Punishment of Xuanfa, the Celestial Lord

The world of cultivation was vast and ancient, its skies crossed by countless flying swords and immortal boats. On the peaks of ten thousand mountains, sects rose like bamboo after spring rain, each claiming their corner of the heavens. But beneath this grand tapestry of qi and dao, there existed a peculiar law—a law that few spoke of openly but all understood in their bones.

Male cultivators, though fewer in number, possessed a unique privilege. When they defeated a female cultivator in combat, they could claim her as a female slave through an ancient punishment: a thorough spanking upon the bare bottom. This act, humiliating as it was, accelerated the cultivation of both parties. The qi of the one being punished would purify and surge, while the one administering the punishment would absorb the overflow. It was a transaction forged in shame and power.

Most female cultivators resisted this fate with every fiber of their being.

On this particular morning, the Immortal Cloud Sect sat nestled among misty peaks, its halls of white jade gleaming under the sun. The sect was known throughout the eastern lands for two things: its all-female membership, and the beauty of its Sect Leader, Shen Mengyue. She was a woman of contradictions—skin like fresh snow, hair like a waterfall of ink that reached her waist, a face that could be mistaken for a celestial maiden and a body that stirred the hearts of mortal men. Her Daoist robes, black and white like the balance of yin and yang, could not hide the gentle curves beneath.

Today, however, a shadow fell over the Immortal Cloud Sect.

In the outer courtyard, a young disciple named Liu Hua was practicing her sword forms. She was only at Foundation Establishment, barely worthy of notice. But as she swung her blade, a gust of wind caught a nearby tree branch, and the branch—heavy with dew—whipped outward and struck a passing figure.

The figure stopped.

Liu Hua's blood ran cold.

The man who stood before her wore simple black training clothes, unadorned, unremarkable. But his face was carved from ice, handsome in a way that promised no warmth, and his eyes—dark, deep, utterly without mercy—fixed upon her like a hawk examining a mouse.

"Forgive me, honored cultivator!" Liu Hua fell to her knees, pressing her forehead to the cold stone. "I did not see you, I was careless, I—"

"Careless," the man repeated. His voice was low, flat, carrying no anger and no forgiveness. It was the voice of a man who had already decided everything. "You struck Celestial Lord Xuanfa with a branch. Do you know what happens to those who strike me?"

Liu Hua's heart stopped. Xuanfa. The name was whispered across the cultivation world like a curse. Nascent Soul Great Perfection. One of the strongest beings alive. A man who had never lost a battle and never shown mercy. And his reputation, his most infamous reputation, was for his love of one particular punishment.

"Please," she begged, tears streaming down her face. "I am but a foolish disciple. I meant no disrespect. Please let me go, and I will repent for a thousand years."

Xuanfa's expression did not change. "I came to the Immortal Cloud Sect today on other business. But your carelessness has reminded me of something." He turned his gaze from Liu Hua to the grand hall behind her, where the sect's main building rose in elegant tiers. "Where is your Sect Leader?"

"She—she is in meditation, my lord."

"Call her out."

Liu Hua scrambled to her feet and ran.

Ten minutes later, the doors of the main hall swung open, and Shen Mengyue emerged. She walked with the grace of flowing water, her waist-length black hair swaying with each step. Her face was calm, but her eyes held the sharp alertness of a woman who had lived long enough to know when danger approached.

"Celestial Lord Xuanfa," she said, bowing with proper respect. "I am honored by your visit to our humble sect. Might I ask what brings a cultivator of your stature to our mountain?"

Xuanfa stood with his hands behind his back, unmoving. "Your disciple struck me with a branch."

Shen Mengyue's eyes flickered briefly toward Liu Hua, who stood trembling behind a pillar. "It was an accident, my lord. She is young and clumsy. I will punish her severely for her rudeness."

"Your punishment is insufficient."

"I assure you, I will—"

"I will punish her myself."

The words hung in the air like frost. Shen Mengyue's expression tightened, and all around the courtyard, disciples who had gathered to watch began to whisper. Everyone knew what Xuanfa's punishments entailed. Everyone knew what happened to female cultivators who caught his attention.

"Celestial Lord," Shen Mengyue said carefully, "surely a single accident does not warrant such—"

"It is not about the accident anymore," Xuanfa interrupted. "It is about the principle. The Immortal Cloud Sect has grown arrogant. Your disciples believe they can strike a Celestial Lord and face no consequences. I will teach them otherwise." He paused, and his cold gaze swept across the gathered disciples, each girl shrinking under his stare. "I intend to spank every female cultivator in this sect until their bottoms bloom like peonies. As for the one who struck me," he motioned toward Liu Hua, "she will receive double."

The courtyard erupted into chaos. Disciples cried out in shock and fear. Some reached for their swords. Others backed away, faces pale. Shen Mengyue's hand went to the hilt of her own blade, her knuckles white.

"You cannot be serious."

"I am always serious."

"Xuanfa, I am the Sect Leader of the Immortal Cloud Sect. You cannot simply march into my home and—"

"I can." Xuanfa took a single step forward, and the pressure of his qi descended like a mountain. Disciples gasped and stumbled. The very air grew heavy. "And I will. Unless you can stop me."

Shen Mengyue's jaw tightened. She knew she could not win. She was Nascent Soul Middle Stage—a formidable power by any measure, one of the strongest women in the cultivation world. But Xuanfa was Great Perfection. The gap between them was not small. It was a chasm.

But she was the Sect Leader. And these were her disciples.

Her hand swept out, and her sword—Crescent Moon, a blade of pure white light—leaped from its sheath. "Disciples, retreat to the inner halls! Seal the formations! Do not watch!"

The disciples scattered like leaves before a storm. Shen Mengyue raised her sword, her black-and-white robes billowing as her qi surged.

Xuanfa did not move. He did not draw a weapon. He simply raised one hand, fingers curling slightly.

"Very well, Sect Leader. Let us see if your pride matches your power."

Shen Mengyue struck first. Her sword traced a crescent arc of silver light, cutting through the air with the speed of falling stars. The technique was flawless—Quick Moon Slash, a move that had defeated countless Gold Core opponents and even wounded a Nascent Soul elder.

Xuanfa flicked his finger.

A beam of concentrated qi, invisible and razor-thin, struck the crescent mid-arc. The technique shattered like glass. Shen Mengyue's eyes widened. She had not even seen him gather the energy.

She pressed forward. A second strike. A third. Her sword became a blur of light, each stroke carrying the weight of a river. She used Heaven's Wrath, a technique that summoned a storm of sword qi, each blade of light capable of cutting through steel. She used Falling Petals, a technique that scattered her qi into a thousand illusory copies. She used everything she had.

Xuanfa stood in place. His fingers moved like a conductor leading an orchestra. Each gesture deflected. Each motion redirected. He did not attack. He simply erased her attacks.

After thirty breaths, Shen Mengyue was panting. Sweat beaded on her fair brow. Her robes were torn in three places where her own deflected qi had grazed her. And Xuanfa had not even moved his feet.

"Is that all?" he asked.

Shen Mengyue grit her teeth and unleashed her ultimate technique. She poured every ounce of her Nascent Soul Middle Stage qi into a single strike—the final technique of the Immortal Cloud Sect, a sword that carried the weight of a thousand moons. The sky darkened. The mountain trembled. The blade of light that formed above her head was thirty meters long, burning with cold silver fire.

Xuanfa's eyes narrowed slightly.

He raised both hands.

And he attacked.

For the first time, he moved. His fingers traced a pattern in the air—an ancient seal, a technique known only to those at the peak of the Nascent Soul realm. The qi that gathered around his hands was black and formless, a void that swallowed light. He pushed forward.

The two forces collided.

The sound was not thunder. It was silence. A wave of absolute pressure exploded outward, cracking the stone beneath their feet, shattering windows in the main hall, sending trees bending nearly to the ground.

When the light faded, Shen Mengyue was on her knees. Her sword lay several feet away, its light dimmed. Her arms trembled. Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. Her black hair, usually so perfectly arranged, had fallen loose across her face.

She had lost.

She looked up, and terror—true, primal terror—filled her heart. Xuanfa walked toward her, his footsteps measured, unhurried. His face bore no expression of triumph, no hint of satisfaction. That, somehow, made it worse.

He stood before her, looking down at the kneeling Sect Leader.

"The Immortal Cloud Sect has resisted my punishment," he said, his voice flat as a frozen lake. "Therefore, the punishment is increased. Every female cultivator in this sect will receive one hundred strokes of the Mysterious Wooden Board upon the buttocks. Every day. For three years."

Shen Mengyue's breath caught. Three years. One hundred strokes a day. Her disciples—her girls—would suffer that every single day for a thousand consecutive days.

"I will take the punishment myself," she said, her voice cracking. "Spare my disciples. I alone will bear the strokes."

"That is not how it works." Xuanfa reached into his spatial ring and withdrew a long, flat board of dark wood. The Mysterious Wooden Board. It hummed with a faint energy, a tool designed not to break bones or draw blood, but to cause maximum pain and maximum humiliation. "Strip."

Shen Mengyue's face went white. "Here? In front of everyone?"

"Your disciples are watching from the cracks in the doors. Let them see. Let them learn." Xuanfa's hand moved with casual, terrifying authority. He grabbed the collar of her Daoist robe and tore it downward.

The black-and-white fabric split. Shen Mengyue gasped, instinctively reaching up to cover herself, but Xuanfa caught both her wrists in one hand. She was taller than most women, with a body that was both mature and elegant, full curves that she had always kept hidden beneath her robes. Now, exposed to the cold mountain air, she trembled.

"No," she whispered. "Please. Not in front of them."

