"Please, spare me!" Elder Mu sobbed, his dirty face streaked with tears and grime, his frail hands clutching the tattered blanket.
"Why? Why? I've done nothing! Why must I suffer and die?"
[Why? Yeah, why…] The voice in his head grew clearer, wild with glee. [Why are you dying? Because Ming, that old crook, is dying! He's finally dying!]
[Hahaha! I'm dying laughing!]
[Ming, who called me brother, who promised we'd return to Earth together, the great emperor of Bright Hua, is dying!]
[Hahaha… he has this day! He wasn't so mighty, was he?]
[I helped him build this empire, only wanting to go home, and this is my reward! Blind and naive, I trusted him. Two time-travelers, but only one could live. I was too foolish… Thirty years, trapped in this useless body!]
[He feared my soul would escape, so he bound me here, in this rotting place, but even as my spirit fades, you die first!]
[Hahaha…]
The old eunuch shook, terrified by the crazed voice echoing in his mind. Its laughter rang off the damp, moldy walls of his filthy room, where the air stank of rot and waste. Screams from Yong Row's alleys, mixed with the clash of blades, grew louder, closer, a storm of death rolling in.
[Old man, don't worry. I'm dying too, my soul breaking apart. I won't bother you anymore.]
The voice softened, almost gentle, a tone it had never used before. [But I don't want you dead now. I want you to live, to thrive… to ruin Ming's heirs. Seduce his daughters and granddaughters, make them bear your children, shame his line, and piss on his grave.]
"Ow… it hurts!" Elder Mu wailed, a burning pain surging in his lower belly, so fierce he rolled on the bed, his thin frame thrashing against the splintered wood.
His long-castrated organ, now just a limp relic, swelled like a balloon, bursting through his tattered pants, rising like a fiery dragon. Veins bulged, the size massive: nearly thirty centimeters long, seven or eight thick, the head a terrifying ten centimeters wide, like a snake's mouth. The scar of his castration remained, a jagged mark that made it a grotesque, clawless beast, both fearsome and sad. Slowly, it softened, shrinking back, still huge at fifteen centimeters, dangling like a third leg between his withered thighs.
[In a month, your balls will regrow. Then, you can unleash as much as you want…] The voice sounded tired, fading like a dying flame. [As for surviving… heh.]
It turned mocking. [Ming, you looked down on me, yet your heirs dare practice my techniques.]
The voice faded away, leaving the old eunuch trembling in the dark, his breath ragged. Outside, the screams grew quieter, replaced by the wet sound of blood pooling on stone. Yong Row's air was thick with death, its stench mixing with the damp rot of the crumbling alleys.
Last month, when news of Ming's illness spread, his sons and grandsons were summoned to the palace. Spies whispered of his worsening state, their words slipping through the court like poison. The city hummed with tension, from crowded markets to silent noble houses, as factions prepared for the fight to come.
Ming had seventeen sons, but only three had the strength and support to claim the throne. The rest were too young, exiled to far lands, or locked in guarded towers, their names barely spoken.
Ren, the fourth son, was steady and clever, always careful, bowing deeply to Ming and charming officials with his plain, honest ways. Some said he was too cautious, lacking fire.
Tao, the ninth son, was a scholar with a sharp mind, loved by poets and thinkers. His words swayed the court, and his allies held key posts in the capital.
Zan, the twelfth son, was young and bold, his blood hot with ambition. His mother's noble family gave him the loyalty of generals, their armies ready to march at his word.
Qing, Ren's eldest daughter, was sent to the Xian Sect as a child, her talent for cultivation making her a bridge between Ren and the immortal sects. She returned to visit her dying grandfather, her presence a quiet show of the sect's support for Ren's claim. Her robes shimmered with faint light, marking her as a disciple of power, and her calm eyes hid a sharp mind.
The immortal sect's stance shook the court. Zan, in his grand mansion, smashed a jade cup in rage, his shouts echoing through the halls. Even Tao, usually calm, paced his study, his face tight with frustration. In a world where immortals held real power, their techniques bending nature itself, the sect's support was a prize that could tip the scales, and the other princes felt its weight.