Chapter 167: Chapter 167 – A Bold Move from Ying Jia

The words were directed at Tianlong, who had apparently materialized near the ceremonial platform without Chen noticing. But it wasn’t the question that made Chen’s world tilt on its axis.

It was the voice.

The same gentle cadence he remembered from childhood lullabies. The same slight accent from her homeland kingdom. The same warmth that had once made him feel safe and loved.

His mother’s voice.

Coming from the otherworldly beauty who had just tried to kill him, evident from the killing intent alone.

Chen’s bronze eyes widened in shock as he slowly turned to look at the woman again, his mind struggling to reconcile what he was seeing with what he was hearing.

“How?” The word escaped his lips as barely a whisper as his gaze bounced between the impossible woman and Tianlong’s smirking face.

The woman—his mother, somehow, impossibly—was looking at him now with eyes like liquid starlight. Her beauty was undimmed by proximity, if anything more stunning up close.

But there was no recognition in those eyes, no maternal warmth.

She looked at him like he was a stranger. A potentially dangerous one.

“How?” Chen repeated, louder this time, his voice cracking with desperate confusion. “Mother, what… what happened to you? How can you look so… so different?”

:: Disciple, don’t let yourself be influenced by familiar bonds. ::

’But master, she IS MY MOTHER!’ Zhao Chen was already losing his mind, as he was confused; the very reason he had survived and was fighting to claim the Empire throne was his mother’s death.

Then he discovered she was alive.

But he did not feel much from far away. Now, standing here, he felt this strange woman possessing her voice, even his master claiming she was his mother, and still showing such killing intent—he was shocked.

His emotions were akin to those of a boy who grew up, moved away from his parents, did his job, and then, when returning suddenly, felt for a moment—despite not feeling much from far away—the curses and clear murderous intent from his own parents, with whom he might not have had a strong bond, but held the memory of being cared for.

“Y-you, what have you done to her—”

DONG! DONG! DONG!

The thunderous chimes of the ceremonial bells suddenly echoed across the mountain peaks, their resonant tones cutting through Chen’s desperate question like divine intervention.

The sound reverberated through the valley, announcing to the nearly million gathered witnesses that the imperial wedding was about to begin.

Zhang Wuji materialized beside Tianlong with his characteristic blur of steel-gray motion, dropping to one knee. “Master, the Blossom Sect delegation has arrived. The ceremony must commence.”

Tianlong’s crimson eyes flicked from Chen’s anguished face to Ying Jia’s confused silver gaze, then to the massive crowds visible through the palace windows.

Nearly a quarter million people had gathered within viewing distance of the ceremonial platform alone, with countless more watching from the surrounding peaks.

’Perfect timing,’ he thought, noting how Chen’s emotional breakdown would have to be put on hold for the most public moment of the day.

“Of course,” Tianlong said smoothly, his voice carrying that casual authority that made even desperate sons freeze mid-sentence. “We can’t keep our guests waiting.”

He gestured toward the ceremonial platform visible through the great doors—a massive circular stage of white jade that had been erected in the palace’s central courtyard.

Golden dragons were carved into its surface, and thousands of flower petals had been scattered across its polished surface by devoted servants.

“Chen,” Tianlong continued, his tone almost paternal, “you’re welcome to witness your soon-to-be father’s wedding. Consider it a family reunion.”

Before Chen could respond, palace servants began flowing into the chamber—dozens of them in pristine white robes, moving with choreographed precision to escort the wedding party to the ceremony.

The four veiled brides rose in unison, their red silk dresses rustling like whispered promises. Even through their gossamer veils, their otherworldly beauty was apparent—four goddesses prepared to wed an emperor before the eyes of an empire.

Chen stumbled backward as the procession began moving past him, his bronze eyes wide with shock and confusion.

But it was Yu Xiang who acted decisively, her slender fingers wrapping around his wrist with surprising strength.

“Come,” she whispered urgently, her violet eyes sharp with calculation. “If we’re going to witness this, we need to be positioned correctly.”

