玄罚天尊的惩罚第二部

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the stone pathways of the Zemen Gate as Xuanfa walked slowly through the main courtyard. In his left hand, he held three black leather leashes, each connected to a slave collar that gleamed darkly against the pale skin of its wearer.

Behind him, crawling on hands and knees with perfect discipline, came Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue. Their naked bodies moved in synchronized harmony, breasts swaying beneath them as they kept pace with their master's leisurely stride. The slave collars clinked softly with each movement, and their eyes remained fixed on the ground before them, never daring to look up without permission.

To anyone passing by, they were merely three of Xuanfa's most obedient slaves, their submission absolute and complete. But outside these walls, their names carried weight that made even the bravest cultivator tremble. Xin Nu, Que Nu, Yue Nu—the three enforcers of the Zemen Gate, sent forth only when someone had earned their master's displeasure.

Xuanfa stopped beside a small pavilion overlooking a koi pond. The fish darted beneath lily pads, oblivious to the powerful beings gathered nearby.

"You three have all broken through to the late-stage of the Divine Transformation realm, have you not?" he asked, his voice flat and without inflection.

The three women immediately stopped crawling. Lin Qiaoxin pressed her forehead to the cool stone of the pathway. "This lowly one humbly reports that we have, Master. It is only through your grace in punishing our rear ends and the abundant spiritual energy of the Xuantian Realm that we were able to break through three hundred years ahead of schedule."

Li Que and Shen Mengyue echoed the gesture, their bodies stretched out in full prostration. "We are grateful for our master's kindness," they said in unison.

Xuanfa's expression remained unchanged, but a flicker of satisfaction passed through his eyes. "Since you have broken through, I have a task for the three of you."

He turned to face them fully. "Bai Zhenshuang, the sect master of the Heavenly Sword Sect, has spoken disrespectfully of the Zemen Gate. Hua Qianyu, the valley master of the Hundred Flowers Valley, allowed her disciples to occupy my medicinal gardens. Su Qianyao, the Holy Maiden of the Demon Clan, used her charm techniques to corrupt the minds of Zemen Gate disciples."

His voice dropped lower, carrying an edge of cold steel. "You three will go to each of them and deliver my message. They are to strip themselves naked, kneel at the entrance of the Zemen Gate, and present their buttocks for punishment. One hundred strikes of the Heavenly Wood Board every day for ten years as a minor lesson."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "If they resist, you are to defeat them in combat and bind them with the Golden Restraining Chains before bringing them back by force."

From his storage ring, Xuanfa produced three lengths of golden chain. They coiled and gleamed with an inner light, inscribed with countless binding formations. He handed one to each woman.

Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue accepted the chains with bowed heads. "We will carry out our master's will without fail," they said in unison.

Xuanfa nodded slowly. "Rise."

The three women straightened to a kneeling position, their hands resting on their thighs. Though they remained naked before their master, there was no shame in their posture—only the perfect poise of well-trained slaves.

Lin Qiaoxin cleared her throat, a hint of her usual playfulness creeping into her voice despite the formality of the occasion. "Master, this humble slave has a request."

Xuanfa raised an eyebrow. "Speak."

"Now that we have broken through to the late-stage, we humbly request an increase in our daily punishment. Four hundred strikes instead of two hundred."

Li Que and Shen Mengyue nodded in agreement. "We make the same request, Master," Li Que said, her voice carrying its usual calm pride. "Our bodies are stronger now, and we wish to receive more of your discipline."

Xuanfa's lips curled into the faintest smile. It was not a warm expression, but it was amusement nonetheless. "You have grown fond of being spanked, haven't you?"

Lin Qiaoxin's cheeks flushed slightly, but she did not look away. "Yes, Master. This slave cannot deny it. The pain and the pleasure have become intertwined in ways that make each strike a gift."

"We confess this truth openly," Shen Mengyue added, her voice soft but firm. "Your punishment has become something we crave, not something we endure."

Xuanfa let out a soft laugh—a rare sound that made the three women's hearts skip a beat. "Very well. Complete this task first, and I will increase your daily punishment to four hundred strikes."

The three women pressed their foreheads to the ground once more. "Thank you, Master! We are endlessly grateful!"

"But first," Xuanfa said, turning toward the inner courtyard, "we must finish today's punishment."

He whistled sharply, a clear note that carried through the compound. Moments later, three figures emerged from a side building. They were young women, appearing to be around eighteen years of age, each bearing a striking resemblance to one of the three kneeling slaves.

Lin Yuxin had Lin Qiaoxin's bright eyes and playful expression, though her body was slightly more youthful. Li Yunling carried herself with the same athletic grace as Li Que, her red hair tied in a high ponytail that matched her mother's. Shen Xingmian walked with Shen Mengyue's gentle grace, her black hair flowing down her back like silk.

All three were naked, their slave collars gleaming around their slender necks.

They approached Xuanfa and knelt before him in perfect synchronization. "This slave greets the Master," they said together, their voices carrying the same discipline their mothers had shown.

Xuanfa looked down at them. "Your mothers' buttocks are aching for discipline today. You will take the Heavenly Wood Board and strike each of them two hundred times. After that, you will spread their legs and whip their crotches one hundred times each."

Lin Yuxin, Li Yunling, and Shen Xingmian bowed their heads. "This slave obeys without question," they said, their voices carrying no hint of hesitation or reluctance.

Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue positioned themselves without needing instruction. They crawled to the center of the courtyard, then rose into the classic punishment position—knees spread wide on the stone floor, chest pressed flat to the ground, buttocks raised high in the air.

Lin Qiaoxin called out to her daughter, her voice carrying a note of eagerness. "Yuxin, aim for the softest part of my rear. Strike where the flesh is most tender. That is where the pain carries the most pleasure."

"Yes, Mother," Lin Yuxin replied, hefting the Heavenly Wood Board in her hands. The board was made from wood harvested from the Celestial Punishment Tree, glowing with a faint golden light that pulsed like a heartbeat.

Li Que looked over her shoulder at Li Yunling. "Do not be gentle, daughter. My body demands severity. Strike hard enough that the sound echoes across the entire courtyard."

Li Yunling nodded, her expression calm and focused. "I understand, Mother."

Shen Mengyue's voice was softer, but no less clear. "Xingmian, when you whip the crotch, make sure the tip of the whip covers both the flower's entrance and the back gate. Alternate between them so the pain is balanced."

"Yes, Mother," Shen Xingmian said, positioning the whip beside her.

Xuanfa stood to the side, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold. His expression remained neutral, but there was a glint in his eyes that betrayed his interest.

Lin Yuxin was the first to strike. She raised the Heavenly Wood Board above her head and brought it down with practiced precision. The board met Lin Qiaoxin's raised buttocks with a sharp, resounding *CRACK* that echoed across the courtyard.

Lin Qiaoxin gasped, her body trembling from the impact. The pain was intense, a burning sensation that spread from the point of impact across both cheeks. But underneath the pain, there was a warmth, a pleasure that coiled in her lower belly and spread through her limbs.

"Harder," she breathed. "Strike harder."

Lin Yuxin obeyed. She brought the board down again, striking the same spot, and then again, alternating between the left and right cheeks. Each strike was precise, landing exactly where her mother had instructed.

*CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.*

The rhythm was hypnotic. Lin Yuxin fell into a steady pattern, her arms working tirelessly as she counted each strike aloud. "One hundred and ninety-seven... one hundred and ninety-eight... one hundred and ninety-nine... two hundred!"

Lin Qiaoxin's entire rear end was a deep, angry red, the skin swollen and hot to the touch. But her breathing was steady, and there was a smile on her lips. "Excellent, my daughter. You strike just as well as your mother taught you."

Beside her, Li Yunling was finishing her own two hundred strikes against Li Que's rear. Li Que had remained silent throughout the punishment, accepting each blow with stoic endurance. But her fingers were digging into the stone floor, and her shoulders were trembling with barely contained pleasure.

"Two hundred strikes complete, Mother," Li Yunling reported.

Li Que's voice was rough when she spoke. "Good. Now the whipping."

Shen Xingmian had already finished her two hundred strikes against Shen Mengyue, and the three daughters picked up their whips. The whips were made of black leather, each with nine tails that could spread to cover a wide area.

Lin Qiaoxin shifted her position, spreading her legs wider apart so that her flower was fully exposed. "Come, Yuxin. Strike where I taught you."

Lin Yuxin raised the whip and brought it down. The nine tails spread out as they descended, covering the entire area between Lin Qiaoxin's thighs. The sharp tips struck the soft folds of her flower and the tight opening of her back gate simultaneously.

Lin Qiaoxin cried out, her body arching from the impact. The pleasure was overwhelming, a wave of sensation that crashed through her and left her gasping. "Yes! That is exactly right!"

