Three days.For three days and three nights, Elder Wan had knelt.
Her opulent, jasmine-scented dwelling cave had become a hermetically sealed tomb, a sanctuary of her own design that now served as her private torture chamber. The great stone door remained bolted. The alibi of "deep, secluded cultivation" held firm, her loyal guards turning away a steady stream of disciples and minor functionaries with polite, unyielding efficiency.
Inside, the Elder was a ruin.
She was trapped in the only sustainable posture her broken body would allow: kneeling on the cold, jade floor, her arms braced on her plush velvet meditation cushion, her forehead resting on her crossed forearms, her buttocks raised in the air. The heavy, formal robes she had worn from the garden lay in a discarded, amethyst-colored heap nearby. She was naked, save for the thin, binding shorts she had re-applied, finding the constant, grinding pressure preferable to the sickening, pendulum-like drag of the plug's unsupported weight.
But it was no true relief. It was merely a choice between two different kinds of hell. The binding shorts, made of thick martial silk, were a brutal, constricting girdle. They mashed the 3-inch, spherical rose-quartz base of the Peach Blossom Plug into her inflamed, swollen flesh. The pressure was constant, a deep, structural ache that felt as if her pelvic bones were being ground into paste.
And beneath it all, the thrum.
It was her new heartbeat. A constant, nauseating, electric hum-thrum-hum-thrum that originated from the five flared, locked petals deep within her ravaged Abyss Gate. It was a maddening, low-frequency vibration, a perfect, diabolical fusion of deep, structural pain and a jangling, profane, and utterly unwanted tingle of physiological arousal.
She hadn't slept. Sleep was an impossibility. Every time her mind drifted towards the blessed void of unconsciousness, the thrum would spike, or a muscle in her leg would twitch, causing the petals to grind against her torn ligaments, and she would be wrenched back to reality with a choked, silent scream, her body slick with a cold, fearful sweat.
She was an Elder. A strategist. A spymaster. And she was being driven insane by a 4-inch piece of crystal.
Her mind, usually a fortress of calm, intricate plots, was a chaotic storm. The physical agony was one thing. The psychological torment was another. She was isolated, blind, and in constant, humiliating pain. Her hated rival, Zhuoyan, was somewhere across the sect, suffering this same fate. Was she enduring it better? Had she found a way to sleep? Was she, even now, plotting her downfall while Wan was reduced to this... this animalistic posture of supplication?
The not-knowing was a separate, acidic torment.
And then there was Ercio. Her catalyst. Her pawn. The key to her entire plan to usurp Zhuoyan. What was he doing? Her test—the spiritual guidance of Ling Xia—was a delicate, vital move. She needed to know if it had worked. She needed to know if her "champion" was proving her philosophical point against Zhuoyan. She could not wait for the formal Council. She had to act.
She had to summon Yujin.
The decision was, in itself, an ordeal. It meant moving. It meant standing.
With a low, pained groan that was swallowed by the heavy tapestries, Wan began the agonizing process. She pushed herself up from the cushion, her arms trembling. She got to her knees. She stayed there for a long, shuddering moment, her eyes squeezed shut, her breath hissing between her teeth as the thrum seemed to deep-fry her nerves.
Then, she grasped a nearby table and, with a surge of pure, desperate will, she stood.
A strangled, high-pitched "ah!" tore from her lips. The moment her body was vertical, the full, dead weight of the plug, which had been supported by her posture, settled. It was a sickening, brutal, downward drag. The anchored petals felt like they were trying to pull her entire pelvic floor out of her body. Her legs buckled, and she had to grip the table, her knuckles white, until the wave of nauseating pain and the accompanying electric tingle passed.
She stood, panting, her body trembling violently. Compose. You are an Elder. You are not a victim.
She forced her back straight, a ramrod-stiff posture that was unnatural and agonizing. She clenched her buttocks, a constant, muscular battle to stabilize the object and prevent it from grinding with every micro-movement.
