1-Rise of 30cm Dick
A large bird soared across the sky, diving into the clouds.
As the sun sank below the horizon, between mountains and plains, faint smoke and soft lamplight glowed in the dusk. The clouds, painted with rich hues like yellow ink, shimmered. Rays of light pierced the mist, illuminating the streets below tall city walls and grand arches.
The golden palace gates gleamed, touched by twilight and a hint of decay.
People hurried along. Carriages and horses moved quickly, no one stopping. Black-armored soldiers, wielding knives and axes, marched heavily through the streets.
From alleys, fancy carriages rolled out of grand mansions, rushing forward. One by one, they sped along stone roads, all heading to the ancient palace at the city's heart, surrounded by rivers.
A loud thunderclap echoed. Dark clouds rolled in like a black tide, heavy with rain and a deep, sad weight.
Small raindrops fell amid roaring thunder, wetting the stone roads. The rain mixed with dust, forming muddy layers.
This was no ordinary rain. It carried the weight of a moment that would decide many fates, filled with uncertainty and chaos.
Rain dripped from eaves, splashing onto costly potted flowers, making a steady drip-drip on the leaves. Yet it couldn't hide the smell of medicine and rot in the air.
Under pillars carved with mythical beasts, dragons, and leaping koi fish stood delicate porcelain vases, crafted by artisans of a lost dynasty. Now, they were just decorations. Red-lacquered railings showed designs of soaring dragons and phoenixes.
The red paint on the wooden walls, worn by time, carried the scent of age and a faint, rustic charm.
The main gate faced south, grand but slightly open. Wind rustled the silk curtains by the screen, making a soft swish.
Oil lamps flickered, casting shadows like hungry beasts onto a group of people kneeling on the floor, barely breathing.
The candlelight danced, silk swayed, rain poured outside, and inside was a heavy silence.
It was so quiet, a needle's fall would ring loud. No one dared speak.
"Cough…"
After a long time, faint coughs broke the stillness from deeper inside, bringing a spark of life to the lifeless palace.
But the kneeling figures shrank lower, as if the coughs crushed their spirits. They bent further, heads dipping deeper.
Ming Jiang, the founding emperor of Bright Hua, was wise and mighty, a brilliant strategist. With his sword, he conquered the world, united all lands, and built a legendary empire.
Yet even he couldn't escape time, decay, or death.
While he breathed, he was the sole ruler of this vast empire, the supreme leader, the Son of Heaven chosen by fate.
"Haah…"
A long sigh came from the lavish dragon bed, full of reluctance to age and a deep desire for the power he couldn't let go.
* If only I could live forever, how wonderful that would be… *
But he knew the world wouldn't allow an immortal emperor, nor would the heavens permit an eternal ruler.
He had no regrets for his path. Becoming an emperor who held the lives of all, controlling billions of fates, was his choice. Given another chance, he'd still choose power over freedom.
"Summon Lord Tai," Ming said.
His wrinkled face was pale, his hair and beard white, his features sunken, his eyes cloudy. But his gaze sharpened, his voice strong.
An old eunuch by the door stepped lightly over the threshold, gliding silently across the carpeted hall. He reached the dragon bed, knelt, and bowed nine times, pressing his forehead to the floor, still as stone.
"For me… go do something," Ming said faintly but clearly, his fierce eyes gleaming, hard to meet.
It almost recalled his youthful strength, though all knew this was his final spark. The emperor who once ruled supreme wouldn't survive the night.
"This servant obeys," Lord Tai replied, his voice trembling, nearly sobbing.
He slid backward across the floor, head bowed, until the dragon bed, reeking of medicine and rot, faded from sight. Then he rose.
"Go… I won't last much longer," Ming said calmly.
Lord Tai staggered, trembling hard. He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and hurried with a few eunuchs and loyal guards toward Yong Row in the palace depths.
Yong Row was where old palace maids and eunuchs were sent. Those over forty, without favor or rank, ended up there.
Some could leave after their service and go home, but most died in the cold, dark alleys, forgotten like dead rats. Only when their rotting smell grew too strong would guards drag them out for burial.
