Punishment of the Xuanfa Heavenly Lord

The world of cultivation stretched across boundless lands, where mortals lived out their fleeting lives beneath the shadow of immortals. From the lowest Qi Refining realm to Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul, and the legendary Immortal Ascension, the path was long and perilous. In this world, the imbalance between the sexes was stark—women far outnumbered men, and male cultivators were rare but disproportionately powerful. Among the strange customs that had arisen from this disparity was the practice of "discipline by spanking," a method by which male cultivators could take female cultivators as female slaves. It was said to accelerate the cultivation of both parties, but few women submitted willingly. To them, it was degradation, a loss of dignity.

Xuanfa Heavenly Lord cared little for such opinions. His name was known across the cultivation world, whispered with a mixture of fear and awe. He was a man who kept his promises and meant what he said, and what he said most often was that a woman's backside was meant to be reddened. Clad in black training clothes that hugged his lean, powerful frame, he moved with the quiet grace of a predator. His face was cold, handsome, with sharp eyes that rarely betrayed emotion. At the late-stage Nascent Soul Perfection, he stood among the strongest in the world, and he used finger techniques in battle—deadly, precise, and elegant.

On this day, a junior disciple of the Immortal Rosy Cloud Sect had unknowingly offended him. Perhaps she had been too slow to bow, or her gaze had lingered a moment too long on his person. The reason mattered little. Xuanfa had decided that the entire sect would pay.

The Immortal Rosy Cloud Sect was nestled among the peaks of the Cloud-Mist Mountains, a sanctuary for female cultivators. Its formations shimmered in the morning light, and the air was thick with spiritual energy. The disciples went about their duties, laughing and chatting, unaware of the storm descending upon them.

Xuanfa arrived at the sect’s main gate without announcement. He did not knock, did not call out. He simply raised a hand, and a finger-thin beam of black energy shot forth, punching a hole through the protective formation. The barrier flickered, then shattered with a sound like breaking glass.

Panic erupted. Disciples scrambled, drawing swords and activating talismans. But Xuanfa walked through the chaos as if they were children playing. When a group of Core Formation disciples charged at him, he flicked his fingers, and they were sent tumbling backward, their robes singed, their buttocks stinging from invisible strikes.

“Tell your sect leader,” he said, his voice flat and cold, “that I am here to collect a debt.”

The message reached Shen Mengyue within minutes. She was in her cultivation chamber, meditating, when her chief disciple burst in with a pale face.

“Sect Leader! The Xuanfa Heavenly Lord has broken through the mountain gate! He’s attacking the disciples!”

Shen Mengyue’s eyes snapped open. Her waist-length black hair cascaded down her back as she rose, her black-and-white Daoist robes flowing around her. She was both ethereally beautiful and enchantingly seductive, with the fair skin of a young woman and the alluring charm of a mature one. But now, her face was set in grim determination.

“What does he want?”

“He said we offended him. He intends to… to spank every disciple until their buttocks blossom.”

Shen Mengyue’s jaw tightened. As sect leader, she was responsible for every woman under her care. She would not let them suffer such humiliation. “Summon the elders. We fight.”

But the elders were no match. One by one, they fell, their robes torn, their bottoms exposed and reddened as Xuanfa made good on his word. Shen Mengyue arrived on the training ground to find a dozen of her senior disciples lying face-down on the stone floor, sobbing, their bruised buttocks on display for all to see.

Xuanfa stood in the center, not a hair out of place. He looked at her, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes—interest, perhaps, or recognition.

“Sect Leader Shen,” he said. “I expected you earlier.”

“You will leave this sect now,” she said, her voice cold but steady. She drew her sword, a blade of silver light that hummed with spiritual energy. “Or I will make you leave.”

Xuanfa smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. “I admire your courage. But you should know that resistance only makes the punishment worse. For every blow you land on me, I will add ten to your disciples.”

She attacked without another word.

The battle was fierce. Shen Mengyue was a middle-stage Nascent Soul cultivator, and she fought with the desperation of a mother protecting her children. Her sword danced in arcs of light, each strike aimed to kill. But Xuanfa was faster, more precise. He fought with only his fingers, parrying her blade with taps of black energy that sent shocks up her arm.

He was using seventy percent of his power. She realized it with a sinking heart. Even at full strength, she might not match him.

They fought across the training ground, shattering stone pillars and tearing up the earth. Shen Mengyue launched her strongest technique—a thousand sword projections that rained down like a meteor shower. Xuanfa raised a hand, and a barrier of black light absorbed them all.

Then he moved.

In the blink of an eye, he was behind her. His finger tapped her lower back, and her spiritual energy vanished, locked away by his technique. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed to the ground, her sword clattering beside her.

She lay on her back, gasping for breath, her robes disheveled. Xuanfa stood over her, looking down with that cold, emotionless gaze. She watched in terror as he approached, his boots clicking on the stone.

“You fought well,” he said. “But well is not enough.”

He crouched beside her, and his hand reached out. She flinched, expecting death. Instead, he grabbed the collar of her robe and tore it open. The black-and-white fabric parted, revealing her fair skin.

“No!” she cried, struggling, but her cultivation was sealed. She was helpless.

Xuanfa ignored her protests. He rolled her onto her stomach, and before she could understand what was happening, his hand came down hard on her bare buttocks. The slap echoed across the training ground.

Shen Mengyue screamed—not from pain alone, but from the sheer humiliation. She was the sect leader, a respected Nascent Soul cultivator, and she was being spanked like a naughty child.

Xuanfa delivered ten strikes, each one harder than the last. Her buttocks turned pink, then red, then a deep crimson. She bit her lip, refusing to cry, but tears streamed down her face anyway.

When he was done, he stood and looked around at the gathered disciples, who watched in horror and shame.

“Listen well,” Xuanfa announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the sect. “For resisting, the entire Immortal Rosy Cloud Sect, from the sect leader down to the lowest disciple, will receive one hundred strokes of the Mysterious Wood Board on the bare buttocks. Every day. For three years.”

A collective gasp rose from the crowd. Three years. A thousand days.

Shen Mengyue, still lying on the ground, her buttocks burning and exposed, could only close her eyes. The despair was absolute.

Xuanfa turned and walked away, leaving behind a sect in ruins. But he would be back tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. He always kept his promises.

Fifteen years in the Xuantian Realm had carved a rhythm into Li Que's bones, a cycle as relentless as the turning of the heavens. Each morning began with the cold kiss of the floor against her knees, her naked body bent forward, her buttocks raised high for the Heavenly Dao Board's first punishment of the day. The board would descend with a sharp crack, splitting the air and her flesh in equal measure, leaving her backside a throbbing mosaic of red and purple. Then came the healing—a brief respite of cool energy knitting broken capillaries and bruised muscle—only to repeat the ordeal at noon and again at dusk. She had grown accustomed to it, the way one grows accustomed to the ache of a phantom limb, the pain a constant companion that no longer startled but merely existed.

Beside her, Lin Qiaoxin crawled on all fours, a leather leash looped around her neck, its other end held loosely in Xuanfa's hand. The red dress she once wore had long since been discarded; now she moved naked, her twin tails bouncing as she shuffled forward, her youthful face serene despite the fresh welts crossing her plump cheeks. Li Que felt the familiar weight of her own leash, the coarse leather chafing her throat as she mirrored the younger woman's posture. They were dogs now, trained and tame, their pride eroded by years of submission.

Xuanfa led them through the stone corridors of his hidden estate, his black training clothes immaculate, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. The Heavenly Dao Board floated behind them, a silent sentinel waiting for its next command. Li Que had learned to read his moods by the set of his shoulders, the slight twitch of his fingers. Today, there was a stillness about him, a calm that preceded a storm.

They reached the central hall, a vast chamber with high ceilings and a single stone throne. Xuanfa took his seat, and the two women knelt before him, their foreheads touching the cool floor. Lin Qiaoxin spoke first, her voice light and playful despite her position. "Master, we have served you for fifteen years. We have begged for this. But there is one thing we have never asked you."

Li Que raised her head, her red hair spilling over her shoulders. "What do you like most, Master? What brings you the greatest joy?"

Xuanfa's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something—amusement? curiosity?—passing through their dark depths. He leaned back, his fingers drumming on the armrest. "You wish to know my heart's desire? Very well. I love seeing female cultivators spanked and tormented. The pain they suffer, the humiliation they endure—it gives me strength. Not just psychological strength, but cultivation itself. Every cry, every tear, every shattered piece of dignity feeds my power. It is the purest form of domination."

Lin Qiaoxin's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Then we have an opportunity, Master. The entire cultivation world knows that Shen Mengyue, the sect leader of the Immortal Rosy Cloud Sect, was stripped naked and spanked in front of her sect hall. But they do not yet know that Lin Qiaoxin, the formation genius, and Li Que, the vice-sect leader of the Vermilion Bird Sect, have become your female slaves."

Li Que nodded, her voice steady. "Let us make it known. Lead us—naked, crawling like dogs on leashes—to the highest platform in Wuling City. Have Shen Mengyue's own disciples bring her on a leash as well. The three of us will kneel in a row, our bodies bent forward, our plump buttocks raised high. You can summon the Heavenly Dao Board to spank all three of us automatically, until our backsides are battered beyond recognition. Then you will force our legs apart and whip our crevices severely, until our anuses and vaginas are swollen. Finally, you will insert anal hooks and hang us for a week, for all to see."

