玄罚天尊的惩罚第二部

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the stone paths of Zehuan Gate as Xuan Fa walked slowly through the central courtyard. In his left hand, he held three leather leashes, each connected to a black slave collar around the neck of a woman crawling behind him on hands and knees.

Lin Qiaoxin moved on his left, her twin ponytails bouncing with each careful step she took on all fours. Her bare body moved with practiced grace, her knees finding the most comfortable spots on the stone path. Behind her, Li Que kept her high ponytail swinging in rhythm, her athletic frame moving with controlled precision. On the right, Shen Mengyue followed with the quiet dignity that came from decades of submission, her long black hair trailing across the ground like silk.

Disciple after disciple stopped their duties to kneel as the group passed. Young women in various stages of cultivation training pressed their foreheads to the ground, their bare bodies trembling with a mixture of fear and reverence. The three crawling women who commanded such respect were known by terrifying names outside these walls—Xin Nu, Que Nu, Yue Nu—but here they moved like the most obedient of pets.

"You have all broken through to the late Nascent Soul stage," Xuan Fa said without slowing his pace. His voice carried no emotion, but it cut through the air with the sharpness of a blade.

The three women immediately stopped crawling. They pressed their foreheads to the cold stone, their rear ends raised slightly in a gesture of complete submission.

"All thanks to our master," Shen Mengyue said, her voice soft and melodic. "Your discipline and the spiritual energy of the Xuantian Realm allowed us to break through in three hundred years."

Lin Qiaoxin lifted her head just enough to add, "The board strikes you give us, Master, they focus the qi like nothing else. We are grateful."

Li Que simply said, "We exist to serve."

Xuan Fa stopped walking and turned to face them. His dark eyes swept over the three prostrate forms, taking in the slave collars that marked them as his property.

"You have reached the late Nascent Soul stage," he repeated. "I have tasks for the three of you."

He reached into his storage ring and produced three golden chains, each link shimmering with restrictive power. The Kunsuo chains. They could bind any cultivator below the Demigod realm.

"Bai Zhenshuang of the Heavenly Sword Sect has spoken disrespectfully of Zehuan Gate," Xuan Fa said, his tone flat. "Hua Qianyu of the Hundred Flowers Valley allowed her disciples to occupy our medicinal gardens. Su Qianyao of the Demon Clan used her charm techniques to corrupt the minds of our disciples."

He held out the golden chains. Each woman reached up with both hands to accept one, then immediately pressed her forehead back to the ground.

"You will inform them," Xuan Fa continued, "that they are to strip naked, kneel at the mountain entrance of Zehuan Gate, raise their rear ends, and accept one hundred strikes of the Heavenly Dao Board each day for ten years. If they resist, you will defeat them and bind them with the Kunsuo chains."

"We understand, Master," the three women said in unison.

Xuan Fa looked down at them. "You suggested earlier that since you have broken through to the late Nascent Soul stage, you wish for increased daily discipline."

Lin Qiaoxin's cheeks flushed slightly, but she did not hesitate. "Yes, Master. Four hundred strikes per day instead of two hundred. We have grown accustomed to the board's kiss."

"We have come to love it," Li Que added, her voice carrying her usual directness.

"The burn of the wood reminds us of our place," Shen Mengyue said softly. "And the pleasure that follows reminds us of your generosity."

Xuan Fa's lips curved into the faintest smile. "So you have all come to enjoy the spanking, have you?"

"We have, Master," they answered together.

"Then complete this task. When you return, your punishment will be increased to four hundred strikes daily."

"Thank you, Master!" The gratitude in their voices was genuine, their foreheads touching the stone again.

Xuan Fa turned and began walking again. "But first, today's punishment must be completed."

He stopped at the edge of a training platform, raised his hand, and made a simple gesture. From the nearby disciples' quarters, three young women emerged.

They were all around eighteen years of age, their bodies unmarked by any clothing, black slave collars around their necks. Each one bore a striking resemblance to the three women still crawling behind Xuan Fa. Lin Yuxin had Lin Qiaoxin's playful eyes and twin ponytails, though she wore hers in a maid's bun. Li Yunling carried Li Que's athletic build and high ponytail, her movements crisp and efficient. Shen Xingmian possessed Shen Mengyue's elegant features and long black hair, her expression gentle and composed.

The three young women approached Xuan Fa and knelt before him, pressing their foreheads to the ground.

"We greet the Master," they said in unison.

Xuan Fa looked down at them. "Your mothers' rear ends are itching for discipline. You will each take a Heavenly Dao Board and deliver two hundred strikes to your mother. After that, you will take a whip and deliver one hundred strikes to their perineums. Make sure to spread their legs wide."

"Yes, Master," the three young women said without hesitation.

Shen Xingmian was the first to rise. She walked to a nearby rack and selected a black wooden board—the Heavenly Dao Board, the highest grade of disciplinary tool in the mortal realm. It hummed with spiritual energy, its surface smooth and dark.

Shen Mengyue had already crawled to the center of the training platform. She positioned herself on her hands and knees, then reached back with both hands to spread her buttocks wide, exposing herself completely.

"Xingmian," she said softly, "when you strike me, aim for the area where the buttock meets the thigh. That is where the nerve endings are most dense. The pain will be sharper, but the pleasure that follows will be deeper."

Shen Xingmian nodded, her face showing no emotion. She took her position behind her mother, raised the board, and brought it down with practiced precision.

*CRACK!*

The sound echoed across the training ground. Shen Mengyue's body jolted, but she did not cry out. A red mark bloomed across her pale skin.

"Again," Shen Mengyue said. "Do not be gentle. The Master's discipline must be felt to be effective."

*CRACK!*

*CRACK!*

*CRACK!*

Each strike landed with mechanical precision. Shen Xingmian did not vary her rhythm or her aim, each blow landing exactly on the same spot, gradually deepening the red mark into a purple bruise. Shen Mengyue's breathing became heavier, but she maintained her position, her legs spread wide, her rear end raised and presented.

"Faster," Shen Mengyue instructed. "The faster the strikes, the more the heat builds. The qi flows more freely through the damaged flesh."

Shen Xingmian obeyed, her arm becoming a blur as she delivered strike after strike. The sound became a continuous rhythm, each crack following the previous one so quickly that they seemed to merge into a single, endless sound.

Nearby, Lin Yuxin had taken her position behind Lin Qiaoxin. Unlike Shen Xingmian's silent efficiency, Lin Yuxin approached her task with a grin.

"Mother, shall I use the same technique?" she asked.

"Use a different one," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice carrying her usual playful tone despite her position. "Start with the left cheek, then the right, then the center. Vary the angle each time. It makes the skin feel like it's burning from all directions at once."

"As you command, Mother."

*CRACK!*

Lin Qiaoxin let out a soft gasp as the board connected with her left buttock. Her body swayed slightly.

*CRACK!*

The right buttock received the same treatment.

*CRACK!*

The board landed square in the center, covering both cheeks at once.

"Excellent!" Lin Qiaoxin said. "Now do it again, but start from the right this time."

Lin Yuxin followed her mother's instructions exactly, varying her angles with each cycle of three strikes. After twenty cycles, Lin Qiaoxin's entire rear end had turned a deep, angry red, with darker purple patches forming at the points of impact.

"Faster now," Lin Qiaoxin urged. "Make it burn. Make it ache. Make me feel every strike as though it were the first."

Lin Yuxin increased her speed, the board becoming a blur of motion.

Li Yunling was the last to begin. She stood behind Li Que, the board held at the ready, her face a mask of concentration.

"Do not think," Li Que said, her voice carrying her characteristic directness. "Thinking slows you down. Feel the board. Feel my flesh. Let the strike come naturally."

"I understand, Mother."

Li Yunling raised the board and brought it down without hesitation. The strike was perfect—clean, crisp, and landing at the exact point where the buttock met the thigh.

"Good," Li Que said. "Again."

Li Yunling delivered the next strike. Then the next. She found a rhythm, a flow, each strike building on the last, creating a crescendo of pain and pleasure that began to make Li Que's body shake.

"Do not stop," Li Que commanded. "Even if I tell you to stop, do not stop. The punishment must be completed."

"I will not stop, Mother."

The three young women continued their work, the training platform filling with the sound of boards striking flesh, the gasps and groans of the three mothers, and the occasional instruction from one of the older women.

By the time two hundred strikes had been delivered to each woman, their rear ends were a sight to behold. Swollen, purple, covered in raised welts and burst capillaries, the flesh looked as though it had been through a battle. Yet the three mothers remained in position, their legs still spread, their bodies still presented.

"Now the whip," Xuan Fa said from where he stood watching.

The three young women exchanged the boards for whips—thin, flexible instruments designed to deliver precise, stinging blows to the most sensitive areas.

Shen Xingmian moved behind her mother. "Spread your legs wider, Mother. I need access to the perineum."

Shen Mengyue complied, her knees sliding apart until she was nearly lying flat on the ground, her rear end raised at an obscene angle. Her sex was fully exposed, as was her anus, both glistening with moisture.

"Strike from front to back," Shen Mengyue instructed. "The tip of the whip should land on the clitoris first, then slide across the labia, and finish at the anus. That way, every sensitive point is struck in a single blow."

"I understand, Mother."

*WHIP!*

The sound was sharp and precise. The whip landed exactly as instructed, the tip catching Shen Mengyue's clitoris before dragging across her labia and finishing with a snap against her anus. Shen Mengyue's entire body convulsed, a cry of pain and pleasure escaping her lips.

"Again," she gasped. "Do not pause."

*WHIP!*

*WHIP!*

*WHIP!*

Each strike followed the same path, building the pleasure even as the pain intensified. Shen Mengyue's sex became wetter with each blow, her body responding to the discipline in ways that defied logic.

Nearby, Lin Yuxin had taken a different approach with her mother.

"Mother, I will strike in a circle," she said. "Around the labia first, then the clitoris, then the anus. Each strike will cover a different angle."

"Creative," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice tight with anticipation. "Do it."

*WHIP!*

The whip wrapped around Lin Qiaoxin's sex, catching both labia and clitoris in one stinging arc. She cried out, her body bucking.

