玄罚天尊的惩罚第二部

The evening air in the Zemen Gate carried a faint scent of spiritual herbs and the lingering warmth of a setting sun that painted the mountain peaks in shades of amber and rose. Along the main pathway that wound through the sect's central courtyard, three figures moved with deliberate, measured grace upon their hands and knees.

Lin Qiaoxin crawled at the front of the trio, her twin tails swaying with each careful movement. Her bare skin gleamed with a subtle sheen of perspiration, the black slave collar around her neck catching the fading light. Behind her, Li Que maintained perfect posture despite her position, her crimson hair falling forward as she moved with athletic precision. Shen Mengyue brought up the rear, her long black hair trailing along the stone path, her movements fluid and unhurried.

Xuanfa walked beside them, a length of black leather dog leash held loosely in his right hand. The leash branched into three, each end clipped to the rings on their collars. He did not yank or pull; there was no need. His slaves moved as extensions of his will, anticipating his pace, pausing when he paused, their eyes fixed on the ground before them.

"You three have reached the late stage of Nascent Soul," Xuanfa said, his voice carrying no particular inflection. The statement hung in the air, a simple observation that demanded acknowledgment.

Immediately, the three women halted. Lin Qiaoxin pressed her forehead to the cool stone. Li Que followed suit. Shen Mengyue completed the gesture, her movements graceful and practiced.

"We owe everything to our master's punishments and the spiritual energy of the Xuantian Realm," Shen Mengyue said, her voice soft yet clear. "Without your guidance, Master, we would never have broken through in three hundred years."

Lin Qiaoxin lifted her head slightly, a smile playing on her lips. "The board strikes really do help focus the qi. At first I thought you were just torturing us, but now—"

"Now you crave them," Xuanfa finished for her, a hint of amusement flickering in his otherwise cold eyes.

Li Que remained silent, her forehead still against the ground, but her shoulders relaxed in unspoken agreement.

"Since you have all reached late Nascent Soul, I have a task for you," Xuanfa said, withdrawing three lengths of golden chain from his storage ring. The chains gleamed with imprisoned light, each link inscribed with miniature binding formations. "Heaven Sword Sect's Sect Leader, Bai Zhenshuang, has spoken disrespectfully of our sect. Hundred Flowers Valley's Valley Master, Hua Qianyu, allowed her disciples to occupy our medicinal gardens. And the Demon Saintess, Su Qianyao, has been using her charm techniques to corrupt the minds of Zemen Gate disciples."

Lin Qiaoxin's eyes brightened. "Ooh, we know them. Bai Zhenshuang thinks she's untouchable with that sword of hers. And Su Qianyao—she's the one who likes to toy with men's hearts, isn't she?"

Xuanfa continued as if she had not spoken. "You will deliver a message. They are to strip themselves completely, kneel at the entrance of Zemen Gate, and present their buttocks for punishment. They will receive one hundred strikes of the Heavenly Dao Board each day for ten years. If they resist, you will defeat them in combat and bind them with these golden restraint chains."

He tossed the chains to Lin Qiaoxin, who caught them with both hands, her expression turning serious.

"We understand, Master," Shen Mengyue said, rising slightly to a kneeling position.

"We guarantee we'll bring them back," Li Que added, her voice carrying its usual edge of confidence.

Lin Qiaoxin clutched the golden chains to her chest. "Should we start today?"

"Tomorrow. First, there is the matter of your daily discipline."

The three women exchanged glances—quick, knowing looks that held no fear, only anticipation.

"Before we go, Master," Lin Qiaoxin said, "may we make a request?"

Xuanfa raised an eyebrow.

"Since we've broken through to late Nascent Soul," Shen Mengyue took up the thread, "we humbly request an increase in our daily punishment. From two hundred strikes to four hundred."

"Four hundred strikes of the Heavenly Dao Board," Li Que repeated, her voice firm. "We are strong enough to receive them now."