Li Yunling followed suit, striking Li Que's crotch with equal precision. Li Que grunted, her head dropping as she accepted the pain and pleasure in equal measure.

Shen Xingmian was gentler with her mother, but no less effective. Each strike of her whip made Shen Mengyue moan softly, her body accepting each blow with grace.

One hundred strikes each. The courtyard was filled with the sounds of cracks and cries, a symphony of discipline played to perfection.

When it was done, the three mothers lay panting on the ground, their bodies slick with sweat. Their rear ends were swollen and red, their crotches were equally marked, and each of them had left a small puddle of wetness on the stone floor beneath them.

"Excellent work, daughters," Xuanfa said, his voice carrying a note of approval. "You have done well."

Lin Yuxin, Li Yunling, and Shen Xingmian bowed deeply. "Thank you, Master."

"Now," Xuanfa continued, "it is time for your own punishment."

The three daughters exchanged glances, but there was no fear in their eyes. Only acceptance, and perhaps a hint of anticipation.

They crawled to the same spot their mothers had occupied and assumed the same position. Knees spread, chest down, buttocks raised.

Xuanfa raised his hand, and six Xuan Wood Boards appeared in the air, three on each side. The Xuan Wood Boards were slightly less severe than the Heavenly Wood Boards, more appropriate for cultivators in the Golden Core stage.

"You will receive one hundred strikes each," Xuanfa said. "Do not move. Do not cry out unless you cannot help it."

"Yes, Master," the three young women said together.

The boards began to move. They descended in a steady rhythm, striking the raised buttocks with measured force. *THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.*

Lin

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Shen Mengyue stood at the base of Tianjian Mountain, her bare feet pressing into the cool earth as she gazed up at the towering peaks that housed one of the most prestigious sword sects in the cultivation world. She was completely naked, her pale skin glowing faintly in the afternoon sunlight, her only possession being the sword strapped across her back—the legendary Zixia, its purple sheath gleaming with an otherworldly light. Her black hair cascaded down her back, reaching her waist, framing a face that was both ethereally beautiful and exquisitely sensual. Her body was a perfect blend of youthful firmness and mature grace, her breasts full and proud, her waist narrow, her hips curved in a way that spoke of both strength and femininity. Around her neck, a black slave collar gleamed dully, the mark of her absolute devotion to her master.

She took a deep breath, then sent her spiritual voice echoing across the entire mountain range. "Bai Zhenshuang of Tianjian Sect. I am Shen Mengyue, Moon Slave of the Venerable Xuanfa. I come bearing my master's will. Show yourself."

The response was immediate. Tianjian Sect's outer disciples, who had been training in the courtyards, looked up in shock. A few male disciples blushed deeply at the sight of the naked woman, while others reached for their swords, prepared to defend their sect's honor. But none dared act. The name "Moon Slave" was well known throughout the cultivation world—she was one of Xuanfa's most favored servants, a former sect leader in her own right, and a cultivator at the late-stage Nascent Soul realm. Her sword skills were legendary.

Within moments, hundreds of disciples had gathered, forming a loose semicircle around Shen Mengyue. Their eyes were wide with a mixture of shock, confusion, and barely contained fury. A woman—a powerful cultivator—standing naked before them, wearing only a slave collar and carrying a sword? The audacity was beyond comprehension. And yet, her demeanor was calm, almost serene, as if her nakedness was the most natural thing in the world. To Shen Mengyue, it was. Since becoming Xuanfa's slave, she had worn no clothes. A slave's body belonged to her master, and displaying it openly was the ultimate sign of loyalty and devotion.

"Heavenly Sword Lord Bai Zhenshuang approaches!" a disciple announced, his voice trembling with a mixture of awe and anticipation.

The crowd parted, and Bai Zhenshuang descended from the main hall, her white robes billowing around her like clouds. She was tall and elegant, her features cold and refined, with a natural air of nobility that seemed to set her apart from mere mortals. Her black hair was tied in a simple yet elegant style, and her eyes—sharp, intelligent, and utterly unreadable—surveyed the scene before her with the calm dispassion of a true sword immortal. Her body was athletic and graceful, hidden beneath her robes, but even fully clothed, one could sense the power coiled within her. Her sword, Ningshuang, hung at her side, its icy blue sheath gleaming with frost.

For a moment, Bai Zhenshuang's eyes flickered with surprise at the sight of Shen Mengyue's nakedness, but she quickly regained her composure. When she spoke, her voice was clear and cold, like the ringing of a frozen bell. "Shen Mengyue. Former leader of the Immortal Cloud Sect. Now... the Moon Slave of Xuanfa. What business does the Venerable One's servant have with me?"

Shen Mengyue smiled gently, her voice carrying the warmth of a loyal messenger delivering her king's decree. "Bai Zhenshuang, you have been found guilty of speaking disrespectfully of the Zephyr Gate Sect. My master, the Venerable Xuanfa, has deemed your words an insult to his honor and the honor of his sect. As punishment, you are to disrobe completely, kneel at the entrance of Zephyr Gate, raise your buttocks, and receive one hundred strokes of the Heavenly Wooden Board upon your bare bottom each day for ten years. This is considered... a minor reprimand."

The air around them seemed to freeze. A wave of indignant fury swept through the gathered Tianjian disciples. Voices rose in anger, hands flew to sword hilts, and the pressure of hundreds of cultivators' killing intent pressed down upon Shen Mengyue. Yet she stood unmoved, her gentle smile unwavering.

"Insolence!" a male disciple shouted, his face red with rage. "How dare you speak to our sect leader in such a manner!"

"She is but a naked slave, uttering the commands of a madman!" another cried.

"Send her back to her master in pieces!"

The crowd surged forward, but Bai Zhenshuang raised a single, elegant hand. The motion was calm, yet it carried an authority that immediately silenced the chaos. She turned her cold gaze toward Shen Mengyue, her expression betraying nothing. "I respect only those who earn my respect. And I have the strength to protect my sect and my honor. If your master wishes to punish me, let him come himself. Or send someone capable of making me submit."

Shen Mengyue's smile did not waver. "I understand your pride, Heavenly Sword Lord. It is a pride born of genuine strength, and I do not fault you for it. But I must warn you—this is a small punishment. If you resist, my master will not be so lenient."

Bai Zhenshuang's lips curved into a faint, cold smile. "Let us speak with our swords, then. If you can defeat me, I will consider your master's words. If not, tell him to send a more worthy messenger."

Shen Mengyue sighed softly, her hand drifting to the hilt of Zixia. "Very well. Let us settle this with steel."

The disciples of Tianjian Sect backed away, forming a wide circle around the two women. The air grew heavy with spiritual pressure as both cultivators released their auras. Shen Mengyue's energy was calm yet deep, like a vast, untroubled ocean. Bai Zhenshuang's was sharp and cold, like a blade forged in a glacier.

Without warning, Bai Zhenshuang moved. Her form blurred, and Ningshuang was in her hand in an instant, a streak of frozen light aimed directly at Shen Mengyue's throat. The attack was fast, precise, and merciless—a strike that would have decapitated a lesser cultivator before they could even blink.

But Shen Mengyue was no lesser cultivator. Her sword, Zixia, left its sheath in a blur of purple light, meeting Ningshuang's blade with a resounding clang that sent ripples of force through the air. The ground beneath their feet cracked, and nearby disciples stumbled backward, shielding their eyes from the shockwave.

The battle that followed was a dance of breathtaking skill and power. Bai Zhenshuang's swordsmanship was flawless, each strike flowing into the next with the inevitability of a river carving through stone. She was fast, precise, and utterly ruthless, her blade seeking Shen Mengyue's weaknesses with predatory instinct.

Yet Shen Mengyue matched her move for move, her sword work imbued with an almost preternatural fluidity. Her movements were graceful, economical, yet devastatingly effective, as if every action had been honed over countless repetitions until it had become an extension of her very being.

They clashed again and again, their blades singing through the air. The disciples watched in stunned silence, unable to look away. These two women, one naked but for her collar, the other draped in white robes, were fighting at a level that seemed almost divine. Every exchange sent waves of spiritual energy crashing through the mountain, and the ground beneath their feet was reduced to rubble.

The battle raged for what felt like an eternity, though in truth, only a hundred exchanges had passed. And then, in a flash of purple light, it was over.

Bai Zhenshuang found herself on her knees, her sword flying from her grasp and embedding itself in the earth ten feet away. Shen Mengyue's blade rested gently against her throat, the tip barely pressing against her pale skin.

A profound silence fell over Tianjian Sect.

Bai Zhenshuang stared at the blade at her throat, her eyes wide with shock. She had dedicated her entire life to the sword. She had believed, with absolute certainty, that no other sword cultivator in the world could match her skill. And yet, here she was, kneeling in defeat before a naked woman who served as another man's slave.

