The night on the isolated terrace of Shattered Heaven was cold, but Yù Méi's body burned.
Seated on the black stone railing, the Brutal Blade swung her legs over the abyss of clouds, her nails digging into her own thigh to try to dissipate the absurd sexual tension and jealousy consuming her. Behind her, silence had finally returned to the Sect Master's quarters after two long, torturous hours of impacts and muffled moans.
The soft creak of the double cedar doors broke the silence.
Yù Méi did not turn immediately. The millions of open pores in her skin captured the dense smell of sweat, sandalwood, and intimate fluids long before her eyes registered her sister's figure.
Yù Qíng walked onto the terrace. The blue goddess was not wearing her usual robes; her pale, sweat‑soaked body was wrapped only in a thin, dark silk robe that barely concealed the febrile flush of her exhausted breasts and trembling thighs. The priestess's physical fatigue was glaring, but her black eyes gleamed with sharp, calculating utilitarianism.
"The night is too cold for you to sit alone on the terrace, little flower," Yù Qíng murmured, her rough, velvety voice floating toward her sister.
Yù Méi finally turned her face. Carnivorous frustration overflowed in her almond eyes.
"The night would be fine if I didn't have to listen to you two destroying the furniture for two whole hours," the younger sister snarled, her voice sharp and direct, rejecting any wordplay. "What do you want, sister? Come to ask for water because you dried your throat from all that screaming?"
Yù Qíng did not take offense. She smiled indulgently, leaning against the wooden doorframe, her weak legs begging for rest.
"You listen because your body longs for it, Méi. The untouched Yin boiling in your meridians recognizes my husband's Yang, and your flesh begs to be plowed by him," Yù Qíng slid her hand over her own damp belly, her eyes fixed on her sister. "But what we create in that bed is not mere lust. The mechanics of our power are not a simple exchange of mortal fluids."
Yù Méi frowned, martial and instinctive curiosity breaking through the wall of jealousy.
"His Inner Universe is a vast, hungry emptiness," Yù Qíng explained, her voice taking on a deliberately professorial tone. "To fill it, the only way to forge raw Primordial Qi is through the Furnace of the Flesh. His infinite Yang and my Yin are ground together, crushed against each other and fused in intimacy, generating the primordial essence that feeds his stars."
Yù Méi's breath caught. The cultivation method that made them untouchable gods did not come from silent meditation. It came from that absurd carnal violence she listened to every night.
"But my ocean has a bottom, Méi," Yù Qíng's voice dropped to a darker octave, the reality of her physical limits staining her arrogance. "The density of his Yang drives me to sensory collapse and physical exhaustion long before his hunger even threatens to overflow. If my body fails, his cultivation will stagnate. And a wise goddess does not let her tree die of thirst when there is virgin soil begging to be used in her own backyard."
Yù Qíng's black eyes swept over Yù Méi's voluptuous, hyper‑dense body.
"Don't you see? The opening of your pores and the brutal vigor of your flesh have perfectly honed you. Your body endures breaking stones. It would not collapse under my heaven's weight so quickly. I am offering you the privilege of sharing the burden of feeding him, to serve as an auxiliary vessel and supporting soil for my harvest."
The silence that followed was filled only by the howl of the wind on the mountain.
Yù Méi's heart hammered against her ribs. The invitation to his bed lay there, wide open. It was everything her repressed lust desired. But the way her sister framed the request—the cold, calculating words, treating her as a mere receptacle of flesh—struck the younger sister like a punch to the stomach.
The illusion shattered, and the Untouchable Petal exploded.
"For heaven's sake, stop with these sick metaphors!" Yù Méi shouted, leaping from the stone railing. Instinctive fury bubbled up, bursting the young woman's patience. "Tree, harvest, supporting soil?! I am your sister! I am a person!"
Yù Qíng blinked, slightly surprised by the aggressive rejection.
