The Blissful Slave Immortal Tribulation

The Temple of Bliss stood silent under the gray dawn, its golden eaves dripping with dew. In the abbot's private chambers, Suisui knelt on a silk cushion before the bronze altar, her wrists bound with prayer beads that clicked softly as she trembled.

Jingmiao's fat fingers traced the curve of her spine through the thin robe. "Rise, my child. Today begins your true path."

She raised her head, eyes still carrying remnants of resistance. "I... I accept my place, Master."

"Good." He smiled, his round face appearing almost kind. "Undress."

Her hands moved mechanically, shedding the white robes of Taixu Sword Pavilion. Naked before the altar, she felt the cold air prickle her skin. Jingmiao's palm pressed against her lower belly, warmth spreading through her flesh.

"We begin with the mouth," he said, untying his sash.

She opened her lips without being told. The thick member slid past her tongue, filling her throat. Bitter pre-cum coated her taste buds. She gagged, tears streaming, but did not pull away. His hands cradled her head, guiding rhythm.

"Breathe through your nose. Relax your throat."

She obeyed. Minutes passed. Her jaw ached. Then warmth flooded her mouth, thick and salty. She swallowed, not knowing if she had permission to stop.

He withdrew, patting her head. "Good girl. Now turn around. Present yourself."

She turned, pressing her palms to the cushion, lifting her hips. Cool air touched her exposed sex. His fingers spread her labia, inspecting.

"The Banruo Bodhi Chrysanthemum is awakening. I can feel its pulse."

His shaft pressed against her anus. She braced for pain. Instead, a strange heat bloomed as he entered slowly. The ringed muscles of her channel contracted instinctively, gripping him with unexpected force.

Jingmiao groaned. "Ah... yes. The Bodhi leaf veins already writhe. They sense their master."

His hips began to move with deliberate slowness, each thrust causing her inner walls to ripple with wave-like suction. She bit her lip to suppress a moan. The sensation was wrong—pleasurable in a way that made her stomach twist.

"Your body knows what it needs, even if your mind denies it."

He increased pace. Her anal channel responded with a life of its own, the tiny ringed patterns inside grasping, massaging, drawing him deeper. Heat built at her core, spreading through her pelvis. She gripped the cushion, knuckles white.

"No... this is..."

"Pleasure. You cannot escape it."

Her resistance crumbled as the first wave of climax crashed through her. She cried out, back arching, inner walls clenching rhythmically around his shaft. He continued thrusting through her orgasm, prolonging it until she collapsed, panting.

"Two more today. Then we rest."

---

Days blurred together. He took her in the meditation hall, bent over the sutra table, mouth open against the wooden surface. In the garden, on a stone bench beneath cherry blossoms, her legs wrapped around his waist. In the bath, submerged in hot water, his fingers in her hair, her mouth on his cock.

Each time, the pleasure grew more intense. Her body learned to anticipate, to crave. The initial resistance in her mind weakened like worn silk.

One evening, as he finished inside her, she remained on all fours, breathing heavily. "Master."

"Yes?"

"I..." She swallowed. "I want to dual cultivate with you."

He smiled, stroking her hair. "You are ready."

---

The transformation chamber reeked of incense and herbs. Suisui lay naked on a stone altar while Jingmiao prepared the elixir—a viscous, pearlescent liquid that shimmered with unholy light.

"Drink this. It will open your spiritual meridians to the Jile Flesh Almsgiving Heart Sutra."

She accepted the cup, hands steady. The liquid tasted like honey and copper. Heat exploded in her belly, spreading through every vein. Her body convulsed as foreign energy rewrote her cultivation base, tearing down decades of righteous refinement.

Her meridians screamed. She opened her mouth to scream too, but only a low moan emerged.

"The pain will pass," Jingmiao intoned. "Embrace the transformation."

She felt the old pathways burning away, replaced by channels that throbbed with erotic energy. Her dantian shifted, becoming a furnace of lust rather than pure qi. When it ended, she lay limp, soaked in sweat, her body humming with new potential.

"Now, rise. We begin."

---

Days became cycles of dual cultivation. Jingmiao taught her the sutras, guiding her qi through new patterns. Her body produced fragrance now—a sweet, heady scent that filled the chamber. Her breasts swelled, leaking milky fluid. She caught monks sniffing the air when she passed.

The power growth was undeniable. Her cultivation, once stagnant at Nascent Soul, surged toward Unity. Every session brought her closer to breakthrough.

"Master, I feel it. The threshold."

"Then cross it."

She did, in a climax that seemed to last hours. The world shattered and reformed around her. When she opened her eyes, golden light radiated from her skin. The first Jile Bodhisattva in a century.

Jingmiao bowed before her. "The Temple of Bliss celebrates your ascension. We shall hold a Dharma Assembly in your honor."

---

The main hall blazed with hundreds of butter lamps. Silk banners depicting couples in union hung from the rafters. Monks sat in rows, their robes open, erections visible. At the center, a raised platform draped in crimson velvet awaited.

Suisui entered wearing a garment of sheer red silk that barely covered her nipples. A golden chain linked her pierced navel to a ring between her legs. Her breasts, swollen with milk, bounced with each step.

She climbed the platform, facing the assembly. "Brothers in bliss. I stand before you transformed."

She spread her robe open. Her nipples had grown to the size of thumbs, dark and swollen. Her labia hung plump and elongated, the clitoris protruding like a small thumb, glistening with arousal.

A monk in the front row gasped. "Praise be. Such divine modification."

Another added, "The Bodhisattva's body honors the Jile path."

She turned, showing the crimson tattoo on her vulva—a laughing Buddha riding a lotus, radiating pink light that pulsed with her heartbeat. Then she bent forward, spreading her cheeks to reveal the mandala tattooed around her anus, each petal of the flower a different shade of depravity.

"In my old life, I feared pleasure. I thought purity meant denial. But my master showed me the truth." She touched the mandala, fingers pressing inward. "My body was always meant for this. To give. To receive. To become a vessel of bliss."

Jingmiao rose, gold needle in hand. "Then let us complete your adornment."

He approached, the needle catching the lamplight. Suisui did not flinch as he took her left nipple between thumb and forefinger, stretching it. The cold metal pressed against the sensitive tip.

"Do not move."

The needle pierced through with a sharp pinch. She gasped, eyes watering. Blood beaded, and he wiped it with a cloth before threading a golden ring through the hole. The weight pulled at her flesh, a constant reminder.

He repeated the process on her right nipple. Then he knelt before her, taking her engorged clitoris between his fingers. The piercing here was more delicate. Pain shot through her pelvis as the needle passed through. She whimpered.

"Almost done."

Another ring, this one bearing a tiny bell. When he released it, the bell chimed with each tremor of her body.

"Now, serve."

She knelt before him, taking his shaft between her massive breasts. The rings pressed against his skin as she moved up and down, creating a ridge of friction. Her tongue darted out, licking the glans each time it appeared above her cleavage.

Jingmiao began chanting. The monks joined in, their voices rising in a hypnotic drone.

The sound penetrated Suisui's mind. Waves of heat surged through her, and her body released more fragrance—intoxicating musk that filled the hall. Her milk began to flow, trailing down her breasts, lubricating the friction of her titfuck.

She moaned around his cock, tongue circling the tip.

A monk could wait no longer. He approached from behind, gripping her hips. His cock pushed into her wet cunt without preamble. She gasped, the sensation doubling—mouth filled, pussy filled.

Another monk took her left side, entering her mouth alongside Jingmiao's shaft. Her cheeks bulged. Then a third knelt behind her, wetting his shaft with saliva before pressing against her anal ring.

The Banruo Bodhi Chrysanthemum welcomed him. Her inner walls writhed, leaf-like formations grasping his length. He groaned, thrusting deep.

Three holes filled. Suisui's body became a vessel for collective pleasure. Each thrust sent waves of energy through her spiritual sea, and she drank the combined lust of the monks, refining it into qi.

Her hips writhed. Her tongue worked. Her anus milked.

Jingmiao came first, spurting thick cum into her mouth. She swallowed convulsively. The monk behind her finished seconds later, filling her bowels with hot semen. The one in her cunt followed, pumping his load deep inside.

But they did not withdraw. A new group replaced them, hard and eager. The cycle repeated.

Suisui lost count of orgasms. They came in waves, each one eroding more of her former self. She became pure sensation—a nexus of mouths and cocks and hands and tongues.

Sometime during the endless coupling, her milk sprayed across the face of a monk below her. He drank greedily, then returned to her cunt with renewed vigor.

"Drink, brothers," she purred, words slurred with pleasure. "The Bodhisattva's milk gives strength. Take my gifts. I am yours."

The assembly devoured her. Monks came in her mouth, her cunt, her ass. They came on her breasts, her face, her hair. She was coated in white by the time the sun set.

By midnight, the hundredth monk had spent himself inside her. She lay in a pool of semen, skin glistening, hair matted. Her belly swelled with accumulated seed.

She smiled.

---

In that moment, the final barrier broke. Her anal channel transformed. The Bodhi leaf veins fully activated, every microscopic petal becoming a sentient extension of her will. She flexed, and the petals contracted, forming a perfect, sucking vortex.

The monk still inside her cried out, pounding helplessly as she milked him dry.

"Master," she whispered, reaching for Jingmiao. "I am complete."

He took her hand, entering her ass one last time. The fully awakened Chrysanthemum gripped him like a living thing, drawing him in, dancing along his shaft. Together, they climbed the peak of pleasure.

The world dissolved into light.

---

When Suisui opened her eyes, she knelt before an altar bearing a laughing Buddha statue. Pink light emanated from its eyes.

"I, Suisui, once called the Lily Fairy, renounce my immortal identity. I swear before the Joyful Buddha to become a flesh mother beneath his throne, to never know modesty, to give my body freely for the salvation of all beings."

Pink light flooded the hall. The statue's smile seemed to deepen. Flowers with human features bloomed from the ceiling, moaning as they opened. The lamps burned with erotic fire.

Tears of joy streamed down Suisui's face. "You accept me. Your Grace has accepted me."

