The bamboo hut trembled slightly—not from the fragility of the wood, now indestructible and anchored by the Laws of Space—but from the crushing force of the carnal collision.
The furnace at the center of the silk bed had reached an unbearable temperature. Yù Méi lay sprawled on her back, her mind submerged in a blind, exhausted stupor after the complete condensation of her dantian and the beginning of the body tempering through the leakage of Primordial Qi. But Zhì Yuǎn's Inner Universe still roared, and the moment to sate the Hunger had passed entirely to the eldest.
With relentless possessiveness, the god's large, calloused hands gripped Yù Qíng's slender waist. Instead of laying her on the empty sheets, he pulled her and positioned her directly over the nearly inert body of her younger sister.
The blue goddess knelt, her pale legs spread wide and resting beside Yù Méi's dense hips. Zhì Yuǎn knelt just behind his wife. His left hand gripped Yù Qíng's left arm firmly, anchoring her in place, while his right hand rose to encircle the priestess's nape, his long fingers tangling in her black hair and pulling her head back, exposing her throat.
Without warning, his majestic, incandescent shaft sank into Yù Qíng's soaked cavern in a single stroke, burying itself to the base.
"Aaaahnn! My heaven…" Yù Qíng threw her head back, her neck arched against his arm, her voice tearing from her throat in a languid, shameless howl.
Zhì Yuǎn gave her no time to breathe. He tilted his face and took her lips in a deep, carnivorous kiss. His tongue invaded his wife's mouth with the same brutality with which his pelvis slapped against her soft buttocks. The sound of flesh colliding echoed through the room in fast, wet, heavy slaps.
"Swallow my fire, Qíng," Zhì Yuǎn growled against her lips, his deep voice vibrating down the goddess's spine as he deepened the possession, grinding her core without mercy. "Take all the weight of your god. Don't waste a single drop."
"I swallow everything… mnnn… destroy me, husband…" Yù Qíng moaned against his mouth, her nails scratching her own arm where he held it. "I am your bitch… your soil… sink your roots until I can't take anymore…"
The brutal friction between the super‑dense Yang and Yù Qíng's contracting walls generated an obscene amount of nectar. And just below them, the scene exacted its own cruel tribute.
Yù Méi lay belly‑up, doped by the evolution of her body and unable to move a single muscle. Yet her newly opened pores and her senses were dangerously alert. With Yù Qíng being violently plowed just above her, thick, hot drops of her sister's nectar, mixed with the salty sweat of Zhì Yuǎn's chest, began to drip directly onto the youngest's bare thighs and belly.
Each wet drop that touched Yù Méi's skin made her shudder. The little flower's own lower lips, still sore, throbbing, and absurdly swollen from her own forging, reacted. The pain of being passively aroused, feeling their fluids fall on her while listening to the sounds of possession and the dirty talk centimeters from her face, transformed into maddening torture.
"Mnn… husband…" Yù Méi whimpered, lethargic, her almond eyes rolling, pressing her thick thighs together in a futile attempt to relieve the hypersensitivity of her own Yin, which once again wept fluid at the mere sight of the act.
Ignoring the world around him, Zhì Yuǎn's march continued crushing.
For the next hour, the bed was the stage of a sensory massacre, and the positions were countless. The Hunger of the god's dantian exacted its price. Zhì Yuǎn discharged his scalding Yang into Yù Qíng's belly not once, but five consecutive times in that hour. With each torrent of thick, volcanic seed that spurted into the depths of the exhausted cavern, the priestess's porcelain body suffered uncontrollable spasms, her black eyes losing focus in climaxes that made her sob and drool against her husband's hand.
When the last load ended, Zhì Yuǎn rose from above her, withdrawing slowly from inside her, his shaft still rigid and painted with the purified essence they had generated. Yù Qíng, pinned against the edge of the mattress, rolled slightly to the side, gasping, sliding until she leaned against something soft, her face resting against her immobilized sister's still‑panting hip.
"Spin the furnace, Qíng," his deep voice sounded in the dimness, an unquestionable command. "The harvest is plentiful. Grind it."
Even with her lips swollen, her intimacy sore, and her muscles trembling, Yù Qíng's devoted discipline did not fail. She closed her eyes, sending her consciousness to the depths of her Sea of Devotion. The ocean boiled with the three massive ejaculations her husband had poured into her.
Activating the primordial mill, she began to spin Zhì Yuǎn's energy with the crushing pressure the Furnace provided.
Absolute friction.
The nine inversions spun at a frantic speed. The sexual essence was distilled, and Primordial Qi exploded within her, flooding her vast, dark sea with energy. But this time, the vessel of the priestess's 1st Stage was already at its maximum limit. The ocean overflowed, finding no room to grow horizontally.
Guided by the innate Wisdom that flowed through her bond with her husband, Yù Qíng did not let the energy dissipate. She forced the currents of her Sea of Qi to cross. The liquid Qi began to be woven. Strand by strand, layer by layer, the primordial energy was compressed into an indestructible weave, reducing the raw volume but multiplying the quality, weight, and density of her power astronomically.
The dull thud of transcendence echoed in the blue woman's soul. The limit of the first level was shattered, and she entered the 2nd Transcendent Stage: the Weaving of the Tides.
The lethargic exhaustion paralyzing her cells evaporated in a gust of spiritual wind. Yù Qíng's vigor was restored, bathed in the evolution of the Dao itself. Her eyes opened, and a black, thick, absurdly threatening glow illuminated the room for an instant.
Yet, though her cellular vigor was healed, the raw friction did not forgive the most intimate biology. The cavern between her legs remained deliciously sore, swollen, and throbbing from the brutal friction and the three heavy discharges she had received. Martial advancement cured fatigue, but not the physical memory that, in bed, she would always be subjugated by him.
Zhì Yuǎn watched his wife, feeling the gravitational increase in her aura. The Weaving was firm.
He extended his hand, and Yù Qíng immediately crawled across the sheets, laying her pale head on her husband's broad, sweaty chest, her adoring breath sinking into his warmth.
"You wove your sea, Qíng," he murmured, his long fingers stroking her black hair with dense, unshakable affection. "Your foundation now has the density necessary to bear the weight of this world's rules."
Zhì Yuǎn pressed his calloused fingers to the center of his wife's forehead. The exact, coded fragment of the Law of Space he had been dissecting was transferred directly into her mind through that intimate touch.
"From today onward, you will not need to waste the friction of air to float by pushing against the ground," the god explained, his soft voice dictating the new reality. "Your will will dictate the distance. Call it the Lotus of the Void. You will no longer repel the earth; you will bend the very fabric of space to form your floor. The heavens are now merely an extension of your steps."
Majestic knowledge bloomed in Yù Qíng's brain. The new art granted her unlimited, three‑dimensional freedom of movement.
The sick, possessive, absolute love she harbored for him boiled. She lifted her face, kissing his chin, rubbing her soft, swollen body against her husband's chest. She desired absurdly for her skin to simply melt and fuse with his muscles, so they would never need to part again.
"Everything I am belongs to your altar, my beloved heaven," the priestess whispered, her voice rough and drunk with devotion, kissing his collarbone while her trembling hand slid down to once again caress his lethal shaft, which already threatened to harden anew. "I want to merge with you… may my flesh be forever yours."
Beside them, Yù Méi let out a low, pathetic whimper. The Brutal Blade's body still trembled, her sister's nectar and sweat drying sensually on her bare thighs. Her mind flickered on and off in the darkness of the furnace the three had built together. The Universe was beginning to fill with Laws, and the mortal world could scarcely imagine the scale of the calamity and hunger awaiting it.
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