"Flay my flesh, but enter me now," Yù Méi begged, her voice torn by raw need.
Zhì Yuǎn did not hesitate, but neither did he obey the girl's impatience. Her body, though forged to crush rocks, had never been invaded, and his member was thick and colossal, pulsing with the density of a hungry universe.
He positioned himself between her legs. His calloused hands gripped the warrior's thick, trembling thighs, pulling Yù Méi's hips to the edge of the scarlet mattress. The cold air of the room struck their naked skin as the hot, wet head of his penis touched the tight entrance of her vulva.
He pushed. Just the beginning.
Yù Méi choked. Her entire body locked in an instinctive spasm. Her nails dug into the silk sheets until the fabric tore. The pain was not like a sword cut; it was a crushing pressure, a brutal stretching that made her muscles fight to reject the absurd volume invading her.
"It hurts…" she hissed between clenched teeth, her almond eyes filling with tears—not of sadness, but of physical shock. "It's too thick… it won't fit…"
Yù Qíng, watching from the edge of the bed with arms crossed, leaned in gently.
"Breathe, little flower," the priestess's voice was a calm, pragmatic whisper, the solidarity of one who knew exactly the weight of that burden. "Inhale, drawing air into your abdomen, and exhale slowly. Your body is dense, but it is malleable. Do not fight his invasion. Expand to receive him."
Zhì Yuǎn remained absolutely still. He felt Yù Méi's tight, fervent interior crushing him like an iron vise. Her virgin Yin flooded the skin of his member, but he held his own hunger, allowing the girl's flesh to grow accustomed to the circumference of the invasion.
Slowly, Yù Méi's breathing found its rhythm. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. The muscles of her thighs relaxed a fraction of a millimeter. Natural moisture flowed, mingling with sweat, easing friction.
He advanced another few centimeters, slow, inexorable, until the head of his member met the physical and invisible barrier holding her untouched Yin.
He stopped again. His dark, unfathomable gaze descended on the younger sister's sweaty face. Zhì Yuǎn would not force the limit without her offering her very soul. He waited.
Yù Méi looked into the vast darkness in her husband's eyes. Pain throbbed in her intimacy, but the will to belong to that abyss was infinitely greater. She bit her lower lip so hard the skin broke, and a thread of blood ran down her chin. Her chest heaving, she gave a short, timid nod.
He broke the barrier.
The thrust was abrupt and violent. The resistance gave way with a wet sound. Yù Méi let out a strangled moan and arched her back violently as the hyper‑dense Yang invaded her core. A drop of bright blood mingled with the natural fluids, staining the scarlet silk sheets.
He did not sink all the way in. His absurd length would reach her cervix and cause unnecessary damage to flesh not yet purified. He thrust to the exact measure, anchoring his hips against hers.
Zhì Yuǎn collapsed his weight onto her. His sweaty chest crushed the girl's full breasts, and he took Yù Méi's mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. His tongue invaded her warm cavity, and the metallic taste of the blood on her injured lip mingled with saliva and burning passion.
"It's over," he murmured against her mouth, his hot breath hitting the young woman's face.
And he began to move.
The first withdrawal and the first thrust were torturous. Discomfort was palpable, friction stretching the inner walls that struggled to accommodate him. But as moisture increased and their saliva mingled in hungry kisses, the pain began to melt. Yù Méi's pure Yin, stirred by the methodical friction and the volcanic heat of Zhì Yuǎn's Yang, ignited.
The sensation shifted from shock to blind ecstasy.
For him, the experience was intoxicating. Her vaginal walls were stupidly strong, muscle forged against the fire of herbs squeezing his penis with irregular contractions that tested the limit of his Inner Universe's control. For her, the invasion was cosmic. Each thrust seemed to fill a void she had carried her entire life. His fire did not burn her; it set her ablaze.
"Mnn… Zhì Yuǎn… ahhn…" the moans began to escape her swollen lips, losing their tone of pain and gaining the wet drag of pure lust.
His rhythm increased. Wet kisses descended her neck, nibbling her pale skin, while his hip slapped against hers with the dense sound of flesh against flesh.
Yù Méi's long legs wrapped around his waist. She lost composure. The contractions began at the base of her spine. The first orgasm of penetration struck her like a tidal wave, squirting fluids against his skin, making her cry and scratch the god's broad back. Minutes later, the overload of continuous thrusting swallowed her again, and she had her second climax, sobbing his name, completely blind with endorphins.
He stopped, his chest rising and falling. Yù Méi was undone, her entire body trembling, her gaze glazed.
But his hunger still roared.
Zhì Yuǎn withdrew slightly, the wet extraction making Yù Méi whimper at the loss of pressure. With an agile, unquestionable movement, he grabbed the girl's waist and flipped her onto her stomach.
Yù Méi buried her face in the pillow. Her full breasts were mercilessly crushed against the damp silk of the mattress, and her hips were lifted slightly. She was still trying to catch her breath when the rigid tip of him brushed her wet slit from behind.