Jingmiao placed a crown of lotus petals on her head. "Rise, Jile Bodhisattva. The first of a new era."

---

The next morning, she walked through the streets wearing only a sheer veil and a golden chain that connected her nipple rings. Monks and laymen alike stared. Her fragrance preceded her, clouding their minds.

At the branch temple, she stood on the steps. "I, the Jile Bodhisattva, offer flesh almsgiving for three days. Come, all who seek bliss. My body is a temple open to all."

The faithful knelt, touching their foreheads to the ground. "We thank the Bodhisattva. We thank the Bodhisattva."

She smiled, and her eyes held no trace of the sword immortal she had been. Only hunger.

The first man entered her, and she sig

（本章内容较长，当前页面已截取部分内容）

Xiyue's vision blurred back into focus as consciousness returned in waves, each one bringing with it a sharper awareness of her own body. She lay on the cold floor of the training chamber, her limbs trembling with the aftershocks of a pleasure so intense it had stolen her mind from her. The jade dildo had been removed at some point during her collapse—she did not remember when, did not remember anything after that final, shattering peak.

She drew a ragged breath, and for the first time in days, her thoughts were not clouded by the thick fog of unfulfilled desire. The craving that had gnawed at her insides like a living thing had been sated, if only temporarily. Her body felt hollow, drained, but her mind—her mind was clear.

Too clear.

The clarity was a knife. It cut through the haze and left her staring at the raw truth of what she had become. She had bucked against a lifeless piece of jade. She had begged for it. She had wept and cried out and lost herself so completely that she could not even recall her own name in the moment of her undoing.

Tears welled in her eyes, hot and shameful, but she had no strength left to shed them.

Madam Bai's voice cut through the silence, sharp and businesslike. "Take her back to her room. Let her rest. We have a long night ahead."

Two maidservants lifted Xiyue from the floor with practiced efficiency, supporting her weight as her legs refused to hold her. She was naked, exposed, her skin still flushed with the remnants of arousal she wished she could deny. They did not bother to cover her as they half-carried her through the corridors of the Jile Lou, and Xiyue could only hang her head, her gaze fixed on the floorboards passing beneath her bare feet.

They left her on the bed in her assigned chamber, a room decorated with silks and soft lantern light that felt more like a gilded cage than a sanctuary. The door closed behind them, and Xiyue was alone.

She curled onto her side, drawing her knees toward her chest, and pressed her forehead against the cool silk of the pillow. The silence pressed in around her, heavy and suffocating. She closed her eyes, and the memory of her own degradation played behind her lids like a nightmare she could not wake from.

*I begged.*

The thought was a splinter embedded in her heart. She had begged a piece of polished stone for release. She had pleaded with it, moaned for it, surrendered every last scrap of her dignity to the rhythmic torture of its carved surface. The famed sword immortal of the Taixu Sword Pavilion, the proud peak of the Hundred Flowers List, reduced to a shuddering mess on a brothel floor.

*What would Master think? What would Suisui say, if she could see me now?*

Her fingers dug into the bedding, clenching until her knuckles whitened. But even as the shame burned through her chest, a treacherous whisper rose from the depths of her mind: *But it felt so good.*

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, as if she could crush the thought before it could take root. She could not afford to think that way. She could not afford to feel that way. If she did, she would be lost.

The door opened without a knock.

Xiyue's eyes snapped open, but she did not move from her curled position. Her body was still too weak to rise, too drained to muster the energy for defiance. She heard footsteps, light and unhurried, crossing the room toward her bed.

"Xiyue."

The voice was soft, familiar. Xiyue turned her head just enough to see Xialing standing beside the bed, a bundle of dark fabric draped over her arm. There was no mockery in Xialing's expression, only a tired sort of sympathy that somehow cut deeper than cruelty would have.

"Leave me alone," Xiyue whispered, her voice hoarse.

Xialing did not leave. She set the bundle down on the edge of the bed and sat beside it, her hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from Xiyue's face. The touch was gentle, almost maternal, and Xiyue hated how much she craved the comfort of it.

"I know how you feel," Xialing said quietly.

"No, you don't."

"Don't I?" A bitter smile touched Xialing's lips. "I was where you are now. I remember what it was like, the first time I broke. I remember the shame, the hatred for myself, the desperate wish that I could go back to who I was before." She paused, her fingers still tracing soothing patterns through Xiyue's hair. "But that person is gone, Xiyue. She's never coming back. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be."

Xiyue's throat tightened. "I won't accept it. I won't."

Xialing did not argue. She simply reached for the bundle of fabric and unfolded it, revealing its contents with a rustle of silk and lace.

Xiyue's breath caught.

The garment was unlike anything she had ever seen, let alone worn. It was a bodice of sheer black gauze, so fine it seemed more like a shadow than cloth, barely opaque enough to obscure the skin beneath. The neckline plunged deep between the breasts, held together by a single silver chain that would rest against her sternum. The cups were mere suggestions of coverage—two crescent-shaped panels of embroidered silk that would leave the sides and lower curves of her breasts exposed. Below, a matching strip of fabric barely wide enough to be called a skirt hung from a delicate chain belt, intended to sit low on her hips, leaving her navel and the flat plane of her stomach bare. The back of the garment was even more scandalous, nothing more than a web of silver chains crisscrossing from her shoulders to the small of her back, offering no coverage at all.

And there were more pieces. A garter belt of black leather, thin straps meant to hold stockings that would end mid-thigh. A pair of sheer silk stockings with a single seam running up the back. A tiny scrap of fabric that could only be described as a thong, no wider than two fingers, meant to disappear between her cheeks.

Xiyue stared at the ensemble, and her blood ran cold.

"What is this?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"Your new wardrobe." Xialing's voice was matter-of-fact. "Madam Bai has ordered that from now on, you are to wear only what she provides. No more robes, no more layers. From this moment forward, every man who lays eyes on you will know exactly what you are."

"I won't wear this."

"You will."

Xiyue pushed herself upright, her arms trembling with the effort. "I am a sword immortal of the Taixu Sword Pavilion. I will not parade myself like a—" The word caught in her throat.

"Like a whore?" Xialing finished for her, without malice. "You already are one, Xiyue. The only question is whether you'll admit it."

"Get out."

"Not yet." Xialing rose, gathering the garments in her hands. "The Jile Lou flower carriage departs at the Hour of the Rooster. You will be on it. You will wear what I have brought you, and you will stand beside me at the front of the third tier, where the whole capital can see you."

Xiyue's heart hammered against her ribs. "I won't."

Xialing's eyes hardened. "Do you remember what happened to your second senior brother? The one who tried to resist?"

The words struck like a physical blow. Xiyue's breath left her in a shuddering exhale, and her defiance crumbled into ash in her mouth.

"He's still alive," Xialing continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But he won't be for long if you continue to be difficult. Dugu Xie has been patient with you, Xiyue. Do not mistake his patience for mercy. He will break you one way or another, and if you make him do it the hard way, he will take his anger out on everyone you love before he gets to you."

The tears that had refused to fall earlier finally spilled over, tracing hot paths down Xiyue's cheeks. She hated herself for crying. She hated herself for yielding. She hated the part of her that knew, with cold certainty, that Xialing was right.

"I can't," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I can't stand before them like this. I can't let them see me—" She gestured helplessly at the scandalous garments. "Like that."

"Then close your eyes and pretend it's not real." Xialing sat on the edge of the bed again, her hand finding Xiyue's and squeezing gently. "That's what I do. It's easier, in the beginning, to pretend you're watching someone else."

Xiyue shook her head, a choked sob escaping her lips. But she did not pull her hand away.

Xialing waited, patient and still, until the storm of tears had passed. When Xiyue finally fell silent, her face buried in her hands, Xialing stood and began to lay out the garments on the bed.

"Stand up," she said softly.

Xiyue did not move.

"Stand up, Xiyue. I'll help you dress."

For a long, agonizing moment, Xiyue remained frozen. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to refuse, to fight, to throw the garments back in Xialing's face and accept whatever punishment came. But the memory of her second senior brother's face—kind, brave, defenseless—rose in her mind, and her resistance shattered.

She stood.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the sheer stockings, but Xialing gently pushed them aside. "Let me," she said. "You'll only tear them."

Xiyue stood motionless as Xialing knelt before her, guiding her feet through the stockings one at a time, smoothing the silk up her calves and over her knees. The fabric was cool and smooth against her skin, a whisper of sensation that made her shiver. Xialing's fingers worked the garter belt into place around her waist, adjusting the straps with meticulous care.

The thong came next, and Xiyue felt her face burn as Xialing guided it up her thighs, settling the narrow strip of fabric between her cheeks. It was barely there, a constant, intimate reminder of her exposure.

The bodice was the most humiliating of all. Xialing helped her arms through the sheer sleeves, then fastened the silver chain across her sternum, cinching the crescent cups over her breasts. The fabric offered no support, no coverage—her nipples pressed against the thin silk, visible to anyone who cared to look. The silver chain belt settled on her hips, and the tiny skirt panel hung from it, doing nothing to hide the curve of her waist or the smooth bareness of her belly.

Xialing stepped back to survey her work, then crossed to the vanity and retrieved a small pot of rouge and a brush.

"No," Xiyue said, her voice barely a whisper.

"One small mercy," Xialing replied. "If you let me paint your face, you can hide behind it. The mask of a courtesan. When you wear it, you are not Xiyue of the Taixu Sword Pavilion. You are whoever they want you to be."

Xiyue stood frozen as Xialing approached, as the brush touched her cheeks, her eyelids, her lips. The strokes were light, practiced, transforming her face into something she did not recognize. When Xialing was finished, she took Xiyue by the shoulders and turned her toward the full-length mirror against the wall.

"Look," Xialing whispered.

Xiyue did not want to look. She forced her eyes open, and the reflection that stared back at her was a stranger.

The woman in the mirror was a vision of obscene beauty. Her face was painted like a courtesan's, cheeks flushed, lips rosy and full, eyes lined with kohl that made them look dark and sultry. The sheer black gauze of her bodice clung to every curve, the crescent cups barely containing the swell of her breasts. The silver chain at her sternum glinted in the lamplight, drawing the eye down to her exposed midriff and the low-hanging chain belt that emphasized the curve of her hips.