The ceremonial platform blazed with golden light as the wedding party emerged from the palace. Tianlong strode forward in his magnificent black and crimson robes, every inch the conquering emperor.

Behind him walked four veiled figures in matching red silk, their forms radiating such divine beauty that even hardened cultivators in the audience held their breath.

The crowd’s reaction was immediate and overwhelming. Nearly a million voices rose in a thunderous cheer that shook the very mountains. Flower petals rained from the sky as Liora’s holographic instances scattered them from every dome-restaurant across the ten-mile celebration zone.

“LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR!”

“BLESSINGS ON THE IMPERIAL BRIDES!”

“MAY THE UNION BE BLESSED BY HEAVEN!”

An elderly Daoist priest stood waiting at the platform’s center, his ceremonial robes gleaming with protective formations.

This was Master Qingshan of the Celestial Mountain Sect, one of the few Nascent Soul elders powerful enough to officiate an imperial wedding without being overwhelmed by the participants’ auras.

“Honored guests,” the priest’s voice carried clearly across the vast crowd, enhanced by qi techniques, “we gather today to witness a union blessed by the heavens themselves. Four remarkable women have chosen to bind their fates to our emperor, creating bonds that will endure beyond this mortal realm.”

Tianlong took his position at the platform’s center, his crimson-gold eyes sweeping across the assembled multitude.

He could sense Chen and Yu Xiang positioned near the front of the cultivator section, the young man’s emotional turmoil radiating like heat from a forge.

The four brides arranged themselves in a line before him—Mei, Yue, Feng, and finally Ying Jia. Through their veils, he could see the anticipation in their postures, the slight trembling that spoke of nervousness mixed with desire.

“Let the ceremony begin,” Master Qingshan intoned.

Following ancient tradition, each bride stepped forward to receive the ceremonial blessing. One by one, they bowed deeply before their emperor-husband, the gesture both respectful and submissive.

The crowd fell silent as Tianlong moved to complete the ritual.

Custom demanded that he acknowledge each bride with a kiss—the first public act of their marriage.

He approached Mei first. Through her veil, he could see her dark eyes shining with joy and mischief. Their lips met in a gentle peck—sweet, chaste, appropriate for the watching masses. When they separated, she whispered so quietly only he could hear: “Thank you for the feast, husband.”

Yue was next. Her kiss carried more fire despite its brevity, her warrior’s spirit evident even in this tender moment. “You better give what I want,” she breathed against his lips, but there was affection in the curse.

Feng received her kiss with ice-queen composure, though he felt her tremble slightly as their lips touched. “I want you deep inside today,” she murmured formally, but her pale eyes held depths of passion.

Finally, he came to Ying Jia.

As he approached, her silver eyes weren’t focused on him.

Instead, her gaze had found Chen in the crowd, and the expression behind her veil was complex—pain, confusion, and something that might have been regret.

Chen stared back at his transformed mother, his bronze eyes wide with desperate hope and growing horror.

Even at this distance, the family resemblance was unmistakable in their bone structure, the way they both held their heads when concentrating.

Tianlong paused directly in front of Ying Jia. His voice carried clearly across the hushed crowd as he asked: “Do you understand why I brought him here?”

Her silver eyes flicked from Chen to Tianlong, and something shifted in her expression. Understanding dawned, followed by a flash of what might have been gratitude.

She lifted her delicate hands to clasp his face, her fingers tracing his jawline with surprising boldness. “Yes,” she whispered.

Then she pulled him down and kissed him.

Not the chaste peck the ceremony called for. Not the gentle acknowledgment the other wives had given.

This was a kiss of claiming—deep, passionate, her tongue invading his mouth with shocking aggression.

Her body literally pressed on him as her breasts, already strained under her clothes, seemed to mold to his chest, pressed tight enough as her hand gripped his hair like a handle without caring about anything as she deepened the kiss.

’!’

Even Tianlong was caught off guard by the intensity. He had expected compliance, perhaps reluctant acceptance, but she was fucking sucking his lips like she was trying to pluck them off.

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