The six hundred chests of spirit stones were opened in the lower courtyard by the trembling elders, but Zhì Yuǎn did not even bother to descend to look at them. He had already crushed one of those stones in the Golden Prairies; he knew perfectly well that that milky dust would evaporate into his void without causing even a ripple. The true meal was not in the dead ore of the world. It was in the flesh.
Guiding them through the depths of the Central Pillar, Mò Yán stopped before the heavy double doors of solid cedar that guarded the private quarters of the Sect Master.
The diplomat knelt to slide the lower bolts. The movement was executed with rigorous modesty, but her body betrayed every one of her intentions. As she bent her knees, the backs of her full thighs pressed against her own calves, and her heels sank deeply into the voluptuous softness of her buttocks. The silver‑gray silk stretched to its limit over the wide curve of her hips, tracing the perfectly full line of her body for anyone behind her.
She opened the doors and lowered her forehead until it nearly touched the wooden floor, her panting breath warming the boards. Only the sound of Zhì Yuǎn's footsteps echoed as the god passed her, the black silk cloak brushing against the trembling shoulder of the restrained flower, sending a wave of heat that made the girl's center pulse involuntarily.
Yù Qíng, walking just behind, stopped beside the prostrated woman. The priestess looked at the tension in Mò Yán's thighs, at her raised hips, at the skin of her nape burning a dark pink with repressed lust.
"Accommodate my sister on the outer terrace, Mò Yán," Yù Qíng ordered, her voice sliding soft. "And ensure that no insect from this mountain makes noise. My husband will feed now."
Mò Yán swallowed hard, her white lashes trembling.
"Yes, Lady," the diplomat whispered.
Yù Qíng smiled and entered, closing the double doors with a dry click that echoed through the entire corridor.
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Outside, on the isolated stone terrace jutting out over the abyss of clouds, Yù Méi sat on the railing.
The icy mountain wind struck her face, but the Brutal Blade did not feel cold. She felt the dirty, carnivorous tingling of one who knew exactly what was about to happen a few meters away. She grabbed an apple from the basket Mò Yán had left on the outer table and bit into it aggressively, chewing the fruit as if breaking bones.
The doors were thick, and there were muffling matrices, but Yù Méi's millions of open pores caught every gasping breath, every shock of heat. Just feeling the dense gravity of Zhì Yuǎn's Yang leaking through the cracks made the silk of her own undergarments grow damp. She crossed her legs tightly, her face burning with frustration.
The mountain's nocturnal silence was broken.
"Ahhn…"
Her sister's first moan crossed the stone. It was not poetic. It was a long, guttural sound, the wet drag of a woman whose untouchable pose had been uprooted. The heavy, rhythmic impact of the bed frame against the wall began, beating in a dense cadence that made Yù Méi's blood boil.
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Inside the luxurious quarters, Yù Qíng's ocean was being brutally consumed.
The refined silks covering the Sect Master's bed had already been pushed to the floor. The air in the room smelled of sandalwood, sweat, and sex.
Yù Qíng lay on her back, her pale skin gleaming with sweat, her black hair plastered to her damp neck. Her legs were spread and raised, her heels resting on Zhì Yuǎn's broad shoulders, exposing herself completely to her husband's domination.
Zhì Yuǎn held his wife's soft hips with both hands, anchoring her against the mattress so she could not retreat, while he penetrated her with a crushing cadence.
His member—thick, seething, pulsing with the raw Yang of his Inner Universe—sank into her to the base. Each thrust opened a path through the priestess's abundant moisture, the friction generating a wet, obscene sound that echoed through the empty room. The physical friction ground the Qi of both, fusing them in the furnace of the flesh and converting sweat and pleasure into the Primordial Qi he needed to devour.
"Ah! Zhì Yuǎn! More… ahh!" Yù Qíng threw her head back, her throat exposed, her full breasts bouncing heavily with each brutal collision of their bodies.
On the bed, she was not the garden priestess; she was merely the submissive flesh of an insatiable god. Zhì Yuǎn released one of her hips to grab his wife's left breast. He squeezed the soft flesh firmly, massaging the weight of her breast before tilting his face and taking the hard, pink nipple into his mouth.
The hot, possessive suction tore a strangled cry from Yù Qíng.
"P‑Please, husband! Aah! Don't stop… fill me completely…" She moaned without restraint, her nails desperately digging into the thin sheets, her lower belly contracting in painful, delicious hyperstimulation.
