Seeing the cop's stunned look, I knew he was floored, his trembling lips betraying his excitement. "Alright, you know—keep it quiet," I whispered. He nodded, understanding.
"Take them away," he ordered, pointing at the thugs. Poor saps, extorting the emperor himself—what rotten luck. Hope this doesn't mess with my plans. Gotta grill these punks later.
"Little sister, you're safe now. Where do you live? I'll take you home," I said, turning to the girl. "Thank you, big brother, but my sister's still in their hands. Can you save her?" She knelt, pleading. Damn, these guys are animals.
"Okay, get up," I said, helping her. "Where's your sister?" "Thank you, big brother. They're holding her at that fatso's place," she said, wiping tears.
"Stop crying, or folks'll think I'm bullying you. Then every hero in town'll come for me," I teased. God, I hate girls' tears—stab me twice, and I'd feel better.
"Pfft," she giggled. "I'm not that pretty—just an ugly duckling," she said shyly. Her grimy face hid the blush, but I could tell.
"No way, you never looked in a mirror? If you're not a beauty, who is?" I exaggerated. Only now did I study her. Big, misty eyes, a delicate oval face, too thin—probably malnutrition. Decent figure, also skinny, likely the same cause.
"Heh, you're too much," she said, beaming. Every girl loves compliments, especially one fresh from hell, stress melting away. Noticing my stare, she blushed. "What're you looking at?" Her voice was a mosquito's buzz—good thing my skills sharpen my hearing.
"Obviously, a beauty," I quipped. "Alright, no jokes. Let's grab a meal, then save your sister. Sound good?" "Yes!" She jumped, hugging me, shouting.
Passersby gawked at our odd duo. Realizing their stares, she ducked her head. "Sorry."
"Heh, no biggie. I get your mood. Let's go," I said, habitually grabbing her hand.
"Mm," she nodded. Holding hands on the street felt shy, but his warmth sparked trust. Hard to believe she'd follow a stranger so easily.
I took her to a bathhouse—her grime was too much. No way a restaurant would let her in. "Hey, miss!" I called a female attendant.
"Yes, sir, how can I help?" she asked politely. "Guess this girl's height and buy her a full outfit—inside out, head to toe. Can you?" I said, glancing at the girl.
"Of course," the attendant said, amused. "You won't mess up her size, right?" I pressed. "No worries, she's my height and build," she said, stifling a laugh.
"Really?" I noticed their similar frames, the attendant curvier. "Great, thanks. Here's a thousand coins—buy her clothes. Keep the change as a tip."
"Thank you!" She'd never met such a generous customer. On Flying Dragon Star, government subsidies keep wages and prices low. A good outfit costs less than nine hundred coins, leaving over a hundred—third of her monthly pay. No wonder she's thrilled.
Bored, I lounged on a lobby sofa. The girl's been in there over half an hour. Girls and their long baths—me, I'm done in ten minutes. At least there's eye candy passing by. Too covered up, though. Beach bikinis would be better—no, nude's best. I snickered, then sighed. The empire's not ready for nudity without losing it, unless all men turn eunuch or impotent, which'd be grim.
"Big brother, sorry for the wait," a girl's voice came from behind. Damn, daydreaming about women, I didn't sense her. I gave myself a wry smile and turned. My brain blanked.
"I must have her," a voice echoed in my head. She wasn't as stunning as my wives, but her aura—like an untouched orchid, fresh and pure—hit me hard. That unique charm made her plain face rival Xue'er and Meilina's beauty.
"Gods, I saved a goddess!" I blurted. "Heaven, you're too kind!" (Per the classics: "Kid, I'm the kind one. Planned an ugly girl, but a friend said no need to pile on her misery. Beauty can suffer too, so I agreed. Ugh, gave you a teen virgin for free. Depressing." Feitian: "Big bro, thank you! You're my idol forever!" Feitian clung to Classics' leg, sobbing.)
"Big brother, stop teasing. I'm not that pretty," she said, fiddling with her fingers, head low. God, she's gorgeous. Cleaned up, her shy blush was intoxicating. No wonder shy beauty steals hearts. I stared, dazed. "Be my wife. I swear to make you happy," I said, kneeling. I don't know why, but love hit like lightning.
Her face reddened. "Big brother, is it just my looks?" At fifteen or sixteen, she knew love, dreaming of a man who'd love her soul, not her face.
"No, it's not your beauty—my wives are gorgeous too. I love you. It's uncontrollable, not a whim or impulse. It made me forget myself, my pride, kneeling here, begging for your love. Marry me, my goddess," I said. I didn't know why, but it felt right, or I'd regret it forever.
Her heart trembled under my burning gaze. Hearing I had wives stung, but his kneeling plea—in a world where men rule—was overwhelming. If she knew I was the emperor uniting the Magic-Martial Continent, she'd lose it.
