The corridor of the eastern pavilion was dark and cold.
Bái Wǎn remained kneeling on the bamboo floor, a few steps away from the heavy double doors of ancient cold oak. Her posture was perfectly straight. Beside her knees, the water in the copper basin slowly cooled.
She waited in silence. Yet the gap beneath the door could not contain what was happening inside.
A dense, sweet, musky scent seeped into the corridor — an obscenely filthy aphrodisiac aroma that clung to her throat.
Then came the sounds.
The loud, wet, rhythmic impact of flesh against flesh echoed through the wood. The bed frame creaked violently.
"Fuck me harder!" Yù Méi growled from inside, lewd and shameless. "Crush me!"
Bái Wǎn swallowed hard. Her round face flushed scarlet. Her ears burned with shame. The library scrolls had never spoken of anything like this.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
The heavy, relentless impacts continued. The once cold and proud voice of Mò Yán now dissolved into lewd whimpers and sobs.
"Ahhh! H-Husband! Deeper… ahh!"
Bái Wǎn's breathing grew short. A heavy heat descended along her neck and settled in her lower abdomen. She pressed her thighs together tightly. A hot wetness leaked out, soaking her undergarments.
The girl began to squirm on the floor, rubbing her knees against each other. Her head spun from the dense scent. Her heart pounded wildly.
The demanding moans of Yù Qíng and the cries of the other women flooded her mind like a rising tide.
The rhythm accelerated. The sounds of the thrusts turned into a storm. A sharp cry from Mò Yán cut through the corridor, followed by Zhì Yuǎn's deep growl.
Bái Wǎn's body could no longer endure it.
Without anyone touching her, she arched her back violently and collapsed onto the floor. Her nails scratched the wood as intense spasms overtook her legs. Blinded by the barrage of sounds and scent, the young virgin climaxed hard and involuntarily in the darkness.
The trembling seemed to last an eternity. When it finally subsided, Bái Wǎn turned onto her side, curled up, hugged her knees, and buried her sweaty face in her white tunic.
Hot tears streamed down her plump cheeks. She cried quietly, not from pain, but from confusion and absolute shame at what her own body had done.
Bái Wǎn's muffled sobs were the only sound in the corridor.
Inside, the creaking of the bed and Mò Yán's loud moans suddenly ceased. A dense silence filled the room.
A soft click broke the quiet. The heavy ancient cold oak door slid open.
Bái Wǎn held her breath. She pressed herself against the wall and hurriedly wiped her wet face on her sleeve. She lifted her reddened eyes, expecting to see the ordinary-looking woman who had taken over her pavilion hours earlier.
But the illusion had fallen.
Yù Qíng stepped into the corridor. She wore only a navy-blue silk robe, loosely tied at the waist.
Bái Wǎn's thoughts came to a complete halt.
The woman before her no longer had an ordinary, forgettable face. In its place was an unreal beauty — skin of immaculate paleness, perfect features that ancient scrolls reserved only for goddesses and celestial legends.
Yet the contrast was brutal.
That divinity was not surrounded by pure auras or serene winds. She was drenched in sweat. Black strands clung to her neck and cheeks, her lips were swollen and red from bites, and a sweet, dense, obscenely aphrodisiac scent emanated from her skin.
Bái Wǎn's academic logic short-circuited.
Orthodox doctrine preached that true vitality came from fasting and chastity. However, the woman before her overflowed with a power and freshness that would make the fairies of the Celestial Mirror Hegemony seem like sickly rats.
Yù Qíng leaned her warm neck against the cold, damp wood of the door. She let out a long, hoarse, satisfied sigh, her legs trembling slightly beneath the silk robe.
Her black gaze descended.
She found Bái Wǎn curled up in the shadows, her white tunic stained between her legs and her round face bathed in tears of absolute shame.
A sweet, devouring smile curved Yù Qíng's swollen lips.
Yù Qíng did not mock the wet stain on the girl's tunic.
The eldest pulled away from the door and gracefully knelt on the floor, bringing herself to Bái Wǎn's level. Her cold fingers touched the novice's wet chin, gently lifting her face.
"You cry from shame, little lotus…" Yù Qíng murmured, her voice sweet and welcoming. "The old men of your sect taught that the body must remain silent. That heat is a flaw."
Bái Wǎn swallowed hard, her heart pounding.
"I-I… I lost control…" the girl whispered, her voice thin and trembling.
Yù Qíng smiled gently, her black eyes shining with something deeper.
"No, little flower. You found the truth."
She leaned forward. The strong scent of sandalwood, sweat, and sex invaded Bái Wǎn's nose. A subtle, warm aura began to spread — the eldest's Law of Devotion activated in a low tone, seeping into her words like invisible roots.
"The true foundation is not born from silence," Yù Qíng whispered against her ear, her voice laced with dangerous sweetness. "It is born from being beneath him. From pleasure. From what you just heard."
Her fingers slowly descended and rested on Bái Wǎn's belly, exactly where her Qi Sea lay.
"Your little womb has already melted just from breathing in my husband's scent…" she continued, the Law of Devotion making every word heavier, more intimate, more inescapable. "Imagine, my lotus… what would happen if that thick, hot root truly sank to the bottom of your ocean? If he filled you until you overflowed?"
Bái Wǎn lost her breath.
A violent shiver ran down her spine. The morality of the ancient books shattered. A new wave of hot wetness leaked between her legs, responding immediately to that forbidden image.
