Punishment of the Mysterious Punishment Deity

The world of cultivation stretched vast and untamed, a realm of spiritual energy and mortal struggles. From Qi Refining to Foundation Establishment, from Gold Core to Nascent Soul, each step was a lifetime's pursuit for most. But in this world, the scales of heaven had tilted strangely—women far outnumbered men, and the male cultivators who did exist were often born with superior talent, dominating the peaks of power. Among these peaks stood a peculiar custom: a male cultivator could claim a female cultivator as a female slave by spanking her bare bottom, and this act would accelerate the cultivation of both parties. Most female cultivators despised this fate, but the law of the strong prevailed, and few could resist.

Xuanfa walked the path toward the Immortal Xia Sect, his black training clothes flowing like shadow in the wind. His face was cold and handsome, a mask of indifference that revealed nothing. Behind him, a young female cultivator of the Immortal Xia Sect trembled on her knees, her robes disheveled and her backside sore from the lesson he had just delivered. She had been careless, bumping into him at the market and spilling her words without respect. Now she paid the price.

"Please... please spare our sect," she begged, her voice cracking. "The Sect Leader will punish me enough."

Xuanfa did not turn. "Your sect will learn what happens when its disciples lack manners. I intend to spank every last female cultivator in the Immortal Xia Sect until their bottoms are raw and red. Perhaps then they will remember courtesy."

The disciple sobbed, but Xuanfa continued his steady pace. He climbed the mountain path, ignoring the ornate gates and the startled gasps of the female disciples who spotted him. They scattered like leaves before a storm, running to alert their Sect Leader.

Shen Mengyue stood in her private meditation chamber, her black and white Daoist robes flowing around her. Her waist-length black hair cascaded down her back, and her face held a chilling serenity. She was beautiful—both ethereal and enchantingly mature—the kind of woman who commanded respect with a glance. News of the stranger's approach had reached her ears only moments ago, and now the trembling disciple who had offended him knelt before her, detailing her shame.

"He... he stripped me and spanked me in the market square," the disciple whispered, tears streaming. "He said he would come for the entire sect."

Shen Mengyue's jaw tightened. The disciple had been a Foundation Establishment junior, no match for a Nascent Soul cultivator. But for a man to invade her sect and threaten its pride? Unacceptable. She rose, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword, and strode toward the sect's main courtyard.

When she arrived, Xuanfa stood in the center, arms behind his back. He had already spanked two more disciples who had tried to stop him; they lay crumpled against the walls, faces buried in their hands, weeping. Their robes were torn, revealing red, swollen buttocks that bore the marks of his palm. The other disciples had retreated to the edges of the courtyard, watching with wide eyes and clenched fists, too scared to act.

"I am Shen Mengyue, Sect Leader of the Immortal Xia Sect," she declared, her voice cold as winter's first frost. "You will cease this humiliation immediately and leave our mountain."

Xuanfa turned his gaze to her, his expression as unchanging as stone. "Your disciple offended me. I came to collect the debt. Every woman in this sect will receive the same punishment until I am satisfied."

"You dare to speak of satisfaction in my sect?" Shen Mengyue drew her sword, its spiritual energy flaring like starlight. "I am Nascent Soul mid-stage. You cannot simply trample over us."

He tilted his head, studying her with an unsettling calm. "Nascent Soul Great Perfection. I am stronger. But I will give you a chance—fight me, and if you lose, you submit to the punishment first. Your sect will watch their leader humbled."

Shen Mengyue's heart pounded, but pride would not let her back down. She ignited her qi, sword energy surging around her like a cocoon of light, and launched forward. Her blade arced through the air, a crescent of destruction aimed at his throat. Xuanfa raised his right hand, and a finger extended. He touched the edge of her sword with his fingertip, and the weapon's energy shattered like glass. She recoiled, eyes widening, but pressed on, unleashing a barrage of sword techniques—each one a masterpiece of killing intent.

Xuanfa moved like smoke, avoiding each strike with minimal effort. His eyes never left her face, reading her every intention. When she lunged with a thrust meant to pierce his heart, he sidestepped and flicked her wrist with two fingers. A jolt of numbing energy shot through her arm, and she almost dropped her sword.

"You fight well for a woman," he said, his tone flat, "but not well enough."

Anger flared within her. She abandoned elegance for brutality, summoning a storm of qi into her blade. The ground cracked beneath her feet, and the air itself screamed as she swung. Xuanfa's finger swept upward, and a beam of pure power intercepted her attack, slicing through her defenses. The force threw her backward, and she crashed into the stone pillar of the main hall, coughing blood.

Shen Mengyue rose, her robes torn, her hair tangled. She shouted and charged again, her sword tracing the pattern of her sect's ultimate technique—the Starfall Strike. Light condensed at the blade's tip, and she thrust forward, a meteor of fury. Xuanfa's eyes flickered with something almost like recognition. He leveled two fingers at her, and an invisible pressure built in the air. When she was only three feet away, he flicked his fingers, and the world went silent.

She felt the impact like a mountain falling on her chest. Her sword flew from her grasp, her qi collapsed inward, and her body slammed into the ground, carving a trench through the courtyard stones. She lay there, gasping, her Daoist robes ripped across her back, her fair skin exposed to the cold breeze and the stares of her disciples.

Xuanfa had only used seventy percent of his strength. She understood that now—he had been toying with her, testing her limits like a cat with a mouse. Her hands trembled as she tried to push herself up, but her arms gave out, and she collapsed flat, her cheek pressed to the cold stone.

He walked toward her, his footsteps measured, unhurried. Each step echoed in the silent courtyard, a death knell of her pride. She watched him approach from the corner of her eye, his black training clothes blending with the shadows, his face a marble carving of cold cruelty. She had never felt so exposed, so helpless.

"I warned you," he said, stopping beside her. "Now you will learn what it means to submit."

She could only watch in horror as he reached down, his fingers brushing the torn fabric of her back, ready to complete her humiliation in front of her entire sect.

Half a year had passed in the Mysterious Heaven Realm. The rhythm of days blurred into a monotonous cycle of pain and submission for the two female cultivators who now served Xuanfa. Every morning, without fail, they would assume their positions—kneeling on the cool stone floor of his meditation chamber, their naked bodies exposed to his cold gaze. Li Que’s athletic frame had grown accustomed to the daily sting of the Heavenly Dao Board, her tight buttocks now bearing the permanent imprint of its discipline. Beside her, Lin Qiaoxin’s youthful figure trembled slightly less each day, her twin tails swaying as she lowered her head in supplication. They had learned to anticipate his whims, to read the subtle shifts in his expressionless face.

Today, curiosity finally got the better of them. Li Que, her red hair still tied in a high ponytail despite her nakedness, raised her head to meet Xuanfa’s eyes. “Master,” she began, her voice steady but carrying a hint of genuine inquiry, “we have served you faithfully for half a year. Lin Qiaoxin and I have endured your punishments without complaint. But we wish to know—what is it that you most enjoy?”

Lin Qiaoxin nodded eagerly, her playful nature undimmed by her servitude. “Yes, Master. We’ve noticed you always seem...calmer, sharper, after a good spanking session. What is it about our suffering that pleases you so?”

Xuanfa’s eyes narrowed, a rare flicker of interest passing through their depths. He stood from his meditation mat, his black training robes crisp against his muscular frame. “You wish to know?” He walked slowly around them, his footsteps deliberate. “I will tell you.” He stopped behind them, his hand resting lightly on Lin Qiaoxin’s head. “It is the moment of breaking. When a proud cultivator, one who has spent decades building her strength, her reputation, her dignity—when that cultivator is stripped bare and forced to present her most vulnerable flesh for punishment. The humiliation, the agony, the raw submission—it feeds my cultivation in ways you cannot imagine. Every scream, every tear, every involuntary clench of your buttocks as the board falls—it strengthens my mental resolve and my power.”

He paused, his hand moving from Lin Qiaoxin’s head to caress Li Que’s shoulder before sliding down her spine to rest on the curve of her lower back. “Watching female cultivators suffer at my hands is my greatest pleasure. Their broken spirits and bruised bodies are the finest tribute to my cultivation.”

Li Que’s breath hitched, but she did not flinch. Instead, a slow smile spread across her lips. “Then, Master, we have an opportunity to grant you even greater joy.” She glanced at Lin Qiaoxin, who nodded enthusiastically.

Lin Qiaoxin spoke up, her voice animated. “The entire cultivation world already knows that Shen Mengyue, the Immortal Xia Sect leader, was stripped naked and forced to kneel at the sect hall gate with her buttocks raised to receive the board. That happened months ago. But it is not yet widely known that the formation genius Lin Qiaoxin and the Vermilion Bird Sect deputy leader Li Que have become your female slaves. The news is still just rumors.”

