Punishment of the Xuanfa Celestial Venerable

The cultivation world stretched across endless mountains and rivers, a realm where spiritual energy flowed like rivers through the earth. Cultivators climbed the ladder of power through nine realms: Qi Refining, Foundation Establishment, Golden Core, Nascent Soul, and beyond. Women outnumbered men ten to one in this world, yet the male cultivators who did rise to power stood head and shoulders above their female counterparts in sheer destructive force. Among all the powerhouses of the current age, none commanded more fear and reverence than the man known as the Xuanfa Celestial Venerable.

He had no other name—or if he did, none dared speak it. Rumor held that he had long ago reached the Nascent Soul Great Perfection, the pinnacle of what any cultivator in this world could achieve. His fingers could shatter mountains. His presence could silence storms. And his peculiar obsession had become the stuff of whispered legend: Xuanfa Celestial Venerable loved spanking women’s bottoms.

Not in the way of common lust, but as a matter of discipline, of power, of absolute dominance. In this world, an ancient custom allowed male cultivators who spanked a female cultivator’s bare bottom to forge a bond of cultivation acceleration between them. The practice had faded over the centuries, resisted by proud female sects who refused to submit to such degradation. But Xuanfa did not care for custom or resistance. He cared only for promises kept and punishments delivered.

On a crisp morning in the third month of the Year of the Jade Serpent, a disciple of the Immortal Cloud Sect made a fatal mistake.

The sect sat nestled in the Cloudmist Mountains, an all-female stronghold of three hundred cultivators led by the renowned Shen Mengyue. The disciple, a young Foundation Establishment girl named Xiao Lian, had been gathering spirit herbs at the edge of the sect’s territory when she strayed into a forbidden zone. She accidentally stepped on a formation array that Xuanfa himself had laid down weeks prior, a boundary marker for a spiritual beast he had been tracking.

The formation shattered with a sound like breaking glass.

Within the hour, a transmission talisman arrived at the Immortal Cloud Sect’s main hall. The message bore no sender’s name, only a single sentence written in blood-red ink: *“The Xuanfa Celestial Venerable will arrive at noon to collect recompense. Prepare to receive punishment.”*

Panic rippled through the sect like wildfire. Disciples wept. Elders argued. Shen Mengyue sat upon her jade throne, her waist-length black hair cascading over black-and-white Daoist robes, her face a mask of cold composure. She was a mid-stage Nascent Soul cultivator, a master of the flying sword, and the leader of a proud sect that had never bowed to any man.

“I will face him myself,” she declared, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart. “No one else will be harmed.”

She did not understand the depth of her error.

Noon arrived with unnatural precision. The sky above the Immortal Cloud Sect darkened as clouds gathered in a swirling vortex. Lightning flickered at the edges of the storm, and a single figure descended from the heavens like a falling star.

Xuanfa landed in the center of the sect’s training grounds, his black training clothes unmarred by dust, his face cold and handsome as carved jade. His eyes swept across the gathered disciples, and those who met his gaze felt their knees weaken. He radiated pressure like a mountain pressing down on their souls.

Shen Mengyue stepped forward, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. “Celestial Venerable Xuanfa, I apologize for my disciple’s carelessness. The Immortal Cloud Sect will pay compensation for the destroyed formation. Name your price.”

Xuanfa regarded her with flat, emotionless eyes. “The price was stated in my message. Every woman in this sect will receive spanking punishment until their bottoms are red and swollen. Today’s installment will be one hundred strikes with the Xuan Wood Board per person.”

A murmur of fury and horror rippled through the disciples. Shen Mengyue’s jaw tightened. “That is unacceptable. We are cultivators, not children to be disciplined.”

“You are offenders,” Xuanfa said simply. “And I am the one who delivers consequences.”

Shen Mengyue drew her sword. The blade sang as it left its sheath, a streak of silver light that hummed with spiritual energy. “Then I will have to make you accept compensation instead.”

Xuanfa’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile—a terrifying expression on his cold face. “Good. I prefer those who resist.”

The battle that followed would be recounted in trembling whispers across the cultivation world for years to come.

Shen Mengyue launched first, her sword transforming into a dozen streaks of light that converged on Xuanfa from every angle. Her movement was flawless, her spiritual energy refined through decades of cultivation. She was a mid-stage Nascent Soul master, and in any other context, her opening strike would have ended a battle instantly.

Xuanfa raised one hand. His fingers moved in a subtle pattern, and the sword streaks shattered against an invisible barrier, scattering like sparks from a fire. He did not even step back.

Shen Mengyue’s eyes widened. She pressed forward, unleashing her ultimate technique: the Azure Moon Swordfall. A cascade of sword energy rained from the sky, each strike carrying enough power to split a mountain. The training ground cratered around them as the attack landed.

When the dust cleared, Xuanfa stood in the center of the devastation, his training clothes untouched. He had deflected every strike with his bare fingers.

“Is that all?” he asked.

Shen Mengyue gritted her teeth and attacked again, her sword dancing in a blur of speed and precision. She struck a hundred times in the span of three breaths. Xuanfa blocked each one with contemptuous ease, his fingers tapping against her blade like a teacher correcting a student’s mistake.

Then he struck back.

A single finger thrust from his right hand. It was not fast, not by cultivator standards. Shen Mengyue saw it coming clearly. Yet she could not evade it. The pressure behind that finger locked her in place, compressed the air around her, and slammed into her chest like a thunderbolt.

She flew backward, crashing through three stone pillars before embedding herself in the wall of the main hall. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Her sword clattered to the ground ten feet away.

Xuanfa had used only seventy percent of his power.

Shen Mengyue struggled to rise, her arms trembling, her Daoist robes torn and stained with dust. She had never been defeated so thoroughly in her life. The gap between mid-stage Nascent Soul and Great Perfection was not a difference in cultivation—it was a chasm between worlds.

Xuanfa walked toward her, his footsteps measured and unhurried. Each step echoed in the silent training ground. The disciples watched in frozen horror, none daring to intervene.

He stopped before Shen Mengyue, looking down at her as she knelt on the broken ground. Her hair had come loose from its bindings, spilling in black waves over her shoulders. Her pale skin was flushed with exertion and shame.

“You fought well,” Xuanfa said, his voice devoid of warmth or praise. “But you lost. Now you will accept the punishment.”

Shen Mengyue raised her head, her eyes burning with defiance even in defeat. “Kill me if you must. I will not submit to humiliation.”

Xuanfa’s expression did not change. “I do not kill those who entertain me. I punish them as promised.”

He turned to address the assembled sect, his voice carrying to every corner of the training ground. “The Immortal Cloud Sect has chosen resistance over compliance. Therefore, the punishment is increased. Every member of this sect, from the sect leader to the newest disciple, will receive one hundred strikes of the Xuan Wood Board on the bare bottom. This will continue daily for three years.”

Screams of despair erupted from the disciples. Some fell to their knees. Others tried to flee, only to find that Xuanfa had already sealed the sect’s boundaries with a barrier of spiritual energy.

Shen Mengyue attempted to rise again, reaching for her sword. Xuanfa’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, his grip like an iron vice. He pulled her up, then forced her to bend over a stone altar that had once been used for ceremonial offerings.

“No—!” she gasped, struggling with all her remaining strength. It was useless. His hand pressed against her lower back, holding her in place as his other hand summoned the Xuan Wood Board from his storage ring.

The board was black, smooth, and glowing faintly with inscribed runes. It was a spirit artifact designed for one purpose only: to deliver maximum sting without permanent injury.

Xuanfa raised the board.

The first strike landed with a sharp crack that echoed across the silent sect. Shen Mengyue’s body jolted, a strangled cry escaping her lips. The pain was searing, far worse than any wound she had taken in battle.

The second strike followed. Then the third. The board rose and fell in a steady rhythm, each impact sending shockwaves of pain through her body. Her Daoist robes, already torn, offered no protection. By the tenth strike, she could feel her bottom swelling, the skin heating to an angry red.

By the fiftieth strike, tears streamed down her face, though she made no sound.

By the hundredth strike, she could no longer stand. Xuanfa released her, and she collapsed to the ground, her body shaking, her dignity shattered.

Xuanfa looked at the board, then at the gathered disciples. “Tomorrow, the next one hundred. And the next day, and the next, for three full years. If anyone attempts to flee or resist, the punishment will double.”

He turned and walked away, his black robes billowing behind him, leaving the Immortal Cloud Sect in ruins not of stone, but of spirit.

Behind him, Shen Mengyue lay on the cold ground, her face pressed against the stone, her bottom bare and welted for all to see. She heard the sobs of her disciples, the whispers of shame, the first cracks of a proud sect crumbling.

And yet, deep in her heart, a spark of cold resolve kindled. She would survive this. She would endure. And one day, she would make the Xuanfa Celestial Venerable pay for every single strike.

But first, she had to survive tomorrow.

Fifteen years had passed in the Xuan Heaven Realm, and the passage of time had worn down even the sharpest edges of resistance. Every morning, without fail, Li Que and Lin Qiaoxin would crawl on hands and knees to the center of Xuanfa's cultivation chamber, present their naked bottoms to the Heavenly Dao Board, and endure two hundred strokes that left their buttocks cracked, swollen, and bleeding. The pain had become as routine as breathing.

Li Que, once the proud vice-sect leader of the Vermilion Bird Sect, now arched her athletic back and thrust her red-haired head to the ground as the board descended. Crack. Crack. Crack. Each impact sent shockwaves through her flesh. Lin Qiaoxin knelt beside her, her youthful face pressed against the cold floor, her well-proportioned body trembling with each blow.

The Heavenly Dao Board was not a simple tool. It was a manifestation of Xuanfa's will, imbued with his Nascent Soul Great Perfection power. It struck precisely where it would cause maximum agony, targeting the same spots repeatedly until the skin split and the underlying muscle turned to pulp.

