玄罚天尊的惩罚第二部

The evening light cast long shadows across the stone courtyard of the Censure Phoenix Sect. Xuanfa walked slowly along the main path, his black training robes immaculate, his expression as cold and unreadable as carved jade. Behind him, three women crawled on hands and knees, each completely naked, each adorned with a black slave collar around her throat.

Lin Qiaoxin led the trio, her twin ponytails swaying with each careful movement. She moved with a lightness that belied her position, her youthful face carrying a hint of her perpetual mischief even as she crawled like a devoted pet. Behind her came Li Que, whose fiery red hair cascaded down her back in a high ponytail, her athletic frame moving with controlled power and barely concealed pride—a pride she now expressed only in the perfection of her submission. Bringing up the rear was Shen Mengyue, her waist-length black hair brushing the ground, her elegant features serene and accepting, the most senior of Xuanfa’s female slaves in both age and service.

A length of black leather dog leash connected Xuanfa’s right hand to rings on each of their collars. He walked as if leading three obedient hounds, and they moved as such—crawling in perfect synchronization, heads lowered, spines curved in perpetual deference. Other female disciples of the sect moved about the compound, also completely naked, going about their duties without shame. Some swept the stone paths with bamboo brooms. Others carried medicinal herbs to the infirmary. All moved with the same quiet acceptance that marked every woman in Xuanfa’s domain.

In the outside world, these three crawling women were legends whispered with fear. The Heart Slave, the Phoenix Slave, and the Moon Slave were names that made even Nascent Soul cultivators tremble. When Xuanfa wished to punish a disrespectful cultivator, he sent these three. When he desired a new female slave, they went to retrieve her. No one refused the summons of the Censure Phoenix Sect’s great elders. Few survived the experience unchanged.

“You three have all broken through to the late-stage Nascent Soul realm, yes?” Xuanfa’s voice was flat, without warmth or approval.

The three women immediately stopped crawling and pressed their foreheads to the cold stone.

“This slave owes everything to the master,” Shen Mengyue said, her voice soft but clear. “It was the master’s stern discipline and the spiritual energy of the Heavenly Realm that allowed this worthless one to break through in three hundred years.”

“This slave as well,” Lin Qiaoxin added, her tone stripped of its usual playfulness. “Every blow of the master’s board reminded me to cultivate harder. To be more worthy.”

“The Heavenly Realm’s cultivation chambers are a gift beyond measure,” Li Que said, her voice low and rough. “I have no words to express my gratitude.”

Xuanfa’s lips twitched slightly—not quite a smile, but the closest thing to approval any of them would see. “Since you have all reached the late-stage Nascent Soul realm, I have a task for you three.”

He resumed walking, and they scrambled to follow, their knees and palms scraping against the uneven stones. He led them toward a small pavilion at the center of the sect compound, where a stone table held a simple tea set. Xuanfa sat down, and the three women positioned themselves at his feet, still kneeling, still with heads bowed.

“The sect master of the Heavenly Sword Sect, Bai Zhenshuang, has spoken disrespectfully of my Censure Phoenix Sect,” Xuanfa said, picking up a cup of tea that had been prepared in advance. “The Valley Master of the Hundred Flowers Valley, Hua Qianyu, has allowed her disciples to occupy spirit herb gardens that belong to me. And the Holy Maiden of the Demon Clan, Su Qianyao, has used her charm techniques to corrupt the minds of my disciples.”

He took a sip of tea. The three women remained motionless, listening with complete attention.

“You three will go to them. Inform Bai Zhenshuang, Hua Qianyu, and Su Qianyao that they are to strip themselves naked, kneel at the entrance of the Censure Phoenix Sect, present their buttocks, and receive one hundred strokes of the Heavenly Dao Board every day for ten years. This will serve as a minor punishment.”

He set down the teacup and withdrew three lengths of golden chain from his spatial ring. The shackles were formed of a metal that seemed to glow from within, inscribed with dozens of sealing formations. They were artifacts of immense power, capable of binding even a Nascent Soul cultivator.

“If they resist,” Xuanfa said flatly, “defeat them and bind them with the Immortal Binding Shackles. Then bring them back here.”

Lin Qiaoxin raised her head slightly, her eyes meeting Xuanfa’s gaze for a brief moment before dropping again. “This slave understands the master’s will completely.”

“This slave will not fail,” Li Que added.

“We will carry out your command perfectly,” Shen Mengyue finished.

Xuanfa was about to dismiss them when Lin Qiaoxin spoke again, her voice carrying a hint of that playful energy she was known for. “Master, this worthless slave has a request.”

“Speak.”

“Now that we three have broken through to the late-stage Nascent Soul realm,” Lin Qiaoxin said, “we would like to request an increase in our daily punishment. Four hundred strokes of the board, if it pleases the master.”

Li Que and Shen Mengyue nodded in agreement, their faces showing no shame at the request.

Xuanfa’s eyebrow rose slightly. “So now you have come to enjoy the feeling of being beaten, have you?”

Lin Qiaoxin’s cheeks colored slightly, but she did not deny it. “This slave cannot lie to the master. The pain... the submission... it brings this worthless one peace. It reminds me of my place.”

“The stinging sensation after each stroke,” Li Que said, her voice carrying a note of confession, “the warmth that follows... this slave has become addicted to it.”

“This slave also confesses,” Shen Mengyue said softly. “After so many years, the discipline that was once shame has become comfort. Please, master, grant us this increase.”

Xuanfa allowed a genuine smile to cross his face—cold, but genuine. “When you complete this task successfully, I will increase your daily punishment. Four hundred strokes.”

The three women pressed their foreheads to the ground again. “This slave thanks the master for his kindness!”

“But first,” Xuanfa said, rising from his seat, “today’s punishment must still be completed.”

He raised his hand and made a gesture. From the shadows of the nearby buildings, three figures emerged, each moving with the practiced grace of those who had been conditioned since childhood to obey. They were young women, appearing around eighteen years of age. Each bore an uncanny resemblance to the three kneeling slaves—as if the original had been copied with some details altered.

Lin Yuxin walked toward Lin Qiaoxin, her face a mirror of her mother’s mischievous charm, though her expression was now perfectly obedient. Li Yunling approached Li Que, her fiery red hair framing features that could have been carved from the same mold. Shen Xingmian moved to Shen Mengyue, her gentle features a softer echo of her mother’s elegant beauty.

All three of the younger women were naked, black slave collars around their throats. All three walked upright, but upon reaching Xuanfa, they immediately dropped to their knees in perfect synchronization.

“This slave greets the master,” they said together.

“Rise,” Xuanfa said. “Your mothers’ buttocks are itching for discipline. You will each take a Heavenly Dao Board and deliver two hundred strokes to them.”

The three young women bowed. “This slave obeys.”

Shen Mengyue was the first to position herself. She turned around, lowered her upper body to the ground, and raised her hips high, presenting her buttocks to her daughter. Her posture was perfect—knees spread wide, back arched, buttocks fully exposed and offered.

“Xingmian,” she said softly, “use the board with a sweeping motion. Start from the top of the right cheek and bring it diagonally across to the bottom of the left. That creates the most satisfying burn.”

Shen Xingmian’s hand trembled slightly as she accepted the dark wooden Board of Heavenly Dao from her mother. The board was about two feet long, four inches wide, and an inch thick. It had been carved from a branch of the Dao Comprehension Tree and treated with tribulation lightning, making it a treasure capable of delivering pain that penetrated to the soul itself.

“Like this, mother?” Shen Xingmian asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Higher,” Shen Mengyue instructed. “Raise it above your head. And do not hesitate. The master is watching.”

Lin Yuxin stood behind Lin Qiaoxin, who had positioned herself in the same posture. “Mother,” Lin Yuxin said, her voice carrying some uncertainty, “I do not wish to hurt you.”

Lin Qiaoxin laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “Nonsense! My little Yuxin, you could never hurt me. This is discipline, not harm. Each stroke makes me a better slave for the master. Strike with your full strength. Every time that board lands, my cultivation refines further. My devotion deepens.”

“But how should I strike?” Lin Yuxin asked, her hands gripping the board tightly.

“Start low,” Lin Qiaoxin said. “Right at the curve where my bottom meets my thighs. That spot is most sensitive. Then work your way up. When you reach the top, start again. By the time you finish, I will be glowing from the inside out.”

Li Yunling did not ask questions. She simply took her position behind her mother, raised the board high, and swung.

Crack!

The sound echoed across the courtyard. Li Que’s entire body jolted forward, a sharp hiss escaping her lips. A red mark bloomed across her right buttock, perfectly shaped to the board’s dimensions.

“Excellent form, Yunling!” Li Que exclaimed through gritted teeth. “That was perfect! But next time, follow through with your wrist. Let the momentum carry the strike deeper.”

“Yes, mother,” Li Yunling said, raising the board again.

Shen Xingmian took a deep breath and swung her first stroke. The board connected with Shen Mengyue’s buttock with a satisfying crack, and Shen Mengyue let out a soft moan—not of pain, but of pleasure.

“Good,” Shen Mengyue said, her voice strained but calm. “But focus on the lower curve. That is where the lesson settles deepest.”

Lin Yuxin finally raised her board and brought it down with a sharp swing. The impact was solid, and Lin Qiaoxin let out a yelp that mixed with laughter.

“Ha! Not bad for a first strike!” Lin Qiaoxin said. “But put your shoulder into it! Swing from your whole body, not just your arm. Let the master see how strong his little slave girl is!”

Lin Yuxin’s eyes brightened, and she swung again, harder this time.

The courtyard filled with the rhythmic sound of wood striking flesh. Each stroke was measured, precise, and delivered with the full force of the striker’s arm. The three older women maintained their positions, only their bodies jerking with each impact. Their buttocks began to redden, first in patches, then in solid sheets of crimson.

“One hundred seventy-three,” Shen Xingmian counted.

“One hundred seventy-four,” Lin Yuxin continued.

“One hundred seventy-five,” Li Yunling finished.

Sweat beaded on all six foreheads. The older women’s buttocks were now deep red, visibly swollen, and radiating heat that could be felt from a foot away. Lin Qiaoxin’s playful demeanor had given way to focused breathing, her entire body tensing with each stroke. Li Que’s muscles were corded with strain, her knuckles white where she gripped the stone ground. Shen Mengyue had closed her eyes, her lips moving in what might have been a mantra or a prayer.

“Two hundred,” they said in unison.