Xuanfa let out a quiet laugh—a sound so rare that even the birds in the nearby trees seemed to pause. "So. You have come to love the feeling of the board against your bare flesh."

Lin Qiaoxin's cheeks flushed, but she did not deny it. "Yes, Master. We have."

"We are your slaves," Shen Mengyue said, her voice carrying a strange serenity. "To receive your punishment is our purpose and our pleasure."

Li Que simply nodded once, her pride bending into submission.

"When you return with the three women, I will grant your request," Xuanfa said. "Until then, two hundred strikes remain your portion."

"We thank Master for his consideration," the three said in unison, pressing their foreheads to the ground.

"But before the mission is fulfilled, there is still today's punishment to dispense." Xuanfa raised his hand and made a brief gesture.

From the shadow of a nearby pavilion, three figures emerged. They moved with the same careful, measured gait as their mothers—on hands and knees, their bare bodies marked only by black collars. Each one bore an uncanny resemblance to the women kneeling before Xuanfa, as if youth had been plucked from the past and given form.

Lin Yuxin, her hair tied in servant's knots, crawled beside Li Qiaoxin's daughter, Li Yunling, whose red hair blazed even in the dimming light. Shen Xingmian came last, her features a softer echo of Shen Mengyue's beauty, her long black hair brushing the stone.

The three young women reached Xuanfa's feet and pressed their foreheads to the ground.

"We greet Master," they said in unison, their voices steady, devoid of resentment.

"Your mothers' buttocks are in need of discipline," Xuanfa said, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather. "You will each take a Heavenly Dao Board and deliver two hundred strikes. After that, you will spread their legs and strike their perineums with the whip—one hundred lashes each."

Lin Yuxin raised her head, a glint of eager anticipation in her eyes. "Yes, Master."

Li Yunling's lips curved into a faint, almost proud smile. "It will be our honor."

Shen Xingmian simply bowed her head again. "We obey."

The three mothers rose to their knees and turned, presenting their raised buttocks to their daughters without hesitation. Lin Qiaoxin positioned herself first, spreading her knees wide and lowering her upper body until her forehead touched the ground.

"Yuxin," she called out, her voice carrying a strange warmth, "remember to strike the lower curve where it meets the thigh. That's where the pleasure gathers best."

Lin Yuxin picked up the Heavenly Dao Board from the stone beside her. The board was carved from a pale, almost translucent wood, its surface etched with swirling patterns that seemed to shift as the light moved. She tested its weight in both hands, then stepped behind her mother.

"I remember, Mother."

The first strike landed with a sharp crack that echoed across the courtyard. Lin Qiaoxin's body tensed, a soft gasp escaping her lips, but she did not flinch away. Her buttocks quivered, a red line blooming across the pale skin.

"Harder," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice slightly strained. "Don't be gentle with me. I raised you to be strong, not soft."

Lin Yuxin adjusted her grip and brought the board down again. This time, the sound was wetter, heavier. Lin Qiaoxin's breath caught, and she let out a low moan that was half pain, half something else entirely.

Beside them, Li Yunling had positioned herself behind her mother. Li Que knelt with perfect posture, her red hair cascading over her shoulders, her tailbone raised high.

"You strike too slowly," Li Que said, her voice carrying its characteristic impatience. "This is not a tea ceremony. Strike with purpose, with fire."

Li Yunling set her jaw and swung the Heavenly Dao Board in a flat arc. The wood connected with Li Que's right buttock, a crisp, decisive blow that sent a ripple through her flesh.

"Good," Li Que said, the word clipped. "Again. Cover the left side this time. Maintain consistency."

Shen Mengyue, by contrast, kneeled in silence, her eyes closed, her breathing even. Shen Xingmian stood behind her, the board held loosely in her hands.

"Mother," Shen Xingmian said quietly, "are you ready?"

"You have struck me many times before, Xingmian. You know the rhythm." Shen Mengyue's voice carried a gentle reassurance. "Let your body remember, not your mind."