Her mound was bare—she had not even noticed when they had shaved her, but the skin was smooth, utterly exposed beneath the translucent fabric. The narrow triangle of the thong was visible through the gauze, a dark suggestion of what lay beneath.

The woman in the mirror looked like a whore.

No, Xiyue thought, her stomach twisting. She looks like a whore who has already been claimed by her master.

"This isn't me," she said, her voice hollow.

"It is now." Xialing stepped up behind her, her breath warm against Xiyue's ear. "Loo

（本章内容较长，当前页面已截取部分内容）

The hour of the pig had come. Joyous music still drifted from the departing flower carriage, a garish wooden vessel draped in red silk and painted with lewd murals, returning slowly along the main avenue toward the Jile Lou. Xiyue sat within the open pavilion atop the carriage, her wrists and ankles bound with silver chains that clinked softly as the wheels bumped over cobblestones. The sheer red veil draped over her body did little to cover her, and the evening breeze brushed against her skin through the translucent fabric.

On both sides of the street, men gathered. Their voices carried through the twilight air, coarse and loud, meant to be heard.

"Look at that one—the sword immortal they broke! Still got that cold face, but I bet her cunt's already wet from being shown off all night."

"Little bitch thinks she's too good for us. Just wait until the Jile Lou opens her legs for the right price—I'll be first in line to fuck that arrogant look out of her."

"A hundred taels for a night with her, I'd pay it. Look at those tits under that veil, perfect for grabbing."

Xiyue's ears caught every word. Her lips pressed together, and she turned her face toward the opposite side of the street, away from the crowd. But her eyes did not carry the sharp, cold fire they once held. A faint warmth crept up her neck, and she could not tell if it was shame or something else entirely. Her chest rose and fell beneath the thin fabric, and between her legs, the residual heat from hours of display lingered like an ember not yet extinguished.

She heard Xialing's words from earlier echo in her mind. *The moment you stop caring, those insults become nothing more than wind passing by your ears. Better to simply not listen.*

But she had listened, and after listening, she had imagined. Briefly, fleetingly, like a shadow passing behind a curtain, she saw herself standing in one of those rooms in the Jile Lou, stripped bare, a man's hands on her waist, his breath hot against her neck, and the thought did not bring revulsion. It brought a strange, fluttering warmth deep in her belly.

She shut her eyes and forced the image away.

The carriage rolled through the back gate of the Jile Lou, and the driver pulled the horses to a stop in the rear courtyard. Two servants lowered the steps, and Xiyue rose, the chains around her ankles forcing her to take small, mincing steps as she descended. The cold night air bit at her bare shoulders, and she wrapped her arms around herself, the veil doing nothing to ward off the chill.

Madam Bai stood waiting in the courtyard, a counting board in one hand and a ledger in the other. Her round face split into a wide smile when she saw Xiyue approach, and she clapped her hands together, the counting board slapping against her palm.

"What a performance tonight," Madam Bai said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "I knew you had it in you, girl. The way you stood up there with that cold expression, letting them stare and drool? Perfect. Every man in the street was eating out of the palm of your hand. I made triple what I expected tonight, and most of it is thanks to you."

Xiyue stopped a few paces away from Madam Bai. The words should have stung. They should have burned like salt in a wound, a reminder of what she had been forced to become. Instead, a small, quiet part of her chest swelled with something that felt almost like pride. *I earned her money. I did well.*

The realization hit her like a splash of cold water, and she shook her head slightly, trying to dislodge the thought. But it clung, stubborn and warm.

"See?" Madam Bai stepped closer and pinched Xiyue's chin, tilting her face up to the lantern light. "That look in your eyes. It's softening. You're starting to understand your place, aren't you, my little sword immortal?"

Xiyue pulled her chin away and said nothing.

From the shadows of the corridor, Xialing emerged, her robes loose and revealing, the sheer silk clinging to her curves. A gentle smile played on her lips as she watched the exchange. Her eyes traced the flush on Xiyue's cheeks, the slight tremor in her hands, the way she did not recoil from Madam Bai's touch as she once would have. Xialing's heart sang with quiet triumph. *Soon. Very soon, you will be one of us completely.*

Madam Bai gestured for Xiyue to follow her inside. They walked through the back hall, past curtained alcoves where muffled moans and wet sounds filtered through the silk partitions, up the stairs to Xiyue's room. The room was small but clean, with a wooden bed, a washbasin, and a dressing table with a bronze mirror.

Madam Bai opened a small lacquered box on the table and removed a jade dildo, smooth and pale green, about the length of a palm. It had a rounded tip and a slight curve, and a thin metal ring at the base for easy removal.

"Starting tonight, you will wear this every night before bed," Madam Bai said, holding the object up to the lamp light. It gleamed, cool and clinical. "The Jile Fu is already on your skin. The aphrodisiac tea goes into your body. But your cunt still remembers what it means to be empty. We need to teach it otherwise. This jade tool will fill that space, stretch you slowly, and keep your body in a constant state of readiness."

Xiyue's throat tightened. Her jaw clenched, and her hands balled into fists at her sides. "No."

Madam Bai's pleasant expression did not waver. She set the jade dildo down on the table and folded her arms, her tone shifting to something colder, more business-like. "I have another letter from your second senior brother, Suisui. Would you like to know what Jingmiao has planned for her if you do not cooperate? I can read it to you."

The blood drained from Xiyue's face. The image of Suisui's gentle, warm face flashed in her mind, followed by the fat, sweating form of Monk Jingmiao, his hands on her senior sister's waist. Xiyue's fists trembled, then slowly uncurled. She looked down at the floorboards.

"Fine."

Madam Bai smiled again, satisfied. "I thought so. Xialing, help her."

Xialing stepped forward, her movements fluid and unhurried. She took the jade dildo from the table and approached Xiyue, who stood rigid, eyes fixed on the wall. Xialing's fingers brushed against Xiyue's hip as she pushed the veil aside, and Xiyue flinched but did not pull away.

"Bend over the bed," Xialing said softly, her voice gentle, almost kind.

Xiyue hesitated, then placed her hands on the edge of the wooden bed frame and bent forward, her back arching. The position was humiliating, her buttocks exposed to the cool air of the room. She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes.

Xialing's fingers parted her, and the cold jade tip pressed against her entrance. Xiyue gasped. The jade was slick with some kind of oil, and it slid inside with a wet, obscene sound. Xiyue's body fought it for a moment, the muscles of her vaginal walls clenching against the foreign intrusion, but the jade was insistent, and Xialing pushed it in to the hilt.

"There," Xialing said, withdrawing her hand. "You can stand now."

Xiyue straightened slowly. The jade was inside her, a solid, unyielding presence that seemed to pulse with her heartbeat. She could feel every shift of her body, every movement of her thighs, every breath pressing the smooth surface against her inner walls. A faint, low vibration began to emanate from the jade, subtle as a hummingbird's wings, and it spread through her pelvis in gentle waves.

She stood there, not moving, not speaking, as Madam Bai and Xialing left the room. The door clicked shut, and the lock turned.

Alone, Xiyue walked to the bed and sat on the edge. The jade shifted inside her, and a small, involuntary shiver ran down her spine. She pressed her thighs together, and the vibration deepened, spreading warmth through her lower belly. It was not pleasure. It was not pain. It was something in between—a slow, persistent itch that could not be scratched, a current that ran through her nerves without ever reaching the shore of release.

The Jile Fu on her skin pulsed in response, and the residual aphrodisiac in her blood stirred. Her body, already trained to crave, now had something to press against. The jade filled the emptiness, and the vibration soothed the restless hunger that had been gnawing at her since the last dose of tea. A strange equilibrium settled over her.

She lay back on the bed, the sheets rough against her bare shoulders. The jade hummed inside her, and her breathing slowed. The tension in her shoulders eased. The constant, gnawing heat that had plagued her nights subsided into a low, manageable warmth, like a fire banked for the evening.

For the first time in three months at the Jile Lou, Xiyue slept deeply.

She dreamed of nothing. No swords. No brothers. No senior sister's face. Just darkness, warm and forgiving.

When she woke, pale morning light filtered through the paper window. The jade was still inside her, and she felt a faint pang of loss when she remembered it. Her body felt rested, light, as if the sleep had truly restored her. She stretched, and the jade shifted, sending a small ripple of sensation through her core.

The door opened, and Xialing stepped in. She was dressed in a sleeveless silk robe, deep purple, open at the front. Between her breasts, a silver ring pierced each nipple, and from each ring hung a small brass bell. They tinkled with every step she took, a clear, delicate sound that filled the small room.

"Good morning, Xiyue," Xialing said, her voice carrying a note of genuine warmth. She carried a folded bundle of fabric in her hands. "Did you sleep well?"

Xiyue sat up slowly. The sheets fell away, revealing her bare chest. She did not bother to cover herself. "Well enough."

"I'm glad." Xialing set the bundle on the bed and unfolded it. Inside was a piece of clothing unlike anything Xiyue had worn before. It was a bodysuit of black lace, so fine and transparent it looked like woven shadow. The fabric was cut low in the front, leaving the entire curve of the breasts exposed, with only two thin bands of lace crossing over the nipples. The waist was cinched with a delicate gold chain that hung loosely, and the bottom was nothing more than a thin strip of lace that would disappear between her legs, leaving her buttocks completely bare. At the top of the bodysuit, a high collar of white fur framed the neck and rose slightly behind the head like a standing ruff, giving it an almost regal air despite its obscenity.

"This is what you will wear today," Xialing said. She held the garment up, letting it unfold fully. "It suits you. Elegant and lewd. Come, let me help you put it on."

Xiyue's face remained expressionless. She looked at the garment, then at Xialing. "I can dress myself."

Xialing's eyebrows rose slightly, but she did not argue. She held the garment out, and Xiyue took it. The lace was soft against her fingers, almost weightless.