Lord Tai didn't know why Ming sent him to Yong Row or what the final order meant. He only knew this was his last act as Ming's servant.
Stepping through sewage and filth, Lord Tai frowned and found the row's overseer. Looking at the bowing eunuch, he asked, "Is there a eunuch named Li in Yong Row?"
"Lord Tai, many eunuchs are named Li in the palace. Even I am named Li. It's… hard to say," the overseer said, smiling nervously, unease growing.
Yong Row was a place for discarded servants. Why was the emperor's chief eunuch here? He hoped trouble wouldn't touch him.
"Named…" Lord Tai paused. He didn't know. Ming had told him to kill a eunuch named Li in Yong Row, but gave no specific name.
Didavno Did that mean he shouldn't kill?
No. This was Ming's dying wish. As a servant, Lord Tai had to obey.
A cold glint flashed in his eyes. He signaled his men and stared at the overseer. "You said you're named Li too?"
The overseer blinked, confused. What was Lord Tai planning? He bowed and answered, "Yes, I am named Li."
"Li is enough," Lord Tai said.
Those were the overseer's last words. A sharp pain hit his neck, the world spun, and darkness took him.
Blood poured from his severed neck. His head, still showing shock and a fawning smile, rolled across the ground. His body twitched, then fell, blood pooling on the mossy bricks.
"Lord!" the guard who beheaded the overseer called to Lord Tai.
"Leave no one alive," Lord Tai said coldly. "This is the emperor's will."
The guards didn't pause. They drew their swords and stepped silently into Yong Row.
"What are you doing?!"
"Don't kill me!"
"Help! Help!"
"I'm innocent! No!"
Cries and the sound of blades cutting flesh echoed.
Deep in Yong Row, in a rotting room stinking of waste, Old Eunuch lay on a broken bed. His clothes were rags, his skin sores, his hair white, his body spotted like a corpse. Thin as dry wood, he looked over seventy, near death.
The bedding was soaked in filth, one leg sticking out, as if he were half gone.
"Killing… they're killing?" Old Eunuch whispered, hearing screams outside. He clutched his ragged blanket, shaking. "Wuu… I don't want to die, I don't want to die!"
* Don't bother, you're dead anyway, * a voice said in his mind.
"Please, spare me! Spare me!" Tears and snot ran down his dirty face.
"Why? Why? I didn't do anything. Why do I have to suffer and die?"
* Why? Yeah, why… * The voice grew clearer.
* Why are you dying? You want to know why? Because… * The voice turned wild, almost mad.
* Because that old bastard Ming is dying! He's finally dying! *
* Hahahaha! Laughing my ass off! *
* That Ming who said we'd be brothers, who said we'd return to Earth together. Bright Hua's founding emperor, the wise and mighty eternal ruler. He's dying! *
* Hahahaha… he's got his day too! Wasn't he so badass? *
* I helped you build this empire, just wanting to go back, and this is what I get? I was blind, I deserved it! Two time-travelers, only one survives. I was too naive… See this? Trapped in this useless body for thirty years! Over thirty damn years! *
* Afraid my soul would escape, he locked me in this wreck of a body. Now I'm about to fade away completely, but guess what. You're still dying before me! *
* Hahahaha… *
"Wuu…" Old Eunuch shook harder, terrified by the mad voice.
* Old eunuch… don't worry, I'm dying too. Soul scattering, gone for good. I won't bother you anymore, * the voice said, softening, almost gentle.
* But now, I don't want you to die. *
* I want you to live. Live well… then screw Ming's descendants. Screw his daughters and granddaughters, get them pregnant, put a giant green hat on his lineage, let them bear your bastards, and piss on his grave. *
"Wuu… it hurts!"
"So hot! It hurts so bad! Wuu…" Old Eunuch sobbed, feeling a burning heat in his lower belly, so intense he rolled on the bed in pain.
His Dick, long castrated, old and limp, suddenly swelled like a balloon. It grew into a fiery, hot sausage, standing tall, ripping through his filthy pants like an angry dragon.