Shen Xingmian nodded and began to strike. Her movements were precise, economical—each blow landing in a methodical pattern that Steven Mengyue's body seemed to welcome.

The courtyard filled with the sound of wood meeting flesh: sharp cracks, wet slaps, the occasional grunt or gasp that broke the rhythm. The three daughters worked in tandem, their strokes falling with increasing speed as they found their cadence.

Lin Yuxin began to sweat, a strand of hair escaping her servant's knot. "Fifty-three... fifty-four..."

"Don't lose count," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice now carrying a breathless edge. She was gripping the stone floor, her knuckles white. "When you strike, follow through. Don't hold back at the end."

"I'm not holding back, Mother."

"You're thinking too much. Let the board become part of your arm."

Lin Yuxin's next strike landed with a new authority, the wood biting deep into the swollen flesh. Lin Qiaixin let out a choked cry that dissolved into a shuddering breath.

Across the courtyard, Li Que had begun to emit low, rhythmic grunts with each blow. Her body swayed slightly, but she refused to lower her posture.

"You're slowing down," Li Que said, her voice tight. "Are you tired?"

"No, Mother," Li Yunling said, though her arms were beginning to tremble.

"Then strike as if your life depends on it. What would Master think if he saw you flagging?"

Li Yunling's eyes hardened. She gripped the board with both hands and brought it down with renewed force, the wood whistling through the air before impacting with a sound like a thunderclap. Li Que's body jerked forward, and she let out a sharp gasp that was almost a laugh.

"Better," she said, her voice rough.

Shen Mengyue's session proceeded in comparative silence. The only sounds were the rhythmic impact of the board and Shen Mengyue's soft, measured breathing. Shen Xingmian's strokes were neither the hardest nor the softest, but they carried a consistency that bordered on mechanical.

"One hundred ninety-eight... one hundred ninety-nine... two hundred," Shen Xingmian counted, lowering the board.

Shen Mengyue exhaled slowly. Her buttocks were a deep, angry red, the skin glistening with a sheen of moisture. She did not rub or touch them. She merely adjusted her position, spreading her knees further apart.

"Well done," Shen Mengyue said, her voice carrying a note of maternal pride. "Now the whip. You remember the technique?"

Shen Xingmian traded the board for a thin, flexible whip made of black leather. She stepped behind her mother and knelt, looking at the exposed perineum.

"Lift higher, Mother."

Shen Mengyue arched her back further, presenting herself completely. The lips of her sex were already slick, her body responding to the punishment despite the pain.

"You know where to strike," Shen Mengyue said. "Cover the entire slit. Don't leave any part untouched."

Shen Xingmian raised the whip and brought it down in a precise, diagonal stroke. The leather bit into the tender flesh between Shen Mengyue's legs, and Shen Mengyue let out a sound that was half a cry, half a sigh.

"Yes," she breathed. "Like that."

Lin Yuxin had retrieved her whip as well and was positioning herself behind her mother. Lin Qiaoxin's legs were trembling, but her voice remained steady.

"Aim for the clit on one side," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice carrying a

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The sun hung low over the責凰门 mountain pass, casting long shadows across the rocky terrain as the魔族's Saintess Guard arrived in force. Sixty-three figures moved with military precision, their armor gleaming with dark enchantments as they marched through the山口. At their head strode a woman of considerable presence, her cultivation at the中期 of the化神 realm, her eyes burning with righteous fury as her gaze fell upon the scene before her.

Su Qianyao knelt in the dirt, her silver hair spilling across her bare shoulders, her arms bound behind her back with chains that clinked with each movement. Her rear end was raised high, presented obscenely to the heavens, and even now a wooden board was descending upon it with a sharp crack that echoed through the mountain pass. A soft, breathy moan escaped her lips, a sound that should have been one of pain but carried an unmistakable undercurrent of pleasure.

"Release her at once!" the guard captain roared, her voice amplified by cultivation to shake the very stones beneath their feet. "I am Li Feng of the Saintess Guard, and I demand to know who dares lay hands on Saintess Su Qianyao!"