"Your pride must break before your spirit can learn." Xuanfa forced her down, bending her over a low stone railing. Her bare, pale bottom faced upward, round and smooth. The sight of it stirred something in him—not lust, exactly, but satisfaction. A canvas ready for his art.

He raised the board.

"I am Celestial Lord Xuanfa. I keep my promises. I act on my word. And I have said that the Immortal Cloud Sect will learn." He swung.

*Crack.*

The sound echoed across the courtyard. Shen Mengyue's body arched, a cry escaping her lips. The board left a bright red mark across her skin, a stripe of fire.

*Crack.*

Another stroke. Another red mark, parallel to the first. Her skin flushed deeper, the heat spreading.

*Crack. Crack. Crack.*

Xuanfa did not rush. He delivered each stroke with precision, with intent. He watched as her bottom reddened, then deepened to a cherry hue, then to a bruised purple. He watched as tears streamed down her face—not from the pain alone, but from the humiliation. Her disciples were watching. She could hear th

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Fifteen years had passed in the Heavenly Realm, and the routine had become as familiar as breathing. Every morning, as the golden light of the celestial dawn pierced through the clouds, Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que would kneel side by side in the punishment hall, their bottoms raised high, waiting for the Heavenly Dao boards to descend. The rhythmic crack of wood against flesh had become the soundtrack of their existence.

Li Que's red hair, now longer and more vibrant than before, swayed with each impact. Her athletic body had grown accustomed to the pain, but something had changed within her. As the boards struck her naked buttocks, she felt a strange warmth spreading through her core. Her thighs trembled, but not from fear or agony. A subtle, forbidden pleasure coiled in her belly, radiating outward with each punishing blow.

She glanced sideways at Lin Qiaoxin, whose youthful face was flushed with a rosy hue. The smaller woman's pigtails bounced with each strike, and her lips were pressed together to suppress what sounded suspiciously like a moan of satisfaction. Li Que's cheeks burned with embarrassment. She wanted to ask if Lin Qiaoxin felt it too—that numbing electricity that spread from her spanked bottom to her groin, leaving her vagina slick and aching.

Lin Qiaoxin caught her gaze and winked playfully, a knowing smile curling at the corners of her mouth. She didn't need words to confirm what Li Que suspected.

Later that day, after the two hundred strokes were completed, Li Que and Lin Qiaoxin crawled on all fours behind Xuanfa, naked leashes attached to their necks. Their bodies glistened with sweat, and their reddened bottoms bounced as they moved like trained pets. Xuanfa walked silently ahead, his black training clothes immaculate, his expression cold and unreadable.

When they reached their private chambers, Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que knelt before him, bottoms still raised as was their custom. Li Que dared to speak first.

"Lord Xuanfa," she said, her voice carrying a hint of her old pride, now tempered by submission. "We wish to know what pleases you most."

Xuanfa's dark eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the question. "Watching female cultivators suffer," he replied flatly. "Their torment strengthens me—both in mind and cultivation. The more humiliated they are, the more power I draw from their misery."

Lin Qiaoxin smiled mischievously. "Perfect timing, my lord. The cultivation world already knows that Immortal Cloud Sect Leader Shen Mengyue was stripped and spanked in her own sect hall. But they don't yet know about us—the formation genius Lin Qiaoxin and Vermilion Bird Sect Vice Leader Li Que, now your devoted female slaves."

Li Que nodded eagerly, her red hair falling across her face. "We should make it known. Lead us both, naked and crawling on leashes, to the highest terrace of Wuling City. Have Shen Mengyue brought there as well, on a dog leash held by her own disciple. The three of us will kneel in a row, upper bodies bent, bottoms raised. You can summon the Heavenly Dao boards to spank us all at once."

Lin Qiaoxin continued, her voice growing more animated. "Beat our bottoms to a pulp—so thoroughly that even cultivators need a week to recover. Then spread our legs wide and whip the clefts of our bottoms until our anuses and vaginas swell. Insert anal hooks into our swollen openings and hang us for a week as a public display."

Li Que and Lin Qiaoxin spoke in unison. "This will surely please you, Lord Xuanfa."

A rare flicker of approval crossed Xuanfa's cold face. "Agreed."

But before they could rise, Xuanfa raised a hand. "However, I wish to try something new first."

He gestured, and Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que immediately assumed the position—bottoms raised, legs spread. Their already punished buttocks reddened and tender. Xuanfa produced a jar filled with a pungent golden liquid. Divine ginger juice, extracted from celestial plants that grew in the Heavenly Realm.

Without warning, he inserted a funnel into Lin Qiaoxin's anus and poured the ginger juice directly into her intestines. The effect was instantaneous. Lin Qiaoxin screamed, her body convulsing as if a red-hot iron rod had been shoved deep into her bowels. She thrashed wildly, her hands clawing at the floor, but Xuanfa held her in place with a mere finger technique.

"Hold still," he commanded coldly.

When he removed the funnel, Lin Qiaoxin collapsed, gasping and weeping, her anus clenching and unclenching involuntarily. The burning sensation spread through her entire lower body, radiated up into her stomach, made her feel as if she were being consumed by fire from the inside.

Li Que watched in horror, but she knew better than to resist. When Xuanfa approached her with the funnel, she gritted her teeth and forced herself to remain still. The moment the ginger juice entered her, the same searing agony erupted within her. She bit her lip so hard that blood trickled down her chin. Her entire body shook, and her vision blurred with tears. The pain was unimaginable—a thousand needles stabbing her from the inside, fire coursing through her veins.

Just as they were recovering from the enema, the daily punishment arrived. The Heavenly Dao boards descended, ready to deliver two hundred strokes to each of them.

Xuanfa's voice cut through their suffering. "You are not to lose control and ejaculate intestinal fluid while being beaten. If you do, you will receive an additional one hundred strokes."

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que exchanged terrified glances. They had never experienced such torture—the ginger juice had already made their intestines burn and churn. The pressure was building, demanding release.

The first strike fell on Lin Qiaoxin's bottom. The crack echoed through the hall, and she gasped, feeling the ginger juice surge within her. She fought to control her body, to hold back the inevitable. But by the fifteenth stroke, her muscles gave out. A stream of golden fluid spurted from her anus, carrying the burning ginger juice with it. She collapsed in shame as Xuanfa's cold voice announced, "Additional one hundred strokes."

Li Que fared no better. She lasted until the twentieth stroke before the pressure became unbearable. Her body convulsed, and the fluid erupted from her, staining the floor beneath her. She sobbed in humiliation as Xuanfa again declared the extra punishment.

The boards continued to fall, each strike more agonizing than the last. The ginger juice still burning inside them intensified the pain of every impact. Lin Qiaoxin's youthful body shook with each blow, her voice raw from screaming. Li Que, once so proud of her strength, was reduced to a trembling mess, her red hair matted with sweat and tears.

After the original two hundred strokes, their bottoms were completely raw, skin split and bleeding. But the punishment was not over. One hundred more strokes each awaited them. The boards fell with unrelenting precision, pulverizing their already damaged flesh. By the time the final stroke landed, Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que could barely move. Their buttocks were a horrific sight—shredded to the point where white bone was visible through the torn muscle and skin.

They lay on the floor, gasping for breath, their bodies wracked with sobs. The ginger juice still burned in their bowels, and the fresh wounds on their bottoms throbbed with every heartbeat.

Xuanfa stood over them, his expression unchanged. "This is only the beginning. Tomorrow, we go to Wuling City."

The morning sun cast long shadows across Wuling City as Xuanfa strode through the main gates, his black training clothes immaculate, his face an expressionless mask of cold authority. At his heels, two naked women crawled on hands and knees, leather dog leashes attached to the collars around their necks, trailing behind him like obedient pets.

Lin Qiaoxin's pigtails bounced with each crawling step, her youthful face flushed with excitement rather than shame. The bruises on her upturned bottom—purple and blue crescents from previous punishments—were on full display for every passerby to see. Li Que crawled beside her, her red hair falling forward, her athletic body tense but proud, though the welts across her posterior told their own story of submission.

The crowd parted like water before a stone. Whispers erupted, then gasps, then a low murmur that swelled into an uproar. Cultivators, merchants, and commoners alike stopped in their tracks, staring at the two beautiful women crawling naked through the streets, their intimate parts exposed to the morning air, their bottoms marked with the evidence of harsh discipline.

"Is that the one they call Xuanfa?" a merchant whispered to his companion.

"And those are... Lin Qiaoxin, the formation prodigy, and Li Que, the Vermilion Bird Vice Sect Leader!" the companion replied, disbelief thick in his voice.

Lin Qiaoxin glanced up at the crowd and offered a cheerful smile, as if she were out for a pleasant stroll. Inside, however, a different torture raged. Her intestines burned with the sharp, penetrating heat of ginger juice, the spicy liquid she had been forced to ingest earlier that morning. Each crawl sent waves of fire through her bowels, the sensation both agonizing and strangely arousing. She bit her lower lip to suppress a moan.

Li Que's jaw was clenched so tight her teeth ached. The ginger juice worked its cruel magic on her as well, the heat spreading through her insides like liquid flame. But she had chosen this—submission to the stronger, to the one who had defeated her. She would endure. She would prove worthy of her master's leash.

Xuanfa did not look back. He walked with measured steps through Wuling City's main avenue, past the tea houses and cultivation supply shops, toward the central terrace where all public announcements were made. The terrace rose three stories above the cobblestone square, its white stone surface gleaming in the sunlight, surrounded by enough space to hold thousands of spectators.

From another direction, a smaller procession made its way toward the same destination. Shen Mengyue crawled on hands and knees, her long black hair dragging through the dust, her naked body exposed to the gaping stares of dozens of cultivators she had once commanded respect from. Her disciple—a young woman named Yun who had been her most trusted attendant—held the dog leash attached to Shen Mengyue's collar, tears streaming down her face.

