Punishment of the Mysterious Punishment Sovereign

The sun hung low over the Immortal Mist Sect, casting long shadows across the jade-white pavilions that dotted the mountain peaks. This was a sect of women, renowned throughout the cultivation world for their grace and skill with the blade. But grace meant little when faced with the wrath of a man who answered to no law but his own.

Xuanfa stood at the base of the mountain path, black training clothes stretching taut over a frame honed by centuries of combat. His eyes, dark and depthless as a frozen lake, fixed on the gates above. In his hand, he held a plain wooden token—the identification plaque of a disciple who had, in her haste to collect spiritual herbs, bumped into him in the market town below.

She had apologized. That was not enough.

"You there," he said, his voice carrying no heat, no anger. Just cold, absolute authority. "Tell your sect master that Xuanfa has come to collect a debt."

The disciple stationed at the gate paled. She had heard the stories—everyone had. The man who spanked women's bottoms until they could not sit for a week, who took female slaves as easily as others drew breath. Her hand trembled on her sword hilt.

"Sect Master Shen is not receiving visitors today."

Xuanfa smiled. It did not reach his eyes.

"I was not asking."

The air shifted. Pressure descended like a mountain on the disciple's shoulders. She fell to her knees, gasping, her Core Formation cultivation useless against the weight of his Nascent Soul Great Perfection aura. Xuanfa walked past her without a glance, his footsteps echoing on the stone steps.

Within the main hall, Shen Mengyue sat upon her throne of white jade, a cup of spiritual tea cooling in her hands. Her black-and-white Daoist robes flowed around her like living water. Waist-length black hair framed a face that was both ethereal and seductive—the kind of beauty that made men forget themselves. But there was steel behind those eyes, the steel of a sect master who had defended her home against demonic cultivators and rogue beasts alike.

She set down the tea as the pressure reached her hall.

"Xuanfa," she said, rising. Her voice was calm, but her hand found her sword hilt. "To what do I owe the displeasure of your visit?"

He stepped through the doorway, and the temperature in the hall dropped. The disciples flanking her throne shifted uneasily.

"One of yours offended me in the market. Pushed me aside for a bundle of herbs."

Shen Mengyue's jaw tightened. "She said she apologized."

"She did." Xuanfa stopped in the center of the hall, hands clasped behind his back. "But an apology does not erase disrespect. The Immortal Mist Sect will pay the price."

"And what price is that?"

Xuanfa's lips curled. "I will spank every female disciple in this sect until their bottoms are swollen and red. Then, I will do it again tomorrow, and the day after, until I am satisfied."

Shen Mengyue's cultivation flared. Mid Nascent Soul stage, the sword energy around her humming like a thousand angry bees. The disciples scrambled back as she drew her blade.

"You will not touch my disciples."

"I will do as I please," Xuanfa said. "The only question is whether you will fight me, or kneel and make this easier on yourself."

Shen Mengyue answered with her sword.

The battle shattered the main hall. Pillars of white jade exploded into dust as Shen Mengyue's blade wove a web of killing intent, each strike precise enough to sever meridians, each feint designed to find an opening. Xuanfa did not draw a weapon. He did not need one.

His fingers moved like dancers, tracing arcs of spiritual power that deflected her strikes with casual ease. A flick of his wrist sent a blade of wind screaming past her ear, carving a gash in her robe. She spun, retaliating with a crescent of sword light that would have bisected a lesser cultivator.

Xuanfa caught it between two fingers and crushed it.

The disparity was clear within the first exchange. He was not merely stronger—he was playing with her. She threw everything into her assault. Sword techniques passed down through generations of sect masters. Secret arts that burned her spiritual energy like kindling. She even attempted a forbidden maneuver that should have trapped him in an endless loop of mirrored space.

He broke out in three breaths.

"You fight well," Xuanfa said, and there was a hint of genuine appreciation in his voice. "Better than most at your stage. But you are at seventy percent of my strength, and I have not even begun to exert myself."

Shen Mengyue's chest heaved. Her sword trembled in her grip. The hall was in ruins around them, her disciples watching from the edges with tears streaming down their faces.

"Sect Master," one of them called. "Please, yield. We cannot—"

"Silence," Shen Mengyue commanded. She would not let them see her fall. She would not.

Xuanfa moved.

He crossed the distance between them in a blink, his hand closing around her wrist. She tried to pull away, but his grip was iron. He twisted, and her sword clattered to the stone floor. A moment later, her back hit the ground, the breath driven from her lungs.

Xuanfa loomed over her. His cultivation pressed down on her like a mountain, pinning her limbs, stealing her strength. She could not even close her legs as he straddled her waist, trapping her beneath him.

"Defiant," he said, his voice soft and cold. "I respect that. But defiance has a price."

His hand moved, and her robes parted. She felt the cool air on her bare thighs, then her bare bottom as he folded the fabric down to her knees. Her face burned with humiliation, tears finally spilling from her eyes.

"Please," she whispered. "Do not do this in front of them."

Xuanfa looked at the gathered disciples—dozens of them, ranging from Foundational Establishment to Core Formation, all watching in horror as their sect master was stripped and laid bare. His hand came down.

The sound of the spank echoed through the ruined hall. Shen Mengyue's body jerked, a pained gasp escaping her lips. Her bottom was pale and perfect, and his handprint blazed red across her left cheek.

"You will receive one hundred strikes with the Darkwood Board every day," Xuanfa announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the sect. "Every day, for three years. That is the punishment for your defiance."

He delivered another spank. Then another. Each impact sent shockwaves through her body, and she bit her lip until it bled to keep from crying out. Her disciples wept. Some begged. Others simply stared, their faith crumbling.

After the fiftieth strike, she could not hold back her sobs any longer.

His hand stopped. Shen Mengyue's body shook, her bottom a landscape of red—swollen, hot, thoroughly punished. Xuanfa rose, adjusting his training clothes as if he had done nothing more strenuous than take a walk.

"Prepare the board," he said to the disciples. "I will return at dawn."

He walked out of the hall, leaving Shen Mengyue naked and broken on the cold stone floor. The disciples rushed to her side, covering her with robes, helping her sit—she gasped in pain, unable to bear even the light fabric against her ravaged skin.

"Sect Master," her senior disciple whispered, tears streaming. "We will find a way to stop him. We will—"

"No." Shen Mengyue's voice was hoarse but steady. "You saw what he can do. We obey. We survive."

She looked at the shattered hall, at the faces of her disciples, at her own hands trembling in her lap.

"Three years," she said. "We will endure."

But in her heart, she knew: Xuanfa was not a man who could be endured. He was a force of nature, and he had claimed them. One spank at a time, he would break them all.

Fifteen years had passed in the Xuantian Realm, and the rhythm of punishment had become as steady as the turning of seasons. Every morning, Li Que and Lin Qiaoxin knelt side by side in the cavernous punishment hall, their naked bodies pressed low as they raised their buttocks high, waiting for the Heaven's Dao Wooden Boards to descend. The boards, jet-black and humming with ancient power, had long since learned the curves of their flesh. Each strike landed with surgical precision, painting their skin in shades of crimson and purple that healed and bloomed anew each day.

Li Que had become accustomed to the pain, but what frightened her was how she had begun to crave it. The sharp crack of wood against her cheeks sent a jolt through her core, and in the aftermath, when the numbness faded into a tingling warmth, she felt a slickness gathering between her thighs. She could not understand it. She was a proud cultivator, a Vice Sect Master of the Vermilion Bird Sect, a woman who had never bowed to anyone. Yet here she knelt, and her body responded as if it had found something it had been missing.

She glanced sideways at Lin Qiaoxin, whose twin tails swayed with each strike, a playful grin on her face even as tears streamed down her cheeks. Li Que wanted to ask her—did she feel it too? That strange, shameful pleasure that turned pain into something almost intoxicating? But the words caught in her throat. To admit such a thing would be to surrender entirely.

Lin Qiaoxin caught her gaze and winked, her smile deepening. She knew. Of course she knew. Nothing escaped those clever eyes.

One afternoon, after the daily two hundred strikes had been completed and their buttocks were swollen to twice their normal size, Li Que and Lin Qiaoxin remained kneeling before Xuanfa, who sat on his ebony throne, his cold gaze fixed upon them. A black dog leash lay coiled in his hand, and both women wore matching collars around their necks.

"Master," Li Que said, her voice steady despite the throbbing in her rear. "We have a question."

Xuanfa raised an eyebrow, the only sign of interest he ever showed. "Speak."

"What do you like most?" Lin Qiaoxin asked, tilting her head, her voice light and teasing. "What gives you the greatest pleasure?"

Xuanfa's lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile. "I enjoy watching female cultivators suffer," he said, his voice flat and cold as a winter lake. "I enjoy seeing their pride shatter, their bodies broken, their spirits bent to my will. The suffering they endure strengthens both my psyche and my cultivation. Every tear, every scream, every shudder of pain feeds my power."

Li Que and Lin Qiaoxin exchanged a glance. Then Li Que spoke. "Then we have an opportunity for you, Master."

"Explain."

Lin Qiaoxin leaned forward, her breasts pressing against the cold stone floor as she raised her buttocks higher, a gesture of supplication. "The entire cultivation world knows that Shen Mengyue, the Sect Master of the Immortal Mist Sect, was stripped naked by you and made to kneel at the sect hall entrance, raising her buttocks to receive spanks. But it is not yet widely known that the formation genius Lin Qiaoxin and the Vermilion Bird Sect Vice Sect Master Li Que have become your female slaves."