The gate before them creaked open, and two figures emerged from the shadows within. They walked side by side, their footsteps unhurried, their bodies completely bare to the world. The contrast between their naked forms and the armored guards could not have been starker.

Bai Zhenshuang stepped forward first, her black hair cascading down her back like a river of silk, framing features so coldly beautiful they might have been carved from jade. Her skin was pale as fresh snow, unblemished and luminous in the afternoon light, every curve of her body displayed without the slightest hint of shame. Her breasts were full and proud, her waist impossibly slender, her hips flaring into a rounded curve that spoke of both strength and grace. She held her head high, her chin lifted, her eyes carrying that same cold arrogance that had once made her the most feared swordswoman in the cultivation world.

Beside her, Hua Qianyu moved with a gentle sway, her presence a warm counterpoint to Bai Zhenshuang's frost. Her skin held a softer tone, like cream touched with honey, and the curves of her body were fuller, more yielding, yet no less perfect in their proportion. Her face radiated serenity, her eyes soft as the morning mist, her full lips curved in a gentle smile. She seemed almost maternal in her warmth, yet there was steel beneath that softness, the quiet confidence of a woman who had healed countless wounds and could inflict them just as easily.

Both women were completely naked, their裸体 displayed to the guards without the slightest trace of embarrassment. Where the armored soldiers bristled with weapons and protective enchantments, the two women stood vulnerable and unarmed, yet they radiated a power that made the guards hesitate.

Bai Zhenshuang's cold gaze swept across the assembled crowd. "Your demand is misplaced," she said, her voice carrying the clarity of breaking ice. "I am no longer the master of the Heavenly Sword Sect. By the grace of Lord Xuanfa, I have been accepted as his slave, granted the name Frost Slave. Each day I receive the punishment of the spanking board upon my backside, and I cherish every blow."

Hua Qianyu nodded, her gentle voice carrying just as far. "And I am no longer the master of the Hundred Flowers Valley. I thank Lord Xuanfa for granting me the position of his slave, giving me the name Word Slave. Each day I must receive the punishment of the spanking upon my rear, and I have never been happier."

The guards stared in disbelief. Their eyes moved from the two naked women to the scene of their Saintess being soundly spanked in the dirt, then back again.

"You've lost your minds!" Li Feng spat, her hand going to her weapon. "The Heavenly Sword Sect and the Hundred Flowers Valley have sunk to this! You follow this perverted tyrant, this—"

"I would be careful with your next words," Bai Zhenshuang interrupted, her hand moving to the hilt of Frostmourne, which hung at her hip despite her lack of clothing. "The one you insult is my master. I will not allow his name to be tarnished."

"Especially when your Saintess remains here of her own free will," Hua Qianyu added, her voice still gentle but now carrying an edge of warning. "Su Qianyao stays because she wishes to. The punishment she receives is what she craves."

"Lies!" one of the guards shouted, and the battle was joined.

The guard captain's sword flashed through the air, trailing black flames as she leaped forward. The sixty-three guards moved as one, their formation-tested combat art activating, their combined power surging to challenge even multiple化神 cultivators.

But Bai Zhenshuang had never been an ordinary cultivator. Her sword whispered free of its sheath, and the temperature plummeted. Frost spread across the ground, crackling up the legs of the nearest guards, slowing their movements. She moved through them like a winter wind, her blade tracing patterns of ice and death, her naked body a blur of pale skin and flying black hair.

Hua Qianyu moved differently. Her hands wove in the air, and green light spread from her palms, vines erupting from the earth to entangle her enemies. Healing energy flowed from her touch, but it carried a sleeping agent that sent guards collapsing mid-swing. She did not kill, but she rendered them helpless with the same gentle efficiency with which she had once tended her gardens.

And all the while, the sound of Su Qianyao's punishment echoed across the battlefield.

Crack.

"Ahh~"

Crack.

"Mmm~ yes~"

Crack.