She was not presentable. She was naked, save for the binding shorts. She was a sweaty, trembling, pale wreck. She could not let Yujin see her like this.
With slow, pained, robotic movements, she began the hateful ritual of dressing. She summoned her robes. The multiple, complex layers. The loose violet trousers over the binding shorts. The form-fitting chemise. The heavy, flowing, amethyst-colored velvet-silk Elder robes that fastened at the front. The wide, carved spirit-wood belt.
Each movement was a new landscape of pain. Bending slightly to pull on the trousers sent a jolt through her core. Fastening the belt required a subtle twist that made the petals scrape. By the time she was done, she was drenched in a fresh layer of sweat, but she was, once again, the picture of Elder Wan. Her face was a pale, powdered mask of placid authority. Only her eyes, dark and haunted, betrayed the sleepless hell beneath.
She moved, her gait the new, stilted, mincing walk of the internally impaled, to a small, ornamental table. She picked up a small, silver communication talisman. She channeled a wisp of her qi.
"Yujin," she whispered, her voice a dry, papery rasp. "Attend me. Now."
She placed the talisman down and staggered back to the center of the room, bracing herself against a tall, carved bookshelf. She would stand. She would not give Yujin the satisfaction of seeing her in any posture of weakness. She would endure.
A few minutes later, a soft, confident knock echoed from the main entrance.
"The ward is down," Wan called out, her voice miraculously, falsely, smooth.
The great stone door, fifty feet away, slid open with a deep, grinding groan, revealing the guards outside, who bowed. A figure stepped past them, her hips swaying with a liquid, predatory grace. The door boomed shut behind her.
It was Elder Yujin.
If Wan was an opulent, velvet-clad queen, Yujin was a venomous, silk-clad concubine. She was a tall woman, with a physique that was a celebration of exaggerated, pornographic curves. Her robes, a shocking, vibrant crimson silk, were cut with a flagrant disregard for an Elder's modesty. The neckline plunged in a deep V, revealing the vast, shadowed valley between two enormous, heavy breasts that swayed with a life of their own, jiggling provocatively as she crossed the chamber. The silk was stretched so taut over them that the hard, dark, prominent points of her nipples were visible as two distinct pebbles, straining against the fabric.
Her waist was impossibly narrow, cinched tight with a black leather sash, which only served to emphasize the dramatic, shocking flare of her hips. Her buttocks were a marvel of genetic excess—high, rounded, and so large they looked like two perfect, ripe melons strapped to her backside. The crimson silk of her robes was stretched to the point of transparency over their prodigious curve. A long slit up the side of her robe revealed a long, toned, honey-colored leg all the way to the hip.
Her face was a masterpiece of sensual hunger. Her eyes, the color of dark, smoky quartz, were heavy-lidded and perpetually half-closed, as if she were in a constant state of pre-orgasmic bliss. They were eyes that did not look, they devoured. Her lips were full, pouty, and stained a deep berry-red, glistening as if she had just licked them. Her aura was not the subtle, cool perfume of a high-born Elder; it was a hot, musky, animalistic scent of arousal and exotic spices. She was, in every sense of the word, a "very horny woman."
"Elder Wan," Yujin's voice was a low, husky purr that vibrated in the air. She glided to a stop a few feet from Wan, her smoky eyes raking over her superior with a knowing, insolent hunger. "You summoned me from my… meditations." Her gaze lingered on Wan's stiff posture, the way she was gripping the bookshelf. "You look... unwell, Sister. Your 'deep seclusion' seems... straining. Are you sure you are not... backed up?"
The double-meaning was as sharp as a knife. Wan's composure held, but the thrum inside her spiked, a jangling, electric response to her irritation. She fought back a wince.
"My cultivation is my own concern, Yujin," Wan said, her voice cold. "I summoned you for a task."
"Always a task," Yujin pouted, her full lower lip jutting out. She ran a hand over her own hip, her fingers tracing the curve, a gesture of pure, narcissistic auto-eroticism. "I live to serve. What is it this time? More boring reports? Or something... interesting?" Her eyes glittered.