After the punishment, they would crawl to Xuanfa's feet, press their foreheads to the ground, and wait. He would reach down, grasp one of their ponytails, and make them follow him through the estate on all fours. Fifteen years of this, and they had learned to find a strange peace in the submission.

One afternoon, after the daily spanking had left their bottoms raw and steaming, Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que knelt before Xuanfa in his meditation hall. The black-clad cultivator sat cross-legged on a raised platform, his cold eyes regarding them with an expression that betrayed nothing.

"Master," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice carrying its usual playful lilt despite the fresh wounds on her posterior. "Li Que and I were talking, and we want to ask you something."

Xuanfa raised an eyebrow. "Speak."

Li Que lifted her head, her red hair falling across her face. "What do you like most, Master? Truly like, not just the surface of it."

A flicker of amusement crossed Xuanfa's handsome features. He rose from his seat and walked slowly around them, his footsteps echoing in the hall. "You wish to know what brings me joy?"

They nodded.

"Watching female cultivators suffer," he said flatly. "Watching them be spanked and tormented. The pain they endure, the shame they feel—it strengthens me. Each cry, each tear, each moment of agony they experience feeds my cultivation and sharpens my mind. When I see a proud woman broken down to nothing but a sobbing, bottom-bared mess, I feel power flowing through my meridians like never before."

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que exchanged glances.

"Then we have an opportunity, Master," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice eager. "The entire cultivation world knows that Shen Mengyue, the sect leader of the Immortal Cloud Sect, was stripped naked and made to kneel at her own sect hall, sticking her bottom out to be spanked. But they don't know about us yet. They don't know that formation genius Lin Qiaoxin and Vermilion Bird Sect vice-sect leader Li Que have become your female slaves."

Li Que continued, her arrogant voice now carrying a note of submission. "Lead us, Master. Lead us crawling naked like female dogs to the highest terrace in Wuling City. Have Shen Mengyue's disciples bring her there by dog leash as well. The three of us will kneel in a row, bend over with our upper bodies on the ground, stick our plump bottoms high in the air, and let you summon the Heavenly Dao Boards to spank all three of us automatically."

"Beat our bottoms to pulp," Lin Qiaoxin added, her voice trembling with anticipation. "Beat them so badly that even as cultivators, it would take a week for us to recover. Then spread our legs apart and whip our butt cracks hard, making sure our anuses and vaginas are swollen beyond recognition. Insert anal hooks into our swollen holes and hang us for a week of public display."

They pressed their foreheads to the ground in unison. "This would make you happy, Master. Please, let us serve you in this way."

Xuanfa stood in silence for a long moment, his cold eyes sweeping over their naked, submissive forms. A rare smile touched his lips.

"I agree to your plan," he said. "We will do this when the next full moon rises over Wuling City. I will make the arrangements with Shen Mengyue's disciples."

But then his smile faded, and something darker flickered in his eyes.

"However," he continued, "that spectacle is for another day. Today, I want to try something new."

He walked to a storage cabinet and retrieved a clay jar. When he opened it, the sharp, burning scent of divine ginger filled the room. He had squeezed the roots himself, extracting every drop of the potent juice that could make even Nascent Soul cultivators weep.

"Kneel," he commanded. "Present your bottoms and spread your anuses."

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que obeyed immediately. They turned around, knelt with their upper bodies pressed to the floor, and reached back with both hands to spread their buttock cheeks apart. The afternoon light caught the fresh red marks on their bottoms from the earlier spanking, painting a vivid picture of submission.

Xuanfa dipped a funnel into the ginger juice, then approached Lin Qiaoxin first. She felt the cold ceramic of the funnel press against her anus, then the sharp edge sliding inside as he forced it open. Her muscles clenched instinctively, but she forced herself to relax.

"Deep breaths," Xuanfa said, his voice devoid of sympathy.

Then he poured.

The ginger juice flooded into her intestines like liquid fire. Lin Qiaoxin's eyes went wide, and her entire body convulsed. It felt as if a red-hot iron rod had been rammed into her anus, searing its way through her insides. The burning sensation spread through her lower abdomen, radiating heat that made her feel like she was being cooked from the inside out.

"Ahhhh! Master! It burns! It burns so much!" she screamed, her playful demeanor shattered by the intensity of the pain.

Li Que watched with wide eyes as her companion writhed on the floor, clutching her stomach, the muscles of her anus clenching and unclenching as the ginger juice worked its way deeper into her system. Tears streamed down Lin Qiaoxin's face.

"Your turn," Xuanfa said, turning to Li Que.

The red-haired warrior set her jaw and positioned herself. She would not cry. She would not beg. She was the vice-sect leader of the Vermilion Bird Sect, and she had endured worse than this.

The funnel entered her anus with a cold pressure, and then the ginger juice poured in.

Li Que's breath caught in her throat. The sensation was beyond description—a burning, stinging, agonizing heat that seemed to set her entire lower body on fire. Her intestines contracted violently, trying to expel the liquid, but her body knew better than to waste her Master's gift. She gritted her teeth so hard she thought they might crack.

But the tears came anyway. She couldn't stop them. They rolled down her cheeks as she pressed her forehead to the cold floor, her body trembling uncontrollably.

Xuanfa watched them both with cold satisfaction. Their pain was beautiful. Their suffering fed his cultivation base like nothing else could.

"The burns will intensify over the next hour," he said calmly. "Try to hold it in. If you release the ginger juice before I permit it, the punishment will be severe."

Just then, a golden light materialized in the air above them—the Heavenly Dao Board, ready for the daily two-hundred-stroke punishment.

"Ah, it's time," Xuanfa said. "But there will be a new rule today. You must not lose control and spray intestinal fluid while being spanked. The burning in your bowels from the ginger juice will make this difficult, I know. But if either of you loses control, I will double your punishment to four hundred strokes. Do you understand?"

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

Lin Qiaoxin positioned herself, raising her well-proportioned bottom high in the air. The ginger juice burned inside her, making every muscle in her abdomen cramp. Li Que did the same, her athletic body tensed and ready.

The Heavenly Dao Board descended.

Crack.

The first stroke landed on Lin Qiaoxin's left buttock, sending a shockwave through her body. The motion jostled the ginger juice inside her, and she felt a wave of pressure building in her bowels. She clenched her muscles desperately.

Crack.

The second stroke hit Li Que's right cheek. She grunted, her fingers digging into the floor. The impact made the ginger juice slosh inside her, intensifying the burning sensation tenfold.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

The board continued its relentless assault. Each stroke landed precisely, targeting the most sensitive areas of their already abused bottoms. The skin that had just begun to heal from the morning's punishment was torn open again, blood mixing with the sweat that covered their bodies.

By the tenth stroke, Lin Qiaoxin was weeping openly. The ginger juice had spread through her entire digestive tract, a river of fire that seemed to reach up to her stomach. Every impact from the board sent shockwaves through her intestines, making the burning liquid shift and surge.

"Five more strokes," Xuanfa said, his voice cool. "Then we will see if either of you has failed."

Lin Qiaoxin's anus clenched and unclenched involuntarily. The pressure was becoming unbearable. She could feel the ginger juice pushing against her sphincter, demanding release. Her body screamed at her to let go, to expel the burning liquid that was torturing her from the inside.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Three more strokes landed, each one making her gasp and shudder. The pressure in her bowels reached a critical point. She tried to hold it, tried to clench every muscle in her body, but the combination of the burning and the spanking was too much.

On the fifteenth stroke, her control broke.

A spray of ginger-tinged intestinal fluid erupted from her anus, splattering across the floor. The burning liquid had been inside her long enough to mix with her natural secretions, creating a viscous stream that flowed freely as her body finally gave in to its demands.

"No!" she screamed, her voice cracking with despair. "I'm sorry, Master! I'm sorry!"

Li Que was still holding on, her face contorted with effort. She had witnessed Lin Qiaoxin's failure, and she was determined not to suffer the same fate. She bit her tongue, drawing blood, and used the pain to focus her mind.

The Heavenly Dao Board struck her twentieth stroke.

The impact was like a thunderclap. Her entire body jolted forward, and the ginger juice inside her shifted violently. She felt the pressure building, her anus quivering with the effort of holding.

"I can do this," she whispered to herself. "I am Li Que. I am the vice-sect leader of the Vermilion Bird Sect. I will not break."

But the board was relentless. Stroke after stroke, it hammered her bottom, turning the firm athletic flesh into a pulpy mess. The pain from the spanking and the burning from the ginger merged into one overwhelming sensation that filled her entire existence.

On the thirty-fifth stroke, Li Que's anus gave way.

A hot stream of ginger-infused intestinal fluid shot out of her, splashing onto the floor beside Lin Qiaoxin's mess. She collapsed forward, sobbing, her body wracked with shame and agony.

"I'm sorry, Master," she whimpered. "I'm sorry. I tried. I really tried."

Xuanfa walked slowly around them, observing the puddles of fluid on the floor, the ruined state of their bottoms, the tears streaming down their faces.

"Both of you failed," he said, his voice cold and flat. "Your punishment is now doubled. Four hundred strokes each. And you will remain in this position until every single stroke has landed."

He raised his hand, and the Heavenly Dao Board began to glow with renewed power.

"You will also clean this floor with your tongues when we are finished," he added.

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The morning sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone streets of Wuling City as Xuanfa strode through the main gate, his black training clothes immaculate, his expression cold and unreadable. At his heels, two naked women crawled on all fours, leather dog leashes attached to the collars around their necks. Lin Qiaoxin’s double ponytails bounced with each movement, her youthful face flushed with exertion, while Li Que’s red hair swung in a high ponytail, her athletic body glistening with sweat.