The sounds were soft, breathy, sensual beyond all reason. Each crack of the wooden board against her naked flesh drew a moan from the Saintess that made the guards' blood run cold. How could their sacred leader, the mistress of魅惑 arts, the terror of the cultivation world, be making such sounds?

Bai Zhenshuang's blade moved faster. With each cry from Su Qianyao, her attacks grew sharper, more precise, as if the Saintess's pleasure fueled her battle spirit. She cut through the formation with surgical precision, her cold beauty a stark contrast to the chaos around her.

"Impossible!" shouted a young guard, barely at the late stage of the Core Formation realm, as she watched her captain fall to a precise strike from Bai Zhenshuang's frozen blade.

Then came the sound that broke them entirely. Su Qianyao's body convulsed, a long, shuddering cry escaping her throat as her entire form arched and trembled. A spray of liquid erupted between her thighs, splattering on the ground beneath her, and she collapsed, gasping and moaning, her body still twitching from the force of her climax.

"By the heavens," the young guard whispered, her weapon lowering. "The Saintess... she came from being spanked."

The battle momentum shifted. Guards looked at each other in confusion and horror. Their Saintess, their proud, untouchable leader, lay in the dirt with her rear black and blue, trembling from an orgasm brought on by punishment. The desire to fight drained from them like water through a sieve.

Li Feng, the captain, struggled to her knees, her armor cracked, her sword arm bleeding from a dozen shallow cuts. "What... what have you done to her?"

Su Qianyao's voice cut through the chaos, weak and breathless but unmistakable. "Sisters... of the guard... I am Slave Yao of my own free will. I have always wanted... someone to beat my backside until it was purple and swollen. Lord Xuanfa... he fulfills my every desire."

The guards stared at their Saintess, lying there with her punished backside exposed to the world, her silver hair tangled with dirt and sweat, her red eyes still glazed with pleasure. There was no coercion in her words, no hidden meaning. She spoke the absolute truth.

"She's lost her mind," someone muttered.

"Perhaps," Li Feng said, climbing to her feet with obvious effort. She looked at Su Qianyao, then at Bai Zhenshuang and Hua Qianyu, who stood side by side, their naked bodies streaked with blood that was not their own. "But we cannot defeat them, and the Saintess does not wish to return. We withdraw."

The guard captain gathered her scattered forces, supporting their wounded as they retreated down the mountain pass. They cast one last look back at the three naked women standing in the山口, at the Saintess being helped to her feet by her fellow slaves, and then they were gone.

---

The two women knelt before Xuanfa in the main hall of the责凰门, their heads bowed, their bodies still bearing the marks of battle. His cold gaze swept over them, assessing, calculating, as it always did.

"You performed well," he said, and the words carried more weight than any grand praise. "Your first task as my slaves has been completed satisfactorily."

Bai Zhenshuang and Hua Qianyu felt warmth bloom in their chests at his words, a feeling they had never experienced when praised by their own sects.

"The碧落宫 master Yun Qing'er, and the九幽谷 master Youlan," Xuanfa continued, "have both allowed their disciples to clash with this sect. They cannot control their own people. Though their sects lack any high-level cultivators, they must learn discipline. These two masters, along with any disciples who participated in the conflicts, shall strip completely bare, kneel at the entrance of the责凰门山口, present their rears, and receive one hundred strikes of the Heavenly Dao Spanking Board each day, for three years. Should they resist, the punishment will be increased tenfold."

Hua Qianyu pressed her forehead to the ground. "It shall be done, master."

Bai Zhenshuang echoed the gesture. "Your will is our law."

They rose and departed, their paths diverging as they set out to deliver their master's judgment.

---

Bai Zhenshuang walked through the gates of the碧落宫 with the same measured, unhurried stride she had used to approach armies. She was still naked, her pale skin a stark contrast to the bustling activity of a sect that had never seen such an affront to decency. Disciples stopped and stared, their eyes wide, their mouths hanging open. Some covered their faces in shame. Others stared with undisguised horror.