Xiyue stood and stepped into the bodysuit. She pulled it up her legs, the thin strip of lace settling between her cheeks. The gold chain wrapped around her waist and fastened with a small clasp. The black lace stretched across her torso, leaving her breasts exposed save for the two thin bands that did nothing to conceal her nipples. The high collar of white fur framed her neck, a strange contrast to her bare chest and bare back.

She turned to face Xialing, her arms at her sides, her cheeks flushed a faint pink.

Xialing's smile deepened. *The ice is melting,* she thought. *She put it on without protest. She even adjusted the chain herself.* "Beautiful," Xialing said, her voice soft. "Come, sit at the dressing table. I'll do your makeup."

Xiyue walked to the wooden stool before the bronze mirror and sat. Her reflection stared back at her—black lace, bare breasts, the white fur collar framing her neck. She looked like a whore. A high-class whore, but a whore nonetheless. She looked nothing like the jianxiu of the Taixu Sword Pavilion.

Xialing stood

（本章内容较长，当前页面已截取部分内容）

Xiyue’s eyes fluttered open to a ceiling of black silk embroidered with writhing golden dragons, their claws clutching at pearls the size of her fist. The air was thick and warm, carrying a scent she did not recognize—cloying, floral, with an undertone of something metallic and sharp. She tried to move and found her limbs spread wide, bound at wrist and ankle to the four corners of a bed so vast it could have held a dozen bodies. The cords were soft silk, but they held her fast, pinning her in a spreadeagled display.

She was naked.

The realization struck her like a physical blow. Her robes were gone, her sword absent, the familiar weight of spiritual energy within her dantian utterly silent. She reached inward and found only emptiness—a hollow where her cultivation had once blazed. Her meridians were broken, scattered like snapped harp strings. She could not even muster a spark of qi.

Her body lay exposed on the black silk sheets, pale as moonlight, long-limbed and slender. Her breasts were small and firm, the nipples a pale pink, untouched by any man’s gaze before this moment. Her waist curved inward sharply before flaring to hips that were narrow but gracefully shaped. Between her legs, the cleft was clean-shaven, the lips delicate and closed, virginal in their modesty. Her skin was flawless, unmarked by scar or blemish, smooth as polished jade. Even bound and helpless, her form held the cold, distant beauty of a sword unsheathed—a weapon made flesh, carved by years of discipline and denial.

But now that sword lay on a bed of silk, stripped of its power, waiting to be handled.

Xiyue turned her head slowly, forcing herself to assess her surroundings despite the fog of confusion and the heat creeping into her cheeks from the strange incense that filled the air. The chamber was vast, more a hall than a bedroom. Pillars of black jade rose to a vaulted ceiling painted with murals of intertwined bodies—men and women locked in carnal combat, their faces ecstatic, their forms rendered in gold and vermilion. Lamps of carved human bone hung from chains, burning with a pale blue flame that cast shifting shadows across the walls. Tapestries of silk embroidered with lewd scenes covered every surface: a woman on her knees before a throne, a man taking her from behind while another held her hair; a group of figures tangled in a writhing mass of limbs and open mouths; a single female form suspended from the ceiling, her body pierced with rings and chains, her expression one of blissful surrender.

The furniture was sparse but opulent: lacquered cabinets inlaid with mother-of-pearl, a low table set with jade cups and a porcelain flask, a bronze mirror standing tall in one corner, and a brazier of coals that gave off not heat but a steady stream of pale, sweet-smelling smoke. The sheets beneath her were black silk embroidered with more golden dragons, their eyes tiny rubies that seemed to watch her. The pillows were plush, the mattress soft enough to swallow her weight.

It was a room designed for pleasure. Every detail, from the cushions to the lighting, was calculated to arouse.

And the incense—that cloying, sweet smoke—coiled into her nostrils, past her throat, settling in her lungs like a gentle poison. Her face flushed deeper. A warmth spread through her belly, unfamiliar and unwelcome. She clenched her thighs instinctively, but the bonds held them apart.

Footsteps.

Soft, deliberate, approaching from somewhere beyond her line of sight. Leather soles on polished stone. A rustle of fabric. Xiyue’s heart hammered against her ribs. She forced her expression to stillness, the mask of the sword immortal she had been taught to wear.

A figure stepped into the lamplight.

Xialing.

She was transformed. The cold, aloof senior sister of Tianji Pavilion was gone. In her place stood a woman draped in sheer crimson gauze that left little to the imagination. Her body was fuller now, her breasts heavy and round beneath the translucent fabric, her waist cinched by a belt of gold links. Her face was still beautiful—those sharp, knowing eyes, that delicate jaw—but her lips were painted blood-red, and her gaze held a glint of cruel amusement that Xiyue had never seen before.

“Awake at last,” Xialing said. Her voice was honey laced with vinegar. “I was beginning to think you’d sleep through the best part.”

Xiyue’s throat was dry. “Xialing… what is this place? Where are the others?”

Xialing laughed, a light, tinkling sound that held no warmth. “This is the Extreme Joy Palace. His Imperial Majesty’s private chambers. And as for the others… well, some are dead. Some wish they were. And some—” she gestured languidly at herself, “—have learned to embrace a different kind of existence.”

She walked to the brazier and stirred the coals with a brass rod, sending up another plume of sweet smoke. Xiyue’s nostrils flared. The warmth in her belly pulsed, stronger now, spreading downward.

“You’re wondering about the incense,” Xialing said without turning. “It’s a blend of seven rare aphrodisiac herbs, distilled over a hundred days and mixed with the essence of a Thousand Bliss Flower that blooms only once every century. Very expensive. Very effective. Inhale enough of it, and even the most chaste jade maiden will find herself dripping like a spring thaw.”

Xiyue’s face burned. She looked away, fixing her gaze on the painted ceiling. “You’ve fallen,” she said quietly. “They’ve broken you.”

“Fallen?” Xialing turned, a small silk pouch in her hand. She sauntered to the edge of the bed, close enough that Xiyue could smell the perfume on her skin—the same sweet, cloying scent, but layered over something muskier, more intimate. “No, dear junior. I’ve risen. I’ve seen the truth of this world. Power flows through pleasure, not through denial. And I have been given gifts beyond anything Tianji Pavilion could offer.”

She opened the pouch and drew out three thin slips of paper, each the size of a finger, inscribed with tiny crimson characters that seemed to writhe in the lamplight. They glowed faintly with an inner heat.

“These are called Extreme Joy Talismans,” Xialing said, holding one up between thumb and forefinger. “Sacred treasures of the Extreme Joy Chan sect. They are applied to certain… sensitive points on a woman’s body.” She touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. “The nipples, for instance. And the clitoris.”

Xiyue’s breath caught. She stared at the talismans as if they were venomous scorpions.

“Once affixed,” Xialing continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, “they begin to work their magic. Slowly at first. A warmth. A tickling. Then an itch that deepens and spreads, until every brush of air against those tender buds feels like a lover’s caress. And the more sensitive they become, the more you crave stimulation. The more you need it.”

She leaned closer, her face inches from Xiyue’s. “By tomorrow morning, your nipples will be so sensitive that the weight of a silk thread will make you gasp. And your little pearl down here—” she reached between Xiyue’s legs, not quite touching, but close enough that Xiyue felt the heat of her hand, “—will ache with such sweet hunger that you’ll beg for someone to touch it.”

Xiyue jerked against her bonds, a surge of panic cracking her composure. “No. Xialing, listen to me—this is madness. You were the senior sister of Tianji Pavilion. You were kind. You helped the younger disciples. You—”

“I was a fool,” Xialing cut in, her voice sharp. “Kindness bought me nothing. Tianji Pavilion is ash. My master is dead. My sisters are scattered or enslaved.” She straightened, looking down at Xiyue with a mixture of pity and contempt. “But I survived. And I thrived. Because I learned that pleasure is a weapon, and the body is the finest blade.”

She pressed one of the talismans to Xiyue’s left nipple.

The moment the paper touched skin, it adhered as if glued, the crimson characters flaring with a brief, hot light. Xiyue gasped—not from pain, but from a sudden, electric jolt that shot through her chest and pooled in her belly. The nipple tingled, then itched, a deep, maddening itch that made her want to scratch it against something rough.

Xialing’s smile widened. She pressed the second talisman to the right nipple. Another jolt. Another wave of itching heat. Xiyue’s back arched, her breath coming in short, sharp pants.

“Please,” she whispered, hating the weakness in her own voice. “Please stop.”

“Oh, we’ve only just begun,” Xialing said. She held the third talisman between her fingers, then lowered it between Xiyue’s spread thighs.

Xiyue squeezed her eyes shut. She felt the paper brush against the most intimate part of her—that hidden pearl she had never touched, never even looked at in the mirror. The moment it made contact, a shockwave of sensation ripped through her. Her hips bucked. A cry escaped her lips, half pain, half something far more terrifying.

The clitoris—that tiny nub of flesh—began to throb. It swelled against the talisman, pressing into the paper as if seeking more contact. The itch there was a thousand times worse than on her nipples, a deep, gnawing hunger that radiated outward, making her thighs tremble and her sex grow slick despite her will.

Xiyue panted, sweat beading on her brow. The incense, the talismans, the humiliation of being bound and exposed—it all combined into a storm of sensation that threatened to overwhelm her reason.

Xialing traced a fingernail down Xiyue’s sternum, over her belly, stopping just above the mound between her legs. “Remarkable, isn’t it? How quickly the body betrays the mind. Your cunt is already wet, Xiyue. You’ve never even been touched, and it weeps for me.”

“Stop calling it that,” Xiyue managed through gritted teeth.

“What? Cunt? It’s a perfectly good word.” Xialing’s fingers danced over Xiyue’s inner thigh, featherlight, teasing. “You’ll learn to love it. You’ll learn to love a great many things you once despised.”

She circled a finger around Xiyue’s nipple, avoiding direct contact but close enough that the air stirred the talisman. Xiyue whimpered. The itch intensified, becoming a burning need that radiated from her chest down to her core.

“Let me tell you a story,” Xialing said, her voice taking on a dreamy, nostalgic quality. “About a proud senior sister of Tianji Pavilion, who thought her calculations could predict any outcome, her Dao body could resist any corruption.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, her hand drifting idly over Xiyue’s body as she spoke.

