The news of Luo Fan's arrival spread like the inexorable creep of dawn, a silent yet powerful force that shook the foundations of the Xuan World. The revelation that the DarkYin Sect, one of the four great demonic pillars, was merely a vassal to an unfathomable family from the Upper Realms sent shockwaves through the entire demonic cultivation realm. The political landscape had been irrevocably altered overnight, and the implications were profound.
Inside the DarkYin Palace, now Luo Fan's temporary residence, the echoes of the night-long banquet had finally faded, leaving a heavy, profound silence. A soft, hesitant knock sounded at the grand, obsidian doors, and a clear voice announced, "Young Master, it is Yan Qingying."
The massive doors swung inward with a silent volition, and Luo Fan sat alone upon the throne, a solitary, dominant figure who transformed the opulent hall into his personal divine court. The air seemed to bend around his presence, a tangible aura of power and authority.
Yan Qingying kept her head bowed, her gaze fixed on the polished floor. She knew it was a grave disrespect to look upon the Lord without permission, but the urge was a magnetic pull, an irresistible siren's call. Since their first meeting, she found her eyes drawn to him, an instinct as natural and unconscious as breathing. It was the primal impulse to gaze upon absolute beauty, upon perfection made manifest.
Slowly, unable to resist, she lifted her eyes. The sight of him, so serene and powerful on the throne, sent a familiar, traitorous flutter through her heart, a heart she had long believed to be frozen by her demonic arts.
"What is the reason for this unexpected visit?" Luo Fan's voice was perfectly calm, yet it resonated with an authority that vibrated in her very bones.
Their eyes met. For the first time in her life, Yan Qingying felt a searing heat spread through her body. Her mind, usually a fortress of cold calculation, went utterly blank. A crimson blush bloomed on her cheeks and stained the tips of her ears. The sensation was so foreign, so overwhelming, that she broke his gaze and immediately dropped to her knees, pressing her forehead to the cool stone.
"Young Master... please, I beg of you..." her voice, though strained, was steady. "My brother, Yan Xuan... he has been captured by the Southern Sword Sect. I implore you... please save him."
Luo Fan's silent gaze was an immense pressure, a silent judgment that told her this was her one and only chance. She had to put everything on the table.
"I have nothing worthy of offering you, Young Master," she said, her voice raw with sincerity. "Nothing but my life. My loyalty. My eternal service. I will be your slave, your mount, your tool... anything you wish me to be. I will surrender my body, my soul, my will to you, forever." She bowed lower, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "Please... Young Master..."
A gentle smile touched Luo Fan's lips. The same irresistible, invisible force from before enveloped her, lifting her from the floor and setting her comfortably on her feet.
"Very well. I will see what can be done."
He closed his eyes. For a single, breathless moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. In the infinite space of his mind, his consciousness transcended distance, piercing through the Southern Sword Sect's wards and defenses, plunging into the deepest, darkest dungeon. He saw a body, broken and mutilated, hanging from chains. Lifeless.
Luo Fan sighed, a sound so soft it was almost imperceptible. He opened his eyes and looked at Yan Qingying.
"Your brother is already dead," he stated, his tone matter-of-fact, devoid of pity. "He has been for some time."
The words struck her, but she did not flinch. No tears, no outburst of rage. A part of her had already known, had prepared for this. But the sliver of hope she had clung to now withered and died, leaving a cold, hollow ache in its place.
"Furthermore," Luo Fan added, "it seems the secret of your inheritance is now known to the upper echelons of the Southern Sword Sect."
Her eyes widened slightly. Only the highest-ranking members of her own sect and her brother knew the truth. A flicker of doubt, a venomous whisper, entered her mind—Did he betray me?—but she crushed it instantly. No. She would not dishonor his memory with such a thought.
The hollow ache in her heart began to change, the grief solidifying, crystallizing into a diamond-hard shard of pure, unadulterated hatred. Revenge. The thought was a calming balm on her wounded soul.
"Yan Qingying," Luo Fan's voice cut through her thoughts. "Do you wish for vengeance? Say the word, and it shall be so."
Her eyes widened again, this time in surprise. A request to save her brother was one thing; a Lord could issue a command, and his vassals would obey. But revenge... revenge was an act of war. It required a display of force, a direct intervention.
"Young Master... this slave would not dare trouble you with such a personal matter..." she began, her voice clear and calm. "Qingying will serve you as promised. You need not concern yourself with my petty vengeance." Her composure was unnatural, the calm of a frozen lake beneath which a storm raged.
"Qingying," Luo Fan said, his voice taking on a new, possessive edge. "You are my property now. Your people are my people. Your enemies are my enemies. I will not allow your brother to have died in vain."
The words struck her with more force than any physical blow. My people. She fell to her knees once more, her head bowed. "Young Master... Qingying will serve you for all eternity." Her heart hammered against her ribs, a wild, exhilarating rhythm. He was doing this... for her.
Luo Fan smiled and, in the span of a thought, appeared directly before her. He reached out and gently patted her bowed head. The warmth of his hand seeped through her hair, a simple, disarming gesture that sent another jolt through her. She was in awe of him, this being of incomprehensible power, who could be so... gentle.
He has no reason to do any of this, she thought, her mind reeling. But he chooses to. He will avenge my brother... and even give him a proper burial.
Luo Fan took her hand, his touch sending a pleasant shiver up her arm, and helped her to her feet without the use of his power. "Shall we go?"
Before she could answer, the world dissolved around them. They reappeared high in the sky, miles above the sprawling mountain fortress of the Southern Sword Sect, concealed by the clouds. Yan Qingying stumbled, disoriented by the instantaneous travel, and felt a strong arm wrap around her waist, steadying her. She blushed, acutely aware of the firm muscles pressing against her side.