*WHIP!*

The next strike caught the other side, completing the circle. Lin Qiaoxin's breath came in ragged gasps.

*WHIP!*

The third strike landed directly on her clitoris, the tip of the whip sinking into the sensitive flesh before snapping away. Lin Qiaoxin screamed, a sound that was equal parts agony and ecstasy.

"Keep going!" she shouted. "Do not stop!"

Lin Yu

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The morning sun cast long shadows across the towering peaks of the Heavenly Sword Sect as a lone figure appeared at the base of the mountain path. She walked with measured grace, her bare feet pressing into the cool earth, her body completely naked save for the black leather slave collar encircling her throat and the sword she carried by her side.

Shen Mengyue’s black hair cascaded down her back, reaching her waist, swaying with each step. Her skin was pale and flawless, the skin of a young woman in her prime, yet her features carried the mature allure of a woman who had known pleasure and pain in equal measure. Her face was ethereal, beautiful enough to make immortals weep, her eyes calm and serene as still water. Her breasts were full and firm, her waist narrow, her hips curved in a perfect feminine silhouette. The black collar gleamed dully against her white throat, a mark of ownership that she wore as proudly as any crown.

She stopped at the grand entrance of the Heavenly Sword Sect, beneath an archway carved from white jade that bore the sect’s emblem — a sword piercing a cloud. Disciples of the sect going about their morning duties froze at the sight of her. Young men and women in pristine white robes stared, their mouths falling open, their faces flushing with a mixture of shock and embarrassment. A woman, completely nude, standing at their sect’s gate, carrying a sword? The very idea was an affront to all decency.

But none dared to speak. Because they recognized the sword in her hand. It was a blade of pale purple light, famed throughout the cultivation world. The sword called Zixia. And the woman who wielded it was Shen Mengyue, once the esteemed Sect Master of the Immortal Mist Sect, now known by another name.

She was Yue Nu. The Moon Slave. One of the three most famous concubines of the Xuanfa Heavenly Venerable.

“White Pillow Frost,” Shen Mengyue called out, her voice carrying through the mountain peaks with a gentle but penetrating resonance. She used a transmission technique, ensuring her words reached every corner of the sect. “The White Pillow Frost of the Heavenly Sword Sect. Come forth to receive the decree of the Xuanfa Heavenly Venerable.”

Within the main hall of the Heavenly Sword Sect, Bai Zhenshuang sat in meditation on a raised platform of crystalline ice. Her eyes snapped open at the sound of Shen Mengyue’s voice. For a brief moment, surprise flickered in her gaze — the surprise of a woman who had seen much in her long life but had rarely encountered a former sect master appearing at her gates stark naked. Then her expression smoothed back into its usual cool composure.

Bai Zhenshuang rose to her feet, her white robes flowing around her like clouds. Her face was a masterpiece of cold beauty, every feature carved with precision and grace. High cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips that rarely curved into a smile, and eyes like polished obsidian — dark, deep, and unreadable. Her long black hair was pulled back in an elegant knot, held in place by a single silver hairpin shaped like a sword. Her body, though hidden beneath her robes, was known to be statuesque and powerful, the body of a woman who had trained in the sword arts for centuries.

She stepped out of the hall and descended the stone steps leading to the sect’s main courtyard. The disciples parted before her like the sea before a ship’s prow, bowing their heads as she passed.

When Bai Zhenshuang reached the gate, she found Shen Mengyue standing there, completely at ease, the morning breeze playing with her long black hair. Not a trace of shame or embarrassment showed on Shen Mengyue’s face. Her nudity was simply a fact, as natural and unremarkable as the sky above or the earth below.

Shen Mengyue watched Bai Zhenshuang approach. Her expression remained serene, but inwardly she noted the other woman’s calm demeanor. It seemed the news of who had arrived had not shaken Bai Zhenshuang’s confidence. That was good. The proud were always the hardest to break, and the most satisfying to humble.

“Bai Zhenshuang,” Shen Mengyue said formally, inclining her head just slightly. It was not a bow; she was not subordinate to this woman. She was merely delivering a message. “My master, the Xuanfa Heavenly Venerable, has sent me to convey his decree.”

Bai Zhenshuang stopped a few paces away. Her hand rested loosely on the hilt of her own sword, a blade of pure white frost called Ningshuang. She did not speak. She simply waited, her face impassive.

Shen Mengyue’s voice carried clearly as she recited the decree: “It has come to the attention of my master, the Xuanfa Heavenly Venerable, that Bai Zhenshuang of the Heavenly Sword Sect has spoken words of disrespect toward the Zehuang Gate and those who serve it. As punishment for this transgression, Bai Zhenshuang is commanded to remove all clothing, kneel at the entrance of the Zehuang Gate, raise her buttocks, and receive one hundred strokes of the Heavenly Dao Wooden Board each day for a period of ten years.”

A storm of gasps and murmurs erupted from the gathered disciples. Faces flushed with anger. Fists clenched. Some young men drew their swords halfway from their sheaths, their eyes blazing with indignation.

The white-robed disciples could barely contain their fury. Every word of Shen Mengyue’s decree was a deliberate insult, designed to strip away not just dignity but the very soul of their sect. To force their Sword Master to kneel naked, to subject her to the humiliation of a whipping — it was unthinkable. Outrageous. A declaration of war.

Yet Bai Zhenshuang’s expression did not change.

“Inform the Xuanfa Heavenly Venerable,” she said, her voice cold and level as the surface of a frozen lake, “that I respect only those worthy of my respect. My words were my own, and if he takes issue with them, he may come and speak to me himself.”

Shen Mengyue smiled — a small, gentle smile that did not reach her eyes. “My master anticipated that you might be… reluctant. He instructed me to remind you that this punishment is but a small taste of his displeasure. If you resist, his next response will be far less merciful.”

Bai Zhenshuang’s hand tightened on the hilt of Ningshuang. “Let the outcome of this matter be decided by strength,” she said simply. “If you can defeat me, I will accept whatever punishment the Heavenly Venerable deems fit. If I defeat you, tell your master to send someone stronger next time.”

Shen Mengyue nodded slowly, as if she had expected nothing less. “Very well. Let us settle this with swords.”

She stepped back, raising Zixia before her. The blade hummed with purple light, responding to the surge of spiritual energy flowing from its owner. Around them, the Heavenly Sword Sect disciples scrambled backward, creating a wide circle for the duel.

Bai Zhenshuang drew Ningshuang. The sword was a thing of beauty, forged from millennium-old ice crystal, thin and deadly. As she raised it, a wave of cold radiated outward, frosting the grass at her feet. White mist curled around her blade, and her eyes took on a determined glint.

The two women faced each other in the morning light — one utterly nude and marked with a slave’s collar, the other fully robed and bearing herself like a queen. Yet it was the naked one who remained utterly calm, her breathing steady, her stance relaxed.

“Begin,” said Bai Zhenshuang.

And then the world became a blur of steel and light.

They clashed in a storm of spiritual energy that shattered the flagstones beneath their feet and sent nearby disciples tumbling backward. Each stroke of Bai Zhenshuang’s frost blade carried a biting cold that would have frozen a lesser opponent solid. But Shen Mengyue moved like water, flowing around the strikes, deflecting them with precise counter-strokes, her naked body a pale blur in the chaos of battle.

Bai Zhenshuang was a master of the sword, and she attacked with the ruthless efficiency of one who had devoted her life to the art. Her strikes were quick, precise, and deadly — aimed at Shen Mengyue’s throat, her heart, her belly. Each thrust was a killing blow, and each was turned aside at the last instant.

The first exchanges of sword and spiritual power made the entire mountain tremble. The air itself seemed to split, and the ground shook, causing the disciples to cling to anything they could to steady themselves. Yet for all the force being thrown about, neither woman gave ground, each strike met by an equal and opposite force.

“For someone who serves as a man’s pleasure toy, you fight well,” Bai Zhenshuang said, her tone carrying ice as cold as her blade. It was a deliberate barb, designed to unsettle her opponent.

Shen Mengyue only smiled that same gentle, infuriating smile. “My master’s discipline has made me stronger than you could ever imagine. Every stroke of his board against my backside has refined my foundation and tempered my will. You would do well not to underestimate the children of the Zehuang Gate.”

She pressed her attack, and Bai Zhenshuang was forced to give ground for the first time. The white-robed sword master’s eyes widened slightly as she realized the truth: Shen Mengyue was not just holding her own — she was winning.

A hundred exchanges passed in the span of a few breaths. Both women drew upon the deepest wells of their spiritual power, pushing themselves beyond ordinary limits. The ground around them looked as if a dragon had torn through it, craters and furrows of broken stone tearing the beautiful sect grounds.

Then, with a burst of speed that caught Bai Zhenshuang completely off guard, Shen Mengyue struck. Her blade slipped past Bai Zhenshuang’s guard and came to rest against her throat, the edge of Zixia humming with cold purple light, a bead of blood welling where the blade kissed her skin.

The entire courtyard fell silent.

Bai Zhenshuang stood frozen, her sword half-raised, her eyes locked on the blade at her throat. For a long moment, she did not move. Then slowly, deliberately, she lowered her weapon.

“I yield,” she said, her voice quiet and strained for the first time.

The disciples of the Heavenly Sword Sect stared in disbelief. Their Sword Master, the invincible White Pillow Frost, had been defeated. By a woman who had come to their gates stark naked, whose only mark of rank was a slave’s collar around her neck.

Shen Mengyue withdrew her sword and stepped back. She raised a small talisman to her lips and spoke into it briefly. Then she looked at Bai Zhenshuang, her expression still calm and untroubled.

“I have informed my master of the result,” she said. “He has decreed that because you resisted just punishment, your crime is now compounded. You are to be taken to the Zehuang Gate for severe punishment. The question, Bai Zhenshuang, is this: Will you continue to resist, and bring the full weight of the Heavenly Venerable’s wrath down upon your sect? Or will you kneel and accept your fate?”

Bai Zhenshuang’s jaw tightened. Her eyes swept over the gathered disciples — young faces full of fear and anger, hoping their sect leader would give them a reason to fight. But she knew that if she continued to resist, the Xuanfa Heavenly Venerable would not hesitate to destroy the Heavenly Sword Sect entirely. She was powerful, but she was not powerful enough to challenge the overlord of the cultivation world.