“When the Mo Lu army breached our gates, I fought. I killed a dozen soldiers before they overwhelmed me. I woke up bound exactly like this, in this very bed, with that same incense clouding my senses. His Majesty—Dugu Xie—came to me. He was patient. Cruel, but patient. He didn’t rape me immediately. He wanted me to break on my own.”

Xialing’s fingers found Xiyue’s nipple again, circling, still not touching directly. Xiyue bit her lip until she tasted blood.

“He applied the talismans, just as I’ve done to you. Three little slips of paper. And he left me alone for an entire day. Do you know what it feels like, Xiyue, to lie bound and naked with those talismans burning into your most sensitive flesh? The itch becomes unbearable. You writhe against the sheets, trying to find friction. You rub your thighs together until they chafe. But nothing helps. Nothing except a touch—a real touch, a man’s touch. And when you’ve spent twelve hours in that state, you would sell your soul for that touch.”

Xiyue shuddered. Her body was already responding to the talismans, the itch spreading, deepening, becoming a craving that had no name.

“After three days,” Xialing continued, “I begged him. I begged him to touch me. I spread my legs for him and begged him to fuck me. And he did.” Her voice dropped, taking on a husky edge. “He has a remarkable cock, you know. They call it the Liangyi Evil Dragon Stem. Thick as a baby’s arm, covered in black s

（本章内容较长，当前页面已截取部分内容）

The heavy doors of the bedchamber swung open, and the clink of iron-shod boots echoed through the vast hall. Dugu Xie strode in, his black dragon robe trailing behind him like a shadow of night. Before he had taken ten steps, a soft rustle of silk announced Xialing's presence as she glided from the side chamber, her naked body gleaming under the lantern light. She knelt without a word, her forehead touching the cold marble floor, her voice a low whisper.

"Your Majesty, this lowly slave welcomes your grace."

Dugu Xie paused, his gaze sweeping over her prostrate form. Her back was a smooth curve of pale jade, her hair spilled across the floor like ink. He grunted in approval and walked past her to the central bed, where a figure lay bound in translucent silk cords—Xiyue, her eyes closed, her breathing deliberately steady. He paid her no immediate mind, instead settling into a wide chair near the bed and gesturing.

"Come."

Xialing rose and crawled to his feet, her movements fluid and practiced. She knelt between his legs, her fingers already working at the sash of his trousers. But Dugu Xie caught her wrist and lifted her torso, his eyes fixed on her chest. Two silver rings pierced her nipples, each embedded with a tiny ruby that caught the light. A third ring glinted at the hood of her clitoris, the flesh beneath swollen and prominent, protruding like a ripe pearl from its folds.

"You have been wearing them well," he said, his thumb and forefinger pinching the left nipple ring. He tugged, and the ring pulled the tender flesh outward, stretching it into a taut peak. Xialing gasped, but her body arched into the pull, offering more. Dugu Xie twisted the ring slowly, watching the nipple darken, the areola crinkle around the silver. He released it and flicked the right ring, making it jingle against its mate. "But they lack music."

From his sleeve he produced a handful of tiny golden bells, each no larger than a bean, and began to thread them through the rings. One on each nipple ring, then a cluster on the clitoris ring. The bells chimed with every slight tremor of her body. He leaned back and admired his work, his hand reaching down to cup her mound, his thumb pressing the engorged clitoris through the ring. The bells sang a delicate, high-pitched melody.

"This swollen little pearl," he murmured, "is far more tempting than the cold face you once wore. A proper whore's jewel."

Xialing's cheeks flushed, but her eyes brightened with pleasure. She lowered her head to his lap and nuzzled the bulge in his trousers, her tongue tracing the outline through the fabric. With practiced ease she freed his cock, the Liangyi Evil Dragon Stem rising thick and dark, its black scales shimmering as if alive, the glans a hooked, spiked crown. She did not flinch. Instead she took the head into her mouth, her lips stretched wide, and began a slow, deliberate worship.

Her tongue lapped at the underside of the glans, tracing each tiny meat spike, then slid down the shaft, feeling the alternating pulses of ice and fire that radiated from the scales. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked, her head bobbing in a steady rhythm. Her hands cradled the base, her thumbs pressing the veins, her fingers massaging the heavy testicles. She spared no part—every fold, every ridge, every inch of that monstrous length was bathed in her saliva and attention.

Dugu Xie let out a low grunt of satisfaction. "Your skill improves daily, Xialing. Each time you serve, you seem less like the lofty fairy of Tianji Pavilion and more like a born concubine of the pleasure quarters."

Xialing pulled back just enough to reply, her voice breathy, honeyed. "This slave lives only for Your Majesty's praise. I wish to become the most skilled mouth in the harem." She returned to her task with renewed fervor, her throat opening to take him deeper, the bells at her chest and groin chiming in time with her movements.

Dugu Xie's eyes drifted to the bed. Xiyue lay on her back, her arms stretched above her head and bound to the bedposts, her long legs parted and tied at the ankles. Her white robes had been torn open, exposing a slender torso, small breasts with pale nipples, and a thatch of dark hair at her mound. A talisman glowed faintly on her lower belly—the Jile Fu, meant to awaken lust. Her face was a mask of cold concentration, her teeth clenched, her breathing shallow but controlled. She was resisting.

"You are wasting your effort," Dugu Xie said, his voice carrying easily across the room. Xialing's mouth continued its work, but his hand reached out and traced the air above Xiyue's thigh, not touching. "That talisman is woven from the essence of a thousand orgasms. In time, it will shatter your sword heart like glass."

Xiyue did not open her eyes. The only sign of her struggle was a faint tremor in her bound fingers.

Dugu Xie laughed softly. "Silence suits you. But it will not last." He tapped Xialing's head, and she immediately released his cock, her lips leaving a trail of saliva. He gestured to the bed. "On your back. I wish to test your gates."

Xialing obeyed, lying beside Xiyue, her legs spread, her flower cave and anus exposed. Dugu Xie knelt between her thighs and inserted two fingers into her vagina, the digits curling to hook her G-spot, then withdrew and pushed into her rectum. He worked both openings simultaneously, his fingers spreading, scissoring, delving deep. Xialing moaned, her hips bucking, the bells chiming madly.

"Your cunt is wet enough," he said, pulling his fingers free and smearing the moisture on her thigh. He positioned the head of his dragon stem at her entrance and drove in with a single, brutal thrust.

Xialing screamed—a sound of pure pleasure. The black scales scraped against her walls, the ice-fire energy lancing through her nerves, the demonic aura numbing and arousing at once. Her body convulsed, her back arching, her hands clawing at the sheets. Dugu Xie began to pump, each stroke deep and punishing, the hooked glans catching on her cervix on every withdrawal.

"Ah! Yes! Your Majesty—your slave's cunt is yours! Fuck me, fuck me!" Xialing's words tumbled out, shameless and loud. She turned her head to look at Xiyue, her eyes glazed with lust. "Do you see, Xiyue? Do you see how a true woman serves? You lie there like a block of ice, but soon you will beg for this. You will beg to be filled!"

Xiyue's jaw tightened. She kept her eyes shut, but a bead of sweat traced down her temple.

Dugu Xie increased his pace, his balls slapping against Xialing's perineum. The sounds of wet flesh and jingling bells filled the chamber. Xialing's moans became incoherent, her words dissolving into cries of "Master" and "Please." Her inner muscles clenched and released in helpless spasms, trying to milk the invading organ.

After a full hour, Dugu Xie's thrusts grew erratic. He roared and drove himself to the hilt, his seed pumping into Xialing's depths in thick, hot jets. Xialing's body went rigid, her orgasm tearing through her like a storm. Her vision whited out, her mind a cascade of bliss and surrender. *This is what I was meant for,* she thought, the last shred of her old self dissolving. *Not the cold stars of heaven, but the heat of his bed. Nothing else matters.*

She collapsed, unconscious, her body twitching with aftershocks. Dugu Xie withdrew and pushed her limp form to the edge of the bed. He turned to Xiyue.

She felt his gaze like a physical weight. Her skin prickled, the Jile Fu pulsing with heat, sending waves of phantom pleasure through her core. She fought to keep her breathing even, but her hips made a tiny, involuntary roll.

Dugu Xie crawled over her, his body blocking the light. He lowered his face to hers, his breath hot. "Still resisting? I admire the effort."

He crushed his lips to hers.

The kiss was not gentle. His tongue forced its way past her teeth, invading her mouth with the same brutality as his cock had invaded Xialing. Xiyue's mind reeled. The taste of Xialing's sex, the smell of sweat and semen, the heat of his body—all of it crashed into her. For one crucial moment, her concentration broke.

The Jile Fu flared. A wave of molten desire flooded her veins, turning her limbs to water. Her sword heart, that crystal-clear core of will, cracked. She gasped against his mouth, her body betraying her, arching into his touch as her last resistance crumbled.

The night air of the imperial palace was thick with the scent of sandalwood and something darker, something that clung to the shadows like a living thing. Xiyue lay bound upon the silk sheets of Dugu Xie's bedchamber, her linglong sword body trembling with a fury she could no longer express. Her hands were secured above her head with cords woven from demonic silk, the fibers pulsing faintly with black light that drained her spiritual energy with each passing breath.

"Still defiant," Dugu Xie murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the very air. He stood at the foot of the bed, his tall frame silhouetted against the flickering candlelight. His eyes, cold and predatory, traced the curves of her body beneath the torn remnants of her white sword immortal robes. "Even now, your sword heart shines. How admirable. How wasteful."

He moved with the fluid grace of a predator, climbing onto the bed and settling between her legs. Xiyue turned her face away, her jaw clenched, her silver-white hair splayed across the pillow like a halo of moonlight. She would not give him the satisfaction of her fear. She would not.

Dugu Xie chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth. "You think your silence protects you? Your disdain shields your dignity?" He leaned down, his breath hot against her ear. "I have broken immortals far more proud than you, little sword maiden. And they all learned to beg."