Li Que continued, “We propose that you lead us, naked and crawling like dogs, to the highest platform in Wuling City. Have Shen Mengyue’s disciples lead her as well, naked and with a dog leash around her neck. The three of us shall kneel in a row before the gathered crowd—upper bodies prone, lower bodies with our fat buttocks raised high. Then summon the Heavenly Dao Board to spank us all, thoroughly, until our buttocks are broken open, raw wounds that even for cultivators would take a week to heal. After that, force our legs apart and lash our butt cracks severely with whips, ensuring our anuses and vaginas are swollen and useless. Then insert anal hooks into our red, swollen anuses and hang us up for a week of public display. That would make you happy, would it not?”

Xuanfa listened in silence, his expression unreadable. When they finished, he walked to the window and gazed out at the setting sun. “An interesting proposal,” he said finally. “Yes, that would please me greatly. We shall do as you suggest. Prepare yourselves. Tomorrow, we will make Wuling City witness the full extent of your submission.”

A shiver of anticipation ran through both women. Lin Qiaoxin’s eyes sparkled with excitement, while Li Que’s jaw clenched with determination. But before they could savor their victory, Xuanfa turned back, a dark glint in his eyes. “However, before that grand spectacle, I wish to try a new punishment. Something I have been contemplating for some time.” He gestured to the corner of the room. “Kneel there, both of you. Raise your buttocks. Spread your anuses with your own hands.”

Li Que and Lin Qiaoxin exchanged a glance but obeyed without hesitation. They crawled to the designated spot and assumed the position—foreheads to the floor, hips lifted high, their buttocks presented to him. They reached back with trembling hands, their fingers finding their tight anal openings and pulling them open, exposing the pink interiors to his view.

Xuanfa retrieved a small jade bottle from his storage ring. He uncorked it, and the pungent aroma of ginger filled the air. “Divine ginger roots,” he explained, “pressed into a concentrated juice. It is said to cause a burning sensation that rivals fire itself when introduced to sensitive flesh.” He walked behind them, kneeling down to examine their exposed anuses. “I will pour this into your intestines. You will feel as though a red-hot iron rod has been inserted. And then, when the daily Heavenly Dao Board punishment arrives—two hundred strikes each—you will have to endure the beatings without losing control. Do not allow any intestinal fluid to spurt out during the spanking. If you do, the punishment will be doubled. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” they replied in unison, their voices strained.

He began with Lin Qiaoxin. He tilted the bottle, letting a thin stream of the viscous golden liquid trickle into her open anus. The moment it touched her inner walls, she gasped, her body jerking. The juice spread inside her, coating her intestinal lining, and soon the burning began. It was like liquid fire, searing through her insides. She whimpered, her fingers digging into her own buttocks as she struggled to remain still. Xuanfa poured steadily until the bottle was half-empty, then sealed it and moved to Li Que.

Li Que braced herself, but the sensation was even worse than she imagined. The ginger juice invaded her depths, setting every nerve ending ablaze. She bit her lip to suppress a cry, her athletic body trembling violently. By the time Xuanfa finished with her, both women were panting, their faces flushed, sweat beading on their skin. The fiery torment in their bowels was constant, unrelenting.

“Do not forget,” Xuanfa said calmly, seating himself on a meditation mat to watch them. “Two hundred strikes each of the Heavenly Dao Board. And if you lose control, the punishment doubles.”

They remained in position, their buttocks still raised, their anuses now clenched tightly against the burning liquid inside. Minutes passed, feeling like hours. The fire inside them seemed to intensify with every breath. Lin Qiaoxin’s legs began to shake. Li Que’s fists clenched on the floor.

Then the Heavenly Dao Board materialized above them. It hovered, a dark rectangle of spiritual energy emanating judgment. It descended slowly, positioning itself behind Lin Qiaoxin first. She tensed, knowing what was coming. The first strike fell with a sharp crack against her right buttock. The pain was immense—the board had its own force, designed to maximize suffering. But the ginger juice inside her magnified everything. The impact sent shockwaves through her insides, and the burning in her bowels flared, making her gasp. She managed to hold back the initial urge to release.

The second strike landed on her left buttock. She whimpered, her fingers clawing at the floor. By the tenth strike, her buttocks were reddening, but the internal fire was becoming unbearable. She felt the liquid shifting inside her, wanting to escape. Each impact forced more of it toward her anus. She clenched desperately.

Li Que watched, her own turn approaching. The board finished Lin Qiaoxin’s first dozen strikes and moved behind her. The first blow sent a jolt through her entire body, the ginger juice churning violently inside her. She gritted her teeth, determined not to fail. But the second strike was worse, and the third even more so. By the fifteenth strike, she could feel the pressure building at her anal ring. The ginger juice was burning, and the board’s blows were forcing it outward.

Lin Qiaoxin, meanwhile, was losing her battle. On the seventeenth strike of her first set, a violent spasm seized her. Her anus involuntarily relaxed, and a stream of ginger-tinged fluid spurted out, splattering onto the floor. The burning liquid escaped, but the shame of defeat was worse. She cried out, her body collapsing slightly as the board paused.

Xuanfa’s voice was cold. “Failure. Your punishment is doubled. Four hundred strikes now.” He turned to Li Que, who was still holding on. The board continued its assault on her. She made it to twenty-two strikes before a particularly hard blow forced a convulsion. A small amount of fluid leaked out, and she knew she had failed. Xuanfa’s expression didn’t change. “Also doubled. Four hundred strikes for each of you. And do not think you can simply release it all now. You must still hold the remaining ginger juice inside you until the punishment is complete.”

Lin Qiaoxin groaned, but she forced herself back into position, raising her now-bruised buttocks higher. The board resumed its work, this time with doubled intensity. Each strike was harder, meant to break them completely. The ginger juice continued to burn, and with every blow, the pressure to release grew stronger. They endured, screaming, crying, their buttocks turning purple and raw, splits forming on the skin. The pain was transcendent, a merging of internal fire and external violence.

By the time the four hundred strikes were completed for both of them, they were barely conscious. Their buttocks were a mess of open wounds, blood and fluid dripping down their thighs. The ginger juice had mostly been expelled through the cracks and splits, but the burning remained deep inside. Xuanfa stood over them, looking down with satisfaction.

“You performed adequately,” he said. “Tomorrow, we will carry out the public punishment in Wuling City. Rest tonight. You will need your strength.”

They could only whimper in response, their bodies broken, their spirits further crushed. But deep within, a twisted sense of pride emerged—they had pleased their master, and that was enough.

The morning sun cast long shadows across Wuling City’s main thoroughfare as Xuanfa strode through the gates, two leashes held loosely in his left hand. The collars around Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que’s necks were polished black leather, studded with silver rivets that caught the light with each small movement. Both women crawled on all fours behind him, their naked bodies bare to the world, their skin already beaded with a sheen of cold sweat.

Lin Qiaoxin’s twin-tails had come undone during the journey, her black hair now a tangled curtain around her flushed face. She kept her head low, not from shame but from the fire burning in her bowels. The ginger juice the master had forced into her intestines that morning was a living flame, churning and pulsing with each breath she took. Every small contraction of her internal muscles sent fresh waves of burning agony through her core, radiating up into her ribs and down into her already tender backside. She bit her lip, tasting copper, and forced herself to crawl forward.

Li Que’s red hair was still pulled back in its high ponytail, but strands had escaped to cling to her temples and neck. The muscles in her arms and shoulders stood out as she moved, her athletic frame betraying the strain of maintaining such a submissive posture while her insides screamed. The ginger juice was worse for her—she had fought it, clenched against it, and now the burning had seeped into every crevice of her lower body. Her anus spasmed rhythmically, clenching against nothing, adding a cramping ache to the fiery torment. She glanced sideways at Lin Qiaoxin and saw the same suffering mirrored in the younger woman’s half-lidded eyes.

The citizens of Wuling City had stopped in their tracks. A fruit vendor dropped his apples, letting them roll into the gutter as he stared. A group of children pointed and giggled before their mothers yanked them away, covering their eyes with trembling hands. Men stood frozen, mouths agape, while women hid their faces behind fans and sleeves. But all of them watched. All of them stared at the two beautiful, naked women crawling like dogs behind the cold-eyed man in black.

On their buttocks, barely healed scars from previous punishments crisscrossed in angry red and purple lines. New bruises bloomed over old ones, and the skin was raw and chafed from crawling. Each time Lin Qiaoxin’s hips swayed forward, the crowd could see the gap between her thighs, the pink flesh of her sex and the tight pucker of her anus exposed to all. Li Que’s backside was similarly displayed, her lean muscles flexing with each laborious movement.