He did not use subtlety this time. Her body was already melted and lubricated. He gripped the young woman's wide hips firmly and penetrated her in one thrust, deep and fast.
"Aaaaah!" Yù Méi muffled the moan in the pillow, the impact pushing her forward.
The rhythm now was vigorous, brutal. He began to slide one of his large hands down the young woman's sweaty lower back. His rough calluses massaged the tense muscles at the base of her spine with the same therapeutic precision as the night before, relieving martial pain while his other hand locked her slender waist, preventing her from fleeing the overwhelming intensity of the thrusts from behind. The friction was wild. The sound of flesh slapping resounded loudly in the silent room.
The combination of deep impact and therapeutic massage short‑circuited Yù Méi's brain.
The climax began to build again, heavy, thick, swallowing her senses. Perceiving the approaching abyss, Zhì Yuǎn lay completely over the girl's back. The colossal weight of his body pressed her into the bed, crushing her possessively.
Without interrupting the fast, deep rhythm entering and exiting her body, he released her lower back, slid his hand under Yù Méi's face, and turned the young woman's head to the side. Their lips met. He devoured her mouth while bombarding her core from behind.
Yù Méi was completely subdued. She no longer knew where she began and where she ended. Under the force of the kiss and the violence of the rhythm, the most devastating orgasm of her life obliterated her mind. She trembled from head to toe, squirting pure Yin, her inner walls milking her husband's hot length with superhuman strength.
It was the final rupture for his control.
Zhì Yuǎn's growl vibrated against her teeth in the midst of the kiss. He sank to the base with one last relentless thrust and came.
Hot, thick liquid laden with super‑dense Yang spurted in long jets against the narrow entrance of the girl's cervix. The absurd amount of pure energy made her arch her neck and gasp, her eyes rolling beneath closed lids.
He did not withdraw. His throbbing member remained embedded in her, filling her with the life and temperature of an erupting sun. His universe would not merely come; it would shape.
"Méi," Yù Qíng's voice cut through the fog of pleasure. The priestess stood, watching the visceral scene with the calculating pride of a mentor. "Focus now. Do not let pleasure drown your mind. He is depositing his fire into your void."
While Zhì Yuǎn was still inside her, he used his Wisdom and cosmic control. The sea of hot semen flooding Yù Méi's physical interior carried pure, formidable Yang. He guided that raw energy into the intangible, invisible space below her navel. The formless receptacle, the void that would one day be her dantian.
"Grasp his fire, little flower," Yù Qíng instructed, her black eyes gleaming in the dimness. "Locate the unbearable temperature in the void of your belly and pull part of that flow outward. Push it into your meridians."
Yù Méi panted against the pillow, her body still suffering delicious spasms from the recent orgasm. Guiding energy while anesthetized with lust seemed impossible, but surprisingly, it was not. The difficulty was merely locating the invisible void, but Zhì Yuǎn's crushing heat shone there like a scalding beacon.
She grasped the energy mentally. She diverted part of the Yang flow and forced it through her own meridians.
Yù Méi's entire body hummed like a tuning fork. Her muscles vibrated.
"Perfect," Yù Qíng whispered, stepping closer. "Now the forging. You need to invert what remains in your void. Do not push the energy; make it spin. Like a millstone grinding wheat. Press the cold of your own Yin against the scalding fire he deposited. Grind them together. Crush them together."
Zhì Yuǎn withdrew with a wet suction sound. Yù Méi's body felt the immediate cold of loss, but his physical absence allowed all her attention to turn to the gravity burning in her lower belly.
She followed her sister's words. She used her own sexual tension, the recent pain, and the moisture of her body to "grasp" the condensed Yang and make it spin under pressure.
Cold and Fire. Friction.
The internal mill turned. Polarity yielded under friction. The excess Yang was crushed and violently converted into a purer Yin. The solidification of cold, combined with the earlier expansion of heat, washed over Yù Méi's internal organs like a storm.
And then, the limit broke.
Her body crossed the mortal barrier. The peak of the Refined Body was reached in a fraction of a second, refining cells at terrifying speed.
But nature demands space. If perfection entered, mortal filth had to leave.
Lying naked and sweaty on her stomach on the silk bed, Yù Méi groaned in agony and ecstasy. The millions of pores in her skin opened simultaneously.
A thick, black, oily sludge began to seep and sprout from every centimeter of the young woman's skin. It was the dirt, the biological toxins, the cadaverous residue of nineteen years of mortal flesh being forcibly expelled by the explosive tempering.
The contrast was immediate and brutal. The air of the room, previously filled with the erotic smell of sweat, sex, sandalwood, and pheromones, was suddenly smothered by an abyssal, putrid, indescribable stench rising from the expelled black filth.
Yù Méi opened her eyes. Her body was incredibly light, but she was covered in foul mud from head to toe, the silk sheets ruined and filthy.
"What is that horrible smell?!" Yù Méi choked, shame replacing lust in an instant, coughing at the cadaverous odor of her own purification staining the perfection of her first time.
Yù Qíng merely laughed, gracefully covering her nose.
The first stage was complete. The blade was purified and ready for the true forging.
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