"George, is it true? Wushite Empire's really willing to work with us?" Little Clinton shot up from his desk, eyes gleaming.
"Yes, Mr. President. That's their offer. It's a big deal, so I'm reporting to you. In my view, this is our nation's best shot at soaring. Whatever happens, we'll gain spacefaring tech. Even if we can't win, we can hide—there's no shortage of habitable planets out there. And Earth? A century from now, you know what it'll be like," George said.
His words were electric. The first president to lead citizens into the cosmos—a title to rival Washington himself.
"Fine. We'll sign a treaty, but they must elevate our tech to their level," Little Clinton said, then hesitated. "They're not Sky Dragon's puppets, toying with us, right?"
George paused. "Unlikely. If they were, we'd still come out ahead. They're too busy fighting elsewhere to mess with us."
"Alright, handle it. Get our scientists ready—they're already working this angle." Since China's cosmic leap, Earth's nations had poured resources into space tech, creating conditions where none existed. Results were modest, far from true spaceflight. Focusing here slashed military budgets by trillions—something Feitian likely never foresaw.
"Ono-kun, if Wushite's legit, we join. America takes the lead, so they bear the losses. No risk, no reward—profit matches danger," Japan's Prime Minister Nomura instructed over the phone.
"Hai!" Ono replied respectfully.
The two nations, rarely so aligned, swiftly agreed.
"Lieutenant Colonel—er, Major General—are we heading out? A few chicks from yesterday are still waiting," a soldier said, sprawled naked on a king-sized bed in Houston International Hotel's Room 5. To an outsider, the three men might seem… unconventional.
"Damn, these women are wild—my hips still ache," the other soldier grinned, leering lewdly. "But the taste? Worth it."
"Gods, you act like you've never seen a woman. No dice today—we've got business. If I'm right, our guests'll show soon. Shower—your stench is rank," Slin barked, kicking them toward the bathroom.
As they emerged, clean, the doorbell chimed. "Open it. They're early—less than two days," Slin smirked.
There stood George, Ono, and their entourages. "Dear Major General Slin, having fun?" George swooped in, planting a kiss on Slin's cheek. Slin, breakfast-less, nearly gagged.
"Hah, thanks to your ten-million check, we've tasted your girls' fiery passion. Never had such a thrill—makes me wanna stay on Earth forever," Slin said bluntly, catching George off guard.
Ono bowed ninety degrees. "Apologies for disturbing, Slin-kun."
Unused to non-military salutes, Slin froze, forcing a grin. "No worries, we're friends now, right?" Who invents these damn rituals?
"Well said, Slin-kun! From now on, we're friends. On behalf of Great Japan, I greet you and extend warm wishes to your family in Wushite. Prime Minister Nomura invites you to visit Japan," Ono said deferentially.
Slin's gut screamed, A trap to make me vanish? Classic move. But needing them, he played along. "Hah, too kind, Ono-kun. I'll visit—heard your girls are top-notch." If anyone else said that, Ono'd scream "Baka!" and charge. But facing an alien cash cow, he swallowed it. Even America's boss took a hit—small fries like me can eat a little loss.
Slin's soldiers piped up. "Heard Japan's a man's paradise, Ono-kun. As men, we're jealous. Ever tried a threesome?" Ono nearly fainted. What's with Wushite sending sex-starved wolves? Are they all like this? He didn't know Wushite's strict military life paled beside Earth's vibrancy. Soldiers barely saw their wives, let alone had cash for hookers.
George turned away, stifling laughter. Composed, he said, "You haven't had breakfast, right? We ordered downstairs—eat and talk?"
"Sounds good," Slin nodded. At the restaurant, trouble hit. Walking was fine, elevators helped, but the damn hotel's staircase to their room? After yesterday's "exertions," their legs were jelly. Four steps felt like death.
George, leading, saw their grimaces and grinned. His 24/7 surveillance on Slin's crew spilled every detail. Ono, initially puzzled, caught on and smirked. George signaled, and six bodyguards hoisted the trio down, two per man. "Overdid it yesterday," Slin mumbled, embarrassed.