His infinite Yang burned her from within, demanding that her mortal body keep pace with a star. Zhì Yuǎn's gaze hovered over her, the Hunger of his dantian reflected in the black possession of his eyes. The man breathed raggedly, sweat running down his sculpted chest. He pulled her leg lower and increased the brutality of his rhythm. The impact of his pelvis against hers sounded like wet, violent, relentless slaps.
With each deep thrust, Yù Qíng lost her vision. The nerves of her Refined Body short‑circuited under the absurd weight of his energy.
"I'm going to come… Zhì Yuǎn, I'm going to… Ahh! Ahhhhh!"
The walls of her intimacy tightened violently around her husband's rigid member. The orgasm struck her like lightning, thick spasms milking his heat, making the goddess's body arch in uncontrollable climax.
But Zhì Yuǎn did not stop. He never stopped. The universe inside him was empty, demanding more matter. He continued thrusting deep, relentless, ignoring her hypersensitivity, pulling from her a second and third consecutive climax that made her sob from pure sensory exhaustion.
Time ceased to exist. The torture dragged on for nearly two hours. The room became a furnace of sweat and bodily fluids. Yù Qíng wept, her vocal cords torn by moans, her pure Yin drying in her exhausted body.
When Zhì Yuǎn finally reached his own limit, the low, guttural growl that escaped his throat vibrated against his wife's sweaty skin. He deepened his thrust until there was not a millimeter of space left between them and released the hot, thick, heavy liquid deep into her womb.
Yù Qíng gasped, her legs trembling violently as his heat flooded her interior. The goddess's eyes rolled back in one last wave of overwhelming pleasure, and her body melted against the bed, completely useless.
Zhì Yuǎn withdrew slowly, lying down beside her. The man's broad chest rose and fell, sweat gleaming on his skin. He pulled Yù Qíng's limp, soaked body into his embrace, kissing her damp forehead with the possessive tenderness he reserved only for her.
The priestess hid her face in the curve of his neck, her bare thighs glued together by fluids, her entire body suffering residual, painful orgasmic spasms. She closed her eyes, adoring the weight of his arm around her waist.
But the peace was short‑lived.
Nestled against her husband's warmth, Yù Qíng's sharpened senses noticed the invisible flow of his dantian. His member, resting against her leg, was still semi‑erect and hot. The void of the Singularity pulsed in terrifying, hungry waves, like a black hole that had swallowed a star and still roared for an entire solar system. His flesh radiated the martial frustration of one who had devoured everything her ocean had to offer and still felt thirst.
I failed, Yù Qíng's cold, sick mind concluded, a stab of hatred for her own fragility piercing her exhaustion. I cannot bear his Hunger alone. The mortal body has pathetic limits. If my god goes hungry, his cultivation will stagnate, and his universe will wither because of me.
The priestess slowly lifted her sweat‑soaked face, resting her chin on Zhì Yuǎn's hard chest. Her eyes sought the heavy cedar doors of the room.
Outside, on the wind‑swept terrace, a blonde beast awaited. A body tempered to break stones, hyper‑dense, with wide‑open pores and a pure Yin that already burned with lust and jealousy after hearing the two hours of muffled possession.
Yù Qíng smiled in the darkness. A smile weakened by physical exhaustion, but lethal and infinitely utilitarian. Her ocean might have run dry tonight, but the Furnace could still be fed if there was another vessel to throw into the flame.
"My love," Yù Qíng whispered, her rough, moist voice brushing against the skin of Zhì Yuǎn's neck. "You still burn. Your hunger is greater than my flesh can bear today."
He continued stroking her damp hair, his deep, laconic voice in the silence of the room:
"What you could give, I have already extracted, Qíng. Rest. The void of my universe is my burden."
"Your universe is my duty," she retorted, her distorted possessiveness shining in her dark eyes. "And a worthy goddess does not let her own field die of drought when there is virgin soil, soaked in envy and begging to be plowed on her own terrace."
Ignoring the painful tremor in her legs and the throbbing of her swollen lower belly, Yù Qíng unwound herself from her husband's arms. She put on a thin silk robe that barely covered the gleaming moisture of her thighs and the flush of her exhausted breasts.
"Wait here, my heaven," the dark goddess whispered, walking toward the door. "I will bring the harvest my little sister has reaped for you in the darkness."
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