Before she could muster a retort, his hand shot out and seized her chin, forcing her face toward him. His lips crashed against hers, brutal and demanding. She tried to bite, tried to twist away, but his strength was overwhelming. His tongue forced its way past her lips, and with it came a bitter taste, sharp and metallic, that spread across her tongue like wildfire.

The world tilted.

Heat exploded in her abdomen, fierce and uncontrollable, radiating outward through her limbs. Her skin flushed, her nipples hardened against the rough fabric of her robes, and a shameful wetness began to bloom between her thighs. Her mind screamed resistance, but her body—her traitorous body—responded with a hunger she had never known.

Dugu Xie pulled back, a cruel smile curving his lips. He held up a torn slip of yellow paper, its surface glowing with obscene runes. "The Bliss Talisman," he said. "A small gift from the Jile Temple. It awakens what even the purest sword heart tries to bury."

Xiyue's breath came in ragged gasps. Her vision swam. Every touch, every brush of fabric against her skin sent jolts of lightning through her nerves. She tried to summon her spiritual energy, tried to form a sword seal, but the talisman's power had already sunk its hooks into her dantian, twisting her cultivation base into a furnace of lust.

"No..." she whispered, the word barely escaping her lips.

Dugu Xie's hands found her breasts, pushing aside the torn fabric of her robe. Her nipples, already peaked and sensitive, were exposed to the cool air. He took one between thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently at first, then pinching with increasing pressure.

Xiyue gasped. A moan rose in her throat, and she bit her lip until she tasted blood, refusing to let it escape. The sensation was maddening—not pain, not pleasure, but something that existed in the space between, where her will crumbled and her flesh screamed for more.

"Your body knows what it needs," Dugu Xie said, his voice like honey over poison. He continued his assault, flicking and twisting her nipple until it was swollen and red, then moving to the other, giving it the same cruel attention. "Your sword heart is a lie, little Xiyue. You were never pure. You were merely untouched. And now, I will touch every part of you."

His hand slid down her belly, past her navel, and into the wet heat between her thighs. She bucked against his touch, a sob of denial and desire tearing from her throat. His fingers found her clitoris, a nub of flesh she had never even known existed, and he circled it with practiced precision.

Fire. Ice. Lightning. All at once, the sensations cascaded through her. Her hips rose to meet his hand even as her mind screamed for her to stop. The talisman's power had unlocked something primal, something that cared nothing for honor or dignity, only for the release that hovered just beyond her reach.

"You see?" Dugu Xie whispered. "You are no different from the rest. A vessel waiting to be filled."

He withdrew his hand and reached for his belt, letting his robes fall open. His Liangyi Evil Dragon Stem rose before her, a monstrous thing thick as a baby's arm, covered in scales of black and red that pulsed with wisps of demonic qi. The glans was hooked, almost like a claw, studded with tiny barbs that gleamed wetly in the candlelight.

Xiyue's eyes widened. Fear, true and raw, cut through the haze of lust. She thrashed against her bonds, but the demonic silk held fast.

"No," she said, her voice cracking. "No, I am a sword immortal of the Taixu Sword Pavilion. I am the chosen disciple of Jiujiankuang. You cannot—"

"I can," Dugu Xie said, positioning himself at her entrance. "And I will."

He thrust.

The pain was beyond anything Xiyue had ever known. It was as if a blade of fire had been driven into her core, splitting her apart from the inside. She screamed, a raw, primal sound that echoed through the chamber, her body arching off the bed as her hymen tore and blood trickled down her thighs.

But beneath the pain, something else stirred.

The Jiuyou Mingyin Cave, the famous vessel that had slumbered within her since birth, began to awaken. As Dugu Xie's massive organ forced its way deeper, the walls of her vaginal passage responded instinctively, contracting with impossible force. A layer of invisible ice crystals formed along the inner walls, tightening around his invading flesh with a cold that bit to the bone.

Dugu Xie paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "What's this?" he murmured, feeling the sudden change. The passage that had been tight with virginity was now tight with something far more dangerous. Cold seeped into his Liangyi Evil Dragon Stem, the ice crystals scraping against his scales with a sensation that was equal parts pleasure and pain.

Xiyue felt it too. The ice spread from her womb outward, numbing the searing agony of penetration and replacing it with something strange—a cold that tingled, that buzzed with a frequency that made her nerves sing. Her inner walls began to writhe, forming tiny whirlpools of ice that sucked and pulled at the intruder, drawing him deeper.

"What is this?" she heard herself say, her voice distant, as if from the bottom of a frozen lake.

Dugu Xie laughed, a triumphant sound. "Your famous vessel awakens. The Jiuyou Mingyin Cave. I've heard legends of it—a cavern of eternal frost, a prison of ice that traps all who enter." He thrust deeper, his barbs scraping against her ice-coated walls. "But I am no ordinary man. My Liangyi Evil Dragon Stem was forged in the flames of the Moluo Abyss and tempered in the frozen wastes of the Northern Wastes. Your ice will not stop me. It will only make the conquest sweeter."

He began to move, a rhythm that was brutal and relentless. Each thrust sent shockwaves through Xiyue's body, the ice crystals scraping against her inner walls with a friction that was beyond pleasure. It was agony and ecstasy intertwined, a sensation that defied description. Her mind, still reeling from the talisman, began to fragment.

The cold spread deeper, reaching into her very soul. She felt her sword heart—the core of her identity, the foundation of her cultivation—begin to crack. The ice did not destroy it, but it changed it, coating it in a layer of frost that dulled its light.

Xiyue tried to hold on, tried to cling to the image of herself as a pure sword immortal, untouchable, unbreakable. But with each thrust, each scrape, each wave of frozen pleasure, that image faded.

Outside, in the shadows of the bedchamber curtains, Xialing stirred.

She had been bound and left in the corner, a silent witness to her friend's defilement. Her green eyes, once cold and calculating as befitting the chief senior sister of the Tianji Pavilion, now burned with a heat she could not contain. The drugs Dugu Xie had administered to her days ago had not worn off; they had only changed form, settling into a craving that gnawed at her from within.

She watched as Dugu Xie's massive body covered Xiyue's slender form, as the sounds of wet, rhythmic fucking filled the air. Her breath quickened. Her hands, bound before her, twitched with frustration. She could not reach her own cunt, but she could reach behind her.

Slowly, carefully, she slid her hand between her bound wrists and her backside, finding the entrance to her anal cavity. She pressed a finger inside, gasping at the sensation. The walls were tight, dry, but she did not care. She pushed deeper, imagining the finger was something else, something larger.

"Yes..." she whispered, her voice barely audible over Xiyue's stifled cries. "Yes, fuck her. Break her. Make her like me."

She began to move her finger in and out, finding a rhythm that matched Dugu Xie's thrusts. The sensation was strange, foreign—her anal cavity was not designed for this, but the drugs had rewired her nerves, turning every touch into a spark of pleasure. She added a second finger, stretching herself, moaning softly.

"More," she breathed. "I want more. I want your cock in my ass, Master. I want you to fill me too."

On the bed, Xiyue's world had narrowed to a single point of sensation. The ice in her passage had spread, coating her inner walls in a layer that was both protective and tormenting. She felt Dugu Xie's organ scraping against the crystals, felt the ice whirlpools pulling him deeper, felt the cold seep into her bones.

And then, something shifted.

The ice reached her womb, and a door opened.

A river of sensation flooded through her—cold, yes, but also electric, a tingling that spread from her core to every nerve ending. Her body went rigid as a wave of pleasure, pure and overwhelming, crashed over her. It was unlike anything she had ever imagined. It was not the gentle warmth of spiritual harmony or the sharp clarity of sword meditation. It was raw, primal, and unstoppable.

"No," she gasped, trying to fight it. "No, I won't—I won't—"

But her body had already made the decision. Her hips bucked against Dugu Xie, her inner walls clamping down on his organ with a force that made him groan. The ice crystals scraped and sucked, and the pleasure built and built until it shattered.

Xiyue's vision went white. Her scream, muffled by the pillow, was a sound of agony and ecstasy intertwined.

As she convulsed through her first orgasm, Dugu Xie drove deeper, his barbs catching on her cervix. He held there, his own climax building, and then he released.

Hot, thick seed flooded her womb, mixing with the ice-cold fluid she had begun to secrete. The contrast was unbearable—heat and cold, pleasure and pain, domination and surrender. Xiyue felt the seed spread through her, felt it mark her from the inside, and her heart shattered.

*I am defiled,* she thought, the words echoing through the emptiness of her mind. *I am no longer pure. I am no longer Xiyue, the sword immortal. I am a vessel, a cauldron, a whore.*

Tears streamed down her cheeks, freezing before they could fall. Her body, still trembling from the climax, was no longer her own. It belonged to him—to the seed he had planted, to the ice that now lined her passage, to the pleasure that even now pulsed through her veins.

*The sword heart is broken,* she thought. *What am I without it?*

The answer came from somewhere deep within, a whisper from the ice: *You are nothing. And in nothing, there is freedom.*

Her eyes fluttered closed. The last thing she saw was Dugu Xie's triumphant face, and then darkness claimed her.

Xialing watched as Xiyue's body went limp, watched as Dugu Xie withdrew from her, his organ stil

（本章内容较长，当前页面已截取部分内容）

Xiyue stepped through the iron door of the underground training chamber, and the sight before her made her freeze in her tracks.

The room was a grotesque gallery of perversion. Along the walls, wooden racks held dozens of glass jars filled with liquids of every color—pale pink, deep crimson, viscous amber, and a sickly green that seemed to glow faintly in the dim lamplight. Each jar bore a handwritten label: "Honeyed Dew of a Hundred Flowers," "Infernal Fire Elixir," "Chrysanthemum's Blossom," "Soul-Stealing Fragrance." Beside them, leather straps of varying widths hung from iron hooks, some studded with brass rivets, others lined with soft fur. In the center of the chamber stood a wooden horse with a polished jade protrusion rising from its back, the surface worn smooth by countless uses. To the left, a low bed covered in black silk was surrounded by a collection of slim rods, wooden paddles, and thin canes. On a small table near the bed lay an array of what Xiyue recognized as "Yushi"—jade dildos—in ascending sizes from finger-length to one as thick as her wrist. A brazier burned in the corner, heating a set of metal tongs and small branding irons.

