The courtyard of the Serene Wind Plateau was immersed in a sepulchral silence. After the Great Elder's humiliation and the annihilation of the Misty Peak Sect's ego, no disciple or servant dared approach the guest pavilion. For all intents and purposes, that piece of the mountain now belonged to the three outsiders.
Inside the luxurious inner hall, the atmosphere was strangely domestic—a bizarre contrast to the carnage Yù Méi had left downstairs the night before.
Seated in a wide armchair of carved wood, Zhì Yuǎn was completely oblivious to the mortal world. The Astrolabe of a Thousand Bridges floated inches from his face. His eyes, dark and unfathomable as the abyss, dissected every silver groove of the artifact, his mind navigating the spatial foundations of the Transcendent Age.
A few steps away, sprawled on a divan covered in silks, Yù Méi was finishing cleaning her knuckles. The bruises from beating Mù Chén to death were already fading, thanks to the brutal density of her forged body. But the stress of the battle—and the accumulated tension of nights spent listening to the bed in the next room pounding—left her shoulders rigid as stone. She sighed, cracking her neck with a dry sound.
Yù Qíng, who had been sitting gracefully on the edge of the divan serving tea, paused. Her black, astute eyes slid over her sister's long legs, the generous curve of her breasts beneath the torn emerald tunic, and the flush of fatigue on her face.
The dark, calculating smile bloomed on the priestess's lips.
"You have worked hard, little flower," Yù Qíng murmured, her voice melodious and laden with a maternal sweetness that made the hairs on Yù Méi's nape stand up. "Yesterday you tore through the wind and shattered that young man's pride with your own hands. Your body absorbed the impact of martial techniques without retreating a millimeter. Your foundation is magnificent."
Yù Méi blinked, surprised by the direct praise. Her sister rarely complimented her without slipping some mortal poetry into the middle of it.
"Ah… thank you," Yù Méi replied, shifting on the divan, trying to maintain the Untouchable Petal's pose. "I just did what needed to be done. He was disgusting."
"He was trash," Yù Qíng corrected casually. She set her cup on the table and turned her face to her husband. "My love, don't you agree? Our Méi is on the verge of condensing her own dantian. Her body cultivation already rivals that of the masters in this pathetic region."
Silence reigned in the hall.
Zhì Yuǎn continued staring at the Astrolabe, the jade disc spinning slowly in the air, reflecting silver light into his eyes. He did not blink.
Yù Qíng smiled, finding her husband's divine concentration adorable, and called out a little louder.
"Zhì Yuǎn."
The disc stopped spinning. The silver light dimmed. Zhì Yuǎn turned his face slowly toward the two women, his expression serene and completely oblivious to any subject not concerning continuous space.
"Hm?" said the god, blinking with lethargic confusion, torn from the secrets of the universe for a living‑room conversation.
Yù Méi had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. He could tear the sky with his hands, but sometimes he looks like a scholar who forgot his own name, she thought.
"I was saying," Yù Qíng continued, sadistic patience dripping like honey, "that our little sister has had very stressful days. The slaughter of that monstrous bear, the journeys on the carriage roof, the fight against the mercenaries, and now the execution of the core disciple. Her muscles are incredibly dense, but accumulated tension could harm the flow of the pure Yin she is storing."
Zhì Yuǎn assessed Yù Méi with a single glance. The Wisdom in his mind dissected her body in an instant.
"That's true," he agreed, his voice deep and clinical. "Her muscle density is excellent, but there are deep tension knots in her shoulders and lower back. The raw Qi of the world that entered through her open pores is not circulating perfectly. It could delay the formation of her dantian."
Yù Qíng's smile deepened. The bait had been taken.
"Exactly what I feared," the hostess sighed, her black eyes fixing on her younger sister with predatory intensity. "And, as the responsible older sister… I think our little flower deserves a reward for her progress. A special kind of care."
Yù Méi felt her stomach lurch.
"Reward?" Yù Méi murmured. "I don't need…"
"My love," Yù Qíng interrupted her sister, turning back to Zhì Yuǎn with a look of pure devotion, "why don't you give her one of those… Qi flow massages of yours? To relax her muscles. The touch of your energy would be the perfect relief for her aching back. After all, tomorrow we begin our journey to Shattered Heaven."
Yù Méi's heart stopped.
The memory from months ago—the day he had opened the pores on her back—struck her mind like lightning. The fire of his touch, the shameful way her body had melted under his large hands, the moans she had not been able to hold back. Instant wetness formed between her thighs at the mere mention of the word.
"No!" Yù Méi's voice came out too loud, shrill, her eyes wide. "I mean… no need, brother‑in‑law. I'm fine. Strong as an ox. No tension whatso—"
Zhì Yuǎn had already risen.