Veins bulged on it, wrapping the shaft. It stretched to a shocking size, 28 or 29 centimeters, maybe over 30, and 7 or 8 centimeters thick. The head ballooned to a terrifying 10 centimeters wide, like a giant python spitting in a forest.
The castration scar remained, making it look like a clawless, ridiculous beast.
After a while, the monstrous Dick softened, shrinking back between his legs. Even limp, it was huge, 15 or 16 centimeters long, hanging between his wrinkled, bony thighs like a third leg.
* There. In a month or so, your balls will grow back. Then you can shoot as much as you want. Too much, never too little… * The voice sounded tired, weak.
* As for how you survive… heh! *
The voice turned mocking, bitter.
* Ming, didn't you look down on me? Then why… Why do you let your descendants practice my dao techniques? *
The voice faded away.
Last month, when news of Ming's sudden illness spread from the palace, it reached his sons and grandsons across the land. Some spies leaked that Ming's sickness wouldn't heal.
The princes, especially those fighting for the throne, were ready. All sides moved their pieces, making plans.
Ming had seventeen sons, but only three had the power and hope to claim the throne. The rest were too young, locked up, or sent far away.
Ren, the fourth son, was mature, cunning, and kept a low profile. He was respectful to Ming, perfect with officials, sometimes seeming too ordinary.
Tao, the ninth son, was known for his scholarly grace. He had a great reputation among scholars and common folk, with influence in culture and politics.
Zan, the twelfth son, was young, bold, and fiery. Free-spirited and ruthless, he had a heroic air. His mother's clan was powerful, and he had the army's strongest support.
Qing, Ren's eldest daughter, was sent to the Xian Sect as a child to train. A direct disciple, she had rare talent. Some said she could become an immortal. Her ties to the sect gave Ren a hidden alliance with the immortal sects.
She returned to the capital for two reasons: to visit her dying grandfather, Ming, and to show which prince the immortal sects supported, making a final move.
Ren's power and support shocked everyone.
The immortal sects' stance shook the court. Zan raged at home, and even the calm Tao sighed and shook his head.
This wasn't just a mortal world. Immortals held great power here. The sects' support mattered, no wonder the other princes were upset.
After over a decade away, Qing became a star among the capital's noble ladies. As a high-level cultivator, she had a mysterious charm that drew people in.
But for days, aside from a few public appearances, she stayed quiet in Ren's mansion. Only a few saw her; others couldn't get close.
In the deep courtyard of Ren's mansion, a stunningly beautiful girl stood gracefully, watching the misty rain and faint fish in the pond. Her eyes were clear, bright like the moon.
She wore a white dress, pure as moonlight.
A breeze lifted her skirt, showing a glimpse of her snow-white legs, whiter than carved jade.
Qing frowned slightly, her face delicate and gorgeous, yet gentle and calm. Her cool eyes gazed far off, her long hair fluttering with a white ribbon, radiating natural immortal charm.
Her full breasts rose and fell slightly, as if she had something on her mind.
Qing had worries, but not worldly ones.
She was serene, like the moon, calm and pure, or like a clear stream in rugged mountains.
She didn't care about mundane things or her father's obsession with the throne.
She thought of the high clouds above the ninth heaven, the mystic dao beyond the sky.
* The Xuaxian Scripture, * Qing thought, her lovely eyes on the pond, recalling her master's words when she left the mountain.
"This Xuaxian Scripture is deep and complex. Its creator was a genius who shook the world… Though it strays from tradition, it points straight to the dao. A pity…"
Ming had given her the Xuaxian Scripture when she left for the Xian Sect. She remembered him then, still in his prime, handing it over while an old advisor hesitated nearby.
Ming had said with bold confidence, "He was never my match, even till death. My descendants using his dao is an honor to him."
Even the sect elders praised the scripture's creator, yet sighed with regret.
But why they sighed, most wouldn't say, as if it was forbidden.
Qing returned this time partly on sect orders and for training, but also to ask Ming about it.
Sadly, she'd visited him a few times, and he was either unconscious or too weak to talk.