Fücking Püssy Everyday to in other to become a Püssy Emperor Chapter 10

The sun had climbed high enough to burn away the morning mist, but the air still carried the damp chill of last night’s rain. Clear Stream Village felt different now—off-balance, like a body that had just woken from fever and wasn’t sure if it was still sick. The usual rhythm—women balancing water buckets on shoulder poles, men trudging toward the rice paddies with hoes over their shoulders, children shrieking as they chased scrawny chickens through the alleys—had fractured. People moved slower, heads down, eyes darting toward the elder hall or the large house on the hill that had once belonged to Elder Tan and now belonged to no one but the man who had broken Gorran in the mud.

Alex walked the main path with deliberate calm, bare feet sinking slightly into the still-soft earth. He wore only the borrowed tunic and pants from the hut—rough hemp, too small across the shoulders now that his body had begun to fill out from the overnight surge of qi. The fabric stretched taut whenever he moved.

Lila stayed at his right side, chin high, the torn green dress replaced with a simple but clean gray tunic she had scavenged from a chest in the hut. The marks on her throat and wrists were still vivid—dark red fingerprints, faint purple bites, a constellation of ownership—but she wore them openly, almost proudly. Every few steps she brushed her fingers against his arm, a small, possessive gesture no one missed.

Sable walked on his left, two steps behind. Her silver-blue hair was tied back in a loose braid that swayed with each step. She had been given a plain robe from the caravan’s spare stock; it was too large for her slender frame, the sleeves slipping down to reveal the iron collar still locked around her neck. She hadn’t asked for it to be removed. Not yet. Her eyes stayed mostly on the ground, but every so often they flicked up to Alex’s back—wide, conflicted, still processing the way her own body had betrayed her in Voren’s tent.

Every eye that met theirs quickly looked away.

The whispers had already grown legs and were sprinting through the village.

"He walked into Voren’s tent and came out with the silver-haired slave kneeling behind him..."

"Lila’s been marked like a beast in heat... look at her neck..."

"Gorran crawled in the mud for three coppers... I saw the teeth fly..."

A cluster of women near the well fell silent as Alex passed. One—barely twenty, with a baby on her hip—stared openly at Lila’s throat, then flushed crimson and turned away. Another, older, muttered something under her breath and made a quick warding gesture with two fingers.

Alex felt the weight of every stare. It was not fear alone. There was curiosity. Hunger. A few young women lingered longer than necessary at doorways, cheeks flushed, fingers twisting in their skirts before they hurried inside. He could sense the subtle ripple of his Charm Aura brushing against them—fifteen meters now, a quiet storm that made nipples tighten under rough fabric, made thighs press together involuntarily.

He stopped in the center of the square.

The ancestral hall stood at the far end—old wood darkened by decades of rain, roof tiles cracked and missing in places, faded banners hanging limp like dead flags. A small crowd had already gathered near it: farmers with callused hands, weavers with ink-stained fingers, a handful of hunters clutching spears they hadn’t used in years. They parted without being told when Alex started walking again.

The messenger boy who had come earlier waited at the hall’s steps, barely fourteen, shaking so badly the scroll in his hand trembled like a leaf in wind.

"E-Elder Tan... Elder Huo... Elder Wei... they request your presence... to discuss... the future..."

Alex took the scroll without looking at it. The paper was cheap, the ink uneven and smudged.

"Tell them I’m coming."

The boy fled, sandals slapping against the dirt.

Inside the hall the air was thick with incense—sandalwood and something cheaper, probably pine resin—and the musty smell of old wood. Three men sat behind a long, low table: Elder Tan (the eldest, thin as a reed, eyes sharp despite his age), Elder Huo (round-faced, perpetually sweating, jowls quivering), and Elder Wei (the youngest of the three, barely sixty, but already balding and sour-mouthed). They had dressed in their best robes—faded silk, once blue, now closer to gray. A teapot steamed between them. Small porcelain cups waited in a neat row.

They rose when Alex entered—slowly, stiffly, the movement of men who knew they were no longer in full control.

Lila and Sable followed him inside. Lila stood close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm; Sable remained one pace back, head bowed, hands clasped in front of her.

Tan spoke first, voice thin but practiced, the tone of a man who had given speeches for decades.

"Young... lord." The word sounded like it tasted bitter on his tongue. "We have heard of yesterday’s events. Gorran’s... indiscretion. The caravan master’s departure. We wished to offer our congratulations on your... rise."

Huo nodded quickly, sweat already beading on his upper lip.

"And to discuss how the village might best serve its new protector."

Wei remained silent, but his eyes kept flicking to Lila’s neck, then to Sable’s collar, then back to Alex—calculating, wary.

Alex sat without invitation. The two women knelt on either side of him—Lila close enough that her thigh pressed warmly against his leg, Sable a little farther, head still bowed.

Tan poured tea into four cups with hands that trembled just enough to make the spout clink against porcelain.

"Please. Drink. It is a special blend. Calms the mind."

Alex picked up the cup. He brought it to his lips, inhaled.

A faint bitter note beneath the jasmine—sharp, metallic, unmistakable.

Paralyzing Thorn Powder. Cheap. Common in villages like this. Enough to lock qi channels and turn limbs to lead for several hours. Not lethal—unless the victim was left helpless while bandits or beasts passed through.

He set the cup down untouched.

"I prefer water."

Huo’s smile twitched.

"Of course. Of course."

Alex leaned back slightly, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

"You called me here to discuss the future."

Tan nodded, forcing a thin smile.

"Indeed. The village has suffered greatly. Bandits. Poor harvests. The elders have done their best to maintain order, but..." He spread his hands in a gesture of helpless humility. "A young man of your... talents... could bring stability. Prosperity. We would be honored to name you guardian. In return, you would respect our traditions. Our authority. The ancestral hall would remain under our guidance. The spirit tablets would continue to be honored. Nothing would change... outwardly."

Alex looked at each man in turn—Tan’s sharp eyes, Huo’s sweaty jowls, Wei’s sour mouth.

Then he laughed—soft, short, cold.

"You drugged the tea."

Huo’s smile froze.

Tan’s eyes narrowed.

"Young man—"

Alex stood.

The elders flinched as one.

He walked around the table. Slowly.