Piggy

The spring sun hung high over the village of Gaolaozhuang, casting long shadows across the dirt roads. Birds sang in the peach trees, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers. But inside the small wooden house at the edge of town, there was no joy.

Eight-year-old Zhu Pengchun lay on a straw mat, his face pale as chalk. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air drifting through the cracked window. His grandmother knelt beside him, wringing a wet cloth and pressing it to his skin. His grandfather stood by the door, muttering prayers to the kitchen god.

"The fever won't break," the old woman whispered, her voice trembling. "He's burning up from the inside."

The boy's breath came in shallow gasps. His small chest rose and fell unevenly. His eyes were closed, but every so often they fluttered, revealing whites tinged with yellow. The village doctor had already come and gone, shaking his head. "There's nothing more I can do. The child's life force is fading."

High above the clouds, a streak of silver light cut across the blue sky. Tai Bai Jin Xing, the Grand White Star of the heavens, was returning from a mission in the eastern provinces. His long white beard flowed behind him like river mist, and his golden robes shimmered with starlight. He carried a jade gourd on his belt, sealed with celestial runes. Inside it swirled the last remnants of a pig demon—a beast that had terrorized a farming village until he had struck it down with a single bolt of heavenly lightning.

As he passed over Gaolaozhuang, Tai Bai Jin Xing paused. His clairvoyant eyes, which could see through mountains and across seas, turned downward. He saw the small body on the mat, the weeping grandmother, the helpless grandfather. He saw the threads of fate wrapped around the boy's soul, fraying and snapping one by one.

"Three more hours," the immortal murmured to himself. "Then the child will pass."

He observed the boy's past: a kind heart, a gentle nature, a love for feeding stray dogs and helping his grandfather carry firewood. The celestial being stroked his beard. He felt the stirrings of compassion, but more than that, he felt the pull of destiny.

"There is a purpose here," he said. "A mortal life cut short, and a demon essence in need of a vessel. Perhaps this is not a tragedy, but a forging."

Tai Bai Jin Xing descended. The villagers saw no flash of light, heard no thunder. But inside the house, a warmth filled the room, and the grandmother looked up to see an old man with a kindly face standing by the bed. He wore clothes finer than any she had ever seen, and his eyes held the depth of stars.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice catching.

"A friend," said Tai Bai Jin Xing. "Step aside, good woman. Your grandson's fate is not yet sealed."

He raised his hand, and the jade gourd floated up. The seal broke with a soft hiss, and a wisp of black smoke curled out. The pig demon's essence writhed for a moment, still carrying the last echoes of its former master's rage. But Tai Bai Jin Xing chanted a binding charm, and the essence settled, becoming still and pure.

Then he placed his palm on the boy's chest.

The light that erupted from his hand was white and blinding. The grandmother screamed and covered her eyes. The grandfather fell to his knees. And in the center of that light, the pig demon essence sank into Zhu Pengchun's heart like a seed into soil.

For a long moment, there was silence. The boy's body arched off the mat, his mouth opening in a silent scream. His skin rippled. His bones groaned. Then he collapsed, and the light faded.

Tai Bai Jin Xing was gone.

Zhu Pengchun opened his eyes. He felt strange—stronger, heavier, as if his body had gained a new weight he couldn't see. He sat up. His grandmother was staring at him, her face pale with shock.

"Pengchun? Is that you?"

He tried to speak, but his voice came out deeper, rougher. "Grandma, I'm thirsty."

She handed him a cup of water. When he drank, he noticed his hands in the lamplight. They were the same hands, but the fingers seemed thicker, the nails darker. He didn't understand. He was just glad to be alive.

Over the next two years, Zhu Pengchun grew. He grew faster than the other children, broader in the shoulders, with a face that was handsome but somehow... off. His nose was slightly flattened, his ears a little larger than normal. The other kids teased him, calling him "snout-face." He learned to laugh it off, but sometimes at night he would look in the bronze mirror and wonder why his reflection seemed to shift, just for a moment, into something else.

He was ten years old when he met her.

It was a hot summer day at the river. Zhu Pengchun had come to catch fish for his grandmother's dinner. He waded into the cool water, his trousers rolled to his knees, a bamboo spear in his hand. The river was wide here, and deep in the middle, with willows drooping over the bank like green curtains.

He heard a splash. Not a fish—too loud. He looked up and saw a girl in the water, her black hair plastered to her face. She was about his age, maybe a year younger, and she was staring at him with wide, frightened eyes.

"Who are you?" he asked.

She didn't answer. Instead, she turned and tried to swim away, but her movements were clumsy, desperate. She was not a good swimmer. She went under for a moment, came up spluttering.

"Hey, wait!" Zhu Pengchun dropped his spear and waded deeper. "Don't be scared. I won't hurt you."

He reached out a hand. The girl flinched, but she was too exhausted to resist. He pulled her to the shallows, where she collapsed on the grass, panting.

Up close, he saw that her clothes were fine silk, embroidered with silver thread. She wore a jade pendant shaped like a dragon. Her eyes were a strange, luminous gold.

"Who are you?" he asked again.

She looked at him, and then her gaze dropped to his hands. Her breath caught. A look of terror crossed her face. "Your shadow," she whispered. "It has a pig's head."

Zhu Pengchun looked down. In the sunlight, his shadow stretched across the grass. But the shadow's head was not his. It was round, with a snout and two pointed ears.

He felt his stomach drop. He had seen it before, in the mirror, in the corner of his eye. But this was the first time someone else had seen it.

He expected her to run. Instead, she stayed.

"What are you?" she asked, her voice shaking but curious.

"I'm... I'm Zhu Pengchun. I'm a person." He swallowed. "I had a fever when I was little. An immortal saved me. But something went wrong."

The girl studied him. She saw the kindness in his eyes, the worry on his face. After a long moment, she sat up and said, "My name is Ao Ling'er. I ran away from home."

"Why?"

"Because my father wants me to marry a sea serpent I've never met. He says it's for the alliance of the four seas, but I don't care about alliances. I want to play in the sun."

Zhu Pengchun didn't fully understand, but he nodded. "You can stay here, if you want. I'll bring you food."

The dragon girl smiled. And so began two years of friendship.

They met at the river every day. She taught him to hold his breath underwater for a full minute—she could hold hers for an hour, but she didn't tell him why. He showed her how to catch fish with his hands, how to climb the old willow tree, how to whistle between his teeth. They laughed together, argued over who got the biggest peach, and fell asleep in the grass under the afternoon sun.

But the dragon king's soldiers were searching. One evening, when the sky was painted orange and purple, a squad of shrimp soldiers and crab generals burst through the reeds. Their armor was crustacean-hard, and they moved with unnatural precision.

"Princess Ao Ling'er," the lead general boomed, "you are commanded to return to the Eastern Sea immediately. Your father's patience has ended."

Ling'er stood in front of Zhu Pengchun, her arms spread. "I won't go!"

The general's eyestalks twitched. "We have orders to use force if necessary."

Zhu Pengchun stepped forward. He was only twelve, but he had grown strong. "Leave her alone!"

One of the shrimp soldiers lunged, its claw snapping. Zhu Pengchun punched it, feeling his fist connect with hard chitin. The soldier staggered. For a moment, something hot stirred in his chest—a rage that was not fully his own. His shadow writhed, and the pig's head grew larger.

The general saw it. "A half-demon," he hissed. "This is a complication. Take the princess now."

They grabbed Ling'er. She fought, scratching and biting, but they were too strong. They carried her toward the river, where the water was already swirling into a whirlpool.

"Pengchun!" she screamed. "I'll find you again! I swear it!"

Then she was gone, pulled into the depths. The whirlpool closed, and the river was still.

Zhu Pengchun stood alone on the bank, his fists clenched, tears streaming down his face. He had never felt so helpless.

