Chapter One: The Pure Yang Sacred Body
Note to readers: This chapter contains tentacle-related thes. If such content displeases, kindly withdraw.
In the realm of Yue, within the forbidden sanctum of the Tianji Dao Palace, an impenetrable fortress of layered wards stood resolute. These barriers, woven with arcane might, permitted entry only to those bearing the sect master’s token. Any who dared approach without it faced obliteration by the wards’ wrath—none below the Nascent Soul stage could hope to survive. Thus, the disciples of the Tianji Dao Palace shunned this hallowed ground, their steps never straying near its bounds.
[Nascent Soul (Yuányīng): A cultivation stage in Chinese xianxia novels, representing a significant milestone where a cultivator forms a nascent soul, greatly enhancing their power and longevity]
Deep within this sanctum, a palace of glazed, iridescent tiles rose in splendour. On its uppermost floor, a vast chamber held court, its centrepiece a jade bed that shimred with ethereal radiance. Those fortunate enough to glimpse it would have gasped in awe: This bed was carved from Ten Thousand Year Cold Jade! Such jade, rarer than a phoenix’s tear, was the coveted treasure of cultivators practising cold-attuned arts. Even a re fragnt could halve the toil of their cultivation. Yet here, an entire bed, hewn from a single slab of this pristine jade, glead with lustrous warmth, its chilling aura suffusing the air with boundless energy. To use such a treasure for re repose was an extravagance that would leave any onlooker agape, torn between admiration and dismay at the waste.
[Ten Thousand Year Cold Jade (Wànnián Hányù): A mythical material in cultivation stories, prized for its extre rarity and cold-attuned properties.]
Upon this opulent bed reclined a man and a woman, entwined in a scene of ardent intimacy. The woman was a vision of grace, her form lithe and her skin as luminous as fresh snow. Beneath the jade bed’s icy glow, her complexion sparkled like crystal. Her countenance was a masterpiece: brows arched like distant peaks, eyes shimring like autumn pools, a nose finely sculpted, and lips painted in vivid crimson. She was a creation of divine artistry. Her raven hair cascaded like a waterfall, swaying gently with her movents, releasing a faint, intoxicating fragrance. Her full bosom rose proudly, quivering with each motion to cast beguiling shadows, while her slender waist and rounded hips traced a silhouette of vibrant allure.
Yet, this tableau of passion clashed starkly with the man beneath her. Lin Yuan’s features were striking, yet his brow bore the weight of exhaustion and resignation. The beauty before him stirred no spark within his heart. Observing his indifference, the woman leaned closer, pressing herself against his chest, her warmth enveloping him. Her lips brushed his ear, her breath a silken whisper, laced with beguiling charm. “Little Yuan, each day I vary my allure, yet you remain so distant. Am I not beautiful enough?”
Lin Yuan turned his head slightly, evading her tantalising breath, a flicker of irritation in his gaze. Even the finest dish grows tireso when forced upon you, he thought. “The na of Fairy Qinghuan is renowned throughout Yue,” he replied, his voice edged with scorn. “In re centuries, you rose from a lone wanderer to a paragon of the righteous path, feted by countless sects. How many prodigies and holy lords from sacred lands yearn to claim you as their own? Yet, if they knew the illustrious Fairy Qinghuan’s teoric ascent stemd from the reviled art of essence harvesting, what would they think?”
A sardonic smile curled his lips, his words dripping with disdain. A century prior, Lin Yuan had crossed into this world, awakening a system of attributes. At the outset, he acquired a golden trait: the Pure Yang Sacred Body. This physique was a peerless boon for dual cultivation, amplifying a partner’s progress exponentially, purifying their spiritual energy, and easing their breakthroughs as effortlessly as a boat gliding downstream. Upon joining the Tianji Dao Palace, he had caught the eye of this woman—Gu Qinghuan—who discerned his secret. Wielding an ancient dual cultivation technique, she had confined him within this warded sanctum, harvesting his essence day and night. In a re century, she had surged from the Golden Core stage to the late Nascent Soul stage, ascending to the pinnacle of Yue’s cultivators.
[Essence Harvesting (Cǎibǔ): A controversial practice in cultivation lore, where one cultivator extracts vital energy from another, often through intimate ans, to boost their own power.]
To ensure his compliance, Gu Qinghuan had sealed his cultivation and branded him with a mark, binding him to this glazed palace. His days revolved around reading, eating, and aiding her cultivation through their forced union. A flash of displeasure crossed her eyes at his words, but it swiftly lted into a coy smile. Her fingers traced his cheek, her touch light as a feather. “Little Yuan, such words wound your master’s heart,” she purred, her voice a velvet tease. “Besides, why would I forsake you for another? You are all I need.”
Her tone carried a playful lilt as her fingers glided across his chest, toying with him as one might a cherished trinket. Lin Yuan scoffed. “Spare your hypocrisy. You covet my Pure Yang Sacred Body—nothing more than a tool for your ambition.”
Gu Qinghuan’s smile widened, unperturbed by his candour. “Indeed,” she admitted, her laughter bright. “In this ruthless world of cultivation, power is all that matters. To abandon so fine an asset would be folly.” Her eyes glead with resolve. “Now, my dear disciple, have you rested enough? It is ti to aid my cultivation once more.”
With that, she moved like a sinuous serpent, coiling about him. Her touch was both tender and commanding. Lin Yuan felt a warm current stir within his dantian, growing fiercer with her motions, threatening to consu him. The Ten Thousand Year Cold Jade bed beneath them exhaled a frigid mist, tempering the searing force of his Pure Yang energy.
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