She sheathed Ningshuang.

“I, Bai Zhenshuang, having been defeated in honorable combat by Shen Mengyue, will accept the punishment decreed by the Xuanfa Heavenly Venerable,” she announced, her voice carrying to every corner of the sect. “Disciples of the Heavenly Sword Sect, hear me: You will not seek revenge. You will not attempt to rescue me. This is a matter between me and the Zehuang Gate alone. Carry on the legacy of the sect in my absence.”

Then, to the horror of every watching disciple, she reached up and began to untie the sash of her robes.

White silk pooled around her feet, revealing her body in the harsh light of noo

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The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the rolling hills of the Hundred Flowers Valley. Fragrant petals drifted on the gentle breeze as disciples tended to their gardens, their laughter carrying through the cultivated fields of medicinal herbs.

A streak of crimson flame cut across the sky, descending toward the valley's central pavilion with terrible purpose. The fire coalesced into a woman—tall, athletic, with hair the color of burning embers tied in a high ponytail that trailed down her back. Her body was entirely bare, skin pale against the verdant landscape, a black slave collar encircling her throat like an unbroken oath. She landed without sound, her feet pressing into the soft earth as she surveyed the valley with cold, arrogant eyes.

"Flower Valley Lord, come forth," she said, her voice carrying on spiritual power that echoed through every corner of the sect. "By the command of my master, the Heaven Punishment Lord Xuan Fa."

Disciples emerged from their gardens, their robes rustling as they hurried toward the commotion. When they saw the naked woman standing in their midst, gasps rippled through the crowd. Some stared in shock, others averted their eyes in embarrassment. The naked woman paid them no mind. Her name was Li Que, once the vice sect master of the Vermillion Bird Gate, now the battle elder of Ze Feng Sect—and the slave of Xuan Fa. She had long since stopped caring about the stares of others. She had been spanked publicly countless times, had crawled on hands and knees like a dog before thousands, and had learned that her nakedness was not shame but the highest expression of her loyalty to her master.

A procession of figures emerged from the central pavilion. At their head walked a woman whose presence commanded immediate attention. Her face was gentle as still water, features soft and refined, with jade-green hair loosely pinned behind her head, a few strands escaping to brush against her ears. Her body was full and graceful, robes of pale green silk draping over curves that moved with natural elegance. Her eyes held a warmth that seemed to embrace all who looked upon her.

"Hua Qianyu," Li Que said, and her lips curled into a thin smile. "I see you remember how to dress yourself. Good. That will make things simpler."

Hua Qianyu's gentle expression flickered with confusion. "Li Que? The slave of Xuan Fa? What business do you have in my valley?"

"I am no mere slave," Li Que replied, her voice carrying no offense. "I am the chief battle elder of Ze Feng Sect, sent by my master to deliver judgment against you and your sect." She raised her voice, projecting it across the valley. "By the decree of Xuan Fa, Heaven Punishment Lord: The Hundred Flowers Valley, under the leadership of Flower Valley Lord Hua Qianyu, has been found guilty of occupying the medicine gardens belonging to Ze Feng Sect. Your disciples have trespassed upon holy ground, stolen from His gardens, and defiled the earth with their unworthy presence."

Murmurs spread through the gathered disciples. Hua Qianyu's brow furrowed deeply.

"Every disciple who set foot in those gardens is to strip naked," Li Que continued, her voice cold and final. "They are to kneel at the entrance of Ze Feng Sect's mountain, raise their buttocks, and receive punishment. Each shall receive one hundred strikes of the Heaven Punishment Board upon the buttocks each day, for ten consecutive years. This is a light punishment, meant only to teach you the weight of your transgressions."

The disciples gasped. Ten years of daily spanking? Many of them were beautiful young women who had never known such humiliation.

"And you, Flower Valley Lord," Li Que's eyes narrowed, "are guilty of poor management. Your disciples act as they do because you have failed to instill proper discipline in them. You will share in their punishment—one hundred strikes daily, for ten years."

Hua Qianyu's gentle face hardened. "That is absurd. I know nothing of any occupied gardens. And even if some misunderstanding occurred, to punish my disciples so harshly? To make them strip naked and be spanked like children?" Her voice rose with indignation. "I will not allow it."

"You have no choice in the matter," Li Que said calmly.

"Then I will fight you instead," Hua Qianyu declared, stepping forward. Power radiated from her, the jade-green energy of healing and cultivation mingling with battle intent. "If your master wishes to punish my sect, let him face me first."

Li Que laughed—a short, sharp sound. "You think you can defeat me, healer? I was once the vice sect master of the Vermillion Bird Gate. My flame techniques were unmatched in the cultivation world. I am a Nascent Soul后期的 cultivator, the same as you. But I have been trained by the strongest man in all realms. I have been broken and reforged. You stand no chance."

"Let us see," Hua Qianyu said, and her sword appeared in her hand—a blade of crystalline green, pulsing with healing energy that could just as easily cut. Around her, dozens of disciples unsheathed their weapons, their eyes burning with loyalty.

"Is this how you repay my master's mercy?" Li Que asked, shaking her head. "He offered you a light punishment. Now you choose to resist. Foolishness." She raised her hand, and crimson flames erupted around her, wreathing her body in a corona of heat. "Very well. If you wish to fight, I shall oblige."

Hua Qianyu struck first, her blade slicing through the air with a whisper of wind. Li Que vanished in a flash of fire, reappearing to the side with casual grace. She made no move to attack, merely watching with cold amusement as the Flower Valley Lord pressed her assault.

"Faster," Li Que said. "Is this the best you can do? A healer who has never known true battle?"

Hua Qianyu's eyes flashed with frustration. She channeled spiritual power into her sword, the blade extending into a crescent of emerald light that swept toward Li Que like a scythe. Li Que raised one hand, and a wall of fire rose to meet the attack, absorbing it with a hiss of steam.

"Pathetic," Li Que said, and for the first time, she attacked.

Flames erupted from her palms in twin streams that twisted around each other like serpents. They struck Hua Qianyu's defenses, shattering her barrier with a sound like breaking glass. The Flower Valley Lord was thrown backward, skidding across the earth before catching herself.

"Submit," Li Que commanded, her voice carrying no emotion. "You cannot win."

Hua Qianyu rose, her robes smoking, her face set with determination. "I will not bow to tyranny."

She charged again, her sword singing as it cut through the air. This time, Li Que did not dodge. She stood still, letting the blade approach, and when it was inches from her throat, she caught it between two fingers. Fire raced along the metal, and Hua Qianyu cried out, dropping the weapon as its hilt grew too hot to hold.

Li Que moved like liquid fire. In the space between heartbeats, she appeared before Hua Qianyu, her hand striking the Flower Valley Lord's chest with enough force to send her flying into a nearby tree. The trunk cracked. Hua Qianyu slumped to the ground, coughing blood.

"Enough," Li Que said, walking toward her fallen opponent. "You fought well, for a healer. But you are no match for me. Now, you will accept your punishment."

She reached into the air, and a talisman materialized in her hand. It glowed as she pressed spiritual power into it, and from it emerged a voice—cold, deep, without mercy.

"Report." The voice of Xuan Fa.

Li Que knelt instantly, her head bowed. "Master, the Flower Valley Lord has resisted your decree. She attacked me in defense of her sect."

A long pause. When Xuan Fa spoke again, his voice carried the weight of mountains.

"Her resistance is noted. She has compounded her crime. She is to be brought to Ze Feng Sect for severe punishment. As for her disciples, their punishment will be increased. Every disciple who stood by while she resisted will receive additional strikes. Make them understand the cost of defiance."

"Yes, master," Li Que said, and the talisman faded.

Hua Qianyu's face had gone pale. Around her, the gathered disciples began to weep. Some sobbed openly, their shoulders shaking as they imagined the shame and pain that awaited them.

"Please," Hua Qianyu whispered, pushing herself to her knees. She crawled forward, her hands pressing against the earth as she prostrated herself before Li Que. "Please, don't punish my disciples. They are innocent. They only did as I instructed. If someone must be punished, let it be me alone. Double my punishment, triple it—I will accept anything. But spare them."

"Your devotion is touching," Li Que said, her voice flat. "But the decree has been given. My master does not change his pronouncements lightly."

"Please," Hua Qianyu begged, her forehead pressed to the ground. "I beg you. Appeal to him. Tell him I accept all blame. I will bear any punishment for their sake."

Li Que considered for a long moment. Then she reached into her robe pocket and produced another talisman. "Since you are willing to accept responsibility, I will ask again."

The talisman pulsed, and Xuan Fa's voice returned. "Speak."

"My master," Li Que said, "the Flower Valley Lord Hua Qianyu begs that you punish only her. She offers herself in place of her entire sect."

"Does she?" The voice was contemplative. "A noble gesture. But if I punish only her, the punishment must be extreme. I will not show mercy to one who resisted my decree."

Hua Qianyu lifted her head, tears streaming down her face. "I accept any punishment. Anything. Just spare them."

"Very well," Xuan Fa said. "Hua Qianyu, you will be brought to Ze Feng Sect. You will be stripped of all dignity, all status, all pride. You will become nothing. And first, as a reminder of your crimes and the cost of resistance, you will receive four hundred strikes of the Heaven Punishment Board in the main hall of your own sect, witnessed by every disciple you sought to protect."

Hua Qianyu's body trembled. Four hundred strikes. The Heaven Punishment Board was no ordinary spanking implement—it was formed of heavenly law, each strike carrying the weight of cosmic judgment. Even a cultivator of her strength would be reduced to a sobbing wreck after such punishment.

"I... I accept," she whispered.

"Then begin," Xuan Fa said, and the talisman went dark.

Li Que stood, looking down at the prostrated Flower Valley Lord. "Strip."

Hua Qianyu's hands moved slowly, her fingers trembling as she unfastened her robes. The emerald silk fell away, revealing pale shoulders, a full chest, a curved waist, rounded hips. She stepped out of the fabric until she stood as bare as Li Que, her body exposed to the gaze of every disciple who had ever looked up to her.

