She looked at him.
His face was calm and direct and he was ten inches of limp cock away from her spread thighs.
"Ancestor," she said, and her voice came out mostly steady, "is this truly —"
"Your son is sitting on the Purity Hill right now," he said, "holding his cultivation base at full extension, believing you are undergoing the examination that will validate his selection." He looked at her. "Will you let him wait for nothing."
Her jaw tightened.
She reached down.
Her fingers — a seamstress's fingers, calloused at the tips from years of needle-work, practical and strong — pressed against her own pussy lips. She parted them, the inner pink spreading open, the soft walls visible, the wet warmth of a body that had been responding to the room's air without her permission showing in the gleam of her own arousal.
The pinkish inner walls trembled faintly with her breathing.
"Good," he said.
He turned to Lin Suya.