Passersby froze mid-step. Merchants abandoned their stalls. Children were hurried away by horrified parents. The sight of two beautiful women—completely naked, crawling like animals—drew gasps and murmurs that rippled through the crowd like a wave.

“By the heavens... that’s Vice Sect Leader Li Que of the Vermilion Bird Sect!”

“And the formation genius Lin Qiaoxin! What happened to them?”

The marks on their bottoms were impossible to ignore. Angry red welts crisscrossed their buttocks, some faded to purple bruises, others fresh and bright. The flesh was swollen, misshapen, bearing the unmistakable signature of repeated punishment. Yet the two women moved with docile obedience, their heads lowered, their knees scraping against the rough stone as they crawled forward.

But in the shadows of their own bodies, where no one could see, a different story unfolded. Lin Qiaoxin’s inner thighs trembled violently. Her anus and vagina were packed tightly with ginger juice—the pungent, sharp liquid had been injected deep into her bowels and womb hours ago. Every movement, every crawl, sent fiery spikes of pain through her core. The ginger’s heat was unbearable, a burning that refused to fade, that intensified with each shift of her hips.

Beside her, Li Que’s muscles twitched. Her pride was a distant memory, but her body screamed with every inch of progress. The ginger juice in her own insides felt like molten fire, searing her from within. She bit her lip until it bled, refusing to cry out, but her breath came in ragged gasps.

Xuanfa did not look back. He walked with measured steps, his fingers occasionally twitching as if practicing a technique. The leash in his hand was taut, guiding his slaves forward. He did not speak to the crowd, did not acknowledge their stares. He simply led his procession toward the city’s central terrace, a raised stone platform used for public announcements and executions.

On the other side of Wuling City, another spectacle unfolded.

Shen Mengyue crawled through the streets, her naked body exposed to the jeering crowd. Her disciple, a young man named Wei Chen, held her leash with trembling hands. He had been forced to do this—Xuanfa’s orders were absolute, and failure meant death for the entire Immortal Cloud Sect.

Shen Mengyue’s waist-length black hair dragged through the dust, tangled and filthy. Her fair skin, once the envy of cultivation circles, was now marred with dirt and scratches. Her breasts swung freely with each crawl, drawing lewd comments from the crowd. Her buttocks, still bearing the scars of previous punishments, were a mottled canvas of purple and black.

Tears streamed down her face, but she made no sound. She had learned to suffer in silence.

*This is worse than death*, she thought, her mind a maelstrom of agony and shame. *To be seen like this by mortals, by my own disciples... by everyone I once commanded.*

She remembered the lectures she had given in the Immortal Cloud Sect’s grand hall, the reverence in her disciples’ eyes. Now those same disciples might be in this crowd, watching their sect leader crawl like a beast. The thought was a knife twisting in her chest.

Her knees were raw, bleeding. Her palms were scraped. But she crawled on, because Xuanfa had said she would, and Xuanfa always kept his word.

Wei Chen could not meet her eyes. He stared at the ground, his face pale, his hands shaking so badly the leash almost slipped. “Sect Leader... I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...”

“Do not speak,” Shen Mengyue whispered, her voice hoarse. “Just... lead me there.”

The crowd grew thicker as they approached the terrace. Mortals and cultivators alike lined the streets, pointing, laughing, whispering. Some threw rotten vegetables. A piece of spoiled fruit struck Shen Mengyue’s back, splattering pulp across her skin. She flinched but did not stop.

*I am nothing now*, she thought. *I am a body to be used, a lesson to be taught. My cultivation, my title, my honor—all ashes.*

At the base of the terrace, she saw Xuanfa already standing at the center, with Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que kneeling beside him. The two younger women looked up at her with mixed expressions—Lin Qiaoxin’s eyes held a hint of sympathy, while Li Que’s gaze was defiant, as if daring her to complain.

Xuanfa gestured. “Bring her up.”

Wei Chen led Shen Mengyue up the stone steps. The terrace was broad, flat, and elevated, visible from every corner of the square. Hundreds of faces stared up at them. Shen Mengyue crawled to her designated spot, positioned between Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que, and knelt.

Xuanfa surveyed the three naked women, his cold eyes sweeping over their bodies. “Today, I will deliver a public lesson,” he announced, his voice carrying effortlessly across the square. “These three are Nascent Soul cultivators. They thought their realms made them untouchable. They were wrong.”

He raised his hand, and three wooden boards materialized in the air—the Heavenly Dao Boards, each inscribed with ancient runes that glowed with power.

“Kneel. Bend over. Present your bottoms.”

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que obeyed immediately, dropping to their elbows and knees, arching their backs, pushing their plump buttocks high into the air. Shen Mengyue hesitated for a heartbeat, but Xuanfa’s gaze pinned her like a butterfly to a board. Slowly, she lowered herself, feeling the cold stone against her breasts and thighs. She bent over, her swollen buttocks rising, fully exposed to the crowd.

Gasps rippled through the audience. The three women’s bottoms were a study in suffering—Lin Qiaoxin’s round cheeks were striped with fresh welts, Li Que’s athletic buttocks bore deep purple bruises, and Shen Mengyue’s flesh was a mottled mess of old and new injuries.

“Begin,” Xuanfa said.

The Heavenly Dao Boards moved.

The first board descended on Lin Qiaoxin’s right cheek with a thunderous *SMACK*. Her body jolted, a sharp cry escaping her lips. The wood rose and fell again, striking the left cheek, then the right, then the center, each blow perfectly aimed, each impact sending shockwaves through her flesh.

Beside her, Li Que received the same treatment. The board struck with brutal precision, reddening her skin, then purpling it, then raising blisters. She gritted her teeth, refusing to scream, but her grunts were loud enough to be heard.

Shen Mengyue’s board was the largest. It slammed into her buttocks with the force of a meteor, and she cried out despite herself. The pain was exquisite—a white-hot fire that spread from her skin to her bones. Again and again the board fell, each stroke methodical, relentless. Her flesh rippled under the impact, the skin splitting in places, blood beading on the surface.

The crowd cheered. Some clapped. Others jeered, shouting crude suggestions.

Lin Qiaoxin’s eyes were squeezed shut, but a strange smile played on her lips. *I’m serving my master*, she thought. *This pain is nothing. I am useful. I am wanted.*

Li Que felt the same pride. She had chosen this path, had knelt willingly after her defeat, and now she was proving her devotion. The spanking hurt beyond measure, but it was a hurt she had accepted, a hurt that meant she belonged to the strongest.

Shen Mengyue, however, felt only humiliation. The board destroyed her dignity with every blow. She tried to retreat into her mind, to block out the pain and the noise, but the fire in her buttocks was too intense, too real. She wept openly, her tears mixing with the blood that dripped down her thighs.

The spanking continued for an hour.

By the end, their buttocks were unrecognizable. The skin had been beaten to pulp, a grotesque mass of torn flesh, exposed muscle, and oozing blood. The Heavenly Dao Boards had struck with supernatural precision, ensuring maximum damage without killing their subjects. Even Nascent Soul cultivators would need a full week to recover from such punishment.

Xuanfa lowered the boards, but the lesson was not over.

“Spread their legs,” he ordered.

Wei Chen and several other disciples Xuanfa had brought stepped forward. They grabbed the women’s ankles and forcibly pulled their legs apart, exposing their most intimate areas to the crowd. Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue lay on their stomachs, legs wide, their vaginas and anuses fully visible.

The crowd leaned forward, hungry for the next spectacle.

Xuanfa raised his hand again, and a thin, flexible whip materialized. It was made of dark leather, tipped with silver. “The buttocks have been punished,” he said. “Now the cracks must be purified.”

He flicked the whip, and it struck Lin Qiaoxin’s perineum with surgical precision. She screamed—a high, piercing sound that echoed across the square. The whip licked the delicate skin between her vagina and anus, splitting it open. Blood flowed freely. Another flick, and the whip wrapped around her labia, squeezing, then releasing.

Li Que’s turn. The whip struck her anus directly, the silver tip digging into her sphincter. She roared, her back arching, but she did not beg. Shen Mengyue watched in horror as the whip descended on her own crotch. The first blow landed on her clitoris, and she howled, her body convulsing.

Xuanfa whipped them systematically, alternating between the three, ensuring every inch of their butt cracks was punished. He targeted their anuses, their vaginas, their perineums, their inner thighs. The whip was relentless, precise, cruel.

By the time he stopped, their genital areas were swollen to twice their normal size. Their labia were purple and misshapen. Their anuses were puffy, red, weeping. The skin between their legs was a mess of cuts and bruises.

“Now,” Xuanfa said, his voice calm, “the final lesson.”

He produced three anal hooks—curved metal devices with a ring at one end and a thick, bulbous tip at the other. The tips were coated in a clear lubricant that crackled with qi. With practiced ease, he inserted the first hook into Lin Qiaoxin’s swollen anus.

She gasped as the cold metal pushed past her sphincter, filling her completely. The bulbous tip expanded once inside, locking the hook in place. Xuanfa pulled gently on the ring, and the hook tugged at her insides, pulling her rectum taut.

Li Que was next. The hook slid into her with a wet sound, and she grunted, her hands clenching into fists. Shen Mengyue struggled as the disciples held her down, trying to escape, but they pinned her legs and spread her buttocks. Xuanfa knelt behind her and pressed the third hook against her anus.

“No, please,” she begged, her voice raw. “Not that... anything but that...”

He pushed.

The hook forced its way past her tight, swollen sphincter, scraping against the inflamed tissue. She screamed, her body bucking, but the hook seated itself deep inside her. The bulbous tip expanded, and the pain was astronomical—a focused, burning pressure that radiated through her entire pelvis.

Xuanfa stood, a chain in his hand. He attached the rings of the three hooks to a beam that hung from the terrace’s roof. With a flick of his wrist, he hoisted the women upward.