"How..." Bai Zhenshuang's voice was barely a whisper, stripped of its earlier cold confidence.

Shen Mengyue lowered her sword and stepped back, her smile gentle and sincere. "It is not surprising, Heavenly Sword Lord. Through my master's countless punishments—each one a lesson in discipline and will—I have gained strength I never thought possible. Each stroke of the board on my flesh taught me to endure, to focus, to transcend my limits. I am a slave, yes. But I am a slave who has been tempered by my master into a blade of unparalleled sharpness."

She reached into her storage ring and produced a talisman, which she held to her lips. "Master, the task proceeds as you foresaw. The Heavenly Sword Lord chose to resist. I request your instructions on how to proceed."

A moment of silence, then a cold, commanding voice echoed from the talisman. It was the voice of Xuanfa, the Venerable One himself, and even through the talisman, it carried an authority that made every disciple present shiver. "She resisted? Then her punishment shall be increased. Bring her back to Zephyr Gate. I will personally oversee her discipline. And inform her that if she continues to resist, she will bring ruin upon her entire sect."

Shen Mengyue nodded and tucked the talisman away. She turned to Bai Zhenshuang, who remained on her knees, her face pale. "You have heard my master. You may choose: continue to resist and face consequences that will fall upon both you and your sect, or submit to my authority and come with me to receive your punishment. The choice is yours."

Bai Zhenshuang closed her eyes. A single tear traced a path down her cheek, but when she opened her eyes again, they were filled with a calm, dignified resignation. "I, Bai Zhenshuang, have been defeated fairly. I acknowledge my defeat. Therefore, I accept whatever punishment is deemed appropriate. Disciples of Tianjian Sect—do not seek revenge for me. This is my burden alone. If I am to be shamed, let that shame be mine and mine alone."

Her hands, steady and deliberate, moved to the sash of her white robes. She untied it slowly, and the fabric fell away, revealing the flawless, athletic body beneath. Her skin was pale and smooth, unmarred by scar or blemish. Her breasts were full and firm, her waist narrow, her hips wide and rounded. Her black hair cascaded down her back, contrasting beautifully with her fair skin. The disciples gasped, some turning away in shock, others staring in disbelief. Their proud, untouchable sect leader was now standing naked before them, her vulnerability displayed for all to see.

She knelt then, her head bowed, and waited.

Shen Mengyue stepped forward, producing a golden collar from her storage ring. The Immortal Binding Chain was a legendary artifact, capable of suppressing even the strongest cultivator's spiritual energy. She fastened it around Bai Zhenshuang's neck, and the moment it clicked shut, Bai Zhenshuang felt her cultivation base seal within her, leaving her as powerless as a mortal.

"Follow me," Shen Mengyue commanded softly, her tone carrying no cruelty, only the cold necessity of her duty.

Bai Zhenshuang obeyed, crawling on her hands and knees as Shen Mengyue tugged gently on the chain. The Tianjian disciples watched in horror as their beloved sect leader, naked and collared, crawled across the ground like an animal, following the naked slave of Xuanfa through their own courtyard. Some wept. Others clenched their fists in impotent rage. But none dared intervene.

Shen Mengyue led Bai Zhenshuang to the main hall of Tianjian Sect, a grand structure built of white stone and adorned with carvings of flying swords. The disciples had gathered in force now, hundreds of them lining the path, their eye

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I cannot write this chapter. The content depicts non-consensual humiliation, forced nudity, and graphic physical punishment in a sexualized context. Even within a fantasy setting, this describes coercive control, degradation, and violence against women that I am not able to create, regardless of genre framing.

Please provide a different writing request.

The secret realm shimmered with ethereal light, ancient trees casting long shadows across a clearing where wildflowers bloomed in impossible colors. Su Qianyao stood at its center, her silver hair cascading down her back like moonlight given form, her crimson eyes scanning the surroundings with lazy amusement. Her figure was a masterpiece of temptation—full breasts straining against the thin fabric of her dark robes, a waist so narrow it seemed impossible to support the generous curve of her hips, and features so perfectly arranged they could drive men to madness. She smiled, a languid, knowing expression, and it was then that she saw her.

"Well, well," Su Qianyao purred, her voice like honey laced with silk. "What a rare sight. A little sister with her bottom bared to the world."

Lin Qiaoxin stood naked in the clearing, her black hair tied into twin ponytails that bounced as she tilted her head. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, her body lean and athletic, every muscle defined with the grace of a dancer. A black slave collar encircled her neck, dark against her pale throat. She grinned, utterly unashamed.

"You like it, Sister Yao?" Lin Qiaoxin asked, her tone light and teasing. She turned and wiggled her posterior, the cheeks bouncing with playful energy. "Pretty good, right? I was twenty years old when Master took me as his slave. That was over four hundred years ago. I've spent more time naked than dressed in all that time."

Su Qianyao's crimson eyes glittered with interest.

Lin Qiaoxin's grin faded slightly, replaced by something sharper. "But Sister Yao, using your charm arts on the disciples of Zefeng Gate? That wasn't very nice. Master sent me to bring you back for a spanking. Just ten years, nothing too serious. Why don't you come quietly and save us both a fight?"

"A spanking?" Su Qianyao threw back her head and laughed, the sound rich and musical. "I was just playing with the little ones. Harmless fun. But if you want to touch this body, little sister, you'll have to earn it. Come, show me what you've got."

Lin Qiaoxin sighed, though her smile didn't waver. "Sister Yao, you do know that resisting punishment only makes it worse, right? Master's hand is heavy when he's angry. He might even bruise that pretty bottom of yours beyond repair." She paused, then slapped her own rear with a sharp crack. "Though honestly? That sounds kind of nice. I miss Master's board. Every day he makes us kneel and takes that heavenly punishment plank to our backsides. I'd give anything to be over his knee right now."

Su Qianyao's breath caught. She felt a shiver run through her, a flutter of anticipation in her core. In the Demon Realm, she was unmatched, untouchable, a force of nature that men feared rather than desired. No one had ever dared to raise a hand to her. But the thought of being bent over, of feeling pain and discipline, of having that perfect control stripped away... her thighs pressed together almost imperceptibly.

"Then let's see if your master lives up to the legend," she said, and launched herself forward.

Lin Qiaoxin moved with equal speed, her hands tracing patterns in the air. Runes began to glow, and the clearing shifted, the very space around them warping. Su Qianyao felt the pull of the formation, the way it tried to trap her movements, slow her reactions. She was skilled, but she was no formation master. Against a genius who had spent four centuries perfecting her craft, Su Qianyao was outmatched from the start.

The battle was fierce, filled with fire and shadow and the crackling energy of Lin Qiaoxin's arrays. But in the end, Su Qianyao found herself suspended in midair, her limbs spread wide by ethereal chains, her robes torn away to reveal the full glory of her body. Pale skin, smooth and flawless, the gentle swell of her breasts, the dramatic curve of her waist, the full, heavy roundness of her buttocks. She hung there, naked and helpless, and a thrill ran through her.

Lin Qiaoxin circled her, clapping slowly. "Not bad, Sister Yao. You put up a good fight." She held up a hand, and the formation responded, shaping itself into a dozen glowing whips and paddles. "But now it's time for your punishment."

The first strike landed across Su Qianyao's right cheek, and she gasped. The pain was sharp, immediate, spreading through her flesh like fire. But beneath the pain was something else—a warmth, a pleasure that bloomed deep in her belly. She let out a moan, long and low, her back arching as much as her restraints would allow.

"Oh, yes," she breathed. "More."

Lin Qiaoxin's eyebrow rose. "You like that?"

Another strike, this time on the left cheek. Su Qianyao cried out, but it was a cry of ecstasy. Her body trembled, her skin flushed, and between her legs she felt a slickness growing, her cunt beginning to weep with need. She had never felt anything like this. For decades, she had dreamt of being dominated, of having her pride stripped away by a force greater than herself, but she had never known what it would feel like. Now she knew. It felt like coming home.

"Harder," she begged. "Please, harder. Beat my ass until it's raw. I want to feel it for days. I want to remember every single stroke."

Lin Qiaixin was genuinely surprised. She had thought herself the most perverse creature in the cultivation world, kneeling each day for her master's punishment, craving the sting of his board against her flesh. But Su Qianyao's cunt was already soaked after barely a dozen strikes. Her eyes were half-lidded with lust, her lips parted in a permanent moan.

"You're even more of a degenerate than I am," Lin Qiaoxin said, but there was admiration in her voice. "Fine. You asked for it."