Li Que continued, her voice firm. "We suggest that you lead us crawling naked like female dogs on leashes to the highest platform in Wuling City. Have Shen Mengyue's disciple lead her with a dog leash to the same platform. The three of us will kneel in a row, upper bodies prone, lower bodies with plump buttocks raised high. You will summon the Heaven's Dao Wooden Boards to automatically spank the three of us. Beat our buttocks to a pulp, so much so that even cultivators need a week to recover. Then force open our legs and severely whip our crotch areas. Finally, insert anal hooks into our swollen anuses and hang us for public display for a week."

Xuanfa's eyes widened slightly, the first genuine surprise he had shown in years. He looked at the two women kneeling before him, their red and purple buttocks still quivering from the morning's punishment, and he nodded slowly. "You would offer yourselves so completely?"

"To please you, Master," Lin Qiaoxin said with a wink. "We exist only for your pleasure."

Xuanfa rose from his throne, his black training clothes rustling as he descended the steps. He stood before them, looking down at their exposed bodies. "I agree to the plan. It will be done in three days."

He paused, then added, "But first, we need some new punishments."

Lin Qiaoxin's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but she quickly recovered. Li Que's jaw tightened.

Xuanfa reached into a storage ring and withdrew a stone jar. He uncorked it, and a sharp, pungent odor filled the hall—ginger, but not ordinary ginger. This was magical ginger, grown in the venom fields of the southern wastes, its juice capable of burning through flesh like acid.

"Kneel," he commanded. "Raise your buttocks. Spread your anuses."

Li Que and Lin Qiaoxin complied without hesitation, their bodies moving through the familiar motions. They pressed their faces to the floor, their buttocks lifted high, and reached back with both hands to spread their cheeks, exposing their tight, puckered openings to the air.

Xuanfa approached Lin Qiaoxin first. He dipped a thin bamboo tube into the jar, filling it with the glowing amber juice, then inserted the tube into her anus. Lin Qiaoxin gasped as the cold bamboo slid into her, but the real pain came when he pressed the plunger.

The ginger juice flooded her intestines like liquid fire. Lin Qiaoxin's back arched, a strangled cry tearing from her throat. It felt as if a red-hot iron rod had been thrust into her bowels, twisting and burning, searing her from the inside out. Her hands flew from her cheeks to claw at the stone floor, her nails scraping against the rock as she writhed, her body convulsing as the burning spread deeper, coating every fold of her intestinal lining.

Li Que watched, her heart pounding, knowing her turn was next. She did not have to wait long. Xuanfa withdrew the bamboo tube from Lin Qiaoxin and approached her, his expression as impassive as ever.

The insertion was quick. The plunger's push was relentless. The ginger juice filled her like molten metal, and Li Que screamed—a raw, ragged sound she had not known she could make. The pain was beyond anything she had felt from the wooden boards. It was internal, invasive, a violation that reached into the deepest part of her, burning away everything it touched. Her vision went white, her legs kicked, her body thrashed as the fire seared through her bowels, igniting nerve endings she had never known existed.

Xuanfa corked the jar and stepped back. "The daily two hundred Heaven's Dao Wooden Board punishment begins now," he said. "You are not to lose control and discharge intestinal fluid during the spanking. If you do, you will receive an extra one hundred strikes."

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que were still trembling, their bodies slick with sweat, the ginger juice churning inside them like a living flame. They struggled to regain their positions, faces to the floor, buttocks raised, hands once again spreading their cheeks. The burning made every movement agony, and the pressure building in their bowels was unbearable.

The Heaven's Dao Wooden Boards descended.

The first strike landed across both their buttocks simultaneously, the sound echoing through the hall like thunder. Li Que's swollen flesh compressed under the blow, and the jolt sent a wave of pressure through her lower abdomen. The ginger juice sloshed inside her, and she clenched every muscle to keep from losing control. The pain of the strike was nothing compared to the burning in her intestines, but the impact made it worse, as if the fire were being stirred with a hot poker.

The second strike came. The third. The fourth.

By the tenth, Lin Qiaoxin's composure cracked. The heat in her bowels had become an inferno, demanding release. She tried to hold it in, but her body was beyond her control. With the eleventh strike, a spasm ripped through her, and a stream of ginger-tinged fluid sprayed from her anus, splattering across the stone floor.

Xuanfa's voice was cold. "Lin Qiaoxin. Loss of control. One hundred extra strikes."

Lin Qiaoxin sobbed, her body shaking, but she did not dare lower her buttocks. She kept them raised, kept her cheeks spread, even as the burning continued and her shame pooled beneath her.

Li Que fought with every fiber of her being. She focused on the pain from the boards, trying to use it to distract herself from the pressure in her guts. But the ginger juice was relentless, and the boards kept falling, each strike jostling her internal organs, making the fire dance and writhe. She lasted until the fifteenth strike. Then a convulsion tore through her, and she too lost control, her body betraying her in a hot, burning flood.

"Li Que. Loss of control. One hundred extra strikes."

The boards continued. Two hundred became three hundred. The ginger juice continued to burn in their intestines, and every strike sent fresh waves of agony through their cores. Their buttocks, already swollen from the morning, became raw, shredded flesh. Blood spattered with each impact. The boards rose and fell, relentless as the passage of time.

Through it all, Lin Qiaoxin's tears mixed with her sweat, but a small smile remained on her lips. And Li Que, despite the agony, felt that strange tingling between her legs again, a wetness that had nothing to do with the ginger juice.

They endured. That was all they could do. They endured for their Master, for the punishment that strengthened him, and for the strange, twisted pleasure that had begun to bloom in the ashes of their pain.

The morning sun cast long shadows across Wuling City’s main thoroughfare, the cobblestones still damp from the previous night’s rain. Merchants were setting up their stalls, disciples from various sects mingled in the streets, and the scent of medicinal herbs and smoked meat wafted through the air. But all of that came to a halt when Xuanfa strode through the eastern gate, his black training clothes immaculate, his face a mask of cold indifference.

Behind him, on all fours, crawled Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que.

The crowd’s chatter died instantly. Jaws dropped. A merchant dropped his basket of spirit fruits, the orbs rolling forgotten across the stones. A young cultivator from the Violet Dawn Sect choked on his morning tea, coughing violently as he stared.

Dog leashes of supple black leather were clipped to collars around the women’s necks. The collars themselves were simple iron bands, unadorned except for a small ring at the front. The leashes trailed forward, held loosely in Xuanfa’s right hand, the leather creaking softly with each step he took.

Lin Qiaoxin crawled with an almost cheerful rhythm, her small breasts swinging beneath her, her low twin tails bouncing with each movement. The bruises on her pale buttocks were a vivid tapestry of purple and blue, crisscrossed with fading red stripes. She kept her head up, her eyes bright, and a faint smile played on her lips. To the onlookers, it seemed she was enjoying her degradation.

Li Que crawled beside her, her athletic build tense but controlled. Her red hair, usually tied in a high ponytail, now spilled forward over her shoulders, brushing the ground. The muscles in her shoulders and thighs flexed with each deliberate motion. Her buttocks, too, bore the marks of recent punishment—swollen, discolored, the skin mottled like overripe plums. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes held a flicker of defiance tempered by submission.

Whispers erupted like a swarm of bees.

“Is that… the Vermilion Bird Sect’s vice sect master?”

“The young formation master who broke through to Nascent Soul at the tournament?”

“They’re naked! Completely naked!”

“Look at their… their backsides. Who did that to them?”

Children pointed, and their mothers quickly pulled them away. Elderly cultivators shook their heads in disapproval, but their eyes lingered. Young disciples blushed and looked away, then looked back. The crowd parted before Xuanfa like waves before a ship’s prow, and then closed behind him, following.

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que crawled in perfect synchrony. Their hands pressed flat against the cobblestones, their knees scraped lightly with each forward motion. The morning air was cool against their exposed skin, raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with shame. But deep inside them, in a place no one could see, a different sensation burned.

Ginger juice.

It filled their intestines like liquid fire, coating the sensitive walls with a spicy, searing heat. Every movement of their abdominal muscles squeezed the fluid deeper, pushed it against raw tissue. The irritation was constant, maddening, a dull throb that flared into sharp spikes whenever they shifted their weight. Lin Qiaoxin’s smile tightened at the edges. Li Que’s jaw clenched so hard her molars ground together.

The ginger juice had been administered that morning, before Xuanfa had attached the leashes. He had made them kneel, bend over, and then he had used a thin tube to inject the pungent liquid deep into their rectums. The initial shock had made Lin Qiaoxin gasp and Li Que hiss through her teeth. Then the burning had begun—a slow creep of heat that spread through their lower bellies like molten copper. It was not a pain that could be alleviated. It was a constant, intimate reminder of their submission.

Now, as they crawled through Wuling City, that ginger fire pulsed with every step. Lin Qiaoxin’s anus clenched involuntarily, trying to expel the irritant, but that only squeezed the juice deeper into the folds of her rectum. She sucked in a sharp breath and forced herself to relax. Beside her, Li Que’s thighs trembled, the muscles standing out in sharp relief.

“They’re doing well,” a voice murmured from the crowd.

“He’s turned them into animals,” another whispered.

Lin Qiaoxin’s smile widened, though sweat beaded on her temples. She was not an animal. She was a slave. And that was infinitely better.