"Interesting," Wan confirmed, her voice flat. She was in too much pain for this. "I need you to go to the Meditation Pagoda."
Yujin's eyes snapped into focus. A new, predatory light entered them. "The Pagoda? To see our little... male?"
"You will go and verify the progress of his... tutelage... of Disciple Ling Xia. I need to know if the non-physical, spiritual connection I outlined is taking root. I need a full report on their interaction."
Yujin's tongue darted out, wetting her lower lip. The thought of seeing Ercio, the forbidden, 9-inch-wielding traitor who had caused the entire sect to buzz with scandal, was a potent aphrodisiac. "A report," she purred. "I will be... thorough."
"I expect nothing less," Wan said. She then paused, her voice dropping. "And while you are there, you will retrieve something for me. A personal item."
"Oh?"
"Behind the northern scroll-rack, in a loose stone, you will find a small, dark crystal. It is called the 'Black Mirror of Whispers.' It is an old, discreet recording artifact. You will retrieve it, and you will bring it back to me. Immediately. You will not speak of it to anyone. You will especially not activate it yourself. Do you understand me, Yujin?"
Yujin's eyes glittered with a new, feline curiosity. A secret. A recording. This was more than interesting; this was juicy. "Of course, Elder Wan. I am your most... discreet... servant. I will retrieve your... mirror... and report on the progress with all the detail it deserves."
With a final, insolent sway of her hips that made her massive buttocks jiggle, she turned and glided from the chamber.
Wan waited until the great stone door boomed shut. The moment she was alone, her iron composure shattered. A low, agonized groan was torn from her throat, and she collapsed, half-falling, back into the agonizing, humiliating, and blessedly relieving kneeling posture, her forehead pressed into the velvet, her body trembling with pain and fury.
The air in the Meditation Pagoda was warm, still, and thick with a palpable, unspoken energy. Ercio sat on the central platform, his eyes closed, the very picture of a serene, reformed prisoner. Opposite him, also in a meditative posture, sat Ling Xia. She was not the same, trembling, uncertain girl from Chapter 10. Her skin glowed with a new, vibrant lustre. Her eyes, when they opened, held a deep, profound, and secret confidence.
They were not, in fact, meditating. They were basking. They were reliving the memory of his "volcanic eruption" in her consecrated hands, the first "true" merging of their Yin and Yang.
Mighty Ercio's Internal Monologue: "She is perfect, my other half. Utterly, completely indoctrinated. She worships the very ground you sit on. Her 'spiritual awakening' is a complete success. She aches for the next lesson. And she will get it. Once this farce of a trial is over..."
A soft chime from the pagoda's entry ward interrupted his thoughts. Both he and Ling Xia opened their eyes. The heavy door creaked open.
The scent hit Ercio first. It was not the pale, delicate peach-blossom of Ling Xia. This was a heavy, musky, overpowering wave of female heat, exotic spices, and raw, undeniable arousal.
Elder Yujin entered.
Ercio's breath caught in his throat. His eyes swept over her, a slow, appreciative, and instantly calculating appraisal. He saw the crimson silk, the impossible V-neckline, the enormous, swaying, unbound breasts, the hard, prominent nipples, the wasp-waist, the colossal, swaying hips and ass.
Mighty Ercio's Internal Monologue: "By the Nine Hells! Look at that! That is not a woman, Ercio, that is a banquet. She is a force of nature! That is a spirit-beast in heat! And she is an Elder! Wan sends this? This is not a messenger; this is a temptation."
Ercio instantly remembered her first visit.
(Flashback - Chapter 10)
He had been alone then, new to the pagoda. She had entered just as she did now, a wave of heat and musk. She had delivered Elder Wan's instructions about a disciple coming to "test the spiritual connection." But it wasn't her words he remembered. It was her eyes. The way her smoky quartz gaze had stripped him bare, lingering with a shocking, appraising hunger on his chest, his shoulders, and, most pointedly, on his groin. Her husky voice had purred, "Elder Wan will be... deeply... interested in your... endurance." He had known, even then, that this woman was a different breed. She was not a political player. She was a hedonist.