Two years passed. He grew older, taller, but the loneliness festered. He stopped going to the river. He helped his grandparents in the fields, but his heart wasn't in it. The other villagers gave him strange looks. They had heard whispers—that the Zhu boy wasn't right, that he had a demon's blood.

On his fourteenth birthday, a traveling merchant held a banquet in the village square to celebrate his daughter's wedding. Everyone was invited. Zhu Pengchun's grandparents encouraged him to go, to socialize, to be a normal boy.

He sat at a long table, surrounded by the smell of roasted meat and the sound of laughter. A jug of rice wine was passed around. He had never drunk before, but when the cup came to him, he took a sip. It was bitter, but warm. He took another. And another.

Across the table sat a young woman, the merchant's niece. She was beautiful, with rosy cheeks and eyes like dark cherries. She smiled at him, and in his drunken haze, Zhu Pengchun felt a heat spread through his body. His chest tightened. His skin prickled.

He felt something rising inside him—a wild, desperate hunger. His vision blurred. The faces around him twisted into masks of fear.

He looked down at his hands. They were covered in coarse black hair. His fingers had become trotters.

He screamed. So did everyone else.

"The pig demon! The pig demon has come!"

Tables overturned. Women fled. Men grabbed pitchforks and torches. Zhu Pengchun stumbled backward, his snout twitching, his ears flapping. He tried to speak, to explain, but only grunts came out.

"Kill it! Burn it!"

He ran. He crashed through the back of the tent, tore through the fields, and did not stop until he reached the forest. He collapsed at the base of an old oak, sobbing into his hairy hands.

Two hours later, his skin smoothed. His hands returned to normal. But the damage was done.

When he staggered back to the village, the gates were closed. His grandparents had passed away the previous winter. His aunt and uncle stood at the gate, their faces hard.

"Zhu Pengchun is dead," his uncle said. "You are a pig demon wearing his skin. You have no claim to this house, this land, or any property."

"But I'm Pengchun," he pleaded. "Aunt, you used to hold me when I was small."

"You are a demon," she said, and spat. "Leave this place and never return."

The other relatives gathered behind them, nodding. They had already divided his parents' inheritance. The law would never side with a demon.

Zhu Pengchun turned and walked away. He walked through the forest, along the river, past the old willow tree where he and Ling'er had carved their names. The carvings were still there, weathered but visible. He touched them with his fingers, then continued south.

Three days later, he found a dilapidated temple half-hidden in a bamboo grove. The roof had caved in, and weeds grew through the floor. A broken statue of a bodhisattva lay on its side, covered in moss. It was shelter.

He sat against a cracked pillar, too tired to cry. The sun set. Darkness filled the temple. He clos

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It had been several weeks since Zhu Pengchun had last spoken with the little dragon girl, and a peculiar restlessness had settled in his chest. He missed her voice, her teasing, the way she would roll her eyes at his clumsy jokes. So, late one evening, after the last guest had retired and the inn fell silent, he pulled out the communication orb from his sleeve.

The orb glowed with a soft blue light as he channeled a sliver of his immortal energy into it. It hummed for a moment, then crackled to life. A faint, flickering image of the little dragon girl appeared within the glass—her hair slightly mussed, cheeks flushed, eyes bright and wild.

"Marshal Tianpeng?" she said, her voice breathless and strained. "What a… pleasant surprise."

Zhu Pengchun squinted at the orb. "Little Dragon Girl, you look a bit off. Are you well? I haven't seen you in a while."

"Oh, yes, yes," she said quickly, too quickly. "I'm just… cultivating. Deep cultivation. Very strenuous."

A strange sound filtered through the orb—a rhythmic, wet gasp, almost like a pant. Zhu Pengchun tilted his head. "What's that noise? Is someone there with you?"

"No!" she squeaked, then cleared her throat. "It's my qi. Surging. You know how it is with advanced techniques. Very noisy."

Behind her, barely within the orb's narrow field of vision, a dark shape moved. Wang Geda, his bare torso slick with sweat, gripped the little dragon girl's hips and drove into her from behind with relentless, measured strokes. She bit her lip to stifle a moan, each thrust sending a jolt up her spine that she desperately tried to mask as coughs or sighs.

Zhu Pengchun nodded slowly. "Ah, cultivation. Right. I remember those days. Very intense."

"Extremely intense," she agreed, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the table. Wang Geda's pace quickened. Her breath hitched. "So, what did you want to discuss?"

They chatted for what felt like an eternity. Zhu Pengchun told her about the inn's recent business, about Miao Miao's growing skill with the books, about a peculiar customer who had tried to pay with a sack of laughing mushrooms. The little dragon girl responded in monosyllables, her eyes glazed, her voice catching at the most awkward moments.

Then, Wang Geda's rhythm shifted. It became wild, erratic—a prelude to the frenzy she knew too well. His grip on her waist tightened, and he let out a low growl.

The little dragon girl's composure shattered. "Marshal! My pet beast—it's gone berserk! I must go! Now!"

"Pet beast? What kind of—"

"Goodbye!" she gasped, and the orb went dark.

Zhu Pengchun stared at the dead crystal in his palm. "What kind of beast is so fierce it makes you gasp like that?" He shrugged, tossing the orb onto the bed. "Probably a dragon. They're high-strung."

He called it a night. The inn was quiet except for the faint creak of floorboards. Miao Miao was already asleep in the next room, her tail curled around her pillow. With the little dragon girl absent, the workload had nearly doubled, but Miao Miao never complained. She worked silently, efficiently, with a devotion that sometimes made Zhu Pengchun uncomfortable.

As she drifted off that night, Miao Miao clutched her blanket and whispered to herself, "Even if she never comes back, I will always stay by Mr. Zhu's side." Her ears twitched, and she smiled in the dark.

The next morning, a flurry of scratching at the inn's back door woke them. Miao Miao found a group of cat demon subordinates, their eyes wide with urgency.

"Mistress!" one mewed, bowing low. "Great news from the Demon Animal City!"

Miao Miao narrowed her eyes. "Speak."

"The Lion Beast King has died of old age. A new beast king must be chosen. The tournament begins in three days. You, as our leader, have a chance to claim the throne!"

Miao Miao's tail shot up straight. "The Cat Beast King," she breathed. She had dreamed of this. The Lion Beast King had held the throne for decades, his grip absolute. Now, a power vacuum.

Zhu Pengchun, leaning against the doorframe, chuckled. "A beast king tournament? That sounds like something worth seeing."

"Mr. Zhu, I must go," Miao Miao said, her voice firm.

"Then we go together." He clapped his hands. "We'll close the inn for a few days. I've been meaning to stretch my legs."

The journey to the Demon Animal City took half a day. The city was a sprawling mass of crude stone buildings, animal dens, and open-air arenas. The streets teemed with every manner of demon—tiger demons with striped faces, horse demons with hooves that clacked on the cobblestones, rabbit demons with twitching noses and nervous eyes. They all converged on the central arena, where a grand wooden stage had been erected.

Miao Miao went straight to the registration tent, her head held high. Zhu Pengchun, meanwhile, wandered the city's winding alleys, curious and amused.

A commotion drew him to a small clearing. A crowd had gathered around two large demons—a water buffalo demon, broad as a boulder, and a rhinoceros demon, thick-skinned and horned. They were backing away from a short, wiry figure.

"Want more?" the small figure barked.

It was a rat demon in human form, no taller than 150 centimeters. His skin was the color of wheat, and he stood with his fists clenched, muscles coiled like steel springs. The buffalo and rhinoceros—each three times his size—exchanged a glance, then turned and fled.

Zhu Pengchun laughed, clapping. "Well done, brother! That was a sight to behold."