The procession moved deeper into the city. Wuling’s main square opened before them, a wide plaza paved with white stone and surrounded by the grand buildings of the city’s ruling council. In the center of the square stood a raised platform of dark wood, newly constructed. It stood about waist-high, with low steps on all four sides. The platform was bare, save for three thick wooden posts set into the back edge, each fitted with iron rings.

Xuanfa stopped at the foot of the platform. He turned, looked down at his two crawling slaves, and gave the leashes a gentle tug. “Wait here.”

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que settled onto their haunches, their buttocks resting on their heels, their hands placed palms-down on the ground before them. In this position, their bruised posteriors were fully visible to the crowd that had gathered. The ginger juice shifted in their bowels, a hot pulse that made them both sway slightly.

The crowd murmured, but then a new commotion drew their attention.

From the opposite side of the square, a procession was approaching. At its head walked a young woman in the pale blue robes of the Immortal Mist Sect—a Core Formation disciple named Zhao Yun. She held a leather leash in her hand, the same kind Xuanfa used. At the other end of that leash, crawling on all fours, was Shen Mengyue.

The sect master of the Immortal Mist Sect. The ethereal beauty who had once commanded the loyalty of thousands. She crawled naked through the streets of Wuling City, her waist-length black hair dragging through the dust, her fair skin dappled with the shadows of the morning light. Her body was a paradox—the innocence of a young woman and the allure of a mature woman fused into one form. But now that form was bowed, her head low, her eyes fixed on the cobblestones beneath her hands.

The crowd that had been watching Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que turned as one. Gasps rippled through the square. Disbelief warred with recognition.

“That’s… Shen Mengyue?”

“The sect master? Reduced to this?”

“Has she no shame?”

Shen Mengyue heard every word. They cut deeper than any whip. Her cheeks burned, and not from the sun. The cobblestones were rough against her palms and knees, grinding the skin raw. She had walked these streets a hundred times as a respected leader. Now she crawled as a spectacle.

Her heart was a knot of ice and fire. The ice was the cold certainty of her situation—she was utterly powerless, bound by Xuanfa’s superior cultivation and the threat he held over her sect. The fire was the shame that consumed her, a burning humiliation that made her want to close her eyes and never open them again. But she could not close her eyes. She had to see every face that stared at her, every lip that curled in disgust or pity.

Why? The question echoed in her mind. Why is he doing this? I have already paid for my defiance. I have been spanked bare before the world. Is this not enough?

But she knew the answer. Xuanfa did not punish to correct. He punished to dominate. And his word was iron. He had promised to humiliate her publicly, and he was keeping that promise with relentless precision.

The disciple Zhao Yun walked behind her, her face pale, her hand trembling on the leash. She had been ordered to lead her sect master like a dog, and though she obeyed, her eyes were red-rimmed. Shen Mengyue could not hate her. The girl was a victim as much as she was.

They reached the platform. Zhao Yun stopped, and Shen Mengyue crawled to a halt, her body trembling with exhaustion and shame. The crowd pressed closer, a wall of eyes and whispers.

“Rise to the platform,” Zhao Yun said, her voice barely audible.

Shen Mengyue hesitated. Her muscles screamed in protest. Her pride screamed louder. But she began to crawl up the low steps, one hand after another, one knee after another. The wood was smooth and warm beneath her. When she reached the top, she saw Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que already there, kneeling as they had been taught.

Lin Qiaoxin gave her a quick, almost apologetic smile. Li Que did not look at her.

Shen Mengyue took her place beside them, kneeling on the hard platform. The three of them formed a line: Lin Qiaoxin on the left, Li Que in the middle, Shen Mengyue on the right. The crowd fell silent, sensing that the main event was about to begin.

Xuanfa ascended the platform with measured steps. He stood before them, his black robes stark against the pale wood, his face utterly expressionless. He looked at each woman in turn, his gaze lingering on the bruises that decorated their buttocks.

“The entire cultivation world knows what I have done to these three,” he said, his voice carrying across the square without effort. “But knowing is not the same as seeing. Today, you will all see. You will witness the punishment of those who defied me, and you will understand that there is no escape from my judgment.”

A murmur of unease passed through the crowd. A few people began to back away, but most stayed rooted, morbid curiosity overcoming their disgust.

Xuanfa raised his hand. “Assume the position.”

Lin Qiaoxin moved first. She bent forward, pressing her upper body flat against the wooden platform, her arms stretched out before her. Her buttocks rose high in the air, the bruised flesh prominent and vulnerable. Li Que followed immediately, her athletic form settling into the same pose. Shen Mengyue was the last, her limbs heavy with reluctance, but she too bent forward and presented her posterior.

Three plump buttocks, raised and waiting. The bruises on each pair told a story of previous punishment, but the skin was unbroken. Xuanfa’s earlier spankings had been thorough but controlled.

“The Heaven’s Dao Wooden Boards,” Xuanfa intoned.

He extended his hand, and three wooden boards materialized from thin air. They floated horizontally, each about two feet long, six inches wide, and an inch thick. The wood was dark and dense, etched with faint glowing runes that pulsed with a soft blue light. These were not ordinary boards. They were artifacts, each one imbued with the power of the Heavenly Dao itself. They would strike with perfect precision and relentless force, and they would not stop until their task was complete.

“Begin,” Xuanfa said.

The first board shot forward and slammed into Lin Qiaoxin’s buttocks with a sound like a thunderclap.

*CRACK!*

Her entire body jolted. The impact sent shockwaves through her flesh, flattening the curve of her cheek and leaving a bright red imprint. She gasped, her fingers curling against the wood. The ginger juice in her bowels sloshed, and the heat flared.

*CRACK!* *CRACK!*

Two more strikes, one for each buttock, delivered with mechanical precision. Lin Qiaoxin’s breath came in short, sharp gasps. The pain was a living thing, spreading from her buttocks through her hips and into her lower back. But beneath the pain, there was a strange warmth—a sense of purpose. She was enduring this for her master. She was proving her worth.

Beside her, Li Que took her first strike.

*WHACK!*

The board connected with the fullest part of her right cheek, and the sound was wetter, deeper. Li Que’s teeth ground together. She did not cry out. She had never cried out during punishment, not once since she had become Xuanfa’s slave. But her body betrayed her—the muscles of her thighs twitched, her toes curled against the wood.

*WHACK!* *WHACK!*

Two more. Then another for Lin Qiaoxin. Then another for Li Que. The boards alternated, striking in a rhythm that was almost musical. *CRACK-WHACK-CRACK-WHACK*—over and over, each blow landing with the same force, the same pre

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The week felt like an eternity. Each day bled into the next, marked only by the relentless ache in Shen Mengyue's anus and the scorching burn of humiliation that never faded. She hung suspended by the anal hook, her body bare, her soul stripped naked before the eyes of Wuling City. The hook had been inserted deep, its cruel curve pressing against her inner walls, and a thin chain ran from it to a beam above. Her toes barely brushed the ground, forcing her to take her full weight on the ring that stretched her orifice wide. The pain was a constant, gnawing presence—a sharp sting when she shifted, a dull throb when she hung still. But worse was the mental torment.

Every day, crowds gathered below. Cultivators, merchants, commoners—they all came to stare at the sect master of the Immortal Mist Sect, the woman who had once commanded respect and fear, now displayed like a common whore. They pointed, they whispered, they laughed. Some threw rotten vegetables. Shen Mengyue closed her eyes and tried to retreat into her mind, but the sounds of their mockery pierced through. She heard her own name spoken with contempt, heard crude jokes about her bare bottom, heard the snickers of children who did not understand but joined in anyway. She wept silently, tears streaming down her cheeks, but she did not scream. She would not give them that satisfaction.

Beside her, Lin Qiaoxin swung gently from her own hook, her twin tails swaying. She hummed a cheerful tune, seemingly unbothered by the burn in her anus or the stares of the crowd. When a man below made a crude comment, she winked at him and blew a kiss, earning a roar of laughter. "Enjoy the show, darling!" she called out. "The best seat in the house!" Her levity was a shield, but also a genuine reflection of her nature. She had accepted her role as Xuanfa's female slave, and in her mind, all of this was simply another form of discipline. The master was teaching her submission, and she was a willing student.

Li Que hung on the other side, her red hair tangled and her athletic body gleaming with sweat. She did not hum or joke. She hung in silence, her eyes fixed on the ground, her jaw tight. But there was no anger in her gaze—only a grudging acceptance. She had chosen this path. She had knelt before Xuanfa and offered herself as his slave. The humiliation was part of the price, and she paid it without complaint. When the pain in her anus grew too sharp, she shifted her weight, grunting softly, but she did not cry out.

The days passed. Shen Mengyue grew thinner, her skin pale from the constant strain. She ate little when food was brought, drank sparingly, and slept only in fits, woken by the pain whenever she relaxed. Her mind wandered. She thought of her sect, of her disciples, of the days when she had been respected. Now she was nothing but a spectacle, a cautionary tale whispered in the streets. She hated Xuanfa with a burning passion, but she also feared him. His words echoed in her mind: "The punishment is to teach. When it is over, you will have a choice."

Finally, the week ended.

On the seventh day, at the noon hour, two burly cultivators in black training clothes approached. They unhooked the chains, lowering each woman carefully. Shen Mengyue's legs gave out the moment her feet touched the ground; she collapsed onto her knees, her anus throbbing and raw. Lin Qiaoxin landed gracefully, stretching her arms above her head with a groan. "Oh, that was not pleasant. I think I need a hot bath." Li Que said nothing, simply rising to her feet and standing at attention.