"Mistress, I'm sorry," Yun whispered, her voice breaking. "He said if I didn't do this, he would destroy the sect."

Shen Mengyue did not answer. She could not. Her voice was locked in her throat, choked by a humiliation so complete it felt like drowning. Every step she crawled was agony. The cobblestones bit into her knees and palms. The morning air raised goosebumps across her fair skin. But worse than all of that was the weight of their gazes.

She recognized faces in the crowd. Elder Zhou from the Heavenly Sword Sect, who had once sought her counsel on formation arrays. Master Liu, who had praised her leadership at the last cultivation summit. Disciples from lesser sects who had looked up to her as a paragon of virtue and strength.

Now they looked at her nakedness. At her breasts swaying with each crawl. At the curve of her hips. At the bruises that still lingered on her bottom from Xuanfa's previous punishments.

"Is that really Sect Leader Shen?" a voice asked, disbelief and something darker in the tone.

"The Immortal Cloud Sect's leader? Crawling like a dog?"

"I heard Xuanfa stripped her and spanked her bare. I didn't believe it until now."

Shen Mengyue's vision blurred with tears she refused to shed. She had been proud once. She had led her sect with wisdom and grace, had trained her disciples to be warriors of justice, had built the Immortal Cloud Sect into a bastion of cultivation excellence. Now she crawled through the streets of Wuling City, naked, leashed, her bottom still tender from the spanking that had stripped her of all dignity.

The worst part was the knowledge that she had brought this upon herself. She had challenged Xuanfa, had tried to protect her sect, had believed in her own strength. And he had broken her. Not just her cultivation—she could have recovered from a defeat. He had broken her pride, her reputation, her very sense of self.

She could still feel the phantom sting of his palm on her bare bottom, the way he had made her count each spanking, the way he had forced her to apologize and thank him before the entire cultivation world knew of her shame. And now this—a public humiliation so complete that she would never be able to reclaim her former status.

Yun tugged gently on the leash, guiding her mistress toward the terrace. A crowd had already gathered around the base, but they parted to let Shen Mengyue through. She crawled past them, her head bowed, her hair falling like a curtain to hide her face.

At the terrace steps, she paused. The stairs rose steeply before her, each step a new level of degradation. Crawling up them meant exposing herself to every angle, letting the crowd see every intimate detail of her body. The thought made her stomach clench with nausea.

"Up," Yun said softly, her voice pained.

Shen Mengyue placed her hands on the first step and began to crawl upward. The rough stone scraped her knees. Her bottom rose and fell with each movement, and she could hear the murmurs of the crowd below, could imagine their eyes fixed on the most private parts of her body.

By the time she reached the top, her arms were trembling and sweat beaded on her forehead. She crawled onto the flat surface of the terrace and saw Xuanfa standing at the center, Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que already kneeling beside him, their leashes tied to a post embedded in the stone.

Xuanfa turned as she approached, his dark eyes sweeping over her naked form with cold assessment. "You are late," he said, his voice carrying no emotion.

"I crawled as fast as I could," Shen Mengyue whispered, the words tasting like ash.

"Then crawl faster next time." He gestured to a spot beside Li Que. "Kneel."

Shen Mengyue obeyed, positioning herself on her knees, her hands resting on her thighs. Lin Qiaoxin shot her a cheerful grin, as if they were all old friends meeting for tea. Li Que stared straight ahead, her expression stoic, the muscles in her jaw twitching from the ginger juice torture that still ravaged her insides.

Xuanfa raised his hand, and the crowd below fell silent. The terrace offered a perfect view of the square, and cultivators had been gathering for hours, drawn by rumors of the spectacle to come.

"People of Wuling City," Xuanfa said, his voice amplified by spiritual power so that every person within a mile could hear clearly. "You see before you three women who have defied the natural order of power. They believed themselves above submission. They believed their cultivation and their status would protect them from the consequences of their arrogance."

He walked slowly behind the kneeling women, his footsteps echoing on the stone. "I have taught them otherwise. And today, I will teach them again."

Xuanfa snapped his fingers, and three wooden boards materialized from thin air, each one glowing with faint golden runes—Heavenly Dao boards, imbued with spiritual power that could inflict pain beyond mere physical punishment. They hovered beside him, waiting.

"Position yourselves," Xuanfa commanded.

Lin Qiaoxin moved first, eagerly lowering her upper body until her chest pressed against the stone, her bottom rising high in the air. She spread her knees apart, presenting herself fully, a small smile playing on her lips. Beside her, Li Que followed suit, her movements stiff but obedient, her athletic body curving into the humiliating position.

Shen Mengyue hesitated. The position was designed to maximize exposure, to leave nothing to the imagination. Her bottom would be elevated, her most private parts visible to the crowd below, her helplessness absolute.

Xuanfa's hand landed on her shoulder, his fingers digging into her flesh. "I said position yourself."

Shen Mengyue lowered herself, her body moving as if through water. She pressed her chest to the cool stone, feeling the rough surface against her nipples. She pushed her bottom upward, feeling the muscles in her lower back stretch. She spread her knees, and the air rushed between her legs, cold and invasive.

The crowd below gasped. From their angle, they could see everything—the curve of the three women's bottoms, the bruises that still decorated them, the dark crevices between their thighs, the pink folds that were never meant to be displayed to so many.

"Begin," Xuanfa said.

The three Heavenly Dao boards shot forward, each one taking position behind a woman's exposed bottom. They hovered for a moment, as if savoring the anticipation, then struck.

The crack echoed across the square like thunder.

Shen Mengyue's body jolted forward, a scream torn from her throat before she could stop it. The board had struck her full across both cheeks, the spiritual power in the wood amplifying the pain tenfold. It felt as if her flesh had been set on fire, as if a thousand needles had been driven into her skin at once.

Behind her, Lin Qiaoxin let out a yelp that turned into a giggle. "Oh, that's a good one, Master!"

Li Que grunted, her fingers curling into fists against the stone.

The board struck again. And again. And again.

Each blow was precise, measured, devastating. The boards did not tire, did not falter, did not show mercy. They rose and fell in perfect rhythm, rotating between the three women to ensure none received a moment's rest.

The crowd watched in stunned silence. Some averted their eyes, unable to bear the sight. Others leaned forward, morbid curiosity overcoming their decency. Children were hurried away by their parents, though many peeked over shoulders for one last glimpse.

Shen Mengyue lost count of the blows. Her bottom had become a landscape of fire, each new strike landing on already ravaged flesh. She could feel her skin splitting in places, could feel the warm trickle of blood running down the backs of her thighs. The Heavenly Dao boards were not content with merely bruising—they were flaying her alive, one stroke at a time.

"Please," she whispered, though she knew it was useless. "Please, no more."

The board answered by striking harder.

Lin Qiaoxin's giggles had turned into breathless moans, her body trembling with each impact. The ginger juice in her intestines had spread its heat through her entire lower body, mixing with the pain of the spanking to create a sensation that bordered on ecstasy. She arched her back, presenting her bottom for the next blow, her nipples scraping against the stone.

Li Que had stopped making sounds altogether, but her body told its own story. She shuddered with each strike, her toes curling, her fingers clawing at the stone. Sweat dripped from her forehead, and her red hair had come loose from its ponytail, hanging in tangled strands around her face.

The spanking continued for what felt like hours. The boards showed no mercy, no fatigue, no variation in their brutal efficiency. They reduced the three women's bottoms to raw, bloody masses, the skin split and swollen, the flesh beneath black with bruising.

Finally, Xuanfa raised his hand, and the boards froze mid-strike.

"That is sufficient for the first phase," he announced. "Three hundred strokes each

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The week hanging from the anal hooks was a torment that stretched each endless hour into an eternity of agony. For Shen Mengyue, the physical pain—the constant burning pressure in her anus, the raw chafing of the iron hook against her inner walls, the way her weight pulled downward until she thought her body would tear apart—was almost secondary to the spiritual humiliation that consumed her waking thoughts.

Every morning, as the sun rose over Wuling City, the crowds would gather below the towering wooden scaffold. Merchants, beggars, cultivators from other sects, common folk who had heard the rumors—they all came to stare. They pointed at her naked body, suspended helplessly, her bottom exposed to the world, the iron chain disappearing between her cheeks. They whispered and laughed, and some even threw rotten vegetables at her dangling form. The disciples of the Immortal Cloud Sect had seen her shame, but that had been contained within the sect's walls. Now the entire cultivation world knew. Every gaze that fell upon her naked bottom was a knife twisting in her spirit.

But Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que hung beside her, and their reactions could not have been more different. Lin Qiaoxin swayed gently from her hook, her pigtails swinging, humming a tuneless melody. Occasionally she would twist to look at her own bottom, examining the red marks left by the hook's pressure, and giggle. "Master certainly knows how to punish us," she said cheerfully to Li Que. "I've never felt so... open before."

Li Que, her red hair matted with sweat, met Lin Qiaoxin's eyes with a grim nod. "The humiliation is part of the lesson. A female slave must accept her master's discipline without complaint." She had been a proud vice sect leader once, but she had submitted to Xuanfa willingly. For her, this week was simply another trial of her resolve. She did not struggle against the bonds. She did not weep. She endured.

Shen Mengyue wept. Not loudly, but silently, tears streaming down her face as she hung in the morning light. She could not move her hands to wipe them away. The iron hook had long since numbed her anus to a dull, throbbing ache, but her spirit was raw and bleeding.

Then the seventh day ended.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the iron chains creaked. The scaffold's mechanisms groaned, and slowly, inch by agonizing inch, the three women were lowered. Shen Mengyue's feet touched the wooden platform first, and she collapsed, her legs too weak to bear her weight. The iron hook was still embedded in her anus when a figure stepped out of the shadows.

Xuanfa.

