I, Elder Feng Lianhua of the Immortal Sect, have long prided myself on transcendence.
Cultivation is the path to purity—elevating the soul above base desires, refining the body into an instrument of divine will.
Lust? A folly for the weak, a distraction that clouds the dantian and taints the meridians.
I have witnessed my disciples succumb to it, their faces twisted in what they claim is ecstasy, but I see only degradation.
Why do they indulge in such... messiness? Entering those dirty, tainted places, wailing like beasts— it is nonsense, a surrender to animal instincts that I, in my centuries of celibacy, have never deigned to understand.
Virginity is not a burden; it is armor, preserving my qi unspoiled.
Men and women alike chase these fleeting pleasures, but to what end? Power lies in denial, not indulgence.
That conviction held firm until I first laid eyes on him—the wretched old emperor, Zhao Tianlong.
Wuji had summoned me to Eldridge Hollow, prattling about a "resurrected father" causing trouble.
I expected a frail ghost, a remnant of a fallen dynasty, easy to crush beneath my Nascent Soul might.
Instead, there he stood in that dusty arena, a wrinkled husk with gray hair and sunken eyes, yet carrying himself with an inexplicable vitality.
Amusing, I thought. A dead man playing at life. I would end him swiftly, as one crushes an insect.
But then... the bomb. He crushed something in his sleeve, and a strange mist spread, invisible yet insidious.
At first, I dismissed it as parlor trickery—my cultivation should render me immune to such poisons.
Yet my body betrayed me. A warmth bloomed unbidden in my chest, my chest hardening against the silk of my robes, stiff and sensitive in a way I had never known.
What sorcery was this? And lower... something stirred in that hidden region between my legs, a slick heat I did not recognize, as if my very core was awakening against my will.
It was strange, unnatural—my flesh reacting voluntarily, without command. I do not understand it.
Why this... wetness? This ache? I clenched my teeth, forcing composure, but my breaths came shorter, my skin flushing.
The old fool's proximity made it worse—his breath on my ear, his body close. I felt... exposed, vulnerable in a manner no battle had ever induced.
Lust? No, impossible. This was trickery, nothing more.
The "fight" that followed was a farce. Without cultivation, I should have dismantled him, but the mist clouded my focus, turning combat into something profane.
His hands on me—accidental touches that sent fire through my veins. I pushed away, horrified, my mind screaming denial.
"You poisoned the air!" I accused, but he vanished into the chaos, leaving me... unsettled.
For days, the sensation lingered—a phantom heat in my lower body, confusing thoughts of that wretched man.
Why did my disciples seem to enjoy such things? Entering dirty places, flesh slapping like idiots— it was tainted, pointless.
Yet now, I wondered... what was this feeling I could not name?
When reports came of his location in Whispering Grove, I insisted on handling it personally.
Wuji's incompetence had allowed this farce to drag on; I would end it.
The grove's ancient energies hummed around me as I descended, my robes billowing like shadows.
There he was, transformed— no longer the withered elder, but a sculpted figure of masculine perfection, black hair flowing, eyes sharp as blades.
The change was... intriguing. What power had he claimed?
He turned to me, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips. "Elder Feng. Come to finish what we started?"
I regarded him coolly, my voice like winter wind. "You dare mock me, insect? After your vile tricks, you flee like a rat. What devilry have you wrought upon yourself?"
He chuckled, stepping closer, his presence... commanding in a way that stirred that strange warmth again. "Devilry? Or perhaps enlightenment. You've been thinking about me, haven't you? That 'vile trick' left an impression."
I stiffened, my mouth twitching in disdain. How dare he presume? "Your words are as empty as your threats. I am here to eradicate a pest. But first... explain this transformation. What have you done?"
He gestured to a hidden entrance—a shimmering portal that led to some opulent space beyond. "Come inside, and I'll show you. Unless you're afraid of a little... intimacy with knowledge."
Afraid? The word rankled. I am Elder Feng Lianhua—no man dictates to me. "Lead on," I said icily, following him into what he called his "pleasure palace."
The interior was garish—silken beds, strange devices, scents that cloyed the air like forbidden incense.
I looked around, my curiosity piqued despite myself. What rituals had transpired here?
I recalled glimpses of my disciples engaging in their foolish acts—wailing, flesh slapping like deranged fools. Tainted nonsense.
Yet this place reeked of it. "What have you done in this den of depravity?" I demanded, voice steady but my mind racing. Why did my body feel... alert?
He approached, his eyes gleaming. Before I could react, he leaned in and kissed me— a bold, fleeting press of lips that sent an electric jolt through my core.
I retreated instantly, eyes widening, my hand flying to my mouth. "Insolent wretch! How dare you—"
But he only smiled, pushing me back onto the bed with surprising strength. I landed with a thud, my robes disarrayed, eyes widening further as he moved with purpose. "Remove your clothes," he said, as if it were the most natural command.
My mouth twitched—how dare this upstart? "The one who is going to be naked is you, wielder of filth," I retorted, my voice laced with scorn.
Yet he persisted, his words a taunt: "What, you fear?"
Fear? I, who had faced divine tribulations? "Just do whatever," I spat, my tone cold as glacier wind, though a strange curiosity flickered within. What was this game?
He removed my robes methodically, layer by layer, exposing my unblemished skin to the air.
I remained still, observing with detached disdain—this body was a vessel of power, not some plaything.
But then he poked the hardened peak on my chest, his finger pressing against what I knew as merely flesh. "You know what we call this?" he asked, his tone vulgar, mocking.
I blinked, uncomprehending. What nonsense was this?
He grinned. "It's a boob."
Boob? The word was crude, base—like the rest of his speech.
He continued, naming parts of my form with lewd terms: "These are tits," he said, gesturing to my chest. "That curve there? Ass."
On and on, vulgar labels for what I viewed as mere anatomy—thighs, hips, the sensitive folds below. Each word grated, my teeth clenching as he demeaned the sacred form.
Finally, he flicked that hidden nub between my legs, a strange jolt shooting through me—teeth clenched tight as unfamiliar heat bloomed. "And this," he said with a wicked gleam, "it's clit."
Clit? The sensation was... alien, my lower region throbbing in a way I had never known.
Strange. Confusing. Why did my body react thus? I, who had scorned such things as tainted folly?
He stood then, hands folded, his expression triumphant. "Now that you have known the basic anatomy of a woman's body, I will start."
Start? My mind whirled—what depravity had I walked into?
Yet beneath the disdain, that unwelcome curiosity stirred, a crack in my frozen resolve. This man... he would learn the folly of challenging an elder.