The crowd had been cleared away. The square was empty. And then, a ripple in the air, and Xuanfa appeared.

He walked toward them, his black training clothes pristine, his face cold and handsome as a statue. His eyes swept over the three naked women, lingering for a moment on Shen Mengyue's trembling form. She felt his gaze like a physical weight, and she lowered her head, her waist-length black hair falling forward to hide her face.

"One week," Xuanfa said. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "You have endured the hook. Now you will face my judgment."

Shen Mengyue looked up, tears still wet on her cheeks. "Heavenly Venerable," she whispered, her voice hoarse from days of weeping. "Please… I have been punished. I have learned my lesson. I beg you, show mercy."

Xuanfa's eyebrow rose slightly. "Mercy? I promised you a punishment for your arrogance. That punishment is complete. But you still owe me a debt."

"I will repay it," Shen Mengyue said quickly. "I will serve the Immortal Mist Sect's resources, whatever you desire. I will not oppose you again. Just let me go."

Xuanfa snorted softly. "Stubborn and unyielding." He turned to Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que. "You two. Prepare her."

Lin Qiaoxin's face lit up with a gleeful smile. "Yes, Master!" She skipped over to Shen Mengyue, her bare feet padding on the stone. Li Que followed with a firm, purposeful stride, her red hair swinging. They each took one of Shen Mengyue's arms, pulling her upright.

"What are you doing?" Shen Mengyue demanded, fear spiking in her chest.

Lin Qiaoxin giggled. "Just helping you learn, Head Sister. Don't worry, it's not that bad. Well, maybe it is a little bad." She and Li Que forced Shen Mengyue to bend forward, her hands on her knees, her plump buttocks raised high in the air. Shen Mengyue struggled, but her muscles were weak from the week of hanging, and the two Core Formation women held her easily.

Li Que reached between Shen Mengyue's legs, her fingers finding the ring of the anal hook. She pulled it out gently, and Shen Mengyue gasped as the hook withdrew, leaving her anus empty and aching. Then Lin Qiaoxin held Shen Mengyue's buttocks apart, and Li Que leaned in.

"Master, the ginger juice?" Li Que asked.

Xuanfa produced a small jade bottle from his sleeve. "Pour half."

Li Que uncorked the bottle, and the sharp, pungent smell of ginger filled the air. Shen Mengyue's eyes widened. "No! Please, no!" She thrashed, but Lin Qiaoxin held her firm, and Li Que brought the bottle to her anus, pressing the narrow mouth against the stretched opening. The cold liquid poured in, filling her intestines with a burning sensation that grew hotter and hotter, until it felt like liquid fire was coursing through her bowels.

Shen Mengyue screamed. It was a raw, ragged sound that tore from her throat. The burn was unlike anything she had ever felt—a searing, invasive heat that radiated from her anus up into her belly, making her whole abdomen clench and cramp. She tried to clench her muscles to push it out, but an invisible force seized her, forcing her body into the familiar kneeling, buttocks-raised position. Her knees hit the ground, her chest pressed to the stone, her arms stretched forward, and her bottom remained high and exposed.

"Good," Xuanfa said. He produced two boards from nowhere—each was a foot long, four inches wide, and an inch thick. They were carved from Heaven's Dao Wood, a material that conducted spiritual energy and made every strike resonate deep into the flesh. He handed one to Lin Qiaoxin and one to Li Que.

"You will spank her," Xuanfa ordered. "Fifty strokes each. And every time you strike, she will say: 'Thank you, Xuanfa Heavenly Venerable, for the spanking.' If she does not, you will pour another dose of ginger juice."

Lin Qiaoxin's grin widened. "My pleasure, Master." She took her position on Shen Mengyue's left, the board resting lightly on her shoulder. Li Que stood on the right, her expression serious but compliant.

"Begin," Xuanfa said.

Lin Qiaoxin swung first. The board landed flat across Shen Mengyue's right buttock with a loud, sharp crack that echoed through the empty square. The impact sent a shockwave of pain through Shen Mengyue's flesh, the Heaven's Dao Wood amplifying the sting into a burning, numbing jolt. Shen Mengyue gasped, but she did not speak.

"Head Sister," Lin Qiaoxin said pleasantly, "you have to say the words."

"No," Shen Mengyue bit out.

Li Que swung next, her stroke powerful and precise, hitting the left buttock just below the crown. Another crack, and Shen Mengyue's body jerked. The ginger juice was still burning inside her, and the spanking only seemed to make it worse, the heat spreading with every impact.

"That's one," Li Que said. "Say it."

Shen Mengyue clenched her teeth. The pain was building, her buttocks already turning red from the first two blows. She shook her head.

Xuanfa gestured, and Lin Qiaoxin produced another jade bottle of ginger juice. She knelt beside Shen Mengyue and—without waiting—pressed the bottle to her anus and poured another dose. The burning intensified. Shen Mengyue screamed again, her body trembling, tears streaming down her face.

"Now," Lin Qiaoxin said, "say it, or we'll keep pouring."

Shen Mengyue sobbed. Her pride was crumbling, beaten down by the hook, the ginger, the spanking. She was a sect master, a Nascent Soul cultivator, and she was being treated like a misbehaving child. But the pain was too much.

The next stroke fell, and Lin Qiaoxin said, "Say it."

"Thank you," Shen Mengyue choked out, her voice broken, "Xuanfa Heavenly Venerable, for the spanking."

The words tasted like ash in her mouth. But she could not stop. Stroke after stroke fell—fifty from Lin Qiaoxin, fifty from Li Que. The boards rained down on her raw, reddening buttocks, each impact sending a fresh wave of agony through her body. Her skin turned from pink to red to a deep, angry crimson. The flesh began to swell, the contours of her buttocks losing their shape as the bruises formed. By the time they reached forty strokes, her entire bottom was a solid mass of throbbing, burning pain.

But she continued to say the words, her voice growing fainter, more mechanical. "Thank you, Xuanfa Heavenly Venerable, for the spanking." After the fiftieth stroke from Li Que, Shen Mengyue collapsed forward, her cheek pressed to the cold stone, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Xuanfa walked around her, looking down at her ruined buttocks. "You still resist," he said quietly. "But you are learning."

Shen Mengyue raised her head, her eyes red and swollen. "Please," she whispered. "I will become your female slave. But only if you swear to protect the Immortal Mist Sect. Do not harm my disciples. Let the sect continue."

Xuanfa's expression did not change. "I accept your terms. The Immortal Mist Sect will be under my protection. I will not harm a single disciple who does not oppose me."

Shen Mengyue let out a long, shuddering breath. "Then I… submit."

Xuanfa raised his hand, and a swirling portal of dark energy opened before them—the entrance to the Xuantian Realm. He stepped through, and Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que each took one of Shen Mengyue's arms, pulling her to her feet and guiding her through. The world twisted, and then they were standing in a vast hall of black stone, lit by flickering torches. The air was cool and dry.

A collar appeared around Shen Mengyue's neck—a ring of dark metal, etched with runes that glowed faintly. It locked into place with a soft click. Shen Mengyue felt its weight, felt the bond it created, the connection to Xuanfa that was now a part of her soul. She understood the rules of the Xuantian Realm. She understood what was expected.

She knelt on the stone floor, the movement sending a fresh spike of pain through her bruised buttocks. She raised her plump, swollen bottom high, her hands pressed flat on the ground. In that position, she waited.

Xuanfa held up a wooden board—the same Heaven's Dao board that Lin Qiaoxin had used. "Two hundred strokes," he said. "You will count each one. You will thank me after each set of ten. If you miss a count, the strokes begin again."

Shen Mengyue nodded, her hair falling forward.

Xuanfa swung.

The first stroke landed across both buttocks, a horizontal blow that made her whole body jolt. The pain was blinding, a white-hot flash that obliterated all thought. She gasped,

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A hundred years had passed since the Xuantian Realm first felt the sting of the Heaven's Dao Wooden Board. In a vast, open courtyard paved with black jade, a row of thirty female cultivators knelt in perfect alignment, their bodies bare, their heads pressed to the cold stone, and their buttocks—pale, plump, and trembling—raised high into the air. Behind each white mound, two Heaven's Dao Wooden Boards floated silently, their surfaces etched with ancient runes that pulsed with a faint golden light. With a sharp, whistling crack, the boards descended in unison, striking the vulnerable flesh with brutal precision. The sound was a symphony of wet slaps and sharp cries, a rhythm that had become as familiar as breath in this place.

The female cultivators in the row were no ordinary women. They were sect masters, elders, genius rogue cultivators, and daughters of noble families—once proud, unyielding, and untouchable. Now their wrists were bound by invisible chains of spirit energy, and their modesty was nothing but a memory. Each had been captured by the Mysterious Punishment Sovereign, stripped naked, and subjected to the board until they wailed, begged, and finally accepted their new fate as his female slaves. Their buttocks, once symbols of their dignity, were now mottled with vivid red and purple welts, some fresh and glistening, others layered with the marks of earlier punishments. Tears streaked their faces, and their sobs mingled with the relentless cracking of wood against flesh.