Madam Bai watched Xiyue’s shocked expression with evident satisfaction. A thin smile curved her painted lips. "Like what you see, young miss? This will be your training ground for the days to come. But today, we start with something simple."

Xiyue forced herself to meet the madam’s eyes, though her heart pounded against her ribs. She wore only the thin, scandalous undergarment that Madam Bai had made her put on every morning for the past half-month—a scrap of red silk that barely covered her breasts and left her hips bare. Beneath it, the talisman pasted between her shoulder blades and the one pressed against her lower belly pulsed faintly, sending waves of tingling warmth through her body that she had grown sickeningly accustomed to.

"What do you want from me now?" Xiyue’s voice came out steadier than she felt.

Madam Bai walked to the low bed and picked up a small wooden box. When she opened it, Xiyue saw a fine porcelain bowl filled with a fragrant green paste, and beside it, a straight razor with a mother-of-pearl handle.

"Today, we remove that unruly bush between your legs," Madam Bai said, her tone casual, as if discussing the weather. "Your cunt is too beautiful to be hidden beneath weeds."

Xiyue’s blood ran cold. She took a step back, her hand instinctively moving to cover her groin. "No. I won’t let you touch me there."

Madam Bai’s smile did not falter. She set the box down and folded her arms. "The deputy head of your Sword Pavilion—the second senior disciple you so dearly care for—is still in my master’s hands. He’s been fed some special medicines over the past two weeks. If you cooperate today, he gets the antidote. If you refuse..." She paused, letting the threat hang in the air.

Xiyue’s nails dug into her palms. Anger blazed in her chest, a fire so fierce she thought it might consume her. But the image of her senior brother, steady and kind, bound in some dark cell, extinguished that fire almost as quickly as it had ignited. She closed her eyes and let out a long, slow breath.

"Fine," she whispered. "Do as you wish."

Madam Bai gestured to the low bed. "Lie down. Spread your legs and place your feet on these iron rings."

Xiyue obeyed, her movements stiff and mechanical. The black silk was cool against her back. She lifted her legs and fitted her ankles into the leather-padded rings Madam Bai had attached to the bedposts. Her heart raced, but she kept her face blank.

Madam Bai reached under Xiyue’s flimsy top and with a sharp tug, peeled off the talisman that had been adhered to her abdomen. Xiyue gasped. The moment the talisman left her skin, a wave of prickling, tingling pleasure burst from her nipples and the sensitive nub between her legs. Her body shook, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning. The talisman had been suppressing the full effect of the aphrodisiacs, she realized. Without it, the drugs flooded her system unimpeded.

Madam Bai’s eyes flickered over Xiyue’s body, noting the faint flush spreading across her chest. "Oh my," she cooed, "you’re already leaking. Look at that."

Xiyue’s face burned. She could feel a warm trickle seeping from her core, sliding down the cleft of her sex. Her body was betraying her.

"Even the whores in the military camp take longer than this to get wet," Madam Bai said, her voice dripping with mockery. "You’re more depraved than a camp prostitute, young miss."

"Shut up," Xiyue ground out through clenched teeth.

Madam Bai ignored her. She took a clean silk handkerchief from her sleeve and gently dabbed at the moisture gathering between Xiyue’s legs. The touch was almost tender, but Xiyue felt nothing but humiliation. When the madam’s fingers brushed against her clitoris, a jolt of pleasure made her hips buck involuntarily.

"Patience," Madam Bai said, withdrawing her hand. She picked up the razor and a small bowl of soapy water.

She applied the suds to Xiyue’s pubic mound with a soft brush, working up a lather. The bristles tickled, and Xiyue had to focus on the ceiling to avoid reacting. Then the cold steel of the razor touched her skin.

Madam Bai worked quickly, her movements practiced and sure. The blade scraped away the dark curls in long, even strokes. Xiyue lay still, watching the hair fall in wet clumps onto the black silk. Her sex felt strange, exposed, like a secret laid bare.

"You have a beautiful cunt," Madam Bai said, pausing to wipe the razor on a cloth. "The lips are plump and symmetrical, the clit is a perfect pink pearl. A man would worship this pussy, if you let him."

Xiyue said nothing. The humiliation felt like a weight pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

When Madam Bai finished, she rinsed the remaining soap away with warm water and patted the area dry with another silk cloth. Then she took a small vial from the box and poured a few drops of a cool, viscous liquid onto her fingers.

"This will prevent the hair from ever growing back," she said, massaging the liquid into Xiyue’s bare mound. The skin tingled and tightened under the application. "From now on, you’ll be smooth as a little girl down here."

She handed Xiyue a hand mirror. Xiyue looked at her reflection, at the bare, smooth sex that stared back at her, pink and vulnerable. The lips were closed, but a faint sheen of moisture still glistened between them. She looked—there was no other word for it—like a whore.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she held them back.

"It’s beautiful," Madam Bai said, her voice almost reverent. "Enough to drive any man mad with desire."

From the doorway, Xialing’s voice cut through the air, dry and amused. "She already looks like a proper slut. Shaved cunt, drugged body, talisman on her back—yes, the ice maiden of the Taixu Sword Pavilion is turning into a first-class courtesan."

Xiyue’s head snapped toward Xialing. Her former friend stood leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed, a cruel smile playing on her lips. Her robes were open at the collar, revealing a hint of cleavage, and her eyes held no trace of the warmth they once had for Xiyue.

"Don’t call me that," Xiyue said, her voice breaking.

"Or what?" Xialing laughed, a hard, brittle sound. "Fight me? Give the order, and I’ll introduce you to the pleasures of a proper whipping."

Madam Bai put a hand on Xialing’s shoulder. "Enough. The young miss has cooperated well today. Let’s give her some time to adjust."

She gestured for Xiyue to get up. Xiyue did, her legs trembling. She pulled her flimsy top back into place, but it did nothing to hide the smoothness between her thighs. She walked out of the chamber with her head down, following the silent maid who led her back to her room.

That night, Xiyue lay in her narrow bed, the drug-induced heat still simmering beneath her skin. The talisman had been reapplied after the shaving, but its effect was weaker now, as if the aphrodisiacs had built up a tolerance. The tingles from her nipples and clitoris had grown into a persistent, aching throb.

She tried to meditate, reciting the Clear Mind Sutra under her breath, but the words felt hollow. Her body screamed for release.

Finally, she gave in.

She slipped her hand beneath the thin blanket and touched her bare mound. The skin was incredibly soft, sensitive to even the lightest brush. She ran her fingers down the cleft, spreading the lips apart, and found her clitoris swollen and hot. She circled it with her fingertip, and a gasp escaped her lips.

She was slick already. Her fingers slid into her entrance with ease, and she began to move them in and out, trying to chase the relief she desperately needed. But it wasn’t enough. The pleasure was there, building, but it felt distant, as if her body were a puppet and she was pulling strings that had grown too long.

Images flashed behind her closed eyes—Dugu Xie’s face, the moment he had forced himself into her, the overwhelming fullness of his massive member, the strange mixture of pain and pleasure that had made her scream. Her body remembered that violation with a clarity that sickened her. And yet, even now, she could feel a part of her wanting it again, craving the brutal intensity that her own fingers could not replicate.

"No," she whispered, pulling her hand away. "No, no, no."

She sat up, panting, and pressed her palms to her temples. What was wrong with her? How could she miss being raped? She was a sword immortal, a cultivator with a pure heart. She should despise the touch of that monster.

But the heat in her belly would not subside.

She lay back down and resumed the Clear Mind Sutra, chanting the words over and over, forcing herself to focus on the meaning. It worked, for a moment. The desire receded, leaving her shivering in the darkness. But the moment she stopped chanting, the heat surged back stronger than before.

In the end, she gave in again, her hand moving faster, her back arching off the bed. She imagined a thick, hard length driving into her, filling her completely, stretching her walls until they burned. She imagined the ice-and-fire energy she had felt that night, the spreading numbness that had turned into piercing pleasure.

She came with a muffled cry, her body convulsing. The orgasm was weak, barely enough to take the edge off. She lay there, panting, feeling the aftershocks ripple through her. Her hand was wet with her own fluids, and she was disgusted with herself.

She fell asleep eventually, exhausted.

The next morning, she was summoned to the training chamber again. This time, Xialing was waiting, holding a jade dildo that was as thick as two of her fingers combined, its surface carved with fine ridges and small, raised bumps.

Xiyue’s heart sank. "What are you going to do with that?"

Xialing laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "What do you think? You’ve been getting too comfortable. It’s time to train that little cunt of yours to take a proper cock."

"I won’t."

Madam Bai, standing behind Xialing, spoke softly. "Your senior brother’s antidote, young miss. Just the first dose today. The rest come after you’ve completed your training."

Xiyue’s resistance crumbled. She lay down on the same black silk bed and spread her legs, already ashamed of how easily she obeyed.

Xialing knelt between her thighs, her fingers tracing the smooth, shaven skin. "Beautiful," she murmured. "Absolutely beautiful."

She inserted two fingers into Xiyue’s entrance without warning. Xiyue gasped as the digits slid in, her inner walls clenching around them. Xialing’s fingers were slim, but they found her most sensitive spots with ease, pressing and curling. The combination of the lingering aphrodisiacs, the talisman on her back, and the skilled touch sent Xiyue over the edge in less than a minute. She came hard, her entire body shuddering, a gush of fluid splashing onto Xialing’s hand.

"Look at

（本章内容较长，当前页面已截取部分内容）

The carriage came to a halt in a narrow alley, the driver pulling back the curtain to reveal a vermilion door carved with entwined lotuses. Two attendants in sheer gauze helped Xiyue down, their eyes downcast, their movements practiced and mechanical. The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and something else—sweet, cloying, like overripe fruit left to rot in the sun.