"Are you satisfied?" Hua Qianyu asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Not yet," Li Que said. She produced a rope of spirit-binding power—a kunxian lock—and looped it around Hua Qianyu's neck. The rope tightened against her throat like a leash.

Li Que tugged, and Hua Qianyu fell to her hands and knees. The rope pulled again, and she began to crawl, following Li Que through the gardens of her own sect. Disciples parted before them, their faces masks of horror and shame as they watched their beloved Flower Valley Lord crawl naked through the dirt, led by a rope like an animal.

At the main hall, Li Que stopped. She turned to face the gathered disciples, who had followed in a silent, weeping procession.

"Disciples of Hundred Flowers Valley," Li Que announced, her voice carrying across the assembled crowd. "Your Flower Valley Lord has been found guilty of the following crimes: First, mismanagement of her sect, allowing you to encroach upon the gardens of Ze Feng Sect. Second, violent resistance to lawful punishment decreed by the Heaven Punishment Lord Xuan Fa. For these crimes, she is to receive four hundred strikes of the Heaven Punishment Board." She paused, letting t

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The ancient forest of the Celestial Vine秘境 stretched endlessly in all directions, its towering trees wrapped in shimmering vines that pulsed with spiritual energy. Su Qianyao moved through the underbrush with practiced grace, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders like moonlight made tangible. Each step she took seemed to leave a faint trace of red in the air from her crimson eyes, the魅惑之术 radiating from her like perfume. Her robes—crimson silk trimmed with black—clung to her ample curves, accentuating a waist so narrow it seemed impossible to support the full swell of her breasts and the generous flare of her hips.

Ahead, through a break in the trees, she spotted a figure that made her pause. A woman stood in a small clearing, completely naked save for the black slave collar around her neck. Her hair was drawn into twin ponytails that bounced with youthful energy, and her body was lean and athletic, all smooth curves and toned limbs. She was bent over, examining something on the ground, her round buttocks presented to view as if she were displaying them intentionally.

Su Qianyao's lips curved into a smile. "Well, well," she drawled, stepping into the clearing. "What a rare sight. A bare-bottomed little sister in this old forest. What brings a naked girl like you to such a lonely place?"

Lin Qiaoxin straightened and turned, her face breaking into a cheerful grin. Her features were delicate and pretty, with the kind of innocent beauty that made her seem much younger than her four hundred years. The twin ponytails bounced as she laughed. "Sister Yao! What a coincidence! I was just looking for you."

Su Qianyao's eyes traveled over the younger woman's body with patronizing amusement. "Looking for me? And here I thought you were just sunning that pretty little rear of yours." She gestured with a languid hand. "I must say, it is a fetching sight. But aren't you cold, wandering about in the buff?"

Lin Qiaoxin giggled and turned around, wiggling her hips with deliberate provocation. "Like what you see, Sister Yao? I've been showing off this body for four centuries now. Master took me as his slave girl when I was just twenty years old. Do you know how long that is? Four hundred years of being naked more often than clothed!" She laughed again, the sound like bells. "I've gotten quite used to it. And my Master says I have the prettiest butt in all the realms."

Su Qianyao's smile faltered slightly. "Your Master? Surely you don't mean—"

"Xuanfa the Heavenly Punisher, Lord of Zehuang Sect, Master of my body and soul," Lin Qiaoxin recited with obvious reverence. Then her tone turned playful again. "And speaking of my Master, I'm here because you've been naughty, Sister Yao. Using your魅惑之术 on our disciples? Teasing them and leading them astray?"

Su Qianyao's smile returned, but it had an edge now. "I was just playing with the children. Surely there's no harm in a little fun?"

"Fun for you, perhaps. But my Master doesn't like it when outsiders mess with his servants." Lin Qiaoxin's voice remained light, but her eyes had sharpened. "He specifically sent me to bring you back for a little... disciplinary session. Just ten years of spanking. That's all."

Ten years of spanking. Su Qianyao's heart jumped in her chest. Ten years of being beaten, of being humiliated, of feeling that sharp sting across her buttocks. The thought made her thighs clench with something that was definitely not alarm.

"Ten years?" she managed, keeping her voice casual. "Quite an ambitious punishment for a visiting guest. And what makes you think I'll come willingly?"

"Master told me to give you a choice." Lin Qiaoxin drew a circle in the air with her finger, and runes of light began to sparkle around her. "You can come back with me peacefully, or I can beat you up and drag you back. Either way, you're coming. Master always gets what he wants."

Su Qianyao's eyes narrowed. "And you think you can beat me?"

"I know I can." Lin Qiaoxin's grin widened. "But Sister Yao... you should know that resisting punishment makes it worse. Master will be much angrier if he has to discipline someone who fought back. He might even spank you until your bottom is nothing but raw meat." She patted her own perfect buttocks thoughtfully. "Though I must say, that doesn't sound so bad to me."

Su Qianyao felt a shiver run down her spine. Raw meat. The image of her own red, swollen buttocks being beaten until they bled flashed through her mind, and she had to suppress a shudder of pleasure. In the demon realm, she was invincible. All the men feared her, never daring to raise a hand against her. But she had always dreamed... always longed...

"Well then," Su Qianyao said, her voice dropping to a husky purr. "If you want me, little sister, you'll have to prove you're worthy of my surrender."

She launched herself forward, fingers extended like claws, the魅惑之术 radiating from her in waves of pink energy designed to cloud the mind and weaken the will.

But Lin Qiaoxin was already gone, replaced by a shimmer of light as she activated her formation array. The forest around them transformed, the trees shifting into glowing lines of power, the ground beneath their feet turning into a complex geometric pattern of runes and sigils.

"Did you really think I'd fight you head-on?" Lin Qiaoxin's voice came from everywhere at once. "I'm a formation master, Sister Yao. A genius. The best there's been in a thousand years. My Master didn't capture me for my pretty face alone."

Su Qianyao spun around, trying to locate her opponent. The魅惑之术 was useless here—the formation absorbed and dispersed her energy as fast as she produced it. She switched tactics, summoning dark flames to her hands and sending them streaking through the air.

The fire hit the formation lines and dissipated, absorbed like water into sand.

"Nice try," Lin Qiaoxin said, appearing behind Su Qianyao and tapping her on the shoulder. "But we're in my domain now."

The battle raged for an hour. Su Qianyao threw everything she had at the formation—dark energy blasts, illusions, even a few forbidden techniques she had sworn never to use. But each attack was deflected, absorbed, or redirected. Lin Qiaoxin danced through the formation like she had been born in it, appearing and disappearing at will, her laughter echoing through the magical space.

Finally, Su Qianyao felt her energy reserves begin to flag. She stumbled, panting, her robes torn in a dozen places from near-misses.

"Time to end this," Lin Qiaoxin announced.

The formation contracted, pressing in on Su Qianyao from all sides. She felt her limbs being pulled apart, the magical energy binding her into a spread-eagle position with her arms and legs stretched taut. The ground disappeared beneath her feet, and she was lifted into the air, suspended helplessly in the center of the formation.

"You fought well," Lin Qiaoxin said, walking up to stand beneath her. "But not well enough. Now, let's see what we're working with."

With a snap of her fingers, Lin Qiaoxin shredded Su Qianyao's robes with a gust of spiritual wind. The expensive silk tore away, leaving the demoness completely naked, her pale skin glistening with sweat from the battle. Her body was a masterpiece of seductive curves—full, heavy breasts with nipples the color of rose petals, a waist so narrow it seemed artificial, and hips that flared wide and generous. Between her legs, a neatly trimmed patch of silver hair covered her mound, and beneath her, her buttocks hung in the air, two perfect rounds of creamy flesh, pale and untouched, waiting.

She twisted in her bindings, but the formation held her firm. "Is this how you treat all your prisoners, little sister?"

"You're not a prisoner. You're a punishment candidate." Lin Qiaoxin walked around to stand behind the suspended woman, reaching out to squeeze one of her buttocks. The flesh yielded beneath her fingers, soft and pliant. "And what fine punishment furniture you have. My Master is going to enjoy decorating this canvas."

She summoned a hundred spiritual whips and paddles, all glowing with the same runes that powered the formation. They hung in the air like a phantom arsenal, ready to serve.

"First stroke," Lin Qiaoxin announced, and one of the whips cracked forward.

It struck Su Qianyao's left buttock with a sharp CRACK that echoed through the forest. The pale flesh immediately turned pink, a red line forming across its surface.

"Mmmh!" Su Qianyao gasped, her cry somewhere between pain and pleasure. The sting was electric, burning through her body, making every nerve come alive. She had been waiting for this her entire life.

The second whip struck. Then the third. Then the fourth.

CRACK. "Ahhh~" CRACK. "Nnnh~" CRACK. "Mmmore~"

Lin Qiaoxin paused, her eyebrows rising. "Are you... enjoying this?"

Su Qianyao hung in the air, her body trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Between her legs, she could feel moisture gathering, a slickness that betrayed her arousal. Her cunt was already wet, dripping, responding to the beating with shameless hunger.

"I have been waiting for this," Su Qianyao confessed, her voice husky with desire. "In the demon realm, I am untouchable. Powerful. Feared. No man would dare raise a hand to me. But I have always... dreamed. Imagined what it would feel like to have a strong hand spank me into submission. Your little whips are nothing. I want more. Harder."

Lin Qiaoxin stared at her for a long moment, then burst out laughing. "Oh, Sister Yao! I thought I was the most depraved woman in the realms, but you might just beat me! Do you know how many times I've been spanked? Every single day for four centuries. And here you are, after just a few strokes, already soaking wet!"

She made a gesture, and all the whips struck at once, a dozen blows landing on Su Qianyao's buttocks in rapid succession. The flesh jumped and shuddered under the assault, turning from pink to red to angry crimson.

"Aaaaaahhh~ YESSS~" Su Qianyao cried out, her back arching in ecstasy. Her cunt gushed, sending a stream of clear fluid splashing down onto the forest floor. "Harder! Please! More!"

"You really are a glutton for punishment." Lin Qiaoxin's voice held a note of genuine admiration. "Alright, Sister Yao. Let's see how much you can take."

She summoned a paddle, broad and flat, inscribed with sharpening runes that would make each blow bite deep. She swung it back and brought it down with all her strength.

