Shameless Immortal: Emperor of Ten Thousand Beauties

While chaos tore through the streets of Thousand Waves City, the foundations of commoners crumbling into leaden pain and the Peng Clan’s legacy dissolving into ash, there remained a single sanctuary of absolute, chilling tranquility.

At the very heart of the city, the Estate of the City Lord stood as an island of silence. Though a desperate crowd gathered at the outer gates, their pleas for justice were swallowed by the massive, sound-dampening arrays woven into the white stone walls.

In the center of the estate, an open pavilion of carved jade sat perched above an expansive artificial lake. The water was so clear it looked like liquid glass, inhabited by iridescent koi that moved with a synchronized, haunting grace, their scales shimmering like submerged jewels.

City Lord Wu Shan sat at a low table of black lacquer, his fingers hovering over a Go board. With a soft clack, he placed a white stone, his expression unreadable.

"It is quite the spectacle," Wu Shan remarked, his voice smooth and devoid of the stress gripping the city. "I did not expect the Tang Clan to possess the ingenuity to modify the base formula so thoroughly."

He looked toward the man standing at the edge of the pavilion, Ye Jun, the Head Treasurer of the Golden Cauldron Merchant Union. "What is your assessment, Ye Jun?"

Ye Jun bowed deeply, his forehead nearly touching the floor in a show of profound reverence. "My Lord, even I, who have monitored the markets for decades, could not have predicted this. They did not merely reverse-engineer the medicinal properties; they performed a Heavenly Purification on the dross. To strip away the side effects while retaining the aromatic profile of the original... it is nothing short of miraculous."

Ye Jun’s voice wavered slightly with awe. "Not even our Union, which secured that recipe a year ago, could achieve such a feat, and we have three Tier-3 Grand Alchemists in our Crimson Iron branch."

The man sitting opposite Wu Shan, the Grand Elder of the Wu Clan, Wu Qiang, let out a low hum, his eyes gleaming with a sharp, dangerous light. "That implies a variable we haven’t accounted for. To refine with that level of precision... there is someone in this city, likely hidden within the Tang or Jin estates, who has touched the threshold of Tier-4 Alchemy."

Wu Shan leaned back, a faint, cold smile touching his lips. "The Tangs? No. They are a fallen house that has only been in our city for a few years. They don’t have the heritage. It must be the Jin Clan. They’ve likely been grooming the Tangs as a front, hiding their own high-tier alchemist behind a veil of fallen nobility. Clever."

He waved a hand dismissively toward the city. "Well, regardless of who stirred the pot, the Peng Clan is finished. Those trash pills will be their funeral shrouds. They were becoming quite the nuisance lately, growing too bold, too greedy."

A flicker of something ancient and terrifying passed through Wu Shan’s eyes. "If not for the Imperial Decree to remain in the shadows, I would have reminded them personally what it means to cross the Royals."

At the mention of the Royals, Ye Jun felt a cold shudder travel down his spine. That single word was etched into the soul of every citizen of the Crimson Lotus Empire. They were the absolute apex, the Tian Family, whose ancestor was whispered to be a man who could cut the mountains and split the rivers. No one moved against them. No one survived their displeasure. Wu Shan was a branch of that terrifying tree, operating under an alias that even Ye Jun didn’t dare know the City Lord’s true name.

Wu Shan looked at the Treasurer, his gaze softening into a patronizing approval. "You did well, Ye Jun. Your cooperation in ’selling’ the recipe to the Pengs provided the very rope they are currently hanging themselves with. We have uprooted a weed without staining our own hands. You will be rewarded heavily."

Ye Jun’s face lit up with a mixture of relief and greed. He dropped to his knees again. "Thank you, My Lord! All hail the Crimson Lotus Empire! All hail the Tian Family!"

Wu Shan nodded, his smile widening as he looked back at the Go board. Then, his eyes shifted to Wu Qiang, his voice dropping into a tone of casual execution.

"As for the Peng Ancestor... he’s lived long enough. Deal with him."

The following dawn brought the final, silent stroke of the executioner’s blade.

The Peng Ancestor, a man who had survived a centuries of martial strife and reached the early stage of the Nascent Soul Realm, was found slumped in his secluded meditation chamber. There was no struggle, no broken seals, and not a single drop of blood spilled on the pristine white mats.

To the medical alchemists who dared to examine the corpse, the verdict was as baffling as it was terrifying: Total Qi Disintegration. It appeared as though his own cultivation had simply turned into a localized void, collapsing his internal organs in an instant. The official word was a sudden, violent Qi Deviation, a freak accident for a master of his caliber.

But for Peng Kai, the news was the final crack in a shattered mirror.

He stood in the center of the Ancestral Hall, staring at the lifeless body of the only man who could have anchored the clan against the coming storm. The silence of the room was punctuated only by Kai’s ragged, uneven breathing.

"What happened?" he whispered, his voice thin and reedy. "What happened? Everything was fine... a month ago. We owned the streets. We owned the gold. What happened?"

His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and darting frantically toward every shadow, as if expecting the very walls to grow teeth and devour him. He wasn’t just losing a trade war anymore; he was being erased by an invisible hand he couldn’t even name.

"What happened... what happened... what happened..." The words became a rhythmic, crazed chant, his fingers twitching rhythmically against his thighs.

The heavy oak doors burst open. An elder, his robes torn and his face pale with panic, came sprinting into the hall, oblivious to the fragile state of his Patriarch.

"Patriarch! The mob, they’ve returned!" the elder screamed, his voice echoing off the memorial tablets. "The gold wasn’t enough! They say the ’cure’ we promised is a lie! They’re dragging the guards into the streets! We need orders, My Lord! We need—"

Crr-ack.

The elder’s voice vanished into a wet, sickening crunch.

In a blur of desperate, unstable speed, Peng Kai had crossed the distance and gripped the elder’s head. With a single, savage twist fueled by a mind that had completely unspooled, he tore the head clean from the shoulders. Blood geysered upward, drenching the ancestral tablets in a hot, crimson spray.

Peng Kai stood over the twitching corpse, holding the severed head by its hair. He turned to the other horrified disciples cowering in the doorway, his face a mask of gore and absolute madness.

"Give them the gold," he whispered, his voice dropping into a deep, chilling register that froze the marrow in their bones. "Open the secret vaults. Give them every last coin if you have to." 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

He stepped over the body, the severed head still dripping in his hand.

"Tell them... tell the vermin that the cure is in the final stage of refinement," Kai hissed, his eyes glowing with an emerald, demonic light. "Tell them to wait. Three days. If anyone asks again... if anyone doubts the Peng Clan again..."

He dropped the severed head, letting it thud and wetly roll across the polished marble like a piece of overripe, discarded fruit.

"I will personally ensure they never have to worry about their meridians again," he whispered to the empty air, his voice devoid of any human warmth.

The disciples scrambled backward, tripping over their own robes and falling over one another in a frantic, undignified haste to escape the presence of a man who was no longer a Patriarch. Inside the suddenly cavernous hall, Peng Kai began to laugh, a high, jagged, broken sound that carried no mirth, only the chilling echoes of a collapse that was now absolute.

"This..." he choked out through the hysterics, his blood-stained fingers clawing at the air. "This all happened because of those Tang bastards. Every coin lost, every drop of blood... it’s their debt to pay."

The laughter died abruptly, replaced by a low, guttural vibration that seemed to pull the temperature of the room down toward freezing.

"Arrange a meeting with the Thousand-Ghost Syndicate," he growled, the name of the Empire’s most famous assassination association hanging in the air like a curse. "If I am to burn, I will ensure the Tang Estate is the pyre."