She did not care. Her steps carried her through the main courtyard, up the white stone steps, past the training grounds where young disciples fumbled their swords at the sight of her, and into the main hall herself. Her face remained cold and impassive, the same face she had worn as the Sword Empress of the Heavenly Sword Sect. But inside, a different warmth flowed through her. She was obeying her master. She was performing her duty as a slave. The thought of his approval, of his hand striking her backside in reward or punishment, sent a thrill through her core that she carefully hid behind her frozen expression.

Her body was a perfect testament to the discipline of a master cultivator. Every muscle was defined, every curve sculpted by years of sword practice. Her skin was smooth and flawless, unmarked by scar or blemish, as pale as the frost she commanded. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, her waist tapered to an almost impossible thinness, her hips flared into the generous curve of her rear, which still bore faint pink marks from the Heavenly Dao Board's earlier attentions. She walked with the grace of a sword stroke, each step precise and inevitable.

"Yun Qing'er," she called, her voice echoing through the chamber. "I bring a judgment from Lord Xuanfa of the责凰门. Show yourself, and bring any disciples who have participated in attacks against his sect."

The碧落宫 master emerged from behind a screen, her face pale, her hands trembling. She was a modest cultivator at the Core Formation realm, barely worthy of notice in a world of化神 masters, and she knew it. Behind her came a dozen disciples, all equally pale, all equally terrified.

"You..." Yun Qing'er's voice cracked. "You are the Sword Empress of the Heavenly Sword Sect. How can you... how can you appear li

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The morning sun cast long shadows across the stone steps leading to the grand entrance of Tianjian Sect. The disciples stationed at the gate were accustomed to seeing visitors of all kinds—dignified elders, arrogant young masters, veiled maidens seeking sword lessons. None of them, however, were prepared for what they saw approaching through the mist.

A woman walked toward them, completely naked.

She carried only a sword at her side, a blade of exquisite make that hummed with latent power. Her body was a study in contradictions—the smooth, luminous skin of a young maiden paired with the full, ripe curves of a woman who had known passion. Black hair cascaded past her waist, swaying with each unhurried step. Her face was ethereally beautiful, delicate features that seemed carved from jade, yet her eyes held the calm, ancient wisdom of someone who had transcended mortal shame.

The disciples froze. Some dropped their spears. One young man's jaw hung open before he caught himself and looked away, his ears burning red.

"W-who dares approach Tianjian Sect without—" the lead disciple stammered, unable to finish his sentence as his gaze refused to settle anywhere proper.

The woman stopped ten paces from the gate. She showed no sign of embarrassment, no hint of self-consciousness. Her nude body was presented to the morning air as naturally as a statue in a garden. Every curve, every line of her form was visible—the gentle swell of her breasts, the narrow waist that flared into rounded hips, the firm thighs of a cultivator who trained daily. The black slave collar around her neck caught the light, a stark reminder of her station.

"I am Shen Mengyue," she said, her voice carrying the clarity of a bell. "Once the sect master of Xianxia Sect. Now I am known as Moon Slave, servant of Xuanfa, the Punishment Sovereign. I have come bearing a message from my master."

The name rippled through the gathered disciples like a shockwave. Shen Mengyue. Moon Slave. One of the famed slaves of the fearsome Xuanfa. Though she wore no clothes, none present dared to treat her with disrespect. Her aura pressed against them like a mountain, the oppressive weight of a Nascent Soul cultivator at the late stage. This was no mere woman to be leered at—this was a force of nature.

"Inform your sect master," Shen Mengyue continued, her voice amplifying with spiritual power. "White Pillow Frost, leader of Tianjian Sect, attend me immediately."

The sound of her words rolled across the sect like thunder, echoing through training grounds and meditation chambers alike.

Within minutes, the grand doors of Tianjian Sect swung open. Disciples parted like the sea as a woman emerged, her presence commanding absolute attention.