The rat demon spun around, his dark eyes sizing up the stranger. He grinned, revealing sharp teeth. "These big oafs thought they could push me around. I showed 'em." He jabbed a thumb at his chest. "Name's Li Shimi. You look like a good man. Let me buy you a drink."

They found a ramshackle tavern near the arena. Li Shimi ordered a jar of cheap spirit brew and poured generously. "So, who are you? You've got an immortal aura about you."

Zhu Pengchun smiled and raised his cup. "Zhu Pengchun, once Marshal Tianpeng of the Heavenly Court."

Li Shimi choked on his drink. "Marshal Tianpeng? The one who—" He slapped the table. "Brother! You're a legend! A big brother who made it all the way to heaven and back!" He refilled both cups. "We're brothers now. Call me Li Shimi. I hope my immortal big brother will look after a mere mortal demon like me."

Zhu Pengchun laughed heartily. "Then brothers we are." They clinked cups.

They drank and talked until the sun began to slant. Li Shimi spoke of his fights, his ambition, his dream of one day challenging the beast king. Zhu Pengchun listened, amused and touched. When they finally parted, Li Shimi bowed low.

"I'll see you at the tournament, big brother."

Zhu Pengchun returned to the inn where they were staying—a cramped room above a butcher's shop. Miao Miao was waiting for him, her expression bright.

"I'm scheduled to fight in two days," she said. "The first match is against a wolf demon. I can win."

"You look confident."

"I am." Her tail flicked proudly. "For the cat demons, and for you, Mr. Zhu. I won't embarrass us."

Zhu Pengchun smiled and patted her head. "I never thought you would."

That night, the city hummed with anticipation. Beasts howled, drums pounded, and the air smelled of blood and promise. The beast king tournament was about to begin, and both Miao Miao and a small, fierce rat demon named Li Shimi intended to make their mark.

The years had a way of slipping by when you least expected it. One moment Zhu Pengchun was a pig demon hiding in the mountains, the next he was twenty-three years old, standing exactly one meter and sixty-seven centimeters tall, and the proud owner of an inn in the bustling port city of Haizhou.

The twenty taels of gold that Tai Bai Jin Xing had given him had been enough to buy a modest two-story building near the docks. The paint was peeling in places, and the wooden beams creaked with every gust of wind, but to Zhu Pengchun, it was a palace. He hung a sign above the door that read "Drunken Cloud Inn" in bold black characters, and from that day forward, he was no longer a wandering demon—he was a businessman.

But running an inn on a shoestring budget meant cutting corners wherever possible. Zhu Pengchun became the innkeeper, the cook, the cleaner, the bookkeeper, and the errand boy all rolled into one. He refused to hire help, reasoning that every copper saved was a copper that could go toward bettering the establishment. When guests grew hungry, he would roll up his sleeves and fry up a few simple dishes—stir-fried greens, braised pork belly, and a fish stew that had become something of a local favorite. The bracelet Tai Bai Jin Xing had given him was never removed from his left wrist. It hummed with a faint, protective energy, ensuring that no matter how much he drank with his customers or how long he stared at the pretty women who passed through the inn, the pig demon within him never showed its face.

Life was simple. Life was good.

Until the knocking came.

It was late afternoon, and Zhu Pengchun was wiping down the bar counter, his mind already drifting toward the evening's dinner preparations. The inn was empty for the moment, the lunch crowd having dispersed back to their ships and warehouses. A rhythmic tapping came from the front door—three quick raps, then a pause, then two more.

Zhu Pengchun set down his rag and shuffled over. He unlatched the door and pulled it open.

A woman stood on the threshold, her face half-hidden behind a gauze veil and a wide-brimmed bamboo hat. Her silhouette was striking—tall, with curves that threatened to burst through the white silk dress she wore. The dress was cut daringly low, exposing the upper swell of her enormous breasts and the deep valley of cleavage between them. She was easily one meter and seventy-eight centimeters tall, towering over him by a full hand's width.

"Brother Zhu," she said, her voice soft and trembling with barely contained excitement. "Is it me? Do you remember me?"

Zhu Pengchun squinted. There was something familiar about her, but he couldn't quite place it. "I'm sorry, miss. Have we met before?"

The woman laughed—a sound like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. She reached up and removed her hat, then pulled down her veil.

Two small, elegant dragon horns sprouted from her temples, curving back through her long black hair. Her skin was pale and flawless, dotted here and there with a few iridescent dragon scales that caught the afternoon light. Her face was angelic—delicate features, large eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses, a small nose, and full lips that parted in a warm smile. She looked like a celestial being who had wandered down from the heavens.

"It's me, Brother Zhu," she said, her voice gentle and soft, like a whispered secret. "Ao Ling'er. The little dragon girl. Don't you recognize your playmate?"

Zhu Pengchun's jaw dropped. "Little Dragon Girl? But... but your father took you back to the Dragon Palace! We were only children then!"

Ao Ling'er's smile turned mischievous. "He tried to keep me there. But I put up quite a fight, I'll have you know. The Dragon King is powerful, but he's no match for a determined daughter." She stepped forward and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "I missed you, Brother Zhu."

Zhu Pengchun hugged her back, his heart swelling with joy. The years melted away, and for a moment, they were children again, playing by the riverbank.

And so, the two childhood friends began running the inn together.

Ao Ling'er turned out to be a natural at hospitality. She greeted guests with her gentle demeanor and soft voice, and her luminous beauty brought customers flocking in from all over the city. Sailors, merchants, and travelers alike would come to the Drunken Cloud Inn just to catch a glimpse of the dragon lady with the glasses and the heavenly face. Business boomed.

Zhu Pengchun still treated her like a little sister. He would ruffle her hair, tease her about her glasses, and cook her favorite dishes after the inn closed for the night. Ao Ling'er, for her part, was openly affectionate, constantly calling him "Brother Zhu" and laughing at his jokes. She was straightforward and innocent, and she never once thought to examine the flutter in her chest when he smiled at her.

They worked side by side, day after day. When the inn was empty, they would play word games or arm-wrestle across the bar. On quiet afternoons, they would stroll through the market together, Zhu Pengchun buying her candied hawthorn sticks and silk ribbons, just as he had when they were children.

But childhood had a way of ending whether you wanted it to or not.

It happened on an ordinary Tuesday. The inn was quiet, with no guests checked in and none expected until evening. Zhu Pengchun had woken late and stumbled downstairs, still half-asleep. He needed to wash his face and start the day's prep work. The bathroom was on the second floor, and he didn't bother knocking. It was early, and he was certain he was alone.

He pushed the door open.

Steam billowed out, warm and fragrant with the scent of jasmine soap. In the center of the room, a large wooden tub sat half-filled with water. And in that water sat Ao Ling'er, her back to the door, her long hair wet and plastered to her shoulders.

She turned at the sound of the door opening.

Zhu Pengchun's mind went blank.

The light streaming through the window caught every curve of her body. Her breasts were enormous—full and round and perfect, the water lapping at their undersides. Her skin was smooth and pale, the scattered dragon scales on her hips and ribs catching the light like scattered gems. Her waist was slender, her hips wide, her legs long and shapely. Water dripped from her hair and ran down her body.

She looked like a goddess. A beautiful, naked, very surprised goddess.

"Brother Zhu!" she gasped, and immediately sank lower into the water until only her head and horns were visible. Her face had turned crimson.

Zhu Pengchun felt his own face burn. He yanked the door shut with a bang and pressed his back against the wall, his heart pounding like a war drum.

"I'm sorry!" he shouted through the door, his voice cracking. "I didn't know you were in there! I thought I was alone! I'm so sorry, Ling'er!"

A long pause. Then, her voice came through, shy but forgiving. "It's not your fault, Brother Zhu. I... I forgot to lock the door."

