Discarded Records Pavilion, Midnight
The ancient, musty air of the archive crackled with a new, potent energy. Su Linyue, a silent, silver-eyed sentinel, sealed the heavy oak doors. The click of the lock was a hammer blow, sealing their pact.
Bai Xiaofei stood in the center of the room, her heart hammering against her ribs, but her face was a mask of cold, analytical resolve. This was a transaction. A cure.
"Remove your robes," Gu Xuan commanded. His voice, his true voice, was calm and deep, the voice of a physician about to perform a complex surgery.
Her hands, usually so steady they could measure a single grain of spiritual dust, trembled. She despised this weakness. With a sharp, angry exhale, she unfasted her silver alchemist's robes, letting them pool at her feet. She stood before him in her thin, inner shift.
"All of it," he ordered.
She closed her eyes, grit her teeth, and pulled the shift over her head. She was naked, exposed in the moonlight to this man, this mystery, while her only rival stood guard. It was the deepest humiliation she had ever known.
Gu Xuan stepped forward, his own robes falling to the floor, revealing a body that was not a boy's, but a man's—lean, powerful, and perfectly proportioned. He stopped before her, his gaze clinical as he assessed his new "partner."
His fingers brushed her shoulder, and he paused. Her skin was hot. Not just warm from a blush, but with an intense, feverish, dry heat that radiated from her core. It was the physical manifestation of her "Volatile Yang Spark"—a furnace barely contained.
"Your entire body is a pressurized cauldron," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "It's a miracle you haven't incinerated your own meridians by now."
He analyzed her form. Unlike Su Linyue's soft, full curves, Bai Xiaofei was built like a taut bowstring. She was lean, her muscles defined, her waist narrow. Her hips were slim, and her breasts were not large, but high, perky, and perfectly round, like twin alchemical cups. Her nipples were small, tight, and a dark, angry red, already beaded and erect from the sheer, nervous energy coursing through her.
"Lie down," he pointed to a wide, sturdy table covered in old, discarded scrolls. He swept them clear with one arm, the parchment scattering like dead leaves.
She obeyed, lying back on the hard, cool wood, her body a stark, pale sculpture in the darkness. She was tense, every muscle clenched.
"You are fighting me already," Gu Xuan said, his voice holding a trace of amusement. "If you remain this tense, your energy will clash with mine and kill us both. You are an alchemist. You know a reaction requires the ingredients to yield."
He didn't move to kiss her. He knelt between her legs.
"We must ground your fire," he explained, "before we can introduce the cooling agent."
Her eyes flew open in shock as his hot breath ghosted over the crisp, dark hair between her thighs. "What are you—"
His tongue flicked out, silencing her. It was a single, hot, wet stripe from her clit to her entrance.
A sharp, electric hiss escaped her teeth. Her entire body joled. Her fingers dug into the wood of the table, her knuckles white. He did it again, slower this time, tasting her. She wasn't just wet; she was scalding. Her arousal, like her body, was a thing of fire.
"This is the source of the imbalance," he murmured, his mouth now pressing against her, his words vibrating into her very core. "The spark is strongest here."
He began to lick her in earnest, his tongue a ruthless, probing tool, lapping at her clit, pushing inside her slick, searing folds. Bai Xiaofei's mind, the most brilliant analytical engine in the sect, dissolved into white noise. This was not the bumbling of a boy; it was the calculated, devastating work of a master. Her arrogance, her fear—it was all being burned away by a pleasure so intense it was indistinguishable from pain.
Her back arched off the table. Her fingers clawed at the wood, and a low, pained groan was torn from her throat. She was about to lose control, to shatter.
"Not yet," he commanded.
He rose, his penis thick and rigid, pulsing with a golden, Yang light. But as Bai Xiaofei watched, a silvery, cool mist—the refined Yin essence from Su Linyue—began to swirl around it. He was a walking, living paradox. Fire and Ice. The perfect tool.
He mounted the table, spreading her legs wide. He positioned the head of his penis at her searing, tight entrance.
"Now," he said, "the harmonization."
He pushed inside.
Bai Xiaofei screamed, or tried to. The sound was a choked, strangled gasp. Her vagina was impossibly tight, not with virginity, but with a clenched, muscular tension. And it was hot. It was like plunging his cock into a velvet-lined furnace.
He held himself there, buried to the hilt, letting their bodies acclimatize. He could feel her "Volatile Yang Spark" clawing at him, a chaotic, furious energy trying to incinerate his invading flesh. But his own scripture-fueled power met it, a calm, deep sea of energy that refused to boil.
"Breathe, Xiaofei," he commanded, using her name for the first time. "Stop fighting. Feel the process."
He began to move. His thrusts were slow, deep, and deliberate. This was not the frantic passion of the cave. This was alchemy.
With every pull, he was drawing the fire out of her. He could feel the "Volatile Yang Spark" coiling around his cock, being sucked into his meridians, a wild, exhilarating rush of power. And with every push, he released his own cool, refined Yin essence into her, a healing, stabilizing balm that her parched spiritual roots absorbed like a desert drinking water.
It was a dangerous, two-way exchange, and it was fucking glorious.
Bai Xiaofei felt it. The lifetime of pressure, of being a living bomb, was venting. The feeling of him pulling the chaotic fire out of her was an ecstasy so profound it was almost a religious experience. The feeling of his cool Yin filling that void was a relief so deep it made tears spring to her eyes.
"Gu Xuan," she hissed, her fingers finding his shoulders, her nails digging in, drawing blood.
"Yes," he grunted, his pace quickening as the reaction stabilized. He was no longer a physician; he was a partner in the act, his own pleasure mounting as he drank her fire.
He thrust faster, harder, his cock slapping against her, the sound wet and obscene in the sacred silence of the archive. Her lean, taut body met his, her hips rising, her legs locking around his back.
"It's... I'm..." she gasped, her eyes rolling back.
Her climax was not a surrender. It was an eruption.
Her back arched off the table like a drawn bow. A sharp, shattering cry—a sound of pain, pleasure, and ultimate release—tore from her throat. As she came, her internal "spark" exploded, not in a destructive flash, but in a final, massive, controlled wave of pure energy that flooded directly into Gu Xuan.
He roared, his own release triggered by the sheer, unadulterated power of her climax. He pounded into her, his hips slamming against hers as he emptied his own essence into her newly balanced, newly tamed womb.
For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged, panting breaths. Then, from the doorway, came the quiet, metallic shing of Su Linyue sheathing her sword.
Bai Xiaofei lay trembling, slick with sweat. She raised a shaky hand. Her skin, once fever-hot, was now merely warm. She circulated her Qi. The volatile, angry spark was gone. In its place was a calm, potent, whole energy, a perfect, swirling balance of fire and ice.
She was no longer a half-genius. She was complete.