He wore his black training clothes, his face as cold and expressionless as carved jade. He regarded Shen Mengyue with the same dispassion he might show a broken artifact. Without a word, he raised his hand, and the iron hook withdrew from her body with a wet, obscene sound. She screamed, a short, sharp cry, and then lay panting on the platform, her naked body covered in dust and sweat and tears.

Xuanfa's voice was calm. "Shen Mengyue. I have given you a week to reflect. Now I ask you again: will you enter the Heavenly Realm voluntarily and become my female slave?"

Shen Mengyue trembled. She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, her bottom still raised because she had no strength to lower it. She looked up at him, her face streaked with tears.

"Celestial Lord," she whispered, her voice hoarse from days of weeping. "The spanking I have endured... the humiliation... it is punishment for my offense against you. I accept that. But I do not wish to become your female slave. Please, Celestial Lord, show mercy. Let me return to the Immortal Cloud Sect. I will never defy you again."

Xuanfa's lips curled into a faint sneer. "Stubborn."

He turned to Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que, who had already risen and stood at attention, their naked bodies glistening in the twilight. "Lin Qiaoxin. Li Que. Prepare the ginger juice."

Lin Qiaoxin's face lit up with a mischievous grin. "Yes, Master!" She skipped over to a small jar that had been placed on the platform, hidden in the shadows. Li Que followed more solemnly, but a gleam of anticipation shone in her eyes.

Shen Mengyue's eyes widened. "Ginger juice? What—"

But before she could finish, Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que each took one of her arms and pulled her to her feet. Shen Mengyue struggled, but she was still weak from the week's ordeal, and the two women held her firmly. "No! Let me go! What are you doing?"

Xuanfa raised one finger. An invisible force pressed down on Shen Mengyue's shoulders, forcing her to her knees. Her body bent forward until her forehead touched the wooden platform, her bottom raised high in that familiar, humiliating position. She could not move. She could not even twitch.

"Spread her," Xuanfa commanded.

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que each took one of Shen Mengyue's buttocks and pulled them apart, exposing her anus—red, swollen, still glistening from the hook's removal. Shen Mengyue screamed. "No! Please! Don't!"

Xuanfa walked around to stand behind her. He held a small clay bottle, and he uncorked it with deliberate slowness. The sharp, pungent smell of ginger filled the air. He tipped the bottle, and a stream of dark golden liquid poured out, splashing directly into Shen Mengyue's exposed anus.

The sensation was indescribable. It was not just heat—it was a burning, searing fire that erupted inside her intestines. Ginger juice was a common punishment for slaves, meant to cause an unbearable burning sensation that spread through the bowels. Shen Mengyue had heard of it but never experienced it. Now the fire raced through her insides, and she thrashed wildly, trying to escape, but the invisible force held her immobile. She screamed and screamed, her voice raw, her body convulsing as the ginger juice spread deeper into her.

"Please! Stop! I can't—!"

Xuanfa capped the bottle and handed it to Lin Qiaoxin. "You will hold her open. Li Que, I have given each of you a Heavenly Dao board. You will take turns beating her bottom. And every time one of you strikes, Shen Mengyue will say, 'Thank you, Celestial Lord Xuanfa, for spanking my bottom.' If she forgets, or if she refuses, you will pour more ginger juice into her."

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que each took a flat wooden board from the shadows. The boards were polished smooth, the size of a hand, and stamped with the character "Heavenly Dao" on one side. Lin Qiaoxin bounced the board against her palm, grinning. "I've always wanted to spank a sect leader's bottom!"

Li Que said nothing, but she positioned herself on Shen Mengyue's left, while Lin Qiaoxin stood on the right. Both women held Shen Mengyue's buttocks apart with one hand and raised the board with the other.

The first blow fell from Lin Qiaoxin's hand. The board cracked against Shen Mengyue's left buttock, leaving a sharp red mark. Shen Mengyue gasped, but did not speak.

"Say it," Xuanfa said softly.

Shen Mengyue shook her head, sobbing. She would not say it. She would not thank him for this.

Lin Qiaoxin looked at Xuanfa, who nodded. She let go of Shen Mengyue's buttock, took the ginger juice bottle, and poured another stream directly into the exposed anus. Shen Mengyue shrieked, her whole body jerking as the burning fire reignited.

"Thank you, Celestial Lord Xuanfa, for spanking my bottom!" she cried out, the words torn from her throat.

"Good," Xuanfa said. "Continue."

The spanking began in earnest. Li Que struck first—hard, precise, the board landing flat on the right cheek. Shen Mengyue clenched her teeth, but forced herself to speak. "Thank you, Celestial Lord Xuanfa, for spanking my bottom."

Lin Qiaoxin's turn. A sharp crack on the left. "Thank you, Celestial Lord Xuanfa, for spanking my bottom."

Li Que again. Then Lin Qiaoxin. Over and over, the boards rose and fell, each blow leaving a red handprint-shaped mark on Shen Mengyue's pale buttocks. The ginger juice burned inside her, intensifying every strike until her whole lower body felt like a single flame.

After fifty strokes, her bottom was a patchwork of red and purple, tender and swollen. After sixty, the skin began to welt. Shen Mengyue's voice grew hoarse from repeating the same phrase, but she did not dare stop.

At the sixty-fifth stroke, she broke.

"Stop! Please, stop!" she sobbed, her tears falling onto the wooden platform. "Celestial Lord, I beg you! I will become your female slave! Only—please—do not harm the disciples of the Immortal Cloud Sect. If you are willing to protect my sect, I will submit to you. I will be your slave!"

Xuanfa raised his hand. The boards stopped mid-air. He walked around to face her, looking down at her bowed head.

"You accept the terms? You will be my female slave, and I will protect the Immortal Cloud Sect as part of my domain?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I swear it."

"Good."

Xuanfa raised both hands. The air around them shimmered, and in an instant, the three women felt a powerful pull, as if the world twisted around them. The wooden platform, the twilight sky, the sounds of Wuling City—all vanished. They stood now in the Heavenly Realm, a vast silver-and-white space that stretched endlessly, filled with mist and floating platforms. Above them, a golden sky glowed with an inner light.

Shen Mengyue felt something cold and tight snap around her neck. She looked down and saw a black collar, exactly like the ones Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que wore. She touched it, her fingers trembling. It was made of an unfamiliar metal, warm to the touch, and it pulsed faintly with Xuanfa's power.

Xuanfa stood before her, his arms crossed. "You know the rules of the Heavenly Realm. For your submission, you must receive two hundred strokes of the Heavenly Dao board. Kneel."

Shen Mengyue did not hesitate. She knelt on the silver floor, then lowered herself until her forehead touched the ground, her bottom raised high. The position was familiar now—the position of a slave awaiting punishment. She had seen Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que in this pose countless times during the week. Now it was her turn.

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que stepped forward, each holding a board. Xuanfa nodded, and the punishment began.

The first stroke landed on her left buttock, right at the center of the swell. The board was harder than the ones used before—or perhaps her bottom was simply more sensitive now. A sharp, blinding pain shot through her, and she gasped, but she held her position.

"One," she said, her voice steady.

The second stroke fell on the right, exactly symmetrical. "Two."

Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que alternated, each stroke precise, each landing on a different spot. They were methodical, working their way from the upper curve of her buttocks down to the crease where her thighs met, then back up again. After thirty strokes, her entire bottom was a uniform shade of deep crimson, hot to the touch.

Shen Mengyue gritted her teeth. "Thirty."

The rhythm continued. Forty strokes. Fifty. The pain was no longer sharp but a deep, throbbing ache that radiated through her pelvis and into her lower back. She could feel the skin splitting in places, tiny cracks that wept a thin fluid. The ginger juice still burned inside her, and every stroke sent waves of fire through her intestines.

"One hundred," she said, her voice beginning to waver.

Lin Qiaoxin paused for a moment, looking at Shen Mengyue's ruined bottom with something like admiration. "You're taking this well, Sect Leader."

Shen Mengyue did not answer. She was focusing all her will on staying still, on not collapsing, on not begging for mercy. She had already begged once. She would not beg again.

One hundred ten. One hundred twenty. The boards rose and fell in a steady, merciless rhythm. The silver floor beneath her was spotted with small droplets of blood and sweat. Li Que's strokes were harder, more brutal, while Lin Qiaoxin's were lighter but faster, designed to sting rather than bruise. Together they created a symphony of pain that consumed Shen Mengyue's entir

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One hundred years had passed since Xuanfa established his dominion over the Heavenly Realm. The vast golden hall that served as his seat of power stretched endlessly, its marble floors polished to a mirror sheen. In the center of that hall, three dozen female cultivators knelt in a perfect row, their bodies bare, their arms extended forward, their faces pressed against the cool stone. Each of them raised their pale, plump bottoms high into the air, presenting the rounded curves of their buttocks as an offering.

Behind each pair of raised buttocks, two rectangular boards of polished white wood floated silently. These were the Heavenly Dao boards, artifacts of punishment that Xuanfa had refined from the essence of the celestial laws themselves. They were smooth, heavy, and unyielding. With a faint hum, the boards began their work. One board would draw back, then swing forward with a sharp *crack* against the upturned flesh. The other board followed immediately, striking the opposite cheek. Over and over, the rhythm was relentless.

The air was filled with a symphony of sounds: the sharp percussive slap of wood on skin, the gasps and whimpers of the punished women, and the occasional sob that escaped despite their best efforts to remain composed. The bottoms of these thirty or more female cultivators were already a deep, angry red, some even beginning to show the first hints of purple bruising. They were sect leaders, elders, genius rogue cultivators, and daughters of noble families—women who had once commanded respect and fear across the cultivation world. Now they quivered and trembled, their pride stripped away along with their clothes.