Zhu Pengchun squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to force the image of her out of his mind, but it lingered, stubborn and vivid. He shook his head violently, as if that could dislodge the memory. She was his little sister. His childhood friend. Nothing more.

But inside the bathroom, Ao Ling'er sat in the cooling water, her hands pressed to her burning cheeks. Her heart was beating so fast she could hear it in her ears. She had never felt like this before—flustered, shy, and secretly, unaccountably pleased.

She touched her lips and wondered why she couldn't stop smiling.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the empty street. Zhu Pengchun pulled the heavy wooden door of the inn open, the familiar creak sounding louder than usual in the silence. He stepped onto the threshold and froze. Not a single soul walked the road. No merchants hawking wares, no children chasing each other, no old men smoking pipes on their doorsteps. Just dust motes floating in the golden light.

The little dragon girl appeared beside him, wiping her hands on her apron. "Strange," she murmured, her brow furrowing. "This street is never empty at this hour."

Before Zhu Pengchun could answer, a flicker of movement caught his eye. A shadow darted across the rooftop opposite. Then another. And another. From the alleyways and eaves, cats emerged—dozens of them, their eyes gleaming like tiny lanterns in the morning gloom. They gathered at the inn's entrance, forming a silent semicircle. Some sat primly, tails curled around paws. Others paced with restless energy, their fur rippling with an unnatural sheen.

The little dragon girl's nostrils flared. "Demonic energy," she whispered, her hand instinctively going to the hilt of the blade hidden beneath her robe. "But there's something else mixed in. Immortal energy."

The cats parted, and a figure leaped down from the rooftop, landing soundlessly on the cobblestones. She was tall, standing nearly a head above most of her feline companions. A red hat shaped like cat ears sat perched on her head, partially concealing the actual cat ears that twitched beneath it. Her long black hair fell straight and glossy past her shoulders, and at the corners of her eyes, a touch of red eyeshadow gave her gaze an almost hypnotic intensity. She wore a long, flowing red dress with a crisp white apron tied over it, and tall high-heeled shoes clicked against the stones as she took a step forward.

The little dragon girl's body tensed. "Who goes there? State your name!"

The woman smiled, a charming, catlike expression that crinkled the corners of her eyes. She placed a hand over her heart and gave a slight bow. "I am the leader of the Dahongshan Cat Demon Clan. Cat Demon Miao Miao, at your service."

Zhu Pengchun blinked. The name stirred something in his memory, a distant echo of a time he couldn't quite grasp.

Miao Miao's gaze landed on him, and her face lit up with pure, unguarded joy. She rushed forward, her dress swishing around her legs, and stopped just short of colliding with him. "Mr. Zhu! It's really you!" Her voice trembled with excitement.

He took a step back, startled. "Do I know you?"

Her smile softened. "You saved my life years ago. I was just a stray kitten then, caught in a hunter's trap. You freed me and tended to my wounds." She looked down, her cheeks flushing. "I never forgot. I've been looking for you ever since. When I heard you were running an inn here, I came as fast as I could. I want to work for you, to repay that debt."

The little dragon girl stepped between them, her eyes narrowed. "And the demonic energy? The immortal energy? What are you really after?"

Miao Miao met her gaze without flinching. "I am what I am—a cat demon with a touch of immortality from my cultivation. But I mean no harm. I only wish to serve Mr. Zhu, to be a helper in his inn. I can cook, clean, greet guests, and keep the place lively." She smiled again, this time with a hint of mischief. "And I'm very good at catching mice."

The little dragon girl studied her for a long moment. She sensed no malice, only an earnestness that was hard to dismiss. Finally, she sighed. "Fine. You can stay. But I'll be watching you."

Miao Miao clapped her hands together. "Thank you! You won't regret it, Miss Dragon Lady."

Zhu Pengchun rubbed the back of his neck, still unsure how he had gained such a devoted follower. "Well, I suppose we could use an extra pair of hands."

And so it was that the inn gained a third member. Miao Miao threw herself into the work with infectious enthusiasm. She learned the layout of the kitchen in an afternoon, charmed the early customers with her playful banter, and somehow managed to keep the floors spotless while humming a cheerful tune. Her laughter rang through the halls, and even the grumpiest patrons found themselves smiling.

That night, after the last guest had retired and the candles were snuffed out, Miao Miao slipped out the back door. The moon hung low and full, casting silver light on the alley. Her cat demon subordinates waited there, their forms barely visible in the shadows. They bowed low.

"Boss," one of them said, a tabby with a scar over his eye. "We've secured the surroundings. No threats detected."

Miao Miao nodded, her playful demeanor replaced by a calm authority. "Good. Keep watch. The inn and its people are under our protection. If anyone tries to harm Mr. Zhu or the dragon lady, you answer to me."

The cats bowed again. "Understood, Boss."

She straightened, her red hat catching the moonlight. "Now go. Rest. Tomorrow is another day of honest work." She smiled softly. "And another day to repay my debt."

The cats dispersed into the night, silent as shadows. Miao Miao lingered a moment longer, looking up at the inn's warm, glowing windows. Then she turned and slipped back inside, ready to start again at dawn—as the cheerful helper who always had a kind word for Mr. Zhu.

The morning sun had barely cleared the rooftops when Zhu Pengchun began his daily trek to the market. The wooden cart creaked beneath its load—sacks of rice, bundles of greens, ripe melons, and a haunch of pork wrapped in oilcloth. The inn’s stores needed replenishing, and the cook would have his hide if he returned with anything less.

He pulled the cart through the winding streets, his sandals slapping against the cobblestones. The city was stirring. Merchants called out, steam rose from noodle stalls, and the smell of frying dough filled the air. Zhu Pengchun kept his head down, focused on the road ahead.

As he passed the mouth of a narrow alley, a commotion caught his ear. Grunts. Curses. The sound of flesh meeting flesh. He slowed the cart and peered into the shadows.

Two men stood over a third who was pressed against the wall. The victim was enormous—fat, muscular, with a greasy bald head that gleamed in the dim light. His face was twisted in pain as one of the men drove a fist into his gut. He coughed, spittle flying.

“Think you can mouth off, you bloated toad?” the taller assailant snarled. He was lean, with sharp features and eyes that held a feral glint.

Zhu Pengchun tightened his grip on the cart handles. “Hey! Stop that!”

The two men turned. Their movements were fluid, predatory. The shorter one had a wolfish grin, teeth too pointed to be natural. The tall one’s eyes narrowed, and Zhu Pengchun felt a chill crawl up his spine. These were not ordinary men. His gut knew it before his mind caught up.

The tall one scanned the street. Seeing no one nearby, he laughed softly. “Look here, brother. A mortal pulling a cart. We could eat him, and nobody would know.”

“Humans eating humans?” Zhu Pengchun said, stepping back. “No—you’re demons.”

The grin on the tall one’s face widened. His skin rippled, and with a crack of bones, he grew taller. His clothes tore as black fur sprouted across his body, his face elongating into a snarling snout. A leopard demon. Beside him, the other man dropped to all fours, his body twisting and thickening into a massive grey wolf, eyes burning yellow.

Zhu Pengchun’s heart hammered, but his hand moved on instinct. He pulled the bronze bracelet from his wrist and shoved it into his pocket. From a flask at his belt, he gulped cheap sorghum liquor. The burn spread through his chest. He let his mind drift to the paintings he’d hidden beneath his straw mattress—the crude, lewd images of coupling figures, the ones that made him both ashamed and eager. The heat rose in his blood. The precepts shattered, one by one: alcohol, lust. The chain of his discipline broke.

His skin rippled. His clothes bulged. In a rush of raw power, Zhu Pengchun shed his mortal shell. His snout pushed forward, tusks sprouting from his lower jaw. Thick bristles covered his body. He grew, and grew, until he was a beast of black hide and brute muscle—a mighty pig demon, taller than the cart itself.