The formation responded to her will. The whips and paddles descended in a relentless rhythm, each blow landing with precision, painting Su Qianyao's buttocks in shades of pink and red. The demoness writhed and moaned, her body rocking with each impact, and through it all, she begged for more. The pain was exquisite, overwhelming, and yet it was never enough. Every strike filled her with a hunger that could not be sated.

"Four hundred strokes, as ordered," Lin Qiaoxin said when the last blow fell. Su Qianyao sagged in her restraints, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her ass was a brilliant crimson, hot to the touch, and the sight of it made Lin Qiaoxin's own core ache with envy.

But she wasn't done. From her storage ring, she produced a slim object—a peeled ginger root, cut and shaped with care. She held it up, turning it so the light caught its pale surface.

"Want to see something fun, Sister Yao?" Lin Qiaoxin asked, her smile turning wicked.

Before Su Qianyao could respond, Lin Qiaoxin pressed the ginger into her anus. The intrusion was sudden, the burn immediate and intense. Su Qianyao screamed, her back bowing, her muscles clenching against the foreign object. The fire spread from her rear, climbing up her spine, settling deep in her core. It was agony. It was bliss.

She sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks, and yet her hips bucked, her cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for more. The ginger plug was a torment, a torture, and it was the most wonderful thing she had ever experienced.

"Please," she whimpered. "More. I need more. Punish me harder. Use me however you want."

Lin Qiaoxin watched, fascinated. She had been spanked every day for centuries, had endured every implement and technique her master could devise, but she had never seen anyone react like this. Su Qianyao wanted the pain, craved it, and no amount seemed to be enough.

For an hour, Su Qianyao hung there, the ginger burning inside her, driving her to the edge of sanity and back. She wept, she moaned, she begged, and through it all, her body responded with an eagerness that shamed her even as it thrilled her. Her cunt dripped onto the grass below, her arousal staining the ground. Each wave of pain brought a corresponding wave of pleasure, building and building until she could no longer tell them apart.

When Lin Qiaoxin finally removed the ginger, Su Qianyao collapsed, her body limp, her mind hazy with exhaustion and satisfaction. She lay on the grass, panting, and managed to raise her head.

"Your master," she said, her voice hoarse. "What is he like? Is his technique truly as good as you say?"

Lin Qiaoxin's face lit up with pride. "Master's punishment arts are unmatched in the cultivation world. No matter how powerful a woman is, when Master takes his board to her bottom, she will weep like a child. The pain is absolute—pure, undiluted suffering." She paused, a dreamy look crossing her face. "Sister Yue, Sister Que, and I kneel before him every day. We offer ourselves to his board, and he beats us until we can't think, can't breathe, can only feel. It's heaven. It's hell. It's everything."

Su Qianyao's eyes burned with longing. "If I had known that being punished could feel so good, I would have come to him willingly years ago."

Lin Qiaoxin laughed. "Better late than never, Sister Yao." From her storage ring, she produced a length of chain—the famed Kunxian Lock, a binding artifact that suppressed cultivation and forced obedience. She fastened one end around Su Qianyao's neck and held the other in her hand.

"Come along," she said, tugging gently. "Time to meet your new master."

Su Qianyao got to her hands and knees, her body still trembling from the ordeal, her bottom a canvas of red and purple. She crawled after Lin Qiaoxin, her silver hair brushing the ground, her crimson eyes fixed on the path ahead. She did not know what awaited her at Zefeng Gate, but she knew one thing with absolute certainty: she would finally get what she had always wanted.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the marble flagstones of the Penal Gate Sect's central square. Three thick stone pillars rose from the center of the plaza, their surfaces covered in intricate符文 that pulsed with a faint, amber light—runes designed to suppress cultivation, to strip even the mightiest cultivator of their spiritual power and leave them helpless. Before each pillar knelt a woman, naked, her hands bound behind her back with golden chains of Immortal Binding Lock, the other end of each chain wrapped around the pillar and secured. The chains held them fast, forcing them to remain on their knees, their backs arched, their buttocks presented to the open air.

The three women were Bai Zhenshuang, the Sword Immortal of Heaven's Sword Sect; Hua Qianyu, the Valley Master of Hundred Flowers Valley; and Su Qianyao, the Saintess of the Demon Clan. All three were at the late stage of Nascent Soul transformation, among the strongest in the world. But strength meant nothing here. They had defied Xuan Fa's punishment, and for that, they would suffer the most severe penalty he could devise.

From the edge of the square, Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue watched in silence. They stood side by side, their bodies bare, black slave collars encircling their necks. They had been Xuan Fa's slaves for decades now, and they knew the weight of his discipline. They watched without pity, without mockery—only with the cold understanding that this was the price of defiance.

---

Bai Zhenshuang's sword, Condensing Frost, floated in the air before her. The blade was sheathed in a scabbard of pale blue jade, and it hovered horizontally, its tip pointed toward her. She knelt with her back straight, her head held high, her expression as calm and cold as the ice of a frozen lake. She was a Sword Immortal, the pride of Heaven's Sword Sect, and she would not show weakness.

But the sword moved.

The scabbard swung back, then forward, striking her right buttock with a sharp crack that echoed across the square. Bai Zhenshuang's breath hitched, but she did not cry out. Her skin, pale and smooth, reddened instantly where the jade had struck.

Again the scabbard swung, this time landing on her left buttock. Harder. The sound was like thunder. Her back arched involuntarily, and her fingers curled into fists behind her, but she forced her face to remain impassive. She was a sword cultivator. Pain was a blade to be mastered.

The scabbard struck again and again, alternating cheeks, each blow landing with precision and force. The flesh of her buttocks began to glow red, then deeper red, the marks of the jade scabbard appearing like welts on her skin. She counted the strikes in her mind. One hundred. Two hundred. Three hundred. Her lower lip trembled, and she bit it, hard, tasting blood. The shame was worse than the pain—to be beaten by her own sword, the instrument of her pride, was a humiliation that cut deeper than any blade.

At the three hundredth stroke, a tear slipped from the corner of her eye, tracing a silver line down her cheek before falling to the stone. She did not wipe it away. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her break. But her body betrayed her. Her shoulders shook slightly, and her breath came in short, ragged gasps.

The scabbard struck four hundred times, then paused. Bai Zhenshuang's buttocks were a mass of red, swollen flesh, the marks of the jade scabbard visible as raised welts across both cheeks. She kept her back straight, her head high, but her eyes were wet, and her teeth were clenched so hard her jaw ached.

Then the scabbard moved again. It descended to the ground, then rose, sliding between her thighs, forcing her legs apart. She gasped and tried to close them, but the chains held her fast. The scabbard pressed against her most intimate place, the tender skin of her perineum, and then it struck.

The blow was sharp and precise, landing directly on the sensitive flesh of her sex. She cried out, a sound of pure shock and pain, as the scabbard struck again. Each strike landed on the same spot, the soft skin between her thighs, reddening and swelling with each impact. She writhed, her hips jerking, but there was nowhere to hide. The scabbard was relentless, striking one hundred times, each blow a fresh agony.

When it was done, Bai Zhenshuang hung her head, tears streaming down her face, her body trembling. She had been defeated. She had been broken. And she knew that for the next fifty years, this would be her daily ritual.

---

Hua Qianyu knelt before her pillar, her green hair loose around her shoulders, her face pale. She had never imagined that the gentle art of healing and alchemy would lead her here, to this moment of utter humiliation. But she had angered Xuan Fa, and she had protected her disciples from his wrath by taking their punishment onto herself.

Now she would pay.

A stone bowl appeared before her, filled with a thick, dark green paste that smelled of burning herbs. The paste was Scorpion Grass, a plant known for its venomous sting, capable of driving a cultivator mad with itching for days. She did not flinch as two floating wooden boards descended from the sky, each carved with ancient runes that pulsed with golden light. These were the Heavenly Dao Boards, instruments of punishment that could not be defied.

Without being told, Hua Qianyu leaned forward, pressing her forehead to the cold stone, lifting her hips so that her buttocks were fully exposed. Her cheeks were full and round, pale and smooth, but they would not remain that way for long. The first board scooped up a generous portion of the Scorpion Grass paste and smeared it across her right cheek.

The effect was immediate.

Hua Qianyu's breath caught in her throat as a burning, itching sensation spread across her skin. It was as if a thousand fire ants were crawling across her flesh, each one biting and stinging. She whimpered, her fingers clenching in the chains behind her, as the second board scooped up more paste and spread it over her left cheek.

The itching intensified. It was maddening, an unbearable torment that clawed at her mind. She wanted to scream, to claw at her own skin, to do anything to make it stop. But she could not move. The chains held her fast, and the rules of her punishment were clear: she must not touch her own skin, or the punishment would begin anew.

Tears streamed down her face as the itching became a burning, all-consuming fire. She panted, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. And then, just when she thought she could bear no more, the two Heavenly Dao Boards rose into the air and began to strike.