WHACK.

The sound was wetter now, the paddle compressing the already-bruised flesh. Su Qianyao screamed, but it was a scream of pure bliss, her body arching, her cunt throbbing with each impact.

WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.

"You like that?" Lin Qiaoxin demanded, alternating strokes between the two buttocks.

"Yes! Yes! Please! Never stop!" Su Qianyao's voice was ragged with need.

"You want me to beat your ass until it's black and blue?"

"Yes! Destroy it! I want to feel it for days! I want to sit on nothing but bruises!"

Lin Qiaoxin laughed and picked up the pace, landing blow after blow on the demoness's rapidly darkening buttocks. The pale flesh was gone now, replaced by a deep, angry red that was already shading toward purple at the edges of each impact zone.

After four hundred strokes, Su Qianyao's buttocks were a mess of bruises, swollen to nearly twice their normal size, covered in red lines and black spots where the blood had pooled beneath the skin. She hung limp in her bindings, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her entire body quivering with aftershocks of pleasure. Between her legs, the flow of her arousal had soaked her thighs, dripping steadily to form a puddle on the ground.

"You look satisfied," Lin Qiaoxin observed, walking around to face her prisoner.

"Satisfied is... not the word," Su Qianyao panted, a dreamy smile on her face. "I feel... alive. For the first time in centuries, I feel truly alive."

"Well, we're not done yet." Lin Qiaoxin reached into a small pouch at her wai

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The morning sun cast long shadows across the polished stone of the责凰门广场. Three thick stone pillars stood in the center, their surfaces carved with intricate符文 that shimmered faintly, suppressing the flow of spiritual energy within a hundred paces. Before each pillar, a naked woman knelt on the cold stone, her hands bound behind her back with golden困仙锁 chains that wrapped around the pillar and held her fast.

The first was白枕霜, the Sword Sovereign of Heaven's Sword Sect. Her black hair cascaded over her shoulders, her精致而冷峻的 face held no expression, but her eyes were fixed on the ground before her. The凝霜剑 floated beside her, its blade sheathed in a scabbard of ice-white metal. Without any hand to guide it, the scabbard rose, then swung downward with a sharp crack against her bare buttocks.

A sharp intake of breath escaped her lips. The scabbard rose again and fell, a steady rhythm of four hundred strokes. Each impact sent a jolt of pain through her hips, but she refused to cry out. Her buttocks reddened under the relentless assault, the skin turning from pale to pink to a deep, angry crimson. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her knuckles were white from clenching her fists behind her back. Yet her face remained calm, the mask of a proud swordswoman who would not show weakness.

After the four hundredth stroke, the凝霜剑 floated downward. The blade slid from the scabbard, and the scabbard itself shifted its angle. Now it struck between her legs, against the tender flesh of her臀缝. A sharp, intimate pain erupted, and her body jerked forward. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. The scabbard struck again, once, twice, a hundred times in total. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. She was a sword cultivator, a woman who had dedicated her life to the blade. To be struck by her own sword's scabbard—that was the deepest humiliation. But she had lost, fair and square. There was no room for complaint. Only endurance.

To her left knelt花千语, the Valley Master of Hundred Flowers Valley. Her gentle face was streaked with tears, and she sobbed openly as a brush of living vine dipped into a pot of蝎子草汁 and smeared the burning liquid over her buttocks. The moment the汁液 touched her skin, she gasped and writhed, her hips twisting in a desperate attempt to escape. But the chains held her fast.

"Oh, please, no more," she whimpered, but the brush continued its work, coating every inch of her buttocks in the fiery poison. The itching began within seconds. It started as a mild tingle, then grew to an unbearable, maddening itch that seemed to burrow deep into her flesh. She arched her back, pressing her buttocks against the stone pillar, trying to scratch them against the rough surface, but the chains prevented her from moving far enough.

"Please, I'll do anything, just make it stop!" she cried. But there was no relief. The itch was a living thing, crawling under her skin, driving her to the edge of insanity.

Then two wooden boards appeared in the air above her, each inscribed with天道符文. They began to strike her buttocks in a steady rhythm, four hundred strokes. Each impact sent a shock through her body, momentarily distracting her from the itch. But the itch returned between strokes, and the combination of pain and itching was almost more than she could bear. She wept openly, her tears falling onto the stone below.

"I am sorry," she gasped between sobs. "I should never have offended Lord Xuanfa. Let the punishment fall on me alone. Spare the valley. Spare my disciples. I accept all of this." The boards continued their work, and she endured, her body shaking with each blow.

On the right knelt苏千瑶, the Demon Saintess of the魔族. Her silver hair spilled over her shoulders, and her red eyes gleamed with something that was not quite pain. Each time the天道木板 struck her buttocks, she let out a soft, melodious moan that echoed across the广场. Her hips swayed slightly with each impact, and a faint smile played on her lips.

"Ah, yes," she breathed as the board struck her again. "More, please. Harder. My buttocks can take it."

Her voice was a purr of pure pleasure. Between her legs, a wetness glistened in the morning light. Her小穴 was slick with arousal, and she made no effort to hide it. The pain was exquisite, sharp and sweet, and she craved it like a drug. She shifted her knees apart, offering herself more fully to the punishment.

"Lord Xuanfa has such wonderful ideas," she murmured as the board landed another stroke. "I shall remember this lesson well. But do not hold back, dear board. Strike me until I cannot sit for a month."

The four hundred strokes fell on her buttocks, and each one drew a gasp of pleasure. After that, a姜条 was produced, thick and freshly peeled, and pushed into her backside. Her eyes widened, and she let out a sharp cry, but it was not a cry of pain. Her hips pressed back against the姜条, and she moaned loudly as it filled her.

"Ah, yes, yes, yes," she whispered, her body trembling with pleasure.

The hour passed slowly, and the three women endured their respective punishments. When it was done, the符文 on the stone pillars pulsed, and healing energy flowed from the ground, soothing the damage. The scorpion-grass汁 ceased its itching, the welts faded, and the姜条 was removed. But the cold stone was still hard, and they would remain here for fifty years, kneeling and presenting their buttocks for punishment.

Inside the玄天界, the air was warm and fragrant with incense. Xuanfa sat on a low platform, his black练功服 immaculate, his face as expressionless as stone. Before him knelt three women:林巧心, her twin ponytails bobbing as she spoke;离雀, her red hair a wild flame above her shoulders; and沈梦月, her black hair flowing down her back, the slave collar gleaming at her throat.

"Master,"林巧心 said, her voice bubbling with cheerfulness, "the Sword Sovereign endured well today. Her buttocks are swollen, but she did not cry out. The Valley Master wept, but she accepted responsibility. And the Saintess… she seemed to enjoy it."

"A little too much,"离雀 added, her voice clipped. "She moaned with every stroke. It was almost indecent."

沈梦月 nodded slowly. "They are strong women, Master. They will submit in time."

Xuanfa's eyes flickered. "And what of you three? Have you completed your task?"

"Yes, Master," they chorused.

林巧心 leaned forward, her eyes bright. "We have, and we have a request. We wish to increase our daily punishment. Four hundred strokes is no longer enough. We want more."

Xuanfa's lips curved into a faint smile. "I see. You have grown to love the feeling of my punishment."

林巧心 blushed but did not look away. "Yes, Master. I confess it. The pain and the pleasure, they are one now. I crave your discipline."

离雀 straightened her back. "I do not deny it. Your punishment has become a necessity, like air or water."

沈梦月 bowed her head. "I have accepted my place, Master. I wish for nothing more than to feel your discipline every day."

Xuanfa raised a hand, and the air shimmered. A moment later, three figures appeared before him:林语心, her bright eyes full of mischief;离云翎, her posture tense and focused; and沈星眠, her face serene and beautiful like her mother's.

They immediately knelt before Xuanfa, their heads bowed. "We greet the Master," they said in unison.

Xuanfa gestured to the three kneeling women behind them. "Your mothers' buttocks are itching for punishment. Take the天道木板 and give them four hundred strokes each. Do not hold back."

The three younger women rose and took the wooden boards from the air. They were heavy and engraved with符文 that glowed faintly.

林巧心,离雀, and沈梦月 immediately knelt and bent forward, pressing their chests to the floor and lifting their buttocks high. Each one arranged herself with care, presenting the most inviting target possible.

"Now, my daughter,"林巧心 called out, her voice eager, "strike with the flat of the board. Aim for the center of my buttocks. That is where it hurts most."

"And the pleasure,"沈梦月 added softly, "comes from the rhythm. Do not rush. Let each stroke land fully."

"Swing from the shoulder,"离雀 instructed, her voice cold but satisfied. "And twist your wrist at the end. The impact will spread across my skin more evenly."

The three younger women raised their boards and brought them down. The sharp crack of wood meeting flesh echoed through the hall.

林语心 struck her mother's buttocks with a firm, practiced motion.林巧心 let out a yelp of mixed pain and pleasure, her hips pressing back against the board.

"Yes," she gasped, "like that! Again!"

离云翎 was more methodical. She delivered each stroke with precise force, watching her mother's buttocks redden with each impact.离雀 did not cry out, but her breath came in short, sharp pants, and her hands clenched the floor.

沈星眠 struck her mother's buttocks with steady, even strokes.沈梦月 accepted each blow in silence, her body shuddering with the impact.

The four hundred strokes were delivered with discipline. By the end, all three women's buttocks were deeply red, and they trembled with fatigue and pleasure.

They knelt once more, their voices soft. "Thank you, Master. Though being struck by our daughters was most satisfying, we crave your personal touch. Will you summon the天道木板 and strike us yourself?"

Xuanfa's smile widened. "Yes. Next time, I will personally conjure the boards and see to your punishment. And since your daughters have shown such progress in their cultivation, you will be the ones to strike their buttocks next."

At once,林语心,离云翎, and沈星眠 knelt before him, their voices clear and earnest. "Master, we beg our mothers not to show mercy. Our buttocks are strong and can take much punishment now."

Xuanfa looked down at them. Six women, three generations of devotion. All kneeling, all accepting. All willingly offering themselves for discipline.

A soft, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.

"Very well. It will be done."