The leopard and wolf lunged.

Zhu Penghchun roared. His fist caught the wolf in midair, sending it crashing into a barrel. He spun, grabbing the leopard by its throat and slamming it against the wall. Stone cracked. The leopard scratched and clawed, but Zhu Pengchun’s hide was thick. He headbutted the creature, dazing it, then drove his knee into its stomach. The wolf scrambled up and charged; Zhu Pengchun sidestepped and brought his foot down on its back, pinning it to the ground.

It was over in moments. The two demons lay groaning, half-shifted back to human form. Zhu Pengchun picked up his bracelet from where it had fallen and slipped it back over his bristled wrist. The change reversed—his snout receded, his tusks shrank, his body shrank. He stood again as the cart-pulling mortal, breathing hard.

He walked to the man against the wall, who stared up at him with wide, bulbous eyes. The fellow was ugly as sin—a mouth so wide it seemed to split his face, dark and dirty skin, a frame large but somehow pathetic. He was rubbing his bruised side.

“You all right?” Zhu Pengchun asked.

“Name’s Wang Geda,” the man said, his voice a croak. “Much obliged. I thought they’d tear me apart.”

Zhu Pengchun extended a hand. Wang Geda took it and hauled himself up. As he stood, his body shimmered. The skin grew mottled, warty. His mouth stretched wider, and for a moment, Zhu Pengchun saw the truth: a toad demon, bloated and greasy, tongue coiling behind thick lips.

“Ah,” Zhu Pengchun said, letting go. “You’re one of them.”

Wang Geda’s face fell. “I’m no bully! I was just drinking in the alley—had a few too many. I cursed at some passing demons, they didn’t take kindly. That’s why they were beating me.” He wrung his hands. “Please, you’re a demon too. We should help each other.”

“I’m only half,” Zhu Pengchun said. “Part human.”

“That’s more than nothing!” Wang Geda dropped to his knees. “I got nowhere to go. The city’s full of sharp-eyed cultivators. They’ll sniff me out if I stay on the street. Let me stay with you, just till I find my feet.”

Zhu Pengchun looked at the pitiful creature. The toad’s eyes were wet, his lip trembling. He let out a sigh. “Fine. A few days. Then you find your own place.”

Wang Geda’s face split into a grin that was all teeth and tongue. “Thank you, brother!”

Zhu Pengchun picked up the cart handles. “Come on, then.”

The inn was quiet when they arrived. Miao Miao, the orange cat-eared girl, was sweeping the porch. The little dragon girl sat at a table, polishing a cup with a cloth. They looked up as Zhu Pengchun entered, their smiles warm—then froze as Wang Geda shuffled in behind him.

The little dragon girl’s face went pale. Miao Miao’s ears flattened.

“Who is that?” Miao Miao asked, her voice sharp.

“A fellow in need,” Zhu Pengchun said. “He’ll stay a while.”

“He’s a demon,” the little dragon girl whispered. “A strong one.”

Wang Geda gave a bow. “Humble toad demon, miss. I mean no harm.”

Zhu Pengchun put a hand on his shoulder. “Be tolerant. He’s been beaten and has nowhere to go.”

The little dragon girl exchanged a glance with Miao Miao, then nodded reluctantly. “We’ll prepare a place for him.”

Wang Geda’s eyes slid to the little dragon girl as she turned away. His tongue darted out, licking his lips. It was quick, almost invisible. But it lingered.

That night, they ate together. Zhu Pengchun had cooked a stew with the fresh meat and vegetables. Wang Geda ate like a starving man, shoveling spoonfuls into his enormous mouth. His tongue slid out once, coated in greasy broth, stretching impossibly long before snapping back in.

The little dragon girl pushed her bowl away. “I’m full.”

“You eat like a bird,” Wang Geda said, grinning. “But you’ve got the form of a beauty.”

She didn’t reply.

Later, as the inn grew quiet, Wang Geda announced he would sleep in the woodshed. “Best not to bother the ladies,” he said, all humble smiles. Zhu Pengchun nodded and showed him the way.

But when the moon was high and the candles were out, Wang Geda slipped from the woodshed. His feet made no sound on the wooden floor. He crept to the bath chamber, where steam rose from behind a screen. The little dragon girl was inside, humming softly as water splashed.

Wang Geda pressed his fat body against the wall. He whispered a spell, and his form shimmered, blending with the shadows. His breath came shallow. He craned his neck and peered around the edge of the screen.

The little dragon girl’s back was to him. Her silver hair clung wet to her shoulders. The water lapped at her pale skin. She was unaware.

Wang Geda’s tongue slid out again, tasting the air.

Inside the bath, the little dragon girl paused. A strange sensation crept over her—the feeling of being watched. She glanced over her shoulder. Nothing. Only the steam, the flickering candle, the empty doorway.

She shook her head. The day had been strange. She was imagining things.

She lowered herself deeper into the water, letting the warmth soothe her unease. Outside, hidden in the shadows, Wang Geda’s eyes never left her.

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the courtyard of the inn when a carriage pulled up, its wheels crunching on the gravel. Zhu Pengchun, wiping his hands on his apron, stepped out from the kitchen. Two figures descended from the carriage—a woman and a man, both moving with an uncommon grace that caught his attention immediately.

The woman was veiled, but even through the thin silk, Zhu Pengchun could discern features so delicate they seemed carved from moonlight. Her robes flowed like water, pale blue silk that caught the light and shimmered with every movement. The man beside her stood eight feet tall, his shoulders broad as a doorframe, muscles straining against a simple dark tunic. His skin was bronze from some unseen sun, and his face carried the hard lines of one who had known labor and strife.

"Welcome, welcome!" Zhu Pengchun called out, his voice a little too eager. He bowed hastily. "You've come to the right place. Best inn in the mortal realm, I assure you."

The woman's hand rose, and she lifted her veil.

Zhu Pengchun's breath caught in his throat. Her face was perfection—almond eyes that held the wisdom of ages, skin like cream untouched by blemish, lips the color of peach blossoms in spring. Her hair fell in dark cascades, and when she smiled, the world seemed to pause.

"I am Chang'e," she said, her voice like wind chimes. "And this is Wu Gang."

The giant grunted, crossing his arms. His eyes scanned the inn with a warrior's vigilance.

Miao Miao emerged from the kitchen, the little dragon girl following close behind. The dragoness wiped her hands on her apron, her eyes narrowing as she saw Zhu Pengchun's dazed expression. She knew that look. She had seen it before whenever a pretty face appeared.

"Chang'e?" Miao Miao blinked. "As in... the Moon Goddess?"

Chang'e inclined her head graciously. "Tai Bai Jin Xing spoke of you. He said you are not what the heavens once believed. That you three—" her eyes moved to Zhu Pengchun, then the little dragon girl, then back to Miao Miao "—are worth trusting."

"Trust us for what?" Zhu Pengchun asked, still half-lost in her eyes.

"Two suns will soon rise in the sky," Chang'e said, her voice growing serious. "The Jade Emperor has sent me to find Hou Yi's divine bow. Only that bow can shoot down the extra sun and save the world from burning."

"Where is this bow?" Miao Miao asked.

"Hidden. Hou Yi died long ago. I know only the approximate location from memory. Somewhere near Changqing Mountain."

"I know that area!" Wang Geda stepped forward from the shadow of the inn's entrance. The toad demon had been lurking, watching, and now saw his opportunity. "I've hunted those woods for years. Could guide someone right to where that bow might be."

Zhu Pengchun's chest puffed out. "Then I should go. I'm strong, I can carry the bow, protect Chang'e—"

"No." The little dragon girl's voice cut through like a knife. She stepped between Zhu Pengchun and Chang'e, her eyes flashing. "Wang Geda knows the mountain. I know combat. We'll go together."

