buried under splintered planks that had once been someone else's roof.
He pushed himself up on trembling arms. The body beneath him was not the soft, sedentary one he remembered. It was leaner, harder, scarred. A stranger's body. The original owner's memories trickled in like cold water down his spine: Lu Qian, twenty-five, minor clerk in a crumbling border town, widowed mother, no children, conscripted tomorrow unless he took a wife today.
A translucent panel shimmered into existence before his eyes.
[Host Awakened: Dynasty Survival System]
[Objective: Marry. Procreate. Expand influence.]
[Refusal = Death, Slavery, or Conscription.]
[First Marriage Reward: Martial Art Fragment + Resource Cache + Elite Guard Token]
He laughed once, a cracked, disbelieving sound that turned into a cough. Truck-kun had finally claimed him—and dropped him into the one fantasy he'd jerked off to in secret for years: a dying world full of desperate, beautiful older women who needed a man to survive.
The rain intensified, drumming on the ruined roof beams. Somewhere nearby, a woman screamed—not in terror, but in raw, exhausted grief. Lu Qian staggered to his feet, mud sucking at his bare ankles, and followed the sound.
He found her in the remnants of a granary. Mid-thirties, maybe older, soaked silk clinging to heavy breasts that rose and fell with each sob. Her hair, once elegantly pinned, hung in wet black ropes down a back that curved into wide, maternal hips. The cloth of her robe had torn at the thigh, revealing pale skin streaked with mud and a glimpse of soft inner flesh that made his mouth go dry. She was trying to drag a sack of moldy grain, knuckles white, lips trembling.
She sensed him and whirled, grabbing a splintered plank like a club. Her eyes—dark, almond-shaped, lined with exhaustion—flared with defiance.
"Stay back," she hissed, voice husky from smoke and screaming. "I'll kill you before I let you take what's left."
Lu Qian raised both hands, rain streaming off his lashes. He couldn't help drinking her in: the way rainwater traced the deep valley between her breasts, how the soaked fabric outlined thick, darkened nipples stiff from cold. Lower, the curve of her belly—soft, fertile, the kind that promised warmth and give beneath his palms. His cock stirred, heavy and immediate, pressing against rough homespun trousers that suddenly felt far too tight.
"I'm not here to rob you," he said, voice rougher than he intended. "I'm… in the same shit as you."
Her gaze flicked over him—taking in the blood on his temple, the strange emptiness in his eyes that wasn't quite the original Lu Qian's—and something in her shoulders loosened a fraction.
"They burned the registry office," she whispered. "Tomorrow the warlord's men come. Any unmarried woman…" She didn't finish. She didn't need to.
Lu Qian stepped closer, slow, the way one approaches a spooked mare. The scent of her hit him—wet silk, smoke, and underneath it the faint, unmistakable musk of a woman who hadn't been touched in far too long. His pulse thudded in his ears.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Lady Mei," she answered, chin lifting proudly even as her lower lip trembled. "Widow of Captain Hao. They killed him last spring."
Mei. Perfect. Ripe. His obsession made flesh.
He stopped an arm's length away. Rain dripped from the sagging beams overhead, pattering onto her collarbones, sliding down into shadow. He watched one droplet disappear between her breasts and felt his throat click.
"I need a wife today," he said quietly. "You need a husband. The law is clear."
Her breath hitched. Those proud eyes searched his face, lingering on his mouth, then lower, where the outline of his erection was unmistakable even through wet cloth. A flush rose in her cheeks—anger, fear, or something else.
"You think I'll spread for the first man who—"
"No," he cut in, voice low. "I think you'll survive. And I think…" He let his gaze drag slowly down her body again, deliberate. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
It wasn't a lie. In his old life he'd spent hours scrolling milf tags, chasing that exact combination: mature beauty, heavy curves, the faint weariness that made surrender so much sweeter. And here she stood, real, breathing, trembling.
Mei's fingers tightened on the plank. Then, slowly, she let it fall into the mud.
"What do you offer besides a name on a burned ledger?" she asked, voice barely above the rain.
He stepped closer until he could feel the heat radiating from her skin despite the cold. Close enough to see the fine tremor in her full lower lip, the way her nipples had pebbled tighter under his stare.
"Protection," he murmured. "Warmth. Food, if I can find it. And…" His hand rose, slow enough for her to stop him, and brushed a wet strand of hair from her cheek. Her skin was silk over fever. "I'll make it good for you, Mei. Slow. Thorough. Until you forget every cold night you've spent alone."
Her breath caught audibly. The plank lay forgotten. He could see the war in her eyes—pride against need, fear against the sudden liquid heat he sensed gathering between her thighs.
She didn't pull away when his thumb traced the curve of her jaw, down the column of her throat, stopping just above the swell of her breast.
"Show me," she whispered, so softly he almost missed it over the rain. "Show me you mean it."
Lu Qian's control frayed like wet rope. He cupped the heavy weight of her breast through soaked silk, thumb circling the stiff peak. She gasped, arching into his touch despite herself. The fabric was so thin he could feel the velvet texture of her areola, the hard bead of her nipple begging for his mouth.
He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Not here," he growled. "Not in the mud like animals. When I take you, Mei, it'll be somewhere I can spread you out and taste every inch. I'll lick that sweet pussy until you're dripping down my chin, until you beg me to fill you."
Her knees buckled. He caught her around the waist, pulling her flush against him. She felt the hard length of his cock nestle against the soft give of her belly and made a small, desperate sound.
The system pinged softly in his mind—[Potential Wife Detected: Lady Mei (Grade: Exquisite)]. But he ignored it. This wasn't about rewards yet. This was about the slow, exquisite burn of finally having the fantasy in his arms, wet and trembling and real.
He pressed his forehead to hers, both of them breathing hard.
"Tonight," he promised against her lips. "We find shelter. We get dry. And then, Mei… I'm going to worship every ripe curve of you until you forget the world is ending outside."
Her answer was a shaky nod—and the subtle roll of her hips against his erection that told him the fire had already caught.
Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled like war drums. But inside the ruined granary, the only storm was the one building between a reincarnated pervert and the first of many mature, luscious wives he intended to claim.