Xuanfa's expression did not change, but a thin smile touched his lips. "You would offer yourselves so willingly?"

Lin Qiaoxin pressed her forehead to the floor. "We exist only for your pleasure, Master. We want to see you happy. We want to see your strength grow."

Li Que echoed the gesture. "Our pain is your power. Let us be the vessel."

Xuanfa rose from his throne, his steps slow and deliberate. He circled them, his gaze lingering on their raised buttocks, the welts from the morning's punishment still fresh. "I accept your plan. It will be done. But first," his voice dropped, taking on a dangerous edge, "I wish to try something new. Something I have been contemplating for some time."

Lin Qiaoxin's breath caught. Li Que tensed.

"Kneel," Xuanfa commanded. "Both of you. Raise your buttocks further. And spread your anuses open."

The women obeyed without hesitation. They shifted their knees apart, arching their backs, pressing their chests to the floor. Their buttocks jutted upward, and with trembling fingers, each reached back and pulled apart the cheeks of their ass, exposing the tight, puckered openings.

Xuanfa produced a small jade bottle, its contents thick and amber. "Divine ginger," he said, his voice calm as he unscrewed the cap. "I have squeezed the juice myself. It will burn like fire from within."

He knelt behind Lin Qiaoxin first. He tipped the bottle, and a thin stream of golden liquid flowed into her exposed anus. The moment it touched her inner flesh, her entire body jerked. A sharp, high-pitched cry escaped her lips. The juice spread like molten metal, searing through her intestines, each nerve ending screaming as if branded. She tried to clamp down, to push it out, but Xuanfa's hand pressed firmly against her lower back, forcing her to stay still.

"Hold it," he ordered. "Or I will pour more."

Lin Qiaoxin's knuckles whitened against the floor. Tears streamed down her face, but she gritted her teeth, her body shaking uncontrollably. The ginger juice crept deeper, coating her intestinal walls, turning her insides into a blazing inferno. Every breath sent fresh waves of agony through her core.

Xuanfa turned to Li Que. Her red hair clung to her face, slick with sweat, but she did not flinch as the bottle tipped again. The ginger juice entered her anus, and the fire erupted. Li Que bit down on her lip, tasting blood, as the liquid spread through her bowels. It felt like a red-hot iron rod, twisting and thrusting, filling her with white-hot pain. A low, guttural moan escaped her throat, her muscles clenching in a futile attempt to escape the invader. She could feel her own body betraying her, the lining of her intestines tightening against the burn, only making it worse.

Xuanfa stood back, watching them writhe. "You will hold this for the duration of your punishment. The Heavenly Dao Board will arrive shortly for the daily two hundred spanks. You are not to leak a single drop of intestinal fluid. If you do, the punishment will be doubled. Understood?"

"Yes, Master," they gasped in unison, their voices strained.

The Heavenly Dao Board materialized from the air, its surface dark and polished. It hovered behind Lin Qiaoxin, positioning itself precisely. The first strike fell with a sharp crack that echoed through the hall.

The impact drove Lin Qiaoxin's hips forward, her body jerking. The ginger juice in her bowels sloshed, sending a fresh spike of agony through her. She screamed, the sound raw and broken. The board struck again, and again, each blow landing on the same spot, deepening the bruise, splitting the skin. Blood began to bead on her cheeks, mixed with the sweat that dripped down her thighs. She tried to hold still, to keep her muscles clenched, but the pain was overwhelming. On the seventh spank, her sphincter twitched involuntarily. A thin trickle of ginger-infused fluid escaped, burning the skin around her anus.

Xuanfa's voice cut through her haze. "You leaked. Double the punishment. You will now receive four hundred spanks."

Lin Qiaoxin sobbed, her body trembling as the board continued its merciless rhythm. Each strike felt like a hammer blow, the ginger juice amplifying every nerve impulse, turning each spank into an explosion of fire. She heard Li Que's first spank land, a heavy thud followed by a sharp intake of breath. Then the board shifted, alternating between them, ensuring neither had a moment's respite.

Li Que's back arched as the board struck her left cheek, then her right, the rhythm fast and precise. The ginger juice churned inside her, a caustic river that burned with every spasm. She could feel her anus clenching and unclenching, fighting to contain the liquid, but her body was losing the battle. By the tenth spank, she felt a trickle escape, warm and fiery, running down her inner thigh.

"Another leak," Xuanfa said, his voice almost bored. "That is four hundred for you as well."

Li Que bowed her head, her pride a distant memory. The board continued, striking relentlessly. The sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the hall, punctuated by sobs and screams. The ginger juice made every spank feel like a red-hot blade slicing through her, the burn radiating from her bowels to her spine to the base of her skull. Her buttocks had transformed from pink to red to purple, and she could feel the skin beginning to split, weeping blood and serum.

Lin Qiaoxin's cries grew hoarser. She had lost count after the first hundred. The board seemed to have a mind of its own, targeting the sorest spots, the deepest bruises. She could feel her intestines cramping, the ginger juice mixing with her own body's fluids, creating a toxic stew that burned from within. Her vision blurred with tears, and she tasted salt and copper on her tongue.

The spanking continued without mercy. One hundred spanks. Two hundred. At three hundred, Lin Qiaoxin's anus gave way entirely. A gush of ginger-stained liquid spilled out, splattering the floor. She collapsed onto her stomach, her body wracked with convulsions, unable to stop the flood.

"Three hundred and fifty," Xuanfa calculated. "You have leaked multiple times. That will be an additional two hundred. Six hundred total for you now."

Lin Qiaoxin could not even respond. She lay there, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her buttocks a shredded mess of raw meat. The board descended again, and she screamed into the stone floor.

Li Que fared little better. The ginger juice had worked its way deep into her colon, and the rhythmic pounding of the board was causing her internal muscles to spasm uncontrollably. She tried to clamp down, but on the two hundred and fiftieth spank, a torrent of fluid erupted from her anus, carrying the smell of ginger and bile. She heard Xuanfa sigh.

"Li Que, you have leaked. That will be six hundred as well."

She wanted to beg, to plead, but her voice was gone. The board resumed its work, each blow sending shockwaves through her ravaged intestines. The ginger juice had now stained her inner thighs, mixing with blood from the splits in her skin. The pain was no longer a series of discrete events; it was a continuous wall of fire that consumed her entire being.

The Heavenly Dao Board showed no sign of stopping. It would continue until the full count was reached, regardless of their suffering. And when it was done, they would be taken to Wuling City, to the highest platform, to kneel beside Shen Mengyue and endure the next phase of their public torment.

But for now, there was only the board, the ginger juice, and the endless, blinding pain.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone streets of Wuling City as Xuanfa strode through the main gates, his black training clothes immaculate, his handsome face cold and unreadable. In each hand, he held a leather leash that trailed down to two collars wrapped around the slender necks of Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que. The women crawled on all fours behind him, their naked bodies fully exposed to the gathering crowd, their bare breasts swaying, their buttocks raised high with each movement. The marks of previous punishments were still visible on their cheeks—faint red stripes that spoke of the Heavenly Lord's discipline.

The streets of Wuling City were bustling with cultivators and mortals alike, but the sight before them brought all activity to a halt. Merchants stopped mid-transaction, children were hurried away by their parents, and disciples from various sects stared with wide eyes and gaping mouths. Whispers spread like wildfire through the crowd.

"Is that the Xuanfa Heavenly Lord? The one who stripped the sect leader of the Immortal Rosy Cloud Sect?"

"And those women... they're completely naked! Look at the marks on their buttocks!"

"One of them is the genius rogue cultivator Lin Qiaoxin! I heard she became his female slave!"

"And the red-haired one—that's Li Que, the vice-sect leader of the Vermilion Bird Sect! How could she submit to this?"

Lin Qiaoxin's twin tails bounced as she crawled, a slight smile playing on her lips despite the burning sensation that filled her insides. The ginger juice that Xuanfa had injected into her intestines before they left was a torment unlike any other. The spicy, sharp liquid seemed to seep into every crevice, sending waves of heat and pain through her lower body. Every movement of her hips as she crawled caused the juice to shift inside her, making her clench her teeth to keep from crying out. But her eyes held a strange light—a mixture of submission and devotion that only grew stronger with each passing moment.

Beside her, Li Que crawled with more difficulty. The proud red-haired woman's face was flushed, her athletic body trembling with each step. The ginger juice burned inside her like liquid fire, and she could feel it trickling down her inner thighs, mixing with the sweat that coated her skin. She had never known such intense, humiliating pain. But when she glanced up at Xuanfa's back, her heart swelled with a strange sense of pride. She had chosen this. She had submitted to his strength. And now, she would help him demonstrate his power to the world.

"Keep moving," Xuanfa's voice cut through the noise, cold and commanding. He gave a sharp tug on both leashes, causing the women to stumble forward. "And do not forget your place. You are bitches crawling for their master."

"Yes, Master," Lin Qiaoxin said softly, her voice carrying a hint of pleasure.

"Yes, Master," Li Que echoed, her voice strained but determined.