The vast expanse of the Xuantian Realm stretched beneath an oppressive sky, where the air itself seemed to hum with restrained power. In the heart of the Zehuang Sect's inner courtyard, rows upon rows of female cultivators knelt in perfect alignment, their bare buttocks raised high in the air in a posture of utter submission. Behind each woman, two floating slabs of heavenly wood hovered with mechanical precision, swinging forward in alternating rhythm to deliver sharp, resounding slaps against exposed flesh.

The sound was a symphony of discipline—crisp cracks echoing off the surrounding stone walls, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath and muffled whimpers. Eighty women in total knelt here, their bodies bare save for the black slave collars encircling their necks. Some had once been proud sect leaders, commanding thousands of disciples. Others had been renowned geniuses of the cultivation world, celebrated for their breakthroughs and battle prowess. A few were heiresses of ancient families, raised in luxury and deference. All of them now shared the same fate: their dignity stripped away, their pride reduced to the rhythmic rise and fall of a disciplinary board against their quivering flesh.

The heavenly wood planks carried the weight of celestial law, each strike imbued with energies that bypassed spiritual defenses and struck directly at the soul. The pain was exquisite, refined over centuries of cultivation into something that transcended mere physical sensation. It was a reminder of place, of purpose, of the absolute authority that governed this space.

For the newer slaves, the experience was still one of struggle. Their bodies bucked and twisted, tears streaming down their faces as they fought against instincts that demanded escape. But years of conditioning had not yet taken root in them, and their punishment was lighter—a mere two hundred strokes each day, enough to break resistance without destroying the spirit before it could be properly molded.

The seasoned slaves, however, had learned the lesson well. Their bodies absorbed the blows with minimal movement, their muscles relaxing into the impact rather than tensing against it. Tears still flowed freely from their eyes, a natural response to the unrelenting pain, but their faces held expressions of serene acceptance. Some even smiled through the agony, their lips curved in grateful acknowledgment of the discipline that had shaped them into proper vessels of service.

At the front of the formation, three women knelt in positions of particular prominence. They bore the heaviest punishment—four hundred strokes each, delivered with the full force of heavenly wood operating at maximum intensity. The boards that struck them were larger, denser, humming with dark energy that left vivid red welts across their pale skin with every impact.

Lin Qiaoxin knelt on the left, her twin tails of black hair bouncing with each strike that landed on her upturned buttocks. Her youthful face was flushed with exertion, tears glistening on her cheeks, but her eyes sparkled with unmistakable enjoyment. Each crack of the board sent ripples through her firm flesh, the skin darkening from pink to deep crimson under the relentless assault.

"Ahhh, this is it," she moaned, her voice carrying a note of breathless pleasure. "Still, nothing compares to when Master controls the boards Himself. Xin奴's bottom is being beaten to a pulp, and it feels absolutely divine. The precision, the timing, the way He knows exactly where to strike to make it hurt the most and feel the best—Heavenly Wood under His command is a completely different experience."

The boards continued their work, one striking the left cheek while the other descended on the right. The alternating rhythm created a hypnotic pattern of pain and release, building toward a crescendo that left Lin Qiaoxin's entire lower body trembling.

Beside her, Li Que maintained a more stoic bearing despite the punishment ravaging her athletic frame. Her red hair, tied in a high ponytail, swayed with each impact, but her body remained rigidly in position. The muscles of her back and shoulders were taut with effort, her hands clenched into fists against her thighs. Yet when she spoke, her voice carried a fierce pride that transcended the pain.

"Master's punishment is an honor for any slave worthy of the title," she declared, her tone sharp despite the tears that escaped her eyes. "Que奴 begs Master to continue striking with full force. Do not hold back, please. My bottom exists to receive Your discipline, to be shaped by Your will. Every bruise, every welt, every moment of agony is a testament to Your power and my submission. Strike harder, I beg You. Let me feel the full weight of Your authority."

The boards seemed to respond to her words, accelerating their pace until the slaps merged into a continuous drumbeat of discipline. Li Que's jaw tightened, but she did not cry out. Her pride, that core of unyielding steel that had once made her believe herself invincible, had long since been reforged into something more valuable: the pride of a slave who served the strongest master in existence.

On the right, Shen Mengyue presented a picture of composed suffering. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, partially obscuring the angry red marks that covered her buttocks. Despite the intensity of the punishment—the heaviest of the three, as befitting her position as the Head of Internal Affairs and the most senior among Master's personal slaves—her posture remained perfect, her breathing controlled. The tears that fell from her eyes were not tears of resistance or regret, but of acceptance and devotion.

"Yue奴's bottom is forever indebted to Master's discipline," she said, her voice soft but steady. "It exists only to receive punishment, to be corrected, to be shaped into the perfect vessel for Your will. Please do not relent, Master. Every stroke You command is a blessing. Every moment of pain is a gift. Yue奴 has long since ceased to deserve mercy, and asks only for the full measure of justice that Your hand can deliver."

The heavenly boards continued their work, carving lines of fire across her flesh. The skin of Shen Mengyue's buttocks had long since passed the point of mere redness, taking on a deep, mottled purple that testified to the severity of her punishment. Yet she remained motionless, her body accepting each blow with the same grace she had shown for decades of discipline.

Time stretched and compressed as the punishment continued. The other slaves in the courtyard received their due portions, their cries and sobs creating a chorus of submission that filled the space with its raw energy. Some fainted and were revived by the formation's healing energies, only to resume their positions and receive the remainder of their strokes. Others found their breaking points, their proud declarations of defiance crumbling into desperate pleas for mercy that were met with only the continued rhythm of the boards.

But the three women at the front endured. They endured because they had been trained to endure, conditioned over years of rigorous discipline to find peace in the pain and purpose in the punishment. They endured because they understood the profound truth that lay at the heart of their existence: that submission to a master worthy of their service was not a degradation but an elevation, a transcendence of the petty self that had once driven their ambitions.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the four hundredth stroke landed on each of their battered buttocks. The heavenly boards hovered for a moment, then withdrew, retracting into the formations that had summoned them. A low hum filled the air as the healing arrays within the courtyard activated, their gentle green light washing over the punished slaves and beginning the slow process of repair.

Lin Qiaoxin collapsed forward, her forehead touching the cool stone floor as her body shuddered with residual tremors. Li Que followed a moment later, her proud frame finally giving way to exhaustion. Shen Mengyue lowered herself with deliberate grace, her movements careful as she settled onto the ground.

For a long moment, the only sounds were ragged breathing and muffled sobs from the other slaves. Then Lin Qiaoxin let out a shaky laugh, her voice muffled against the stone.

"Now that's what I call a proper morning warm-up."

Li Que snorted, though the sound carried no real humor. "You talk too much, even after four hundred strokes."

"Talking is how I cope," Lin Qiaoxin replied, rolling onto her side to grin at her fellow slave. "You cope by pretending it doesn't hurt. We both know which approach is healthier."

Shen Mengyue said nothing, simply taking slow, deliberate breaths as she allowed the healing energy to work on her ravaged flesh. Her eyes were closed, her face peaceful despite the lingering pain that still radiated through her lower body.

Footsteps approached, measured and unhurried. The sound sent a ripple through the courtyard, the other slaves instinctively straightening their postures despite their exhaustion. All eyes turned toward the figure who walked among them, his black training robes flowing around a lean, powerful frame.

Xuanfa moved through the ranks of his slaves like a god surveying his domain, which, in truth, he was. His face was impassive, revealing no emotion as he took in the scene before him. The women who had once been the most powerful cultivators in the realm were now reduced to quivering wrecks, their bodies marked by the tools of his discipline. It was as it should be.

He stopped before the three women at the front, looking down at them with cold, appraising eyes. Slowly, painfully, they pushed themselves upright, settling into kneeling positions despite the agony that movement caused. Their heads bowed, their hands resting on their thighs, they waited.

"Thank Master for the discipline," Xuanfa said, his voice flat.

"Thank You, Master, for the discipline," the three women intoned in unison.

Lin Qiaoxin risked a glance upward, a playful smile touching her lips. "Xin奴 must say, Master's Heavenly Wood strikes with a precision that no formation could ever replicate. The pain Yours causes is… superior. Far superior."

"Que奴 agrees," Li Que added, her voice still carrying a hint of its former sharpness. "There is no substitute for the Master's direct involvement in the punishment of His slaves. Que奴 felt every stroke as though it were delivered by Your own hand."

"Yue奴 concurs," Shen Mengyue said softly. "Your control of the Heavenly Wood surpasses any automated mechanism. The placement, the force, the timing—all perfect, as always."

Xuanfa's expression did not change, but a flicker of satisfaction passed through his eyes, there and gone in an instant. "Your praise is noted. Stand."

They rose with obvious difficulty, their legs unsteady beneath them. The healing formation had done its work to some degree, but four hundred strokes from Heavenly Wood operating at full power left marks that took time to fully heal. Their buttocks remained a deep, angry red, tender to even the lightest touch.

Before they could fully recover, three more figures approached and knelt before Xuanfa. Lin Yuxin, Li Yunling, and Shen Xingmian presented themselves with perfect poise, their youthful bodies bearing the same slave collars as their mothers. They had been raised in this world, trained from childhood to understand their place and purpose. Their devotion to Xuanfa was absolute, their loyalty unquestioned.

"Master," Lin Yuxin said, her voice carrying a hint of her mother's playfulness, "Xin'er requests the honor of receiving discipline from Mother's hand today. Please grant me this privilege."

Li Yunling nodded, her demeanor more serious. "Ling'er makes the same request, Master. We wish to be punished by those who bore us, that we might learn from their example."

"And Xing'er as well," Shen Xingmian added, her voice soft

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The morning light filtered through the grand doors of the Zephyr Gate Hall as Shen Mengyue led Bai Zhenshuang forward, a length of glowing Immortal Binding Chain wrapped around the white-clad sword immortal’s neck. The chain clinked softly with each step, and Bai Zhenshuang’s hands were bound behind her back, her proud posture now reduced to a crawl on the cold stone floor. Her long black hair dragged through the dust, and her robes—still intact, for now—clung to her trembling form. Shen Mengyue, naked save for the black slave collar at her throat, walked beside her with the serene grace of one long accustomed to submission. She held the chain loosely, her expression placid as she guided Bai Zhenshuang toward the dais where Zexuan sat.