Yù Qíng removed her hand from the girl's belly.
The warm aura of the Law of Devotion receded at once. Bái Wǎn let out a low, involuntary murmur as a cold, painful emptiness struck her skin.
The eldest rose with the graceful slowness of a satisfied feline. The navy-blue robe slipped slightly down her pale legs.
The scholar murmured, almost without thinking, her voice trembling:
"…Dual cultivation."
Yù Qíng stopped mid-motion, tilting her head with mild surprise. A slow smile curved her lips.
"Continue."
Bái Wǎn swallowed hard, ashamed for having spoken aloud.
"I… I read something similar in some ancient records. About exchanging essence… harmonizing Yin and Yang through the act… absorbing Jing and transforming it into Qi. I don't know much… only fragments."
Yù Qíng observed the girl for a moment, clearly entertained.
"That's right," she said, her voice soft and satisfied. "What my heaven created, I call dual cultivation. Despite the… particularity of our technique, I am certain someone must have created methods that absorb Jing into Qi for cultivation. After all, so many medical manuals mention these energies… Is there any inheritance in this plane that practices such a method?"
Bái Wǎn slowly shook her head.
"No… Only a few ancient and incomplete records. True methods of this kind of cultivation must exist only in higher planes or uncatalogued pocket dimensions."
Yù Qíng let out a soft "Hmmm," as if approving.
"Good," she said, returning to her calm and calculated tone. "Continue boiling our water in the dark. Clean our floor and guard the entrance. And when despair and your own lust make you understand that the only salvation for this weak flesh is to belong to my husband… then the door of our house may open for you."
Without waiting for a response, Yù Qíng turned on her heels and slid the heavy ancient cold oak door just enough to pass through.
Before the wood closed completely, a low, hungry growl leaked from the room:
"You took too long."
The wet sound of flesh colliding against flesh resumed with force, accompanied by Yù Qíng's melted gasp:
"I went to prepare new soil for your seed, my heaven… ahnn!"
The door closed with a dry click. The iron lock slid shut from inside.
Bái Wǎn was left alone in the dark corridor.
The twenty-two-year-old girl hugged her knees tightly, her small body trembling. Yù Qíng's overwhelming beauty still burned in her mind — that perfect skin, that power, that natural intimacy with the man she…
How could someone like me ever dream of belonging to him?
She was ugly. Weak. Useless. A library mouse who spent her life buried in scrolls to escape the world, while her grandfather constantly worried about her well-being. A coward who hid behind books and orthodox rules.
What right did a person like her have to desire a god?
Bái Wǎn buried her face between her arms, stifling a sob. The heat between her legs still throbbed, but she crushed it with all the shame she could muster.
That dream was not for her.
------
The morning light brightened the bamboo corridor. The cold wind blew from the lake, carrying away the damp remnants of the night.
Bái Wǎn had not slept.
Throughout the entire dark night, she changed the water in the basin three times, scrubbed the floor so hard that her fingers became slightly raw, only to heal moments later, and organized the scrolls with obsessive care. She fought against the heat throbbing between her legs, against the voices and sounds that refused to leave her mind, and against the desire Yù Qíng had planted.
In the end, she convinced herself of a single truth:
That woman had left a crack open. The rest she would have to conquer on her own.
A dry click sounded. The ancient cold oak door slid open.
Zhì Yuǎn stepped out of the room still wearing his ordinary appearance — an ordinary face, a simple gray tunic, the discreet air of an ordinary cultivator. Bái Wǎn knew it was merely a mask. She imagined, with a mix of fear and fascination, what his true form must be like. But she did not have the courage to find out.
Keeping her forehead pressed to the cold wooden floor, she did not dare raise her eyes. She feared that if she looked directly at him, she would no longer be able to escape the abyss that had drawn her in since the previous day.
"My grandfather delivered everything he promised, Lord," she said, her voice low and respectful. "The central maps, the records of the sect's foundation, and copies of the mountain's internal routes."
She continued with her face pressed to the floor, but spoke clearly:
"I marked the still-active traps and those that have been deactivated in the last fifty years. The underground corridors on the third level are also noted… the ones the elders usually hide even from their own disciples."
Bái Wǎn swallowed hard, her hands trembling against the floor.
"If it pleases you, Lord, I can guide you through the safest paths and show you where the most valuable items are stored."
Zhì Yuǎn remained silent for a few seconds.
He did not need any of that.
But Yù Qíng had insisted that he give this little lotus a chance.
And, honestly… he had liked her cute shyness.
Why not?
So he bent down, picked up one of the scrolls, opened it, and observed the annotations made in small, precise handwriting.
Finally, he rolled the parchment with a dry snap.
"Gather the rest of the maps," he ordered, his tone practical and calm. "And stand up. If you truly know the hidden paths, show them to me now."
Bái Wǎn let out the breath she had been holding. A silent relief flooded her chest.
She was not worthy of looking at him.
She was not worthy of belonging to his altar.
But her mind… her mind could be useful.
She quickly gathered the scrolls, hugged the pile to her chest, and stood up, keeping her gaze lowered, ready to guide him.
Zhì Yuǎn observed the young woman for a moment. Her mind was a whirlwind of shame, repressed desire, and an almost painful determination to prove her worth.
Reading her thoughts, he let out a silent sigh, faintly amused.
His wife really had a unique taste for the women she chose for him.
Yù Qíng always knew exactly what he wanted. And because of that, he could only adore her more and more.