Oblivious to his wife's psychological game and moved only by the practical efficiency of someone fixing a cracked vase, he walked to the divan.
"Lie on your stomach, Méi," he ordered. It was not a request. His deep, calm voice activated an instinctive submission in her bones that both terrified and intoxicated her in equal measure.
Yù Qíng rose gracefully to make room, sitting in a nearby chair. She crossed her legs, rested her chin on her hands, and assumed the position of a VIP spectator.
With no way out, and her face burning with shame, Yù Méi swallowed hard and turned onto her stomach on the divan. The emerald tunic rode up slightly, and she desperately tried to keep her breathing controlled. I am the Untouchable Petal. I break mountains. A massage is nothing. It's just Qi. It's just medicine.
Zhì Yuǎn's hands settled on her shoulders.
Yù Méi gasped loudly.
The touch was not invasive, but the exact pressure of his long, calloused thumbs on the sides of her neck sent a thermal shock straight down her spine.
"You're blocking the flow," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating just above her. "Relax. Let me carry the weight."
Primordial Qi leaked from Zhì Yuǎn's palms, penetrating the thin fabric of the silk tunic and infiltrating directly into Yù Méi's aching muscles. Where there had been tension and martial pain, now a wave of dense, liquid, absurdly pleasurable heat spread.
He pressed his palms into the middle of her back, pushing down firmly, kneading the hardened muscle.
"Ahn…" The first moan escaped Yù Méi's full lips. She bit the silk cushion to muffle the sound, squeezing her eyes shut so hard it hurt.
Don't moan, you idiot!, her mind screamed, while her body betrayed her miserably.
Zhì Yuǎn's hands descended slowly, his thumbs tracing the curve of her spine. Every millimeter he touched seemed to light a bonfire beneath her skin. His pure, infinite Qi met the virginal Yin dwelling deep in Yù Méi's body, and the chemical friction between the two energies was a maddening torture.
He pressed her lower back, exactly where the tension from carrying the chest of gold had accumulated.
"Ahh… brother‑in‑law…" The whisper escaped along with a trembling, drawn‑out sigh, Yù Méi's long legs pressing involuntarily against each other to try to relieve the painful friction building at her center.
In the chair beside them, Yù Qíng watched the spectacle with gleaming eyes. She noticed how her sister's hips lifted slightly toward his hands, seeking more pressure, more contact. She saw the feverish blush on the Brutal Blade's neck.
"Our little flower seems to be enjoying it very much, husband," Yù Qíng commented, her voice purring in the room. "Be gentle with her. The resistance of pure Yin is high, but the sensitivity is also."
Zhì Yuǎn, focused only on the flow of energy, did not catch the explicit sexual innuendo in his wife's words.
"The knots are dissolving," he reported clinically. His hands slid down the sides of Yù Méi's slender waist, squeezing the oblique muscles firmly.
Yù Méi's body suffered a violent spasm. The heat of his touch there, so close to dangerous areas, made her lose the battle. The cushion was not enough.
She arched her back, throwing her head to the side, her lips parted, her eyes glazed with pure Qi‑induced lust.
"M‑More…" she stammered, the mask of coldness completely melted. "There… please…"
He intensified the massage. His pure, infinite Qi washed over Yù Méi's tendons, dissipating not only the fatigue of battle but drowning the girl in a pool of endorphins and tingling that left her completely limp, melted like wax against the velvet upholstery. Her moans ceased to be contained. They became long, languid, and shamefully submissive.
When Zhì Yuǎn finally withdrew his hands, after nearly thirty minutes of Qi manipulation, Yù Méi was breathing in short gasps. The emerald tunic was glued to her body with fine sweat. Her legs trembled, and a pool of warm, pulsing wetness between her thighs made her want to cry with humiliation and desire.
"It is done," Zhì Yuǎn declared, cleaning his hands invisibly with a breath of Qi and returning calmly to his armchair and his Astrolabe, as if he had just watered a plant.
Yù Méi could not move. Her brain seemed to have turned to mush.
Yù Qíng rose, walking silently to the divan. She leaned over, her black hair tickling her sister's sweaty shoulder.
"See?" the wife whispered, only for Yù Méi to hear, her dark, venomous tone laden with possession and promise. "My heaven's touch works miracles, doesn't it? Rest, little sister. Prepare your body. The path to Shattered Heaven is long, and your usefulness is only beginning."
The Untouchable Petal closed her eyes, her heart pounding erratically. She hated her sister for manipulating her like that. But the truth burning in her chest, leaving her breathless on the upholstery, was that she would sell her soul to have those hands on her again.
---