The hall was vast and silent, lit by flickering spiritual flames that cast long shadows across the marble pillars. Zexuan sat cross-legged on a raised platform, his black training robes immaculate, his face a mask of cold indifference. His eyes, sharp as frozen stars, fixed on the two women as they approached. Shen Mengyue stopped at the foot of the dais, knelt gracefully, and pressed her forehead to the floor.

“Mengyue greets Master,” she said, her voice soft and steady.

Bai Zhenshuang remained on her hands and knees, her chin lifted in a last vestige of defiance, but the chain held her fast. Shen Mengyue tugged gently, and the sword immortal’s head bowed to the stone.

Zexuan did not speak immediately. He let the silence stretch, his gaze boring into Bai Zhenshuang until she felt the weight of his will pressing down on her soul. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and cold as winter frost.

“Bai Zhenshuang. I gave you a command: come to Zephyr Gate and accept your punishment willingly. Instead, you chose to resist. You forced my hand, and now you crawl before me like a beast.” He paused, the corner of his mouth twitching in something that was not a smile. “Tell me, why did you defy me?”

Bai Zhenshuang’s jaw tightened. She had rehearsed this moment a hundred times in her mind, but now, under that merciless gaze, her pride crumbled. She spoke through clenched teeth. “I was arrogant. I believed my cultivation made me invincible. I underestimated the strength of your Moon Slave, and I learned that I was like a frog at the bottom of a well. Now I understand. The punishment I endure is entirely my own fault.”

Zexuan inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her words. “A wise admission. But wisdom comes too late for many.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Tell me, sword immortal, what is the most important thing for a swordsman?”

Bai Zhenshuang did not hesitate. “The sword.”

A low, cold laugh escaped Zexuan’s lips. It was a sound like ice cracking. “The sword. Indeed. And yet, every day, you are struck by the very thing that should be your symbol of honor—your sword’s scabbard. How does it feel to be beaten by your own sheath?”

Bai Zhenshuang’s face flushed crimson. She could not answer. The humiliation was absolute—her own scabbard, the vessel that held her blade, had become the instrument of her daily punishment. Each strike was not just pain, but a public declaration that she was unworthy of her own weapon. The shame cut deeper than any lash.

Zexuan rose from his seat, his robes flowing around him. “Today, I have come to discipline you myself. You will learn the true agony of the Heavenly Wooden Boards driven by my own spiritual power. You will understand what your senior, Mengyue, endures every day in the Mystic Heaven Realm.”

He raised his hand, and the air above Bai Zhenshuang shimmered. Two thick wooden boards materialized out of void, each inscribed with glowing runes that pulsed with malevolent energy. They hovered silently, awaiting his command.

“Strip her,” Zexuan ordered.

Shen Mengyue moved without hesitation. She unfastened Bai Zhenshuang’s robes and let them fall away, revealing the pale, flawless skin beneath. The sword immortal shivered but did not resist. In moments she was naked, kneeling on the cold stone, her hands still bound behind her back. Shen Mengyue gently guided her to bend forward, pressing her upper body to the floor, raising her hips high in the air. The position was obscene and submissive, a posture that left her vulnerable and exposed.

Zexuan stepped closer, his eyes coldly appraising the round, firm buttocks presented before him. “You will count each strike. If you lose count, we begin again.”

The first board swung downward with a crack like thunder. Bai Zhenshuang screamed. The pain was unlike anything she had experienced—it was not just physical, but spiritual, a searing agony that tore through her mind and left it white and empty. She tasted blood where she had bitten her lip. Behind her, Shen Mengyue knelt in perfect stillness, her face serene, as if witnessing a mundane ritual.

“One,” Bai Zhenshuang gasped through tears.

The second strike landed. Her body convulsed, and she howled, the sound echoing through the hall. The boards continued to fall in rhythmic, merciless beats, each one driving her deeper into the abyss of suffering. By the fiftieth, she was sobbing uncontrollably, her legs trembling, her hips jerking involuntarily with each impact. By the hundredth, she could no longer think—only feel, only endure.

Shen Mengyue watched without emotion. She had endured this same pain for decades, and she knew that only complete surrender would bring relief.

Four hundred strikes. The boards finally stilled, and Bai Zhenshuang collapsed onto the floor, her body a quivering mess of welts and bruises. Her rear was a deep, angry red, swollen and hot to the touch. She could barely breathe, her tears and snot mingling with the dust.

Zexuan looked down at her with no sympathy. “Mengyue,” he said, “do you remember the first time I punished you?”

Shen Mengyue’s voice was calm, almost nostalgic. “Yes, Master. A disciple of my Immortal Cloud Sect offended you. I took responsibility for the disciple’s punishment to save her. But she, in her foolish loyalty, attacked you. So you punished me further: you spread my legs and struck my perineum fifty times with a whip, then inserted an anal hook and suspended me from the entrance of the Immortal Cloud Sect hall for an entire night.”

Zexuan nodded. “Good. Then we shall apply the same sentence to Bai Zhenshuang.”

Bai Zhenshuang tried to lift her head, her eyes wide with horror. “No—please—I—I will accept any spanking, any lashing—just not—”

Her words died as Zexuan waved his hand. A jar appeared, filled with a viscous green liquid that reeked of bitter herbs. Scorpion Grass Extract. He dipped a brush into the liquid and approached her still-twitching form.

“Hold her steady,” he ordered.

Shen Mengyue knelt beside Bai Zhenshuang and pressed her shoulders down, holding her immobile. Bai Zhenshuang struggled weakly, but the pain had sapped her strength. When the brush touched the sensitive skin between her buttocks, she gasped—a tickling sensation that quickly bloomed into an unbearable itch. The scorpion grass venom burrowed into her pores, igniting nerves she never knew she had. She writhed, bucked, twisted, but Shen Mengyue’s grip was iron.

“Please—Master—anything—I beg you—whip me, beat me, but stop this—I can’t bear it—!”

The itch was maddening. It was ten thousand ants crawling, burrowing, biting from within. Bai Zhenshuang screamed, clawing at the floor, her nails scraping against stone. She would have torn her own skin to relieve it, but she could not reach.

Zexuan watched impassively for a full minute, letting the torment build to a fever pitch. Then he spoke. “You wish for a whip to soothe the itch?”

“Yes! Yes! Please! Whip me there! I beg you!”

He conjured a spirit whip with a flick of his fingers—a thin, black implement that writhed like a serpent in the air. It moved on its own, coiling and striking with precision. The first lash landed squarely on her perineum. Bai Zhenshuang shrieked, her body arching off the floor. The pain was searing, but it cut through the itch like ice through fire, a momentary relief that was almost as sweet as it was agonizing.

Fifty lashes. Each strike was a precise, vicious cut that split the skin and left red welts across the most sensitive part of her body. By the end, the area was a swollen, bloody mess, but the itching had subsided, replaced by a deep, throbbing burn. Bai Zhenshuang hung limp, her legs spread, her entire lower body trembling.

Zexuan was not done. He produced an anal hook—a curved, polished piece of metal, its tip gleaming with cold malice. He coated it with a numbing salve that promised no mercy. Bai Zhenshuang saw it and began to plead incoherently, her voice cracking.

“No—no more—I can’t—please—I’ll do anything—I’ll be your slave—just please—don’t—!”

He ignored her. Shen Mengyue positioned her, lifting her hips higher, spreading her cheeks wide. Bai Zhenshuang screamed as the cold metal pressed against her anus. She had been beaten there by the whip, the skin swollen and tender, and the hook pressed mercilessly against the tight entrance. Zexuan pushed slowly, deliberately, letting her feel every inch of the invasion. She sobbed, her body arching, her mind fragmenting under the dual assault of pain and humiliation.

When the hook was fully seated, its wide base flaring to prevent escape, a chain extended from the top. Zexuan took the chain and walked to the hall’s central beam, a massive timber that spanned the width of the ceiling. He attached the chain to a pulley and pulled.

Bai Zhenshuang screamed again as she was lifted from the floor. The hook shifted inside her, and the weight of her entire body pulled downward. Her arms were still bound, and she dangled like a piece of meat, her toes barely brushing the ground. The hook held her aloft only by that intimate anchor, and every movement, every breath, sent spikes of agony through her core.

Zexuan stepped back, admiring his work. “One day and one night. Then we will speak again.”

He turned and walked away. Shen Mengyue knelt in the shadows, silent, waiting. Bai Zhenshuang wept, her tears falling onto the stone floor below. The hours crawled by. The hook never relented. Her muscles screamed, her joints ached, and the raw, swollen flesh around the hook throbbed with every heartbeat. She lost all sense of time, trapped in a hell of pain and degradation.

When dawn broke the next day, Zexuan returned. He released the chain, and Bai Zhenshuang collapsed onto the floor in a heap of broken flesh. She lay there, whimpering, unable to form words. Zexuan knelt and inspected her—the hook had stretched her anus, leaving it gaping and raw. He touched the edge with his finger, and she flinched, a fresh sob escaping her lips.

“A sword immortal, brought low by her own sheath,” he mused. “Perhaps we should put your scabbard to a new use. Shall I insert it into this gaping hole?”

Bai Zhenshuang’s mind shattered. The last vestiges of her pride, her dignity, her identity as a sword immortal—all crumbled at that suggestion. She rolled onto her knees, ignoring the searing pain, and pressed her forehead to the ground, tears streaming down her face.

“Please—no—Master—I beg you—I will accept any punishment—beat my buttocks until they bleed—whip my perineum again—hang me from another hook—I will be your slave—I will be nothing—just please—do not put my scabbard—do not desecrate my sword—I beg you—”

Her voice broke into incoherent sobs. Zexuan watched, his expression unchanged. Then, slowly, he reached into his robes and withdrew a token—a black jade plaque inscribed with ancient runes, pulsing with the power of the Mystic Heaven Realm.

“You swear willingly to become my female slave, to enter the Mystic Heaven Realm, to submit to all its rules and punishments?”