They dangled by their anuses, their full body weight suspended from the hooks. The pain was indescribable—a tearing, ripping sensation that threatened to split them in half. Their legs kicked uselessly, their arms flailing. The hooks shifted inside them with every movement, grinding against their internal organs.

Lin Qiaoxin gritted her teeth, her eyes squeezed shut. *I can endure. For my master. I can endure.*

Li Que’s f

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The week of hanging from anal hooks was an eternity of torment for Shen Mengyue. The physical pain—a constant, gnawing ache deep in her bowels where the iron hooks stretched her open—was bad enough. But the mental humiliation carved far deeper wounds. Every dawn brought fresh waves of shame as she hung suspended above Wuling City's central square, her naked body exposed to the eyes of cultivators and mortals alike. They pointed, whispered, laughed. Some even threw rotten fruit, though none dared come too close.

Before, only the disciples of the Immortal Cloud Sect had witnessed her nude spanking. That memory alone had nearly driven her mad with shame. Now the entire city knew. Shen Mengyue, the proud sect leader of the Immortal Cloud Sect, Nascent Soul mid-stage master, hung like a slab of meat for public display. Her tears had long dried, leaving only a hollow ache in her chest.

Lin Qiaoxin hung to her left, her youthful body swaying slightly in the breeze. The red-haired girl had adapted with surprising ease. She hummed tunelessly during the day, occasionally calling out jokes to the crowd below. "Hey, do you think my bottom looks better than hers? I've been working on my squats!" The crowd would laugh, and Lin Qiaoxin would grin as if she were at a festival rather than suspended by hooks through her anus.

Li Que hung to her right, her athletic frame tense but controlled. The former vice-sect leader of the Vermilion Bird Sect had accepted her fate with a strange pride. She refused to beg, refused to cry. When the pain grew too great, she gritted her teeth and stared at the sky, reciving the punishment as a warrior's trial.

But Shen Mengyue could not find such peace.

The seventh day ended as the sun dipped below the horizon. A ripple of spiritual energy passed through the square, and the iron chains groaned. Three platforms rose from below, catching the women's feet. Servants—silent, masked figures in black—approached with oil and gentle hands. One by one, the hooks were carefully withdrawn, the wounds sealed with healing ointment. Shen Mengyue collapsed to her knees the moment she was free, her legs unable to support her.

Xuanfa appeared before them as if conjured from shadow. His black training clothes were immaculate, his face cold and handsome, his eyes betraying nothing. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking down at the three naked women kneeling before him.

"Shen Mengyue," he said, his voice flat and echoing slightly. "Your week of punishment is complete. I offer you a choice."

Shen Mengyue's heart seized. She raised her head, hope flickering in her red-rimmed eyes.

"You may voluntarily enter the Xuan Heaven Realm and become my female slave," Xuanfa continued. "Or you may return to the Immortal Cloud Sect and continue to face the consequences of your previous offenses."

Terror flooded through Shen Mengyue. She threw herself forward, pressing her forehead to the cold stone. "Celestial Venerable! Please, have mercy! I have learned my lesson—I beg you, do not make me a slave! The punishment I have endured—this week of humiliation—it is enough! I offended you, yes, but I have paid the price! Please, I beg you—"

Her voice cracked, tears streaming down her cheeks. She kowtowed repeatedly, her naked body trembling, her bare bottom raised in the air as she prostrated herself.

Xuanfa's expression did not change. "You are stubborn," he said flatly. "Very well."

He raised a hand. Invisible force seized Shen Mengyue, lifting her from the ground and turning her over. She found herself forced into a kneeling position, her upper body pressed flat against the stone platform, her buttocks thrust upward and spread apart. She struggled, but it was useless—the pressure held her immobile.

"Lin Qiaoxin. Li Que."

Both women rose immediately, their faces bright with anticipation. They had been waiting for this.

"Hold her open."

Lin Qiaoxin moved to Shen Mengyue's left, her small hands pressing against Shen Mengyue's buttock cheek, pulling it aside. Li Que took the right, her stronger grip spreading the other cheek wide. Between them, Shen Mengyue's anus was fully exposed—still red and slightly swollen from the week of hook suspension.

Xuanfa produced a small jade bottle. He uncorked it, and the sharp, pungent smell of ginger juice filled the air. Shen Mengyue's eyes went wide with horror.

"No—no, please—not that—"

Xuanfa tipped the bottle. A thin stream of amber liquid poured directly into her exposed anus, filling her rectum with burning fire. Shen Mengyue screamed—a raw, animal sound ripped from her throat. The ginger juice seared through her insides like liquid flame, spreading deep into her intestines. She thrashed against the invisible restraints, but they held her locked in place.

"I didn't say you could struggle," Xuanfa said calmly.

The invisible force pressed harder, forcing Shen Mengyue's body into the exact position he wanted: kneeling, chest flat, bottom high and spread. She could not move a muscle, could only endure the fire burning inside her.

Xuanfa turned to Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que. From his storage ring, he produced two wooden boards—the Heavenly Dao Boards, flat and wide, inscribed with runes that glowed faintly. He handed one to each woman.

"Spank her bottom," he said. "Hard. One hundred strokes each. You may take turns."

Lin Qiaoxin grinned like a child handed a new toy. "With pleasure, Master."

Li Que hefted the board, testing its weight. A cold smile crossed her lips.

Lin Qiaoxin stepped up first. She raised the Heavenly Dao Board high and brought it down across Shen Mengyue's right buttock with a sharp CRACK. The sound echoed across the square. The board left a vivid red mark on the pale skin.

"Say it," Xuanfa said. "With every stroke. 'Thank you, Xuanfa Celestial Venerable, for spanking me.' If you fail to say it, Li Que will pour more ginger juice."

Shen Mengyue screamed, her body jerking against the restraints. The ginger juice was a living fire inside her, and now the spanking added waves of blazing pain atop it. But she said nothing.

CRACK. Lin Qiaoxin struck again, this time on the left cheek.

"Thank... thank you, Xuanfa Celestial Venerable, for spanking me," Shen Mengyue gasped, the words torn from her.

"Louder," Xuanfa said.

"THANK YOU, XUANFA CELESTIAL VENERABLE, FOR SPANKING ME!" she screamed.

CRACK. Another stroke.

"THANK YOU, XUANFA CELESTIAL VENERABLE, FOR SPANKING ME!"

The strokes continued, alternating between Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que. The Heavenly Dao Boards were not ordinary wood—they carried the weight of Xuanfa's authority, amplifying the pain with every blow. Shen Mengyue's bottom turned from pink to red to a deep, angry crimson. The skin began to swell, the flesh hot to the touch.

After thirty strokes, Shen Mengyue's voice grew hoarse. She sobbed the required words, the rhythm of the spanking a constant, merciless beat. After fifty strokes, her bottom was covered in dark bruises, the skin starting to split in places. Blood beaded on the surface.

"Please... please stop..." she begged between strokes. "I'll do it... I'll become your slave... just stop..."

Xuanfa's eyes narrowed. "Are you agreeing, then?"

"Yes! Yes! I agree! Just make it stop!"

Xuanfa raised a hand. Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que stopped mid-swing, their boards hovering in the air.

"Then let us hear the full terms," Xuanfa said. "You will become my female slave. In return, I will not harm the disciples of the Immortal Cloud Sect, and I will offer the sect my protection. Do you accept?"

"Yes! I accept! Please, just stop the pain!"

Xuanfa nodded. The invisible restraints vanished. He reached out, and a ripple of spatial energy opened before them—a doorway into the Xuan Heaven Realm, a vast space of misty mountains and ancient architecture.

"Enter," he commanded.

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que happily followed, their boards still in hand. Shen Mengyue crawled forward, her body aching, her bottom a wreck, her insides still burning with ginger juice. She crossed the threshold into the Xuan Heaven Realm.

The moment she stepped inside, a band of warmth circled her throat. She looked down and saw a slave collar forming—black metal, intricate runes, identical to the ones Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que wore. It locked into place with a soft click, and Shen Mengyue felt the connection form: a thread of spiritual power linking her to Xuanfa, binding her will to his.

"You know the rules of the Xuan Heaven Realm," Xuanfa said, standing before her. "Two hundred strokes of the Heavenly Dao Board. For the offense of disobedience and delay in submission."

Shen Mengyue's heart sank, but she nodded. She had seen what happened when Lin Qiaoxin tried to resist. There was no escape. She took a breath, then lowered herself to her knees, pressing her chest to the ground, raising her ruined bottom high into the air. The position was familiar now—the position of punishment, of submission.

"Count aloud," Xuanfa said. He took the Heavenly Dao Board from Lin Qiaoxin's hand. "And apologize for each stroke." He stepped behind Shen Mengyue.

Shen Mengyue closed her eyes. "I am ready, Master."

Xuanfa swung.

CRACK.

The board landed dead center on her right buttock, right on the darkest bruise. Pain exploded through her like lightning. She gasped.

"One," she forced out through clenched teeth. "I... apologize for my disobedience."

CRACK. The left cheek.

"Two! I apologize for my disobedience!"

CRACK. Lower, near the crease of her thigh.

"THREE! I APOLOGIZE!"

Xuanfa was methodical, relentless. Each stroke landed with precision, spreading the punishment evenly across her swollen buttocks. The Heavenly Dao Board left deep, dark marks that would take days to heal. The pain was beyond anything Shen Mengyue had ever experienced—far worse than the week of hanging, far worse than the ginger juice. This was punishment as art, as ritual, each blow calculated to break her completely.

By fifty strokes, she could no longer hold herself up. The invisible force of the Xuan Heaven Realm held her in position, keeping her bottom raised regardless of her will. Her tears streamed onto the ground, mixing with her saliva as she gasped out numbers and apologies.