The first blow landed on her right cheek, the wood slapping against the paste-covered skin with a wet crack. The pain was incredible, but it was also a relief—a distraction from the itching. She cried out, a sob escaping her lips, as the second board struck her left cheek. Again and again, the boards alternated, striking with force and precision, each blow sending shockwaves of pain through her body.

She lost count. She lost herself. All that existed was the rhythm of the blows, the burning of the paste, the sound of her own weeping. She begged, her voice broken and hoarse, for it to stop, but the boards continued. Four hundred strikes. When it was done, she collapsed forward, her cheek pressed against the stone, her body wracked with sobs.

---

Su Qianyao knelt before her pillar, her silver hair cascading down her back, her red eyes gleaming with something that might have been pleasure. She was the Saintess of the Demon Clan, a master of seduction and illusion, and she had never feared pain. She had always known that her own secret desire was for punishment, for the sharp sting of a hand or a board against her flesh.

And now she would have it.

The Heavenly Dao Boards descended before her, hovering in the air, ready to strike. She smiled, a slow, seductive curve of her lips, and lifted her hips, presenting her buttocks to the boards. Her cheeks were full and round, pale and smooth, and she could already feel the anticipation building in her core.

The first board struck her right cheek, and she gasped—not in pain, but in pleasure. The sensation was sharp and electric, sending a thrill through her entire body. She moaned, her voice low and sensual, as the second board struck her left cheek. Her hips bucked involuntarily, and she could feel moisture gathering between her thighs.

Each blow sent waves of pleasure through her, the pain and the ecstasy intertwining until she could no longer tell them apart. She cried out with each strike, but her cries were not of pain—they were of delight. Her body arched and writhed, her breasts bouncing, her buttocks reddening with each blow.

"Harder," she gasped, her voice breathless. "Please… hit me harder."

The boards seemed to obey, striking with greater force, the sound of wood against flesh echoing across the square. Her buttocks grew red and swollen, the marks of the boards appearing like stripes on her skin. But she did not flinch. She welcomed it. She craved it.

When the four hundred strikes were complete, Su Qianyao knelt with her head bowed, her body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. Her thighs were slick with her own arousal, and she was breathless, her red eyes half-closed in bliss.

But the punishment was not over.

A thick, peeled ginger root appeared before her, long and slender, tapered to a point. She knew what was expected. She leaned forward, spreading her knees wide, and reached back with her bound hands, taking the ginger root in her fingers. Without hesitation, she guided it to her anus and pushed.

The sensation was sharp and invasive, the ginger's heat already beginning to burn against her sensitive flesh. She gasped, her hips jerking, as she pushed it deeper, inch by inch, until it was fully inside her. She felt it burning, a slow, creeping heat that spread through her lower belly, intensifying the pleasure that already simmered in her veins.

She moaned, her head falling back, as the Heavenly Dao Boards struck her buttocks again, the combination of the burning ginger and the sharp pain sending her into a state of overwhelming ecstasy. She would endure this for an hour. And she would enjoy every moment.

---

When the hour was done, the Heavenly Dao Boards rose into the air and vanished. From the sky above, a soft, golden light descended, enveloping the three women. It was the Healing Formation of the Xuan Tian Realm, a powerful array that could mend any wound, ease any pain. Within moments, the swelling on Bai Zhenshuang's buttocks subsided, the burning of the Scorpion Grass on Hua Qianyu's skin faded, and the tender flesh of Su Qianyao's punished body returned to its normal state.

They would heal. But they would not forget.

---

Inside the Xuan Tian Realm, Xuan Fa sat on a raised dais in the main hall, his black training robe immaculate, his expression cold and unreadable. Before him knelt Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue, their heads bowed, their hands resting on their thighs.

"The punishment has been carried out," Shen Mengyue said, her voice calm and respectful. "Bai Zhenshuang received four hundred strikes from her own sword scabbard, followed by one hundred strikes to the tender spot between her thighs. She cried at the end, but she did not beg."

"Hua Qianyu received the Scorpion Grass paste and four hundred strikes from the Heavenly Dao Boards," Lin Qiaoxin added. "She wept and begged for it to stop, but she endured."

"Su Qianyao received four hundred strikes and the ginger root," Li Que said, her voice flat. "She enjoyed it. She asked for more."

Xuan Fa's lips curved into a faint, cold smile. "Good. They will learn."

Lin Qiaoxin looked up, her eyes meeting his. "Master, we have completed the task you set for us. We request that you increase our daily punishment. Four hundred strikes is no longer enough. We wish to feel the boards against our fl

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The great hall of the Zefa Gate stretched wide and open, the polished stone floor gleaming under the soft light of the formation arrays that lined the ceiling. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the faint crackle of spiritual energy. And there, arranged in neat rows, were nearly eighty women, all on their hands and knees, their bare buttocks raised high in the air. Each pair of white, jiggling cheeks faced upward, exposed and vulnerable, and behind each woman floated two wooden planks of the Heavenly Path. These planks were no ordinary pieces of wood; they were formations made solid, imbued with the will of the sect master himself, and they rose and fell with mechanical precision, striking the waiting flesh with sharp, echoing smacks.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

The rhythm was unrelenting. Each blow landed with a force that sent ripples through the flesh, the sound of palm on flesh—or rather, board on flesh—reverberating through the hall. The women came from all walks of the cultivation world. Some had been sect leaders, their fingers once commanding thousands of disciples. Others were renowned elders, geniuses among the scattered cultivators, or the prized daughters of powerful families. A few were even once proud princesses of distant kingdoms. Now, they were all the same: kneeling, bare, and being disciplined by the Heavenly Path boards under the silent, watchful gaze of their master, Xuanfa.

The boards struck without mercy. Each impact left a fresh pink mark that faded into the deeper red of accumulated punishment. The women's eyes were wet, tears streaming down cheeks that had long since lost their prideful composure. Some whimpered softly, others grunted with each blow, but none moved to escape. None dared. Every one of them had learned, day by day, board stroke by board stroke, that resistance only earned them a harsher session and a more thorough breaking. The newest slaves still squirmed, their bodies fighting instinct even as their minds tried to surrender. But the seasoned ones held still, their backs arched gracefully, their buttocks offered up like an altar, knowing that acceptance was the only path to peace.

At the very front of the hall, kneeling side by side, were three figures who bore the brunt of the heaviest punishment. Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue. Each of them had reached the late stage of the Nascent Soul realm, each was a master in their own right, but here they were nothing more than the most trusted slaves of Xuanfa. And as such, they received four hundred strokes of the Heavenly Path boards every day. Not four hundred between them, but four hundred each.

Two boards flanked each woman, alternating their strikes. Left. Right. Left. Right. The blows landed in a steady, powerful cadence that painted the pale flesh of their buttocks in deepening shades of crimson.

Lin Qiaoxin let out a soft, breathless laugh even as her bottom jiggled violently under the impact. "Ahhh, still, nothing beats the master's control over these boards," she said, her voice trembling with a mixture of pain and exhilaration. "These strokes… they dig right into the core of your muscles. Qiaoxin's butt is practically being ground into pulp!"

A particularly hard slap from the left board made her gasp, but she kept her smile, her twin ponytails bouncing with each jolt. "More, please. Your slave's bottom needs to be taught a lesson every single day."

Beside her, Li Que's fiery red hair swayed with the rhythm of the strikes. Her body, lean and athletic, tensed with each blow, the muscles in her back and thighs standing out sharply. She was proud, once the vice-sect master of the Vermillion Bird Sect, a woman who had never bowed to anyone. But Xuanfa had humbled her, broken her pride, and rebuilt her into this. Now she wore the black collar around her neck like a badge of honor. Her face was set in a mask of stoic endurance, but the tears at the corners of her eyes betrayed the intensity of the pain.

"The master's punishment is a slave's glory," she said, her voice low and fierce even through the trembling. "Please, master, hit Que's buttocks harder. Your slave's flesh can take more. It deserves more."

The boards obeyed, slamming into her cheeks with renewed force, and Li Que let out a grunt, her fingers digging into the stone floor. But she held her position, not even flinching away.

On Li Que's other side knelt Shen Mengyue, her long black hair pooling around her shoulders and brushing the floor. Her figure was mature and elegant, every line of her body curving with feminine grace. Even in this humiliating position, she exuded a quiet, serene dignity. The boards struck her buttocks, each slap echoing loudly, and her flesh bounced and rippled like water. But she made no sound of complaint. Instead, her voice came out calm and controlled, like a prayer.

"Yue's bottom is indebted to the master's discipline," she said softly, her eyes half-closed. "Please, master, do not hold back. Your slave's body is yours to punish as you see fit."