George shot a knowing, man-to-man glance.
In Sky Dragon Empire's Flying Dragon Star palace gardens, a gaggle of beauties and kids chased each other, laughing.
These past two days, I'd carved out rare time from my packed schedule to be with my wives and children. Watching their innocent smiles, I felt life's true joy.
"Look, Tian! Little Na'er's adorable," Xue'er giggled, pointing. We all looked, bursting into laughter. Na'er (mother: Marina) clung to her brother Feimu's (mother: Xiao'e) tail. Playing eagle-and-chicken, she trailed behind, grabbing his tail to keep up. Failing, she climbed onto it, arms around his waist, her face flushed red.
Feimu, biggest among his siblings—likely his mother's genes plus mine—wasn't egg-born like most dragons but viviparous, sporting a tiny dragon tail like his brother Feijing (mother: Kapo). Elders said it'd vanish with age, easing my worry. No kid of mine's dragging a tail forever.
My bloodline gifted my kids first-tier, first-level strength at birth. Early-born ones—Feilong (mother: Xue'er), Rush, Ruhua (mother: Shasha), Feijing, Feimu, Chunshui (mother: Oula), Feiyan (mother: Oumei), Feitu (mother: Li'er)—now neared fourth-tier upper strength. By my age, they might hit eighth or ninth tier.
"Tian'er, where'd you scamper off to? Come out, or Mama's spanking you—no dinner! One, two…" Only my fiery wife Xiaoyan could bellow like that.
Xiaoyan—love, pity, and frustration rolled into one. She insisted on naming our son Makino Feitian, like me, to keep me close. After my pleading (and caving), we settled on Makino Tian.
"I saw Little Ninety-Nine there a second ago—where'd he go?" Mimi chuckled, nestled against me, two months from delivery, radiating bliss.
"Three!" As Xiaoyan's temper flared, a chubby three-year-old leapt from the flowerbed, hugging her leg. "Hehe, Mama, I'm here! Didn't see me?"
As mischievous as his mother—hereditary, clearly. Xiaoyan's anger melted at his grin, though she kept a stern face. "Keep being naughty, and Mama won't play with you. Got it?" The boy nodded sweetly. She kissed his cheek. "Good boy—that's why Mama and Papa love you." She carried him to me.
"Papa!" He reached out. My kids adore me, always clinging when I'm free. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, I guess. Kissing his cheek, I said, "No more naughtiness—look at your dirty hands."
"Papa, didn't you say life's about movement?" he said, mimicking Xiaoyan's innocence. Gods, he's her clone. "Hah, Papa's movement doesn't mean dirty hands, okay?" "Mhm."
Clashes of energy rang from the garden's open-air sparring arena. "Let's check it out." Hugging Ninety-Nine, I teleported over. Chunshui and Feiyan, siblings, were sparring.
"Hah, Sis, you can't beat me—surrender!" Feiyan teased.
"Little Six, making me quit? Not so easy," Chunshui shot back.
"Here I come!" Feiyan's Dragon Armor snapped over him, charging. "If you can, so can I," Chunshui said, armoring up. With the empire's expansion, Dragon Armor's scarce again—only Flying Dragon's and Yanhuang's 1.2 billion youths get fifth-tier suits. Pandora's soldiers? Only major generals get them. My kids? Twelfth-tier armor each. That's my love. Sing 'only mothers are good'? I'll duel you. My first abuse of power, and worth it.
Born an hour apart (don't ask how I timed it), Chunshui, a girl, lost on stamina, conceding. "Told ya, Sis, you can't win," Feiyan crowed.
"You bullied me! Hmph, if I'd eaten more, I'd have won," Chunshui pouted, eyes reddening. Girls. Oumei scolded, "Let your sister win, you brat!"
"Mom, she's my sister!" Feiyan whined. "She's a girl—boys protect girls," Oumei said.