All three older women collapsed forward, their bodies trembling from the accumulated punishment. Their buttocks were a uniform, angry red, raised and hot to the touch. But they did not cry. They did not plead for

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The魔族圣女亲卫队 arrived at the mouth of责凰门's mountain pass with the sound of wind and fury. Sixty-three women stood in formation, their cultivation base radiating outward in disciplined waves. At their head was a woman named Yan Ling, a cultivator at the中期 of the化神 stage, her eyes burning with cold fire as she gazed upon the scene before her.

There, kneeling at the entrance of the mountain pass, was her圣女. Su Qianyao knelt with her knees spread wide, her silver hair spilling forward as her arms were bound behind her back with thick spiritual chains. Her voluptuous body was completely naked, her pale skin gleaming under the sunlight, and her perfectly rounded buttocks were raised high in the air in a posture of utter submission. Standing behind her, holding a thick wooden paddle carved with talismanic script, was a woman Yan Ling did not recognize—a tall, red-haired figure whose athletic frame radiated the heat of a raging flame.

"Release her at once!" Yan Ling's voice thundered through the mountain pass, carrying the full weight of her cultivation pressure. "I am Yan Ling, captain of the Holy Maiden's personal guard. I demand to speak with whoever is responsible for this outrage!"

From the shadows of the mountain pass, two figures emerged. They walked slowly, deliberately, their footsteps light upon the stone path, and as they stepped into the sunlight, Yan Ling felt her breath catch in her throat.

The first woman was a vision of cold, ethereal beauty. Her features were carved like jade, sharp and precise, with a natural nobility that seemed to separate her from the mundane world. Her black hair fell like a waterfall of ink, framing a face that held no emotion—only a serene, almost glacial calm. Her body was a study in perfection: full, proud breasts that swayed gently with each step, a waist so narrow it seemed almost unnatural, and hips that flared into a pair of round, firm buttocks that moved with quiet confidence. She was completely naked, and she carried herself as though she wore the finest robes in the world. There was no shame in her eyes, no hesitation in her stride. She was Bai Zhenshuang, former Sword Saint of the Heavenly Sword Sect, and she walked into the crowd of fully armored cultivators as though they did not exist.

Beside her walked a woman of an entirely different quality. Hua Qianyu moved with a gentle grace, her face soft and warm, a mother's kindness etched into every line. Her hair was a flowing cascade of emerald green, loosely tied behind her head, with a few strands falling freely to frame her cheeks. Her body was full and ripe, with a generous bosom that spoke of nurturing and comfort, hips that curved in a pleasing swell, and a round bottom that jiggled slightly with her steps. She, too, was naked, and she smiled at the shocked faces of the guards with an expression that held no malice—only a serene acceptance of her state.

The contrast was stark. The亲卫队 stood in full battles robes, armor gleaming, weapons drawn. These two women stood before them bare as the day they were born, their skin glowing in the light of the sun, and they did not flinch. They did not hide. They stood in their vulnerability like a statement of war.

"Impossible!" one of the guards cried out. "That is Bai Zhenshuang, the Sword Devil of the Heavenly Sword Sect! And Hua Qianyu of the Hundred Flowers Valley! What have you done to them?!"

Bai Zhenshuang's cold gaze swept across the guards, and when she spoke, her voice was like the first frost of winter. "You are mistaken. I am no longer the master of the Heavenly Sword Sect. I have been graced by the favor of the Xuanfa Heavenly Lord, who has seen fit to accept me as his slave. He has given me the name Shuangnu—Frost Slave. And each day, I kneel before him to receive the punishment of the heavenly paddle upon my backside."

Hua Qianyu's voice was softer, gentler, but it carried no less weight. "And I am no longer the master of the Hundred Flowers Valley. I thank the Xuanfa Heavenly Lord for granting me the position of his slave, giving me the name Yunu—Jade Slave. Each day, I am required to receive the chastisement of the paddle upon my rear. And as for your holy maiden..." She gestured gently toward Su Qianyao, who still knelt with her bottom raised. "She is here by her own will."

The words struck the亲卫队 like a physical blow. Yan Ling's face twisted in fury. "You lie! You have bewitched our holy maiden! Attack!"

The亲卫队 surged forward, their formation snapping into place with military precision. They had practiced this formation for decades—sixty-three women moving as one, their combined spiritual pressure strong enough to hold even three or four late-stage化神 cultivators at bay. They advanced with the roaring fury of a storm.

Bai Zhenshuang's hand went to her sword,凝霜, the blade that had frozen rivers and split mountains. Hua Qianyu's fingers wove through the air, forming seals that pulsed with green healing energy—but healing energy, in the hands of a master, could be turned to destruction as easily as water could become a flood.

The battle erupted.

Bai Zhenshuang moved like a blade of winter wind. Her sword sliced through the air with a cold, crystalline sound, each stroke sending shards of ice that embedded themselves in the guards' armor and disrupted their spiritual flow. She fought with a cold, mechanical precision, her naked body a blur of motion as she dodged and struck, dodged and struck. Her bare breasts bounced with each movement, her wetness slick between her thighs from the thrill of combat and the knowledge that her master watched.

Beside her, Hua Qianyu's techniques were more subtle. She did not attack with aggression, but with redirection. Vines of spiritual energy slithered from her palms, wrapping around the guards' ankles and tripping them. Pollen clouds burst from her fingers, sending several guards into deep slumber. She moved like a dancer, graceful and fluid, her round buttocks clenching and releasing with each step.

And through it all, the sound that haunted the亲卫队 most was not the clang of swords or the roar of spells.

It was Su Qianyao's voice.

*WHACK!*

"Ahhh~!"

The paddle fell upon her perfect, round buttocks, and her cry was not one of pain, but of pleasure. Her voice curled through the air like the sweetest honey, dripping with lust and wanton desire. Her silver hair tossed as she arched her back, her body trembling with each strike.

*WHACK!*

"Nnnnhhh~! More~! Please, more~!"

The亲卫队 faltered. They could not reconcile the image of their proud, seductive holy maiden with the woman who writhed in ecstasy under a spanking. Their formation wavered.

And Bai Zhenshuang pressed her advantage.

She drove through their weakened line,凝霜 singing as it carved through their spiritual defenses. The cold of her blade was matched only by the fire in her heart—the knowledge that her master watched, that he saw her victory, that perhaps, perhaps he would reward her with the sting of his paddle upon her own upturned bottom.

Hua Qianyu's vines tightened, pulling three guards from the formation and sending them crashing into the earth. Her palms glowed with golden light as she struck them gently, precisely, sending tranquil energy into their meridians that forced their bodies into peaceful sleep.

*WHACK!*

"Aaaahhh~! Yes~! Yes~!"

Su Qianyao's body convulsed. A shudder ran through her from head to toe, and a clear, glistening fluid burst from between her thighs, spraying the ground beneath her. She collapsed forward, her body limp and quivering, a look of spiritual transcendence upon her face.

One of the guards, a young woman with wide eyes, cried out in shock: "Impossible! The Holy Maiden... she just climaxed from being spanked!"

The morale of the亲卫队 shattered like glass.

They fought on for another moment, but their formation was broken, their hearts were in chaos, and they were facing two化神后期 masters who had no hesitation, no mercy. One by one, they fell. One by one, they were bound in spiritual vines or frozen in blocks of ice.

At last, Yan Ling stood alone, her sword trembling in her hand. She looked from Bai Zhenshuang's cold, unyielding face, to Hua Qianyu's gentle, unreadable smile, to the sight of her holy maiden lying prone on the ground, her buttocks purple and swollen, still twitching with aftershocks of pleasure.

Su Qianyao raised her head, her voice weak but sincere. "Sisters of my guard... Yao Slave speaks truly. I am here by my will. All my life, I have wished for someone strong enough to take me in hand. For someone who would not be seduced by my charms, who would not be intimidated by my power, who would take me across his knee and beat my bottom until it was raw and red and bruised. The Xuanfa Heavenly Lord has given me what I have always craved. Please... return to the demon realm. Tell them that their holy maiden has found her place."

Yan Ling stared at her for a long, long moment. She lowered her sword.

"Retreat," she said quietly.

The亲卫队 gathered their fallen, and with one last look at their shamefully happy holy maiden, they turned and fled down the mountain pass.

Bai Zhenshuang and Hua Qianyu watched them go, then turned and walked back into the mountain pass, their bodies still bare, their strides still confident. They came to a courtyard where a man in black martial robes sat upon a stone platform, his face cold and unreadable. Before him knelt沈梦月, Lin Qiaoxin, and Li Que, their heads bowed in respect. Behind him stood three young women, each bearing a striking resemblance to their mothers:沈星眠, Lin Yuxin, and Li Yunling.

Bai Zhenshuang and Hua Qianyu knelt before Xuanfa, their heads bowed.

"Report," Xuanfa said, his voice flat.

"The亲卫队 has been repelled," Bai Zhenshuang said. "They have retreated to the demon realm. Your will has been done, Master."

"You have done well," Xuanfa said. The words were simple, but they sent a shiver of ecstasy down both women's spines. "Now, I have another task for you. Two tasks, in fact."

He folded his hands behind his back. "The碧落宫's master, Yun Qing'er, and the九幽谷's master, Youlan, have both failed to control their disciples. Their people have clashed with mine, and they have done nothing to stop it. This cannot go unpunished. Go to these two sects, and deliver my message: Their masters, and every disciple who has raised a hand against my followers, are to strip themselves bare of all clothing, kneel at the entrance of my mountain pass, present their buttocks for punishment, and receive one hundred strokes of the heavenly wooden paddle each day for three years. If they resist, I will come personally, and my punishment will be... severe."

Bai Zhenshuang and Hua Qianyu bowed their heads. "Your will is our command, Master."

They rose and departed. Bai Zhenshuang went first, her bare feet carrying her toward the gates of the碧落宫. She walked through the mountain paths without a single shred of cloth upon her body, her smooth skin gleaming in the sunlight, her cold beauty a stark contrast to the forest around her. She walked through the碧落宫's gates, and the disciples there gasped and stumbled back in horror.

There, walking through their sacred halls, was the legendary Sword Devil of the Heavenly Sword Sect. Naked. Unashamed. A thin collar of black iron circled her throat, glinting in the light.

"Where is your master?" Bai Zhenshuang's voice was cold and sharp as a blade.

The disciples scrambled out of her way. She walked through the outer courtyard, past the training grounds, through the inner halls, until she stood before the碧落宫's grand hall. There, on the throne, sat Yun Qing'er, a woman of the late Yuan Ying stage, her eyes wide with terror.