To the rear of this line of supplicant bottoms stood three figures, equally naked, but radiating a different energy—composed, almost proud, like veteran warriors overseeing raw recruits. They were the original three: Xin Nu Lin Qiaoxin, Que Nu Li Que, and Yue Nu Shen Mengyue. Their bodies were flawless, each a masterpiece of cultivation and beauty. Lin Qiaoxin’s skin was smooth as porcelain, her youthful figure slender and pert, with small, firm breasts and a waist so narrow it seemed fragile. Her black hair, tied in low twin tails, swayed gently as she moved. Her buttocks, however, told a different story: they were swollen, fiery red, and covered in a lattice of fine scars from countless punishments. The flesh was so tender it seemed to throb with residual heat, yet she stood with perfect posture, her voice steady as she called out to the kneeling women.

“Higher, sisters! Arch your backs! Don’t clench—relax your muscles, or the boards will hurt twice as much.” Lin Qiaoxin’s tone was cheerful, almost playful, as if she were coaching a game. She stepped closer to a sobbing woman in the middle of the row and pressed a finger lightly against the woman’s lower back. “Like this. Let your bottom be soft. Accept the strike, don’t fight it. The master’s board is a gift.”

Beside her, Li Que stood tall and athletic, her red hair tied in a high ponytail that cascaded down her back like a banner of fire. Her build was full of sinewy strength, with broad shoulders and long, powerful legs. Her breasts were firm and high, and the muscles of her thighs and buttocks were well-defined, yet even her formidable physique showed the marks of subjugation. Her buttocks were deep red, swollen to the point where the skin looked stretched, and a series of darker bruises speckled the outer curves. She crossed her arms and surveyed the row of raised bottoms with a critical eye. “You should be grateful,” she said, her voice low and commanding. “When I first knelt for the master, I was beaten until I could not walk for three days. You have it easy. The board trains your spirit. Embrace it.”

Shen Mengyue stood in the center, her presence commanding even in her nudity. Her waist-length black hair flowed like a river of ink, contrasting sharply with the pale perfection of her skin. Her figure carried the fullness of maturity—soft curves, a generous bosom, and hips that flared in a graceful arc. Her face was a blend of ethereal beauty and seductive allure, but her eyes held a cold, gentle wisdom. Her buttocks were the most heavily punished of the three: the entire surface was a uniform, angry red, with raised welts crisscrossing like a map of pain. The flesh was hot to the touch even from a distance, and she shifted her weight occasionally, wincing with a practiced grace. She spoke in a calm, melodic tone, her voice carrying over the rhythmic sound of the boards. “The board teaches humility. You were all mighty cultivators, but power without submission is hollow. Accept your place. The master’s punishment is a path to greater strength.” She turned her head slightly, her eyes scanning the row. “Relax your anuses. The ginger juice comes after the boards, and if you clench, the pain will be multiplied tenfold.”

The new slaves trembled, some whimpering, others biting their lips to stifle cries. The boards continued their relentless assault, each strike driving a new wave of agony through their raw bottoms. The air was thick with the scent of bruised flesh, sweat, and tears.

Then, without warning, the atmosphere shifted. The temperature in the courtyard dropped, and a presence like an approaching storm pressed down on everyone. Xuanfa appeared at the edge of the courtyard, his black training clothes immaculate, his face a mask of cold handsomeness. He walked forward slowly, his steps silent on the black jade, his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes swept over the scene with detached approval.

The three standing women reacted instantly. In a single, fluid motion, they dropped to their knees, lowered their heads until their foreheads touched their hands, and raised their red, swollen buttocks high into the air. The posture was practiced, automatic, as natural as breathing. Their buttocks, already sore and sensitive, now took on a new vulnerability, presented like offerings.

Lin Qiaoxin spoke first, her voice a warm, respectful murmur. “Master, we are instructing the new sisters. Is master here to watch Xin Nu’s punishment? Rest assured, I will do my best to endure to the end and not spoil master’s fun.”

Li Que followed, her tone fierce but submissive. “Master, Que Nu is ready. I will not fail you.”

Shen Mengyue’s voice was the calmest, the most serene. “Master, Yue Nu is prepared. The new sisters are learning. We will not disappoint.”

Xuanfa nodded once. The gesture was small, almost imperceptible, but it was a command.

The three women, without hesitation, reached behind themselves with both hands. Their fingers found their anuses, spread the tight openings wide, and held. They had done this countless times; their muscles complied without resistance. Above each of them, a shimmering syringe materialized, filled with a golden, pungent liquid—ginger juice, concentrated and fiery. The syringes descended, their tips entering the opened holes, and with a smooth, relentless pressure, they emptied their contents into the women’s bowels. The three winced, their breaths hitching as the liquid flooded inside, a burning sensation that spread through their lower bellies. They held still, clenching nothing, letting the ginger juice settle.

Then the Heaven’s Dao Wooden Boards appeared. Not two, but six for each woman—three pairs, left and right. They floated in a semicircle above the raised buttocks, their surfaces glowing with power. The boards were thicker than those used on the new slaves, their runes more complex, their weight immense. Even a mid-Nascent Soul cultivator would feel their full force.

Xuanfa raised one finger, and the boards began.

The first strike came simultaneously from all six boards—three on the left cheek, three on the right. The impact was thunderous, a sound like a giant’s palm slapping wet stone. The three women’s bodies jolted forward, their heads snapping up briefly before they forced them back down. Lin Qiaoxin let out a sharp, high-pitched shriek, her twin tails bouncing. Her buttocks quivered, the flesh absorbing the blow and glowing a brighter red. “Ah! Ah—thank you, master!” she gasped, her voice trembling with pain.

Li Que took the strike with a grunt, her muscular frame tensing and then forcing itself to relax. A low moan escaped her lips, and she dug her fingers into the stone floor. “Hnng—yes, master! More!” Her voice was fierce, almost hungry.

Shen Mengyue’s cry was a melodic, breathy sound, half pain, half a sigh. Her hips swayed slightly as the boards connected, and her buttocks bounced with a soft ripple. “Master… Yue Nu accepts…” Her words trailed into a moan.

The second strike came fast. Another thunderous crack. The boards rose and fell like pistons, alternating between the three women. Each hit was precise, calculated to maximize sting and spread the burn across the entire surface of the buttocks. The rhythm was relentless: left, right, left, right, a pattern of six boards delivering two hundred strikes per woman in a dizzying cascade.

The three women began to sweat. Their bodies glistened, and their cries grew louder, more raw. Lin Qiaoxin’s voice turned into a series of desperate yelps. “Ah! Ah! Ah! It hurts! It hurts so good, master! Xin Nu loves it!” Her buttocks were now a deep crimson, the skin shiny and tight. The boards left distinct red lines, welts rising like sleeping snakes.

Li Que’s breaths came in harsh pants. She bit her lower lip until it bled, her eyes clenched shut. Each strike made her whole body shudder, but she refused to collapse. “Hah! Yes! Que Nu endures! Que Nu is strong!” Her voice cracked on the last word, and a strand of saliva dripped from her mouth.

Shen Mengyue’s composure began to crack. Her moans grew into soft, rhythmic cries that matched the beat of the boards. “Oh… oh… master… it is… so intense…” Her fingers trembled as she held her anus open, the ginger juice burning inside her, mingling with the fiery pain on her buttocks. The boards struck her full, round cheeks with a wet, fleshy sound, each blow making her whole bottom jiggle.

The ginger juice inside them added a new dimension of agony. With every strike, the liquid sloshed against their innards, the burn intensifying. They had to hold it in, clench nothing, let it stay. The pressure built, and the pain became a seamless wave from their bowels to their bruised skin.

After a hundred strikes, the three women were panting, their bodies covered in a sheen of sweat. Their buttocks were no longer just red—they were swollen, hot to the point of feeling feverish. The welts had merged into a uniform, angry hue, and small droplets of blood beaded where the boards had split the skin in a few places.

Xuanfa watched, his expression unchanged. He flicked his fingers, and the boards increased their speed.

At two hundred strikes, the three women were barely coherent. Lin Qiaoxin’s shrieks had become a continuous, breathless wail. “Aaaaah—master—master—Xin Nu—cannot—!” She sobbed, but she did not beg for it to stop. Her body had learned to crave the punishment even as it screamed in protest.

Li Que had fallen silent, her jaw clenched so tightly that her teeth ground together. Her athletic buttocks were now a mass of purple and black bruises, the skin broken in several places. She forced herself to stay upright, her muscles trembling violently. Her wetness had begun to seep between her thighs, a testament to the strange, perverse pleasure that had grown within her over the years.

Shen Mengyue had shed her dignity completely. Her cries were high and melodic, like a song of pain. “Oh—master—master—Yue Nu—feels—everything—!” Her eyes were half-lidded, glazed with a mixture of agony and ecstasy. Her vagina was slick, leaking onto the stone. She had learned to derive pleasure from the burn.

Finally, at three hundred strikes, the boards halted in midair, their runes fading. The women collapsed forward, their foreheads still touching their hands, their buttocks raised but quivering uncontrollably. The ginger juice remained inside, not a drop spilled. They had passed the test.

The three women took a mome

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The morning sun cast long shadows across the Zehuang Sect's main hall plaza, where a crowd of naked female disciples had gathered. They stood in orderly rows, their bare bodies gleaming under the light, eyes fixed on the elevated platform before the sect hall. Above them, on a raised dais, Xuanfa stood in his black training clothes, his cold gaze sweeping over the assembly like a winter wind.

