And his cock—even soft now (finally), it hung thick and heavy between his legs, the crimson head still glistening, the scaled shaft a weapon that had just destroyed two women completely.
'Forty-seven Herbs well spent,' he thought with dark satisfaction.
He pulled on basic robes—the ones he'd worn yesterday, now hanging loose on his transformed body—and opened the door to the guest room.
And froze.
Because standing in the hallway, clearly having just approached the door, hand raised as if about to knock—
Was Zhang Yue.
The daughter. Face flushed. Eyes wide. Clearly having heard everything.
For a long moment, they just stared at each other.
Then—
"I—I WASN'T SNEAKING—!!" Yue blurted out, face burning crimson, taking a step back. "I WASN'T LISTENING—I WAS JUST—MOTHER TOLD ME TO—TO BRING YOU TO—!!"
She gestured wildly, unable to form coherent sentences, and Cang noticed—