"But—" Zhu Pengchun started.

"You stay here and run the inn, Brother Zhu." Her tone left no room for argument. Her jealousy was barely concealed. She had seen the way he looked at Chang'e, and it burned her.

Zhu Pengchun opened his mouth to protest, but Miao Miao put a hand on his arm. "She's right. You're the innkeeper. Someone needs to mind the business."

The little dragon girl grabbed Wang Geda's arm roughly. "Let's go. No time to waste."

Wang Geda grinned inwardly. This was better than he had hoped. The little dragon girl, alone with him in the wilderness. He trotted beside her as they left the inn, his mind already spinning with dark possibilities.

They traveled northeast, through valleys and over hills, until the peaks of Changqing Mountain rose before them. The little dragon girl marched ahead, her steps purposeful. Wang Geda followed, his eyes occasionally drifting down to the curve of her hips, the sway of her waist.

"Ask around," the little dragon girl ordered when they reached a small village at the mountain's base. "Someone must have seen something."

They found an old man sitting on a stump, whittling a stick. His eyes were milky with age, but when the little dragon girl described the divine bow, his face lit up.

"Bow? No, not a bow. But I saw an arrow flying by itself. Headed north, into the deep woods."

"An arrow?" The little dragon girl's heart leaped. "Which direction exactly?"

"North. But you don't want to go there, miss. The deep woods belong to something old. Something with long roots and longer memories."

The little dragon girl turned to Wang Geda. "Take me there."

Wang Geda's face split into what he hoped was a helpful smile. "I know the way. Follow me."

The forest swallowed them whole. Ancient trees towered overhead, their branches weaving a canopy so thick that daylight pierced through only in scattered beams. The air grew heavy, humid, carrying the smell of damp earth and something else—something sweet and cloying.

They walked for hours. The little dragon girl's legs ached. Her clothes stuck to her skin with sweat.

"Let's rest," she said finally, sinking onto a mossy rock.

Wang Geda sat nearby, pretending to watch the trees. But his eyes were on her, watching her chest rise and fall, watching the sheen of moisture on her neck.

The little dragon girl closed her eyes, just for a moment.

That was when it happened.

Strange liquid began to ooze from the trees around them. It was clear at first, like tree sap, but thicker. It dripped from branches, seeped from bark, and pooled on the ground. The little dragon girl opened her eyes too late. The liquid touched her sleeve, and the fabric dissolved like smoke.

"What—" She leaped to her feet, but the liquid was everywhere. It splattered on her robes, her pants, her boots. Each contact erased cloth instantly. Within seconds, she stood naked, her hands flying to cover herself. One hand cupped her mound. The other arm crossed over her breasts, but they were too large to hide completely. She could only cover her nipples with her fingers, leaving the pale, full curves exposed.

Wang Geda watched, his face a mask of calculated shock. His own clothes had dissolved too. His body was revealed—fat and muscle in equal measure, a barrel chest, thick arms, and between his legs, a massive organ that hung heavy and dark. Even flaccid, it was enormous. Veins crawled up its length. The smell of it—unwashed, male, pungent—filled the air around him.

"What have you done?" the little dragon girl demanded, her voice shaking.

"I didn't do anything!" He held up his hands, pretending innocence. "It's the tree demon's sap. Melts anything organic. I've heard of it but never seen it."

The little dragon girl's face flushed red. She turned away, but not before catching a glimpse of that monstrous thing between his legs. It was impossible to ignore—thick as her forearm, uncircumcised, the head peeking through a fold of skin. Smegma caked the ridge in pale lumps. The testicles hung low, heavy, constantly churning out thick toad sperm. The smell was overwhelming, musky, primal. It awakened something in the little dragon girl that she did not want to acknowledge. She forced herself to look away.

"We have to keep moving," she said, her voice tight. "The arrow."

Wang Geda nodded, still smiling inwardly. "This way."

They walked naked through the forest. The little dragon girl kept her arms crossed, but her breasts bounced with every step. She tried to walk in front of him, but he deliberately slowed, letting her lead, letting his eyes trace every line of her back, her waist, her thighs.

He stared at her exposed ass, the way it moved. His penis began to stiffen. It grew slowly at first, then with alarming speed, rising to full erection. It stood thirty centimeters long, thick as a tree root, the veins bulging. The head was a dark purple, slick with precum. The smell of his arousal intensified, filling the air around them.

The little dragon girl smelled it. Her nostrils flared involuntarily. It was a rich, masculine scent, rank and powerful. It made her head swim. She clenched her thighs together and walked faster.

"Are you all right?" Wang Geda asked, his voice mockingly concerned.

"Fine," she snapped. "Just keep your distance."

But she couldn't help it. Every few steps, she stole a glance back. That massive erection was impossible to ignore. It bobbed as he walked, the head shiny, the shaft a map of thick veins. She hated herself for looking. She hated the heat that pooled between her own legs.

They continued through the desolate mountain forest, two naked figures beneath the oppressive canopy. The little dragon girl knew she had been led into a trap, but there was no turning back now. The divine arrow lay ahead. And so did something darker—something she could not name, but could feel growing in the air between them.

The deep forest loomed around them, ancient trees twisting toward a sky that seemed to grow darker with every step. Wang Geda strode bare-skinned through the underbrush, his toad-warty skin glistening with sweat, his enormous frame casting a shadow that swallowed the path ahead. The little dragon girl followed close behind, her pale, delicate body gleaming like moonlight among the shadows. Her long black hair clung to her shoulders, and her breasts—full and heavy—swayed with each careful step. She felt a strange pull in her chest, a magnetic tingle that seemed to hum from the very earth.

“I think we’re close,” she said, her voice soft but certain. “The arrow… it’s calling to me.”

Wang Geda grunted, not turning around. His eyes, bulbous and yellow, scanned the foliage. “Good. I’m tired of this naked trek. My balls are chafed raw.”

She almost laughed, but a low rumble interrupted her breath. The ground trembled beneath their feet. Leaves shook loose from branches; birds erupted from the canopy in a panicked flurry. The little dragon girl stumbled sideways, her bare foot catching on a root. She pitched forward, arms flailing.

Wang Geda spun and caught her—his thick, warty hand seizing her arm, his broad chest stopping her fall. But in the chaos, his other hand landed squarely on her left breast. The soft, warm mound filled his palm, and he felt her nipple stiffen against his calloused skin. Simultaneously, his massive penis—a thick, veined rod nearly thirty centimeters long—pressed against the tender cleft of her vulva, trapped between their bodies as the earthquake shook them.

The little dragon girl’s face flushed crimson. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She gasped and pushed back, but the tremor steadied before she could retreat. Wang Geda released her quickly, stepping back with an apologetic bow of his head.

“Sorry, miss,” he said, his voice gruff but measured. “Didn’t mean to… grab anything.”

She felt her cheeks burn hotter. “It’s fine. It was an accident.”

But his mind raced with delight. Soft. So soft. And that wet heat against my shaft… He kept his face neutral, the mask of a simple, honest demon.

The earthquake ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The forest settled into an uneasy silence. They resumed walking, but now an awkward tension hung between them. The little dragon girl tried to focus on the pull of the arrow, but her skin still tingled where his warty hand had touched her.

A howl split the air. From the shadows of the trees, a pack of small demons emerged—gnarled, clawed creatures with red eyes and jagged teeth. They surrounded the two naked figures, snarling and snapping.

The little dragon girl dropped into a fighting stance, but her lack of clothing made her self-conscious. She raised her fists, but her breasts bounced free and unbound, and she had to fight the urge to cover herself. A demon lunged at her flank. She spun, kicking it in the skull, but another darted behind her, aiming for her exposed back.