“Keep your asses high,” Xuanfa said without turning around. His voice carried no heat, no anger, just the flat authority of absolute command.

Both women immediately arched their backs, pushing their buttocks higher into the air. The crowd gasped audibly. Lin Qiaoxin heard someone whisper, “Look at their cunts, they’re completely exposed,” and she felt a fresh wave of heat rise to her cheeks. But the pain in her gut had grown to a crescendo, and she could no longer think about the eyes on her body. Only the fire. Only the crawling.

A hundred yards ahead, the platform rose from the center of the market square. It was a wooden structure raised three feet off the ground, with iron rings set into its surface and chains coiled at each corner. As Xuanfa approached, he saw another procession already making its way toward the platform from the opposite side of the square.

Shen Mengyue.

The Immortal Xia Sect leader was on her hands and knees, her waist-length black hair dragging through the dust. A young female disciple led her by a leather leash attached to a collar around her neck, the same kind of collar as Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que wore. The disciple’s face was red, streaked with tears she could not shed, and her grip on the leash trembled violently.

Shen Mengyue did not crawl. She did not move with the fluid submission of the other two. Her movements were mechanical, each motion as if her body were a puppet pulled by invisible strings. Her eyes were fixed on the ground before her, but she saw nothing. She could only feel the dirt beneath her palms and knees, the shame that wrapped around her like a shroud, the eyes of every cultivator, merchant, and child who had ever looked up to her.

*They see me. They all see me.*

The thought drove through her mind like a spike. This was not just humiliation. This was an erasure. Every moment of authority she had held, every decree she had given, every battle she had won—all of it was being stripped away with each step she crawled. She was no longer the Sect Leader of Immortal Xia. She was a body on display, a lesson in submission, a cautionary tale carved into living flesh.

The disciple tugged the leash, and Shen Mengyue moved forward. Her breasts swung beneath her, brushing against the ground, and she felt the coarse wood chips scrape against her nipples. Behind her, her buttocks—still bearing the ghost of Xuanfa’s last punishment—swayed as she crawled. She could hear the whispers, the gasps, the poorly muffled laughter.

“That’s Shen Mengyue, isn’t it?”

“The Immortal Xia Sect Leader? Naked as a worm?”

“I heard she was spanked bare-bottomed in her own hall. Beaten until she cried.”

*Yes. That was me. That is me. And now I crawl through the streets like an animal.*

Her hands balled into fists, but she did not slow. She could not slow. The leash was a cord around her neck, and Xuanfa’s will was the hand that held it, even if the disciple was the one pulling. She knew that if she stopped, if she rebelled, worse would follow. This was the path he had set for her. And she would walk it. She would crawl it. She would complete it, and then—she did not know what came after.

The two processions converged at the platform. Xuanfa climbed the steps with an unhurried gait, turning to face the crowd as his three women approached. Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que crawled up the ramp without hesitation, finding their places on either side of the platform’s center. Shen Mengyue hesitated at the bottom, freezing as her disciple tugged the leash.

“Up,” the disciple whispered, her voice cracking.

Shen Mengyue closed her eyes. Then she climbed.

The crowd had grown. Hundreds now ringed the square, standing shoulder to shoulder, some on rooftops, some hovering on flying swords. Word had spread quickly, and the cultivation world’s elite had sent their spies, their disciples, their curiosity. Xuanfa looked out over the sea of faces and allowed the briefest hint of a smile to touch his lips.

“You know who I am,” he said, his voice carrying without effort. “And you know who these women are.”

He gestured to the three kneeling figures on the platform. Shen Mengyue had collapsed into the position out of exhaustion and despair, her upper body prone, her lower body with her fat, pale buttocks raised high. Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que had assumed the same pose with practiced ease, their scarred backsides aimed upward, waiting.

“They have broken the rules of this world,” Xuanfa continued. “They have placed their own pride above the natural order. And now, they will learn the weight of consequence.”

He raised his hand, and the air above the platform shimmered. From nothing, a board materialized—the Heavenly Dao Board. It was flat and black, inscribed with golden runes that pulsed with a malevolent light. It floated to hover behind the three women, rotating slowly as if deciding where to begin.

“Each of you will receive one hundred strokes,” Xuanfa said. “You will count them yourself. You will thank me after every tenth. And when the board is done, I will lash the cracks between your legs until they are swollen shut. Then I will hang you from your assholes for a week, so that all who pass may see what becomes of those who defy me.”

Lin Qiaoxin’s heart soared. *Yes. Yes, master. Thank you. This is for you. This is my offering.* She pressed her forehead to the wood, tears of joy mingling with the sweat on her cheeks. She had been his slave for so short a time, but already she understood: his punishments were not cruelty—they were gifts. Each stroke of the board, each lash of the whip, was his attention, his love. She would bleed for him. She would break for him. And she would love every moment of it.

Beside her, Li Que felt the same fire kindle in her chest. She had been proud once, arrogant, believing herself unbeatable. But Xuanfa had broken her, and in that breaking, she had found a peace she never knew existed. Serving him, bearing his marks, displaying his ownership of her body—this was honor. This was meaning. She arched her back higher, pushing her ass toward the board, silently begging for it to begin.

Shen Mengyue felt only cold. She did not arch. She did not push. She simply lay there, her face pressed to the wood, her mind a void. She had counted the strokes before. She knew the rhythm of the Heavenly Dao Board, the way it drew back, the way it whistled through the air, the way it landed. She knew the pain. But knowing did not make it easier. And this time, it would not be in private. This time, the entire world would watch.

*Let them watch,* she thought, and the thought was hollow. *Let them see what I have become.*

The Heavenly Dao Board rose. Its runes flared with golden fire. And then it fell.

The week was an eternity carved from agony and shame. For Shen Mengyue, each second stretched into a lifetime of humiliation. The anal hook had been a constant, biting violation—a cold metal curve that suspended her from the rafters of Wuling City’s central square, her naked body exposed to the gaze of hundreds. The pain in her anus was a dull, throbbing fire that never relented, but it was the eyes that burned worse. The merchants, the children, the cultivators from passing sects—they all saw her. The Immortal Xia Sect’s proud leader, stripped bare and dangling like a piece of meat. She had once commanded respect; now she was a spectacle. Her waist-length black hair hung limp, her cheeks flushed with a shame that no amount of meditation could quell. She had bitten her lip bloody on the first day, refusing to cry out. But by the third day, she had wept silently, the tears dripping onto the cobblestones below.

Lin Qiaoxin hung to her left, her twin tails drooping like wilted flowers. The red-haired girl had a grin on her face even now, though it was strained. “Yue slave,” she called out, her voice raspy from disuse, “you’re still holding that scowl? Master will be pleased we endured. Think of it as a lesson in obedience.”

Li Que, on Shen Mengyue’s right, snorted. The athletic woman’s red ponytail was tangled, her body glistening with sweat. “She’s not a slave yet. She’s still fighting it. Stupid.” Li Que had accepted her place after Xuanfa defeated her; she understood power. Shen Mengyue was still clinging to pride like a drowning woman to a stone.

“I am not a slave,” Shen Mengyue whispered, but her voice cracked.

The week ended at dawn on the eighth day. A ripple of energy passed through the square as the hooks released. The three women fell, landing on their hands and knees on the cold stone. Shen Mengyue gasped as the hook slid out of her, leaving a raw, empty ache. She trembled, her thighs slick with blood and sweat. Before she could rise, a shadow fell over her.

Xuanfa stood before her, hands clasped behind his back. He wore his black training clothes, immaculate and crisp. His face was a mask of cold indifference, his dark eyes sweeping over her naked form. “Shen Mengyue,” he said, his voice low and even, “the punishment for your offense is complete. I hope you have learned humility. Now, you will enter the Mysterious Heaven Realm voluntarily and become my female slave.”

Shen Mengyue’s heart seized. She scrambled to her knees, her hands clasped in supplication. “Deity! Please, I beg you—mercy! I have endured your punishment. I have been humiliated before all of Wuling City. I accept that I offended you. But I cannot become a slave. I am the sect leader of Immortal Xia. My disciples depend on me. Spare me this fate, and I will never cross your path again.”

Xuanfa’s lips curled into the faintest smirk. “Stubborn.”

He snapped his fingers. Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que, now standing, moved instantly. They flanked Shen Mengyue, each taking an arm. Shen Mengyue struggled, her muscles screaming from a week of hanging, but they were fresh and strong. “What are you doing? Release me!” she shouted.

“Sorry, Yue slave,” Lin Qiaoxin chirped, “but Master knows best. Just relax. It’ll hurt less.”