"B-Bai Zhenshuang?! What... what is the meaning of this?!"

Bai Zhenshuang's hand went to the collar at her neck and tugged it lightly. "I am no longer the master of the Heavenly Sword Sect. I am now the slave of the Xuanfa Heavenly Lord. My name is Shuangnu, the Frost Slave. I have co

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The morning sun cast long shadows across the marble steps of the Heavenly Sword Sect as Shen Mengyue approached the grand entrance. Her bare feet made no sound against the cold stone, and her body, completely naked save for the black slave collar around her neck and the sword strapped across her back, moved with an unearthly grace that seemed to defy the world's expectations.

The two guards at the gate froze mid-conversation, their jaws dropping as they took in the sight before them. A woman—radiant, utterly bare, walking toward them as if she were dressed in the finest silks—approached their sect's entrance without a shred of shame or hesitation.

Shen Mengyue's black hair cascaded past her waist, swaying with each step, the silken strands catching the morning light and throwing off a subtle sheen. Her skin was flawless, pale as jade, smooth as polished marble, and her body possessed a paradoxical blend of youthful firmness and mature curves that made it impossible to look away. Her breasts were full and proud, her waist narrow, her hips wide, and the muscles of her thighs and buttocks were defined with the strength of a cultivator who had trained for centuries.

She was both a celestial maiden and a seductress, purity and temptation woven into a single form.

"Wh-who are you?" one of the guards stammered, unable to tear his eyes from her. "This is the Heavenly Sword Sect! You cannot—you cannot simply—"

"I can," Shen Mengyue said, her voice soft and gentle, yet carrying an undeniable authority. "I am Shen Mengyue, the Moon Slave of Venerable Xuanfa. I have come to deliver a message from my master to your sect leader, Bai Zhenshuang."

The name sent a ripple of shock through the guards. They had heard of the Moon Slave—one of the infamous servants of the Venerable Xuanfa, a former sect leader herself, a woman of immense cultivation and skill. They had heard stories, whispered in fear and disbelief, of how she and the other slaves served their master in utter surrender, wearing nothing but their collars.

But hearing stories and seeing the reality were two different things entirely.

"I have no time for your hesitation," Shen Mengyue said calmly. She raised her voice, and her spiritual energy carried her words across the entire Heavenly Sword Sect like a thunderclap. "Bai Zhenshuang! Come forth! The Moon Slave of Venerable Xuanfa demands an audience with you!"

The sect erupted into chaos. Disciples poured out of buildings, their eyes wide as they saw the naked woman standing at their gate. Some gasped, some blushed, some reached for their swords, but none dared to act. The spiritual pressure emanating from Shen Mengyue was unmistakable—she was a Late Nascent Soul cultivator, a powerhouse who could level half their sect if she chose.

A few moments later, a figure emerged from the main hall. She walked with the measured grace of a sword master, each step precise and deliberate, her presence cutting through the chaos like a blade through silk.

Bai Zhenshuang was a vision of cold beauty. Her face was a masterpiece of sharp, aristocratic features—high cheekbones, a straight nose, lips that seemed permanently set in a thin, judgmental line. Her eyes were like shards of ice, pale and piercing, and they held no warmth for the intruder at her gate. Her black hair fell in a straight cascade past her shoulders, and her body, clad in the pristine white robes of the Heavenly Sword Sect's leader, was tall and willowy, with a chest that strained against her robes and hips that curved with feminine grace.

She stopped at the top of the steps and looked down at Shen Mengyue, her expression utterly unreadable.

"Moon Slave of Xuanfa," Bai Zhenshuang said, her voice cold and steady. "You have come to my sect uninvited, naked, and shouting my name. Explain yourself before I decide to take offense."

Shen Mengyue bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment but did not kneel. She was here as her master's representative, and while she was a slave, she was no one's inferior except her master's.

"I bring a decree from my master, the Venerable Xuanfa," Shen Mengyue said, her voice carrying clearly to every disciple who had gathered. "You, Bai Zhenshuang, have spoken words of disrespect against the Discipline Phoenix Sect. You have questioned its authority and mocked its methods. My master, in his infinite mercy, has deemed this a minor offense."

She paused, letting the words sink in.

"Therefore, his punishment is light. You are to remove all your clothing, kneel at the entrance of the Discipline Phoenix Sect's mountain, present your buttocks, and receive one hundred strikes of the Heaven's Dao Board each day for ten years. After this period, your debt will be considered paid."

For a long moment, silence reigned.

Then the Heavenly Sword Sect erupted.

"IMPOSSIBLE!"

"How dare she!"

"Who does this Xuanfa think he is?!"

"This is an insult to our sect! To our master!"

"We should kill this slave where she stands!"

Swords were drawn, spiritual energy flared, and the air crackled with killing intent. Disciples shouted and cursed, their faces red with fury, their hands shaking as they gripped their weapons.

But Bai Zhenshuang raised a single hand, and silence fell.

Her ice-cold eyes never left Shen Mengyue's face. "That is an interesting decree," she said, her voice flat. "But I did not rise to become the leader of the Heavenly Sword Sect by kneeling before tyrants. I respect only those who earn my respect through strength and honor. Your master has done neither."

Shen Mengyue sighed softly, a faint smile on her lips. "I was afraid you would say that, Lady Bai. Please understand—I am merely delivering my master's message. This punishment is meant to be a light correction. If you refuse, the consequences will be... severe."

"Let them be severe," Bai Zhenshuang said. "If your master wishes to punish me, let him come and do it himself. But I will not debase myself before a man I have never met and a sect I do not respect. If you wish to back up your words, draw your sword."

Shen Mengyue's smile faded, and a look of genuine pity entered her eyes. "I had hoped it would not come to this, Lady Bai. You are a swordmaster of great renown, and I have no desire to humiliate you in front of your disciples."

"You are confident for a woman who has spent decades on her knees," Bai Zhenshuang said coldly.

"On my knees, yes," Shen Mengyue replied, her voice soft. "But also growing stronger. Every strike of my master's punishment refined my cultivation. Every day of surrender made me more powerful. You see a slave; I see a woman who has been forged into a weapon."

She drew her sword, the legendary Purple Haze, and the blade hummed with spiritual energy, a soft purple light dancing along its edge.

"Then let us test this weapon," Bai Zhenshuang said, drawing her own blade—Frost's Lament, a sword as cold as its owner. "On the training grounds."

The gathered disciples parted like water before a ship, creating a wide arena in the center of the sect's courtyard. The two women faced each other, both holding their swords, both radiating power that made the air itself tremble.

Bai Zhenshuang attacked first, her sword a blur of white light, faster than most cultivators could even see. But Shen Mengyue moved with equal speed, her Purple Haze meeting Frost's Lament in a shower of sparks. The clash of their blades sent shockwaves rippling outward, cracking the stone beneath their feet and forcing the watching disciples to take several steps back.

They separated, then came together again, a dance of death and steel. Bai Zhenshuang's style was precise, cold, mathematical—each strike aimed at a vital point, each parry designed to lead into a counterattack. Shen Mengyue's style was different. It was fluid, graceful, almost gentle, like water flowing around obstacles, but beneath that gentleness was an unimaginable force.

The battle raged across the training grounds. They exchanged a hundred blows, two hundred. The disciples watched in awe as their sect leader, who had never been challenged in their memory, found herself matched at every turn.

And slowly, almost imperceptibly, Shen Mengyue began to gain the upper hand.

Her movements became faster, her strikes more precise. She began to read Bai Zhenshuang's patterns, anticipating her attacks before they were made. On the two hundred and thirty-seventh exchange, Shen Mengyue's sword slipped past Bai Zhenshuang's guard and left a thin line of red across her collarbone.

Bai Zhenshuang's eyes widened, and for the first time, a flicker of emotion crossed her face—shock.

"No," she whispered. "Impossible."

But it was not impossible. On the three hundredth exchange, Shen Mengyue disarmed her, sending Frost's Lament spinning through the air to embed itself in the ground twenty feet away. A moment later, Shen Mengyue's sword was at Bai Zhenshuang's throat.

The sect fell silent.

Bai Zhenshuang stood frozen, her hands at her sides, her eyes fixed on the blade that could end her life with a single push.

"How?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Shen Mengyue retracted her sword and sheathed it with a soft click. "I was once a sect leader, like you. I believed in my own strength, my own honor. And then I met my master, and he taught me that true strength comes not from pride, but from surrender. Every punishment he gave me, every strike he laid upon my bottom, forged my cultivation into something stronger. I have been punished thousands of times, Lady Bai. Each time, I grew. Each time, I became more powerful."

She pulled a talisman from her storage ring and crushed it, sending a spiritual message into the void.

"I have informed my master of your defiance," she said. "His response is clear. You are no longer to receive the light punishment. Instead, you will be taken to the Discipline Phoenix Sect and subjected to heavy punishment. And because you have defied his decree, your sect will be held accountable unless you submit."

She paused, letting the words sink in.

"So, Bai Zhenshuang. Will you continue to defy, and bring destruction upon your disciples? Or will you accept your defeat with grace and submit to the punishment you have earned?"

Bai Zhenshuang's face was pale, but her expression remained calm. She looked at her disciples, at their fearful faces, at the young cultivators who had looked up to her as an invincible leader.

She looked at Shen Mengyue, the slave who had defeated her, and saw no mockery in her eyes, only patience. Only understanding.

"I... accept," Bai Zhenshuang said, her voice quiet but steady. "I have been defeated. I have earned this punishment. Disciples of the Heavenly Sword Sect, do not seek revenge for me. This is my burden alone."

She reached up and undid the clasp of her robes. The white silk fell away, revealing her shoulders, her chest, her stomach. She shrugged off the rest, and soon she stood as naked as Shen Mengyue, her body exposed to the eyes of her disciples, her skin pale and flawless, her breasts full and proud, her waist narrow, her hips wide, her buttocks round and firm, her legs long and shapely.

She was a statue of living marble, cold and beautiful.

Shen Mengyue approached her, holding a collar of black iron—the Binding Immortal Lock. She fastened it around Bai Zhenshuang's neck, and the metal sealed with a soft click.

"You will crawl," Shen Mengyue said gently. "It is the way of those who have been defeated. Crawl to the main hall of your sect, and there you will receive your punishment."