"It is an invaluable honor, Méi. You should kneel and thank—"
"Fuck your utility!" Yù Méi cut her off violently, her clenched fists trembling with indignation and hurt. "You want me to be a vessel! A piece of meat for him to use and pour Qi into when you're too tired to endure! I refuse to be treated as a cultivation tool! If I am to give myself to him, it will not be as your reserve fertilizer!"
The creak of the heavy cedar doors interrupted the argument.
The temperature on the terrace rose abruptly. Zhì Yuǎn emerged from the shadows of the quarters. The god's sculpted chest was bare, covered with a thin sheen of sweat. He radiated formidable heat—the radiation of an Insatiable Universe whose hunger still pulsed terribly frustrated and unsatisfied beneath his skin.
He stopped beside his wife, his unfathomable eyes fixed on the two women.
"Your sister is right, Qíng," Zhì Yuǎn's deep, laconic voice echoed across the terrace, cutting through the wind.
Yù Qíng turned to him, shock cracking the mask of the unshakable priestess.
"My heaven… you still burn!" she protested, her voice trembling, her eyes running over his body. "Your universe is empty! She has the pure Yin you need!"
"I will not use her as a tool," Zhì Yuǎn replied, the man's humanity finally overriding the indifferent Dao. He looked at the two of them. "It would be unfair to your devotion, Qíng, to reduce her to a mere transaction of utility. And it would be unforgivable to use Méi's flesh only to discard her soul in the process. I refuse to forge the foundation of my universe by treating other women as disposable vessels."
It was the final trigger. The double rejection—her sister's utilitarian denial and her husband's humanized refusal—obliterated what remained of Yù Qíng's pride.
The mask of the poetic, sadistic, perfect priestess shattered into a million pieces.
Yù Qíng's knees gave way. She fell to the cold stone floor of the terrace, and stripped of all control and haughtiness, the ice fairy wept. Not a silent cry, but a visceral, ugly, desperate sob that tore from her throat and echoed across the mountain.
"But my everything!" Yù Qíng screamed, thick tears streaming down her pale face as she grabbed the hem of Zhì Yuǎn's trousers with trembling, exhausted hands. All the botanical pretense evaporated, revealing the raw, naked possessiveness, the sick jealousy she had been suffocating. "Do you think I want to share you?! You are mine! Only mine! I hate the thought of another woman touching your skin! I hate it!"
She sobbed violently, the pain of her biological limit overflowing in every gasping word.
"But I feel your emptiness, Zhì Yuǎn! I feel your hunger! My body shuts down, my mind blacks out from too much pleasure and exhaustion, but your universe keeps demanding more Laws, more Qi!" Yù Qíng lifted her drenched face, her black eyes overflowing with obsessive, manic terror. "How do you expect to ascend if your food is limited by my weakness?! I force myself to offer my own sister because I would rather swallow my own jealousy than watch the god I love stagnate and starve because of me! And you still refuse my sacrifice?!"
The terrace fell into absolute silence, except for the painful, frustrated weeping of the woman on the ground.
Yù Qíng lowered her head, her black hair plastered to her wet face, and her black eyes fixed on Yù Méi's figure, who watched her in shock a few steps away.
In that moment of silence, Yù Qíng's sanity short‑circuited into something dark and terrifying.
The priestess's mind, pressed by the collapse of her pride, was invaded by the sick whispers of her own nature. Her eyes darkened, the iris swallowing the white.
She wants him, screamed the possessive, yandere voice that had inhabited Yù Qíng's depths since childhood. The killing instinct clawed at her throat, a hot, lethal desire to invoke the Law of Destruction right there. Look at her. Your little sister covets him. She desires his hands. She wants what is yours. Kill her. Cut her throat right now and throw her body off this terrace. Only you can touch him. Only you.
Yù Qíng's pale fingers contracted on the black stone. Killing intent leaked from her body for a fraction of a second—a cold that made Yù Méi's blood freeze in her veins without the younger sister understanding why.
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