"Fifty-seven! I apologize for my offense!"

CRACK.

"Fifty-eight! I apologize! Please forgive me!"

"Louder," Xuanfa said.

"FIFTY-NINE! I APOLOGIZE!"

By one hundred strokes, her bottom was a mess of black and purple bruises, the skin split in several places. Blood ran down her thighs. Her voice was barely a whisper, but she forced herself to continue.

"One hundred thirty-seven... I apologize for resisting..."

CRACK.

"One hundred thirty-eight... I apologize for my pride..."

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que watched from nearby, their expressions a mixture of admiration and satisfaction. This was how the Xuan Heaven Realm worked—complete submission, earned through pain and humiliation.

At two hundred strokes, Shen Mengyue's consciousness was fading. The final blow landed, and she heard Xuanfa's voice as if from a great distance.

"Two hundred. Your punishment is complete."

The invisible force released her. She collapsed onto her side, her ruined bottom pressing against the cool ground, sending fresh waves of agony through her. But she forced herself to move. She had seen Lin Qiaoxin do it. She had seen Li Que do it.

Shen Mengyue pushed herself up, her arms shaking. She crawled across the ground until she reached Xuanfa's feet. There she knelt, her hands on her thighs, her head bowed. She took a breath, then pressed her forehead to the ground in a deep kowtow.

"Moon Slave willingly becomes Master's female slave," she said, her voice hoarse but clear, "and accepts all punishments."

Xuanfa looked down at her for a long moment. Then he reached out and touched her head, a gesture almost gentle.

"Rise, Moon Slave. You have learned well."

Shen Mengyue rose, tears still streaming down her face, but something different in her eyes now. Re

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One hundred years had passed since Xuanfa established his dominion over the Xuan Heaven Realm, and the hallowed halls of his captured domain now bore witness to a daily ritual of discipline and submission. In a vast, open courtyard paved with black jade, a row of thirty or more female cultivators knelt in perfect alignment, their bodies bare, their white, plump bottoms thrust high into the air. Each bottom was a perfect canvas of pale flesh, quivering slightly under the weight of anticipation and fear. These women were not ordinary—they were sect leaders, elders of ancient lineages, genius loose cultivators, and proud young ladies from noble families. Once, they had commanded respect and fear, wielding power that shook the heavens. Now, they were but new female slaves, their pride stripped away along with their robes, waiting for the inevitable punishment that would seal their surrender.

Behind this row of upturned posteriors stood three naked figures, their bodies illuminated by the soft glow of spiritual light that filtered through the courtyard’s barriers. They moved with an air of authority and familiarity, their voices calm yet firm as they instructed the trembling women before them.

“Stick your bottoms higher,” said the first, her voice playful yet commanding. She was Lin Qiaoxin, the Heart Slave. Her hair was still tied in twin black ponytails, though now they hung loose and silken over her shoulders, framing a face that was youthful and enchanting. Her body was lithe and perfectly proportioned, with slender limbs and a waist so narrow it seemed almost fragile. Yet her breasts were full and round, her nipples pink and erect from the cool air. Her skin was smooth as jade, unmarred except for the faint, purple-red stripes that decorated her bottom—a testament to countless punishments endured. She smiled as she spoke, her eyes sparkling with mischief, as if the entire affair were a grand joke.

“Relax your muscles,” said the second, her voice sharp and proud. Li Que, the Sparrow Slave, stood tall and athletic, her red hair tied in a high ponytail that swayed with her movements. Her body was muscular yet feminine, with strong thighs and a firm, round bottom that seemed carved from marble. Her skin was tanned, and her breasts were smaller than Lin Qiaoxin’s but equally pert, her nipples dark and prominent. Her face was arrogant, her red eyes gleaming with a fire that had been tamed but not extinguished. She looked at the new slaves with a mixture of disdain and empathy, knowing well the pain that awaited them.

“Keep your bottoms steady and do not move until the Master commands,” said the third, her voice soft and cold, like the whisper of a winter wind. Shen Mengyue, the Moon Slave, was a vision of ethereal beauty. Her waist-length black hair cascaded down her back, contrasting with her fair, almost translucent skin. Her body was the epitome of mature allure—curves that swelled and dipped in all the right places, with full, heavy breasts that swayed gently as she moved, and a bottom that was plump and round, the flesh soft and yielding. Her face was a blend of coldness and tenderness, her eyes carrying the weight of a hundred years of submission. She moved gracefully, her every gesture elegant and deliberate.

The three slaves had changed much over the century. Under Xuanfa’s constant punishment and guidance, their cultivation had soared. They were now at Nascent Soul mid-stage perfection, one step away from the late stage. Their bodies had become resilient, their minds sharp, and their spirits utterly devoted to their Master. They had learned to endure pain, to find pleasure in submission, and to take pride in their roles as the first and most favored of Xuanfa’s slaves.

As they continued their instructions, a sudden shift in the air made them all pause. The spiritual pressure in the courtyard intensified, and a figure materialized before them. Xuanfa stood tall and cold, his black training clothes immaculate, his face handsome and expressionless. His eyes swept over the scene, taking in the row of trembling bottoms and the three naked slaves who had turned to face him.

In an instant, Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue dropped to their knees. Their movements were synchronized, a motion practiced ten thousand times. They lowered their heads, placed their hands flat on the ground, and pressed their foreheads against their hands. Then, they raised their bottoms high, presenting their purple-red, swollen buttocks to the Master. The flesh was covered in a crisscross of stripes and bruises, the marks of countless beatings, yet the skin was smooth and the curves inviting.

“Master,” they said in unison, their voices respectful and eager. “We are guiding the new sisters. Does Master wish to watch Heart Slave’s punishment? Or Sparrow Slave’s? Or Moon Slave’s? Rest assured, we will endure to the end and not spoil Master’s fun.”

Xuanfa’s gaze was cold, but a flicker of interest passed through his eyes. He nodded once, a gesture that was both command and permission.

Without hesitation, the three slaves performed an action they had repeated until it was instinct. They reached behind with both hands, fingers finding their anuses, and spread themselves open, revealing the tight, pink openings. The flesh was sensitive and well-trained, and they held the position without flinching.

Above them, the sky shimmered, and three syringes materialized, each filled with a pungent, golden liquid—ginger juice, concentrated and burning. The syringes descended, their tips pressing against the spread anuses, and then, with a soft hiss, they injected the liquid deep into the intestines. The three slaves gasped, their bodies tensing as the fiery sensation filled them. The ginger juice was a special concoction, designed to cause a deep, internal burning that would intensify every spank, making the pain sharper and the ordeal longer.

Once the syringes were empty, they withdrew, and the slaves closed their anuses, holding the liquid within. Their faces were flushed, their eyes glistening, but they maintained their positions, bottoms high and hands planted firmly on the ground.

Six Heavenly Dao Boards appeared in the air—two for each slave, one on the left and one on the right. The boards were black and gleaming, inscribed with ancient runes that pulsed with energy. They hovered for a moment, then, with a crack that split the air, they descended.

The first blow struck Lin Qiaoxin’s bottom. The board slammed into her right cheek, the impact sending a shockwave through her flesh. The sound was a sharp, wet slap, followed by a muffled groan from the Heart Slave. Her bottom wobbled, and a bright red mark appeared on the pale skin. The second board struck her left cheek, and she cried out, a sound that was both pain and pleasure. Her body arched, but she held her position, her fingers digging into the ground.

Li Que received her first blow with a grunt, her athletic body absorbing the impact. The board left a deep, purple bruise on her firm bottom, and she gritted her teeth, her red hair whipping around her face. The second blow was harder, and her entire body shuddered, a low moan escaping her lips.

Shen Mengyue’s punishment began with a soft, sharp cry. The board struck her plump, soft bottom, and the flesh jiggled like a wave. Her fair skin turned pink immediately, then red, and she let out a breathless squeal. The second board hit her lower curve, and she sagged slightly, her delicate features contorted in pain.

The boards continued their relentless assault. Left, right, left, right—each stroke was precise and brutal. The slaves’ bottoms began to glow with heat, the purple-red stripes darkening into deep bruises. The sound of the boards hitting flesh echoed through the courtyard, a rhythmic symphony of punishment.

Lin Qiaoxin’s playful nature showed even in her suffering. Between gasps and cries, she would let out a half-choked laugh, her eyes tearing up as she whispered, “Ah, that one stung! Master, you’re so strong!” But she never broke position, her bottom taking the punishment with a resilience born of years.

Li Que’s pride burned within her. She refused to scream, instead letting out sharp, controlled breaths. The boards left deep, angry marks on her athletic bottom, but she endured, her eyes blazing with a fire that was now dedicated to pleasing her Master.

Shen Mengyue cried freely, her tears dripping onto the ground as she sobbed. But her sobs were not of true pain—they were an offering, a surrender. Each board that struck her soft bottom sent waves of pleasure through her pain, and her mind drifted into a state of blissful submission. She murmured, “Thank you, Master… thank you…”

The count reached one hundred, then two hundred, and still they held. The ginger juice inside them began to burn more fiercely, the internal fire combining with the external pain. Their intestines clenched, but they had trained for this. They tightened their muscles, holding the liquid within.

At two hundred and fifty strokes, Lin Qiaoxin’s bottom was a mass of purple and black, the skin swollen and hot to the touch. She panted heavily, her twin ponytails soaked with sweat. Yet she still smiled, her voice slurred but cheerful. “Almost there, Master… Just fifty more… I can do it…”

Li Que had stopped breathing audibly, her body trembling with the effort of control. Her bottom was covered in deep, parallel stripes, each one raised and angry. She focused on the ground, her vision blurring, but her spirit unbroken.

Shen Mengyue had gone silent, her body limp but still held in position by sheer will. Her bottom was a canvas of searing red and black, the soft flesh now hard and lumpy from the beating. She whimpered softly, each board striking her like a hammer on an anvil.