Standing behind this row of suffering beauties were three figures, equally naked, equally marked by punishment, but standing tall and composed. Their bodies were a testament to both beauty and endurance. They were the original three female slaves of Xuanfa, the ones who had been broken first and had learned to thrive in their submission.

The first was Lin Qiaoxin, Heart Servant. Her black pigtails hung over her shoulders, framing a face that was youthful and mischievous even now. Her body was slim and well-proportioned, her skin fair and smooth. But her bottom was a deep crimson, swollen to the point where the cheeks pressed together tightly. Long, dark stripes crossed her buttocks, evidence of countless beatings. Despite the visible pain, her eyes held a playful glint.

The second was Li Que, Que Servant. Her red hair was tied in a high ponytail that fell down her back. She was tall and athletic, with firm, toned muscles that rippled beneath her skin. Her bottom was similarly swollen, but the marks on her were more severe—the Heavenly Dao boards had left deep, parallel welts that stood out against the red. She stood with a proud posture, her chin lifted, her eyes fierce even in submission.

The third was Shen Mengyue, Moon Servant. Her waist-length black hair cascaded down her back, contrasting with the pale perfection of her skin. She was the picture of ethereal beauty combined with mature allure. Her buttocks were the most swollen of the three, the flesh so tender and red that it seemed almost translucent in places. The marks of the boards were a lattice of dark purple lines, each one a testament to her endurance. She looked serene, her face calm, her eyes distant.

The three women moved among the row of punished slaves, their voices soft but firm. Lin Qiaoxin leaned down to adjust the angle of a young woman's hips. "Higher, sister. You must present yourself properly. The master dislikes slouching." Li Que walked past another, her hand brushing the woman's burning skin. "Relax your muscles. If you tense up, the pain will only be worse. Accept it. Embrace it." Shen Mengyue simply observed, her eyes passing over the row with a quiet authority that spoke of her former status as a sect leader.

Suddenly, the air in the hall shifted. A presence descended, heavy and oppressive, like a mountain falling upon them. The Heavenly Dao boards paused their rhythm, hovering mid-strike. The three female slaves immediately dropped to their knees, their movements fluid and practiced. They lowered their heads, placed their hands palms-down on the floor in front of them, and raised their red, swollen bottoms high into the air—a position of ultimate submission.

Xuanfa materialized in the center of the hall. He wore black training clothes that clung to his powerful frame. His face was cold and handsome, devoid of expression. His eyes swept over the scene with a detached satisfaction.

"Master," the three women said in unison, their voices respectful and clear. "We were just instructing the new sisters. Is Master here to watch Heart Servant's punishment?" Lin Qiaoxin added, her voice laced with eager anticipation.

"Or Que Servant's?" Li Que offered, her tone steady.

"Or Moon Servant's?" Shen Mengyue finished.

"We assure you," Lin Qiaoxin continued, "we will endure to the end and not spoil Master's enjoyment."

Xuanfa's gaze rested on them for a long moment. Then he gave a single, slow nod.

Without hesitation, the three women reached behind themselves, their fingers finding their anuses. With practiced ease, they spread themselves open, exposing the pink, puckered flesh to the air. From the ceiling, three syringes descended, each filled with a viscous, golden liquid—concentrated ginger juice, sharp and burning. The syringes hovered, then descended, their tips pressing against the offered openings.

All three women gasped as the cold metal breached them, then groaned low in their throats as the ginger juice flooded their bowels. The liquid was warm and searing, spreading through their intestines like liquid fire. They held the position, their bodies trembling but steady. When the syringes withdrew, they remained in place, their anuses clenching instinctively to hold the liquid inside.

Then the air above them shimmered. Six more Heavenly Dao boards materialized, two for each woman. They joined the boards that had been punishing the rows of new slaves, forming a circle around the three kneeling figures.

The boards began to strike.

Lin Qiaoxin was the first to receive the blows. A board slammed into her left cheek with a force that sent a shockwave through her entire body. Her eyes widened, and a sharp cry escaped her lips, half pain, half pleasure. The second board struck her right cheek immediately after, the sound echoing through the hall. The boards alternated, beating a ruthless rhythm against her upturned bottom. Each blow landed on a different spot, covering every inch of her swollen flesh. The ginger juice inside her churned with every impact, the heat intensifying until it felt like her very core was on fire.

Li Que endured in silence for the first ten strokes, her jaw clenched, her knuckles white against the floor. But the boards were relentless. They struck with the precision of a master, finding the most sensitive spots, the most tender areas. On the fifteenth stroke, a board caught her directly on the crease where her buttock met her thigh, and she let out a strangled scream. After that, the sounds came freely—grunts, cries, and whimpers that she could no longer suppress.

Shen Mengyue had learned to transform the pain into something else. With each stroke of the boards, she let herself sink deeper into a state of submission. Her body jolted forward with every blow, her bottom bouncing and jiggling from the force. The pain was exquisite, a burning, throbbing sensation that radiated through her entire being. She cried out, but her cries were tinged with a moan of ecstasy. Her vagina had become slick with arousal, a testament to how completely she had been conditioned.

The boards continued without mercy. Thirty strokes. Fifty. One hundred. The three women's bottoms became a mass of red and purple, the skin so swollen it looked ready to split. Yet they held their positions, their spread anuses still gaping, the ginger juice still contained within them.

At two hundred strokes, Lin Qiaoxin's screams had become a continuous wail. "Ahhh! Master! It hurts! It hurts so good! Please, don't stop! Punish your Heart Servant! Make me remember my place!" Her words were punctuated by the sharp cracks of the boards.

Li Que had lost all pretense of pride. Tears streamed down her face, but her voice was fierce. "Is that all you have? Beat me harder! Make me feel it! I am yours, Master! My pain belongs to you!" Each blow was met with a defiant cry.

Shen Mengyue spoke the least, but her body spoke volumes. She had begun to tremble uncontrollably, her legs shaking, her back arching with each strike. Her moans were low and deep, a sound of pure surrender. She had long passed the threshold of pain; now she floated in a sea of sensation, where the line between agony and pleasure had dissolved completely.

The final hundred strokes were the most brutal. The Heavenly Dao boards increased in speed and force, landing with a thunderous *CRACK* that echoed through the hall. The three women's bottoms were now covered in a sheen of sweat mixed with tiny droplets of blood where the skin had begun to break. But they held. They held and they took it, because that was what their master demanded.

At the three hundredth stroke, the boards stopped. Silence fell over the hall, broken only by the ragged breathing of the three women. The row of new slaves had paused their own punishment, watching in awe and horror at the display of endurance.

Slowly, the three women lowered their hands from their anuses. They had not leaked a single drop of ginger juice. They remained kneeling, their bottoms raised, their heads still bowed.

"Three hundred strokes finished," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice hoarse but clear. "No ginger juice leakage."

Li Que nodded, her breath hitching. "This servant has endured."

Shen Mengyue spoke last. "Is Master satisfied?"

Xuanfa walked forward, his footsteps silent. He stopped before each of them in turn, looking down at their ruined bottoms. The welts were deep, the swelling immense. But the discipline was perfect.

He nodded, a faint, almost imperceptible curve at the corner of his lips.

The three women sighed in unison, a sound of relief and gratitude.

Xuanfa turned his gaze to the rows of new slaves still awaiting their punishment. A hundred years had passed, and he had gathered quite a collection. But there were still so many high-level female cultivators who had not yet tasted the Heavenly Dao board. He imagined their pale, plump bottoms raised high, their piercing screams as the boards struck, their tears and their pleas for mercy. The thought sent a thrill through him.

And then another thought occurred to him. These women, these broken beauties, could be the foundation of something greater. A new sect, one built on the principles of discipline and submission. A sect where female cultivators learned their place through the sting of the board and the burn of ginger juice. He would call it the Spanking Phoenix Sect, and his female slaves would serve as its elders, enforcing his will upon new generations of disciples.

Yes, that was the next step. Capture more slaves. Establish the sect. Spread his domain across the entire cultivation world.

He smiled, a cold, predatory expression.

There was so much work left to do.

The morning sun cast pale golden light over the newly established Spanking Phoenix Sect. Disciples moved through the compound with bare bodies, their skin gleaming with the sheen of morning dew and the shame of their voluntary nudity. They carried out their tasks—sweeping paths, tending spiritual herbs, practicing cultivation forms—all without a single thread to cover their forms. The sect’s reputation had spread quickly through the cultivation world, drawing those desperate enough or ambitious enough to trade their dignity for power.

At the center of the sect, a grand hall of white jade and black iron rose against the backdrop of a spiritual mountain that hummed with abundant Qi. Before the hall’s main entrance, a wide platform of polished stone served as the stage for today’s spectacle. Disciples gathered below, their eyes fixed on the four figures kneeling on the platform, their naked forms arranged in a neat row.

Xuanfa stood before them, his black training clothes stark against his pale skin, his cold face betraying no emotion. In his right hand, he held three leather leashes, each attached to a slave collar around the neck of one of his female slaves. Shen Mengyue knelt on the far left, her waist-length black hair spilling over her bare shoulders, her body still bearing the faint red marks of previous punishments. Lin Qiaoxin knelt beside her, her twin pigtails bobbing as she shifted her weight with visible excitement. Li Que knelt third, her red hair tied high, her athletic form tense with anticipation. Next to Li Que, a newcomer knelt—a woman forcibly stripped of her robes, her pale skin flushed with rage and humiliation.

“Murong Ying, Sect Leader of the Heavenly Phoenix Sect,” Xuanfa announced, his voice carrying across the gathered crowd. “You came to challenge my sect. You lost. Now you will learn the price of insolence.”