Li Que said nothing, but her grip was iron. Together, they forced Shen Mengyue onto all fours, then pushed her upper body down until her forehead touched the stone. Her buttocks rose high, the twin mounds already red and tender from the week’s friction. The anus, still swollen and raw, puckered in the cold air.

“No! Please!” Shen Mengyue cried, her voice breaking. She tried to twist away, but an invisible force slammed her back down. Her limbs locked into the familiar posture—knees wide, hips elevated, face pressed to the ground. She could not move a muscle.

Lin Qiaoxin knelt beside her, her fingers parting Shen Mengyue’s buttocks. “Oh, look at that. It’s still so tight. Li Que, hold her open.”

Li Que took the other cheek, spreading her wide. The anus was exposed, a dark, winking hole rimmed with dried blood. Xuanfa stepped forward, holding a ceramic bottle. He uncorked it, and the sharp, pungent scent of ginger filled the air.

“You will learn gratitude,” Xuanfa said. He tipped the bottle. A thick, golden liquid dribbled out, splashing directly into Shen Mengyue’s anus. She screamed—a raw, guttural sound of pure agony. The ginger juice was a fire, a searing burn that clawed into her intestines. She convulsed, but the invisible force held her steady.

“Please! It burns! Take it out!” she sobbed.

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que held her open as Xuanfa poured the entire bottle. The liquid pooled inside her, and her belly began to cramp. Tears streamed down her face. She had never known such pain—not from swords, not from spiritual attacks. This was a violation of her very core.

Xuanfa set the bottle aside. He produced two flat, black boards—the Heavenly Dao Boards. He handed one to each of the women. “Fifty strikes each. With every strike, she will say, ‘Thank you, Mysterious Punishment Deity, for spanking my buttocks.’ If she fails to speak, you will pour another bottle of ginger juice into her.”

Lin Qiaoxin’s eyes lit up. “With pleasure, Master.” She raised the board.

Li Que’s lips twitched into a cruel smile. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

The first strike fell. The board was heavy, and it landed flat on Shen Mengyue’s right buttock. A sharp crack echoed through the square. Her flesh jiggled, and a bright red mark bloomed. She screamed, her voice cracking.

“The words,” Xuanfa said, his voice a cold whisper.

“T-thank you… Mysterious Punishment Deity… for spanking my buttocks,” she choked out through sobs.

Lin Qiaoxin struck again, this time on the left cheek. “Louder, Yue slave! Master can’t hear you.”

“Thank you, Mysterious Punishment Deity, for spanking my buttocks!” Shen Mengyue’s voice rose, desperate to avoid the ginger.

The boards rained down. Strike after strike. Shen Mengyue lost count. Her buttocks became a canvas of red, purple, and black. The skin split in places, and blood beaded on the surface. She cried the words like a prayer, each syllable torn from her throat. The ginger juice churned in her bowels, adding a constant, burning ache to the sharp pain of the boards.

By the fiftieth strike, she was hoarse. “Thank you… spanking… my buttocks…” The words slurred.

Lin Qiaoxin paused, her board raised. “Master, she’s fading. Should I pour more ginger?”

Shen Mengyue’s eyes snapped open. “No! Please! I’ll say it! Thank you, Mysterious Punishment Deity, for spanking my buttocks!” She screamed it, her voice raw.

Xuanfa watched, his expression unchanging. He had seen this before. Pride always broke. It was only a matter of time.

At the sixtieth strike, Shen Mengyue’s resistance crumbled. “Mercy! Deity, mercy! I will become your female slave! I will! Just spare my sect! Protect the Immortal Xia Sect, and I am yours!”

Xuanfa raised a hand. The boards stopped. The silence was deafening. Shen Mengyue gasped for breath, her body trembling, her buttocks a ruined mess. Xuanfa stepped closer, looking down at her. “You swear? You will enter the Mysterious Heaven Realm willingly. You will wear the slave collar. You will obey every command.”

“I swear,” she wept. “I swear it.”

“Then it is done.” Xuanfa gestured. A shimmer of light enveloped them—the three women and the deity—and they vanished from the square.

The Mysterious Heaven Realm unfolded around them. It was a vast, serene garden, surrounded by mist and towering peaks. A pavilion stood at the center, its pillars carved with runes. Shen Mengyue found herself kneeling on soft grass. She was still naked. Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que knelt beside her, also naked, but they bore their collars with ease.

Xuanfa waved his hand. A black iron collar materialized around Shen Mengyue’s neck. It was cool and heavy, etched with the character “slave.” It tightened, and she felt a thread of spiritual energy bind to her soul. She could not remove it. She would never remove it.

“You know the rules,” Xuanfa said. “Every new female slave receives two hundred strokes of the Heavenly Dao Board as a welcome. You will kneel in the proper posture and endure.”

Shen Mengyue’s heart sank, but she did not resist. She had promised. Slowly, painfully, she lowered herself, pressing her forehead to the grass. She raised her hips, spreading her knees. Her buttocks were a swollen, bloody mess. She felt the cool air on them, and then the presence of Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que flanking her.

Lin Qiaoxin picked up a board from the pavilion. Li Que took another. They stood on either side of Shen Mengyue.

“Begin,” Xuanfa said.

The first strike fell on her left buttock. The impact sent a shockwave through her entire body. She cried out, but she did not move. The board rose and fell again—right buttock. Left. Right. The rhythm was steady, relentless. Each strike was precise, landing on the most sensitive flesh. Her buttocks bounced and vibrated, the skin already raw. The pain was beyond anything she had imagined. It was a white-hot fire that consumed her thoughts.

Lin Qiaoxin hummed as she struck. “I had three hundred when I joined. You’re lucky, Yue slave.”

Li Que struck harder. “Two hundred is the minimum. Master is generous.”

Shen Mengyue’s tears soaked the grass. She whimpered with each blow, but she did not beg. She had already given everything. The boards cracked against her, forty, fifty, sixty. Her buttocks were a uniform purple, the broken skin weeping blood. The pain became a rhythm of its own, a mantra of submission.

At one hundred strokes, she began to drift. Her vision blurred. The pain was so immense that it became distant, like a scream heard underwater. She bit her tongue to stay conscious. She had to endure. She had promised.

At one hundred fifty, she was barely aware. The boards continued to fall. Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que were sweating, but they did not relent. Xuanfa watched, his arms crossed.

At two hundred, the boards stopped. The silence rushed in. Shen Mengyue lay there, her body heaving, her mind a haze of agony. She felt hands on her shoulders, lifting her. She was turned to face Xuanfa.

He stood before her, his expression unreadable. “Proceed.”

Shen Mengyue knew what to do. She had seen Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que do it. With trembling limbs, she knelt upright, then lowered herself until her forehead touched the ground before Xuanfa’s feet. She raised her hands, palms up, in the gesture of absolute submission.

“Yue slave,” she said, her voice a broken whisper, “volunteers to become master’s female slave. Yue slave is willing to accept all punishments.”

Xuanfa looked down at her. A faint smile played on his lips. “Rise, Slave Yue. You have learned your place.” He turned and walked toward the pavilion.

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que helped Shen Mengyue to her feet. She swayed, but they held her. Her buttocks throbbed with a burning, deep pain. But in her chest, a strange peace settled. She had fought. She had lost. And now, she belonged.

The Mysterious Heaven Realm hummed with quiet energy, and Shen Mengyue looked at the collar around her neck. It was heavy, but it was hers. She was a female slave now. The thought should have horrified her. Instead, she felt a strange, bitter acceptance. She would serve. She would endure. And perhaps, one day, she would understand why.

A hundred years had passed in the Mysterious Heaven Realm, and the hall of punishment had grown crowded.

Thirty-two female cultivators knelt in a perfect line, their upper bodies pressed flat against the cold jade floor, their arms stretched forward, and their buttocks raised high in the air. A row of white, plump mounds, each one slightly different in shape and size, yet all equally soft and vulnerable. These women were not ordinary. Among them were sect leaders who had commanded thousands of disciples, elders who had cultivated for centuries, rogue cultivation geniuses who had never bowed to anyone, and young ladies from ancient noble families who had been pampered since birth. They had all once stood at the pinnacle of the cultivation world, their words law, their presence commanding respect. Now they knelt here, their bare buttocks offered up for punishment, their pride shattered under the weight of the Heavenly Dao Board.

Behind them stood three naked figures, their bodies glistening under the soft light of the hall. These three were the ones who had endured the longest under Xuanfa's discipline, and they had become the instructors for the new slaves.

The first was Lin Qiaoxin, the Xin slave. Her twin black tails of hair swayed slightly as she moved, her youthful face still holding a hint of playful mischief even after a century of servitude. Her body was slender and well-proportioned, her skin fair and smooth, but her buttocks told a different story. The plump, round cheeks were covered in a crisscross of purple-red scars, some fresh, some faded, but all evidence of countless punishments. The muscles beneath the scars had become tight and firm, and she had learned to relax them at will, knowing that tension only made the pain worse. She walked among the new slaves, tapping a small jade ruler against her palm, her voice light and teasing.

