After the final, shattering release, a heavy, weighted silence descended upon the pavilion, broken only by the synchronised, ragged hitches of their breath.
Hah. Hah. Hah.
Shen Yu remained buried deep within her, his pulse still hammering through his veins, his frame twitching with the lingering aftershocks of a climax that had felt more like a spiritual awakening than a physical act.
Internally, he could feel his Dantian roaring. The sheer purity of Yilan's decades-old Yin energy had acted as a divine catalyst, with just this single union, his cultivation progress had surged from 92% to 94%. It was a staggering leap, a testament to the potency of their combined souls.
He didn't pull away. Instead, he began to deliver small, shallow thrusts, gentle, rhythmic pulses that served as a tender afterglow.
Slick. Slick.