Finally, the three hundredth stroke landed. The boards hit all six cheeks simultaneously, a thunderous crack that seemed to shake the very foundations of the courtyard. The three slaves screamed in unison, a long, drawn-out cry that echoed into the distance.

Then, silence.

The boards vanished. The slaves remained kneeling, their heads bowed, their bottoms quivering in the air. They counted inwardly, checking if the ginger juice had held. Not a drop had spilled.

Lin Qiaoxin was the first to speak, her voice hoarse but steady. “Three hundred strokes completed, Master. Heart Slave did not spill the ginger juice.”

“Sparrow Slave completed the punishment,” Li Que said, her voice tight but proud.

“Moon Slave endured, Master,” Shen Mengyue whispered, her voice fragile yet clear.

Xuanfa stood before them, his expression unchanged. He looked at the three bottoms, each a masterpiece of discipline and submission, and allowed a slight nod of satisfaction. It was a rare gesture, and the three slaves felt a surge of warmth and pride that outweighed their pain.

But Xuanfa’s mind was already elsewhere. He looked past them, toward the row of new female slaves trembling in anticipation. He thought of the countless high-realm female cultivators still out there, untouched by his Heavenly Dao Boards—proud Nascent Soul elders who had never felt the sting of his punishment, arrogant young ladies who still believed themselves above such things. He imagined their screams, their tears, their white bottoms raised in surrender.

A new plan took shape in his mind. He would found a sect, a gathering of these female slaves under his command. They would serve as elders, their punishment setting an example for new disciples. The sect would be a haven for discipline, a place where pride was broken and submission became strength. He would call it… the Spanking Phoenix Sect.

As the thought solidified, he turned and walked away, his black robes flowing behind him. The three slaves remained kneeling, their bottoms still high, waiting for his next command. And in the shadows of the Xuan Heaven Realm, the seeds of a new order began to grow.

The Spanking Phoenix Sect rose from the northern ridge of the Xuan Heaven Realm, its peak piercing the clouds like a jade finger pointing at the heavens. Xuanfa had chosen the location with care—a mountain rich in spiritual energy, where mists coiled around ancient pines and waterfalls cascaded down cliffs of black jade. The sect halls and training grounds had been raised in mere days by his will, their design both elegant and imposing.

At the entrance to the main sect hall, a massive plaque hung above the double doors, the characters carved in gold: Spanking Phoenix Sect.

Below the plaque, three female slave elders knelt in a row, their bodies completely bare except for the leather collars around their necks and the chains that connected those collars to Xuanfa's hand. Lin Qiaoxin knelt on the left, her black double ponytails swaying as she turned her head to wink at the gathered disciples. Li Que knelt in the middle, her red hair tied in a high ponytail that fell forward as she bowed her head, her athletic body tense with anticipation. Shen Mengyue knelt on the right, her waist-length black hair cascading down her back, her fair skin gleaming in the morning light.

Beside them, forced to kneel by Xuanfa's command, was Murong Ying.

The Tianfeng Sect leader had been stripped naked the moment Li Que had thrown her to the ground at the mountain gate. Now she knelt on the cold stone, her hands bound behind her back with spiritual rope, her face a mask of fury and humiliation. Her body was elegant, her skin pale, her breasts full, but her eyes burned with defiance.

"You cannot do this," Murong Ying spat, struggling against her bonds. "I am the sect leader of Tianfeng. My sect will—"

"Your sect will do nothing," Xuanfa interrupted, his voice cold and flat. He stood before the four kneeling women, his black training clothes immaculate, his handsome face expressionless. In his hand, he held a leather leash that branched into four chains, each connected to a female slave's collar. "You came to provoke. You lost. Now you will be punished."

Lin Qiaoxin giggled, her voice bright and cheerful despite her position. "Oh, Master, I do hope you're planning to give Heart Slave a good spanking today. It's been so long since the disciples have seen me get properly punished."

"Three days," Li Que said flatly. "It has been three days since your last spanking, Heart Slave."

"Three days is an eternity!" Lin Qiaoxin declared, her playful eyes scanning the crowd of disciples who had gathered to watch. Nearly a hundred female cultivators stood in the training ground below the sect hall, their bodies completely naked, their faces a mixture of fear, curiosity, and anticipation. "Don't you agree, disciples? Should Heart Slave receive a proper spanking today?"

A few of the disciples nodded hesitantly. Others looked away, unable to meet the eyes of the elders who knelt so shamelessly before them.

Shen Mengyue spoke, her voice calm and gentle, carrying the dignity of a sect leader even as she knelt naked on the stone. "Disciples, do not be afraid. This is the way of the Spanking Phoenix Sect. To be punished by the master is an honor. It means you have been noticed. It means you have proven yourself worthy of his attention."

Murong Ying laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "You call this an honor? To be stripped naked and beaten like dogs? You have lost all dignity. You have lost all shame."

"We have found something greater than dignity," Shen Mengyue replied, her voice soft but unwavering. "We have found purpose."

Xuanfa tugged on the leash, and the three female slaves immediately adjusted their positions, lowering their upper bodies until their chests touched the stone, raising their hips high in the air. Their bottoms were presented to the crowd—purple-red, bruised, bearing the marks of countless previous punishments.

"You will do the same," Xuanfa said, his eyes falling on Murong Ying.

"I will not," Murong Ying snarled. "I am not your slave. I am not your—"

A flick of Xuanfa's finger, and a burst of spiritual energy struck Murong Ying's rear, the impact sharp and precise. She cried out, her body jerking forward, her bottom instinctively rising to escape the pain. But Xuanfa's will pressed down on her, forcing her into the same position as the others.

"You will learn," Xuanfa said. "Or you will break."

Murong Ying's teeth ground together, her face red with shame and rage. But she could not resist. The spiritual pressure was absolute, crushing her will beneath its weight. She knelt with her chest on the stone, her hips raised, her bare bottom presented to the watching crowd.

The disciples below murmured among themselves, their eyes fixed on the four raised buttocks before them. Some of them had been spanked before—by their masters, by their parents, in the heat of discipline or punishment. But none of them had ever seen anything like this. Four Nascent Soul cultivators, one of them a sect leader, kneeling naked and exposed, waiting to be beaten like children.

Xuanfa released the leash, letting the chains fall to the ground. He raised his right hand, and four Heavenly Dao Boards materialized in the air before him—flat, rectangular slabs of jade, each inscribed with glowing runes that pulsed with power.

"The rules of the Spanking Phoenix Sect are simple," Xuanfa announced, his voice carrying across the training ground. "Those who serve well are rewarded. Those who excel are rewarded. And the reward for meritorious service is public spanking."

He paused, his cold eyes sweeping over the crowd.

"Heart Slave has served as formation elder, teaching our disciples the art of arrays. Her students have shown remarkable progress. For this, she is rewarded."

Lin Qiaoxin's bottom wiggled slightly, her voice bright with excitement. "Thank you, Master! Heart Slave is most grateful!"

"Moon Slave has managed the internal affairs of the sect with diligence and precision. Under her care, the sect's resources have grown, its halls have been maintained, its disciples have been fed and clothed. For this, she is rewarded."

Shen Mengyue's voice was steady, though a faint tremor ran through it. "Thank you, Master. Moon Slave accepts this honor."

"Sparrow Slave defeated the Tianfeng Sect leader in single combat, defending the honor of the Spanking Phoenix Sect. For this, she is rewarded."

Li Que's voice was flat, almost bored. "Thank you, Master."

Xuanfa's eyes turned to Murong Ying. "And the Tianfeng Sect leader dared to challenge us. She has been defeated. She has been captured. She will be punished as an example to all who would oppose the Spanking Phoenix Sect."

"I am not one of your slaves!" Murong Ying shouted, her voice cracking with fury. "You cannot—"

"Silence," Xuanfa said.

The Heavenly Dao Boards moved.

The first board struck Lin Qiaoxin's bottom with a crack that echoed across the training ground. Her body jolted forward, a sharp gasp escaping her lips, but she maintained her position, her hips still raised, her bottom still presented. The board rose and fell again, and again, each impact leaving a fresh red mark on her already bruised flesh.

"One!" the disciples counted, their voices hesitant at first, then growing stronger as the rhythm took hold.

"Two! Three! Four!"

Lin Qiaoxin's bottom bounced with each strike, the flesh trembling under the force of the blow. Her breath came in quick gasps, but her voice remained bright, almost cheerful. "Oh, that is a good one, Master! Right on the sweet spot! Five! Six! Ah, that one stung a bit!"

Murong Ying watched in horror as Lin Qiaoxin's bottom turned from purple-red to a deeper shade, the skin breaking in places, thin lines of blood appearing on the surface. Yet the young female slave did not cry out in pain. She did not beg for mercy. She counted each strike, her voice steady, her body accepting the punishment as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"How can you—" Murong Ying began.

The second board struck her bottom, and her thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm.

The pain was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was not the sharp, clean pain of a sword wound or the dull ache of a broken bone. It was a deep, burning, spreading agony that radiated from her rear to every corner of her body, setting her nerves on fire, stealing her breath and her voice.

She screamed.

The board struck again, and her scream rose in pitch. She tried to move, to escape, to crawl away, but Xuanfa's spiritual pressure held her in place, forcing her to remain in position, forcing her to accept each blow.

"One," she heard someone count, and she realized with horror that it was her own voice, broken and desperate. "Two. Three."

"That's it," Li Que said from beside her, her voice calm as the board continued to rain down on her own bottom. "Count them. Accept them. The pain will pass, but the humiliation will last forever. That is the point."

"Shut up!" Murong Ying screamed. "Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!"

The board struck again, and her words dissolved into sobs.