"Higher, Lady Sect Leader. You need to lift your buttocks higher. If the Heavenly Dao Board cannot strike your full cheeks, the master will not be satisfied, and you will receive double punishment."

The sect leader she addressed was a woman who had once ruled over a mid-sized sect. Her face was red with shame, but she obeyed, arching her back further, pushing her pale buttocks higher into the air. Lin Qiaoxin nodded approvingly, then moved on to the next woman, a rogue cultivator who had once broken through to the Nascent Soul stage in a single tribulation. "Relax your muscles, genius. If you clench, the board will break your spirit faster. Let your buttocks be soft and yielding. It hurts less that way, I promise."

The second instructor was Li Que, the Que slave. Her red hair, tied in a high ponytail, swung behind her as she moved with the athletic grace of a warrior. Her body was tall and lean, her muscles defined but not bulky, her skin tanned from years of training under the sun. Her buttocks, too, bore the marks of punishment, but they were different from Lin Qiaoxin's. The scars on Li Que's buttocks were darker, deeper, almost black in some places, a testament to the fierce resistance she had once put up before being broken. She had been the deputy sect leader of the Vermilion Bird Sect, a woman who believed herself unbeatable at the same cultivation level. Now she stood here, naked, her proud spirit tempered into fierce loyalty.

"Keep your legs slightly apart," she commanded a young lady from a noble family, her voice sharp and authoritative. "If you close your legs, the board will strike the wrong place, and the master will order me to spank you myself until your buttocks split open." The young lady trembled but obeyed, spreading her legs just enough to expose the full curve of her buttocks.

The third instructor was Shen Mengyue, the Yue slave. She moved with an ethereal grace that seemed out of place in this hall of punishment. Her waist-length black hair cascaded down her back, framing a face that was both elegant and alluring, her fair skin still holding the purity of a young woman while her body carried the mature curves of a woman in her prime. Her buttocks were the most scarred of the three. The purple-red marks covered every inch, from the top of the curve down to the place where thigh met hip. The skin was no longer smooth; it was rough and calloused, yet somehow still plump and inviting. She had been the sect leader of the Immortal Xia Sect, a woman of pride and power, and her punishment had been the most severe. Now she knelt behind the row of new slaves, her voice soft but firm.

"Remember your place. You are no longer sect leaders or geniuses. You are property. If you forget that, the master will remind you in ways that will make you wish you had never been born."

The new slaves listened, their bodies trembling, their buttocks quivering in the air. Some of them were crying quietly, tears dripping onto the jade floor. Others were biting their lips, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. But they all knew that dignity was a luxury they could no longer afford.

Then the air shifted.

A presence entered the hall, cold and oppressive, like a mountain descending upon them. The thirty-two new slaves felt their hearts stop, their breath catch in their throats. They did not need to look to know who it was.

Xuanfa.

He stood at the entrance to the hall, his black training clothes clinging to his muscular frame, his face a mask of cold indifference. His eyes swept across the line of raised buttocks, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. He enjoyed this sight. A row of white, plump, vulnerable buttocks, each one belonging to a woman who had once thought herself his equal. Now they were nothing but flesh for him to punish.

The three instructors reacted instantly. Without a word, they turned and knelt, lowering their heads to the floor. Their hands went out in front of them, palms down, and they placed their foreheads on their hands. Then, in perfect synchronization, they raised their battered, purple-red buttocks high into the air, offering them to their master.

"Master," they said in unison, their voices a blend of reverence and submission. "We are instructing the new sisters. Does master wish to observe Xin slave's punishment?" Lin Qiaoxin added, her voice still holding a hint of playfulness. "Que slave's punishment?" Li Que asked, her voice proud but obedient. "Yue slave's punishment?" Shen Mengyue finished, her voice soft and accepting. "Rest assured, we will endure to the end and not spoil master's enjoyment."

Xuanfa's eyes lingered on the three raised buttocks before him. The scars were deeper now, the skin darker, but the shape was still perfect. He nodded once.

The three women did not hesitate. They had performed this ritual countless times. Each of them reached behind, their fingers finding the familiar spot, and spread their anuses wide. The movement was practiced, almost graceful, despite the indignity of the act. They held themselves open, waiting.

Above them, three syringes appeared, floating in the air. They were filled with a thick, amber liquid—ginger juice, concentrated and potent. The needles descended, and the women did not flinch as the cold metal touched their exposed flesh. In one smooth motion, the syringes injected the juice deep into their bowels. The women felt the burning sensation spread, a familiar fire that would only intensify as the punishment progressed. They closed their eyes, focusing on their breathing, relaxing their bodies as they had been taught.

The syringes withdrew, and the women kept their anuses spread for a moment longer, ensuring no leakage. Then they let go, their hands returning to their sides.

Now the punishment would begin.

Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue remained in their kneeling position, their buttocks still raised high. Above each of them, two Heavenly Dao Boards materialized—six in total, one for each cheek of each woman. The boards were ancient, carved with intricate runes that glowed with a faint golden light. They were instruments of absolute punishment, capable of inflicting pain that bypassed cultivation defenses.

The boards began to fall.

The first strike landed on Lin Qiaoxin's left cheek. The sound was sharp, like a thunderclap, and her entire body jerked. A red mark bloomed across her already scarred skin. She let out a cry, but it was not a scream of pure agony—it was mixed with something else, a sound that hovered between pain and pleasure. Her body had learned to respond to punishment, to anticipate the sting, to find a twisted satisfaction in the rhythm of the board.

The second strike fell on her right cheek, and she cried out again, her buttocks quivering from the impact. The boards did not pause. They fell in a relentless rhythm, alternating between left and right, each strike landing with perfect precision. Lin Qiaoxin's cries grew louder, but she did not lose control. Her muscles remained relaxed, her body open and yielding.

A few feet away, Li Que's punishment was fiercer. The boards struck her with even more force, and her athletic body shook under the impact. She gritted her teeth, refusing to scream, but the pain was too great. A guttural groan escaped her lips, then a sharp cry as a particularly heavy blow landed on the most sensitive part of her cheek. Her red hair flew around her face as she tossed her head, but she did not break. She had been broken once, and she had learned. Now she endured.

Shen Mengyue endured in silence. Her body was the most scarred, her skin the most calloused. The boards left fresh marks on top of old ones, but she did not cry out. Only a soft gasp escaped her lips with each strike, her fingers clenching against the floor. Her mind was elsewhere, focused on the burning sensation in her bowels, the ginger juice mixing with the pain from the boards. She held herself still, her buttocks raised high, her body accepting every blow.

The hall echoed with the sound of spanking—sharp, rhythmic, relentless. The thirty-two new slaves watched in horror and fascination, their own buttocks quivering in sympathy. They had been told about this punishment, but seeing it was different. The three women before them were being beaten with a ferocity that seemed beyond human endurance, and yet they did not break. They took it. They endured.

One hundred strikes.

Two hundred strikes.

The boards did not slow. The women's buttocks were now a mass of purple-red welts, the skin split in some places, a thin sheen of blood glistening under the light. But still they held their positions, their anuses clenched tight, the ginger juice contained within.

Two hundred and fifty strikes.

Lin Qiaoxin's cries had become ragged, her voice hoarse. Li Que was weeping now, tears streaming down her face, but her body remained still. Shen Mengyue's breaths were shallow, her face pale, but she did not falter.

Finally, the last strike fell.

Three hundred.

The boards vanished, the runes fading into the air. The hall fell silent, the only sound the ragged breathing of the three women. They remained in their kneeling position, their buttocks raised high, their bodies trembling with the aftershocks of the punishment.

Slowly, they lowered their heads, still keeping their buttocks raised.

"Three hundred strikes completed," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice weak but clear. "No ginger juice leaked out."

"Three hundred strikes completed," Li Que echoed, her voice thick with tears. "No ginger juice leaked out."

"Three hundred strikes completed," Shen Mengyue said, her voice steady. "No ginger juice leaked out."

Together, they spoke: "Is master satisfied?"

Xuanfa's eyes swept over them. The scars were fresh now, the welts deep and dark. The ginger juice would burn for hours yet, but they had held. They had not leaked. They had not broken.

He nodded. A slight, almost imperceptible gesture, but it was enough.