Bai Zhenshuang nodded frantically, her tears splashing onto the token. “Yes—yes—I swear—I swear on my life—on my sword—please, Master—take me—I will serve you forever—I am yours

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The heavy wooden doors of the Punishment Hall swung open with a deep groan. The vast chamber was lit by rows of flickering spirit lamps that cast long, dancing shadows across the polished stone floor. At the far end, on a raised dais, sat Xuanfa, his black training robes immaculate, his expression cold and unreadable.

The clinking of chains echoed through the hall as a figure was pulled forward. Li Que strode in with her characteristic pride, her tall, athletic body moving with the fluid grace of a predator. Despite her nudity and the black slave collar around her neck, she held herself with dignity. In her hand, she held the end of a Immortal Binding Chain, its silver links gleaming as they trailed back to the woman who followed on hands and knees.

Hua Qianyu crawled forward, her jade-green hair falling loose around her shoulders, her usually serene face marked with streaks of tears and dust. Her full, curvaceous body trembled with each step forward, her knees scraping against the cold stone. The chain was secured around her neck and wrists, forcing her into a submissive crawl.

Li Que stopped at the base of the dais and knelt gracefully, pressing her forehead to the ground. "Master, the former leader of the Hundred Flowers Valley has been brought before you."

Hua Qianyu had no choice but to kneel beside Li Que, her hands bound before her, her head bowed. She could feel Xuanfa's cold gaze upon her, and a shiver ran down her spine.

Xuanfa rose from his seat and descended the steps slowly, his footsteps deliberate and heavy. He stopped before Hua Qianyu, looking down at her with disdain. "When I gave you the chance to come with your disciple and face punishment, you refused. Now look at where you are. Your entire valley is under my control, and you crawl before me like a common beast."

Hua Qianyu's voice was hoarse, broken. "It was my failure to discipline my disciples properly. Their cultivation is too low, they could not endure the punishment that I should have borne. I accept full responsibility. I... I will accept any punishment you deem fit."

Xuanfa's eyes narrowed slightly. He recognized this attitude. It was exactly the same as Shen Mengyue's decades ago—a leader willing to sacrifice herself for her sect. But unlike Shen Mengyue, who had been strong-willed and defiant, Hua Qianyu seemed already resigned to her fate. That made him respect her slightly more, but it did not change what he intended to do.

He did not need to threaten her with her disciples. He had never needed such base tactics. No female cultivator had ever resisted him forever—not Shen Mengyue, not Lin Qiaoxin, not Li Que. The key was always the same: enough blows to the buttocks to break their spirit and will.

"You are known as a master of alchemy," Xuanfa said coldly. "You must carry Thunder Pattern Pills on your person. Hand them over."

Hua Qianyu's breath caught. The Thunder Pattern Pills were some of her most precious creations, imbued with the violent power of lightning tribulations. She had spent decades refining them. But she did not dare refuse. With trembling hands, she unfastened the storage pouch at her waist—the only thing she had been allowed to keep—and produced a small jade bottle, holding it up with both hands.

Xuanfa took it without a word, uncorking it to verify the contents. A faint crackle of lightning and the scent of ozone confirmed it. He nodded once and set the bottle aside.

"You will learn the price of defiance," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

He raised his right hand, and from the shadows of the hall, a plank of dark celestial wood flew into his grasp. This was no ordinary board—it was imbued with the laws of heaven itself, a tool used for punishing any cultivator arrogant enough to think they were beyond the reach of discipline. The board hummed with suppressed power, the wood grain shifting like living veins.

Hua Qianyu's eyes widened in terror. She had seen this board in action before, from a distance, when Shen Mengyue had been disciplined. Even from afar, she had felt the weight of its strikes.

Xuanfa drove his spiritual energy into the board, and it began to glow with a dark, ominous light. He did not need to tie her up—his aura alone pinned her in place, pressing her upper body to the ground while leaving her buttocks exposed and raised. The position was humiliating, degrading, designed to maximize her shame.

The first strike landed with a thunderous crack that echoed through the hall.

Hua Qianyu screamed. The pain was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was not just physical—the board carried spiritual force that lanced through her entire being, bypassing her cultivation's natural defenses and striking directly at her soul. Her buttocks, already pale and soft, turned bright red within seconds.

She had never been struck like this. As the leader of the Hundred Flowers Valley, she had been revered, respected, never touched in anger. The sheer shock of the pain broke something inside her, and tears streamed down her face as she sobbed.

The second strike came, and the third, and the fourth. Each blow was measured, deliberate, spaced a few seconds apart to allow the full agony to blossom before the next one fell. Xuanfa showed no mercy, his expression unchanging, his arm steady.

Hua Qianyu felt her flesh bruise and swell, the skin growing hot and tight. The board seemed to find new, excruciating spots with each strike, covering every inch of her buttocks with unrelenting precision. Her legs kicked uselessly, bound by invisible force. Her screams became hoarse, her sobs uncontrollable.

Li Que, kneeling nearby, watched with a mixture of amusement and contempt. She had been through this herself, many times, but seeing someone else suffer it gave her a certain satisfaction. "Is this the best the leader of the Hundred Flowers Valley can manage?" she said, her voice dripping with mockery. "Four hundred strokes a day is what your humble Que-nu receives, and I do not make such a pitiful display."

Hua Qianyu heard the words through a haze of pain, and fresh shame burned within her. But the board continued to fall, and she could form no coherent response.

The count reached one hundred.

Xuanfa paused, letting the silence stretch. Hua Qianyu lay panting on the floor, her buttocks a ruined mess of red and purple, swollen to nearly twice their normal size. She thought the punishment was over, and a flicker of hope stirred in her chest.

It was quickly extinguished.

"Li Que," Xuanfa commanded, "spread her."

Li Que rose gracefully and walked behind Hua Qianyu. Before the prostrate woman could react, strong hands gripped her buttocks and pulled them apart, exposing the tightly clenched entrance between them. Hua Qianyu gasped and tried to twist away, but Li Que's grip was like iron.

"Master, I am... I am ready," Li Que said, holding the position without a trace of sympathy.

Xuanfa retrieved one of the Thunder Pattern Pills from the jade bottle. It was dark blue, about the size of his thumb, crackling with tiny arcs of lightning. He walked behind Hua Qianyu, and without preamble, pressed the pill against her entrance.

"No... no, please..." Hua Qianyu begged, but her words were cut off as the pill was forced inside her.

The sensation was immediate and devastating.

Thunder Pattern Pills were not meant to be administered this way. They were designed to be swallowed and dissolved in the dantian to strengthen the body's meridians with lightning energy. But forced into the sensitive, delicate lining of her rectum, the pill began to dissolve far too quickly, releasing its full charge in a concentrated area.

Electricity surged through Hua Qianyu's insides like a living thing, sparking against her nerve endings, searing her from within. She screamed—a raw, animal sound of pure agony—and began to convulse violently, her body thrashing against the invisible restraints. Her legs kicked, her back arched, and her fingers clawed at the stone floor. The lightning raced through her lower body, crackling under her skin, making her muscles spasm uncontrollably.

It felt as though her very soul was being torn apart, shredded by a thousand tiny bolts of lightning that danced inside her most vulnerable place. The pain was so intense that her vision went white, and she could taste copper on her tongue.

Through the haze, she heard Xuanfa's cold voice: "Continue."

The board resumed its work.

The next hundred strokes were the most torturous of Hua Qianyu's life. Each impact of the board sent shockwaves through her already violated interior, causing the embedded pill to shift and discharge fresh bursts of electricity. She could feel the lightning arcing through her bowels, up into her stomach, down into her thighs. Her screams became so hoarse they were barely audible, reduced to raw, rasping cries.

By the time the count reached two hundred, Hua Qianyu was barely conscious. Her entire lower body felt like it was on fire from within. The pill had finally dissolved completely, but the damage was done. She hung limply in the restraints, tears and drool pooling beneath her face.

Xuanfa did not stop.

"Li Que. Ginger juice."

Li Que's expression flickered for just a moment. She had been subjected to ginger juice herself, and she knew its burning properties intimately. Even for her, a seasoned veteran of punishment, ginger juice was a trial she dreaded. She retrieved a ceramic flask from a side table and returned to Hua Qianyu's exposed rear.

"Shall I?" she asked, looking up at Xuanfa.

He nodded once.

Li Que uncorked the flask, releasing a pungent aroma that made Hua Qianyu's nose sting even from a distance. Then she pressed the mouth of the flask against Hua Qianyu's abused entrance, tilting it upward.

The ginger juice poured in like molten lava.

Hua Qianyu's broken mind did not register it at first—the lightning had already numbed her to lesser pain. But as the thick, viscous liquid spread through her insides, coating the ravaged lining of her rectum, the combination created a synergy of suffering beyond anything she had imagined possible.

The ginger juice was not ordinary ginger. It had been concentrated through alchemical processes, its burning essence refined to an almost supernatural degree. It felt exactly like molten iron pouring into her body, searing the tender flesh, setting every nerve ending ablaze. But it did not simply burn—it combined with the residual electricity of the Thunder Pattern Pill, creating a feedback loop. The ginger's burn irritated the damaged tissues, which made the latent lightning spark again, which made the ginger burn more fiercely.

Hua Qianyu's body convulsed with such violence that she tore out of her spiritual restraints for a brief moment, only to slam back down onto the floor. Her entire body was drenched in sweat. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She could not even scream anymore—her throat had given out completely, reduced to a silent, gasping rictus of agony.

The ginger juice continued to work its way deeper, pushed by the natural contractions of her insides. It pooled in her intestines, coating every inch of membrane it could reach, burning everything it touched. The heat spread upward into her stomach, downward toward her entrance, outward through her thighs. It felt as though her entire lower body was being cooked from the inside.

Li Que stepped back, wiping her hands on a cloth, but her expression had shifted slightly. She had seen many punishments, endured countless herself, but this combination—lightning and ginger together—made even her seasoned stomach churn. She imagined herself in Hua Qianyu's position, and a shiver of fear mixed with a perverse thrill ran down her spine.

Lin Qiaoxin, who had been watching from the shadows, piped up with a teasing laugh. "Look at that! Mistress Hua's rolling around like a fish on dry land. You'd think someone as dignified as her would put up more of a fight."

Shen Mengyue g

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