Murong Ying raised her head, her eyes blazing with defiance despite her nakedness. “You think this humiliation will break me? I am Sect Leader of the Heavenly Phoenix Sect! I will—”

Xuanfa flicked a finger, and a surge of Qi slammed into her back, forcing her upper body down until her forehead touched the stone. “Kneel. Raise your bottom.”

The words were simple, absolute. Murong Ying’s muscles strained against the invisible pressure, but she could not resist. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered her chest to the platform and thrust her hips upward, presenting her bare buttocks to the morning air. Her face burned with shame, but her eyes still held that proud light.

“Good,” Xuanfa said. He released the leashes and stepped back, raising his hand. Above them, four rectangular slabs of jade formed in the air—Heavenly Dao boards, suffused with the power of heaven itself. They hovered, waiting.

“Heart Servant,” Xuanfa said, addressing Lin Qiaoxin, “you have taught formations to the disciples with exceptional diligence. Three sects have already sought to steal our formation secrets. You defended them with guile and power. For this, you are rewarded with public spanking. Fifty strokes.”

Lin Qiaoxin’s face lit up with genuine delight. She turned her head to look at the gathered disciples, her cheeks dimpling. “Did you hear that, everyone? Master says I did well! Watch closely—this is how you accept punishment with grace!”

A murmur rippled through the crowd of naked female disciples. They watched their Formation Grand Elder, who normally guided them through complex arrays with patience and humor, now presenting her bare bottom with shameless eagerness.

“Moon Servant,” Xuanfa continued, turning to Shen Mengyue. “You have managed sect affairs with quiet efficiency. The kitchens run smoothly. The records are flawless. Disciples are placed where they best serve. For this, you are rewarded with public spanking. Fifty strokes.”

Shen Mengyue’s face remained composed, though a faint blush crept up her neck. She inclined her head gracefully. “This servant thanks Master for the honor.” She shifted her position, adjusting her knees slightly, then pressed her chest lower and arched her back higher, offering her bottom to the sky.

“Que Servant,” Xuanfa said, his gaze landing on Li Que. “You defeated a Nascent Soul cultivator who came to challenge the sect. Your combat skills are exemplary. For this, you are rewarded with public spanking. Fifty strokes.”

Li Que grinned, her red hair swaying. “With pleasure, Master. I’ve been itching for a good thrashing since that fight ended too quickly.” She settled into position, her muscular buttocks clenching once in anticipation.

Xuanfa’s eyes finally rested on Murong Ying. “As for you, you will receive one hundred strokes for your challenge. And then you will be displayed at the mountain gate.”

Murong Ying’s breath caught, but she forced herself to stay still. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her break. Not yet.

The first Heavenly Dao board descended.

It struck Lin Qiaoxin’s bottom with a crack that echoed across the platform. Her eyes widened, and a sharp cry escaped her lips—then she laughed, the sound breathless and wild. “Ooh! That’s a good one! Master’s boards always hit just right!”

The second board struck Shen Mengyue. Her back arched, her mouth opening in a silent gasp. A red print bloomed across her pale skin, but she remained silent, her hands pressing firmly against the stone.

The third board landed on Li Que. She grunted, her body lurching forward, then settled back with a grin. “Ow. Reminds me of training with the phoenix clan. But that actually had feathers. This is pure aggravation.”

The fourth board hit Murong Ying. She screamed—she could not help it. The pain was searing, unlike any spanking she had ever endured. It was not merely physical; the Heavenly Dao board carried spiritual force that penetrated deep into her core, amplifying every bit of suffering.

Lin Qiaoxin twisted her head to look at Murong Ying, her pigtails swinging. “Hey, new girl, you might want to relax your muscles. If you tense up, it hurts worse. Trust me, I’ve tried both.”

“Shut up!” Murong Ying spat, her voice cracking.

“Suit yourself,” Lin Qiaoxin said cheerfully, just as another board slammed into her bottom. She yelped, then giggled. “Ah, Master is so generous today! These boards are really putting in the work!”

The rhythm continued. Each stroke fell with mathematical precision, ensuring maximum coverage. The boards painted the women’s buttocks in shades of pink, then red, then a deepening purple. The scent of bruised spiritual energy mixed with the morning air.

Disciples watched from below, their eyes wide. Some whispered among themselves. A young cultivator with shorn hair clutched her arms, trembling. “I... I don’t think I could ever endure that,” she murmured to her companion.

Her companion, a girl with a scar across her cheek, shook her head. “Look at Grand Elder Lin. She’s enjoying it. And Grand Elder Shen isn’t even crying. That’s the price of advancement. If we want to reach their level, we have to be willing to take punishment.”

On the platform, Murong Ying’s composure began to crack. At stroke twenty, she was sobbing openly, tears streaming down her face as she begged between breaths. “Please... please stop... I’ll do anything... just don’t... don’t hit anymore...”

“Brave words earlier,” Li Que said, her voice tight as she took another blow. “That’s the thing about posture. It lasts only until the board hits.” She grunted, then added, “Your bottom is softer than these boards, by the way. You should toughen it up.”

Shen Mengyue, despite the pain that made her legs tremble, managed to speak to the disciples below. Her voice was steady, though strained. “Pay attention... to the rhythm... Each stroke teaches... endurance. Patience. Surrender. If you cultivate diligently... one day... you too may be honored... like this...”

Lin Qiaoxin waved at a group of junior disciples. “She’s right! Don’t be scared! Everyone starts somewhere! By the time you get to fifty strokes, you barely notice them!” She yelped as a particularly vicious strike landed square on her sit spots. “Okay, fine, you notice them! But it’s worth it!”

The boards continued their work. At forty, Lin Qiaoxin’s laughter had turned to breathless gasps, but she still managed to crack jokes. “I wonder... if Master is saving... the really good ones... for last... because this one... felt amazing!”

At fifty strokes, the board above Lin Qiaoxin vanished. She collapsed forward, her bottom a canvas of purple and red, her breath coming in ragged heaves. But she pushed herself back up, still smiling. “Thank you, Master! May this servant serve you again!”

Shen Mengyue reached her fiftieth stroke with a shuddering breath. She remained in position for a moment longer, then slowly lowered her hips, pressing her forehead to the stone. “This servant... thanks Master for the discipline.”

Li Que took her fiftieth stroke with a grunt. “Ah. That was refreshing.” She rolled her shoulders, flexing the muscles of her reddened behind. “Next time, let’s go for a hundred. That fight warmed me up, but the spanking really got the blood flowing.”

Murong Ying still had forty strokes remaining. By the seventy-eighth stroke, her voice had gone hoarse from screaming. She no longer struggled. She no longer begged. She simply lay there, accepting each blow, her body convulsing with every impact. Her proud spirit had been beaten into submission, at least for now.

When the final stroke fell, she collapsed onto the platform, her face streaked with tears and snot. Her bottom was a mass of deep purple bruises, the skin broken in places where the board had struck hardest.

Xuanfa stepped forward. He raised his hand, and a glistening metal object appeared in his palm—a hook, curved and sharp, its base connected to a heavy chain. He knelt beside Murong Ying, his cold fingers parting her bruised buttocks. She whimpered but no longer resisted. The hook slid into her, the pain fresh and sharp, drawing another sob from her throat. He attached the chain to the hook, then lifted her by the chain as if she weighed nothing. She hung suspended, her body swaying, her legs dangling.

“Hang her at the mountain gate,” Xuanfa ordered. “She will remain there for seven days, as a warning to all who would challenge the Spanking Phoenix Sect.”

Two disciples scrambled forward to carry out the order. They hoisted Murong Ying onto a beam that had been prepared at the gate, securing the chain so that she dangled in full view of anyone entering or leaving the sect. Her naked, bruised body twisted in the wind, her cries faint and pitiful.

Lin Qiaoxin watched her go, then turned to the remaining disciples. She walked to the edge of the platform, her purple-streaked bottom swaying with each step. “All right, lesson time! Today we learned that pride comes before a fall—literally! But also, we learned that discipline is the path to strength. So get back to your training. I want to see those formation diagrams perfected by sunset!”

The disciples dispersed, their minds churning with what they had witnessed. Some felt disgust. Some felt fear. And some felt a strange, forbidden thrill, imagining themselves one day kneeling on that platform, offering their own bottoms for the Master’s reward.

Shen Mengyue rose gracefully, despite the evident pain in her movements. She met Xuanfa’s gaze, her dark eyes holding a mixture of submission and quiet dignity. “Master, this servant will return to the sect hall to review the afternoon lesson plans.”

“Do so,” Xuanfa said. He turned and walked back into the hall, leaving the three female slaves to tend to their own wounds.

Li Que flexed her hips, wincing. “I’ll need a healing bath after this. Anyone else want to join?”

Lin Qiaoxin bounced over, her pigtails swaying. “Yes! And we can compare marks! I bet mine is more symmetrical!”

“Yours is more symmetrical because you shifted mid-stroke to make it that way,” Li Que accused.

“Is that a crime?” Lin

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On this day, Xuanfa led his three female slaves through the main thoroughfare of the Spanking Phoenix Sect. Lin Qiaoxin crawled on all fours ahead of him, her naked body swaying as she moved, black pigtails bouncing with each step. Li Que followed close behind, her athletic frame taut and red hair trailing like flame across her shoulders. Shen Mengyue brought up the rear, her waist-length black hair sweeping the ground, her pale skin gleaming under the midday sun. All three moved with practiced ease, their hands and feet finding rhythm as they walked like dogs beside their master.

Disciples lined the path, their duties forgotten as they turned to stare. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, but no one dared speak above a whisper. Every face bore the same mix of awe and disbelief—to see the three grand elders of the sect, the women who taught them cultivation techniques and corrected their formations, crawling naked and obedient behind their master. Lin Qiaoxin, the mischievous formation master who always had a joke ready. Li Que, the proud vice sect leader of the Vermilion Bird Sect who had once challenged any comers. Shen Mengyue, the serene and dignified sect leader of the Immortal Cloud Sect, whose wisdom had guided countless disciples. Now they crept on all fours, bottoms raised, moving in perfect unison.