They continued their crawl through the main thoroughfare, their naked bodies drawing more and more onlookers. Some cultivators sneered with contempt. Others watched with hidden lust. And some, particularly female cultivators, felt a chill of fear run down their spines.

The platform at the center of the city square was tall and wide, built of white stone that gleamed in the morning light. It was typically used for announcements and public executions, but today it would serve a different purpose. Atop it, Xuanfa would perform the punishment he had promised—a punishment that would be remembered throughout the cultivation world.

But before they reached the platform, a commotion arose from the eastern street. The crowd parted, and a group of disciples from the Immortal Rosy Cloud Sect emerged, their faces pale and their expressions grim. Behind them, crawling on the ground with a dog leash around her neck, was Shen Mengyue.

The former sect leader's naked body was on full display, her waist-length black hair dragging through the dust, her fair skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat and dirt. Her face was a mask of frozen beauty, but behind her eyes burned a fire of humiliation and rage. She had been dragged from her sect by her own disciples, who had been swayed by Xuanfa's promises of protection and power. They had stripped her, leashed her, and forced her to crawl through the streets like an animal.

Every step was a knife through her heart. Every whisper from the crowd was a lash on her soul. She had been respected, feared, admired. She had led her sect with wisdom and strength. And now she was nothing but a spectacle—a fallen goddess crawling through the mud.

The people stared at her. Some pointed and laughed. Others looked away in shame. A few reached out to touch her, but Shen Mengyue bared her teeth and snarled, causing them to recoil.

"It's truly the sect leader!" someone exclaimed.

"Look at her—naked and crawling like a dog! How the mighty have fallen!"

"Do you think the Xuanfa Heavenly Lord will punish her again?"

Shen Mengyue's hands clenched into fists on the ground. Her nails dug into the stone, drawing blood. She had failed. She had failed her sect, failed her disciples, failed herself. And now she was being paraded through the city like a prize, a warning, an example of what happened to those who defied the Xuanfa Heavenly Lord.

Her tears mixed with the dust on her face. But she did not stop crawling. She could not stop. The leash around her neck was held by her former senior disciple, a young woman who now looked at her with a mixture of pity and fear. One wrong move, and Xuanfa had threatened to destroy the entire Immortal Rosy Cloud Sect. So Shen Mengyue crawled, her pride burning like acid in her throat.

The three women converged at the base of the platform. Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que had already reached it, kneeling in submission as Xuanfa stood above them, surveying the crowd. Shen Mengyue arrived last, her body trembling, her spirit shattered.

"Up," Xuanfa commanded, and the three women climbed the steps on their hands and knees, their naked bodies glistening with sweat and shame.

At the top, Xuanfa turned to face the crowd, which had now swollen to thousands. The square was packed, the rooftops lined with cultivators, the air buzzing with anticipation. This was the moment they had all come to see.

"People of Wuling City," Xuanfa said, his voice carrying without effort. "Cultivators of the world. Today, you witness justice. These three women have defied me, each in their own way. Lin Qiaoxin, for her insolence. Li Que, for her arrogance. Shen Mengyue, for her rebellion. And now, they will pay."

The crowd roared with a mixture of shock and excitement. Xuanfa raised his hand, and silence fell.

"Kneel," he ordered, and the three women obeyed.

They knelt in a row, their upper bodies bent forward until their foreheads touched the stone platform, their plump buttocks raised high in the air. Lin Qiaoxin's cheeks were round and perky, still bearing the faint stripes from previous spankings. Li Que's athletic buttocks were firm, the muscles tensing as she tried to brace herself. And Shen Mengyue's full, mature buttocks seemed to glow in the sunlight, the palest of the three, a canvas awaiting its punishment.

Xuanfa raised his hand again, and a golden light materialized before him. It coalesced into a flat, rectangular board, gleaming with celestial energy. The Heavenly Dao Board was a legendary artifact, capable of delivering punishment that could be felt by the soul itself. It hovered in the air, waiting.

"This board will spank each of you," Xuanfa announced. "One hundred strokes per woman. And after that, we will begin the true punishment."

Lin Qiaoxin's body trembled with anticipation, and a small smile crossed her lips. She was being punished by her master. She was contributing to his glory. The pain was a offering, a badge of her devotion.

Li Que gritted her teeth. She had chosen this path. She would endure it with pride.

Shen Mengyue closed her eyes, her tears falling onto the stone. She had never imagined such disgrace. To be spanked in public, before the entire cultivation world, to have her bare bottom beaten like a naughty child—it was worse than death. And yet, she could not die. Not until her sect was safe.

The Heavenly Dao Board moved.

It descended with a loud CRACK against Lin Qiaoxin's right cheek, and her body jolted forward. The sound echoed across the square, making the crowd wince. The board rose and fell again, striking her left cheek with equal force. The third stroke caught her in the center, and her cheeks reddened.

*CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.*

Lin Qiaoxin bit her lip, her eyes squeezed shut. The pain was exquisite—a sharp, spreading heat that radiated from her buttocks through her entire body. She focused on it, embraced it, made it hers. Each stroke was a reminder that she belonged to Xuanfa, that she was his, body and soul.

"One," Xuanfa counted, his voice steady. "Two. Three. Four..."

By the thirtieth stroke, Lin Qiaoxin's buttocks were bright red, the skin swelling slightly. She was breathing heavily, a thin sheen of sweat coating her body. Her hands were clenched into fists on the ground, her nails digging into her palms. The pain was becoming a blur, the constant rhythm of the board creating a hypnotic torture.

*CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.*

At the fiftieth stroke, her buttocks were crimson and hot to the touch, the stripes from before hidden beneath the new layer of bruises. She let out a low moan, but her smile remained.

Li Que watched from the corner of her eye, her heart pounding. She had seen many battles, endured many wounds, but this was different. This was pure submission. And when the Heavenly Dao Board turned to her, she was ready.

*CRACK.*

The first stroke on Li Que's athletic buttocks sent a shock through her body. She jerked forward, her red ponytail whipping back. The board did not wait. It struck again and again, each blow harder than the last.

*CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.*

Li Que bit down on her lip until she tasted blood. The pain was sharp, hot, humiliating. Her proud spirit screamed against it, but her body submitted. She would not fail. She would not cry out. She would prove herself worthy of her master's discipline.

"Twenty-three... twenty-four... twenty-five..." Xuanfa counted.

By the fortieth stroke, Li Que's buttocks were a deep red, small patches of purple appearing where the board had landed with extra force. Her legs trembled, her arms shook, but she did not break.

At the seventieth stroke, her cheeks were swollen, the skin tight and painful. Tears streamed down her face, but she made no sound.

Finally, the seventy-fifth stroke, the eightieth, the ninetieth, the hundredth. Li Que collapsed forward onto the stone, her body wracked with silent sobs, her buttocks a mess of red and purple, already beginning to swell.

But there was no rest. The Heavenly Dao Board turned to Shen Mengyue.

The former sect leader looked at the board with terror in her eyes. She had seen what it did to the other two. She knew what was coming. And she knew, deep in her heart, that she deserved every stroke.

*CRACK.*

The first stroke fell on her full, pale buttock, and Shen Mengyue screamed.

It was not just the pain—though that was searing, intense, unlike any physical injury she had ever experienced. It was the humiliation. The sound echoed across the silent square, and a wave of laughter rippled through the crowd.

*CRACK. CRACK.*

Shen Mengyue's hands clawed at the stone. Her tears fell freely. She was no longer a sect leader. She was no longer a mighty Nascent Soul cultivator. She was a woman being spanked like a misbehaving child, her bare bottom exposed to the world.

"Twenty-three... twenty-four... twenty-five..."

The board did not relent. By the fiftieth stroke, Shen Mengyue's buttocks were a mess of deep red and purple, the skin already beginning to blister. She could feel the heat radiating from them, could feel the pulse of pain wit

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The morning light filtering through the grimy windows of Wuling City's central square did nothing to warm the three figures suspended from iron hooks. For seven days, Shen Mengyue, Lin Qiaoxin, and Li Que had hung there, their naked bodies exposed to the thousands of cultivators who came to gawk, to whisper, to memorize every curve of their humiliation.

Shen Mengyue's mind had been a storm of agony and shame. The iron hook that pierced her anus had long since ceased to be a foreign object—it had become a part of her, a constant, burning reminder of her subjugation. Every slight sway of her body sent fresh waves of pain through her bowels. But the physical torment paled beside the psychological devastation. She was Shen Mengyue, sect leader of the Immortal Rosy Cloud Sect, a woman who had commanded respect for centuries. Now she was a spectacle, her most private parts on display for the laughing, pointing masses.

Lin Qiaoxin, hanging to her left, had spent the week humming nonsense tunes to herself. Occasionally she'd call out to the crowd, "Hey, you there with the crooked nose! Stop staring so hard or your eyes will fall out!" Her twin tails had long since come undone, her red dress nowhere to be seen, but her spirit remained unbroken. She had accepted her fate the moment Xuanfa's hand first landed on her bare bottom. She was his slave now, and slaves endured their master's punishments with grace.

Li Que hung silently, her athletic body still taut with defiance—not against Xuanfa, but against the weakness she had shown. She had been defeated, and the strong ruled the weak. That was the law of the cultivation world. She had submitted voluntarily, and submission meant accepting every form of discipline. The anal hook was uncomfortable, yes, but it was a small price for the power she glimpsed in her master's eyes.