(End Flashback)
"Elder Yujin," Ercio said, his voice a smooth, respectful baritone. He gave a slight, prisoner's bow from his seated position. "An unexpected... pleasure."
"Lord Ercio," Yujin purred, her eyes devouring him. Her gaze flicked to Ling Xia, a flicker of something... jealousy? Annoyance? "And Disciple Ling Xia. Elder Wan sends her compliments on your... progress." The words were laced with a thick, syrupy sarcasm. "She wishes for a private update. Ling Xia, you may practice your forms in the outer garden. The Elder wishes for you to... cool down... your energies."
Ling Xia, still wrapped in her devotional fog, bowed obediently. "Yes, Elder." She rose and slipped out, leaving Yujin alone with Ercio.
The air in the room instantly became thick and unbreathable. Yujin took a slow, deliberate step towards him, her hips swaying.
Yujin's Internal Monologue: "He's even more beautiful up close. That chest... those shoulders... and those lips. They say he defiled Su Lin... they say his Jade Pillar is a monster... a true weapon... I wonder... if I just...?"
She stopped herself. Business first. She was burning with curiosity, but she had to maintain the pretense. "Elder Wan is most pleased with your... restraint, Lord Ercio." She began to circle the platform, her crimson robes whispering, her scent flooding his senses. "She says you have a... powerful... spiritual influence. I can... feel it myself. It's... very warm in here, isn't it?"
Mighty Ercio's Internal Monologue: "She's practically panting, Ercio! She's not here for Wan; she's here for a taste! Careful... she's a rival Elder. This could be a trap. Let her make the first move."
"It is merely the warmth of the spirit, Elder," Ercio said, his face a mask of benign innocence.
"Of course," Yujin purred. She finally stopped her circling at the northern wall, at the tall scroll-rack. "Elder Wan also... ah, here it is... asked me to retrieve an old... text... she had left here."
Ercio watched as she turned her back to him, her movements deliberately slow. She reached up, her arms stretching, a movement that pulled her crimson silk impossibly tight, outlining every magnificent, rounded curve of her colossal, jiggling buttocks. It was a pure, blatant, sexual display. Ercio felt the first, traitorous stirring in his groin.
Yujin's fingers found the loose stone. She slid it out. Inside was a small, smooth, obsidian-like crystal, no bigger than her thumb. The Black Mirror of Whispers.
She palmed it. And she held it.
Yujin's Internal Monologue: "A recording... what did Wan really want to see? What happened in here? I could just take it back. But... the curiosity... it's burning me up. I have to know. Just a peek. Just one. He won't even know."
The thought of walking all the way back to Wan's cave without knowing was an agony she couldn't bear. Her horny, impulsive nature won.
She turned back to Ercio, her face a mask of a polite, professional smile. "Elder Wan's instructions were... specific. I am to... review the progress here, to ensure the artifact is the correct one. A simple confirmation."
It was a lie so thin it was transparent, but she didn't care.
She held the Black Mirror in her palm and channeled a tiny, discreet wisp of her own qi into it.
The crystal did not glow. It did not project a light. It was a scrying mirror. The images it held bloomed, silent and holographic, only within the mind's eye of the one who activated it.
To Ercio, she was just an Elder, staring blankly at a small, dark rock in her hand.
To Yujin, the world had just exploded.
She saw it. She saw everything.
She saw the pagoda, just as it was now, but from a different angle. She saw Ling Xia, her face a mask of pure, desperate, devotional hunger. She saw the girl produce the sleep token, heard the "clumsy lie" about Su Lin. She saw Ercio's smile, the smile of a god accepting a blood sacrifice. She saw Ling Xia kneel.
Yujin's breath hitched.
She saw Ercio, in his mesmerizing, hypnotic voice, command her to perform the "Offering of the Jade Spring."
Yujin's own thighs clenched. The Jade Spring?