Bai Zhenshuang's hands trembled, but she lowered herself to her hands and knees. The stone was cold against her palms, against her knees, against her bare breasts as they brushed the ground with each movement.

She began to crawl.

The disciples of the Heavenly Sword Sect watched in horrified silence as their leader, naked and collared, crawled through their ranks, followed by the equally naked Moon Slave. Some wept. Others t

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The afternoon sun hung low over the rolling hills of the Hundred Flowers Valley, casting golden light across terraced gardens of medicinal herbs and blooming spiritual flora. The air was thick with the scent of healing plants, of ginseng and moonflower, of thousand-year-old roots that pulsed with condensed qi. Peaceful. Serene. Exactly as it had been for the past three thousand years since the valley's founding.

The peace shattered the moment a figure appeared at the main gate.

She walked with the easy confidence of a predator entering a domain of prey. Her body was bare to the world—every curve, every muscle, every inch of sun-kissed skin on full display. Red hair cascaded down her back in a high ponytail that swayed with each deliberate step. Her form was athletic, lean yet powerful, with shoulders squared and chin lifted. Her breasts were firm, her waist narrow, her hips curved with the grace of a warrior who had never known defeat. Around her neck sat a simple black slave collar, stark against her skin.

The disciples of the Hundred Flowers Valley froze.

A young woman in pale green robes dropped her basket of spirit herbs. It hit the ground with a soft thud, scattering petals across the stone path. Her mouth hung open. Beside her, a male disciple's face flushed crimson as his eyes swept over the naked woman's body before he caught himself and looked away, mortified.

"Wh-who are you?" stammered a senior disciple, stepping forward with trembling hands. "This is the Hundred Flowers Valley! You cannot simply—"

The red-haired woman ignored him completely. She walked past as if he were air, her bare feet padding softly against the ancient stone pathway that wound through the gardens. Disciples scrambled out of her way, some shielding their eyes, others staring with a mixture of shock and horrified fascination. A few of the younger disciples—those who had never left the valley—whispered among themselves, pointing at the naked intruder with wide eyes.

"She's not wearing anything..."

"Is she mad?"

"Look at her collar... she's a slave."

The red-haired woman's lips curved slightly at that last comment. Not in anger. In pride.

She was a slave. She would never deny it. She belonged to the Venerable Xuanfa, the most powerful man in the world, and that was the greatest honor a woman could claim. She had been broken and remade beneath his hands, shaped into something that understood its proper place. And part of that place was this: to display herself openly, to be seen and known for what she was. Her nakedness was not shameful. It was honest. It declared to all who saw her that she had been claimed, that she served a master worthy of absolute devotion.

Let them stare. Let them whisper. She had been dragged through the streets of a hundred cities on her hands and knees, had been bent over and spanked before thousands of jeering onlookers, had been made to lick the dust from her master's boots. Compared to that, a few shocked glances were nothing.

"A visitor from the Punishment Phoenix Gate," a voice called out, calm but carrying authority. "I wondered when you would come."

The crowd of disciples parted, and Hua Qianyu stepped forward.

She was the picture of maternal grace, her figure soft and full in all the right places. Her face was gentle, with kind eyes and a warm smile that usually put even the most anxious patient at ease. Her hair was a deep, rich green—the color of fresh bamboo—tied loosely behind her head, with a few strands falling across her ear. She wore robes of pale blue and white, simple but elegant, the mark of a valley master who valued function over show.

But her eyes were sharp as she took in the naked woman before her.

"So. You are the one they call the Sparrow Slave."

The red-haired woman stopped walking and turned to face the valley master fully. Her posture remained proud, her expression calm.

"I am Li Que," she said, her voice low and even. "Formerly vice-master of the Vermillion Bird Sect. Now known as the Sparrow Slave beneath the Venerable Xuanfa's hand. I come bearing my master's words."

Hua Qianyu's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Speak them."

"Your disciples have been poaching from the Punishment Phoenix Gate's spirit herb gardens," Li Que said, her tone flat. "My master counts every leaf, every root, every seed. He has determined that restitution is required."

"I was not aware of any—"

"He does not care what you were aware of." Li Que cut her off without emotion. "The punishment has been decreed. Every disciple who set foot in his gardens shall strip completely and crawl to the mountain entrance of the Punishment Phoenix Gate. There, they will present themselves for chastisement. One hundred strikes of the Heaven's Law Board upon their bare buttocks. Each day. For ten years."

Gasps rippled through the gathered disciples. A few of the younger ones began to cry.

"This is a minor punishment," Li Que continued, as if she hadn't heard them. "To teach proper respect for boundaries. As for you, Valley Master Hua—your negligence in supervising your disciples makes you equally culpable. You will undergo the same discipline."

Hua Qianyu's face went pale, then red. "Ten years? One hundred strokes a day for ten years? That's three hundred and sixty-five thousand strikes! No one could survive that!"

"The Heaven's Law Board is enchanted," Li Que said simply. "It heals even as it wounds. You will survive. You will simply suffer."

The disciples began to wail in earnest. Several elder disciples stepped forward, placing themselves between Hua Qianyu and the naked messenger.

"Master, we cannot accept this!"

"Fight her! She's just one woman!"

"We will defend the valley!"

Hua Qianyu raised a hand, silencing them. Her eyes met Li Que's. "I cannot allow this punishment to fall on my children."

"They are not your children," Li Que replied. "They are disciples who broke the rules of a power far greater than this valley."

"Then I challenge you," Hua Qianyu said, her voice steeling. "Single combat. If I win, the punishment is revoked."

"You know what happens if you lose."

"Then I suppose I will learn what it means to serve the Punishment Phoenix Gate."

Li Que's lips curled into a smile. No warmth. Only anticipation.

"You should not have said that."

The battle was brief and brutal.

Hua Qianyu was a healer first, a fighter second. Her techniques were designed to subdue, to restrain, to capture without killing. Li Que was forged in fire and blood. Every movement was pure destruction.

The valley master summoned her staff, a graceful weapon carved from the branch of a thousand-year willow. She moved with the fluidity of water, striking and retreating, trying to find an opening in Li Que's guard. Spiritual energy bloomed around her, forming shields of jade light.

Li Que burned through them all.

Flame erupted from her palms, engulfing the barriers, melting them like paper. She advanced without pause, each step driving Hua Qianyu backward. Her fire was not wild—it was directed, precise, hungry. It licked at Hua Qianyu's robes, forcing her to dodge and weave.

"You are strong," Li Que admitted, her voice carrying even over the roar of flames. "But you have never faced true power."

She raised her hand, and a pillar of fire descended from the sky.

Hua Qianyu threw up her best defensive technique, a dome of emerald wood qi reinforced with healing energy. It held for three seconds. Then it shattered.

The blast threw her across the courtyard. She crashed into a stone wall, cracking it, and slid to the ground. Her staff clattered away from her hands.

Li Que walked toward her, naked and unashamed, flames still dancing along her fingertips. "Yield."

Hua Qianyu pushed herself up, coughing blood. Her disciples cried out, reaching for her, but she raised a hand to stop them. She looked at Li Que, at the unyielding hatred in those fiery eyes, and knew she had no choice.

"I yield."

Li Que produced a communication talisman from seemingly nowhere—a small square of golden paper that hummed with power. She pressed her thumb to its surface, and a cold voice filled the air.

"Report."

The single word sent shivers down every spine present. It was flat. Empty of all warmth. And yet it carried such weight, such absolute authority, that even the crying disciples fell silent.

"Venerable Master," Li Que said, her voice dropping into submission. "The Valley Master Hua refused punishment. Combat was required."

"A challenge."

"Yes."

"You won."

"Of course."

A pause. Then, the voice again: "She resisted the decree of the Punishment Phoenix Gate. Her sentence is now compounded. Bring her to the mountain for personal discipline. Her disciples shall receive double the original punishment."

Hua Qianyu's heart turned to ice. "No!" She scrambled forward, falling to her knees before Li Que. "Please! The disciples had nothing to do with this! They were following my orders! If there is blame, it is mine alone!"

"Your master speaks," Li Que said, holding up the talisman.

The voice came again: "You wish to bear their punishment alone."

"Yes," Hua Qianyu said, her voice shaking. "Please. Punish me however you see fit. But spare my children. They are young. They did not know what they were doing."

"The price will be severe."

"I will pay it. Whatever it is."

Another pause. Longer this time.

"Very well. The disciples of the Hundred Flowers Valley are absolved. In their place, Valley Master Hua Qianyu will receive a punishment befitting a sole offender. Report to the Sparrow Slave for transport."

The talisman went dark.

Hua Qianyu let out a shuddering breath. Around her, the disciples began to weep openly, reaching for her, trying to pull her away.

"Master, no!"

"Don't do this!"

"You can't—"

"Quiet." Hua Qianyu's voice was gentle but firm. She stood, brushing the dust from her robes, and turned to face her followers one last time. "I have led this valley for six hundred years. In all that time, I have never placed my own comfort above your safety. I will not start now."

Slowly, with trembling fingers, she reached for the clasp of her robes.

She let them fall.

The disciples gasped. Some covered their eyes. Others stared in horror as their master—their gentle, kind, beloved master—bared herself before them. Her body was full and soft, heavy breasts and curved hips, the body of a woman who had spent centuries nurturing rather than fighting. She did not have the warrior's physique of Li Que. She was simply a woman, vulnerable and exposed.

But she did not hide. She stood tall, naked before her disciples and before her conqueror.

Then she knelt.

The stone was cold against her knees. She pressed her forehead to the ground, prostrating herself fully before the naked messenger.

"Please," she said, her voice muffled against the stone. "Take only me."

Li Que produced the Binding Immortal Chain, a length of black metal that gleamed with suppressed power. She looped it around Hua Qianyu's neck, the collar clicking into place beside her slave collar.

Hua Qianyu flinched but did not resist.

"Rise," Li Que commanded. "On your hands and knees."

Hua Qianyu obeyed.

The disciples watched, frozen in shock and fear, as their naked valley master crawled across the stone on her hands and knees, led by a chain held by another naked woman. They moved through the gardens, past the weeping disciples, past the scattered herbs and overturned pots, past the statues of ancient healers who had built this valley from nothing.

Li Que stopped before the main hall of the Hundred Flowers Valley.

"Here," she said. "This is where your punishment begins."

She turned, addressing the gathered disciples in a voice that carried like thunder.