Lin Qiaoxin glanced sideways at a group of younger disciples who had stopped short, their mouths hanging open. She grinned and said, "Hehe, Master, the disciples are watching Heart Servant."

Li Que did not turn her head. "Haven't they gotten used to it after all this time?" Her voice was flat, but a hint of pride lingered beneath the resignation.

Shen Mengyue’s tone remained calm, almost contemplative. "Among them, some with outstanding performance may become Master's female slaves in the future."

Xuanfa walked in silence, his black training clothes stark against the white stone of the sect grounds. His face showed no expression, but his eyes swept over the gathered disciples like a blade. They scattered before his gaze, returning to their tasks with renewed haste.

When they reached the sect hall, the great doors stood open. Xuanfa stopped at the threshold and turned to face the three women. They halted immediately, kneeling in a row, hands flat on the ground, bottoms presented. He looked down at them and asked, "Do you remember how you became my female slaves?"

Lin Qiaoxin was the first to speak, her voice light and cheerful. "Heart Servant remembers. Master appeared directly before Heart Servant, sternly declaring that Heart Servant must become his female slave. At that time, Heart Servant was unwilling and even played some petty tricks in front of Master. Then Master took off Heart Servant's skirt and spanked Heart Servant's adorable bottom severely, making Heart Servant cry. Under Master's combination of threats and promises, Heart Servant became Master's female slave." She giggled, wiggling her bottom slightly. "Heart Servant's bottom remembers the first spanking very well."

Li Que spoke next, her tone firm and measured. "Que Servant remembers. Previously, I led the Vermilion Bird Sect to trouble the Taiqing Palace. Believing I was invincible at the same level, I was defeated by the younger sister Lin taught by Master. I was severely spanked by Sister Lin's formation and had a ginger stick shoved into my anus by Master. Finally, I was hung from an anal hook for public display. Overestimating myself, I even wanted to challenge Master, only to be defeated in a single move. Then Que Servant obediently became Master's female slave."

Lin Qiaoxin grinned at her, unable to resist. "If Sister Que's bottom is itchy, Heart Servant can always use formations to spank it again."

Li Que shot her a glare, but said nothing.

Shen Mengyue spoke last, her voice calm and steady, as if reciting scripture. "Moon Servant remembers. After being punished in Wuling City with Sister Heart and Sister Que, when Master offered to take Moon Servant as a female slave, I was ungrateful and refused. Master performed an enema with ginger juice and ordered Sister Heart and Sister Que to spank this ungrateful bottom with the Heavenly Dao boards, alternating left and right severely. Moon Servant cried and obediently became Master's female slave." She paused, then added softly, "Moon Servant’s bottom learned obedience that day."

Xuanfa looked at them, his cold gaze traveling down each naked back. "And now, how do you feel about being a female slave and getting spanked?"

Lin Qiaoxin giggled again, her voice bubbling with pleasure. "Although Master's Heavenly Dao boards hurt like hell on the bottom, Heart Servant's bottom now loves receiving Master's strokes the most. Heart Servant's bottom is bloomed open every day and is extremely happy." She arched her back, pushing her bottom higher. "Heart Servant’s bottom belongs to Master."

Li Que spoke with conviction, her eyes fixed on the ground before her. "Que Servant was defeated by Master and taken as a female slave, so I should obediently accept all of Master's humiliation and punishment. Que Servant's bottom must be bloomed open every day as punishment." She flexed her thighs, the muscles taut. "It is only right."

Shen Mengyue’s voice held a quiet serenity. "Moon Servant's ungrateful refusal of Master's kindness to take me as a female slave was a fault. This fault must be repaid by having Moon Servant's bottom bloomed open every day." She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. "Moon Servant has come to love the feeling of Master's hand and board upon this bottom. It is proper discipline."

Xuanfa gave a cold laugh, the sound sharp in the silence. "You three have quite the awareness. Today's punishment: each of you will receive two hundred strokes of the Heavenly Dao board in a single session."

Without hesitation, the three women adjusted their positions. They knelt upright, then leaned forward, placing their foreheads to the ground and raising their buttocks high. Their backs formed gentle slopes, their thighs spread slightly to present their bottoms fully. The round curves of their buttocks rose like twin moons, pale and smooth except for the faint pink of previous beatings.

Lin Qiaoxin’s bottom was small and pert, the cheeks round like peaches. She wiggled them in anticipation, a soft giggle escaping her lips. Li Que’s bottom was larger, muscled from years of fighting, the flesh firm and athletic. She held perfectly still, her breathing even. Shen Mengyue’s bottom was full and womanly, the curves soft yet shapely, the skin like polished jade. She exhaled slowly, preparing herself.

Xuanfa raised his hand, and the Heavenly Dao board materialized in his grip—a long, flat piece of dark wood, inscribed with ancient runes that pulsed faintly with power. He stepped behind Lin Qiaoxin first.

The first stroke landed with a sharp *crack!* Lin Qiaoxin’s bottom cheek jiggled, a red mark blooming instantly. She let out a yelp that turned into a laugh. "Oh! Master's board is so warm today!"

*Crack!* The second stroke hit the other cheek, and she gasped, her fingers curling against the stone floor. "Hehe, that one stung!"

Stroke after stroke fell in a steady rhythm. Xuanfa worked across both cheeks, spreading the punishment evenly. Lin Qiaoxin’s giggles soon turned into breathless moans. Her bottom reddened swiftly, the flesh heating under the relentless blows. By the twentieth stroke, her eyes were glazed, a thin sheen of sweat on her back. By the fiftieth, she was whimpering, her hips rocking forward and backward with each hit. The board slapped against her tender flesh, and she cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

"Hnng—yes—Master—Heart Servant loves it—"

Her vagina began to glisten, moisture seeping down the inside of her thighs. Each stroke sent a jolt through her body, making her clench and release. By the hundredth stroke, her bottom was a deep, angry red, the skin hot and swollen. She sobbed openly, but her hips kept rising to meet the board.

Xuanfa moved to Li Que. She did not flinch as the first stroke landed. *Crack!* The sound was louder against her harder flesh. A red line appeared across her right cheek. She grunted, her jaw tight. The second stroke came, and she held still.

*Crack! Crack! Crack!*

Li Que took each blow with stoic endurance. Her eyes remained fixed on the floor, her breath controlled. But as the strokes mounted, her composure cracked. By the thirtieth stroke, her thighs trembled. By the sixtieth, she let out a low growl of pain. By the ninetieth, tears streaked her cheeks, but she did not cry out.

"Que Servant—accepts—Master's punishment—"

Her bottom bounced with each hit, the flesh darkening from red to purple. Sweat ran down her back, pooling at the small of her spine. Between her legs, a clear fluid began to drip, staining the stone below. She bit her lip, but a small moan escaped at the hundred and fiftieth stroke.

*Crack! Crack! Crack!*

Her body shook, her fists clenched. "Master—please—it hurts—"

*Crack!* "But Que Servant—deserves it—"

She finished the two hundred strokes, her entire bottom now a mottled mess of red and purple. She collapsed forward, gasping.

Finally, Xuanfa stood before Shen Mengyue. Her bottom was already pink from previous sessions, but she raised it higher, presenting herself fully. The first stroke landed with a sharp *smack!* that echoed through the hall. She let out a soft sigh, her body swaying.

*Crack!* The second stroke crossed the first, and she whimpered, her fingers sliding on the floor.

*Crack! Crack! Crack!*

Shen Mengyue’s composure was serene, but her body betrayed her. Her vagina grew wet with each stroke, the heat spreading through her core. She moaned openly, her hips rotating slightly to present each cheek in turn. The board painted her bottom in shades of crimson, the flesh swelling and hot to the touch.

"Master—Moon Servant—is grateful—for this discipline—"

*Crack!* "Moon Servant’s bottom—remembers—its duty—"

By the hundredth stroke, she was weeping, tears dripping onto the stone. By the hundred and fiftieth, her moans turned into cries of pleasure-pain, her body shuddering with each blow. Her bottom was a brilliant red, the skin stretched tight over the swollen curves. Fluid dripped from her vagina in a steady stream.

*Crack! Crack! Crack!*

At the two hundredth stroke, she collapsed, her forehead pressed to the ground, her bottom still raised. "Thank you, Master."

Xuanfa dismissed the board with a wave of his hand. The three women lay there, panting, their bottoms a symphony of red and purple, each cheek trembling from the beating. Their vaginas were slick and wet, evidence of their arousal despite the pain.

"Rise," he said.

They struggled to their knees, then knelt upright, hands on their thighs. Their eyes were downcast, but their expressions held a mixture of relief and satisfaction.

Xuanfa looked at them, his voice cold and commanding. "In some time, there will be a sect ceremony for the Spanking Phoenix Sect. The highlight will be the three of you receiving five hundred strokes of spanking."

Lin Qiaoxin’s eyes lit up despite her sore bottom. "Heart Servant will prepare well, Master."

Li Que bowed her head. "Que Servant will accept her punishment."

Shen Mengyue pressed her forehead to the ground. "Moon Servant thanks Master for the opportunity to demonstrate her submission."

They kowtowed in unison, their bruised bottoms rising as they bowed. The gesture was perfect, their movements synchronized from weeks of practice. They remained in that position for a long moment, foreheads to the cold stone, waiting for their master to speak again.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the vast training grounds of the Spanking Phoenix Sect, perched on a plateau that jutted from the mountainside like an altar to the heavens. A thousand disciples stood in orderly ranks around the perimeter, their bodies bare under the open sky, heads bowed in reverence. The cool mountain air brushed against their skin, raising goosebumps along arms and thighs, but no one shivered—they had been trained to accept all discomfort without complaint. Their feet pressed into the cold stone, and their hands rested palms-up on their thighs, a posture of utter submission.