"Little Six, bullying Chunshui again?" Rush and Ruhua swooped in, turning to Chunshui. "Don't worry, Sis'll teach this cocky punk a lesson."
Feiyan groaned, "Why's it always my fault? Fine, my bad, Sisters." Rush and Ruhua, influenced by their mother's love for Chinese classics, had refined personalities but martial skills just below Feilong's, at fifth-tier lower. Handling naughty Little Six was child's play.
"Little Six, you're not wrong, but Father always says: in life or study, never be arrogant or complacent. There's always someone better. Don't be overly cautious, but don't gloat. You beat Little Five and got smug—how'll you improve? Chunshui's moves were sharper; she just lacked stamina," Feilong lectured, nine years old and already poised. Impressive.
"Got it, Big Bro," Feiyan conceded, respecting only Feitian, Rush, and Ruhua among his siblings. I beamed at my wives. "This kid's got my style and flair, hah." They rolled their eyes, all charm. What, he doesn't? I squeezed Xue'er's hand, our bond unspoken. She gazed at me, then turned to the arena.
Handing Ninety-Nine to Xiaoyan, I called, "Long'er, let's see how hard you've trained."
Feilong's eyes lit up. "Father, I've never slacked!"
"Long'er, balance is key—overdoing it's as bad as underdoing. Look at Rush and Ruhua. Now, unleash your full power," I said sternly.
"Noted, Father. Here I come!" He maxed his energy. I nodded—half a year, and he'd jumped from fifth-tier middle to upper, nearing sixth. His mother's early dual-cultivation with me passed to him? Possible. Clearing my mind, I sparred with my son.
Feilong attacked gleefully. His siblings were too weak, and Palace Guard officers, even in groups, held back, fearing injury. His mothers were too busy. Only my annual spar let him go all-out, knowing our gap meant no risk. To him, I'm the sky—a godlike force.
I stayed defensive, occasionally striking, feeding moves to hone their skills. "Your Dragon Roar Across Seas is solid—aim lower for better effect." After my tip, his next try was near-perfect. "Father, how's this?" Feilong flipped, kicking mid-air. "Hah, familiar! You blended Wudang's Two Forms Sword essence into Soaring Dragon Kick. Not mastered yet—polish it for more impact."
"Thought I'd surprise you. Took ages to get Priest Siping to teach me—cost six bottles of green fruit wine," Feilong panted, annoyed. I blinked. So that's where my wine went—bribing his master.
I laughed grandly. "Long'er, don't sulk. Your progress at this age is prodigious. Unsatisfied? The world'd commit suicide. Beat me? Not now, nor in a decade, even with the empire's best. Cultivation's not just you—it's external factors too."
The kids stared, awestruck. Bad move—making me their ceiling hurts their growth. I turned serious. "I climbed step-by-step like you. I'm not invincible forever—you'll surpass me. I started martial arts at twelve, barely your level by eighteen. Got confidence to top me?" A white lie—they'd need my freakish luck to outdo me, but I can't let them despair.
"We've got confidence!" my sons and daughters roared. Even Ninety-Nine waved his tiny hands, chirping, "Me too!" Laughter erupted.
"I'll surpass you, Father," Feilong vowed, fists clenched. "Good! That's my Sky Dragon Emperor's son. We're noble, mighty dragons—never lose faith. Nothing's beyond us if we strive. We're dragons, strong alone but strongest together. I want my heirs not just skilled but united, a cohesive force," I said, clapping his shoulder.
Their resolute gazes, free of prior awe and fear, warmed me. They'd broken my "invincible" shadow. I'd taught all I could—their paths were theirs now. Self-forged techniques suit best.
Unbeknownst to me, my words became ancestral law, etched on my statue in Flying Dragon Star's palace square, instilling enduring confidence and unity in Sky Dragon's people. Ninety percent of my descendants hit twelfth-tier or higher, standing united against all odds. Their strength made Sky Dragon the cosmos' top empire for billions of years. By then, I was touring with my wives, reflecting on past and present. Old revolutionaries were right: "Education starts with kids."