Onlookers gathered, drawn by the scene. A woman nudged her husband. "So romantic! Not like you, showing up with a few bottles of booze to marry me. I want romance too, dear. Kneel later, okay?" Her pleading eyes forced a wry nod. "Fine, I'll kneel all day." The crowd grew, buzzing with chatter.
"What do I do? Someone tell me!" the girl fretted. "Marry him, he's a good man!" "Marry!" "Marry!" the crowd chanted.
"Don't waver, let your heart decide," an older woman said, taking her hand. "Yes, my heart," she whispered, choosing. "I'll marry you, my love." Her heart sang, sweet yet shy. "Yes!" The crowd cheered wildly.
She said yes—my love answered. Happiness wrapped me. I said nothing, just held her petite frame tight. You're mine; no one can take you or my other wives away or hurt you.
"I proposed without even knowing your name. Sorry," I said sheepishly. "Don't. I said yes without knowing yours. Love's enough," she said. So pure. I'll guard our love forever, I, Feitian, swear.
"Lan'er, full? I can order more," I asked softly. Watching Slan eat felt like bliss, reminding me of Xue'er and the others watching me scarf food, passing water. I owe them so much.
"I'm full. Why aren't you eating?" Slan noticed I hadn't touched my food. "Ate before I came," I smiled.
"Am I eating ugly?" She stuck out her tongue cutely. "No, it's beautiful. You're always the most beautiful," I said, fudging a bit. All my wives are number one, right? Heh. (Per the classics: "Hypocrite.")
"Lan'er, what's the fatso's name? How many others like you?" I asked on the way to his place. "I don't know much—we just arrived. Maybe fifty or sixty. They planned to sell me and my sister to underground brothels, but the government's cracking down, and they're low on cash. So they made us beg. If we didn't hit their quota, no food. To stop us from escaping, they kept one of us hostage, making the other beg for both," Slan said, pained, clinging to me.
"No more worries. I promise those who hurt you will suffer a hundredfold," I vowed. Slan led me to the fatso's place—a rundown courtyard at a dead-end alley, two two-story buildings. The alley screamed demolition; imperial policy gives citizens comfy homes for low rent, owned after ten years. Only historic sites stay—others go.
This alley was deserted, perfect for hiding. As we approached, footsteps echoed. Turning, I saw cops—same lead officer from before. He saluted; I returned it. His team followed, and I had to salute back, geez.
"Chief, we're here to rescue the girls," he reported, using "chief" to hide my identity, as instructed. Young chiefs are common in the empire, so no one blinked.
"Quick work. Let's go—time to squash these pests," I said. "Yes, sir!" The fight was a breeze. We found over thirty girls locked up, some still out. To catch the rest, we ambushed the place till night, nabbing all thirty gang members and rescuing sixty-eight girls.
Girls with families went home; orphans went to imperial schools. "Your Majesty, any further orders?" the police chief asked in his office.
"Follow the law. Dig into their network—find their contacts. This tumor's gotta go," I said fiercely.
The chief shivered. The empire's brutal on forced prostitution—death penalty, no exceptions. Post-founding, brothels were shut. Ex-prostitutes were reformed, trained, or specially nurtured if talented. These policies took little effort; after the demon invasion slashed populations, survival trumped vice. But peace brought back bad habits, done underground since it's banned. Reaching ideal societal standards needs time, but no mercy here.
These crooks targeted orphans or girls hiding in forests, avoiding city folk to dodge detection. If I hadn't stumbled on this, who knows how long it'd fester.
"Majesty, they won't talk," the chief reported, sweating.
"No problem. Interrogate them separately. They're dead men—kill a few if needed." The chief paled. "If you're unsure, wait a day. I'll send a specialist tomorrow. Lock down this case—don't let them sniff it out. I suspect high officials are involved, or they wouldn't be this bold. Leak this, and you're done. Got it?" I warned.
"Rest assured, Majesty, I'll fully support your envoy," he said, sensing a bloody purge coming.
Who to send? If I'm doing this, no soft hands. Nip it before it spirals. I planned to invade the demon realm after this, but internal rot comes first. A hero killed post-victory? Unacceptable. Few officials are likely involved—I'll make an example. Wolf's perfect—sly, ruthless, aptly named. He and his three brothers are loyal, fear their wives, and avoid debauchery, sticking to military honor. With the Royal Guard Special Corps, no pest can stir trouble.
What'll tomorrow bring? I hope more stay clean. Bloodbaths aren't my thing, but for the greater good, I'll act. Better slay a thousand than miss one. Even if I'm called a tyrant, I'll fight the heavens. Let history judge my deeds.
Reader's Corner: Yo, readers, Feitian's saving girls and planning a purge! Think Slan's love will stick, or is she hiding something? And who's the corrupt official—someone close or a new foe? Drop your predictions in the comments, and let's see who's got the best nose for trouble!