"Hear me, children of the Hundred Flowers Valley. Your master has been found guilty of two crimes. First, negligence in allowing her disciples to trespass upon the lands of the Punishment Phoenix Gate. Second, violent resistance against lawful punis

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The ancient forest of the Twilight Veil stood shrouded in eternal twilight, its massive trees reaching toward a sky that never quite darkened nor brightened. Strange luminescent fungi carpeted the ground, casting an eerie blue glow across the moss-covered stones and fallen trunks. This was a mid-tier secret realm, one that had been discovered by wandering cultivators just three weeks prior, and already it had been picked clean of most of its treasures.

Except for one clearing.

There, beside a crystalline pool that reflected the perpetual dusk, stood a figure of such breathtaking beauty that even the spirits of the realm might pause to admire her. Su Qianyao was everything the legends claimed and more. Her silver hair cascaded down her back like moonlight given form, each strand catching the ethereal glow of the fungi and shimmering with an otherworldly luminescence. Her crimson eyes held depths of ancient cunning and seductive warmth, framed by lashes so long they cast shadows on her high cheekbones. Her figure was a masterpiece of temptation—full breasts straining against the thin fabric of her dark purple robes, a waist so narrow it seemed impossible that it could support the generous swell of her hips, and legs that seemed to go on forever, revealed by the high slits of her garment. Every movement she made was liquid grace, every breath an invitation.

She was inspecting a rare spiritual herb growing by the pool's edge when a sound caught her attention—the soft padding of bare feet on moss. Su Qianyao's lips curved into a smile that had driven countless cultivators to madness and ruin.

"Well, well," she purred, turning with deliberate slowness. "What a rare treasure I've found. A little sister with her bottom bare for all the world to see."

Lin Qiaoxin bounced into the clearing with all the carefree energy of a girl half her age, despite having lived over four centuries. She was utterly, shamelessly naked, her skin glowing with health and vitality in the dim light. Her black hair was pulled into twin ponytails that bounced with each step, framing a face that was the perfect blend of youthful mischief and mature beauty. Her body was athletic and slender, with firm breasts that needed no support, a flat stomach, and hips that curved into a perfectly rounded posterior that swayed with unconscious invitation.

She wore nothing. Not a scrap of cloth, not a single ornament—except for the black leather slave collar that encircled her throat, stark against her pale skin, marking her as owned, claimed, possessed.

Around her, in stark contrast, cultivators from various sects moved cautiously through the forest, fully clothed in robes of silk and brocade, carrying swords and artifacts, their eyes wide as they caught sight of the naked woman who treated her nudity as casually as they treated their garments.

Lin Qiaoxin giggled at Su Qianyao's remark, spinning in place so that her ponytails fanned out and her nude form was displayed from every angle. "Is it to your liking, Elder Sister Yao?" she asked, her voice bright and playful. She reached back and patted her own bottom with both hands, the sound sharp in the quiet clearing. "This heart-slave's rear has been called quite fetching by those who've had the pleasure of watching it redden under Master's hand."

She rocked back and forth on her heels, utterly at ease with her exposure. "You know, I was only twenty years old when Master took me as his slave. Four hundred years ago now. Would you believe I've spent more time without clothes than with them? At first, I was so embarrassed I could barely move. But Master has a way of... curing such modesty." She winked, her smile widening. "And now I find that clothes just get in the way of what I truly enjoy."

Su Qianyao's red eyes gleamed with interest. She had heard tales of the Zeren Sect, of its fearsome founder and his harem of beauties. But seeing Lin Qiaoxin so openly displaying herself, so proud in her submission, awakened something deep within the Demon Saintess.

"Speaking of which," Lin Qiaoxin continued, her tone remaining light despite her words, "Elder Sister Yao, using your charm techniques on our Zeren Sect disciples isn't very nice. Master is quite displeased. He sent this heart-slave to bring you back for punishment. A sound spanking, just ten years' worth." She tilted her head, her ponytails swaying. "Elder Sister, won't you come quietly? It saves us both the trouble of fighting."

Su Qianyao laughed, a sound like silver bells mixed with honey, sweet and dangerous. "How can you call it trouble, dear heart?" she asked, stepping closer, her hips swaying with practiced allure. "I was only playing with the little ones. Such innocent fun!" Her crimson eyes narrowed. "But if the mighty Xuanfa Lord thinks he can spank this one's bottom, he'll need to prove he has the strength for it."

She raised her hand, fingers curling in invitation. "Come then, Heart Sister. Let us see if your Master's training is as fearsome as they say."

Lin Qiaoxin sighed, though her smile remained fixed. "Elder Sister, you're resisting punishment. That's very serious. Master's punishment for those who resist is... harsh." She patted her own bottom again, her expression dreamy. "He might just beat your bottom until it's bloody pulp."

She shivered visibly, her nipples tightening as she thought of the Celestial Punishment Board, that slab of heaven-blessed wood that Master used each day to redden her bottom until she cried and begged and came all at once. "Though I must admit, that sounds rather appealing to me right now. I miss kneeling before Master, feeling that board descend again and again..."

Su Qianyao's breath caught in her throat. Her heart hammered in her chest, a strange heat pooling in her lower belly. *Beat my bottom bloody,* she thought, and her thighs pressed together involuntarily. In the Demon Realm, she was supreme in power and status, a woman so formidable that even the most arrogant demon lords trembled before her. None dared raise a hand to her. None had ever dared.

But she had dreamed of it. For centuries, in the quiet hours of the night, she had dreamed of being bent over some mighty figure's knee, of feeling hard wood crash against her flesh until she could no longer sit, until she was reduced to a sobbing, grateful mess. It was a secret she had guarded with her life, for the mighty Demon Saintess to crave such degradation would have been ruinous to her reputation.

Now, this naked little slave spoke of spankings and bloody bottoms as casually as others spoke of tea.

"I think that sounds wonderful too," Su Qianyao whispered, so softly that she almost didn't hear herself. Then louder, with a smirk that was only slightly forced: "Prove yourself worthy of my surrender, Heart Sister. Let us spar."

Lin Qiaoxin's smile turned knowing, as if she had glimpsed something in those crimson eyes. "Very well, Elder Sister. But remember—you asked for this."

The battle erupted without further warning.

Su Qianyao moved first, her body dissolving into a cloud of silver motes that reformed behind Lin Qiaoxin, fingers reaching for the slave's throat. But Lin Qiaoxin was already gone, vanishing into a shimmer of light that indicated a spatial formation—she had laid arrays across the entire clearing before their conversation had even ended.

"I've had time to set up, Elder Sister!" Lin Qiaoxin's voice came from everywhere and nowhere. "This is my specialty!"

The air itself seemed to solidify around Su Qianyao, pressing in from all sides. She laughed and spun, her charm technique radiating outward like invisible waves of heat. Any male cultivator within a hundred li would have dropped to his knees, overwhelmed with desire so intense it could stop a heart.

Lin Qiaoxin was not a male cultivator.

She appeared directly above Su Qianyao, hands formed into a seal, and a cage of golden light slammed down around the Demon Saintess. But Su Qianyao was already moving, her body flowing like liquid shadow through gaps in the formation before it could fully take shape.

"Not bad!" the Demon Saintess called out, her voice musical even in combat. "But this elder sister has a few tricks of her own!"

She raised her hand, and the air filled with the scent of intoxicating flowers—the Fragrance of a Thousand Seductions, a charm technique so potent it could enslave entire armies. Lin Qiaoxin's vision swam, her thoughts growing hazy, her limbs heavy.

But her body knew what to do even when her mind faltered. Four hundred years of training, of daily discipline under Xuanfa's merciless hand, had carved instinct into her very bones. Her hands moved on their own, tracing patterns in the air, and a defensive formation bloomed around her, filtering the seductive fragrance from her lungs.

"You're strong, Elder Sister!" Lin Qiaoxin said, shaking off the last of the mental fog. "But I've had the best teacher in the realms!"

She snapped her fingers, and the ground beneath Su Qianyao lit up like a star—a trap formation that she had been charging since the moment she entered the clearing. Chains of pure energy erupted from the earth, wrapping around Su Qianyao's wrists and ankles, hoisting her into the air.

Su Qianyao struggled, her cultivation flaring, but the formation was too well-designed, too perfectly attuned to her energy signature. Her arms were pulled wide, her legs spread apart, leaving her hanging like a specimen for examination.

"Ah!" she cried out, but there was genuine surprise in her voice. "You've caught me, Heart Sister. Such skill!"

Lin Qiaoxin floated up to face her, still naked, still beaming with pride. "Master trained me himself. I may not be the strongest in direct combat, but with time to prepare my arrays, I can capture cultivators two realms above me." She reached out and grabbed the collar of Su Qianyao's robes. "Now, about that punishment..."

With a single tug, she tore the purple fabric away.

Su Qianyao's body was revealed inch by inch as Lin Qiaoxin methodically ripped away her garments. The robes fell away to reveal shoulders of creamy perfection, then breasts that defied gravity with their fullness and firmness, crowned by nipples that were already stiff and eager. Her waist was so narrow it seemed almost impossible, curving outward into hips that begged for hands to grip them. And below that, revealed as the last of the cloth fell away, was a rear end that was nothing short of legendary—two perfect globes of flesh, full and round and firm, with a texture that promised the most satisfying of impacts.

Su Qianyao hung in the air, completely naked, her silver hair cascading around her, her crimson eyes half-lidded with an emotion that might have been anticipation.

"A lovely view," Lin Qiaoxin said, genuinely appreciative. "Master will enjoy this."

She raised her hand, and the golden light of her formation coalesced into objects—first a steel whip, its tip forked like a serpent's tongue, then a flat wooden paddle as wide as her hand, then another, and another, until a dozen instruments of punishment floated in the air around her, all formed from pure array energy.

She chose the paddle first.

"I hope you'll forgive me, Elder Sister. I'm not as skilled as Master, but I'll do my best to make this memorable."

The first blow landed with a crack that echoed through the silent forest.

Su Qianyao's body jerked, her head thrown back, and from her lips came a sound that made Lin Qiaoxin pause in surprise. It was not a cry of pain, nor a scream of outrage. It was a moan—deep, throaty, and utterly carnal.

"Ohhh yesss..."

Lin Qiaoxin blinked. "Elder Sister?"

"Again," Su Qianyao breathed, her voice husky with desire. "Hit me again, little heart. Harder."

The second strike landed, and this time Su Qianyao's body arched, her back bowing as the paddle connected with her right buttock. The flesh reddened beautifully, spreading warmth through her entire being.

*Crack!*

"Ahhh! More!"