The three women let out a collective sigh of relief. They stayed in their kneeling position, waiting for his

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The Punishment Phoenix Sect rose from the Mysterious Heaven Realm like a dark phoenix spreading its wings. Xuanfa had chosen the peak carefully—a mountain rich in spiritual energy, with veins of power that pulsed through the earth like living arteries. The sect buildings rose in black stone and dark wood, simple and severe, with no ornamentation that did not serve a purpose. The main hall stood at the summit, its doors always open, its interior visible to all who approached.

The female disciples of the Punishment Phoenix Sect moved through the grounds without a stitch of clothing. Their bare feet padded across stone pathways, their breasts swayed freely as they walked, and their buttocks caught the mountain breeze with every step. They carried water, tended gardens, practiced formations, and sparred with wooden swords—all naked, all exposed, all learning to accept the shame that came with their choice. Some blushed still when they passed male visitors. Most had learned to meet gazes with steady eyes, having accepted that nakedness was simply the uniform of their sect.

The female slave elders were another matter entirely.

Lin Qiaoxin crawled across the main hall floor on hands and knees, her twin tails bouncing with each movement, the slave collar around her neck gleaming silver against her skin. Her buttocks bore the deep purple-black bruising of recent punishment, the marks overlapping like clouds before a storm. Li Que moved beside her, her red hair falling forward as she crawled, her athletic body carrying the same bruises, the same collar, the same complete surrender to her position. Shen Mengyue followed at the rear, her long black hair trailing across the stone floor, her ethereal beauty somehow enhanced by the marks of discipline that covered her rear.

The three female slaves had been crawling for hours, their knees sore, their arms trembling, but none complained. This was their place. This was their honor.

Xuanfa stood at the entrance of the main hall, his black training clothes immaculate, his cold face revealing nothing. He held three leashes in his right hand, their leather ends trailing to the collars of his three most valuable slaves. The morning light caught his features, making him look like a statue carved from ice—beautiful, terrible, unmovable.

"Today," he said, his voice carrying through the hall and out to the gathered disciples, "the Punishment Phoenix Sect recognizes merit."

The disciples had assembled at dawn, drawn by the announcement that had spread through the sect like wildfire. Public spanking. The elders would be punished in full view of everyone. The disciples stood in rows at the back of the hall, their naked bodies pressed together, their eyes wide with a mixture of terror and fascination.

Xuanfa tugged the leashes forward. The three female slaves crawled to the center of the hall, where a raised platform had been prepared. Four kneeling positions were marked on the stone. Three were clearly for the elders. The fourth waited empty.

"Xin slave," Xuanfa said, addressing Lin Qiaoxin, "has demonstrated exceptional skill in teaching formations. Three disciples under her guidance have advanced to the point of breaking through their bottlenecks. Her merit is recognized."

Lin Qiaoxin's face lit up with genuine joy. She turned her head to look at the disciples, grinning widely. "Did you hear that? I'm being rewarded for being a good teacher! The master noticed!"

"Que slave," Xuanfa continued, "defeated Murong Ying of the Heavenly Phoenix Sect, who came to provoke the Punishment Phoenix Sect. Que slave's combat merit is recognized."

Li Que lifted her chin, a flicker of pride in her eyes despite her position. "The Heavenly Phoenix Sect leader talks a great game. Her swordwork does not match her tongue."

"And Yue slave," Xuanfa said, turning to Shen Mengyue, "has managed the internal affairs of the sect with such efficiency that operations have doubled in speed. Her administrative merit is recognized."

Shen Mengyue bowed her head, her long hair falling forward to hide her expression. "This slave serves at the master's pleasure."

Xuanfa nodded once. "Each of you has earned the right to choose your punishment. Do you accept the sect hall spanking?"

Three voices answered in unison, their tones ranging from eager to solemn to matter-of-fact.

"Yes, master."

"Yes, master."

"Yes, master."

Xuanfa gestured, and two female disciples dragged a struggling figure through the side entrance. Murong Ying had been stripped bare, her robes torn away, her body exposed to the gathered crowd. She fought against the disciples holding her, her face red with fury, her eyes blazing with hatred for Xuanfa, for the sect, for everything.

"Unhand me!" she shouted, her voice cracking with rage. "Do you know who I am? I am the sect leader of the Heavenly Phoenix Sect! You cannot—"

Xuanfa raised one finger. The disciples forced Murong Ying to her knees on the fourth platform, beside the three kneeling female slaves. The contrast was stark—the three elders knelt with perfect posture, buttocks raised, heads bowed, accepting their punishment. Murong Ying twisted and fought, refusing to position herself, refusing to submit.

"You came to my sect to challenge," Xuanfa said, his voice flat. "You lost. The price of losing to the Punishment Phoenix Sect is public discipline. You will be spanked alongside my slaves."

"I will not!" Murong Ying spat. "I would rather die than—"

Xuanfa's finger twitched. The Heavenly Dao Boards rose from the corners of the hall, floating through the air like dark clouds given form. They were flat slabs of black material, each the size of a human torso, humming with power that made the air vibrate. The disciples gasped and stepped back, pressing themselves against the walls of the hall.

The four boards positioned themselves above the four raised buttocks.

Lin Qiaoxin looked up at her board with sparkling eyes. "Oh, it's been a while since I had a proper taste of the boards. Master always uses his hands first, which is lovely, but the boards have such a... solid impact."

Li Que rolled her shoulders, settling into position. "The boards do not tire. The boards do not spare. That is proper punishment."

Shen Mengyue said nothing, but her body was perfectly still, her buttocks raised high, her hands flat on the stone before her. She was the picture of submission.

Murong Ying continued to struggle, her arms pulled back by the disciples holding her. "You're all mad! You're a sect of lunatics and perverts! This is—"

The first board struck.

It hit Lin Qiaoxin's bruised buttocks with a sound like thunder, a crack that echoed through the hall and made the disciples wince. Lin Qiaoxin's body jolted forward, her breath escaping in a sharp gasp, but she maintained her position. The bruise on her rear deepened, a fresh red mark blooming across the purple-black.

"Ah!" Lin Qiaoxin cried out, but there was no pain in her voice—only exhilaration. "That's the spot! Right in the middle where it hurts best!"

The second board struck, hitting Li Que's athletic rear. Her muscles tensed, her back arched, and she let out a grunt that was almost satisfied.

"Harder," she said through clenched teeth. "I have taken harder from master's hand."

The third board struck Shen Mengyue, and she shuddered, her hands curling into fists on the stone. A soft moan escaped her lips, and her body trembled, but she did not move from her position.

The fourth board struck Murong Ying, catching her mid-struggle, and she screamed.

Not a cry of pain—a cry of pure outrage.

"How dare you!" she shrieked, twisting to look at her rear, where a bright red handprint was already rising on her pale skin. "I am the leader of the Heavenly Phoenix Sect! I have never—I have never been—"

Another strike from her board cut off her words, this one harder, sending a wave of fire through her buttocks. Murong Ying cried out again, this time with genuine pain in her voice.

The boards did not pause. Strike after strike fell, each one finding its target with precision that suggested the boards were intelligent, alive, aware of exactly where to hit for maximum effect.

Lin Qiaoxin took her punishment with growing enthusiasm. Each strike made her gasp, made her yelp, but she kept smiling through it all, even turning her head to address the watching disciples.

"You see, girls? This is what merit looks like!" she called out, before another strike made her voice catch. "When you work hard, when you train hard, when you earn the master's recognition—you get to feel the boards too!"

A young disciple at the front, no more than twenty, with brown hair and wide eyes, spoke up hesitantly. "Elder Xin... does it hurt?"

Lin Qiaoxin laughed, even as the board struck her again, producing a loud smack that echoed through the hall. "Of course it hurts! That's the point! But the pain is nothing compared to the pleasure of being useful! Of having your efforts recognized! Of knowing you belong!"

Li Que grunted as her board found a particularly sensitive spot. "The board does not lie," she said, her voice tight but controlled. "Every hit is earned. Every mark is deserved. When I earned this punishment, I earned every single strike."

Shen Mengyue finally spoke, her voice soft but carrying through the hall. "Disciples. Look at us. Look at what we endure. This is not humiliation. This is cultivation through submission." Another strike made her pause, her breath hitching, but she continued. "When you accept the master's discipline, you accept the master's guidance. When you bear the master's punishment, you bear the master's care."

Murong Ying was beyond speaking in sentences. Her screams had degraded to broken cries, her arrogance shattered by the relentless assault on her buttocks. The boards had turned her rear from pale white to angry red to deep purple, and still they struck, and still she screamed.

"Please!" she finally begged, tears streaming down her face. "Please stop! I'll leave! I'll never come back! I'll—"

Li Que turned her head, her red hair swinging, a cruel smile on her face. "Is the great Heavenly Phoenix Sect leader so weak? Your buttocks are not harder than the board? What a disappointment."