On the seventh day, as the sun reached its zenith, a figure in black training clothes stepped into the center of the square. The crowd fell silent, drawing back as if touched by frost. Xuanfa walked with the measured grace of a predator, his handsome face utterly expressionless. He raised his hand, and with a flick of his fingers, three chains of golden light snapped. The women fell, landing on their knees with synchronized thuds.

Shen Mengyue's body screamed in protest as the hook slid free. She collapsed forward, her palms scraping against the stone. Blood trickled down her thighs, mingling with the sweat and filth of a week's exposure. She could not look up. She could not bear to see his face.

Xuanfa stood before her, his shadow falling over her trembling form. "Shen Mengyue," he said, his voice flat and cold as a winter stream. "I hope you have used this week to reflect. I offer you a choice: enter the Xuantian Realm of your own will, and become my female slave. Your sect will be protected. Your disciples will be spared. Refuse, and your punishment continues."

Shen Mengyue's head snapped up, her eyes wild with terror and desperation. "Heavenly Lord! Please, I beg you for mercy!" Her voice cracked, raw from days of silent weeping. "This punishment—this spanking, this exposure—it is what I deserve for offending you. I accept it. I accept all of it. But please, do not make me your slave. I am the sect leader. I have responsibilities. I have pride. Please, Heavenly Lord, show leniency!"

Xuanfa's eyes narrowed. "Obstinate."

He turned his gaze to Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que, who had risen to their knees, their postures perfect, their eyes downcast. "Assist me."

Lin Qiaoxin's face lit up with a cheerful grin. "Yes, Master!" She scrambled to Shen Mengyue's side, her movements quick and efficient. Li Que followed, her expression neutral, her actions precise.

Before Shen Mengyue could react, Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que each took hold of one of her buttocks. With practiced ease, they spread her cheeks apart, exposing the raw, reddened pucker of her anus. Shen Mengyue's scream was choked in her throat as a stream of cold ginger juice poured from Xuanfa's palm into her exposed opening. The sensation was indescribable—a burning, searing invasion that set her nerves ablaze. She thrashed wildly, her arms flailing, her legs kicking, but an invisible force pressed her down, forcing her body into the familiar pose: on her hands and knees, her buttocks raised high in the air.

"No! Stop! Please, it burns!" Shen Mengyue sobbed, her tears splattering against the stone. The ginger juice churned inside her, a fiery river that seemed to eat away at her insides. She had never felt such agony. Not the spanking, not the hanging—nothing compared to this molten torment.

Xuanfa watched without emotion. He produced two Heavenly Dao Boards from his storage ring, their dark wood gleaming with the power of a thousand spankings. He handed one to Lin Qiaoxin and one to Li Que.

"Spank her. One hundred strokes each. With every stroke, she will say: 'Thank you, Xuanfa Heavenly Lord, for spanking me.' If she fails to speak, fill her with more ginger juice."

Lin Qiaoxin's eyes sparkled with malicious delight. "Oh, this is going to be fun!" She hefted the board, testing its weight. Li Que simply nodded, her grip firm on her own board.

The first stroke fell. The crack of wood against flesh echoed through the square. Shen Mengyue's body jolted, but she bit back the scream.

"Say it," Xuanfa said calmly.

Shen Mengyue shook her head, her teeth clenched.

Another stroke, harder this time. The board left a red welt across her already-swollen left cheek.

"Say it."

Still she refused.

Xuanfa gestured, and another stream of ginger juice poured into her. Shen Mengyue screamed, her body convulsing. The heat was unbearable, a living fire that coiled in her intestines and licked at her spine.

"Thank you, Xuanfa Heavenly Lord, for spanking me!" she gasped, the words torn from her throat like broken glass.

"Good," Xuanfa said. "Continue."

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que fell into a rhythm. Left, right, left, right. The boards rose and fell with brutal precision. With each stroke, Shen Mengyue whimpered the required phrase. Her buttocks, already battered from the previous punishment, turned from red to purple to black. The skin split in places, and blood beaded along the cracks.

"Thank you, Xuanfa Heavenly Lord, for spanking me!"

"Thank you, Xuanfa Heavenly Lord, for spanking me!"

On and on, the words became a mantra, a surrender of self. Fifty strokes. Sixty. Her voice grew hoarse, then faded to a whisper. But still she spoke, because the alternative was more ginger juice, and she could not bear the thought.

At seventy-two strokes, Shen Mengyue broke.

"Please!" she cried, her voice barely audible. "Please stop! I will do it! I will become your slave! Just please, do not hurt my sect. Protect my disciples. Spare them. I will give you anything. I will give you everything."

Xuanfa raised his hand, and the boards stopped mid-swing. He walked around to face her, looking down at her ruined body, her tear-streaked face, her broken spirit. "You agree to enter the Xuantian Realm and become my female slave?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I agree. Just promise me—"

"The Immortal Rosy Cloud Sect will be under my protection," Xuanfa said. "Your disciples will be unharmed. This I swear by my cultivation."

For the first time in a week, a flicker of peace crossed Shen Mengyue's face. She nodded, pressing her forehead to the cold stone.

Xuanfa snapped his fingers. The world blurred, twisted, and reformed. Shen Mengyue found herself standing in an endless white space—the Xuantian Realm. Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que were beside her, their bodies clean and healed. Shen Mengyue looked down at herself and saw that she too had been restored. No blood. No bruises. No filth. Only the smooth, pale skin of her naked body.

And around her neck, a black leather collar with a silver ring.

She knew the rules. They had been whispered into her mind during that week of hanging, implanted like seeds of knowledge. She knew that the collar was unbreakable, that it bound her will to his. She knew that defiance brought punishment, that obedience brought rewards. She knew that she was now property.

But she also knew that her sect was safe.

Shen Mengyue knelt. Her buttocks pressed against her heels, her knees spread wide, her hands resting on her thighs. She had seen Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que take this position dozens of times during the week. Now it was her turn.

Xuanfa appeared before her, holding a Heavenly Dao Board. "You have accepted the collar. Now you must accept your final judgment. Two hundred strokes. You will count each one. Afterward, you will kneel, kowtow, and speak the words of submission. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master," Shen Mengyue said, her voice steady despite the terror coiling in her chest.

She turned around, presenting her buttocks. They were pale and perfect, unmarked by the week's punishment. For now.

The first stroke landed like a thunderclap. The pain was immediate and absolute, a white-hot explosion that radiated from the point of impact and spread across her entire rear. Shen Mengyue's breath caught, and for a moment she forgot the count.

"One," Xuanfa said. "Count."

"One," she gasped.

The second stroke fell an inch below the first. Her flesh quivered, turning pink.

"Two."

"Two."

Stroke after stroke, the board carved its lesson into her skin. The Heavenly Dao Board was not an ordinary instrument—it carried the weight of heaven's laws, and every blow felt like the judgment of the cosmos. By the twentieth stroke, Shen Mengyue's buttocks were a uniform red, hot to the touch. By the fiftieth, they had deepened to a bruised crimson, and her counting had become a litany of pain.

"Seventy-five," she sobbed, the number barely intelligible.

"Seventy-five," Xuanfa echoed, and his voice held no pity.

At one hundred, her skin had split in a dozen places, thin lines of blood leaking down her thighs. Shen Mengyue's body trembled uncontrollably, but she did not collapse. She could not. The collar held her posture rigid.

"One hundred and one," she said, and the board cracked against her raw flesh.

"One hundred and two."

"One hundred and three."

The pain was a universe unto itself, infinite and all-consuming. Shen Mengyue lost track of time. There was only the board, and the counting, and the relentless burn. She had punished disciples before. She had spanked them, disciplined them, corrected their behavior. But she had never understood. Not really. Not until now. This was not punishment. This was transformation. Each blow stripped away a layer of her former self, her pride, her identity, her will. What remained was something new, something forged in fire and pain.

"One hundred and ninety-nine," she said, her voice raw.

"Two hundred."

The final stroke fell, and Shen Mengyue's world went white. She hung there, suspended in the agony, and then it receded, leaving her hollow and clean.

Xuanfa set the board aside. "Rise. Kneel."

Shen Mengyue pushed herself upright, turning to face him. She knelt, her buttocks pressing against her heels igniting fresh waves of fire. But she did not flinch. She lowered her forehead to the ground, touching it to the white floor of the Xuantian Realm.

"Yue Nu willingly becomes your female slave and accepts all punishment."

The words were spoken clearly, without hesitation. They were not a surrender. They were an acceptance.

Xuanfa looked down at her, his expression unreadable. Then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Good," he said. "You have learned."

One hundred years had passed since the Xuantian Realm first opened its gates to the captured high-level female cultivators of the cultivation world. The realm itself was a pocket dimension carved from the void by Xuanfa’s own hands, a domain where space bent to his will and the air hummed with the oppressive pressure of his late-stage Nascent Soul perfection. Within it, a vast hall stretched endlessly, its ceiling lost in shadow, its floor a polished obsidian mirror that reflected the scene above.

