The morning sun had barely crested the horizon, painting the sky in hues of bruised purple and bleeding orange, when Wang Jian summoned Sect Leader Hua Yimei to the secluded cultivation cave beneath the Cloud-Peak Pavilion. The air in the cavern was cool and damp, smelling faintly of earth and the powerful medicinal herbs growing in the adjacent secret chamber.
Hua Yimei arrived silently. She wore her formal Sect Leader robes, the high collar buttoned tight to hide the marks on her neck, the heavy fabric concealing the bruises on her hips and buttocks. She walked with a stiff, careful grace, her body still aching from the relentless usage of the previous night. Her face was a mask of composure, but her eyes were dull, the fire of resistance extinguished by the sheer weight of Wang Jian's domination.