"You!" Murong Ying tried to glare at her, but another strike made her cry out, her body convulsing. "I'll kill you! I'll kill all of you!"

"You cannot even endure a spanking," Li Que said, her voice dripping with contempt. "How will you kill anyone?"

Lin Qiaoxin giggled, despite the board painting fresh red marks across her rear. "She talks a big game, doesn't she? But her screaming is very musical! I could listen to it all day!"

Xuanfa had not moved from his position at the entrance. He watched the spanking with cold attention, his eyes moving from each woman to the next, measuring their endurance, their surrender, their breaking points.

The boards struck for a full hour.

Lin Qiaoxin took every hit with joy, her laughter mixing with her cries, her body shaking but never failing to present itself for more. She talked through the whole punishment, offering encouragement to the disciples, commentary on the other women, and the occasional joke about her own suffering.

"That was a good one!" she said after a particularly hard strike. "Did you see how my whole body bounced? I must look like a puppet with its strings cut!"

Li Que endured in silence, her teeth gritted, her eyes hard. She made no sound except for the occasional grunt, and she held her position with the discipline of a soldier, never flinching, never wavering.

Shen Mengyue wept silently, tears streaming down her beautiful face, but she did not beg, did not ask for mercy. She took her punishment as she took all things—with quiet grace and absolute submission. Between strikes, she spoke to the disciples, her voice cracking but steady.

"This is your goal," she said. "To be worthy of punishment. To be worthy of discipline. To be worthy of the mas

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The Punishment Phoenix Sect’s grand ceremony began at the zenith of the sun, when the sky above the sect’s main plaza was clear and unblemished. A thousand disciples stood in concentric circles, their bodies bare, their heads bowed. Not a single scrap of cloth adorned them. Their hands were clasped behind their backs, their feet planted shoulder-width apart, and their gazes fixed upon the ground. They had all chosen this path—the path of submission, of punishment, of utter humility. And today, they would witness the full weight of what that meant.

In the center of the plaza, a raised platform of black jade gleamed under the sunlight. Upon it stood Xuanfa, clad in his black training clothes, his arms crossed behind his back. His expression was as cold and unreadable as ever, his eyes sweeping over the gathered crowd with the detached assessment of a master surveying his property. To his left and right, kneeling in perfect rows, were the female slave elders—fifty of them, all naked, all with their hands on their thighs, their backs straight, their heads lowered. They had crawled into position, moving on hands and knees like obedient beasts, and now they waited.

The three highest among them were not yet in place. The crowd held its breath.

A soft jingle of chains broke the silence. From the main hall of the sect, three figures emerged, crawling on all fours. Around their necks were leather collars, and from those collars trailed thin, golden chains that stretched back to Xuanfa’s hand. He held all three leashes loosely, his steps unhurried as he led them forward.

Lin Qiaoxin was the first. Her twin tails of black hair had been undone, and her youthful face was flushed with a mixture of shame and eagerness. Her perky breasts swayed as she crawled, her slender limbs moving with practiced grace. She kept her eyes on the ground, but a small, mischievous smile tugged at her lips. Behind her came Li Que, her red hair tied in a high ponytail that bounced with each movement. Her athletic body was taut, muscles defined, and though her expression was one of fierce pride, she did not hesitate. She had submitted willingly after her defeat, and she would not show weakness now. Last was Shen Mengyue, the former sect leader of the Immortal Xia Sect. Her waist-length black hair spilled over her shoulders, her fair skin glowing in the sunlight. Her body was a blend of ethereal grace and mature allure, and her face—once cold and aloof—now bore a serene acceptance. She crawled with the dignity of one who had chosen her path and would not waver.

They reached the center of the platform and knelt beside Xuanfa, their knees pressing into the cold jade. The leashes went slack as Xuanfa released them, and the three women kowtowed in unison, their foreheads touching the stone. Then they sat back on their heels, hands resting on their thighs, and raised their heads to look at the assembly.

Xuanfa stepped forward. His voice carried across the plaza without effort, each word sharp and clear. “The Punishment Phoenix Sect was founded to bring order to the chaotic world of cultivation. Not through mercy or leniency, but through discipline. Through punishment. Through the complete and utter submission of the female form to the will of the master.”

He gestured to the jade platform behind him. On it rested a large, flat board—the Heavenly Dao Board. It was made of ancient wood, dark and polished, with runes carved along its surface that pulsed with faint light. It was the sect’s most sacred artifact, used to spank the buttocks of disobedient female cultivators, to humble them, to break them, and to remake them.

“Other sects worship their founders or their divine weapons,” Xuanfa continued. “We worship this board. For it is through its strikes that we find our purpose. Through its pain that we find our pleasure. Through its punishment that we find our strength.”

Lin Qiaoxin rose to her knees and spoke. Her voice was light, playful, but carried an undercurrent of reverence. “The reason for our founding is simple: the world needed a place where female cultivators could truly learn humility. Where they could be stripped of their pride and rebuild themselves from the ground up. Where they could accept that their bodies—their buttocks, especially—exist for the master’s correction.”

Li Que took over, her voice firm and proud. “The name ‘Punishment Phoenix’ was chosen carefully. The phoenix is a female mythical bird, one that rises from ashes. So too do we rise from our punishments. We burn in the fire of the Heavenly Dao Board, and we are reborn, stronger and more obedient.”

Shen Mengyue spoke last. Her tone was gentle but unwavering. “And so we admonish all who join: the duty of every female slave is to accept all humiliation and punishment from the master, no matter how shameful or painful. You will walk by crawling. You will not rise without the master’s permission. When you greet the master, you will kneel and raise your scarred buttocks high, that he may see the marks of his discipline and know your devotion.”

The thousand disciples murmured their agreement, a soft wave of voices that faded into silence.

Then the three grand elder female slaves shared their cultivation insights. Lin Qiaoxin spoke of formation techniques, teaching the disciples how to channel spiritual energy into submission rituals. Li Que demonstrated battle stances that emphasized vulnerability, showing how to expose the buttocks for quick punishment during combat. Shen Mengyue taught breathing exercises to endure pain without breaking concentration. The female slave elders listened intently, some taking mental notes, others already applying the lessons to their own meditation.

Xuanfa then raised a hand. From his storage ring, a stream of elixirs flew out, hundreds of vials that landed before each disciple. “These will accelerate your cultivation. Use them wisely.” Then, for the five most outstanding disciples among the recent applicants, he produced magical artifacts—a whip that glowed with fire, a set of restraints that tightened with intent, a mirror that reflected only the owner’s spanked buttocks. The five chosen female cultivators stepped forward, their bodies trembling with a mix of joy and fear.

They were the new female slaves.

The five women knelt before Xuanfa as he placed slave collars around their necks. The collars glowed once, sealing their submission. Without a word, they dropped to all fours and crawled to the positions of the female slave elders, joining the fifty in the rows. Their buttocks were still unmarked—for now.

Xuanfa’s eyes swept over the remaining disciples. “The ceremony continues. Female slave elders, assume the position.”

The fifty female slaves obeyed instantly. They turned, knelt, and lowered their upper bodies until their foreheads touched the ground, their buttocks raised high in the air. Each pair of cheeks was plump, soft, and fully exposed. The Heavenly Dao Board rose from the platform and shimmered, multiplying into fifty identical boards that hovered above the rows.

The first strike fell.

A sharp, resounding crack echoed across the plaza. Fifty buttocks jerked as the boards made contact, leaving red welts in their wake. The female slaves gasped. Some whimpered. But no one dodged. The second strike came, harder, and fifty more welts bloomed. The third. The fourth. The boards descended with relentless precision, each stroke landing squarely on the center of the cheeks, spreading the pain evenly.

By the fiftieth strike, the whimpers had turned to cries. Tears streamed down faces. By the hundredth, some were sobbing openly, their buttocks a mottled mess of red and purple. The boards did not stop. They continued, stroke after stroke, until the hundred and fiftieth, the hundred and eightieth, the two hundredth.

On the final strike, the fifty women cried out in unison, their voices a chorus of agony and relief. Their buttocks were swollen, bruised, and crisscrossed with deep red lines. Yet not one of them had moved from the position. They held firm, their foreheads still pressed to the ground, their punishment accepted fully.

The boards vanished, returning to the central platform.

Xuanfa nodded slowly. “Rise. Kneel in waiting.”

They crawled to the sides of the plaza, still weeping, still nursing their wounds, but obedient.

Now came the main event.

“Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, Shen Mengyue,” Xuanfa said, his voice low and commanding. “Approach.”

The three women crawled forward on hands and knees until they reached the center of the platform. They were the closest to Xuanfa, the most trusted, the most devoted. Their bodies were flawless, their skin unblemished. Lin Qiaoxin’s twin tails had come undone, and her hair fell in messy waves around her shoulders. Li Que’s red ponytail was still neat, but her eyes burned with anticipation. Shen Mengyue’s black hair cascaded down her back, her face serene.

