Lin Mu stood beneath the central sun of Jade Sect's main courtyard, sword sheathed at his side, the sheen of light dancing along his flawless robe. His breathing was steady, his stance impeccable. To the outside eye, he looked like the picture of control.
But inside, he was breaking.
He had trained earlier that morning. Sparred with no less than three inner disciples and walked away untouched, admired. But the praise no longer held any weight.
Because he could feel it.
The eyes.
Not of challengers, but of witnesses. Of gossipers.
Of people who had heard.
Of those who knew.
He passed a pair of younger female disciples seated beneath a flowering spirit tree. One leaned close to the other and whispered sothing behind her hand. The second girl giggled. Then they both looked at him—smiling. Not shy. Not admiring.
Amused.
"Morning, Senior Brother Lin," one of them called sweetly.
He gave a polite nod.
"Did you sleep well?" the other added, her lips twitching. "Or were the walls shaking again?"
More giggles.
Lin Mu's jaw tightened as he walked faster. He headed toward the far end of the courtyard near the jade-tiled hall of Wind Discipline, hoping the traffic would thin.
It didn't.
"Lin Mu."
The voice ca from Senior Disciple Rong, a broad-shouldered man known more for brute power than refinent. He approached with two others at his flanks, his robes open slightly at the chest, smirking.
"Is it true what they say?" Rong asked. "That you cultivate by... kneeling?"
Lin Mu said nothing.
Another man leaned in, tone mockingly thoughtful. "I've been hitting a bottleneck in Foundation Establishnt. Maybe I just need to find a married couple and start licking their bedsheets."
Laughter.
Lin Mu turned to walk away.
But one more voice cut through.
"Is it really called the Devouring Sha Sutra?" This from a silver-haired disciple who rarely spoke. "That's what they're calling it."
"That or 'The Husband's Dao.' Heard that one too."
"'Jade-Faced Cuck Cultivation Manual' is the best though."
Lin Mu stopped in his tracks.
That na again.
He turned. "Who started that?"
They all shrugged, chuckling.
"Ask the girls," one said.
"The nickna ca from them," another added. "The inner sect beauties. They said it was fitting—your face is flawless, but your sword's too short to wield."
He felt it again—like a crack in his chest. The deep, painful burn of humiliation. And deeper still... the familiar surge of arousal.
His Qi twitched. His cock stirred. The Sutra trembled.
That's when the crowd reacted.
Eyes shifted.
Heads turned.
And then she arrived.
Xue Lan stepped into the courtyard, barefoot, loose-robed, and radiant.
She moved like a woman who had been used and adored. Her posture was effortless. Her eyes half-lidded in the aftermath of pleasure. Her lips, slightly swollen, looked freshly kissed. Her hair was ssy—only partially tied, with strands falling around her neck like silk threads.
Her robes clung to her curves. And beneath the sheer inner layer, her nipples stood hard and pointed, visible through the damp silk. Each step she took had a slow limp, not of pain, but of pleasure that lingered.
Her skin glowed with light perspiration. Her thighs showed faint red handprints—just visible where the robe parted.
The disciples went silent.
She walked directly toward Lin Mu.
He couldn't speak.
She stopped in front of him and smiled—soft, knowing, public.
"Oh dear," she said to the crowd. "I seem to have caused a stir again."
"Xue Lan—" he started.
She placed two fingers over his lips.
"Shh. I know what they're saying."
She turned to the crowd and raised her voice—just enough.
"And it's all true."
Gasps.
Laughter.
A few open mouths of shocked disciples.
"I have lovers," she said. "I moan for them. Scream for them. I take them into my body until I can't walk straight. And my husband—my sweet, loyal Mu'er—watches. He listens. He cleans afterward."
Lin Mu felt like the world fell away beneath his feet.
She didn't stop.
"I still love him," she continued. "More than anyone. But he isn't my only. And that makes him stronger. You've all seen it—his cultivation keeps rising. His spirit pressure has never been more stable. I think his Sutra rewards his surrender."
A hush fell.
Then murmurs.
Disciples stared at Lin Mu now—not just in amusent.
In curiosity.
Jealousy.
Desire.
Xue Lan leaned in closer. Her voice dropped to a teasing whisper that still carried.
"And if anyone here would like to feel what I felt this morning... they'll have to ask him first."
She stepped back and let her hand linger on his cheek.
"After all," she added with a smirk, "he manages my schedule."
The phrase hit like thunder.
The courtyard was full of half-choked laughter, half-held breath, and outright stares.
And Lin Mu?
He was trembling.
His cock throbbed beneath his robe, harder than it had ever been.
His Qi surged.
The Sutra pulsed.
Jade-Faced Cuck.
The words repeated in his head—mocking, degrading, perfect.
He was being watched.
Owned.
Nad.
And deep down...
He loved it.
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