With Sky Dragon and Wushite tensions soaring over Pandora's fugitive government, plus sporadic rebels in the fractured Pandora System waving "restore the nation, expel invaders" flags, Black Dragon Army Group's stationed forces were swamped.
Thank gods Boss sent ten regular legions, or I'd age prematurely despite my skills. What's with these idiots? Life under Sky Dragon's better—no hunger, free healthcare, same freedoms as citizens if they don't rebel. As Boss says, their brains are stuffed with chaff. Lucky they're sly—news of ten legions quieted them like nothing happened. Security's so tight, outsiders'd think this a model system.
"Darling, we spotted a fleet ahead—not Wushite's," A-Lang's flat-chested favorite wife interrupted his thoughts. Jealous, she'd muscled into his staff as "secretary" to "care for him" and block "bad women," strong-armed by her sister-wives.
"Sweetheart, please, we're in the army—no 'darling,'" A-Lang whispered, glancing at busy crew, relieved none noticed.
"Darling, don't you love me anymore?" she teared up, making A-Lang's head triple in size. "Honey, I swear, I only love you four. Secret: I love you a smidge more. I used to like busty girls, but after you, I braved the boys' ribbing to marry your petite charm. Don't you see my heart?" he said, feigning hurt.
"Alright, dear, I get it," she softened.
Seizing the moment, A-Lang pressed, "I'm fleet commander, an imperial general. Call me Commander or General—others'll talk. You being here already bends rules."
"Why can His Majesty's wives do it?" she pouted, but relented.
"Not the same. Boss's wives were military from the start, qualified for my job. To avoid gossip, he sidelined them to just the Palace Guard and one army group."
"Fine, General, sir," she huffed, lips pursed.
Relieved, A-Lang wiped mental sweat, marveling at Feitian's wife-wrangling. Gotta learn from him. "Contact them. They've entered Sky Dragon territory—request comms and inspection," he told her.
"Yes, General, sir." She gave a sloppy salute and relayed the order.
A-Lang sank into his command chair, musing, Whose fleet? "Connected—they request the commander," his wife reported.
The screen showed a fiftyish lieutenant general—Ross, Kangjia Empire's envoy on a secret mission. Seeing A-Lang, a young general, Ross blinked but saluted cosmically. "Greetings, General. I'm Lieutenant General Ross of Kangjia Empire, First Cosmos, here on Marshal Nixev's orders for a covert visit."
"First Cosmos, Kangjia?" A-Lang, skeptical—First Cosmos was hearsay in this Second-Third Cosmos region—returned a polite salute. "Welcome to Sky Dragon Empire. I hope you enjoy it. Due to tensions, we must inspect your vessels. Please cooperate."
"No issue," Ross replied crisply, surprising A-Lang. He ordered cautious inspections. When the all-clear came, A-Lang relaxed. "Lieutenant General, as you're here secretly, I'll assign escorts. Follow our navigation ships. Will you stop at Pandora System or head to our capital?"
Ross smiled. "Thank you, General, but time's tight. I'd like to reach your capital swiftly to complete my mission. If talks succeed, I'll visit your home."
"Great, my family'd love that," A-Lang's wife blurted.
Ross froze, unsure who this major was, speaking for a general. Noticing her gender and A-Lang's embarrassment, he chuckled. "Thank you, General and gracious wife. I hope that day comes soon."
"Hah, we'll be waiting. I've alerted the capital—you'll have escort relays. Any needs, tell them. Safe travels," A-Lang said.
"Thank you." The call ended cordially. "Resume patrol," A-Lang ordered. His fleet, minus escorts, resumed formation along the defense line.
With short-range space jumps, Sky Dragon's escorts trailed slowly. Six days later, they left Pandora's defense zone, entering Yellow Dragon Army Group's area. Escorts used a cleared cosmic channel—Flying Dragon System's sparse stars and abundant debris made natural defenses. Debris wasn't cleared but weaponized, and their narrow channel was a chokehold: one man could block thousands.