Before a long, low stone bench, a row of approximately thirty female cultivators knelt in perfect alignment. Their bodies were bent forward, their palms pressed flat against the cold stone floor, their backs arched into a deep curve that forced their buttocks to rise high into the air. Each pair of buttocks was plump, full, and milk-white, the skin smooth and unblemished save for the faint traces of past beatings. These were not ordinary women. Among them were sect leaders who had commanded thousands of disciples, elders who had sat in judgment over tribunals, genius rogue cultivators who had broken through bottlenecks with sheer talent, and daughters of great families who had never known a moment of disrespect in their lives. Now they were all stripped naked, their robes torn away as soon as they had been captured, their modesty erased by Xuanfa’s hand. Each one had been defeated in combat, pinned down by his finger techniques, and then subjected to the same ritual: their clothes ripped off, their bare buttocks exposed, and the Heavenly Dao Board brought down upon them until they screamed, cried, and begged to become his female slaves.

The Heavenly Dao Board was a fearsome artifact—a flat, rectangular slab of black jade etched with countless runes that glowed with golden light when activated. It carried the weight of heaven’s judgment, and each strike sent a shockwave of searing pain through the flesh it struck. The women in the front row had already tasted it many times. Their buttocks were mottled with purple and red bruises, some fresh, some faded, all testament to the hundred years of discipline Xuanfa had imposed.

Behind this row of raised buttocks stood three naked figures, each one a vision of breathtaking beauty and power. They were the original three female slaves, the ones Xuanfa had captured in the early years of his campaign. A hundred years of intensive training, constant punishment, and the absorption of the realm’s ambient energy had elevated all three to the peak of late-stage Nascent Soul perfection. They were one step away from the legendary Unity realm, a height few had reached in the history of the cultivation world. Yet here they stood, naked and proud, their bodies honed by pain and submission.

The one on the left was Lin Qiaoxin. She had changed little in face—her black twin tails still framed her youthful, mischievous features, her cheeks still held a hint of a perpetual smile. But her body had matured into a sculptor’s dream. Her skin was fair and flawless, with a subtle sheen that caught the dim light. Her breasts were full and round, firm with the muscle tone of a Core Formation cultivator who had long since broken through to Nascent Soul. Her waist was narrow, her hips flared wide, and her legs were long and shapely. Every curve was accentuated by her posture. She had adopted the title “Xin Nu” willingly, and she took her role as instructor to the new slaves with a playful enthusiasm. She moved among the raised buttocks, tapping one with a finger. “Raise it higher, sister,” she said, her voice light and sweet. “Master likes to see them fully presented. Don’t be shy now; we’ve all been through this.”

The one in the middle was Li Que. Her red hair was still tied in a high ponytail, but now it fell to her waist, thick and vibrant as fire. Her athletic build had refined over the century. Her shoulders were broad, her arms sleek with muscle, her abdomen flat and ridged with definition. Her legs were powerful, built for combat, and her buttocks, though less plump than Lin Qiaoxin’s, were taut and rounded like dual globes of polished marble. Her skin was lightly tanned, and a faint scar ran along her ribs—a remnant of a battle long past. She wore the title “Que Nu” with a quiet pride, for she had chosen this path after Xuanfa defeated her in single combat. She stood with her feet planted wide, her hands on her hips, and surveyed the row of raised buttocks with a critical eye. “Relax your muscles,” she commanded, her voice firm. “If you tense up, the board will hurt more. Trust me—I’ve learned to take it well. You will too.”

The one on the right was Shen Mengyue. She was the most transformed of the three. A century of naked submission had not diminished her ethereal beauty; if anything, it had deepened it. Her waist-length black hair cascaded down her back, glossy as ink, occasionally brushing against the curve of her hips. Her skin was pale as moonlight, soft and luminous. Her face held the delicate features of a young woman, but her eyes carried the heavy allure of a mature woman who had known both power and surrender. Her body was a masterpiece of curves: her breasts were full and proud, her waist slim, her hips wide and inviting, and her buttocks—they were the most punished of the three, perpetually bearing the marks of the Heavenly Dao Board. Even now, as she stood instructing the new slaves, her own buttocks were swollen and purple, a deep ache that she had long learned to endure. She moved with a quiet grace, her voice soft but carrying authority. “Remember your breathing,” she told the nearest woman. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. Do not hold your breath. Master’s punishment is not meant to break you—it is meant to refine you.”

The three moved among the row, adjusting postures, offering quiet encouragement, and ensuring that the new slaves were properly presented. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and ginger, for the new slaves had all been subjected to the enema of ginger juice before this session—a punishment that burned inside their bowels and made every strike of the board a test of control.

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. The temperature dropped. A presence pressed down on the hall like a mountain descending from the heavens. Every woman in the front row tensed, their breath catching, their raised buttocks trembling slightly. The three instructors immediately broke away from their duties and turned to face the source.

Xuanfa stepped out of the shadows, his black training clothes immaculate, his face cold and handsome as carved jade. His eyes swept over the scene with the calm calculation of a predator surveying its domain. He had not aged a day—a hundred years meant nothing to a late-stage Nascent Soul perfection cultivator. He was still the same figure of absolute authority, the one who had stripped and beaten the most powerful women in the cultivation world.

The three female slaves moved as one. They walked forward three paces, then dropped to their knees in perfect synchronization. They lowered their heads until their foreheads nearly touched the floor. They placed their hands palm-down on the cold obsidian. And then, with a practiced motion, they arched their backs and raised their buttocks high into the air.

Their buttocks were a sight to behold. Lin Qiaoxin’s were round and plump, her skin fair, the twin moons of her raised cheeks mottled with deep purple bruises from previous sessions. Li Que’s were tighter, more muscular, the skin a shade darker and covered in a lattice of red welts from the board’s latest application. Shen Mengyue’s were the most dramatic—full and heavy, her pale skin transformed into a canvas of black and blue, the bruises so dense that they formed a near-uniform purple covering the entire surface of both cheeks. All three buttocks were visibly swollen, the flesh hot to the touch, radiating heat into the cool air.

“Master,” Lin Qiaoxin spoke first, her voice cheerful despite her position. “I, Xin Nu, am instructing the new sisters in proper presentation. Are you here to watch Xin Nu’s punishment?”

Li Que followed, her tone respectful but edged with a hint of challenge. “I, Que Nu, have been teaching them to relax their muscles for maximum endurance. Are you here to witness Que Nu’s punishment? Rest assured, I will endure to the end and not spoil your enjoyment.”

Shen Mengyue spoke last, her voice soft and melodic, carrying the weight of her former dignity now reshaped into devotion. “I, Yue Nu, have been guiding them in breath control. Are you here to oversee Yue Nu’s punishment? I swear by my cultivation that I will take every stroke and hold the ginger juice until you are satisfied.”

Xuanfa’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile—a cold, approving expression. He walked slowly along the row of raised buttocks, his footsteps echoing in the vast hall. He stopped before the three kneeling women, studying their raised posteriors with the same scrutiny a master might give to a jade carving. “You have done well,” he said, his voice low and even. “Your bodies are refined instruments of discipline. Today, I shall test them further.”

The three women did not move. They held their position, their buttocks raised high, their anuses exposed to his view.

Xuanfa raised a hand, and three syringes materialized in the air before him. They were large, their needles gleaming, filled with a viscous, amber liquid—ginger juice, concentrated and potent. The sight of them made even the new slaves in the front row flinch, but the three kneeling women remained still.

At Xuanfa’s nod, the three women simultaneously reached behind themselves with their right hands. They did not hesitate. Their fingers found their own anuses, and they spread the tight rings open with practiced ease, pulling the skin taut to reveal the dark, puckered openings.

The syringes descended. One for each woman. The needles pierced their anuses without resistance, sliding deep into their bowels. The plungers depressed, and the ginger juice flooded into them—burning, searing, a liquid fire that filled their intestines and made their entire abdomens clench. Lin Qiaoxin let out a sharp gasp, her twin tails bouncing. Li Que’s back stiffened, her red ponytail trembling. Shen Mengyue’s breath hitched, a soft moan escaping her lips.

The syringes withdrew, and the women let their fingers fall away. The ginger juice settled inside them, a constant, agonizing pressure that demanded release. But they had been trained for this. They clenched their sphincters tight, sealing the juice within.

“Good,” Xuanfa said. “Now for the main event. You will each receive three hundred strokes of the Heavenly Dao Board.”

Six boards appeared in the air, three on each side of the kneeling women. They hovered, black and menacing, their runes glowing gold. The women did not flinch. They had endured this many times before, but the increased cultivation level of the slaves had led to an increased intensity of punishment. Three hundred strokes was a marathon of pain.

“Begin,” Xuanfa commanded.

The first two boards descended. One struck Lin Qiaoxin’s left buttock, the other her right. The impact was thunderous. Her flesh compressed, bounced, and then rebounded, leaving behind a pair of deep red welts that quickly darkened to purple. Lin Qiaoxin’s eyes squeezed shut, and she let out a cry that was half pain, half pleasure. “Ah! Master, thank you!” she gasped, her body trembling.

The next two boards fell on Li Que. They hit her with the force of a mountain landslide, smashing into her muscular cheeks with a crack that echoed through the hall. Li Que grunted, her hands clenching into fists on the floor. Her back arched, and she forced herself to remain still. “Mmh! Yes!” she growled through gritted teeth.