To his left, three figures knelt in perfect alignment—Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue. Each wore a black slave collar tight around her neck, and each was completely naked, her body exposed to every gaze in the plaza. Their buttocks, already bruised a deep purple-red from previous punishments, rose slightly in anticipation. Beside them, forced to kneel with her hands bound behind her back, was Murong Ying, the sect master of Tianfeng Sect. Her mid-Nascent Soul cultivation had not saved her from Li Que's relentless assault the previous day, and now she too was stripped bare, her pale skin a stark contrast to the three female slaves' marked flesh.

Xuanfa raised his hand, and the murmuring crowd fell silent. "Today, we gather to reward three female slaves for their meritorious deeds," he announced, his voice flat but carrying clearly across the plaza. "Xin Nu has taught formations to our disciples with diligence. Yue Nu has managed sect affairs without error. Que Nu has defended our honor against a challenger." He paused, his eyes lingering on Murong Ying's trembling form. "And this challenger shall witness what happens to those who oppose the Zehuang Sect."

He snapped his fingers. Four Heaven's Dao Wooden Boards materialized in the air, each as long as a forearm, inscribed with glowing runes. They floated downward, positioning themselves behind the four kneeling women.

Lin Qiaoxin twisted her head around, a grin spreading across her youthful face despite her position. "Hey, disciples! Watch closely! This is how elders earn their keep!" she called out, her voice cheerful. "I've been teaching you formation principles for weeks, and now I get a nice warm-up! You should be grateful!"

The first board cracked down across her upturned buttocks. A sharp *thwack* echoed through the plaza, and Lin Qiaoxin's body jolted forward, a hiss escaping her lips. The flesh on her left cheek quivered, a bright red stripe appearing atop the purple bruising. She let out a shaky laugh. "Ah, that's the stuff! Right on the old mark! Master always remembers where I need it most!"

Beside her, Shen Mengyue remained silent, her waist-length black hair falling forward to obscure her face. The board struck her with equal force, and she let out a soft, controlled groan, her fingers digging into the stone beneath her palms. She did not flinch, did not try to dodge. Her voice, when it came, was steady. "Disciples, watch and learn. This is the price of responsibility. When you manage a sect, you accept punishment as willingly as praise."

The boards struck again in unison. Four sharp sounds, four bodies lurching. Li Que grunted, her red ponytail swaying as she absorbed the blow. "Ha! Is that all, master? I've had worse from sparring!" She craned her neck to look at Murong Ying, whose face had gone pale. "What do you think, challenger? Not so easy to stay proud when your ass is being tenderized, is it?"

Murong Ying bit her lip, refusing to answer. The board hovering behind her had not yet struck. She was being made to watch first.

The third strike landed. Lin Qiaoxin's buttocks were now a mess of overlapping red stripes, the skin swelling visibly. She let out a yelp but quickly recovered, laughing again. "Ow, ow, ow! Master, you're too generous! I only taught them basic confinement arrays! If I teach them the advanced stuff, will you double the strokes?" She twisted to look at the disciples again. "See? Hard work pays off! You too can have a nice red bottom like mine, if you study hard!"

Shen Mengyue took her third strike with a low moan, her body trembling slightly. She lifted her head, meeting the eyes of a young disciple in the front row. "Do not be afraid," she said, her voice soft but carrying. "Pain passes. Discipline endures. If you cultivate diligently, you may one day serve the master directly. And on that day, you will understand—this is not punishment. This is honor."

The fourth strike sent Li Que's body lurching forward, but she caught herself with one hand, flashing a grin. "Yue Nu talks too much! Just take it and prove you can handle it!" She glanced at Murong Ying again. "You've been quiet, Tianfeng sect master. Ready to join the fun? Or are you too good for a public tanning?"

Murong Ying's eyes blazed with fury. "I will never submit to this degradation," she spat. "You are all—"

The board struck her.

The sound was wetter than the others, the wood slamming into untouched skin. Murong Ying screamed, a raw, involuntary sound that cut through the disciplined silence of the plaza. Her body convulsed, and she nearly collapsed forward, only to be held up by the bonds on her wrists. A vivid red handprint bloomed across her right buttock, the skin already darkening.

"First time's always the hardest," Lin Qiaoxin said sympathetically, wincing as her own board struck again. "Don't worry, you get used to it. By the tenth stroke, you'll be singing a different tune."

"You—you monster!" Murong Ying gasped, tears streaming down her face. "I am a sect master! I have disciples! You cannot—"

The board struck again, cutting off her words. This time it landed on her left cheek, and she shrieked, her body writhing uselessly against the restraints. The disciples watched in stunned silence, some covering their mouths, others unable to look away.

Li Que laughed, the sound harsh. "A sect master? Here, you're just an ass waiting to be beaten. My advice? Save your breath for screaming. It hurts less if you don't fight it."

Shen Mengyue's fifth stroke landed, and she let out a controlled exhale, her back arching gracefully. "Que Nu speaks truth," she said, her voice strained but still composed. "Resistance only prolongs the pain. Acceptance brings peace."

"Speaking from experience, are we?" Lin Qiaoxin chirped, her buttocks now a pulpy mess of purple and red. She still managed to wink at a disciple in the crowd. "Elder Yue Nu here was the hardest to break. Took a whole month of daily spankings before she learned to raise her bottom properly. Now look at her—perfect form, every time!"

Another board struck Murong Ying, and she sobbed, her proud facade crumbling. "Please—please stop—I yield—"

Xuanfa spoke for the first time since the punishment began. "Yield is not an option. You challenged the Zehuang Sect. You lost. Now you will learn our ways."

The boards continued their rhythm. Ten strokes. Twenty. The crowd lost count. Lin Qiaokin made jokes between yelps, telling the disciples to "practice their cushion spells before applying for elder status." Li Que taunted Murong Ying relentlessly, comparing her "tender Tianfeng rump" unfavorably to the hardness of the wooden board. Shen Mengyue offered quiet encouragement to the disciples, her voice growing softer with each stroke, but never breaking.

By the thirtieth stroke, Murong Ying could no longer speak. Her buttocks were a solid mass of black and purple, blood beading at the edges of the deepest bruises. She hung limp in her bonds, only the occasional whimper escaping her lips.

Lin Qiaoxin, still somehow conscious, tilted her head to look at the disciples. "See? This is what happens when you don't practice your formations properly. My butt's been through worse, and I'm still chatting! Master's boards are fair—they punish according to sin. I committed the sin of being too good at teaching, so I get a nice reward!"

Li Que snorted. "Your sin is being too loud. But I'll take the spanking. Beats paperwork."

Shen Mengyue's final stroke landed, and she slumped forward, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Remember, disciples," she whispered, "discipline is the path to power. The master's hand shapes us into something greater."

Xuanfa raised his hand, and the boards vanished. The four women remained kneeling—or, in Murong Ying's case, collapsed—on the dais. He gestured, and two disciple attendants stepped forward, carrying a long iron hook with a polished brass sphere at its end.

Murong Ying's eyes widened in horror as she realized what was coming. "No—no, please—"

The attendants ignored her pleas. One spread her buttocks while the other carefully inserted the anal hook. She screamed, a high, piercing sound that echoed off the mountain peaks. The hook seated fully, and a chain was attached, then hoisted upward. Murong Ying was lifted off her feet, dangling upside down from the chain, her beaten buttocks on full display for all to see.

Xuanfa turned to the crowd. "Let this be a lesson. The Tianfeng Sect has defied the Zehuang Sect. This is the consequence." He pointed to the mountain gate. "Hang her there. For three days."

The attendants carried the screaming, sobbing Murong Ying toward the entrance of the sect, where they secured the chain to an ornamental arch. She hung like a piece of meat, her tears dripping onto the stone below.

Lin Qiaoxin slowly pushed herself upright, wincing as she shifted her weight. "Ah, good spanking," she said, stretching her arms above her head. "Master, can I get another one tomorrow? I think I earned it."

Xuanfa looked down at her, his expression unchanging. "If you continue to serve well, you may."

Her face lit up. "Excellent! I'll teach an extra formation class tonight!"

Li Que stood, rolling her shoulders. "I'll take her up on that. The new female cultivators need to learn how to defend themselves properly. And I need to loosen up before the next challenger arrives."

Shen Mengyue rose last, her movements graceful despite her obvious pain. She bowed deeply to Xuanfa. "Thank you, master, for your punishment and guidance."

He nodded once, then turned and walked into the sect hall, leaving the three female slaves to oversee the dispersing crowd. The disciples filed out slowly, their eyes lingering on the hanging form of Murong Ying, a grim reminder of what awaited those who opposed the Zehuang Sect—and what rewards could be earned by those who served.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the training grounds of the Zehuang Sect as Xuanfa walked slowly along the main path, three leather leashes held loosely in his right hand. Behind him, crawling on all fours with perfect synchrony, came Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue—all completely naked, their breasts swaying with each movement, their bottoms raised high in the air as they moved like well-trained dogs.

The three had become accustomed to this posture over the past weeks. Their knees and palms had developed calluses, and their muscles remembered the rhythm of crawling without conscious thought. They kept their heads slightly lowered, eyes forward, following the gentle tug of the leashes attached to collars around their necks.

Disciples of the Zehuang Sect lined the path, stopping their morning training to watch. Many had seen this sight before, yet it never ceased to shock them. These three women—Senior Sister Lin Qiaoxin, who had broken through to Nascent Soul at such a young age; Vice Sect Master Li Que of the Vermilion Bird Sect, who had once been their enemy; and Sect Master Shen Mengyue of the Immortal Mist Sect, who had taught many of them cultivation techniques during joint training sessions—now crawled naked like docile female dogs behind the Punishment Sovereign.