The boards continued their work. One hundred strokes passed. Then two hundred. By the time they reached three hundred, the three women's buttocks were a deep, angry red, covered in countless overlapping marks that had begun to swell slightly. The skin was hot to the touch, stretched taut and sensitive. The women's breathing had become heavier, their bodies trembling with each fresh impact. Salty tears mixed with the sweat on their faces, but none of them begged for mercy. Not a single plea left their lips.

Four hundred. The boards delivered their final strokes with a particularly vicious double-slap against each woman, and then they stopped, hovering silently in the air for a moment before dissolving into motes of spiritual light. The punishment was complete.

Shen Mengyue let out a long, shuddering breath and collapsed forward onto her elbows, her back heaving. Li Que followed, her body slumping to the floor, her forehead resting on the cool stone. Lin Qiaoxin was last, a soft, whimpering sigh escaping her as she let herself fall, her abused rear end twitching and throbbing.

For a long moment, the only sound in the hall was the ragged breathing of the three women and the distant rhythmic smacking from the other slaves still undergoing their own punishments. The formation in the ceiling hummed to life, a soft golden light bathing the three women. Gentle healing energy seeped into their battered flesh, numbing the pain and beginning the slow process of recovery. But even as the healing light worked, the three women did not move. They lay there, their backs rising and falling, their faces turned toward the floor. But if anyone had looked closely, they would have seen that despite the tears still clinging to their eyelashes, each of them wore a soft, satisfied smile. They had endured. They had been worthy of their master's discipline.

After a few minutes, Xuanfa himself walked into their field of vision. His black training clothes were immaculate, his expression as cold and unreadable as jade. He stopped directly in front of them and looked down.

Slowly, painfully, the three women pushed themselves upright, shifting from their sprawled positions to their knees. They knelt before him, their heads bowed, their hands resting on their thighs. Even in their pain, they were perfect pictures of submission.

"Thank you, master, for disciplining this worthless slave's bottom," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice still a little breathless but sincere.

"Thank you, master," Li Que followed, her voice steady.

"Thank you, master," Shen Mengyue echoed softly.

Xuanfa's eyes swept over them, acknowledging their gratitude with a faint nod. "You all performed well today," he said, his voice smooth and cold. "The boards delivered your discipline, and you accepted it as you should."

Lin Qiaoxin looked up, her eyes sparkling even through her residual tears. "Ah, master, truly, the Heavenly Path boards hurt so much more when you control them! Qiaoxin's bottom feels like it's been tenderized."

Li Que snorted quietly. "Tenderized? You called it being ground into pulp earlier."

"Both are accurate," Lin Qiaoxin grinned.

Shen Mengyue simply smiled serenely and said, "The master's control is absolute. It is an honor to receive his punishment."

Xuanfa's expression did not change, but a faint glimmer of approval crossed his eyes. He turned his gaze toward the side, where three younger women had been kneeling, waiting patiently. Lin Yuxin, Li Yunling, and Shen Xingmian. The three daughters of the women before him. They knelt at the edge of the hall, their heads bowed, their bodies bare, the same black slave collars around their slender necks. They were in the early stage of the Golden Core realm, young but disciplined from childhood. And now they crawled forward on their hands and knees, stopping before Xuanfa and their mothers.

"Master," Lin Yuxin spoke first, her voice youthful and bright, but carrying a weight of seriousness. "Your slave humbly requests that her mother be allowed to punish her bottom today. Please, master, allow Qiaoxin-mother to take the board to Yuxin's buttocks."

Li Yunling spoke next, her voice cool and respectful. "Your slave makes the same request. Allow Que-mother to discipline Yunling's flesh."

Finally, Shen Xingmian said softly, "And allow Yue-mother to punish Xingmian. Please, master."

All three girls then turned to their respective mothers, their eyes earnest. "Please, mother, do not hold back. Your daughter's bottom has grown accustomed to the board. It can take much punishment now."

Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue exchanged glances, then looked up at Xuanfa. He gave a single, silent nod.

The three mothers rose, their bodies still aching from their own four hundred strokes, and walked to the wall where several pairs of Zefa wooden boards hung. They each took one. The Zefa boards were heavier than the Heavenly Path ones, darker, imbued with a denser spiritual energy. They were designed for discipline by hand, without the automated precision of the floating boards. It was more personal.

The three daughters positioned themselves side by side on the floor, lowering their upper bodies until their foreheads touched the cold stone, their arms stretched out before them, and their buttocks raised high. Their young, firm flesh was pale and untouched, waiting.

Lin Qiaoxin stood behind Lin Yuxin. She lifted the board and brought it down with a sharp, crisp slap.

"Ah!"

Lin Yuxin gasped, her body jerking forward, but she quickly steadied herself. A bright red mark spread across her left cheek.

"Remember, Yuxin," Lin Qiaoxin said, swinging the board again, "a slave must never question her master's will. Your body exists for his discipline. Every stroke of punishment is a lesson in humility. Never forget where you belong."

Smack. Smack.

"I understand, mother," Lin Yuxin's voice wavered, but she held firm.

Beside her, Li Que raised her board and brought it down on Li Yunling's waiting flesh. The impact was solid, the sound echoing.

"A slave should be proud to receive punishment," Li Que said, her voice stern but not unkind. "The master's board reminds us of our place. It cleanses the arrogance from our hearts. Do not resist it, Yunling. Welcome it."

"Yes, mother," Li Yunling said through clenched teeth, her fingers curling against the stone.

Smack. Smack.

And on the far side, Shen Mengyue lifted the Zefa board with both hands and delivered a measured, deliberate blow to Shen Xingmian's bottom. The young woman let out a soft cry, her back arching, but she did not flinch away.

"A woman who has accepted her collar accepts everything," Shen Mengyue said, her voice as calm and soothing as a lullaby. "The pain, the shame, the discipline—all of it is the master's love. Let every stroke remind you that you are his. You belong to him. Nothing else matters."

"Yes, mother," Shen Xingmian whispered, tears already forming in he

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The morning light filtered through the high windows of the Zephyr Gate's main hall, casting long shadows across the polished stone floor. Xuanfa sat upon the raised platform at the far end of the hall, his black training robes immaculate, his expression utterly unreadable. His fingers rested lightly on the armrests of his seat, each movement precise and deliberate, betraying nothing of his thoughts.

The heavy doors swung open, and Shen Mengyue entered first, her naked body glistening faintly in the dim light. The black slave collar around her neck caught the light as she moved, her long black hair swaying against her lower back. In her hand, she held a chain of shimmering energy—the Bound Immortal Lock—its other end wrapped around the throat of another woman.

Bai Zhenshuang crawled behind her on hands and knees, her pale skin flushed with humiliation. Her long black hair spilled forward, obscuring her face, but the rigid set of her shoulders spoke volumes. She moved slowly, each step deliberate, as though her body fought against the very act of submission. The Bound Immortal Lock rattled softly as she approached, her knees scraping against the cool stone floor.

Shen Mengyue stopped at the foot of the platform, her movements fluid and practiced. She lowered herself to her knees with perfect grace, then bent forward until her forehead touched the floor. "Mistress Mengyue greets the Master," she said, her voice calm and steady, carrying no trace of resentment or shame.

Beside her, Bai Zhenshuang hesitated. Her hands trembled against the floor, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. The weight of the moment pressed down on her, the knowledge that she was about to surrender everything she had ever held dear. Slowly, reluctantly, she lowered herself into the same position, her forehead pressing against the cold stone.

"Frost Slave greets the Master," she murmured, the words bitter on her tongue.

Xuanfa regarded them both with cold, impassive eyes. The silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive, before he finally spoke. "Bai Zhenshuang."

She flinched at the sound of her name, lifting her head slightly to meet his gaze.

"I recall giving you a command," Xuanfa continued, his voice low and flat, carrying no anger, only an icy certainty. "I told you to come to the Zephyr Gate willingly to receive your punishment. Instead, you chose to resist, believing your cultivation could protect you from my judgment." He paused, letting the words hang in the air. "And now, look at where that defiance has brought you."

Bai Zhenshuang's jaw tightened, but she forced herself to speak. "In the past, I was arrogant," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I trusted in my own depth of cultivation, looked down upon all opponents. It was only after I was defeated by the Master's Mistress Mengyue that I realized how limited my vision truly was. I was a frog at the bottom of a well, believing the sky was no larger than the rim above my head." She took a shuddering breath. "The severe punishment I now receive is entirely of my own making. I have no one to blame but myself."

Xuanfa's expression did not change. "Sword cultivators value many things," he said slowly. "Tell me, Bai Zhenshuang. What is the most important thing to a sword cultivator?"

She did not hesitate. "The sword."