A t

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The morning sun cast long shadows across the marble plaza of Zepen Gate. Three thick stone pillars rose from the center of the square, their surfaces carved with intricate runes that pulsed with a dim, amber light—restraining arrays designed to suppress the cultivation of anyone bound to them. Before these pillars, kneeling on the cold stone, were three naked women. Their hands were bound behind their backs with golden Immortal Binding Chains, the links wrapped around the pillars and secured in place, leaving them utterly immobile and exposed.

To the left knelt Bai Zhenshuang, the Sword Sovereign of the Heavenly Sword Sect. Her black hair fell in disheveled strands across her face, but her expression remained cold and unyielding. Her breasts were full and proud, her waist narrow, her hips rounded and firm. Bound as she was, she held herself with the dignity of a defeated general accepting the consequences of war.

In the center knelt Hua Qianyu, the Valley Master of the Hundred Flowers Valley. Her gentle face was streaked with dried tears, and her cheeks were flushed with shame and pain. Her body was soft and maternal, curves gentle and inviting. She trembled slightly, her breath coming in uneven gasps.

To the right knelt Su Qianyao, the Saintess of the demon race. Her silver hair spilled across her shoulders like moonlight, and her crimson eyes glittered with an unreadable emotion. Her body was a masterpiece of seduction—full breasts, a narrow waist, and hips that curved with a hypnotic grace. Despite her predicament, a faint, mocking smile lingered on her lips.

Behind them, standing in the shadow of a nearby pavilion, three figures watched in silence. Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue stood with their hands clasped before them, their gazes fixed on the punishment unfolding in the square. They too were naked, their bodies adorned only with the black slave collars around their necks. But unlike the three kneeling prisoners, they watched with calm, familiar eyes—they had been in that position before, many times over the decades.

A faint hum filled the air as Bai Zhenshuang’s sword, Condensing Frost, rose from its scabbard beside her. The blade gleamed with a cold, pale light. Slowly, it turned, hovering in the air behind her, the flat of the blade facing directly toward her upturned buttocks.

Bai Zhenshuang closed her eyes. She did not beg. She did not struggle. She had been defeated in fair combat, and she accepted the consequence of her pride.

The sword struck.

*Thwack.*

A sharp, clean sound echoed across the plaza. Bai Zhenshuang’s body jerked forward, but she did not cry out. Her teeth clenched, and her fingers curled into fists behind her back. A red mark blossomed across her right cheek. She had been struck by her own sword—the weapon she had wielded for centuries, the blade that had tasted the blood of countless enemies. Now it tasted the flesh of its master.

*Thwack.*

The sword struck again, this time catching the left cheek with equal precision. Bai Zhenshuang’s breath hissed through her teeth. Her lower lip trembled, but she refused to let the tears fall. She stared straight ahead at the stone pillar, her eyes fixed on the runes, counting each blow in her mind.

*Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.*

The rhythm was steady and relentless. Each strike of the flat blade sent a shock of heat and pain through her flesh. Her buttocks began to glow a deep, angry red. Her hips swayed involuntarily with each impact, seeking a position that might lessen the sting, but there was no escape. The chains held her fast.

At one hundred strikes, Bai Zhenshuang’s shoulders began to shake. The tears she had fought so hard to hold back finally spilled down her cheeks, dripping onto the stone below. But her voice remained silent. Her pride would not let her cry out in front of her captors.

At two hundred strikes, she let out a low, shuddering breath. Her hands were slick with sweat. The pain had become a dull, throbbing fire that consumed her entire lower body.

At three hundred strikes, her composure cracked. A soft sob escaped her lips. She bit down on her tongue, tasting blood, and forced herself to remain still.

At four hundred strikes, the sword paused. Bai Zhenshuang sagged forward, her forehead touching the cold stone. Her breath came in ragged pants. Her buttocks were a solid, swollen mass of red, mottled with darker bruises. She did not move.

The sword turned in the air, rotating so that its edge pointed toward the ground. It descended slowly, positioning itself between Bai Zhenshuang’s parted thighs.

She stiffened. Her eyes widened.

*Slap.*

The flat of the blade struck her most sensitive place—the hidden valley between her thighs, where the tender flesh had never known such violence. Bai Zhenshuang screamed. The sound tore from her throat, raw and broken. Her body convulsed, and she would have fallen if not for the chains.

*Slap.*

Again. The blade struck the same spot with unerring accuracy. Bai Zhenshuang sobbed openly now, her tears and saliva mingling on the stone.

*Slap.*

A third strike. Her legs trembled violently. She could feel the heat radiating from her core, her most intimate flesh burning with shame and agony.

*Slap. Slap. Slap.*

Each blow brought a fresh scream. Her voice grew hoarse, cracking with each cry. By the fiftieth strike, she could only whimper, her throat raw and her spirit crushed. At the seventieth, her body went limp, held upright only by the chains.

At the one hundredth strike, the sword finally stopped. It floated away, returning to its scabbard with a soft *click*.

Bai Zhenshuang hung in her bonds, her head bowed, her body trembling. The shame was worse than the pain. Her own sword had beaten her into submission.

A faint white light rose from the ground, swirling around Bai Zhenshuang’s lower body. The healing formation within the square began its work, knitting together torn capillaries, reducing the swelling, easing the agony. Bai Zhenshuang’s breathing slowly steadied. She did not lift her head.

Now it was Hua Qianyu’s turn.

A small earthen pot floated into the air before her, carried by invisible hands. The pot was filled with a thick, viscous liquid the color of bile—Scorpion Grass sap, a legendary poison that did not kill but caused the most unbearable itching imaginable. Hua Qianyu watched it approach with wide, terrified eyes.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please, do not…”

The pot tipped. The sap poured out, splattering across her upturned buttocks in a thick, slimy coat. It seeped into every crack, every fold, glistening under the morning sun.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then the itching began.

It started as a faint prickle, like tiny insects crawling across her skin. Hua Qianyu twitched, trying to shake the sensation away. But it grew. It spread. It burrowed into her flesh, deep into the nerves, setting every cell on fire with an insatiable, maddening need to scratch.

“No… no, no, no, no…” Hua Qianyu writhed against her chains, her body twisting and jerking. Her fingers clawed at the air behind her back, desperate to reach the source of the torment. But she could not. Her hands were bound.

The itch intensified. It was not a simple itch—it was a screaming, agonizing demand from her flesh. She could feel her nerves screaming for relief, her skin crawling as though a thousand ants were feasting upon her.

“Please! Please, I cannot bear it!” Hua Qianyu begged, her voice rising to a shriek. Tears streamed down her face. Her body arched against the chains, her buttocks clenching and unclenching, trying in vain to find some relief.

Above her, two wooden boards materialized from thin air. They were plain and unremarkable, but they glowed with a faint celestial light—the Dao Planks, tools of punishment imbued with Heaven’s authority.

Hua Qianyu saw them and sobbed in relief.

“Yes, yes, beat me! Beat my buttocks! Make it stop!” she cried out.

The first plank swung forward.

*THWACK.*

The blow landed squarely on her right cheek, and Hua Qianyu cried out in a mixture of pain and blissful release. For a brief moment, the sting of the strike overrode the maddening itch. She leaned into the next blow.

*THWACK.*

The left cheek. Hua Qianyu moaned. The pain was glorious. It washed away the crawling fire, replacing it with a clean, sharp sting. She wanted more. She needed more.

*THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.*

The planks struck in a steady rhythm, each blow sending a jolt through her entire body. Hua Qianyu’s tears flowed freely, but she no longer wept in agony alone. There was a desperate eagerness in her cries, a plea for the pain to continue.

“Harder! Please, harder!” she screamed.

The planks obliged. The force of each strike increased, the sound echoing like thunder across the square. Hua Qianyu’s buttocks turned from red to purple, the skin splitting in places, blood trickling down her thighs. But she did not ask them to stop. The brief respite from the itch was worth any price.

Strike after strike fell upon her, until the count reached four hundred. When the planks finally stilled, Hua Qianyu hung limp, her body shuddering with aftershocks. The itching sensation on her buttocks had faded to a dull ache, suppressed by the overwhelming pain of the beating.

She did not resist as the healing formation turned to her, its white light seeping into her broken flesh, beginning the slow work of repair.

Su Qianyao watched her two fellow prisoners with crimson eyes that gleamed with something far from fear. She licked her lips.

The Dao Planks turned toward her.

“Finally,” she whispered, her voice husky with anticipation.

The first plank struck her upturned buttocks.

*THWACK.*

Su Qianyao let out a long, shuddering moan. It was not a sound of pain—it was a sound of pleasure. Her body arched into the blow, her hips grinding against the air.

“Oh, yes,” she breathed. “More. Hit me harder.”

*THWACK.*

The second strike landed, and Su Qianyao’s head fell back, her silver hair cascading down her spine. Her red eyes were half-lidded, her lips parted. A trail of slick moisture began to run down the inside of her thigh.

“That is it,” she purred. “That is exactly what I need.”

The Dao Planks, ancient instruments of punishment designed by Heaven itself, did not hesitate. They struck with relentless force, each blow sending a shockwave rippling through her ample flesh.

*THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.*

Su Qianyao cried out with each strike, but her cries were not screams of agony. They were cries of ecstasy. Her body bucked and writhed, not to escape the blows, but to meet them, to feel their full impact. Her buttocks bounced with each hit, the flesh jiggling, turning redder by the second.

“Harder!” she demanded, her voice rising. “Break my buttocks! Destroy me!”

She was not exaggerating. The hidden depths of her corrupted soul craved this punishment with a hunger that bordered on madness. Ever since she had first been taken by Xuan Fa, she had discovered a secret she had never told anyone—she loved being beaten. She loved the sting, the humiliation, the surrender of her flesh to an overwhelming force.

*THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.*

By the three hundredth strike, her voice had become a continuous, breathless chant. “Yes, yes, yes, yes…”

Her body was soaked with sweat and arousal. The stone beneath her knees was wet. Her mind floated in a haze of pure, blissful submission.

The Dao Planks finished their work at four hundred strikes. Su Qianyao slumped forward, panting, her buttocks a swollen, crimson mess. But her lips were curved in a satisfied smile.

A eunuch attendant stepped forward, holding a thick ginger rod the size of a finger. Su Qianyao saw it and laughed, a throaty, sultry sound.

“Oh, the ginger rod,” she said. “I have been looking forward to this.”