A young male disciple whispered to his companion, "I still can't believe it. Sect Master Shen used to correct my sword stance just three months ago."

His companion replied in a low voice, "Shh. Don't let the Punishment Sovereign hear you. You know what happened to those who spoke out of turn last week."

Lin Qiaoxin giggled, her voice carrying in the morning air. "Hehe, master, the disciples are watching Xin Nu." She turned her head slightly to look at the gathered cultivators, a playful glint in her eyes. "Some of them seem quite envious."

Li Que snorted, her red ponytail swinging as she crawled. "Haven't they gotten used to it after all this time? Que Nu has. Every day I crawl, every day I am punished, every day I remember my place."

Shen Mengyue's voice came calm and measured, her waist-length black hair dragging on the ground behind her. "Among them, those who perform well may become master's female slaves in the future. It is an honor they should strive for."

Xuanfa said nothing, continuing to lead them through the sect grounds. His black training clothes were immaculate, his expression cold and unreadable as always. The disciples parted before him like water before a stone.

They reached the sect hall entrance, a grand building with imposing pillars carved with images of punishments and subjugations from ancient times. Xuanfa stopped and turned to face the three kneeling women. He wrapped the leashes around his hand and said, "Do you remember how you became my female slaves?"

Lin Qiaoxin was the first to speak, her voice cheerful. "Xin Nu remembers. Master appeared directly before Xin Nu and forcefully said he wanted Xin Nu as his female slave. At first, Xin Nu was unwilling and even tried to be clever. Master pulled down Xin Nu's skirt and spanked Xin Nu's perky buttocks severely, making Xin Nu cry. Under master's coercion and bribery, Xin Nu became master's female slave." She smiled as she spoke as if recalling fond memories.

Li Que spoke next, her voice firm but carrying a note of subdued pride. "Que Nu remembers. I led the Vermilion Bird Sect to cause trouble at the Taiqing Palace. Thinking myself invincible at the same level, I was defeated by Sister Xin, whom master had taught. I was severely spanked by Sister Xin's formations, and master even stuffed a ginger strip into my anus, then hung me by an anal hook for public display. Not knowing my place, I dared to challenge master and was defeated in one move. So I obediently became master's female slave."

Lin Qiaoxin giggled, "Sister Que, if your butt itches, Xin Nu can use formations to spank you anytime."

Li Que's ears reddened slightly, but she said nothing.

Shen Mengyue spoke last, her voice carrying the weight of a confession. "Yue Nu remembers. After being punished in Wuling City with Sisters Xin and Que, I foolishly refused master's kindness of taking me as a female slave. Master used ginger juice to give me an enema and had Sister Xin and Sister Que use the Heaven's Dao Board to spank this ungrateful buttocks severely, alternating left and right. Through tears, I obediently became master's female slave."

Xuanfa's gaze swept over them. "And now, how does it feel to be a female slave and get spanked?"

Lin Qiaoxin's cheeks flushed as she answered, "Although master's Heaven's Dao Board on the buttocks hurts terribly, Xin Nu's buttocks now love being beaten by master's board the most. Every day, my buttocks are beaten to a pulp, and I'm so happy." She squirmed slightly as she spoke, her body already anticipating the pain.

Li Que's voice was steady, almost defiant in its sincerity. "Que Nu has been defeated by master and taken as a female slave; I should obediently accept all of master's humiliation and punishment. Que Nu's buttocks must be beaten to a pulp every day as punishment."

Shen Mengyue's tone was calm, yet beneath it lay deep remorse. "Yue Nu's refusal of master's kindness in taking me as a female slave was an unforgivable mistake. This fault must be repaid by having my buttocks beaten to a pulp every day."

All three expressed in their own ways that they had come to love the feeling of being spanked by their master.

Xuanfa let out a low chuckle, a rare sound that made all three women's hearts flutter. "You three are quite aware. Today's punishment will be here. Each of you will receive two hundred strikes from the Heaven's Dao Board, all at once."

Without hesitation, Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue turned and knelt in a row facing the sect hall, their buttocks raised high in the air. They placed their hands on the ground before them, foreheads touching the stone, presenting their bare bottoms to their master.

Xuanfa withdrew the Heaven's Dao Board from his storage ring. It was a flat wooden board, polished smooth by countless uses, inscribed with characters that glowed faintly with spiritual energy. He walked behind them, considering his choices.

"Lin Qiaoxin first. For your clever tongue."

Lin Qiaoxin giggled despite herself. "Xin Nu thanks master for the punishment." She pushed her bottom higher, already feeling the anticipation tingle through her skin.

Xuanfa raised the board and brought it down with a sharp crack across her right cheek. Lin Qiaoxin gasped, the pain sharp and immediate, spreading in waves across her buttock. He struck again, the left cheek this time, and she whimpered as the heat built.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

The rhythm was steady, each blow landing with precise force. After the first twenty strokes, Lin Qiaoxin's perky bottom was bright red, the skin hot to the touch. She breathed in short gasps, her body swaying with each impact. By the fiftieth stroke, her buttocks were a deep crimson, the flesh already beginning to swell. Tears streamed down her face, but she kept her position, her legs trembling.

"Master... master... it hurts so good..." she whispered between sobs.

At the hundredth stroke, her bottom was dark red and visibly swollen, the skin stretched taut over the bruised flesh beneath. Lin Qiaoxin's cries had turned into steady weeping, but her hips still pushed back slightly after each blow, seeking more. Her vagina was wet, a clear fluid dripping down her inner thighs.

By the hundred and fiftieth stroke, the flesh was mottled with purple and black bruises, the skin broken in several places, tiny beads of blood mixing with sweat. Lin Qiaoxin's voice was hoarse from crying, but she continued to babber. "Thank you master... thank you for punishing Xin Nu..."

The final fifty strokes landed with increasing force, each one making her entire body jerk. When the two hundredth stroke fell, Lin Qiaoxin collapsed forward, sobbing into her arms, her buttocks a ruin of bruised, bloodied flesh. Yet even through the pain, she could feel a warmth spreading through her core, a pleasure that intertwined with the agony.

Xuanfa moved to Li Que. "For your pride."

Li Que braced herself, her athletic body tensed. "Que Nu accepts master's punishment."

The first stroke landed across her firm buttocks with a sound like thunder. Li Que grunted, her body absorbing the blow. She was strong, and she intended to show it. The second stroke made her hiss, the third drew a small sound of pain from her throat.

By the thirtieth stroke, her red hair was plastered to her face with sweat, and her buttocks were a uniform red. She bit her lip, refusing to cry out. At the seventieth stroke, the board's impact produced a wet sound as the flesh beneath grew soft and swollen. Her thighs trembled, and she let out a pained groan.

The ninetieth stroke broke her silence. She screamed, a raw sound that echoed across the training grounds. Her vagina was slick, the wetness spreading as the pain mounted. The hundredth stroke made her body convulse, but she kept her bottom raised.

At the hundred and thirtieth, the skin began to split, thin lines of blood tracing down her thighs. Li Que wept openly now, great heaving sobs that shook her entire frame. But she did not ask for mercy. She did not lower her bottom.

"Thank you... master..." she choked out between strokes. "Punish... Que Nu's... ungrateful buttocks..."

The hundred and seventieth stroke landed on flesh that was already raw and bruised, and Li Que screamed again, her voice cracking. By the two hundredth stroke, she was barely conscious, her buttocks a mess of purple and black, blood running freely down her legs. She fell forward, as Lin Qiaoxin had done, weeping into the stone.

Xuanfa turned to Shen Mengyue. "For your foolish refusal."

Shen Mengyue took a deep breath. "Yue Nu thanks master for remembering her fault."

The first stroke landed on her pale, elegant bottom, and she flinched. Even through the pain, her bearing remained refined, her back straight, her head held with dignity despite her position. The second stroke made her gasp, the third made her clench her fists.

By the fortieth stroke, her buttocks were a deep red, and she was panting heavily. Her hair had fallen over her face, but she did not brush it away. At the eightieth stroke, the flesh was swollen and hot, each impact sending jolts of agony through her entire body. She cried out, a long, low moan that carried both pain and something else.

The hundred and tenth stroke made her scream, her composure finally breaking. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, mixing with sweat. Her vagina was dripping, the arousal undeniable even through the terrible punishment. She wanted this. She needed this.

"Master... Yue Nu... deserves this..." she sobbed as the strokes continued.

At the hundred and fiftieth, the skin cracked, blood welling up from deep bruises. Shen Mengyue's cries became wails, her body shaking uncontrollably. But she did not lower her bottom. She did not try to escape.

The hundred and eightieth stroke landed on raw, bloody flesh, and she howled, her voice echoing across the sect hall. When the two hundredth stroke finally came, she collapsed, her beautiful buttocks now a swollen, bloody mass. She lay weeping, her body heaving.

Xuanfa looked at the three women, all weeping, all with their bottoms beaten to a pulp. He nodded slowly.

"After some time, we will hold the Zehuang Sect's founding ceremony. The highlight will be five hundred strokes on the three of you."

Lin Qiaoxin lifted her tear-streaked face, a smile breaking through her pain. "Xin Nu thanks master for the honor."

Li Que managed to raise her head, her voice weak but firm. "Que Nu will endure whatever master commands."

Shen Mengyue pressed her forehead to the ground. "Yue Nu is grateful for the chance to repay her fault through punishment."