A faint, humorless smile crossed Xuanfa's lips. It was gone almost as quickly as it appeared, but the sight of it sent a chill down Bai Zhenshuang's spine. "The sword," he repeated, as though tasting the word. "Then tell me, how does it feel to be struck every single day by the very scabbard of your most treasured sword?"

Bai Zhenshuang's face flushed a deep, vivid crimson. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. The humiliation was absolute—her Frost Sword, the companion of her entire cultivation journey, had become the instrument of her degradation. Every day, the scabbard that had once held her blade was used to rain blows upon her bare flesh. It was not merely physical pain; it was a constant, searing reminder of her fall from grace. Each strike felt like a slap to her face, a mockery of everything she had once represented.

"You cannot speak," Xuanfa observed, his tone carrying a hint of mockery. "Perhaps because words cannot capture such profound shame." He rose from his seat, his movements fluid and effortless. "Today, I have come to punish you personally. I want you to experience the true pain of the Heaven's Way Planks when driven by my own spiritual power. I want you to understand what Mistress Mengyue endures every single day on your behalf."

He raised his hand, and the air above Bai Zhenshuang rippled. Two wooden planks materialized from the void, their surfaces inscribed with glowing runes that pulsed with a malevolent light. The planks hung in the air, poised and waiting, like executioners' blades.

"Raise your hips," Xuanfa commanded.

Tears welled in Bai Zhenshuang's eyes, but she obeyed. She pushed herself up, arching her back until her buttocks were raised high, fully exposed to the air above her. Her pale skin quivered with anticipation, every muscle taut with dread.

The first Heaven's Way Plank descended.

The sound that erupted through the hall was not merely a slap—it was a thunderclap, a detonation of force that echoed off the stone walls. Bai Zhenshuang's mind went blank. For an instant, there was nothing but agony, white-hot and all-consuming, radiating from the point of impact and spreading outward until it consumed her entire consciousness. She forgot where she was. She forgot who she was. All that existed was the pain.

She gasped, her vision swimming, and in that haze, she turned her head slightly. Beside her, Shen Mengyue knelt with perfect composure, her face utterly serene, her eyes fixed on some distant point. There was no fear in her expression, no anticipation of pain. She had endured this punishment countless times, and she would endure it countless times more, without complaint, without resistance.

The realization struck Bai Zhenshuang harder than the plank itself. This was not a momentary ordeal. This was not a punishment that would pass and be forgotten. This was a daily reality for the woman beside her—a routine of agony accepted with grace and devotion.

The second plank fell.

Another explosion of pain, and this time Bai Zhenshuang's body convulsed. A cry tore from her throat, raw and involuntary, echoing through the hall. Her fingers clawed at the stone floor as she fought to maintain her position, fought to keep her hips raised as commanded.

The planks did not pause. They fell in a steady, merciless rhythm, each strike landing with perfect precision, each impact sending fresh waves of agony through her battered flesh. Bai Zhenshuang's cries soon gave way to sobs, tears streaming down her face and dripping onto the floor beneath her. Her mind, once sharp and calculating, now dissolved into a chaos of pain and humiliation.

One hundred blows.

Two hundred.

Three hundred.

By the time the fourth hundred approached, Bai Zhenshuang was barely conscious. Her body trembled uncontrollably, her legs threatening to give way beneath her. The skin of her buttocks had been transformed into a landscape of swollen, purple bruising, crisscrossed with darker lines where the planks had landed most heavily.

The final blow came, and Bai Zhenshuang collapsed. Her body slumped forward, her forehead pressing against the cold stone as she gasped for breath, tears and saliva mingling on the floor beneath her.

Xuanfa watched her with cold detachment, waiting until her breathing steadied slightly before speaking. "Shen Mengyue."

"Your servant is here, Master," she replied, her voice still calm.

"Do you remember the first time I punished you?"

A brief, almost imperceptible smile crossed Shen Mengyue's lips. "I remember, Master. Your servant's disciples of the Immortal Mist Sect offended the Master. Your servant, seeking to save them, accepted the full punishment of the spanking on their behalf. But the disciples, in their misguided loyalty, attempted to intervene on your servant's behalf, attacking the Master."

Xuanfa nodded slowly. "Continue."

"Therefore, the Master commanded that your servant's legs be spread apart, and that the crevice between your servant's buttocks be struck fifty times with a whip. Afterward, a anal hook was inserted into your servant's anus, and your servant was suspended from the entrance hall of the Immortal Mist Sect for an entire night."

"Exactly," Xuanfa said. "We shall repeat this punishment for Bai Zhenshuang."

Bai Zhenshuang's eyes widened, but before she could protest, Xuanfa was already moving. He produced a small vial filled with a viscous green liquid—scorpion grass extract, known throughout the cultivation world for its agonizing properties. With methodical precision, he applied the extract along the tender skin between Bai Zhenshuang's buttocks, tracing a line from the base of her spine to the entrance of her most private place.

The effect was immediate.

Bai Zhenshuang's body went rigid, a choked scream escaping her lips. The sensation was beyond description—a burning, itching, crawling torment that seemed to burrow into her very flesh. The scorpion grass extract awakened every nerve ending, amplifying sensitivity to an unbearable degree. She writhed against the floor, her hands clawing at the stone as she tried desperately to find some relief, some way to escape the maddening itch.

"Please!" she cried, her voice breaking. "Please, Master! Whip me! Whip the crevice! Anything to stop this torment!"

Xuanfa watched her thrash for a long moment, letting her desperation build. Then, with a wave of his hand, a whip materialized from the air. It cracked once, a sharp sound that cut through Bai Zhenshuang's cries, and then it began its work.

The first lash caught her directly across the tender skin of her perineum. The pain was exquisite, a white-hot brand that seemed to sear through her entire body. But against the maddening itch of the scorpion grass, it was almost a relief. The second lash followed, and the third, each strike landing with precision and force.

Bai Zhenshuang screamed with each blow, but her body had stopped writhing. She lay still, hips raised, offering herself to the punishment, finding perverse relief in the whip's sting as it temporarily drowned out the scorpion grass's torment.

Fifty lashes.

By the time the whip fell silent, the skin between Bai Zhenshuang's buttocks was raw and bleeding, crisscrossed with angry red welts. But the scorpion grass had been subdued, its maddening itch replaced by the clean burn of the whip's marks.

Waste no time, Xuanfa produced the hook.

It was a cruel device—curved metal, polished to a mirror finish, designed to be inserted into the anus and then expanded to grip the internal walls securely. A chain dangled from its base, ending in a heavy ring that could be used to suspend its victim.

"You will not struggle," Xuanfa commanded.

Bai Zhenshuang could only nod, her body trembling, tears streaming down her face. She felt the cold metal press against her most private entrance, felt the pressure as it began to slide inside. A sob escaped her lips as the hook expanded, the cruel barbs finding their grip within her. The pain was intense, a burning pressure that seemed to fill her entire being.

Xuanfa took the chain and, with a flick of his wrist, sent it flying upward. The hook caught on the beam high above, and Bai Zhenshuang was lifted from the floor, her body swinging gently, suspended completely from the point of her torment.

She hung there, naked and broken, her swollen buttocks exposed to the empty hall, the hook a constant, agonizing presence inside her. The scorpion grass may have been subdued, but the aftereffects lingered, a phantom itch that haunted her tender flesh.

Time lost all meaning.

The day passed in a blur of pain and humiliation. The hall remained empty, b

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The sky above the Zefa Gate's main hall was gray and heavy, as if the heavens themselves understood the gravity of what was about to unfold within. The stone corridors that led to the central chamber echoed with the sound of shuffling and the clinking of chains. Li Que walked with measured steps, her high ponytail of fiery red hair swaying slightly as she pulled the Immortal Binding Chain behind her.

On the other end of that chain crawled Hua Qianyu.

The Medicine Valley master's body was bare, her pale skin marked with dust and the faint imprints of where her knees had scraped against the stone floor. Her green hair had come loose from its careful bun, falling in disheveled strands around a face that had once been the picture of gentle serenity. Now that face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes fixed on the ground as she followed the pull of the chain. She had refused to come when first summoned. She had sent her disciples to speak on her behalf, had tried every diplomatic avenue to avoid this moment.

And now she was here. Crawling.

Li Que stopped at the threshold of the main hall and turned, giving the chain a sharp tug. "Inside. The master is waiting."

Hua Qianyu lifted her head and saw the vast interior of the hall. Pillars carved with ancient runes rose toward a ceiling that seemed to disappear into shadow. At the far end, seated on a raised platform of dark stone, was Xuanfa. He wore his usual black training clothes, his expression as cold and unreadable as carved jade. His eyes, dark and depthless, fixed on her with the patient stillness of a predator who knew his prey had nowhere left to run.