The attendant knelt behind her. He did not hesitate. He pressed the ginger rod into her most intimate rear entrance. Su Qianyao gasped, her body arching. The ginger’s sharp,

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Xuantian Realm stretched endlessly beneath a sky streaked with the pale gold of perpetual twilight. The air hummed with the resonance of formation arrays and the rhythmic crack of wood meeting flesh.

A long line of bare buttocks protruded high into the air, each pair belonging to a female cultivator kneeling in perfect submission. Behind every woman floated two slabs of celestial wood, inscribed with ancient runes that glowed with each swing. The boards moved with mechanical precision, striking left and right alternately, painting the pale mounds with deepening shades of crimson.

Eighty women knelt in this formation. Some had once commanded sects as sovereign powers. Others had been prodigies whose names shook the cultivation world. A few were heiresses of ancient families, raised in jade halls and silk. Now they all knelt naked, necks encircled by black slave collars, presenting their punished flesh to the will of their master.

The newer slaves shuddered with each blow, tears streaming down faces contorted by shame and pain. But the seasoned ones remained still, accepting the agony as naturally as breathing. They had learned this lesson over years of discipline—each strike was a gift, each welt a mark of belonging.

At the front of the assembly knelt three women whose bodies bore the heaviest burden of punishment. Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue presented their hips at the same angle, backs arched perfectly, hands pressed flat against the stone floor. Behind each of them, two celestial wood boards hovered, larger and denser than those that punished the others.

Four hundred strikes. Every day. Without fail.

The boards swung.

*CRACK.*

Lin Qiaoxin's right buttock absorbed the blow, flesh rippling in a wave that spread across her entire hip. Her twin ponytails swayed as her body jolted forward, but she held her position. Before she could fully recover, the second board crashed into her left cheek.

*CRACK.*

"Mmnn..." A low moan escaped her lips, but her voice carried no complaint. "Ahhh, still—still the master's celestial boards hit the best spot. Xin Nu's buttocks are being beaten to mush."

Beside her, Li Que received identical punishment. Her high ponytail of fiery red hair flicked with each impact, her athletic body tensing and releasing in rhythm with the boards. Sweat glistened on her tanned skin, tracing paths down her spine and between the curves of her punished flesh. She did not flinch. She did not cry out. Instead, she spoke through gritted teeth, her voice steady and proud.

"The master's punishment is a slave's honor. Que Nu begs the master to strike harder. Beat Que Nu's ass until it learns true submission."

*CRACK.* *CRACK.*

The boards did not discriminate. They struck her hard, and she accepted each blow as a blessing.

On the far left, Shen Mengyue knelt with perfect grace even in her suffering. Her long black hair pooled around her on the floor, a dark river against pale stone. Each strike sent tremors through her full figure, her mature curves quivering under the assault. But her voice remained calm, serene almost, as she spoke between impacts.

"Yue Nu's buttocks owe the master a debt of discipline. Please, do not hold back. Punish this disobedient flesh until it remembers its place."

*CRACK.* *CRACK.* *CRACK.*

The boards accelerated, finding a rhythm that matched the racing hearts of the three slaves. Fifty strikes passed. One hundred. The welts deepened from pink to red to deep purple. The skin of their buttocks grew hot to the touch, radiating heat that steamed in the cool air of Xuantian Realm.

Lin Qiaoxin's breath came in sharp gasps now. Her usual playful demeanor had given way to something more raw, more honest. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, and her ponytails stuck to her damp cheeks. But she smiled—a genuine, contented smile that spoke of profound peace.

"Two hundred... Xin Nu's hips are on fire... but this is exactly what Xin Nu deserves..."

Li Que's hands clenched into fists on the floor. Her body trembled with each impact, her muscles straining against the instinct to flee. But she remained rooted, her pride having been reshaped over decades into something far more valuable—absolute loyalty.

"Three hundred... Que Nu thanks the master... for every single strike..."

Shen Mengyue had long since lost count of the individual blows, but she felt each one in her soul. The pain was a purification, a burning away of ego and pride. What remained was pure devotion, a love forged in fire and discipline.

*CRACK.* *CRACK.* *CRACK.* *CRACK.*

The final strikes landed with merciless precision. Four hundred blows completed. The boards retreated, hovering silently behind their targets.

For a long moment, the three women did not move. They remained kneeling, foreheads touching the cool stone, backs heaving with exhausted breaths. Their buttocks were a masterpiece of punishment—swollen, bruised, painted in shades of deep crimson and purple. Each welt told a story of submission.

Slowly, Lin Qiaoxin collapsed onto her side, then onto her stomach. She lay spread-eagled on the floor, her punished flesh raised slightly, her body trembling with aftershocks. Li Que followed a moment later, her athletic form going limp as she released the tension she had held throughout the ordeal. Shen Mengyue lowered herself with deliberate grace, her hair spreading around her like a dark halo.

Tears streaked their faces. But their smiles were radiant.

The formation array beneath them began to glow, releasing a gentle golden light that seeped into their battered flesh. Healing energy flowed like warm water, soothing the burns and bruises, knitting together damaged tissue. The process was gradual—the master had designed it this way. The pain would linger, a reminder of their devotion.

Minutes passed. Then the three women stirred, pushing themselves up with visible effort. They knelt in unison, facing the empty space before them where their master would soon appear.

"Thank you, master, for punishing Xin Nu's buttocks."

"Thank you, master, for disciplining Que Nu's rebellious flesh."

"Thank you, master, for correcting Yue Nu's unworthy body."

Their voices overlapped, a chorus of gratitude. They meant every word.

---

Three figures approached from the side of the hall, their movements hesitant yet determined. Lin Yuxin, Li Yunling, and Shen Xingmian knelt before their mothers, their youthful faces bearing expressions of earnest supplication. Like their mothers, they wore black slave collars, their young bodies bare and unashamed.

"Mama," Lin Yuxin spoke first, her voice carrying an echo of her mother's playful energy, "Xin'er requests that Mama personally discipline Xin'er's bottom. Please do not go easy on Xin'er. Xin'er's buttocks have learned to endure well."

Li Yunling inclined her head, her cool demeanor a mirror of Li Que's pride. "Que Nu's daughter makes the same request. Mother's hand will teach Yunling what the master's boards have already begun to teach."

Shen Xingmian spoke last, her voice soft and warm like Shen Mengyue's. "Xingmian asks Mother to strike hard. Let this daughter feel the weight of discipline from the one who taught her everything."

The three mothers exchanged glances. Without words, they rose and retrieved the wooden paddles that lay nearby—the same boards that had punished them countless times in the past.

Lin Qiaoxin took her position behind Lin Yuxin, who had bent over with the same perfect arch her mother had shown earlier. The younger woman's buttocks were unmarked, smooth and pale, waiting for their first lesson of the day.

"Xin'er," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice carrying none of its usual mischief, "you understand why Mama must do this."

"Xin'er understands. Xin'er is a slave. A slave's body belongs to the master. A slave's discipline is a gift. Mama's hand teaches Xin'er to be grateful."

*CRACK.*

The paddle connected with Lin Yuxin's right buttock, leaving a red mark that bloomed like a flower. The young woman gasped but held her position.

*CRACK.*

The left cheek received equal treatment.

"A slave's body," Lin Qiaoxin continued, striking with each word, "is not her own. A slave's body belongs to the master. A slave's pleasure and pain belong to the master. A slave's shame belongs to the master. When you accept punishment, you accept your place. You accept your worth."

*CRACK.* *CRACK.* *CRACK.*

Lin Yuxin's eyes filled with tears, but she nodded, her voice breaking as she repeated the lesson. "Xin'er accepts. Xin'er is a slave. Xin'er belongs to master. Xin'er's discipline is Xin'er's honor."

Beside them, Li Que worked her paddle across Li Yunling's athletic young body. Each strike was measured, precise, carrying the weight of years of training.

"Yunling, your grandmother's generation fought against the master. Your mother's generation resisted. But you were born into submission. You were raised in truth. You have no pride to break. You have no rebellion to crush. You only have gratitude to learn."

*CRACK.* *CRACK.* *CRACK.*

Li Yunling's jaw tightened, but she did not cry out. "Yunling understands. Yunling is grateful. The master's punishment is love. Mother's hand teaches love."

*CRACK.*

Shen Mengyue's approach was gentler, but no less firm. She paddled her daughter with the same rhythm she had learned from the master himself, each blow carrying affection as much as discipline.

"Xingmian, your mother once thought herself above punishment. She was wrong. The master taught her humility. The master taught her devotion. Now your mother teaches you."

*CRACK.* *CRACK.*

"It hurts, doesn't it?"

Shen Xingmian nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. "It hurts, Mama."

"Good. Pain is honest. Pain teaches. When you accept pain without resentment, you accept your place without reservation."

*CRACK.*

Two hundred strikes each. The younger women's buttocks now bore the same marks of devotion as their mothers'—crimson, swollen, beautiful.

When the punishment ended, Lin Yuxin, Li Yunling, and Shen Xingmian collapsed into their mothers' arms, crying softly. The mothers held them, stroking their hair, whispering comforts that only those who had endured the same trials could offer.

---

The master's presence filled the hall before he appeared. The air thickened. The light dimmed. Every slave in the room felt the shift and pressed their foreheads to the ground.

Xuan Fa materialized in the center of the formation, his black training robes immaculate, his expression unreadable. He surveyed his domain—eighty bare backs, eighty raised buttocks, eighty collars shining in the dim light.

"The reports," he said, his voice carrying no emotion. "Bai Zhenshuang. Hua Qianyu. Su Qianyao. Their progress."

Shen Mengyue rose to report, her posture humble. "Bai Zhenshuang is strong, master. She weeps and screams with each strike, but she refuses to beg. She still believes her will can match yours."

Xuan Fa's eyes flickered with something like amusement. "And Hua Qianyu?"

Li Que spoke next. "Hua Qianyu has been tormented by the scorpion grass extract. She weeps for the paddle, master. She begs to be struck. She is close to breaking."

"Close is not broken."

"No, master. But Que Nu estimates she will surrender within the week."

Lin Qiaoxin bounced to her feet, her soreness forgotten as she grinned up at her master. "And Su Qianyao, master? Yao-jie is a complete pervert. A bigger pervert than Xin Nu. The paddle and ginger torture are like pleasure to her. But—" her grin widened, "—Xin Nu heard that the Holy Maiden's personal guard is planning a rescue mission. They want to take Yao-jie back to the demon realm."

The temperature in the hall dropped several degrees.

