The new arrangement took three days to solidify.
On the first morning after, Mei Ling served breakfast with shaking hands. Her eyes were red from crying through the night, but she'd bathed and dressed and braided her hair.
The jade bracelet clicked against the porcelain as she set down his rice bowl—same sound as always, but the context had transformed it into something obscene.
A prisoner's chains disguised as jewelry.
Castor ate without comment, watching her move around the kitchen.
She wouldn't meet his eyes.
Her gait was stiff, careful—the walk of a woman whose body had been violated and needed time to heal. But there would be no time. Tonight he'd take her again, and the night after, until her body learned to accommodate him without tearing.
"Liu Yiniang will visit today," he said casually, picking up a piece of salted fish. "To thank us for our help during her husband's illness. You'll be polite."
Mei Ling's hand froze on the teapot. "I don't think I can face her. Knowing what you—what she—"
"You will." His voice was mild, but the threat beneath was steel. "You'll serve her tea. You'll express sympathy for her loss. You'll smile. Because if you don't, I'll tell the magistrate about the arsenic you delivered to Wang Er's house."
Her face drained of color. "I didn't know—"
"It doesn't matter what you knew. It matters what I can make people believe." He stood, wiping his mouth. "Liu Yiniang arrives at noon. Be ready."
***
Liu Yiniang came dressed in white mourning robes, carrying a basket of rice cakes as offering. Her face was properly grief-stricken for public consumption, but alone in their courtyard, the mask slipped.
She looked exhausted.
Hollowed out.
Mei Ling received her in the sitting room with tea Castor had prepared—just tea this time, no poison. The two women sat across from each other, an entire conversation happening in silence.
You know, Liu Yiniang's eyes said. You know what he did to me.
I know, Mei Ling's posture replied. Because he did it to me too.
Castor entered, and both women straightened instinctively. That pleased him—the automatic response to his presence, the recognition of his dominance even in small gestures.
"Widow Liu. My condolences on your loss." He accepted tea from Mei Ling, whose hand trembled slightly. "I trust Wang Er's family is treating you fairly regarding the estate?"
"His brothers tried to claim the house." Liu Yiniang's voice was carefully neutral. "But I reminded them that the magistrate witnessed our marriage contract. The property is mine by law."
"Good. If they trouble you further, let me know." He sipped his tea. "We're neighbors. We should protect each other."
The word "protect" made her flinch. Both women understood what it meant now. Protection in exchange for submission. Safety purchased with their bodies.
"Actually," Castor continued, "I'll need quiet for my studies over the coming months. The provincial examination is in six months. Perhaps Widow Liu could help Aunt Mei Ling with household tasks? Extra hands would be useful."
Liu Yiniang's cup rattled against the saucer. She understood perfectly. He was arranging regular access to both of them, establishing a pattern where her presence in his house would seem natural to any observer.
"I would be honored to help," she said quietly. "After Scholar Castor's kindness to me during my husband's final days."
Mei Ling made a small, choked sound.
"Excellent." Castor stood. "Then we're agreed. Widow Liu will visit three times weekly to assist with cooking, cleaning, and... other household needs. In return, I'll ensure no one troubles her about the property."
***
The routine established itself over the following weeks.
Liu Yiniang arrived every third day, always in afternoon when neighbors were less likely to notice. She and Mei Ling would prepare food, mend clothing, perform the domestic theater of normal life. And when evening came, Castor would summon one or both of them to his bed.
Sometimes separately. Sometimes together.
The first time he'd commanded them both, Mei Ling had refused. "I won't. Not with her watching. That's too much—"
He'd grabbed her hair, forced her to her knees beside Liu Yiniang who was already kneeling.
"You'll do whatever I command. Both of you. Or I'll tell the magistrate that you conspired together to murder Wang Er. Two desperate women poisoning a wealthy man. They'd believe it."
So they knelt together. Sucked his cock together, one on each side, their tongues occasionally touching around his shaft. He made them look at each other while doing it, made them acknowledge their shared degradation.
Afterward, he'd fucked them both on his bed—Mei Ling first while Liu Yiniang watched, then Liu Yiniang while Mei Ling cleaned his cum from her pussy with her tongue. Breaking them separately had been satisfying. Breaking them together was transcendent.
But even transcendence became routine.
By the second month, the sex had lost its novelty. Their bodies were familiar now. Mei Ling's forty-three-year-old pussy stretched to accommodate him without tearing. Liu Yiniang had learned to suppress her sobbing, to take him efficiently and quietly. They performed their roles adequately.
And Castor felt... nothing.
The same emptiness that had plagued his second life was already creeping in. He'd conquered two women, murdered a man, secured his property, and it all felt like moving pieces on a board. Necessary moves in a larger game, but not satisfying in themselves.
This is what immortality is for, he reminded himself during one session with both women. Mei Ling was riding him while Liu Yiniang tongued his balls, both of them mechanically servicing his pleasure. Nothing in the mortal world will ever be enough. Only cultivation. Only eternal life.
The thought sustained him through the tedium.
***
He studied for the provincial examination, though "studied" was generous. He already knew every question, every answer, every trick the examiners would employ. Seventy years of memories made the preparation farcical.
But he maintained the appearance. Spent hours in his study with books open, brush in hand, writing practice essays.
Mei Ling brought him tea and food, playing the devoted aunt for any neighbors who might notice. At night she spread her legs and played the devoted whore.
Two months before the examination, he began cultivating connections.
The first was Master Shen, a retired official who lived in the village and sometimes advised examination candidates. Castor visited with expensive wine and questions he already knew the answers to, establishing himself as a promising young scholar.