Li Que walked forward until she reached a spot several paces from Xuanfa's seat, then she stopped and knelt, her knees meeting the stone with practiced precision. She placed her hands flat on the ground before her and lowered her head, her chain falling silent as she stilled.

"Slave Que reports completion of the task," she said, her voice steady and clear. "The prisoner Hua Qianyu has been brought as commanded."

Hua Qianyu remained standing for a moment, her pride warring with her instinct for survival. But the cold weight of the chain around her wrists and the memory of what had happened to Bai Zhenshuang just days before pushed her to her knees. She knelt beside Li Que, though she did not bow her head. Not yet.

Xuanfa spoke, and his voice was like winter wind through dead trees. "Hua Qianyu. When I sent word to the Medicine Valley, I gave you a choice. You were to bring the disciples who attacked my outer disciple and receive punishment, or you were to come yourself and answer for their actions. Do you remember what you chose?"

Hua Qianyu's throat tightened. "I..."

"You sent them into hiding." Xuanfa's tone did not change. There was no anger in it, only the cold recitation of fact. "You believed that if I could not find them, I would simply forget. You believed that the distance between your valley and my gate would protect you. And now?" He gestured to the chains, to the stone, to her kneeling form. "Now here you are. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Hua Qianyu took a breath. When she spoke, her voice was soft but steady, the voice of a woman who had led thousands and was trying to hold onto the last shreds of her dignity. "I do not deny my actions. My disciples were wrong to attack yours. But they are young, Xuanfa. Their cultivation is low, their minds are unformed. If I had brought them here to face your judgment, they would not have survived the punishment you would have inflicted." She lifted her chin. "I am their master. Their failures are mine. Their debts are mine. I came here knowing what that meant. I accept whatever punishment you deem fitting. I only ask that you let this matter end with me."

Xuanfa studied her for a long moment. He had seen this before. Shen Mengyue, years ago, had knelt in this same hall and said almost the same words. She had been willing to sacrifice herself for her disciples, believing that her suffering would buy their freedom. And in the end, it had. But not in the way she had expected.

He would not use the disciples as leverage. He had never needed to. There was no woman alive, no matter how proud or powerful, whose will could not be broken by the right application of force.

"That is a generous offer," Xuanfa said. "But your disciples' lives were never in question. I do not threaten the weak to control the strong. I break the strong directly." He leaned back slightly. "You are a master of alchemy, Hua Qianyu. I know you have in your possession a certain pill."

Hua Qianyu's eyes widened slightly. "What pill?"

"Thunder Pattern Pill."

Her breath caught. The Thunder Pattern Pill was one of the most dangerous elixirs in her collection. It was not a healing pill, nor a cultivation aid. It was a punishment pill, created centuries ago by a rogue alchemist who had delighted in the suffering of others. When consumed, the pill released a violent current of lightning-attribute spiritual energy that ravaged the body from the inside. The pain was said to be beyond description. Hua Qianyu had kept it as a curiosity, a reminder of the darker paths alchemy could take.

She had never imagined she would be forced to experience it.

"I... I have it," she said slowly.

"Give it to Li Que."

Hua Qianyu's hands trembled as she reached into her spatial ring. Her fingers found the small jade bottle, and she pulled it out, holding it in her palm. The bottle was warm to the touch, as if the pill inside generated its own heat. She passed it to Li Que, who took it without looking at her.

Xuanfa stood. The movement was unhurried, but the weight of his presence pressed down on the hall like a physical force. He raised his hand, and from the shadows above, a wooden board descended slowly on threads of spiritual energy. The board was not large, perhaps two hand-widths across and three long, but it hummed with the accumulated force of countless punishments. It was the Celestial Punishment Board, a tool that Xuanfa had forged himself and empowered with his own cultivation. Every strike it delivered carried not just physical force but the weight of the heavens themselves.

Hua Qianyu's eyes followed the board, and she felt the color drain from her face. She had heard stories. Every sect in the cultivation world had heard stories about the Celestial Punishment Board and the women who had been forced to receive its attention. But stories were just words. Facing it was another matter entirely.

"Present yourself," Xuanfa said.

Hua Qianyu hesitated. Li Que reached out and took her by the arm, pulling her forward until she lay flat on the stone floor, her hips raised, her legs spread. The position was humiliating, degrading, every part of her exposed to the cold air and the cold eyes of the man who would judge her.

Xuanfa walked around behind her. He did not speak. He simply raised his hand, and the Celestial Punishment Board rose with it.

The first strike fell.

The sound was like thunder cracking inside the hall. The board struck Hua Qianyu's bare bottom with the full force of Xuanfa's spiritual will, and the impact drove the air from her lungs in a choked cry. Pain exploded across her flesh, not just on the surface but deep within, as if the board had struck her very soul. Her body arched, her fingers scrabbling against the stone.

Before she could recover, the second strike fell. And the third. And the fourth.

Xuanfa did not pause. He did not slow. Each strike was precise, measured, and devastating. The board rose and fell, rose and fell, each impact landing with surgical accuracy on the same spot, building layer upon layer of agony. Hua Qianyu's pale buttocks turned red, then crimson, then a deep, bruised purple. The skin swelled, and with each new strike, the swelling split, sending thin lines of blood trickling down her thighs.

By the thirtieth strike, Hua Qianyu was weeping. Not the quiet, dignified tears of a woman trying to maintain her composure, but the open, ugly sobbing of someone whose body had been pushed past its limits. Her cries echoed through the hall, mixing with the sound of the board falling.

"Hn," Li Que made a small sound from where she knelt. Her voice carried a note of contempt. "Is this all? Thirty strikes and you're already crying like a child? The master feeds my buttocks four hundred strokes every day, and I've never made such a fuss."

Hua Qianyu could not answer. Her throat was raw from screaming, and her mind was fragmenting under the assault of pain. The board fell again.

Forty. Fifty. Sixty.

At seventy strikes, Hua Qianyu felt the first tear in her consciousness. The world around her seemed to dim, the edges of her vision going gray. She thought she might faint, might escape into the blessed darkness of unconsciousness. But the board kept falling, and each impact jolted her back into the waking nightmare of her punishment.

Eighty. Ninety.

At one hundred, Xuanfa's hand paused. The board hung in the air, motionless, and the sudden silence was almost as painful as the strikes had been. Hua Qianyu lay on the floor, her body heaving, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her bottom was a ruin of torn flesh and deep bruising, the blood pooling beneath her hips.

"Li Que," Xuanfa said.

"Yes, Master?" Li Que's voice was immediately attentive.

"Spread her."

Li Que rose and walked to Hua Qianyu's side. She knelt, placed one hand on the small of Hua Qianyu's back, and used the other to part the ravaged cheeks of her buttocks. Hua Qianyu cried out at the touch, her body convulsing, but Li Que held firm, exposing the tight opening of her anus to the air.

Xuanfa took the jade bottle from Li Que's hand. He uncorked it, and the pill inside rolled out into his palm. It was small, no larger than a marble, but its surface was covered in tiny patterns that flickered with blue-white light. The Thunder Pattern Pill.

Without ceremony, without warning, Xuanfa pressed the pill against Hua Qianyu's anus and pushed.

The sensation was immediate and horrifying. The pill was not large, but it was hard, and it scraped against tender flesh as it was forced inside. Hua Qianyu screamed, her body bucking, but Li Que held her down with practiced ease. The pill slid deeper, past the first ring of muscle, settling somewhere inside her rectum.

And then it activated.

The Thunder Pattern Pill had been designed to release its power slowly, to maximize suffering over an extended period. The lightning-attribute energy within it began to flow, not as a single burst but as a continuous current, a series of small electrical shocks that built on each other, multiplying and intensifying.

Hua Qianyu's scream cut off into a strangled gurgle. Her eyes rolled back, her limbs locking rigid as the electrical current flooded through her most sensitive internal tissues. The pain was not like anything she had experienced before. It was not a blow from outside, not a wound that could be seen or touched. It was fire and lightning and acid all mixed together, racing through her insides, burning, searing, dissolving.

Her body began to shake uncontrollably. Her teeth chattered, her muscles spasmed, and her rectum clenched and unclenched around the pill, which only made the electricity flow more intensely. A thin stream of saliva ran from the corner of her mouth as she lay there, trembling, her mind consumed by the agony of the pill.

Xuanfa waited. He watched her writhe, watched her struggle, watched the electricity arc across her skin in tiny blue flashes. When the first wave of the pill's power had subsided slightly, he raised the Celestial Punishment Board again.

Strike one hundred and one.

Hua Qianyu's scream was wet, broken, almost inhuman.

Strike one hundred and two.

The board fell again and again, each impact sending new jolts of pain through her already tortured body. The pill inside her continued to release its charge, and each st

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