The final two boards struck Shen Mengyue. They landed on her already swollen buttocks with a wet, meaty sound, and she screamed—a long, drawn-out cry

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The morning sun cast long shadows across the newly established Chastising Phoenix Sect, its main peak rising like a jade pillar from the surrounding clouds. Xuanfa stood at the entrance of the sect hall, his black training clothes immaculate, his cold gaze sweeping over the assembly of naked female disciples who had gathered in the training ground below.

Behind him, three figures crawled on all fours, each connected to his hand by a thin, gleaming leash. Lin Qiaoxin, her black twin tails bouncing with each movement, wore a slave collar around her neck and a contented smile on her face. Her fair skin was completely bare, and her rounded buttocks bore the familiar purple-red hue of countless spankings. Li Que crawled beside her, her red hair falling forward, her athletic body tense with barely contained energy. The slave collar on her neck was identical, and her own spanked bottom matched Lin Qiaoxin's in color. Shen Mengyue brought up the rear, her waist-length black hair trailing on the ground, her ethereal beauty somehow enhanced by the humiliation of her nakedness and the collar that marked her as property.

The Chastising Phoenix Sect had been founded only three days prior, but its reputation had already spread through the cultivation world like wildfire. Xuanfa had chosen this mountain peak for its abundant spiritual energy, and the sect hall he had constructed with a wave of his hand was simple yet imposing—a massive structure of black stone and white jade, its gates wide open to reveal a throne of polished obsidian within.

The rules of the sect were simple. All disciples were female cultivators, and all were required to go about their duties naked. From dawn until dusk, they trained, studied, and worked without a stitch of clothing, their bodies exposed to the elements and to each other. It was a humiliation that many found unbearable, yet the promise of advanced cultivation techniques and the chance to learn from the three female slave elders drew them nonetheless.

For the disciples, the shame was limited to nudity. But the three elders who crawled behind Xuanfa bore a far greater burden. They were completely naked, yes, but they also wore slave collars around their necks, crawled on all fours like dogs, and most tellingly—their buttocks were a vivid, painful shade of purple-red, the marks of countless punishments that had shaped them into obedient vessels for their master's will.

Xuanfa stopped at the top of the stairs, his voice carrying across the training ground without effort. "The Chastising Phoenix Sect has been established. Its purpose is to nurture female cultivators worthy of serving me. The three before you are my rewards made manifest."

He gestured with the leashes, and the three women crawled forward in unison, positioning themselves in a line at the edge of the steps. Behind them, bound by spiritual chains and still struggling, stood a woman in torn white robes. Her face was flushed with fury, her eyes blazing with defiance.

Murong Ying, the sect leader of the Heavenly Phoenix Sect, had come to challenge the Chastising Phoenix Sect the previous day. She had declared Xuanfa a tyrant and a degenerate, and she had demanded that he release his female slaves and disband his sect. Li Que had met her challenge. The battle had been fierce, Murong Ying's middle-stage Nascent Soul cultivation pushing Li Que to her limits, but in the end, the red-haired woman's fiery techniques and relentless aggression had overwhelmed her. Now she stood captive, her pride shattered.

"Xin Nu," Xuanfa said, his voice flat, "has taught formations to the disciples with diligence and skill. Three new formation arrays have been mastered by the sect in the past three days. She has earned a reward."

Lin Qiaoxin's face lit up with joy. She pressed her forehead to the ground, her voice bright and cheerful. "Thank you, Master! Xin Nu is grateful!"

"Yue Nu," Xuanfa continued, "has managed the sect's internal affairs flawlessly. Supplies, rosters, and training schedules have all been handled without error. She too has earned a reward."

Shen Mengyue bowed her head, her voice soft but steady. "Thank you, Master. Yue Nu accepts."

"Que Nu," Xuanfa said, his gaze flickering to Li Que, "defeated a challenger who sought to disrupt the sect. Her victory brought honor to the Chastising Phoenix Sect. She has earned a reward."

Li Que's lips curved into a proud smile. She pressed her forehead to the ground with the others. "Thank you, Master. Que Nu is honored."

Xuanfa nodded slowly. He released the leashes and stepped forward, his fingers tracing through the air. From the spiritual energy around him, four wooden boards materialized, each the size of a human torso, their surfaces smooth and gleaming. They hovered in the air, radiating an aura of righteous punishment.

"The reward is a public spanking," Xuanfa announced, his voice carrying clear and cold across the training ground. "Each of the three elders will receive fifty strokes of the Heavenly Dao Board. They will be witnessed by all disciples of the Chastising Phoenix Sect."

A murmur ran through the gathered disciples. Naked bodies shifted uncomfortably, but no one looked away. They had heard rumors of the strange rewards of this sect, but seeing it with their own eyes was something else entirely.

"And you," Xuanfa said, turning to Murong Ying. With a flick of his fingers, the spiritual chains binding her dissolved, and her white robes fell away, torn to shreds by an invisible force. She stood naked before the assembly, her pale skin flushed with shame and rage.

"How dare you—" she began, but Xuanfa's hand shot out, and a force like an invisible hand pressed down on her shoulders, forcing her to her knees.

"You dared to challenge my sect," Xuanfa said, his voice cold. "You lost. Now you will witness what happens to those who oppose me. And you will share in the reward."

Murong Ying's face went white. "No. You cannot—I am a sect leader—"

"You are nothing," Xuanfa said. He gestured, and Murong Ying's body was forced forward, her knees scraping against the stone steps as she was positioned beside the three female slaves. Her breasts pressed against the cold stone, and her buttocks rose into the air, exposed and vulnerable.

The four women knelt in a row, their faces pressed to the ground, their bare bottoms raised high. Murong Ying's was pale and unmarked, a stark contrast to the purple-red welts that covered the buttocks of the three elders.

Xuanfa raised his hand. The four Heavenly Dao Boards rose in unison, each aligning itself behind a woman's raised behind.

"First stroke," Xuanfa said.

The boards struck.

The sound was like thunder cracking on a clear day. Four bare buttocks jolted forward, then bounced back into position. Lin Qiaoxin let out a sharp cry, but there was laughter in her voice. "Oh, Master! You wound me!"

Li Que grunted, her muscles tensing, but she remained in position. "That was nothing," she muttered, though her voice was strained.

Shen Mengyue whimpered, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "Thank you, Master," she managed to say.

Murong Ying screamed. The board had landed square on her untouched buttocks, and the pain was beyond anything she had ever experienced. It felt as if her flesh had been torn open, as if fire had been injected directly into her nerves. Her body convulsed, and she tried to lower her hips, but the invisible force held her in place.

"Second stroke," Xuanfa said.

The boards struck again, faster this time. Lin Qiaoxin's cry this time was more genuine, but she still managed to call out to the watching disciples, "You see? This is what happens when you work hard! You get the best punishments!"

Li Que's body trembled with each blow, but she refused to cry out. Her buttocks were already a deep, angry red, and the board was only making it worse. She gritted her teeth and focused on the pain.

Shen Mengyue was weeping openly now, but her voice carried clear and steady. "Disciples, do not be afraid of this pain. It is a privilege. Cultivate well, and one day you too may earn such a reward."

Murong Ying was beyond speech. The second stroke had landed slightly lower, and she felt as if her entire rear end was on fire. She sobbed into the ground, her pride crumbling with each passing moment.

"Third stroke," Xuanfa said.

The boards rose and fell, a relentless rhythm of punishment. By the tenth stroke, Lin Qiaoxin was laughing between cries, her voice cracking with pain and joy. "Master, you’re going to make me float! I can feel my dantian resonating!"

By the twentieth stroke, Li Que was panting heavily, her muscles trembling with the effort of maintaining her position. "Is that all you have?" she growled, but her voice was hoarse.

By the thirtieth stroke, Shen Mengyue had stopped crying and was instead murmuring encouragement to herself. "This is for the sect. This is for Master. This is my duty."

Murong Ying had stopped screaming. She was sobbing, her body shaking with each blow, her once-proud spirit broken. "Please," she whimpered, "please stop..."

The disciples watched in horrified fascination. The three elders were being beaten mercilessly, their buttocks turning from purple to black, welts forming and breaking open with each blow. And yet they remained in position, their hips high, their faces pressed to the ground. None of them tried to escape. None of them begged for mercy—except Murong Ying.

"Forty-fifth stroke," Xuanfa said.

Lin Qiaoxin's laughter had become a delirious cackle. "Oh, oh! Master, it’s so good! I want everyone to see this! Look, disciples! Look at your elder’s bottom! See how red it is!"

Li Que let out a guttural moan. "Murong Ying," she said, her voice ragged, "your buttocks are no match for the board. You should have stayed home."

Murong Ying sobbed incoherently. "I... I understand... please..."

"Fiftieth stroke," Xuanfa said.

The final blow landed with a resounding crack. Lin Qiaoxin collapsed forward, her breathing ragged but her smile still in place. "Thank you, Master," she whispered.

Li Que lowered herself slowly, her muscles screaming in protest. "Thank you, Master," she echoed.

Shen Mengyue pressed her forehead to the ground. "Thank you, Master."

Murong Ying did not respond. She lay limp, her body trembling, her face buried in her arms.

Xuanfa stepped forward, looking down at the four women. Then, with a gesture, a silver hook materialized in his hand. It was curved and sharp, its surface gleaming with a cold light. He tossed it to a nearby disciple, a young woman with wide eyes and trembling hands.