The interior of Jile Lou defied description. Gold leaf traced phoenix tails across walls of deep crimson, and silk curtains the color of spilled wine cascaded from ceiling beams carved with lewd murals. Lanterns shaped like half-open peonies cast a rosy glow over everything, and the floor—polished to a mirror sheen—reflected the images of writhing bodies from painted screens. Xiyue's bare feet left prints on the cool surface as she was led through a maze of corridors, past closed doors from which muffled laughter, wet sounds, and sharp cries escaped. Her teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached.

The room they brought her to was smaller, but no less opulent. A woman waited there, seated on a divan heaped with brocade cushions. She was perhaps forty, with a face that had once been beautiful and now bore the shrewd, calculating lines of a woman who had seen everything and judged it all currency. Her robes were black silk, cut low to reveal the swell of her breasts, and a jade pipe dangled from her painted lips.

"So," she said, her voice a low, smoky purr. "You are the Sword Pavilion's jewel. Xiyue. I am Madam Bai."

Xiyue said nothing. Madam Bai did not seem to expect a reply. She rose, circling Xiyue slowly, her gaze traveling up and down with an appraising, almost surgical coldness.

"Undress her," Madam Bai said.

Two serving girls stepped forward. Xiyue stiffened, her hand instinctively reaching for a sword that was no longer at her waist. The girls were gentle, but firm. They peeled away the plain white robe she had been given for the journey, leaving her standing naked in the lamplight, her arms crossed instinctively over her breasts.

Madam Bai clicked her tongue. "Lower your arms, child. This is no time for modesty."

Xiyue's arms remained locked. Madam Bai gestured, and one of the girls grabbed Xiyue's wrists, pulling them down to her sides. Xiyue's breath caught, her face burning.

"Very nice," Madam Bai murmured, stepping closer. Her fingers, cool and dry, traced the line of Xiyue's collarbone, then drifted lower, circling one nipple without touching it. Xiyue's entire body flinched as if struck. "Your breasts are full enough, firm. A man likes something to hold onto. And this—" Her hand dipped lower, skimming over the soft curve of Xiyue's belly. "Your waist is slender, but not weak. Good childbearing hips. And your cunt—" She passed her palm flat over Xiyue's mound, not quite pressing. "Yes. The lips are plump, neatly shaped, a pretty little slit. The clitoris is well-formed and prominent, very sensitive. A natural-born whore's body, beneath all that cold cultivation."

Xiyue’s entire being was a silent scream. Words—these vulgar, humiliating words—scraped against the core of her identity, the sword heart she had polished for eighteen years. She had been praised for her perfect Qi circulation, her flawless sword forms. Now this woman praised her labia.

"Have you ever been fucked in the ass?" Madam Bai asked, the question so casual, so conversational, that Xiyue's mind blanked.

"What?" the word escaped her, barely a whisper.

"Anal intercourse," Madam Bai said, enunciating the words with a sharp clarity that drove them into Xiyue like needles. "A man's cock in your rear hole. Has it ever been done to you?"

Xiyue's face drained of color. "I... I do not know what that is."

Madam Bai laughed, a low, throaty sound. She stepped behind Xiyue, and before Xiyue could flinch away, a finger—oiled, she realized later—pressed against the tight pucker of her anus. Xiyue gasped, her whole body jerking. The finger didn't push in, only circled the entrance, tracing the delicate skin around it.

"This," Madam Bai said, her breath warm against Xiyue's ear, "is your back garden. A virgin flower, from the feel of it." The finger finally pressed inward, just the tip, breaching the first ring of muscle. Xiyue cried out, a sharp, involuntary sound. "A man puts his cock here, instead of in that dripping hole between your legs. It hurts at first, for pure and noble girls like you. But after a while, they say the pleasure is... different. Deeper."

The finger withdrew. Xiyue sagged, shaking violently. She felt as if an insect had crawled inside her, leaving some cold slime behind.

"Now you know," Madam Bai said, wiping her finger on a silk handkerchief. Her smile was serene. "You will learn to love it here. I will teach you everything."

She clapped her hands. A serving girl appeared with a tray, upon which lay a scrap of black silk so thin it seemed to float on the air. Madam Bai picked it up, shaking it out. It was a dudou, a belly wrap, but nothing like the heavy silk and modest cuts Xiyue had worn. This was a web. A construction of black lace so sheer it was nearly transparent, the pattern an intricate weave of lewd scenes—coupling figures, lotus blossoms intertwined with phalluses. The straps were thin red cords meant to tie behind the neck and back, leaving the entire back exposed. The bottom hem was cut high, barely covering the nipples, and at the center of each breast panel was a hole, perfectly placed, through which the nipples would push, fully exposed. The crotch was not a solid piece, but three thin strings, adorned with tiny golden bells.

"Wear this," Madam Bai said.

Xiyue stared at the garment. She shook her head. No. Her refusal was absolute, a stone wall in her mind.

"No."

Madam Bai’s smile did not waver. She walked to a small table, picked up a jade-tipped pipe, and lit it with a taper. "You have a Second Senior Brother, I believe. He was taken alive. I have word of his safety. He is being held, intact, by one of the Demon Lord's generals. He has not been tortured. Yet."

Xiyue’s blood turned to ice. "Where is he?"

"That depends," Madam Bai said, exhaling a ring of smoke, "on how quickly you become obedient. If you cooperate, learn your trade well, please those who come to you... I will be able to tell you his whereabouts. If you resist..." She shrugged, a delicate lift of her shoulders. "Well. My influence only extends so far."

Anxiety, hot and suffocating, flooded Xiyue’s chest. She saw his face—kind, steady, always there to correct her sword stance with a gentle hand. Her heart twisted.

"Accept the dudou," Madam Bai said, her voice hardening. "Or I will send word that you refuse my training, and the general will have no further reason to keep your brother alive."

Xiyue closed her eyes. She thought of her sword, shattered. Her sect, burning. Her own body, violated. And now—this. A piece of silk, like a branding iron.

Her hand, trembling, reached out.

She let them dress her. The lace was rough against her skin, scratching. The red cords bit into her neck and back, pulling the fabric tight against her chest. Her nipples poked through the holes, achingly exposed, and whenever she moved, the golden bells at her crotch jingled lewdly. She felt more naked than nakedness itself.

Madam Bai circled her again, a satisfied smile on her lips. "Yes. The cold, distant sword fairy. Dressed like a whore. Your face still has that haughty look, but your body is starting to betray you. I can see your nipples hardening in the air. You are beginning to look the part. There is hope for you yet."

Shame, like a physical sickness, coiled in Xiyue’s stomach. She wanted to rip the thing off, but her hands hung limp and useless at her sides.

Every day, the routine began the same. A servant brought a small porcelain cup filled with a milky liquid—Yulu San, the Jade Dew Powder. It tasted of sickly-sweet lotus root, and it coated her throat like oil. She was told to drink, and she did, because they stood there until the cup was empty. Then came the bath. The water was hot, heavy with the scent of musk and some floral extract that made her head swim and her skin tingle. She was left to soak for an hour, the heat seeping into her bones, the tingling crawling deeper, making her abdomen clench and her breath quicken. After three days, she noticed her nipples were almost constantly hard, brushing against the rough lace of the dudou with every breath, sending tiny sparks through her chest.

On the fifth day, after the bath, Madam Bai came to her room again. She carried a small jade box.

“New training,” she said, opening the lid. Inside lay two small squares of yellow paper, folded into intricate patterns, and a smaller, teardrop-shaped piece. Symbols were written on them in cinnabar, visible even through the folds. “These are Jile Fu—Bliss Talismans. One for each nipple, and one for your clitoris. You will wear them at all times, until I or Xialing—your new senior sister, as it were—remove them.”

Xiyue’s eyes widened. She had heard of talismans that constricted Qi, that numbed limbs, that brought pain. But these... these seemed to hum with a lewd energy, a vibration she could feel from across the room.

"No," she said, backing away.

"You will wear them," Madam Bai said, her smile sharpening. "Or I will have one of your senior brother’s fingers delivered to you every hour until you change your mind."

The threat hit Xiyue like a physical blow. She thought of his hands—strong, calloused, always so careful when teaching her to grip a sword. A finger of that hand, delivered in a little box, slick with blood. The image made her stomach lurch.

But the talismans. She had felt the drugs, knew the direction her body was being steered. Her body was becoming a traitor, a land turning against its sovereign. These talismans were a foreign flag, raised in surrender.

"I cannot," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please. Do not make me."

Madam Bai's expression did not change. The jade box sat on the table.

It took five minutes of silence. Xiyue’s mind churned—rage, fear, grief, a desperate longing for a clean death, for anything but this slow, systematic violation of her very being. But the image of his hand, entire and attached to a living body, won.

Her hands, trembling violently, rose to the ties at her neck. The dudou fell away, pooling at her feet. She was naked, her body overheated from the bath, her skin damp and sensitive. Madam Bai watched, her eyes flat and calculating.

"Pick up the talisman," Madam Bai said. "The larger one. Use your left hand. The thumb and forefinger will do. Place it on your left nipple."

Every motion was a betrayal. Her fingers closed over the talisman. It felt warm, buzzing. She brought it to her nipple, and the moment the paper touched the sensitive tip, it seemed to adhere on its own, sealing itself to her skin. A jolt, like static, went through her. She gasped.

"The right," Madam Bai commanded.

The second talisman was applied. Her nipples now wore two burning patches of paper, symbols glowing faintly through the weave. The sensation was not pain—but a constant, low-level arousal, as if someone was pinching and rolling her nipples very gently, without stopping.

"The last one," Madam Bai said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "For your little pearl."

Xiyue's hands shook. Her clit. She had to touch herself there, in front of this woman, and place a talisman on that most secret, shameful part. She hesitated, her eyes pleading.

"Now," Madam Bai said.

Xiyue reached down, her own fingers brushing her mound. The skin there was slick from the bathwater, and she felt a burn of self-loathing as she parted her labia, exposing the nub of her clitoris. It was already erect, swollen from the drugs and the talismans on her nipples. She placed the teardrop-shaped paper there.

The effect was immediate.

A wave of pleasure, sharp and electric, shot through her pelvis, making her kn

（本章内容较长，当前页面已截取部分内容）