All three kowtowed in gratitude, their bottoms raised in the

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The Zehuang Sect had grown steadily. Disciples numbered one thousand now, a paltry figure compared to the sect's ambition, but the truth was simple—few female cultivators were willing to surrender their dignity and their buttocks to join. Xuanfa sat upon the black stone throne in the central hall, his cold eyes scanning the report. He decided a grand sect ceremony would solidify their identity and attract more submissive souls.

The day dawned clear and bright. The sect grounds had been transformed. A vast circular platform rose in the center, surrounded by tiered stone seats. The peripheral area was packed with standing disciples—all naked, their bodies bare under the sun, heads held high despite their exposure. They had accepted this as their new normal. Within the circle, a distinct group of fifty female slave elders crawled on all fours, moving in unison toward the center. Their backs were straight, their buttocks raised as they moved, and they knelt in orderly rows around the central altar. Their bodies bore the marks of previous punishments—faint red lines across their rear ends, a testament to their submission.

Then the crowd parted. Xuanfa walked slowly, his black training clothes stark against the bright day. In his hands, he held three leather leashes, each attached to a collar around the neck of a crawling woman. Lin Qiaoxin led the trio on the left, her youthful face flushed with a playful smile despite the humiliating posture. Li Que followed in the middle, her red hair spilling over her shoulders, her athletic form moving with a proud, defiant grace that she had learned to channel into obedience. Shen Mengyue brought up the rear, her long black hair trailing on the ground, her ethereal beauty now marked by the collar's cold metal. All three crawled naked on all fours, their breasts swinging, their buttocks swaying with each movement, and they approached the central altar without hesitation.

Xuanfa stopped. He released the leashes. The three women immediately knelt beside him, their heads bowed, their hands placed on their thighs. Their posture was perfect, their bodies trained to stillness.

The ceremony began. In most sects, the ritual involved worshiping ancestors or divine artifacts. But the Zehuang Sect was different. At the center of the altar, mounted on a wooden stand, lay a plain wooden board—the Heaven's Dao Wooden Board. It was unremarkable in appearance, a simple rectangle of dark wood, but every woman present knew its sting. The board had spanked hundreds of buttocks, had drawn blood and tears and submission from the proudest cultivators.

Lin Qiaoxin rose to her feet gracefully, her body still nude, and turned to face the assembled disciples. Her voice carried with a lightness that belied the gravity of her words. "Welcome, sisters. You have chosen to join the Zehuang Sect. You have chosen to submit. Do you know why our sect is called Zehuang?"

She paused, letting the silence deepen. "Ze means 'punish.' Huang means 'awe.' We are the sect of punishment and awe. Our purpose is to discipline the unruly, to humble the proud, and to cultivate through submission." She gestured to the wooden board. "That board is our ancestor. That board is our divine artifact. It has taught us that the pain of punishment opens the path to cultivation."

Li Que rose next, her voice strong and steady. "The duty of a female slave is to accept all humiliation and punishment from the master. No matter how shameful the act, no matter how deep the pain, you must bear it obediently. You must crawl on all fours when moving. You must never stand without the master's command. And when greeting the master, you will kneel and raise your punished buttocks high, displaying your submission."

Shen Mengyue rose last, her voice soft yet vibrant. "We who have been punished most severely have also advanced most swiftly. The pain breaks through barriers. The submission opens meridians. We share our cultivation insights with you today, so that you may learn to accept punishment joyfully, to derive power from pain."

The three then spent an hour sharing cultivation techniques and experiences. Lin Qiaoxin explained how to circulate qi during a spanking to transform pain into growth. Li Que demonstrated methods to endure strikes without flinching. Shen Mengyue taught the female slave elders how to control their breathing and relax their muscles during punishment, making the master's blows more effective and less damaging in the long run.

Then Xuanfa rose. He produced a pouch and began distributing pills to every disciple—spirit enhancement pills that would boost their cultivation by months in a single dose. Some outstanding disciples received magical artifacts: bracelets that hardened buttocks, robes that absorbed spanking force to convert into spiritual energy. The disciples accepted them eagerly, their eyes bright with gratitude.

Next came the selection. Xuanfa's gaze swept across the crowd of disciples. Among the thousand, five had distinguished themselves during their application process—five female cultivators who had endured their initial spankings with exceptional grace, who had shown the deepest submission. He called their names. One by one, they stepped forward trembling, their bodies still naked. Their faces mixed joy and fear—joy that their cultivation could advance further under the master's direct guidance, fear that their buttocks would now face endless punishment. Xuanfa placed black collars around their necks, and the five women immediately dropped to all fours, crawling quickly to join the kneeling female slave elders. The row of fifty now had new members, and they arranged themselves in five rows of ten, kneeling with their backs straight, awaiting the next phase.

Xuanfa raised his hand. The air shimmered. Countless Heaven's Dao Wooden Boards materialized out of thin air, floating above the fifty kneeling female slaves. The women took deep breaths, their bodies tensing. The boards began to descend.

The sound was deafening. Crack. Crack. Crack. Each strike landed on a raised buttock, the sharp slap echoing across the entire sect grounds. The female slave elders cried out, some screaming, some whimpering, but none tried to dodge. The boards fell in perfect unison, striking each woman two hundred times. The first twenty strokes turned their buttocks pink. The next thirty deepened the color to red. By the fiftieth stroke, the skin began to swell, and by the hundredth, bruises bloomed like dark flowers. The women wept, tears streaming down their faces, but they held their positions. Their fingers dug into the earth. Their backs arched as they tried to absorb the blows without collapsing. By the hundred and fiftieth stroke, many were sobbing openly, their buttocks a mottled mess of purple and red, the skin cracked in places. But the boards did not relent. The final fifty strokes were the hardest, each one landing with a wet, heavy sound, and when the last stroke fell, the fifty women slumped forward, gasping for breath, their rear ends raw and throbbing.

They had endured. Not one had tried to avoid the boards. Not one had broken formation.

Silence fell. The disciples in the periphery watched with wide eyes, their own buttocks clenching in sympathy. But the ceremony was not over.

Xuanfa turned to the three great elder female slaves. Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue stood before him. Their bodies were pristine—no marks, no blemishes. Lin Qiaoxin's youthful form was slender yet curvy, her small breasts perky, her waist narrow, her hips round. Li Que's athletic build was honed like a warrior's, muscles defined under her skin, her rear tight and powerful. Shen Mengyue's ethereal beauty was breathtaking, her skin like jade, her hips wide, her buttocks plump and full. All three were naked, their hair flowing, their eyes filled with devotion.

They kowtowed to Xuanfa, touching their foreheads to the ground three times. The gesture was performed with absolute respect, each bow deep and deliberate. Then they rose, turned, and knelt, raising their plump buttocks high in the air. Their hands gripped their ankles. Their bodies formed a perfect curve, presenting their most private places to the master.

Xuanfa's hand moved. The Heaven's Dao Wooden Board appeared in his grip, solid and heavy. He walked behind them, his footsteps slow and deliberate. The three women held their breath, their legs trembling slightly.

The first strike landed on Lin Qiaoxin's right buttock. The sound was sharp, the impact sending a shockwave through her flesh. She gasped but did not cry out. The second strike landed on the same spot, and she let out a soft moan. The third strike shifted to her left buttock, and she whimpered. Xuanfa continued, methodically, each stroke precise. By the fiftieth strike, her buttocks were a uniform cherry red, and she was breathing hard, a thin sheen of sweat on her skin.

"It hurts so wonderfully," she whispered, her voice shaking.

Li Que received her turn next. Xuanfa's board descended with brutal force. Li Que took the first twenty strikes in silence, her jaw clenched. But the board was relentless, and by the fiftieth stroke, she let out a long, shuddering breath. "Master... it builds... the energy... flowing..."

Shen Mengyue's punishment began. The board cracked against her plump rear, and the sound was louder, her flesh softer, absorbing the impact. She cried out with each stroke, her voice melodic even in pain. "Ah... forgive me... Master... I accept... I accept..."

The strikes continued. One hundred. Two hundred. The three women's buttocks turned from red to purple to black. Blood began to seep through the cracked skin. Three hundred strokes. Their cries became sobs, their bodies shaking uncontrollably. Four hundred strokes. The flesh of their buttocks was nearly unrecognizable, a pulp of bruised and broken tissue. But they did not break. They had learned to derive pleasure from pain. The endorphins flooded their systems, and as the five hundredth stroke landed, each of them climaxed, their bodies convulsing with ecstasy.

They collapsed forward, panting, their buttocks a ruined mess. Yet slowly, they crawled back to Xuanfa and knelt before him, their heads bowed, their voices hoarse but clear.

"Thank you, Master, for the punishment."

"We are your slaves forever."

"We submit our bodies and our souls to your will."

Xuanfa's expression softened, a rare flicker of satisfaction crossing his cold eyes. He raised his hand and channeled spiritual energy. A warm light enveloped the three women. The broken flesh knitted together, the bruises faded, and within moments, their buttocks were smooth and unblemished once more, pink and healthy.

The three women gasped with relief and delight. They immediately assumed the position they had performed countless times: kneeling, raising their plump buttocks high, their heads bowed, their hands gripping their ankles.

"We vow to always accept your punishment," they said in unison, their voices firm. "Our buttocks are yours to spank, our bodies yours to use, our souls yours to command. Forever."

The disciples watched in awe. The ceremony concluded, and the Zehuang Sect stood unified under the black flag of punishment and awe.