Shen Mengyue's voice rose above the chaos, calm and measured, as if she were lecturing in a classroom. "Disciples, pay attention. Observe how Heart Slave maintains her position despite the pain. Observe how Sparrow Slave controls her breathing. Observe how the Tianfeng Sect leader learns to accept what cannot be changed."

The disciples below watched in rapt silence, their eyes wide, their bodies tense. Some of them covered their mouths, their faces pale. Others leaned forward, their curiosity overcoming their horror.

"How long will this go on?" one disciple whispered.

"Until the master is satisfied," another replied.

Lin Qiaoxin, despite the tears streaming down her face, managed to call out to the disciples between strikes. "Don't... don't be afraid, little ones! This is... this is just cultivation! Learning to endure! Learning to submit! Learning that... that the master's will is absolute!"

"Twenty-eight! Twenty-nine!" Li Que counted, her voice flat and steady. "You talk too much, Heart Slave."

"Thirty! And I talk... exactly the right amount, Sparrow Slave!"

The board struck Li Que's bottom with particular force, and she grunted, her body jerking forward. Her hands clenched into fists, her muscles tensed, but she did not cry out. She simply took the blow and continued counting.

"Thirty-one."

Murong Ying had stopped screaming. The pain had become a constant, throbbing presence, a background noise that filled her entire being. Her bottom felt like it was on fire, the skin split and bleeding, the flesh bruised and swollen. She could not think. She could not feel anything except the pain and the humiliation and the endless, relentless rhythm of the board.

"Forty-seven," she heard herself whisper. "Forty-eight. Forty-nine."

"Good," Xuanfa said, and his voice was the first sound that cut through the haze of her suffering. "You are learning."

She wanted to spit at him. She wanted to curse him. She wanted to tell him that she would never learn, never submit, never accept this degradation. But the words would not come. All that came was the counting, the endless counting, as the board rose and fell and rose and fell.

Shen Mengyue's bottom was a mess of purple and red, the skin glossy with blood, the flesh quivering with each impact. Yet her voice remained steady, her posture perfect, her dignity intact despite her position.

"Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine. Sixty."

She turned her head slightly, addressing the disciples who watched from below.

"Disciples," she said, her voice carrying clearly despite the pain, "I want you to understand something. The master does not punish us because he hates us. He punishes us because he values us. Each strike is a lesson. Each bruise is a mark of his attention. Each moment of pain is a moment of growth."

"If you train hard, if you prove yourselves worthy, you too may one day kneel here, naked and exposed, and receive his punishment. It is the

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The morning sun cast long shadows across the vast training grounds of the Spanking Phoenix Sect. The air was thick with anticipation as a thousand female cultivators stood in perfect formation, their bodies bare, their heads held high despite their nakedness. The outer perimeter stretched for miles, and the sight of so many exposed bodies would have scandalized any orthodox sect. But this was no orthodox sect.

In the center of the grounds, a raised platform of polished white stone gleamed under the sunlight. Behind it stood a tall wooden frame, and mounted upon it was the Heavenly Dao Board—an ancient, dark slab of wood that had touched the bare bottoms of countless women. Its surface was worn smooth from use, yet it carried an aura of authority that made even the most arrogant cultivators tremble.

The disciples at the outer perimeter knelt in unison, their bare knees pressing into the cold stone. They lowered their foreheads to the ground, their exposed bodies shivering not from cold but from reverence.

From a path leading to the platform, fifty female slave elders crawled on all fours. Their bodies were marked with the scars of past punishments, their buttocks bearing the evidence of their devotion. They moved in perfect synchronization, their hands and knees carrying them forward with practiced grace. When they reached their designated positions in rows before the platform, they knelt and pressed their foreheads to the stone, their scarred bottoms raised high.

The gathered disciples held their breath.

A heavy silence descended.

Then came the sound of footsteps.

Xuanfa emerged from the shadows of the main hall, dressed in his black training clothes. His face was cold as carved jade, his eyes sweeping across the assembled crowd with the dismissive authority of a god. In his left hand, he held three leather leashes.

Behind him, crawling on all fours, came Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue.

Leather collars encircled their necks, connected to the leashes in Xuanfa's hand.

Lin Qiaoxin's usual playful demeanor was absent, replaced by solemn devotion. Her youthful body moved with the eager energy of a pet pleased to be noticed by its master. Her double ponytails, still intact despite her nudity, bounced slightly as she crawled.

Li Que crawled with stiff, proud movements, as if her body remembered the arrogance she once possessed while her mind accepted her current station. Her athletic form was tense, coiled with suppressed energy, but she followed without hesitation.

Shen Mengyue moved with elegant grace, her waist-length black hair trailing across the stone floor. Her ethereal beauty seemed almost out of place in this position, yet she showed no shame. Her pale skin and mature curves were on full display, and her face held an expression of serene acceptance.

Xuanfa led them to the platform. The three climbed the steps on all fours, then positioned themselves beside him, kneeling. Lin Qiaoxin knelt to his left, Li Que to his right, and Shen Mengyue slightly behind.

"Begin," Xuanfa said, his voice carrying across the silent grounds.

Lin Qiaoxin rose to her knees, her hands clasped before her. Her voice, usually so light and teasing, now carried weight.

"Fellow disciples of the Spanking Phoenix Sect, we gather today not to honor ancestors or divine artifacts. We gather to honor this." She gestured to the Heavenly Dao Board. "This board has touched the bottoms of every woman here. It has taught us humility. It has taught us submission. It has taught us our place."

Li Que took over, her proud voice controlled. "This sect was founded because the cultivation world forgot its duties. Women were allowed to run rampant, their arrogance unchecked, their bottoms unpunished. The Spanking Phoenix Sect exists to correct that imbalance."

Shen Mengyue spoke last, her voice carrying the refined cadence of a sect leader's address. "The phoenix is a symbol of rebirth. When a woman submits to the board, she is broken. But from that breaking, she rises anew—more powerful, more devoted, more worthy of cultivation. Thus we are the Spanking Phoenix Sect."

The three turned to face the assembled disciples.

"Remember your duty," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice gaining a harder edge. "You are here to accept all the master's humiliation and punishment. You will endure whatever shame and pain he deems fit. You will crawl like dogs. You will not rise without his command."

Li Que's eyes swept across the crowd. "When you salute the master, you will not bow. You will kneel, lower your head, and stick out your scarred bottom as high as you can. This is your greeting. This is your acknowledgment of your place."

Shen Mengyue demonstrated, turning around, kneeling, and pressing her forehead to the platform while raising her hips as high as possible. Her scarred buttocks, still bearing faint marks from previous punishments, pointed toward the sky like an offering.

The thousand disciples followed suit, the sound of knees hitting stone echoing across the grounds.

Xuanfa watched in silence, his face betraying nothing.

After a long moment, the three elder female slaves rose.

"Now," Lin Qiaoxin said, her playful tone creeping back, "let's talk about cultivation."

She launched into a detailed explanation of qi circulation techniques—but focused on how to maintain composure during punishment. "You must learn to circulate your qi even as the board strikes. The pain will try to disrupt your flow. Fight it. Let the pain sharpen your focus rather than scatter it."

Li Que spoke on endurance techniques. "Breathe through the strikes. Inhale before the board falls, breathe out on impact. If you scream, scream through the technique. Do not waste your breath on useless crying."

Shen Mengyue guided them on a set of movements designed to present their bottoms for punishment in a manner pleasing to the master. "Spread your knees wider. Arch your back more. Present yourself like an offering. The master appreciates when you make his task easier."

The disciples practiced the movements, their bare bodies shifting under the morning sun.

Then Xuanfa stepped forward.

He raised his hand, and thousands of small jade bottles materialized, floating before each disciple. "Elixirs to assist your cultivation," he said, his voice flat. "Take one daily."

He raised his hand again, and a dozen magical artifacts appeared before certain disciples—those who had shown exceptional progress. A flying sword here, a defensive talisman there.

"Weed the weak, reward the strong," Xuanfa said.

Then his eyes swept toward five figures kneeling at the edges of the female slave elder formation.

"You five. Approach."

The five women crawled forward, their bodies shaking with a mixture of fear and excitement. They had applied to become full female slave elders, and now the moment of decision had arrived.

Xuanfa produced five leather collars, each studded with a small formation array that would bind the wearer's qi, preventing them from raising their cultivation against their master.

One by one, he fastened the collars around their necks.

"You are now female slaves of the Spanking Phoenix Sect," he said.

The five women lowered their heads, their emotions a tangled mess. Joy, because their cultivation would advance further under Xuanfa's direct tutelage. Fear, because their bottoms would face far more severe punishment.

"Take your positions," Xuanfa said.

The five crawled to where the female slave elders knelt, positioning themselves at the end of the rows.

Now the fifty female slave elders knelt in five rows of ten. They turned around, presenting their buttocks to the platform. Their bodies tensed, knowing what came next.

Xuanfa raised his hand.

The air shimmered.

Countless Heavenly Dao Boards materialized, floating before each female slave elder. They were identical to the board on the platform—dark, worn, radiating authority.

"Two hundred strokes," Xuanfa said. "Endure. Do not dodge. Do not shield."

The boards struck.

The sound was like thunder. The first impact landed on all fifty bottoms simultaneously, sending a shockwave through the air. The female slaves cried out, some screaming, some groaning, but none moved to avoid the blows.

The boards fell again.

And again.

The rhythm was relentless. Strike. Wait three seconds. Strike again. The wood connected with flesh in a steady, merciless cadence.

The younger disciples in the outer perimeter watched with wide eyes. Some covered their mouths. Others trembled. But they did not look away.

The fiftieth stroke landed. Some of the female slave elders had tears streaming down their faces. Some had bitten their lips bloody. But they held their positions, their bottoms raised, their scarred flesh taking blow after blow.

