Initially, of the Liberation Temple’s gals, only Dong Ling and Yan Le had enough gall to follow Xinzi onstage. But now, Yan Le regretted their move, wishing that she could stand in the front row, able to appreciate the burlesque performance from a spectator’s standpoint. Dong Ling, on the other hand, had mixed feelings, our monk’s performance drawing her into a world where Xinzi truly became Jiushen, and she turned into his wife—now forced to confront the harrowing choice of sharing her beloved.
Dong Ling wasn’t the only one. If every Liberation Temple gal spoke with honesty, Chun Xu, Tusha and even the Zhi-Zhu twins wouldn’t be willing to share their abbot. Only Yan Le would, purely due to her inner insecurities. But in a different world, under different circumstances, she too wouldn’t stand the sight of other beauties crowding Xinzi.
None of them could, but they wanted Xinzi, and Xinzi wanted them all. One side had to compromise, and it could never be him, for at the end of day, too many would be willing to give Xinzi what he wanted: everything.
Now, all they could do was to try and cement their position, rely on one another, and engrave themselves in Xinzi’s soul so perfectly that, even in 1,000 years, they’d still be by his side, fighting epic battles, or enjoying wine and the theater plays that they learned to love through him.
”Jiushen, you can build a hidden door from our room to hers. As the light goes out, I will pretend to close my eyes, letting you sneak out to spend the night with the harlot. But at the first shaft of morning light, my eyes will open wide, hoping to see you by my side,” Dong Ling declaimed her part, wrapping her hands around Xinzi’s head, and leaning on him.
Her lips curled into a smile that showcased both reluctance and surrender. In that smile, Xinzi saw more than the play, and his eyes sparkled at Dong Ling.
In most cultures of the Great Desolation World, middle to upper-class husbands and wives didn’t share one room—much less the same bed. Typically, only “heretical” cultures favored such behavior, and even then, only if the two married out of love—and not for political gains. Thus, in many men and women’s eyes, Jiushen’s heretical habits became an expression of freedom, the embracing of both the warmest and darkest aspects of human life.
The shift between burlesque comedy and heart-stopping rhetoric mesmerized the audience.
Loud clapping sounds thundered across the prairie, supported by frantic head nods and calls for an encore.
Onstage, Yan Le too clapped, her face beaming at the duo.
Only Chun Xu didn’t stand in the audience. The Sword Fairy lay on a long tree branch, holding the Nameless Sword. But while her eyes stayed shut, and her Spiritual Sense studied the embryo concealed in the Nameless Sword, Chun Xu didn’t miss one bit of the performance.
Occasionally, her eyes would open, flashing with conflicting emotions.
’Shui Haoyue, I used to laugh at you for being foolish enough to let your heart mess up your mind. Little did I expect that I’d fall into the same trap. How are you nowadays? Hope you’ve recovered.’ Chun Xu’s thoughts drifted to past events.
The play ended here, Xinzi, Dong Ling and Yan Le bowed at the audience, and under a new round of applause, the three walked down the wooden stairs.
The Festival of Youth truly began. In the background, the Green-Hat Farmers cooked lavish meals, including Cream of Burning Fruit Soup, a local specialty that heightened blood circulation and nerve sensitivity. Due to having been kept in shackles for years, decades or centuries, most of the village’s women didn’t know how to cook. Not that they needed to, since the sub-Pulse Condensation men were the ones in need of mortal food.
Instead of cooking duties, Xinzi had the women wear hula costumes and learn a tribal dance, joining 60 White-Winged Demonesses that played an orchestra of zither, pipa, flute and drum with masterful skill and mystical harmony. Xinzi too joined them, singing bawdy songs while banging the drum as if he was born to do so.
Meanwhile, our monk channeled a pile of spirit stones to create a self-operating Winery and Meat-Processing Factory. The two worked in concert. The Winery siphoned the Spring of Eternal Youth and Eternal Dragon Blood that Xinzi dumped into large containers, adding the two to Pure Spirit Grapes, 100 Soul Nurturing Divine Pills and other ingredients to produce the best spiritual wine of the Four Continents.
At the same time, by relying on Xinzi’s Metamorphic Flame, the Meat-Processing Factory handled the roasting of the Eternal Dragons’ meat chops, tempering them into aliments that even the Green-Hat Farmers could handle.
They were not experts at cooking meat, but as master chefs, they had no trouble following the recipes that Xinzi imparted them with. Dong Ling joined the Green-Hat Farmers, taking notes with rapt attention so she too could become an outstanding Spiritual Food Chef.
In the Great Desolation World—especially in the Eastern Continent where Mysterious Beasts had no rights, Spiritual Food Chefs were in high demand, celebrated by the nobility with gracious wages and high prestige. Dong Ling couldn’t care less about job opportunities, only wanting to add another trick to her bag so she could Xinzi glued to her chest.
Thus, 60 Ordained Dragons became the foundation of Xinzi’s biggest feast to date—their slaughter honored by complete consumption.
The feast was served promptly. Few bothered to sit to enjoy it, with most people eating and drinking as they walked across the prairies.
”Drink! Drink! Drink! This is your festival, your opportunity to let go of all your fears and worries to indulge in harmonious bliss!
No one can disturb this day!!
No one can intrude upon your revelry!!!
So drink and indulge to your heart’s content. The more enjoyment you get from this event, the greater your abbot’s satisfaction!” Still wearing his golden Jiushen mask, Xinzi gamboled through the girls’ ranks, encouraging wanton drinking and abandonment to the euphoria that quickly pervaded the air.
Even Tusha and Chun Xu caught themselves enjoying the vibes, relaxing at their own pace. Yan Le poured Tusha wine, acting as a dutiful disciple while Chun Xu went from brew to brew, learning why Zi Yao was so fond of wine drinking.
Occasionally, Xinzi would vanish with a pair of girls. Moans, squelching, and the sound of flesh clapping flesh would echo from nearby trees, punctuated by dropping leaves and the occasional tremor. But with the drunkenness and loud music dulling everyone’s senses, few could notice our lecherous monk’s misdeeds.
At the moment, the Zhi-Zhu polished Xinzi’s meat-stick, A’Zhi at the left, A’Zhu at the right, with both pressing and dragging their tongues up and down his shaft. Thick cum already covered their faces. Yet, as the twins’ saliva meshed on Xinzi’s cock, and their lips sucked and sucked on his glans, their eyes stayed locked on his—thirsting for more.