“Behind you!” Wang Geda bellowed.

He charged forward, his massive body slamming into the small demon just as its claws raked toward her spine. The impact sent the creature flying, but a jagged rock caught Wang Geda’s hand. Blood welled from a deep gash across his palm.

The little dragon girl dispatched the remaining demons with a series of swift, precise strikes, her tail lashing out to finish the last one. When the dust settled, she turned to see Wang Geda clutching his injured hand, blood dripping between his warty fingers.

“You’re hurt,” she said, guilt flooding her voice. “Because of me.”

He waved his good hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

But the wound was deep, and she knew it.

That night, they found a small cave nestled in a hillside. The sky had darkened into a bruised purple, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Wang Geda built a fire with flint and dried moss while the little dragon girl tended to his hand. She tore a strip of fabric from a dead demon’s tattered loincloth—the only cloth they could find—and carefully bound the wound.

“You don’t have to be so gentle,” Wang Geda said, watching her delicate fingers work. “I’m a tough toad. I can take it like a man.”

She smiled weakly. “You saved my life. The least I can do is dress your wound properly.”

But Wang Geda’s thoughts churned. This girl is too naive. Too trusting. She’ll believe anything an honest face tells her. He kept his expression soft, grateful.

Rain began to fall outside, a heavy drumming on the cave’s entrance. The little dragon girl looked out at the silver sheets, then back at her grimy, sweat-stained skin. “I need to wash,” she murmured, and stepped into the rain.

The water cascaded over her pale body, streaming across her shoulders, her breasts, the curve of her hips. She tilted her head back, letting it cleanse her. Wang Geda watched from the cave mouth, his throbbing erection already rising. He stepped out beside her, letting the rain wash over his own warty hide.

“Good idea,” he said, his voice casual.

He turned his back to her, pretending to wash his arms and chest. But he knew exactly where she was. He shifted his weight, and in a feigned slip, his erect penis swung around and slapped against her plump, beautiful buttocks with a wet smack.

The little dragon girl flinched violently, her whole body shuddering. She spun, her eyes wide, her cheeks burning. “W-Wang Geda!”

He turned with a look of innocent surprise. “Sorry! Slippery rocks. You know how it is.”

Her mouth opened to scold him, but her gaze dropped to his hand—the bandaged hand she had so carefully wrapped. The anger softened before it could fully form. She bit her lip, looking away.

“It’s… it’s fine,” she said quietly.

He made no move to cover himself. His penis stood before her, thick and veined, covered in warty bumps and a layer of whitish smegma that clung around the glans. Her eyes lingered on it despite herself. She felt a strange, embarrassed curiosity.

“Don’t you need to… wash that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… it has a lot of… um…”

He looked down, then back at her. “I’m a toad demon, miss. Being dirty doesn’t bother me.”

She said nothing more, but her face remained flushed as the rain washed away the night.

The next morning, they set out again under a gray sky. The pull of the arrow was stronger now, guiding the little dragon girl’s steps with an almost audible hum. Wang Geda led her through a narrow ravine, where a circular stone platform sat half-hidden in moss and vines.

“A teleportation array,” he said. “Step on it. It might take us closer.”

She hesitated, but the arrow’s call was overwhelming. She stepped onto the stone, and Wang Geda followed. A flash of blue light swallowed them.

They materialized in a small, windowless room. Stone walls dripped with moisture. A single torch flickered on the far wall. There was no door, no exit—only a sealed stone slab set into one wall, with an inscription carved above it.

The little dragon girl ran her hands over every crack and crevice. She pushed, she pried, she even struck the wall with her fists. Nothing budged. “We’re trapped,” she said, panic rising in her voice.

Wang Geda studied the inscription. It read: “Only a woman’s mouth, cleaning the unclean staff, shall open the hidden door.”

The little dragon girl read it too, and her face went pale. “That can’t be the only way.”

Wang Geda shook his head, feigning disbelief. “It’s a trick. Don’t trust it.”

But hours passed. The torch burned low. No other option revealed itself. The little dragon girl’s stomach churned with desperation. Finally, she looked at him, her eyes glassy with shame.

“Wang Geda,” she said, her voice trembling, “you must promise me something. Don’t tell Brother Zhu about what happened between us these days. Not a word.”

He nodded solemnly. “I swear it.”

She took a shaky breath, then knelt before him. Her hands trembled as she reached for his penis. It was enormous, covered in thick veins and warty bumps, the head swollen and crusted with a thick layer of smegma. She fought the bile rising in her throat. She opened her mouth and took him in.

The taste hit her immediately—salty, sour, foul. She gagged, but she forced herself deeper. The smegma coated her tongue, thick and pasty. She scraped at it with her teeth and tongue, working to remove the grime. Wang Geda shuddered, a groan escaping his lips. The sensation was exquisite—her warm mouth, her desperate efforts.

She quickened her pace, bobbing her head, trying to clean every ridge and bump. Chunks of smegma came loose, and the foul but powerfully masculine taste spread through her mouth. She swallowed some by accident, the thick slime sliding down her throat. She nearly vomited, but she spat out the rest onto the floor. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Her fellatio continued until every trace of grime was gone. His penis stood clean and glistening. As she pulled away, the stone slab groaned and slid open, revealing a dark corridor.

She stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her face a mask of shame and relief. But something was wrong. The smegma she had swallowed sat in her stomach like a coal, glowing with heat. A strange warmth spread through her belly, igniting a hunger she had never known. Her nipples hardened. A wetness pooled between her thighs. Her female instincts stirred, aroused, desperate.

They walked through the corridor in silence, and emerged onto a mountain peak. There, embedded in a cleft of rock, sat one of Hou Yi’s divine arrows—golden, radiant, humming with ancient power.

The little dragon girl reached for it, her fingers brushing the shaft. The heat inside her burned hotter.

“We found one,” she whispered.

Wang Geda grinned. “And I know a friend’s den nearby. He keeps spare clothes.”

They descended the mountain, and in a hollowed-out demon lair, Wang Geda found two sets of simple robes. The little dragon girl pulled hers on with trembling hands, grateful to finally cover her nakedness.

But the heat inside her did not fade. And she knew, somehow, that her journey with Wang Geda was far from over.

The night air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as the group trudged north of Haizhou City. The mountain loomed before them, its peak shrouded in mist that seemed to cling to the rocks like a living thing. Zhu Pengchun led the way, his broad shoulders pushing through the underbrush, while the little dragon girl followed close behind, her eyes fixed on his back. Wu Gang walked at the rear, his gaze darting toward Chang'e whenever he thought no one was watching. Chang'e herself moved with an ethereal grace, her white robes brushing against the ferns, her face a mask of serene indifference.

At the summit, they found it. The Sun-Shooting Divine Bow lay upon a stone platform carved from the mountain itself, its surface smooth as glass. The bow was immense, crafted from some dark wood that seemed to drink the light around it. The string glowed faintly, humming with a power that made the air vibrate. Zhu Pengchun stepped forward, his breath catching. He reached out, but his fingers had barely touched the wood when a voice boomed from the heavens, rolling across the clouds like thunder.

“Hear me, mortals and immortals alike,” the Jade Emperor’s voice proclaimed. “Whoever can take this bow and shoot down the extra sun shall be appointed as the Marshal Tianpeng, commander of the heavenly hosts.”

Wu Gang’s eyes lit up. He pushed past Zhu Pengchun, his hands gripping the bow. He strained, muscles bulging, veins standing out on his neck, but the bow did not so much as tremble. He grunted, tried again, then stepped back, his face flushed with anger. One by one, the others tried. A stout demon from a nearby village heaved and sweated. A wandering cultivator chanted incantations. Nothing. The bow sat as if rooted to the stone.