She watched, her own body growing hot, as Ling Xia, in solemn reverence, lifted her own delicate hands to her mouth, laved her own palms, and drew her fingers through her own saliva, consecrating them.
Yujin's Internal Monologue: "By the... Ancestors... what a filthy, brilliant... sacred... idea! She's... she's anointing herself for him! The little...!"
And then, she saw Ercio's robes part. She saw Ling Xia's small, slick, trembling hands close around the base of his weapon.
And Yujin saw it.
Her mind simply stopped. All thought, all decorum, all loyalty to Wan, evaporated in a flash of pure, primal, visceral shock.
The legends were not legends. They were understatements.
It was not a man's weapon. It was a monster. A god. It was a 9-inch... no, 10-inch... pillar of thick, roped, veined, and pulsing flesh, so heavy it lay on his thigh like a club. The head was a deep, angry purple, flared and magnificent. And the girth... it was insane. It was as thick as her own forearm. Ling Xia's small, delicate hand looked like a child's, failing to encircle even half of its colossal circumference.
Yujin's Internal Monologue: "It's... it's... real. It's a dragon. It's a fucking Jade Pillar! And that child... she... she's touching it! She's... oh... oh my... the way she's... he's... he's roaring! The volume of his release... it's... it's...I want that. I need that. I would... I would beg for that. I would let him... break me with that..."
A profound, burning wave of heat washed through Yujin's body. Her knees went weak. Her own nipples, already hard, were now pressing so painfully against her silk robes it was an agony. A hot, slick, copious gush of her own wetness flooded her Jade Bloom, drenching her inner thighs beneath her robes. She was consumed with a primal, visceral jealousy of Ling Xia.
She was so lost in the vision, in her own sudden, overwhelming lust, that a small, choked, animalistic whimper escaped her parted lips.
Ercio watched her.
He had been observing her with a cool, detached curiosity. He saw her face go pale, then flush a deep, painful-looking crimson. He saw her eyes glaze over, her pupils dilate. He saw her chest begin to heave, her breath coming in short, shallow, audible pants. And he heard the whimper.
He (and Mighty Ercio) had no idea what she was seeing in that black rock. But they knew, with absolute certainty, she was aroused.
Mighty Ercio's Internal Monologue: "Look at that! She's getting wet! She's about to faint! What is she seeing? Is it... a recording of us? It must be! Look at her, Ercio! She's imagining it! She's imagining our Pillar inside her! This one is a volcano, Ercio. She's not just on the hook; she's already in the boat, flopping on the deck!"
Yujin, with a convulsive shudder, deactivated the crystal. Her hand was trembling so violently she almost dropped it. She stared at Ercio, her smoky eyes no longer filled with hunger, but with a new, terrified, and profound awe.
"My... my apologies, Lord Ercio," her voice was a husky, broken wreck. She cleared her throat, but it didn't help. "Elder Wan's... instructions... are very... potent."
She clutched the crystal in a death grip, her mind racing. I can't let Wan see this. Not yet. She thinks he's a pawn. This... this man is a King. This changes everything. I... I need to think.
"I will... deliver my report," she stammered, turning, her hips swaying with a new, desperate, and frantic energy. She practically fled the Pagoda, her mind a whirlwind of lust, jealousy, and a new, burgeoning, treacherous ambition.
Ercio watched her go, a slow, predatory smile touching his lips. He let the silence stretch for a moment after the door boomed shut.
Ercio (to his demon): "She knows. She saw it. She saw the truth."
MAighty Ercio: "And she wants it. She wants it more than she wants her next breath. Wan's little spy is now our little time bomb. This... this is magnificent."
A moment later, Ling Xia slipped back inside, her face a mask of innocent curiosity. "Is everything alright, Lord Ercio? Elder Yujin seemed... she was very flushed. She almost ran into me."
Ercio turned his beatific, god-like smile upon his First Follower. He reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from her face.
"She was simply... moved... by the purity of our spiritual progress, my Little Blossom," he said, his voice a hypnotic caress. "Deeply, deeply moved."