"Hang her at the mountain gate," Xuanfa said. "She will be displayed for three days, so that all who come to challenge the sect may see the fate that awaits them."

The disciple swallowed hard, but she nodded. With the help of two others, she approached Murong Ying. The naked woman was lifted, the hook pressed against her most intimate area, and with a single, swift motion, it was inserted. Murong Ying screamed, her body convulsing, but the disciples were efficient. They carried her to the mountain gate, where a sturdy chain had been prepared, and they hoisted her into the air.

Murong Ying hung there, naked and broken, her body twisting in the breeze. Her sobs echoed across the training ground, a warning to all who saw.

Xuanfa turned back to the three elders, who remained kneeling in their positions of submission. He reached down and patted Lin Qiaoxin’s head. "Well done, Xin Nu."

She looked up at him, her eyes bright with adoration. "Thank you, Master. May I beg for another round tomorrow?"

Xuanfa's lips twitched, almost a smile. "Perhaps."

He glanced at Shen Mengyue, who was wiping tears from her cheeks. "Yue Nu, see that the sect continues to run smoothly."

"Yes, Master," she said, her voice still shaky but resolute.

"Que Nu," Xuanfa said, turning to the red-haired woman, "there will be more challengers. I expect you to be ready."

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The morning sun cast long shadows across the sprawling grounds of the Chastising Phoenix Sect. Thousands of feet of pristine stone platforms had been laid out in concentric circles, each tier rising slightly toward the center where a massive obsidian altar stood. On that altar rested the Heavenly Dao Board—a slab of dark jade etched with ancient runes, its surface worn smooth by countless impacts. It was the sect’s most sacred object, the instrument through which discipline was administered, and the symbol of absolute submission.

Xuanfa stood alone at the altar’s edge, his black training robes immaculate, his face an unreadable mask of cold authority. His eyes swept across the assembled disciples—one thousand women, all naked, standing in neat ranks on the outer rings. Their bodies were bared to the world, their faces a mixture of shame, pride, and fearful anticipation. Some trembled, others held their heads high. All of them had chosen this path, surrendering their dignity and their buttocks to the will of their master.

The ceremony began without fanfare. Xuanfa raised his hand, and a deep gong resonated through the air. The outer disciples fell silent, their breathing the only sound. Then, from the gates of the sect’s main hall, a procession began.

The female slave elders crawled on all fours, in perfect unison. There were forty-seven of them, each naked, their buttocks bearing the mottled scars of previous punishments. They moved like a wave of flesh, heads low, knees and palms scraping against the stone. They formed two lines down the central aisle, then stopped, kneeling with foreheads touching the ground. Their buttocks remained raised, a silent offering.

Behind them came the three.

Xuanfa walked slowly, a leather leash in each hand. The leashes were black, studded with silver, and each was attached to a collar around the neck of a woman who crawled at his feet. Lin Qiaoxin led the trio, her twin tails swaying as she moved with an almost playful gait, her youthful face wearing a small, mischievous smile despite her position. She had long since stopped caring about appearances; this was her place, and she embraced it. Behind her came Li Que, her red hair a fiery banner, her athletic body tensed with pride even as she crawled. Her eyes were sharp, unyielding, accepting her submission but never her defeat. And last, Shen Mengyue, the former sect leader of the Immortal Rosy Cloud Sect, her waist-length black hair trailing on the ground, her ethereal beauty now marked by the collar around her neck. Her face was serene, but her eyes held a depth of sorrow and resolve that only those who had lost everything could understand.

They crawled to the altar, their movements deliberate and graceful. Xuanfa stopped at the foot of the obsidian platform. He released the leashes, and the three women immediately knelt beside him—Lin Qiaoxin on his left, Li Que on his right, and Shen Mengyue slightly behind, all with heads bowed, hands resting on their thighs.

“Rise,” Xuanfa said, his voice carrying without effort.

The three stood. The entire sect watched in silence.

Lin Qiaoxin stepped forward first. Her voice was light, almost cheerful, as she addressed the assembled disciples. “Welcome to the grand ceremony of the Chastising Phoenix Sect! For those of you who’ve been wondering—yes, the name is exactly as embarrassing as it sounds. We’re here to be chastised, and we’re going to rise from the ashes like phoenixes. Or at least like very well-spanked phoenixes.”

A few nervous giggles rippled through the crowd. Xuanfa’s expression did not change.

Shen Mengyue spoke next, her tone measured and solemn. “The Chastising Phoenix Sect was founded not by a desire for power, but by necessity. In a world where female cultivators are judged by their beauty and purity, we choose instead to cast aside pretense. We bare ourselves completely—body and soul—to our master. In return, we receive guidance, protection, and the strength to advance.”

She gestured to the Heavenly Dao Board. “This board is our ancestor. It is our divine artifact. Every punishment we endure is a step toward enlightenment. Every lash brings us closer to heaven.”

Li Que’s voice was sharp, commanding. “The duty of every female slave in this sect is simple: you will accept all humiliation. You will accept all pain. You will not flinch. You will not complain. You will not rise without the master’s order. When you salute him, you will kneel and raise your scarred buttocks high, so that he may see the proof of your dedication.”

She demonstrated, dropping to her knees and lifting her rear, the red marks of old punishments still visible on her firm flesh. Lin Qiaoxin and Shen Mengyue followed suit, their bodies forming a perfect tableau of submission.

The disciples watched, some with tears in their eyes, others with grim determination.

Lin Qiaoxin rose first, grinning. “Now then, let’s get to the fun part. Cultivation techniques!”

For the next hour, the three grand elder female slaves imparted their knowledge. Lin Qiaoxin explained formation arrays that could amplify spiritual energy when the body was in pain—a technique she had perfected. Li Que taught battle stances that used the tension in the buttocks to channel power into strikes. Shen Mengyue delivered a discourse on the purification of qi through the acceptance of shame, her voice steady and profound.

Disciples listened, absorbed. Many took notes mentally, their minds sharp with the desire to improve.

When the lessons ended, Xuanfa stepped forward. He raised his hand, and a thousand small jade bottles flew from his storage ring, landing before each disciple. “Cultivation-assisting pills,” he said. “Take one per day. They will accelerate your progress.”

Murmurs of gratitude rose from the crowd.

He then selected five disciples from those who had applied to become female slaves. They were young, their bodies unmarked, their faces a mixture of excitement and terror. He walked among the ranks, his cold eyes appraising them. He chose a slender woman with long black hair, a muscular cultivator with a warrior’s build, a timid girl who couldn’t stop shaking, a fierce-looking redhead, and a pale beauty with delicate features.

“Kneel,” he commanded.

The five dropped to their knees. He placed collars around their necks—silver bands inscribed with runes that would mark them as his property forever. “From this moment, you are mine. Your buttocks are mine to punish. Your pride is mine to break. Your loyalty is mine to command.”

They crawled to the kneeling positions of the female slave elders, their hearts pounding.

Now came the first punishment. The forty-seven elder female slaves, plus the five new ones, formed five rows, each row of ten women kneeling side by side. They bowed forward, palms flat on the ground, and raised their buttocks high. The fifty plump rears formed a landscape of flesh, each one waiting.

Xuanfa raised his hand again. The air shimmered, and hundreds of Heavenly Dao Boards materialized—each a slab of dark jade, floating silently above the slave elders. They struck as one.

CRACK!

The sound was deafening. Fifty boards slammed into fifty buttocks simultaneously. The flesh rippled, red welts springing up instantly. A chorus of gasps and cries filled the air. But not one woman moved. They held their positions, teeth gritted, eyes squeezed shut.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The boards struck in rapid succession, each blow landing with precision. The skin turned from pink to red to a deep, angry crimson. Cries turned into screams. Some women sobbed openly, tears streaming down their faces. Others bit their lips until they bled. But they did not dodge. They did not lower their hips.

Lin Qiaoxin watched from the altar, her eyes bright. “Good girls,” she murmured. “You’re doing so well.”

The two hundredth blow fell. The boards vanished. The fifty women collapsed forward, gasping, their buttocks a mess of swollen, bruised flesh. Many could barely move. But they had endured.

Xuanfa nodded. “Well done.”

Now the main event.

Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue stepped forward. They had changed—or rather, they had not. They remained naked, their bodies on display. But now they moved with a different energy, a solemn reverence. They knelt before the obsidian altar, facing the Heavenly Dao Board.

Shen Mengyue’s hair cascaded down her back, her pale skin luminous in the sunlight. Her waist was narrow, her hips wide, and her buttocks were full and round, still bearing the faint marks of previous punishments. She looked like a goddess offering herself to a cruel deity.

Lin Qiaoxin was leaner, more athletic, her small buttocks high and firm. She wiggled them slightly, a playful gesture that drew a few stifled laughs from the crowd.

Li Que was the most muscular, her thighs and glutes defined by years of combat. Her buttocks were hard, powerful, and currently unblemished. She knelt with rigid posture, her pride evident even in submission.

The three kowtowed to Xuanfa once, their foreheads touching the stone. Then they straightened, raised their hips, and presented their buttocks to the board.

“Five hundred strokes each,” Xuanfa said. “You will not cry out. You will not beg. You will take your punishment as the highest-ranking slaves of this sect.”