Luo Fan snapped his fingers.
The air before them shimmered, and Yan Xuan's corpse materialized, floating in the sky. It was a horrific sight. Mutilated beyond recognition, his body was a testament to unimaginable cruelty.
The last vestiges of warmth left Yan Qingying's eyes, replaced by an arctic abyss.
"Gu Tianlang," Luo Fan said to the empty air. "Give this man a proper burial."
The servant materialized from the shadows, bowed, and vanished with the body. Luo Fan then turned his gaze down to the sect below. He raised two fingers, as if holding an invisible sword, and sliced them casually through the air.
There was no sound, no explosion. A line of pure, annihilating light appeared in the sky and descended. It did not destroy the Southern Sword Sect; it unmade it. The fortress, the mountain it was built on, every disciple, every elder, every blade of grass—all of it was consumed by a silent, expanding sphere of nothingness. When the light faded, all that remained was the pristine, untouched forest that had stood there centuries ago, as if the Southern Sword Sect had never existed at all.
Yan Qingying stared, her mouth agape. This was not power as she understood it. It was not cultivation. It was a force that rewrote reality, more terrifying and absolute than her own forbidden art by an infinite margin.
The world shifted again. They stood in a secluded, beautiful glade within that same forest. Before them was a newly made grave, marked by a simple stone, and protected by shimmering, complex formations. Yan Xuan's body, now cleaned and dressed, rested peacefully within a simple wooden coffin.
"Your brother has been laid to rest," Luo Fan said, his voice calm and respectful. "This place is now sacred ground, protected. No one will ever disturb him."
Yan Qingying stared at the coffin, the storm inside her finally quieting. The sadness had passed, replaced by a profound, overwhelming sense of awe and a budding emotion she dared not name.
He is not like anyone else, she thought, her heart, which had never beaten for another, now raced for this man who had remade her world in a single day. He didn't have to do any of this. But he did.
A day later, Luo Fan sat upon the throne while Yan Qingying meditated on a cushion beside him, her presence a silent, graceful addition to the hall. He observed her, his gaze piercing through her flesh and into the flow of her Qi. For the Lower Realm, her talent was prodigious. But by the standards of the Omni-Realm, she was barely average.
With an art as potent as the Devouring Divine Demon Technique, her progress should have been meteoric. He saw the problem instantly: she was holding back, suppressing its true nature out of fear.
"The Devouring Divine Demon Technique," he said, his voice cutting through her meditation. "There is no longer a need for restraint. With me as your shield, you could devour the chosen Tianjiao of an Immortal Clan, and no one would dare lay a hand on you."
Yan Qingying's eyes fluttered open. Cultivation could wait. Her duty as his slave came first. It was a principle she had already etched into the core of her being. She rose and bowed.
"Yes, Young Master." Her reply was immediate, without a hint of hesitation.
Luo Fan stood, stretching languidly. "I wish to bathe. You will attend to me."
"Yes, Young Master." Yan Qingying replied with a blush on her cheeks.
Luo Fan lay naked in the luxurious bathtub, the spiritual water swirling around him, each drop imbued with an unimaginable amount of Dao and insight. This water, once ordinary spring water from the high peaks, had transformed into a treasure coveted by all cultivators upon contact with his body. The room was filled with a sense of tranquility, broken only by the soft sounds of water lapping against the tub's edges.
Yan Qingying stepped in, her bare curves glistening under the dim light. Her pink nipples stood erect, and her E-cup breasts heaved with each breath. Her pink virgin pussy was a delicate contrast to the boldness of her exposed flesh. Luo Fan's gaze, calm and unreadable, met hers. She knew her beauty was legendary, capable of attracting both men and women in the DarkYin Sect, yet Luo Fan showed no hint of lust. This both impressed and disappointed her, a feeling she couldn't quite comprehend.
Yan Qingying slowly lowered herself into the water, her eyes flicking to Luo Fan's cock before she shifted her attention to his back. Her hands began to massage his shoulders, her touch gentle yet firm. The spiritual water seemed to respond to her presence, its energy pulsing and shifting. She felt a strange sensation, a warmth spreading through her body, enhancing her qualifications and innate talents.
"Young Master, this is..." Yan Qingying's voice was a soft whisper, laced with wonder and curiosity.
Luo Fan replied calmly, "It's a natural occurrence when one reaches a certain level. Everything you touch becomes a treasure."
Yan Qingying was amazed. She had never heard of such a phenomenon. What amazed her even more was the realization that Luo Fan's bone age was only 18, despite his immense power and knowledge. She felt her innate talent double in mere minutes, increasing exponentially without any sign of slowing down.
Luo Fan noticed her pause and spoke, "It's merely enhancing your innate talent, like filling a cup with water. You have the Devouring Divine Demon Technique and a special body that can steal not just memories and cultivation, but also innate and physical talents from others. It's like making the cup larger, allowing it to hold more."
He continued, his voice steady and assured, "Think of it like building a house. Your innate talent is the base, and the talents you devour are like additional structures built on top of it. If the base is unstable, it could collapse, but your technique and body prevent that from happening. However, the stability of your base still affects how efficient and effective your talents can be."
Yan Qingying listened intently, her mind racing with newfound knowledge and understanding. She had never considered the intricacies of cultivation in such a way. Luo Fan spoke with an authority that left her in awe, his insights into the cultivation world seemingly limitless.
Her thoughts drifted back to Luo Fan's cock, a memory of its beauty and power. Countless sex positions from manuals she had studied flashed through her mind, each one more enticing than the last. Her face flushed with a deep red, a mix of embarrassment and desire.
The room was filled with a palpable tension, the air thick with unspoken words and hidden desires. Yan Qingying's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more provocative than the last. The spiritual water continued to work its magic, enhancing her talents and heightening her senses.