Xuan Fa's expression did not change, but the shadows around him seemed to deepen. "The Holy Maiden's guard. You say they intend to move against me?"

"The intelligence is solid, master. A hundred elite warriors. Demon realm cultivators at Nascent Soul and

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The morning light filtered through the great hall of Zefeng Sect, casting long shadows across the polished stone floor. Xuanfa sat upon his elevated seat, his black training robes hanging loosely on his frame, his expression as cold and unreadable as carved jade. His fingers drummed lightly on the armrest as he waited.

The heavy doors creaked open, and Shen Mengyue entered first, naked save for the black slave collar around her neck. In her hand, she held the end of a shimmering golden chain—the Kunxian Lock—which trailed behind her. At the other end of that chain, on her hands and knees, crawled Bai Zhenshuang.

The former Sword Sect Master moved slowly, her head bowed low, her black hair cascading around her face. Her naked body bore the marks of recent punishments—faint red lines across her buttocks from countless strikes of her own scabbard. Every movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her punished flesh, and her breath came in ragged gasps.

Shen Mengyue stopped a few paces before Xuanfa's seat and knelt gracefully, pressing her forehead to the cold stone. "Master, this slave has delivered the prisoner as commanded."

Bai Zhenshuang crawled up beside her and knelt in the same position, her hands pressed flat against the floor, her forehead touching the ground. The golden chain clinked softly as she settled.

Xuanfa's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "Bai Zhenshuang. I commanded you to come to Zefeng Sect willingly to receive your punishment. Why did you resist, only to end up in this position now?"

Bai Zhenshuang's voice trembled as she spoke into the stone floor. "Before, this one was arrogant in her cultivation, looking down upon all opponents. It was not until I was defeated by Master's Moon Slave that I realized how shallow my vision was. My current punishment is entirely my own doing. I have no one to blame but myself."

Xuanfa rose from his seat and walked around to stand before her. His shadow fell over her kneeling form. "Sword cultivator. What is the most important thing to a sword cultivator?"

Bai Zhenshuang answered without hesitation. "The sword."

Xuanfa let out a cold laugh that echoed through the hall. "Then tell me, every day, how does it feel to have your own scabbard spank your bottom?"

Bai Zhenshuang's face burned crimson. She pressed her forehead harder against the stone, unable to form words. The humiliation was absolute. Her own scabbard—the very vessel that held her beloved sword, the symbol of her identity as a sword cultivator—had become the instrument of her daily torment. Every strike against her bare buttocks was not just physical pain but a profound degradation of everything she had held sacred. It was as if each slap also struck her face, her pride, her very soul.

Xuanfa reached down and grabbed a handful of her black hair, forcing her head up to look at him. "Today, I have brought you here to personally deliver your punishment. I want you to see just how painful the Heavenly Wood Board can be when driven by my own spiritual power. I want you to understand what Moon Slave endures every single day."

He released her hair and raised his hand. The air rippled, and two wooden boards materialized from the void, hovering beside each other. They were plain, unremarkable in appearance, but the spiritual energy radiating from them was palpable—dense, heavy, suffocating.

"Present yourself," Xuanfa commanded.

Bai Zhenshuang crawled forward and bent over, pressing her chest and face against the cold stone floor while raising her hips high. Her round buttocks, already bearing the marks of previous punishments, presented themselves fully to her tormentor.

The first board swung.

The impact was unlike anything Bai Zhenshuang had ever experienced. A searing, blinding pain exploded through her buttocks, coursing up her spine and into her skull. Her vision went white. Her mind went blank. For a single, eternal moment, there was nothing but agony, pure and absolute.

She gasped, tears springing to her eyes unbidden. Through the haze of pain, she turned her head and saw Shen Mengyue beside her, still kneeling in perfect composure, her face peaceful and serene. The sight struck Bai Zhenshuang like a second blow. How could anyone endure this pain daily and remain so calm? How could the Moon Slave bear such torment without breaking?

The second board came, landing squarely on her opposite cheek. Bai Zhenshuang cried out, her hands scrabbling against the stone floor. Each impact sent shockwaves through her body, rattling her teeth, her bones, her very being. The boards swung in perfect alternation, never pausing, never slowing.

By the hundredth strike, Bai Zhenshuang was sobbing openly, tears and drool pooling on the stone beneath her face. Her buttocks had transformed into a landscape of fire and agony, each new strike landing on already bruised and swollen flesh.

The two hundredth strike brought a scream that tore her throat raw.

The three hundredth strike made her beg for mercy between broken sobs.

The four hundredth strike left her collapsed on the floor, quivering, her entire lower body a single mass of burning torment. She could barely lift her head, could barely focus her eyes through the tears that blurred her vision.

Xuanfa looked down at her prone form without a trace of pity. He turned to Shen Mengyue. "Moon Slave. Do you remember the first time I punished you?"

Shen Mengyue's voice came steady and clear. "This slave remembers. A disciple of the Moon Fairy Sect offended Master. To save her disciple, this slave accepted all punishment upon herself. But the disciple, in her foolish attempt to save her master, attacked Master. So Master punished me by spreading my legs and striking my crevice fifty times with a whip. Then you inserted an anal hook into my anus and hung me before the doors of the Moon Fairy Sect's main hall for an entire night."

Xuanfa nodded slowly. "Good. Then we shall give Bai Zhenshuang the same punishment."

He reached into his storage ring and withdrew a small vial filled with a viscous green liquid. Scorpion Grass Extract. He knelt beside Bai Zhenshuang's raised hips and began to apply the substance to her crevice, the tender skin between her buttocks that had thus far escaped punishment.

The effect was immediate.

A burning, itching sensation erupted from the treated area, growing and spreading with terrifying speed. Bai Zhenshuang gasped, then whimpered, then began to writhe as the maddening itch intensified. It was not a surface itch—it felt like it came from deep within her flesh, from her very bones. She could not scratch it. She could not soothe it. The relentless, crawling sensation drove her to the edge of sanity.

"Please!" she cried, her voice cracking. "Please, whip me! Whip my crevice! Anything to stop this itch!"

Xuanfa raised his hand, and a slender whip materialized in the air, its tip glowing with spiritual light. "As you wish."

The first strike landed precisely on her crevice, splitting the maddening itch with a different sensation—sharp, burning pain. But the pain was a relief compared to the crawling agony of the Scorpion Grass.

The whip struck again and again, each lash finding its target with unerring accuracy. Fifty times the whip descended, each strike eliciting a fresh scream from Bai Zhenshuang's throat. Her crevice swelled and reddened, the tender skin becoming raw and bruised. Blood beaded on the surface of the wounds.

When the fiftieth strike landed, Bai Zhenshuang collapsed fully, her body wracked with sobs. The itching had subsided, replaced by the familiar language of pain.

But it was not over.

Xuanfa reached into his storage ring again and withdrew an object that made Bai Zhenshuang's blood run cold. It was a hook of polished metal, curved into a sharp point, with a chain attached to its base. The anal hook gleamed in the morning light.

"No," Bai Zhenshuang whispered. "Please, not that."

Xuanfa ignored her plea. He knelt behind her and parted her swollen buttocks, exposing the target. Her anus, still bearing the marks of the whip strikes that had landed on her crevice, puckered in fear.

"Please," she begged again, her voice small and broken. "Master, please."

"This is what Moon Slave endured," Xuanfa said coldly. "You will endure it as well."

He pressed the tip of the hook against her opening and pushed. Bai Zhenshuang screamed as the cold metal breached her, spreading her against her will. The hook slid deeper, curving inside her, finding its resting place. When Xuanfa released it, the hook remained in place, its barbs holding it secure.

Xuanfa stood and grabbed the chain. With a single, smooth motion, he lifted. Bai Zhenshuang's body rose from the floor, suspended by the hook embedded in her anus. She screamed again as her full weight settled onto the single point of penetration, the metal stretching her, the pressure building to unbearable levels.

Xuanfa walked to the main beam of the hall and looped the chain over a hook that had been placed there long ago—the same hook that had once held Shen Mengyue. He secured the chain and stepped back.

Bai Zhenshuang hung there, swaying slightly, her toes barely brushing the ground but unable to bear any weight. Each slight movement sent fresh waves of agony through her impaled body. The hook shifted inside her, pressing against her inner walls, reminding her with every breath of her complete and utter submission.

The tears would not stop. They fell freely onto the floor below, mixing with the drool that dripped from her open mouth. Her arms hung limp at her sides. Her legs dangled uselessly. She was completely exposed, completely vulnerable, completely owned.

Below her, Shen Mengyue rose to her feet and walked to stand beside Xuanfa. She looked up at the hanging woman without emotion.

"Moon Slave," Xuanfa said. "You may watch her for the first watch. Ensure she does not fall."

"This slave obeys."

Xuanfa turned and walked back to his seat, settling into it as if nothing of importance had occurred. The other women of Zefeng Sect—Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and their daughters—filed into the hall and took their positions around the edges, watching the punishment unfold.

The hours crawled by.

Bai Zhenshuang's body grew accustomed to the pain in a way that only made it worse. The initial sharp agony faded into a deep, grinding torment that never ceased, never relented, never gave her a moment's peace. The hook shifted inside her with every involuntary muscle spasm, sending new jolts of agony through her abused body.

She lost track of how long she hung there. The light through the windows shifted from morning to afternoon to evening. Her arms grew numb. Her legs cramped. Her mind wandered into dark places.

At some point, Shen Mengyue approached and offered her water, holding a cup to her lips. Bai Zhenshuang drank greedily, the cool liquid a mercy she had not expected.

"Endure," Shen Mengyue said quietly. "It becomes easier."

"How?" Bai Zhenshuang rasped.

"You accept that you have no choice. You accept that this is your place. You accept that Master owns you completely, and you find peace in that surrender."

Bai Zhenshuang closed her eyes. The tears still fell.

The night was the worst. The hall grew cold and dark, lit only by a few lamps that cast long, dancing shadows across the walls. Bai Zhenshuang hung alone in the darkness, her body aching, her soul crushed beneath the weight of her own broken pride.

She remembered standing at the head of the Sword Sect, delivering lectures on the Way of the Sword. She remembered the respect in her disciples' eyes, the fear in her enemies' hearts. She remembered her own arrogance, her certainty that she was untouchable.

And now she hung naked from an anal hook, her body violated, her dignity destroyed, waiting for a man who had broken her completely.

The dawn came slowly, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. Xuanfa returned to the hall as the first light touch

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