Zhu Pengchun tried last. He wrapped his fingers around the grip, felt a pulse of energy that seemed to mock him, and pulled. The bow remained still. He released it, his heart heavy. The group turned and descended the mountain in silence, the weight of failure pressing down on them.

Back at the inn, the common room buzzed with muted conversations. Zhu Pengchun sat alone at a corner table, staring into a cup of wine that had long gone warm. His mind churned with thoughts of Chang'e. If he could become Marshal Tianpeng, he would walk the halls of heaven, stand before her in the Guanghan Palace, and perhaps—perhaps she would look at him with something other than polite distance. The little dragon girl watched him from across the room, her fingers twisting the hem of her sleeve. She saw the longing in his eyes, and her own chest ached.

Chang'e, unseen, observed them both from the shadow of the stairway. She had seen that look before—the foolish hope of a man who did not know what he desired. She slipped away to her room, the familiar dread settling in her stomach.

That night, after the inn had quieted, Wu Gang knocked on her door. She let him in without a word, closing the latch behind him. The candlelight flickered across his face, hardening his features. He did not speak, only gestured to the bed. Chang'e knelt, her hands trembling as she reached for his waist. The sounds that followed were low, muffled by the walls, but they carried into the hallway. Zhu Pengchun, passing by on his way to fetch water, paused. His ears caught the faint, rhythmic moans, and he assumed Chang'e was weeping. His heart went out to her, and he resolved even more firmly to win the bow for her sake.

He did not see the truth. He never did.

The next morning, Wu Gang announced he was going to heaven to consult Lord Laozi. “The old immortal owes me a favor,” he said, his smile thin. “Perhaps he has a treasure or an elixir that can help me lift that bow.” The words struck Zhu Pengchun like a blow. He watched Wu Gang depart, anxiety coiling in his chest. If Wu Gang succeeded first, all was lost.

The little dragon girl found him pacing in the courtyard. “Brother Zhu,” she said softly, “you look troubled.”

“That Wu Gang,” he muttered, “he’s going to beat me to it.”

She hesitated, then said, “My father, the Dragon King, once told me that when I married, he would give me the Dragon Palace’s treasures and a dragon artifact as my dowry. Perhaps there is something among them that could help you.”

Zhu Pengchun stopped pacing, his face brightening. “A dragon artifact? Really?” Then his expression shifted, a new thought dawning. “Little sister, do you have a man you like? If you marry him, you could get that artifact and help me lift the bow!”

The little dragon girl looked at him, her eyes searching his face. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Brother Zhu, do you really like Chang’e that much?”

He did not hesitate. “Yes. More than anything.”

She felt something crack inside her, but she forced a smile. The smile was a lie, but she had become good at lying to protect him. “The Dragon Palace has a pair of divine power gloves,” she said, her tone light. “They can grant the wearer immense strength. I am your little sister, so of course I will get them for you.”

Zhu Pengchun’s face broke into a grin. He took her hands, squeezing them. “Thank you, little sister! Thank you!”

She pulled her hands away gently, still smiling, and retreated to her room. The moment the door closed, the smile vanished. She sank onto the bed, burying her face in the pillow, and let the tears come silently.

Outside her window, a lecherous grin spread across the face of Wang Geda, the toad demon. He had been watching, listening, and now his plan was taking shape in his mind.

The next day, the Dragon King appeared at the inn. He was a magnificent figure, scales glinting beneath his robes, his presence filling the common room. The little dragon girl rushed to him, and he embraced her with a warmth that belied his stern reputation.

“Father,” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil within, “I have found the man I wish to marry.”

The Dragon King’s eyes widened. “What? I introduced so many dragon princes and noble descendants, and you turned them all away! Who is this man?”

The little dragon girl glanced toward Zhu Pengchun, who stood nearby, oblivious. She looked away quickly, her heart twisting. If she said his name, he would never get the chance to win Chang’e. He would hate her. She would lose even the little she had. She opened her mouth, but no words came.

Then Wang Geda stepped forward, his crooked smile spreading across his warty face. “It is me, Your Majesty. The little dragon girl likes me.”

The Dragon King stared at him, incredulous. “You? This... this toad?”

The little dragon girl was stunned. For a moment, she considered denying it. But then the thought came: if she married Wang Geda, she could still see Brother Zhu every day. She could help him get the divine bow. And if Brother Zhu ever changed his mind, she could divorce Wang Geda. The poor toad demon, she thought, he probably had no one else. Trembling, she nodded.

“Yes, Father. It is true.”

The Dragon King’s face reddened. He slammed his hand on the table, cracking it. “So many good men, and you choose this creature! I have no daughter!” He turned and stormed out, the doors rattling in his wake.

The little dragon girl watched him go, her chest hollow. But she held her head high. For Brother Zhu, she would endure anything.

Two days later, after she had finished her work at the inn, she went to her room and found the Dragon King waiting inside. A pile of Dragon Palace treasures glittered on her bed. Despite his harsh words, his heart was soft. He pulled her into a hug, his eyes glistening. “My child, tell me. Are you in some trouble? You can tell me anything.”

She shook her head, tears welling. “I’m sorry, Father. I can’t explain. But I need the divine power gloves.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then waved his hand. The gloves appeared, shimmering with a soft light. He placed them in her hands. “If you ever want a divorce,” he said, “you can always come home. The Dragon Palace will welcome you.”

He kissed her forehead and left. She clutched the gloves, her fingers tracing the embroidery, and whispered a thank-you to the empty room.

That evening, Wang Geda’s room was adorned with red candles and the character for double happiness pasted on the wall. The toad demon lounged on the bed, smug satisfaction writ across his face. Zhu Pengchun entered with a cup of wine, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Wang Geda, I hope you treat my little sister well. She’s a good girl.”

“Of course, of course,” Wang Geda replied, his grin widening. After Zhu Pengchun left, he muttered to himself, “No, Zhu Pengchun. I should thank you, good man. For not noticing her feelings, you have given me everything.”

The door opened, and the little dragon girl stepped in. She wore a white ancient-style wedding dress, the fabric so thin it was almost transparent. Her huge breasts were barely contained, the deep cleavage drawing every eye. Miao Miao, who had helped her dress, gasped.

“Little dragon girl, you look like a fairy! So beautiful!”

The little dragon girl did not hear her. She walked slowly through the common room, past the tables where the inn’s guests had gathered to watch. She stopped before Zhu Pengchun. Her voice was soft, trembling with hope she tried to hide.

“Brother Zhu, do you have anything to say?”

Her heart screamed at her. Say you like me. Say you want me to stay. One word, just one word, and I will call off this wedding.

Zhu Pengchun smiled at her, a brotherly smile that cut deeper than any blade. “Little sister, I hope you are happy. Wang Geda, though ugly, will surely—”

She did not hear the rest. The words were meaningless noise. She forced the smile back onto her face, bowed her head, and said, “Thank you, Brother Zhu.” Then she turned and walked into the bridal chamber, the red candles casting long shadows behind her.

Chang’e, watching from the stairs, let out a soft sigh.

Zhu Pengchun looked up at her. “Why do you sigh, Chang’e?”

She did not answer. How could she explain? How could she tell him that he was a fool, that he had a woman who loved him with every fiber of her being, and he was throwing her away for a goddess who was nothing but a whore? She met his guileless eyes, the eyes of a pig who saw only what he wanted to see, and she felt a pang of something like pity.

“Nothing,” she said, and turned away.

Zhu Pengchun watched her retreating form, his heart full of adoration. He had no idea that Chang’e was weeping for a different reason entirely, no idea that the little dragon girl was weeping in her bridal chamber as Wang Geda’s warty hands reached for her. He thought only of the divine bow, and of the heaven where he would stand beside Chang’e, forever blind to the truth.