At the center of the grounds, a circular dais of polished black jade rose three feet high. Behind it, a wooden rack held five pairs of Heavenly Dao boards—white oak planed smooth, inscribed with golden runes that pulsed faintly with spiritual energy. The boards were the sect's sacred relics, the tools through which discipline and enlightenment flowed. On either side of the rack, braziers burned incense that coiled upward in lazy spirals, filling the air with the scent of sandalwood and something sharper, like ozone after a storm.

Xuanfa stood at the edge of the dais, his black training robes immaculate, his hands clasped behind his back. His face held no expression, but his eyes swept the gathered disciples with cold appraisal. The silence stretched until it felt tangible, broken only by the crackle of the braziers and the distant call of a mountain hawk.

Then the ceremony began.

From the left side of the training grounds, fifty female slave elders crawled into view on hands and knees. Their bodies were bare like the disciples, but their movements were slower, more deliberate, each step of hands and knees carrying weight. Their hair hung loose, brushing the stone, and their bottoms—marked with fading red welts from previous punishments—swayed with each crawl. They moved in perfect synchronization, a wave of flesh and submission, until they reached the dais and formed a semicircle around it, kneeling with their foreheads touching the ground.

Xuanfa raised his right hand, and the air stilled. Three dog leashes appeared in his grip, the leather straps leading to collars that glinted with silver runes. He tugged once, and from behind the dais, three figures crawled forward.

Lin Qiaoxin came first, her black pigtails swinging as she moved on all fours with surprising grace. Her youthful face held a faint smile, as if she found the entire affair amusing, but her eyes were sharp, focused on Xuanfa's feet. The slave collar around her neck was adorned with small bells that chimed softly. Her bare skin had a slight tan from days spent training in the sun, and her bottom—though well-formed and plump—showed the faintest traces of old spanking marks, like whispers of pain long past.

Behind her came Li Que, her red hair tied in a high ponytail that fell forward as she crawled. Her athletic body tensed with every movement, muscles rippling along her shoulders and thighs. She did not smile. Her jaw was set, her gaze fixed ahead with fierce loyalty. The collar around her neck was plain iron, fitting tightly. Her bottom, high and firm, bore the evidence of many a harsh session—thin white scars crisscrossing the cheeks, a roadmap of discipline.

Last came Shen Mengyue. Her waist-length black hair swept the stone as she crawled, her movements fluid and composed. Even on hands and knees, she exuded a quiet dignity, her fair skin glowing in the sunlight. The slave collar around her neck was the most ornate, set with small jadeite pieces that caught the light. Her bottom, pale and perfectly rounded, had been healed many times by Xuanfa's immortal magic, yet the memory of punishment lingered in the way she held it—slightly raised, as if offering it even now.

Xuanfa led them to the dais, his steps unhurried. The three crawled up the steps and positioned themselves beside him, kneeling with their knees apart and their hands on their thighs. Their heads were bowed, but their bottoms rested on their heels, a posture of perfect obedience.

"Today," Xuanfa said, his voice carrying across the grounds without effort, "we consecrate the Spanking Phoenix Sect. We confirm our purpose and our path. Let the ritual begin."

Lin Qiaoxin rose to her knees and turned to face the assembled disciples. Her smile widened, but her tone was reverent. "Most sects worship ancestors or divine artifacts," she said, gesturing toward the wooden rack. "We worship these. The Heavenly Dao boards. They are the instruments of our correction, the tools that remind us of our proper place."

Li Que raised her head, her voice firm. "This sect was founded to bring order to chaos. Female cultivators who refuse discipline weaken the world. We accept our duty—to be punished, to be humbled, to be molded into obedient tools for our master's will."

Shen Mengyue spoke last, her voice cool and clear. "The name 'Spanking Phoenix' came from a vision. A phoenix that fell from the sky, its pride burned away by heavenly fire, and rose again with its tail feathers stripped. That is our symbol. We fall to rise. We suffer to grow. We accept all pain and shame, and in doing so, we become stronger."

She paused, her eyes sweeping the ranks. "Your duty as female slaves is simple. Accept every humiliation, every punishment, no matter how painful or shameful. Endure obediently. You walk on all fours unless the master commands otherwise. To salute him, you kneel and raise your scarred bottoms high, so he may see the marks of your discipline. This is your eternal posture."

The disciples murmured their acknowledgment, a low hum of voices.

Lin Qiaoxin clapped her hands lightly. "Now then, let's share some cultivation experience. I've found that circulating qi through the lower dantian during a spanking actually speeds up recovery. It stings more initially, but your body learns to channel the pain into power." She winked, though her tone remained instructional.

Li Que added, "Keep your spine straight while accepting punishment. Arching away only makes the blows land harder on the same spot. A flat back distributes the impact evenly, and you can endure longer."

Shen Mengyue demonstrated a technique, raising her hand and forming a seal. "When the boards fall, exhale slowly. It relaxes the muscles, and the impact is absorbed rather than resisted. This also pleases the master, as your bottom yields to his corrections."

For an hour, the three grand elders shared knowledge, teaching the disciples how to receive punishment gracefully, how to maintain composure, how to transform agony into cultivation fuel. The female slave elders listened intently, occasionally nodding or asking quiet questions.

When the instruction ended, Xuanfa stepped forward. He raised his hand, and shimmering pills materialized above the crowd—hundreds of them, each a pale gold, glowing softly. With a wave, they descended into the upturned palms of the disciples. "These enhance qi circulation," he said. "Take one after your daily training."

Then he pointed to five disciples among the outer ranks. "You. Step forward."

The five women trembled as they crawled to the dais. They were applicants who had proven their devotion during the selection process. Xuanfa had chosen them for their endurance, their obedience, their willingness to suffer for advancement.

"Today, you become my female slaves," Xuanfa said. He snapped his fingers, and five slave collars appeared on the stone before him. Each was black iron, etched with the sect's seal—a phoenix with its tail feathers reduced to stumps, caught in a wooden board.

The first woman, a mid-Nascent Soul cultivator with short brown hair and a scar across her collarbone, reached for a collar with shaking hands. She fastened it around her neck, and the moment the clasp clicked, her entire body jolted. The collar settled against her throat like a second skin, pulsing with the master's qi.

The second was a young Foundation disciple barely twenty years old, her face pale with a mix of excitement and dread. She put on the collar quickly, then immediately dropped to all fours, her bottom raised in the salute. The others followed suit, and soon the five new female slaves crawled to join the semicircle of elders, their bodies low, their heads down.

Xuanfa nodded. "Proceed to the punishment."

The female slave elders—now fifty in number—rose slightly from their kneeling positions and arranged themselves into five rows of ten. They knelt with their knees spread wide, then leaned forward, lowering their chests to the ground and raising their bottoms high. Their buttocks were round and full, some paler, some with a healthy flush, all marked by past spankings. The morning light caught the red and purple welts that crisscrossed their cheeks like terrible artwork.

The Heavenly Dao boards vibrated on their rack. Then, without any visible movement, they disappeared and reappeared above the rows of raised bottoms, hanging in the air like a flock of vengeful birds.

The first stroke fell in unison—a thunderous crack that echoed across the plateau.

A hundred cheeks dented beneath the impact, then sprang back, bright red handprints blooming across the flesh. The women gasped, but held their positions. The second stroke came immediately after, harder, landing with a wet slap that made tears spring to many eyes. The third, fourth, fifth—the boards fell in relentless rhythm, each blow painting deeper shades of crimson and purple.

The female slaves' screams rose and fell, a chorus of agony that harmonized with the crack of wood against flesh. Some sobbed openly, their bodies trembling, but none tried to dodge. They had learned that dodging only earned extra strokes. The boards knew no mercy.

The spanking continued through one hundred, then one hundred fifty strokes. By the time the boards reached two hundred, many of the women's bottoms were swollen to twice their normal size, the skin split in places, blood weeping down their thighs. They wept, they cried out, they moaned, but they did not move. They held their raised positions, offering their destroyed bottoms to the punishing wood.

With the final blow, the boards vanished. The fifty women collapsed forward, panting, tears and sweat mingling on the stone. Their bottoms were raw, pulped, almost unrecognizable as human flesh. But they were alive.

Xuanfa surveyed them with cold satisfaction. "Rise and kneel," he commanded.

They pushed themselves up with great effort, their faces twisted in pain, and knelt in their semicircle, their hands on their thighs.

"Now," Xuanfa said, turning to Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue, "the grand elders."

The three kowtowed to him with deep reverence, pressing their foreheads to the stone three times. Then they positioned themselves in the center of the dais, near the rack of boards. They knelt neatly, side by side, with their knees wide apart. With a practiced motion, they leaned forward, lowering their chests to the stone and raising their plump bottoms high.

They were beautiful even in this vulnerable posture. Lin Qiaoxin's bottom was round and perky, a smooth curve that invited correction. Li Que's was firm and athletic, the muscles defined, the scars on her cheeks adding a fierce beauty. Shen Mengyue's was perfect—pale, full, unmarked by recent punishment, a canvas waiting for the master's brush.

"Five hundred strokes each," Xuanfa said. "Let it be a lesson for all."

The Heavenly Dao boards materialized above them, three in total, larger than those used on the elders. They hummed with power, the runes flaring bright.

The first stroke fell.

Lin Qiaoxin gasped, her body jolting. A bright red stripe appeared across both cheeks. "O-oh," she breathed, her voice strained but tinged with something like pleasure. "That's a good start, Master."

Li Que said nothing. She took the second stroke with a grunt, her fingers curling against the stone. Her muscles tensed, t

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