They kowtowed once, deeply, their foreheads touching the jade. Then they straightened, knelt with perfect posture, and lifted their buttocks high into the air.

Their cheeks were round, firm, and inviting. The runes on the Heavenly Dao Board glowed brighter as it floated above them, growing to three times its normal size.

Xuanfa stood behind them. He placed one hand on Lin Qiaoxin’s lower back, the other on the board. “Five hundred strikes. Each one a reminder of your duty. Each one a testament to your devotion. You will not move. You will not attempt to shield yourselves. You will take every stroke and thank me for each one.”

“Yes, Master,” the three replied in unison.

The first strike landed on Lin Qiaoxin’s buttocks. The sound was sharp, wet, and loud. Her cheeks jiggled from the impact, and a bright red handprint-shaped mark bloomed on her left cheek. She gasped, her back arching, but she held steady.

“One,” she counted, her voice strained.

The board swung again, striking Li Que. Her athletic buttocks flexed under the blow, then turned red. She grunted, her fists clenching, but she did not cry out. “One.”

Shen Mengyue took the third strike. The board connected with her right cheek, the sound a crisp slap that echoed. She closed her eyes, her lips parted, and she exhaled slowly. “One.”

The rhythm was established. Xuanfa did not alternate; he struck each woman in turn, one after another, never pausing. The boards multiplied into three, then each struck simultaneously. Crack. Crack. Crack. The women counted in tandem, their voices growing shakier with each number.

By the hundredth strike, Lin Qiaoxin’s buttocks were a deep crimson, the skin tight and hot. She was sobbing openly, tears dripping onto the jade, but her count never faltered. “One hundred. Thank you, Master.”

Li Que’s teeth were gritted. Her thighs trembled, and sweat beaded on her temples. Her cheeks were swollen, the muscle underneath screaming in protest. “One hundred. Thank you, Master.”

Shen Mengyue’s composure finally cracked at two hundred. A low moan escaped her lips, and she rocked forward slightly before catching herself. Her buttocks were a mess of purple and red, the welts overlapping, the skin beginning to split in thin lines. “Two hundred. Thank you, Master.”

By three hundred, their voices were barely audible. The air was thick with the scent of their sweat and the sound of their crying. The disciples watched in horrified awe, their own buttocks still throbbing from their punishments, but this—this was a different level of devotion.

“Four hundred,” Lin Qiaoxin whispered, her body shaking. “Thank you, Master.”

Li Que’s count was a hiss through clenched teeth. “Four hundred. Thank you, Master.”

Shen Mengyue’s voice broke on “Four hundred. Thank you, Master,” before dissolving into choked sobs.

At five hundred, the boards delivered the final, crushing blows. The women screamed, their bodies convulsing, their buttocks fully broken open. Blood trickled down their thighs, staining the jade. They slumped forwar

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The air in the Immortal Xia Sect's main hall was thick with tension, the silence broken only by the muffled sobs of the gathered female disciples. They knelt in neat rows, their white and black robes trembling as they wept, fear written across every face. Before them stood Xuanfa, his black training clothes stark against the pale marble floor, his expression as cold and unreadable as carved jade.

"The Immortal Xia Sect has lost," Xuanfa said, his voice carrying no triumph, only flat finality. "By the laws of cultivation, the victor dictates the terms. All female cultivators of this sect will receive punishment upon the buttocks."

A fresh wave of cries erupted from the disciples. Several young women threw themselves forward, pressing their foreheads to the ground.

"Please, exalted one, have mercy!"

"We submit! We submit completely!"

Shen Mengyue's heart clenched as she watched her disciples grovel. She had failed them. As sect leader, she had challenged Xuanfa and been defeated in less than thirty exchanges. Now her entire sect would pay the price.

She stepped forward, her robes rustling, and dropped to her knees before Xuanfa. The marble was cold through the thin fabric. She pressed her forehead to the ground, her waist-length black hair pooling around her like ink spilled on snow.

"Exalted one," she said, her voice steady despite the trembling in her hands, "these disciples are innocent. They only followed my orders. Please, punish only me. I will bear all the punishment on their behalf."

Xuanfa looked down at her, his dark eyes betraying nothing. He was silent for a long moment, letting her kneel there, letting her feel the weight of every second.

"If only you are punished," he said finally, "the punishment must be severe."

Shen Mengyue raised her head, meeting his gaze. "I accept whatever punishment you deem fit."

"The tools for buttocks punishment are three," Xuanfa said, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. "The Iron Wood Board, lowest grade. The Mysterious Wood Board, middle grade. And the Heavenly Dao Board, highest grade. You will receive two hundred strikes of the Heavenly Dao Board upon your bare buttocks each day, divided into three sessions morning and evening. This punishment will continue for thirty years. It will be administered here, before the sect hall, in full view of all your disciples."

Shen Mengyue's face drained of color. Even for a Nascent Soul cultivator like herself, the Heavenly Dao Board was legendary for its pain. Though her cultivation would heal any injury by the next day, the agony was real—every single strike, every single day, for thirty years.

Her disciples cried out in horror.

"Sect Leader, no!"

"We can't let you—"

"Silence!" Shen Mengyue's command cut through their protests. She turned back to Xuanfa, her jaw set. "I agree to your terms."

"Then the punishment begins now."

Xuanfa raised one hand, his fingers forming a quick seal. A beam of light shot from his fingertip, striking Shen Mengyue's robes. The fabric dissolved like smoke, shredding apart and falling away in tatters. Her black and white Daoist robes vanished, leaving her completely exposed before the entire sect.

Shen Mengyue's breath caught. She wanted to cover herself, to hide, but she forced her hands to remain at her sides. Her fair skin seemed to glow in the afternoon light, her figure both ethereal and womanly. Her breasts were full and round, her waist narrow, her hips curved. Long, shapely legs trembled slightly as she stood there, naked and vulnerable.

Her disciples gasped, some turning away in shame. Others stared, tears streaming down their faces.

"Sect Leader..."

"Don't look away," Shen Mengyue said, her voice carrying despite her shame. "Watch. Remember what happens when we are weak."

Another finger seal from Xuanfa, and an invisible force pushed Shen Mengyue forward. She stumbled, then caught herself, her hands landing on the marble steps before the sect hall's entrance. The force pressed her down, forcing her upper body to the ground while keeping her lower body elevated. Her bare buttocks rose high in the air, completely exposed.

She had never felt so vulnerable, so utterly exposed. But she would not break. Not in front of her disciples.

Two boards materialized out of thin air, hovering on either side of her raised bottom. They were made of a dark, ancient wood, etched with characters that seemed to pulse with their own light. The Heavenly Dao Boards.

One of the disciples screamed, tried to rush forward. Another caught her, held her back.

The first board swung.

*CRACK!*

The sound echoed through the courtyard like thunder. Shen Mengyue's body jerked, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. A bright red mark appeared on her left buttock.

*CRACK!*

The second board struck, perfectly symmetrical on the right. Her vision went white for a moment. She bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to cry out.

*CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!*

The boards fell in a relentless rhythm, each strike landing with precise force. Her buttocks turned red, then darker, the skin swelling under the relentless assault. Shen Mengyue's hands clawed at the marble, her knuckles white. Sweat beaded on her forehead, matting her long black hair.

Fifteen. Sixteen. The strikes kept coming.

By the thirtieth, tears leaked from her eyes, though she made no sound. By the fiftieth, her entire rear was a mass of deep purple bruising, the skin broken in places. Blood trickled down her thighs.

Her disciples sobbed openly, some covering their mouths, others burying their faces in each other's shoulders.

Xuanfa watched impassively, his arms crossed. "Sixty-seven," he said flatly. "The morning session will conclude at one hundred strikes."

Shen Mengyue's body shook with each blow, but she did not beg. She did not cry out. She only endured, her mind retreating to a place of pure endurance, counting each strike as a penance she owed her sect.

When the hundredth strike landed, her buttocks were a ruined mess of blood and bruising. She could barely feel them anymore, her entire lower body numb with agony.

Xuanfa gestured, and the boards vanished.

"At the fifth hour, the afternoon session," he said. "Do not be late."

He turned and walked away, leaving Shen Mengyue lying prone on the steps, naked and bleeding, surrounded by her weeping disciples. Slowly, they gathered around her, some covering her with their own robes, others gently helping her sit up.

"Sect Leader..."

"Are you alright? That monster!"

Shen Mengyue looked at them through hazy eyes, a faint, pained smile touching her lips. "I am fine," she whispered. "This is my punishment. I bear it willingly."