Ross, observing, grew uneasy. Billions of light-years revealed countless legions and warships, rivaling Kangjia's in number but far advanced. He noticed Sky Dragon's ships could shift colors—purple-black, black, debris-hued. Initially doubting his eyes, he confirmed it when a ship morphed from debris to purple in the debris zone. Their tech's unreal. If he saw their mobile Space Fortresses, he'd faint.
"Greetings, General. I'm Yellow Dragon Army Group Commander, Second-Class Lieutenant General Trunk, ordered by Emperor Feitian to escort you to our capital," Trunk's image said on-screen.
Unsure of "second-class," Ross assumed parity with his rank. "Thank you, General."
"No trouble. State your needs. We're sending jump coordinates." Beeps signaled transmission. "General Ross, we jump in thirty seconds—prepare."
Trunk's coordinates targeted a mid-range jump—100 million light-years. Post-jump, the fleet followed Yellow Dragon's escorts. After a day, they reached open space, halting briefly for a minute.
A major general appeared on Ross's screen. "General, follow our fleet closely. Don't stray beyond escorts to avoid trouble. Thank you."
"Thank you, Major General," Ross replied, intrigued by Sky Dragon's disciplined, courteous officers. Compared to Kangjia's aging brass, their vigor showed a superior fighting force.
"Attention, we're entering the channel," the lead ship announced.
"What channel?" Ross muttered, peering out. Shock hit. The vast debris field parted like a controlled tide, rising and shifting as ships entered, closing behind. As they advanced, debris ahead kept parting.
Ross was baffled. Controlling this debris demanded immense resources. This hinted at Sky Dragon's tech prowess—likely just the surface. He'd feel this awe only before a superpower. Unbeknownst to him, this zone, engineered since Sky Dragon claimed Flying Dragon Star, was completed a year ago. Controlled by "Little Bi," a copy of super-AI "Bi Bi," it used China's ancient Bagua Qiankun array, shifting constantly. This was the third defense line's bedrock. Intruders faced hidden fortress cannons in the debris, requiring 20 million warships—by Sky Dragon's standards—to breach.
Some might think this locks out all. Feitian's plan was exactly that—outsiders stayed out. Routine matters were handled on Divine Realm Star; Flying Dragon Star was a symbolic capital. Governance, like Kamet Alliance's embassy, operated on Divine Realm, shielding secrets. Mystery breeds fear. Here lay Sky Dragon's core—unbreached, the empire stood eternal.
Behind Flying Dragon Star, the Primordial Eight Stars' defense array, guarded by Silver Dragon Legion's six legions, was impregnable.
Four tedious hours passed. A beep woke Ross. A new major general saluted on-screen. "Lieutenant General Ross, I'm Sky Dragon Palace Guard Legion, First Fleet Commander. Welcome to our capital's satellite, Demon Realm Star. Your ships stay here; you'll board our VIP shuttle to the capital."
Ross realized they'd arrived. Demon Realm Star, a dark, featureless orb, loomed. Far off, a stunning blue planet glowed—Flying Dragon Star, his destination.
"Understood," Ross said, arranging personnel. Leaving 20 warships at the satellite's port was standard cosmic protocol—visiting ships docked at satellites, with shuttles to the main planet. Otherwise, it signaled war. In truth, satellite-to-planet distances meant little; warship cannons could still hit.
Landing at Flying Dragon Star's cosmic port, Ross stepped out, awestruck. The planet's beauty—homes blending into hills, nature in harmony—showed stellar eco-care. He instantly loved it.
As a secret visitor, the major general led him to a hovercar, speeding toward the palace, Sky Dragon's power hub. Ross, a battle-hardened veteran, felt an odd tension. Me, nervous? He'd expected to meet a minister, not Emperor Feitian himself. Underestimating this founding emperor, who built a mighty empire, was foolish. Only "heroic genius" fit such a man.
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