Master Shen's wife was fifty-six and no longer attractive, so Castor simply flattered the old man and moved on.
The second was Merchant Qiao, who traded in salt and had connections throughout Jiangnan province.
Castor shared his "theory" about untaxed saltpeter deposits in the mountains—information from his second life—and suggested a partnership. Qiao was intrigued enough to fund a small exploration.
When the deposits proved real, Castor had an ally with money and reach.
The third was Magistrate Wu's mistress, whom he encountered at market. She was twenty-three, beautiful, and clearly miserable.
Within two weeks he'd seduced her by the simple expedient of treating her like a human being instead of property. Within a month she was providing him with information about Wu's political vulnerabilities and examination scoring preferences.
He fucked her in the forest outside town, against trees, on grass, anywhere away from witnesses. She thought it was romantic. He thought it was strategic.
By the time the provincial examination arrived, Castor had assembled the foundation of a network: capital from Merchant Qiao, intelligence from Wu's mistress, scholarly endorsement from Master Shen, and two broken women at home who would do anything he commanded.
Not bad for six months of work.
***
The examination took place in Suzhou, three days' travel from their village. Castor departed with appropriate fanfare—Mei Ling tearfully blessing him, Liu Yiniang offering prayers at the local temple, half the village seeing him off.
Master Shen had arranged for him to stay at an inn near the examination grounds. Castor spent the evening before reviewing material he'd already mastered, mainly to maintain the pretense for his roommate—another candidate from a nearby county who wouldn't pass but didn't know it yet.
The examination itself was held in small cells, candidates locked inside for three days with minimal food and water. A test of endurance as much as knowledge. Many candidates collapsed. Some died. The system was designed to find men who could endure hardship for the empire.
Castor found it tedious.
He knew every question.
Had written the same essays fifty years ago in his second life. His brush moved across paper with mechanical precision, producing exactly the kind of careful, orthodox answers that examiners rewarded. Nothing too brilliant—that would raise suspicion of cheating. Nothing too mediocre—that would be wasteful. Exactly the level of competence expected from a promising young scholar.
By the end of the first day, he'd completed the literature section. Second day, poetry and historical analysis. Third day, policy proposals. All of it flawless in its adequacy.
When they finally opened the cells, releasing three days' worth of candidates into daylight, Castor walked out looking fresh. Others stumbled. Some had to be carried. One had died overnight—heart failure, the proctors said. His body was removed efficiently.
Castor felt nothing watching them haul the corpse away. Just another dead man in a world full of them.
***
Results were posted two weeks later. Castor waited at the inn, fucking the innkeeper's daughter to pass time—another easy conquest, another body to use and discard. When the announcement came, he walked to the examination grounds with appropriate nervousness.
His name was thirty-seventh on the list of those who passed.
Perfect.
High enough to be noteworthy in his village, low enough not to attract unwanted attention from officials. Exactly as he'd planned.
Around him, men wept with joy or howled with despair. Families celebrated or mourned. The examination results determined entire futures, shaped destinies, created or destroyed hope.
Castor looked at his name and felt only satisfaction at a plan executed correctly.
He sent a message to Mei Ling via hired runner: Passed. Returning in five days. Have Liu Yiniang waiting.
***
The village celebration was elaborate. They'd never produced a provincial scholar before—Castor was their first. The village head threw a banquet. Neighbors brought gifts. Master Shen gave a speech about scholarly virtue. Merchant Qiao proposed a toast to "our rising star."
Castor accepted it all with appropriate humility. Bowed to elders. Thanked supporters. Promised to honor the village when he achieved higher office. Every word calculated, every gesture planned.
Mei Ling watched from the edges of the celebration, pride and shame warring on her face. Pride that her nephew had succeeded. Shame that she knew what kind of man he really was.
Liu Yiniang didn't attend—too soon after her husband's death. But Castor saw her watching from her courtyard as he walked home late that night, the village's first provincial scholar, drunk on wine and victory and the certain knowledge that this was only the beginning.
He gestured for her to follow. She hesitated, then obeyed, white mourning robes ghostly in moonlight.
At his house, he fucked both women simultaneously to celebrate. Mei Ling underneath him, Liu Yiniang sitting on his face, the two of them kissing above him because he'd commanded it. Their tongues met awkwardly, both crying, both hating themselves, both unable to refuse.
When he came inside Mei Ling, he imagined it was the Empress. When he made Liu Yiniang clean his cock with her mouth, he imagined it was the prince's mother. These village women were just practice. Preparation for the real conquests waiting in Xuanjing.
"I leave for the capital in two months," he told them afterward, both women lying exhausted and used on his bed. "Metropolitan examination next spring. Aunt, you'll come with me as housekeeper. Widow Liu, you'll manage this property in our absence. If you're good, I'll send for you eventually."
Liu Yiniang's face showed brief hope—eventually means escape, at least temporarily—but Mei Ling understood better. There was no escape. Wherever Castor went, his property went with him.
"Yes, master," Mei Ling whispered.
Liu Yiniang hesitated, then: "Yes, master."
Castor smiled in the darkness. Two months to prepare. Then Xuanjing. Then the real game began.
The provincial examination had been the first step on a path he'd already walked once before. But this time he knew where it led. This time he'd walk it faster, more efficiently, toward the only goal that mattered.
Not power.
Not wealth.
Not even the pleasure of breaking women and watching men fall.
Immortality.
Everything else was just passing the time until he could begin cultivating for real.
***
CHAPTER END