The hundredth stroke. The buttocks of the fifty women were now a deep, angry red. Bruises were forming. Some were openly sobbing.

But they did not dodge.

The hundred and fiftieth stroke. The skin was beginning to break in places. Blood dotted the wooden boards.

But they did not shield.

The two hundredth stroke landed with finality. The boards vanished.

The fifty female slave elders collapsed forward, their bodies shaking, their breath coming in ragged gasps. But they immediately struggled back into position, kneeling, pressing their foreheads to the ground.

Xuanfa nodded once. "Acceptable."

Now the focus shifted.

Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue crawled to the center of the platform.

Lin Qiaoxin's youthful body was tense, her playful energy replaced by solemn anticipation. Her fair skin seemed almost to glow in the sunlight, and her double ponytails swayed as she moved.

Li Que's athletic form coiled with suppressed defiance that she was actively suppressing. Her red hair was tied in its high ponytail, and her muscles rippled under her skin as she positioned herself.

Shen Mengyue moved with ethereal grace, her waist-length black hair spreading across the stone floor. Her pale skin and mature curves made her look like a goddess about to accept a sacrifice.

The three knelt before Xuanfa, pressing their foreheads to the platform.

"Master," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice trembling slightly, "we thank you for this opportunity to prove our devotion."

"We submit to your judgment," Li Que said, her proud voice genuinely humbled.

"We accept whatever punishment you deem fit," Shen Mengyue said, her voice carrying the weight of a former sect leader entirely given to her new master.

Xuanfa looked down at them, his face expressionless.

"Five hundred strokes. Each."

The three kowtowed again. "We thank the master."

They turned around, knelt, and stuck out their bottoms as high as they could.

Lin Qiaoxin's cheeks were round and soft, her youthful flesh jiggling slightly as she settled into position. She spread her knees wider, arching her back to present herself fully.

Li Que's bottom was firm and athletic, curved and hard from years of training. It had less give than Lin Qiaoxin's, but the form was no less appealing, with muscles that tensed in anticipation.

Shen Mengyue's bottom was plump and perfect, full and heavy with the generous curves of a mature woman. Her waist-length black hair cascaded down her back, spilling beside her arched bottom.

Xuanfa raised his hand.

Fifty Heavenly Dao Boards appeared before each of the three women.

The boards struck.

Lin Qiaoxin gasped, her body jolting forward from the impact. "Ah! Thank you, Master!"

Li Que grunted, her fists clenching against the stone floor. "A-ah... thank you..."

Shen Mengyue let out a controlled breath, her body absorbing the blow. "Thank you, Master."

The boards struck again, this time on the same spot.

Lin Qiaoxin's voice grew tighter. "Harder... please... I can take more..."

Li Que's jaw clenched. "Is that all you've got, Master? Ah—that's better!"

Shen Mengyue's composure began to crack. "M-Master... I... I will endure..."

The tenth stroke landed, and the first hints of colo

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The courtyard of the Immortal Cloud Sect lay in ruins, the air thick with the scent of ozone and shattered spiritual energy. Xuanfa stood at the center, his black training clothes immaculate, not a single strand of hair out of place. His cold eyes swept over the weeping disciples huddled together near the broken pillars of the main hall. They were all women, robes torn, faces streaked with tears, their cultivation shattered like the stone beneath their feet.

He spoke, his voice flat, devoid of any emotion. "The Immortal Cloud Sect has defied the decree of the Xuanfa Celestial Venerable. As punishment, every female cultivator of this sect will receive a spanking—one hundred strokes of the Iron Wood Board, administered here and now."

A fresh wave of sobs broke out among the disciples. Some fell to their knees, clutching each other. A young girl with a braid couldn't stop trembling, her voice a broken whisper. "Please, Celestial Venerable, we beg your forgiveness."

Xuanfa made a small gesture with his finger. The Iron Wood Board materialized in the air beside him, a dark slab of iron-hard wood, its surface scarred from countless punishments. "Line up," he said. "Or I will double the strokes."

Shen Mengyue stepped forward. Her black and white Daoist robes were singed at the edges, her waist-length black hair disheveled from the battle, but her back was straight. She moved between Xuanfa and her disciples, her face pale but composed. She dropped to her knees, then pressed her forehead to the cold stone floor.

"Celestial Venerable," she said, her voice steady but soft, "these disciples are innocent. They followed my orders. I alone bear the fault for opposing you. Please, punish only me."

Xuanfa looked down at her. The silence stretched, broken only by the muffled weeping of the disciples. Then he spoke. "You would take their punishment upon yourself?"

"Yes." Shen Mengyue raised her head, meeting his gaze. Her eyes were red, but she did not look away. "Whatever you decree, I will bear it."

"Bold." A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth, but it was not warm. "If you alone are punished, it must be a severe one. Not the Iron Wood Board. Not the Xuan Wood Board. The Heavenly Dao Board." He paused, letting the name sink in. The disciples gasped. Shen Mengyue's hands, still pressed to the ground, trembled. "Every day, two hundred strokes. One hundred at dawn, one hundred at dusk. Administered here, at the entrance of your sect hall, in full view of all your disciples. The punishment will last thirty years."

Thirty years. Two hundred strokes of the Heavenly Dao Board every single day. The board was legendary—a divine artifact that struck not only the flesh but the soul. Even a Nascent Soul cultivator could heal any wound by the next day, but the pain was absolute. It would not fade, would not be forgotten. It would be a constant, daily humiliation.

Shen Mengyue's face turned as white as the clouds on her robes. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She looked back at her disciples—all young women, some barely past foundation building, their eyes wide with fear. They were her children, in a way. She had raised them, taught them, protected them.

She bowed her head again. "I accept."

Xuanfa raised a hand. He pointed at her, and with a whisper of immortal magic, her robes dissolved. The black and white Daoist fabric shredded into nothing, falling away like autumn leaves. Her undergarments followed, leaving her completely naked in the chilly evening air.

Shen Mengyue did not move. She kept her forehead pressed to the ground, but her entire body flushed crimson. Her skin was pale, smooth, the body of a woman in her prime—full breasts, a slender waist, hips that curved generously. Her hair spilled down her back, the only cover she had left. The disciples averted their eyes, some covering their mouths, but they could not look away entirely.

Xuanfa's gaze traveled over her, cold and appraising. "Rise," he said. "Assume the position."

She rose to her feet, her movements stiff. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, then relaxed. She walked to the entrance of the sect hall, where the stone steps led up to the grand double doors. She turned her back to the courtyard, where all her disciples stood, and lowered herself. Her upper body bent forward until her palms and forearms rested flat on the cold stone. Her knees sank to the ground, her thighs spread slightly for balance. Her buttocks rose high, bared and exposed to everyone.

The position was obscene. Degrading. She felt the eyes of a hundred disciples on her bare back, her raised rear. The evening wind brushed across her skin, making her shiver.

Two Heavenly Dao Boards materialized in the air behind her. They were longer and wider than the Iron Wood Board, etched with divine runes that glowed faintly gold. They floated side by side, poised.

Xuanfa watched from a few paces away. "Begin," he said.

The first board swung. It struck her right buttock with a sound like a thunderclap. The impact lifted her off the ground, drove the air from her lungs. A red welt bloomed instantly across her skin. Before she could even draw breath, the second board struck—her left buttock, a mirror of the first. Her cry was strangled, barely a whimper.

The boards did not pause. They swung in perfect rhythm, left, right, left, right, each blow landing with the force of a full-power attack. Shen Mengyue gripped the stone steps, her knuckles white. She tried to hold still, tried to maintain some shred of dignity, but her body betrayed her. Her hips bucked and twisted, trying to escape the relentless assault. Her breath came in ragged gasps, then sobs.

By the tenth stroke, her bottom was a mess of red and purple welts, the skin already beginning to split in places. By the twentieth, she was crying openly, tears streaming down her face, her composure shattered. The disciples watched in horror, some crying with her, others covering their ears to block out the sound of wood hitting flesh.

"Count," Xuanfa said.

Shen Mengyue's voice was hoarse, barely audible. "Twenty-one." The board struck. "Twenty-two." Another. "Twenty-three—ah!—twenty-four."

Her counting broke into sobs. The pain was beyond anything she had experienced. It was not just the physical agony—though that was immense, each blow sending waves of fire through her nerves. It was the humiliation. She was the sect leader of the Immortal Cloud Sect, a Nascent Soul mid-stage cultivator, a woman respected across the cultivation world. And now she was bent over bare-assed in front of her disciples, being spanked like a naughty child.

The boards continued without mercy. At the fiftieth stroke, her voice gave out entirely. She could only gasp, tears and saliva mixing on the stone. Xuanfa watched with impassive eyes. He crossed his arms, unmoved.

The sun sank lower, casting long shadows across the courtyard. The boards did not tire. They would continue until one hundred strokes were delivered, and then they would stop. Tomorrow at dawn, they would begin again. And the day after. For thirty years.

Shen Mengyue's mind grew hazy. Through the pain, she thought of her disciples—at least they were spared. At least they would not have to endure this. But they would witness it every day, for three decades. She would be naked before them, beaten and broken, a constant reminder of their sect's submission.

Eighty strokes. Ninety. The boards sped up for the final ten, landing so fast they blurred. Shen Mengyue slumped forward, barely conscious, her bottom a raw, bloody ruin. The last stroke fell, and the boards vanished into golden light.

The silence in the courtyard was absolute.

Xuanfa turned and walked away, his boots clicking on the stone. He did not look back. "Tomorrow at dawn," he said. "Do not be late."

Shen Mengyue lay on the steps, her body shaking, unable to rise. Her disciples rushed forward, but a spectral barrier of immortal magic blocked them, cold and impassable. She was alone, naked, beaten, and utterly humiliated.

And this was only the first day.