Lin Qiaoxin grinned over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t dream of disappointing you, master.”

Li Que said nothing, but her jaw was set.

Shen Mengyue closed her eyes. “I am ready.”

The boards descended.

The first blow struck Lin Qiaoxin’s left cheek. She gasped, her body jerking, but she kept her position. The second hit her right cheek, and the third landed squarely on her sit-spot. Each stroke left a vivid red imprint. She counted silently, her breath hitching. By stroke fifty, her buttocks were a uniform crimson. By one hundred, they were purple. But she did not scream.

Li Que took her punishment in silence. The boards crashed against her muscular flesh, and she absorbed each blow like a stone wall. No sound escaped her lips, but her hands trembled. Sweat beaded on her back. At two hundred, her skin split in a few places, thin lines of blood trickling down. She did not flinch.

Shen Mengyue wept silently. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she made no noise. The boards punished her relentlessly, turning her perfect posterior into a swollen, bruised mess. Each strike seemed to peel away another layer of her former pride, leaving only the slave beneath.

At stroke three hundred, Lin Qiaoxin let out a small whimper. “Oh, that’s… that’s really starting to sting.” She forced a laugh. “But I can take it. I can take anything you give me, master.”

Li Que’s voice was tight. “More.”

At four hundred, Shen Mengyue’s voice broke. “Please… please…” But she did not complete the plea. She remembered her duty. She lowered her head and took the final hundred.

The last stroke fell. The boards vanished.

The three women stayed in position, their buttocks a ruin of black, purple, and red. They could barely move, the pain so intense it blurred their vision. But they forced themselves to kneel properly, then to turn and face Xuanfa.

“I pledge my loyalty,” Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice shaking but sincere. “Forever your slave, forever your disciple.”

Li Que knelt, her head bowed. “I submit. Completely. This body is yours.”

Shen Mengyue raised her eyes to meet Xuanfa’s. Tears still clung to her lashes. “I will never leave your side, master. I accept all punishment. I accept all shame. I am yours.”

Xuanfa’s cold face softened, just a fraction. He raised his hand, and a golden light enveloped the three women. Celestial magic flowed into their battered bodies, mending torn flesh, soothing bruised bones, erasing all traces of the punishment. In moments, their buttocks were smooth, perfect, unblemished once more.

Lin Qiaoxin turned her head, looking at her own pristine rear. She grinned. “Ah, I love that spell.”

Li Que flexed, testing her m

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Xuanfa stood in the center of the Immortal Rosy Cloud Sect's main hall, his black training clothes immaculate, not a single thread out of place despite the recent battle. His gaze swept over the cowering disciples—all women, all trembling—and his voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"All female cultivators of the Immortal Rosy Cloud Sect will be spanked. One hundred strikes each. Every single one of you."

The words landed like thunder. A young disciple in pale blue robes let out a choked sob, her knees buckling. Another grabbed her sister's arm, tears streaming freely. The hall filled with the sound of weeping, of desperate whispers that died as soon as they began. These were cultivators of the Core Formation stage, some even early Nascent Soul, but none dared meet Xuanfa's eyes. He had just defeated their sect leader, Shen Mengyue, in a duel that had lasted barely fifteen exchanges. His finger techniques had shattered her sword formation, broken her defense, and left her kneeling before him, gasping for breath.

Xuanfa's expression remained cold, unreadable. He watched the disciples' terror with the detached interest of a man observing insects beneath glass. This was the punishment for challenging his authority. The Immortal Rosy Cloud Sect had dared to shelter a rogue cultivator who had offended him. Now they would learn the cost.

"Please, Heavenly Lord." The voice was hoarse, broken by strain. Shen Mengyue pushed herself upright, still on her knees, her black-and-white Daoist robes torn and singed from the battle. Her waist-length black hair hung in disarray around her ethereal face, which was pale but set with determination. "They are innocent. They only followed my orders. If there is fault, it is mine alone."

Xuanfa turned to her slowly. His dark eyes held no warmth. "You would take their punishment?"

"I would." She lowered her head, her forehead pressing to the cold stone floor. The kowtow was deep, humble. "I beg you, Heavenly Lord. Spare my disciples. Punish only me."

The disciples cried out in protest. "Sect Leader! No!"

"Silence." Xuanfa's single word silenced them all. He looked down at Shen Mengyue's bowed form, considering. Then he spoke, his tone flat and final. "If only you are punished, the punishment must be severe. You will receive two hundred strikes with the Heavenly Dao Board upon your buttocks, every day, divided into morning and evening sessions. The punishment will take place here, before the sect hall, in full view of all your disciples. The duration is thirty years."

A collective gasp rippled through the hall. The Heavenly Dao Board was legendary—the highest tier of spanking implement, a slab of black divine wood inscribed with celestial runes that made each strike resonate with spiritual pain that bypassed normal defenses. It was said that even a single blow from the Heavenly Dao Board could make a Nascent Soul cultivator lose composure. Two hundred strikes daily. For thirty years.

Shen Mengyue's face turned white as paper. Her hands, still pressed to the floor, trembled visibly. Cultivators of her level healed from even grievous wounds by the next morning, but the pain was real, excruciating, and endless. She would be subjected to this torture day after day, year after year, with no respite. And she would be naked. She knew what was coming next.

Still, she did not hesitate. "I agree."

"Sect Leader, no!" The disciples surged forward, but Xuanfa raised a single finger. A wave of invisible force pushed them back, pinning them against the walls. They could only watch, helpless, as their sect leader accepted her fate.

Xuanfa pointed at Shen Mengyue. A whisper of celestial energy, and her Daoist robes shredded into fragments, falling away like autumn leaves. The torn fabric fluttered to the ground, leaving her completely bare.

Shen Mengyue's body was a study in contradictions. Her skin was fair as new snow, the skin of a young woman untouched by time, yet her figure carried the fullness of maturity—curved hips, a narrow waist, full breasts that rose and fell with her ragged breathing. Her hair cascaded down her back, the only thing covering her. She did not try to hide herself. She kept her eyes forward, her jaw set, even as a flush spread across her cheeks.

Xuanfa studied her with cold appraisal. "You will remain like this from now on. No clothes, ever again. This is your punishment for defying me."

Shen Mengyue said nothing. She simply lowered her head again, accepting.

With another gesture, Xuanfa summoned celestial power. A golden light enveloped Shen Mengyue, forcing her into position. She cried out in surprise as her body was pushed forward, her upper body bending until her palms and forehead pressed against the ground, while her knees remained planted. Her buttocks rose high into the air, fully exposed, helplessly presented.

She was pinned. She could not move an inch.

Two Heavenly Dao Boards materialized out of thin air, hovering on either side of her raised bottom. They were black as obsidian, etched with silver runes that pulsed with malevolent light. Each board was as wide as a hand and nearly as long as a forearm, their surfaces smooth and deadly.

The first strike fell.

The crack echoed through the hall like a thunderclap. Shen Mengyue's body jolted, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. A red mark bloomed across her pale buttock, vivid and angry. Before she could recover, the second board struck the other cheek, a mirror image of the first. She bit down on her lip, refusing to scream.

The boards did not pause. They rose and fell in perfect rhythm, _crack, crack, crack_, each strike landing with precision. The runes on the boards flared with each hit, channeling spiritual energy into the pain, making it resonate deep in her bones. Shen Mengyue's breath came in ragged gasps. Her fingers dug into the stone floor, nails scraping against the ancient rock.

The disciples watched in horror. Some turned away, unable to bear the sight of their sect leader being spanked like a naughty child. Others wept openly, their tears falling on the floor. A few younger disciples tried to rush forward again, but the invisible barrier held them back.

Twenty strikes. Thirty. The rhythm continued, relentless. Shen Mengyue's buttocks were now a deep, angry red, the skin glistening with the beginning of welts. She had not made a sound beyond those initial gasps, but her body trembled with each blow, her knuckles white against the floor.

Forty strikes. Fifty. Her composure finally cracked. A low moan escaped her throat, followed by a sharp cry as the boards found a particularly sensitive spot. Her legs quivered, threatening to give way, but the celestial magic held her in place.

Sixty. Seventy. Tears began to stream down her face, dripping onto the stone below. She did not sob openly—she was the sect leader, and she would not break completely in front of her disciples—but the tears came unbidden, a sign of the agony she endured.

Eighty. Ninety. The sound of the boards striking her flesh became wetter as the skin broke in places. Blood beaded on the surface, mingling with sweat. Shen Mengyue's breathing was ragged, her body shuddering with each impact.

One hundred. The boards stopped.

A moment of silence hung in the air. Then Xuanfa spoke, his voice carrying no satisfaction, no cruelty, only cold fact. "The first session is complete. You will receive another hundred this evening. Your punishment begins anew tomorrow. Every day. For thirty years."

He turned and walked away, his black boots echoing on the stone floor. The disciples remained frozen, watching their sect leader still pinned in place, her body bare and marked, her face hidden against the ground. The two Heavenly Dao Boards hovered nearby, waiting for the evening session.

The hall was silent except for the sound of Shen Mengyue's quiet, tearful breathing.

After a long moment, a young disciple whispered, "Sect Leader..."

Shen Mengyue did not answer. She couldn't. She only lay there, exposed and broken, the first day of her thirty-year punishment just begun.