Tianlong strode bare-ass naked through the shimmering, endless gold-veined hallway of the Pleasure Palace, sweat drying sticky between his abs and the heavy swing of his dick.

As he walked, the world morphed around him—the place itself moving with his steps; white marble grew under his feet with every lazy step, while the walls twisted with satin and veins of living grass, carrying the fresh smell of soap and sound of water.

He was creating a bathroom.

He didn't bother grabbing a robe—what was the fucking point? It would be off in less than five minutes with how things were, and putting it back on would just be a hassle.

He was a healthy man married to four gorgeous wives.

Among them, he had just knocked out one, and the remaining three would be feeling lonely without him inside them.

He snapped his fingers, opening a small portion of the Pleasure Palace directly within the guest area.

He needed to kidnap one of his three wives from that crowded place without creating much of a ruckus, which was simple for him, especially given his ability of absolute domain. Within a ten-mile radius, he was reality itself.

Hearing that he was reality itself doesn't seem like an overpowered ability.

But no, it wasn't that much of a deal.

The simple reason was that it fell under the laws of this world, allowing him to manipulate reality with the ease of a hand gesture, but only to a logically possible limit.

He could change things that were under natural law—like making a mountain fall, a rock tumble, since gravity would always pull it down.

He could separate poison from a pill, as long as it was possible within the natural laws.

This was the particular ability he used to merge with the Pleasure Palace, enhancing its ability by creating separate small portions throughout the wedding venue.

The Pleasure Palace by itself could not separate or act like a beehive, but his ability, merged with the Palace, let him control its natural laws to their peak.

So, merged with his absolute domain and the Pleasure Palace's own laws, he had created a new kind of ability.

Instantly, a section ahead split open, fabricating from thin air a glinting bathroom the size of a royal lounge: a massive bathtub already full, water cascading down like a mountain spring, thick clouds of hot steam filling the space.

The white marble appeared as if pulled from heaven itself, savoring the modern age, merging fantasy with modern aesthetics in the bathtub design.

Just beside him, as if he had already found one of his wives, a coffin-shaped box—though not unattractive—rose from the floor, revealing his random pick, automatically drawn from wherever in the palace his wives were wandering.

As it opened, he turned, clearly imagining Feng's thick boobs rubbing soap on his back or Mei's veins tying him while he pounded her ass—both good at giving his mind a thrill.

'...What a jinx I am...'

Instead, he saw a brown-haired woman with green eyes standing with her hands folded, looking towards him with a blank expression, eyes narrowed as if judging his whole existence, causing him to halt as his mouth twitched.

Scratching his chin, he said, "Hey there, Yue."

She huffed but didn't budge, giving him that look—flat, almost cold.

He looked around as if trying to find what she was staring at, before finally following her line of sight. His gaze turned towards his dick.

Instead of answering, she nudged her chin at his still-limp, spit-slick cock, dangling half-soft, still glimmering with remnants of his last fuck session's juices.

And as if that snapped something in her, she approached, glaring at him. Leaning down, with her finger she poked his cock's head, stretching the sticky remnants of pre-cum between her forefinger and thumb before looking up at him.

Clearly glaring, he chuckled and asked, "What happened?"

She said, "You seem to have gotten bored with your old wives, huh?"

Hearing that, and seeing how she clearly seemed pissed—the amount of fluid on his cock being prime proof of how deeply he had pounded Ying Jia—he couldn't deny it. So he kept looking into her eyes, then shrugged his shoulders, almost as if to piss her off more.

"What to do? They are too cold to me."

"Tch." She clicked her tongue, shifting her gaze back towards his dick, while he seemed to enjoy her annoyance.

"Though, Yue—!"

He expected her to sass back. Instead, she strode over and, without warning, grabbed his cock in her cold hand.

She couldn't wrap her fingers around his girth, but she yanked him forward hard enough to make his breath stutter, pulling him smooth into the spray of the waterfall-shower, right into the heat.

"Wait, what are you doing?"

He stumbled after her—let's face it, not like he had any shame left to keep—and she turned the water on with a sharp twist.

Water hammered both their bodies, flattening her hair, soaking her dress until the fabric clung smother-tight to her curves.

She faced him square, then started peeling off her wedding dress, fingers sliding over soaked silk, unhooking the ribbons and dragging the whole thing off, never taking her green eyes off his face.

Tianlong's mouth went dry for a moment—her thickness was smaller than Ying Jia's, but built like a gymnast: all taut lines and compact muscle, modest but perky tits, skin smooth as a fuck doll beneath the soaking cloth.

As the dress dropped, nipples hardening under the spray, she stripped herself bare, standing unashamed as the steam rose around her.

Sodden veil tossed aside, she let the water cascade down, highlighting her tight stomach, the subtle definition of her abs, the suggestion of muscle in her thighs.

There was only negligible baby-bump softness there.

She let the last bit of fabric dangle from her wrist, then let it fall.

"Look at me, you pervert," she said in a low, warning voice, tilting his head up with a single finger under his chin.

Hearing it, he looked directly into her eyes, blinking, mesmerized by how she looked under the water as she continued, "Where is my gift? Wedding gift?"

He blinked and asked, "You also want something?" raising his eyebrow.

Knowing how annoying he was, she said, "Promise me."

He said, "I promise."

She replied, "At least hear me out, you idiot."

He chuckled and said, "A wife called her husband an idiot. How can he even hear her?"

She pursed her lips, turning her head down. There was a clear tremble in her body as she muttered, "...I am sorry..."

And that was enough to tell him he should just stop being easygoing for a second. He slowly lifted his finger, reciprocating her gesture, lifting her chin so her face met his, then said, "Okay, just ask."

Both were drenched as her lips parted, soft like rose petals, dewed by the water.

"Promise me—when I'm in labor, when I get the belly bump, and when I want to upbring my babies, you will be there for me. You will help me raise our children until they turn five years, with me here, and will halt your plan to ascend."

As he heard her words, he blinked, clearly taken aback—he didn't expect this.

"What are you saying?"

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