White Pillow Frost was every inch the sword immortal legend described. Her black hair hung straight and smooth, framing a face of cold, sculpted beauty. High cheekbones, a straight nose, lips that seemed carved from pale pink jade. Her brows arched with an innate haughtiness, and her eyes—clear as icewater—held the unshakeable confidence of one who had never met her equal. Her figure was tall, with broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist, her robes of white and blue concealing a body honed by decades of sword training. At her hip hung Frost Coagulation, a blade famous across the cultivation world.

She studied the naked woman before her with barely concealed surprise, though her expression quickly settled back into its usual mask of cold composure.

"Shen Mengyue," White Pillow Frost said, her voice flat. "You dare to come to my sect unclothed?"

"I am a slave," Shen Mengyue replied without heat. "Slaves do not wear clothes. It is our purpose to display ourselves, to remind the world that we have submitted our bodies and wills to our master. This is no shame. This is honor."

A murmur rippled through the disciples. White Pillow Frost's eyes narrowed.

"State your business."

Shen Mengyue's expression remained serene, but her voice carried the weight of divine authority. "My master, Xuanfa, the Punishment Sovereign, has taken note of certain words you have spoken against our sect, Zephyr Gate. He finds your lack of respect... unacceptable."

The gathered disciples exchanged glances. Some paled. Zephyr Gate was not a sect to offend lightly. Its founder was known across the lands as the most ruthless cultivator alive, a man who punished without hesitation and whose wrath fell not only on the guilty but on their entire lineage.

"As punishment, you are ordered to remove all your garments," Shen Mengyue continued, her voice calm and serene, "kneel at the entrance of Zephyr Gate, present your buttocks, and receive one hundred strikes of the Heaven's Plank each day for ten years. A minor correction, he calls it."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Then the disciples erupted.

"How dare you!"

"You think you can humiliate our sect master?!"

"We'll cut you down where you stand!"

Swords were drawn. Qi flared. The air crackled with killing intent.

White Pillow Frost raised one hand, and silence fell instantly. Her face betrayed nothing, but her eyes had grown colder than mountain snow.

"You come to my sect," she said slowly, "and demand that I, the leader of Tianjian Sect, strip naked and crawl to your gate to be beaten like a misbehaving child?"

"I come bearing my master's mercy," Shen Mengyue replied. "This is a minor punishment. Should you resist, the consequences will be far more severe. My master keeps his word. You would do well to accept this small humiliation now rather than face what comes after."

"A minor punishment," White Pillow Frost repeated, a hint of steel entering her voice. "To strip me of my dignity, to make me a laughingstock before my own disciples—this is what you call minor?"

"It is only your pride that would be wounded," Shen Mengyue said gently. "Your body will heal. Your sect will survive. But if you force my master's hand..."

"Enough."

White Pillow Frost's hand went to her sword. The blade sang as it left its sheath, pale light gathering along its edge.

"I will not be cowed by threats. If your master wants to discipline me, let him come himself. Or send someone capable of forcing me to my knees."

Shen Mengyue sighed, a soft sound of genuine regret. "I had hoped you would be reasonable."

She drew her own sword. Violet light rippled along the blade, the legendary Purple Haze sword humming with eagerness.

"So be it. Let us settle this with the sword."

The disciples backed away, forming a wide circle. Two Nascent Soul cultivators at the late stage—the battle would be devastating.

They clashed.

The sound of metal meeting metal split the air like a thunderclap. Spiritual energy exploded outward, cracking the stone tiles beneath their feet. White Pillow Frost moved like water, her sword strokes precise and elegant, each strike flowing seamlessly into the next. She was a master of the sword, perhaps the finest in the cultivation world.

But Shen Mengyue matched her blow for blow.

Their blades weaved through the air, tracing arcs of light and death. Frost Coagulation carried the chill of eternal winter, its every strike leaving trails of frozen air. Yet Purple Haze moved like a living thing, adapting, countering, always finding the gaps in White Pillow Frost's defense.

One hundred exchanges passed in the span of a few breaths.

Then Shen Mengyue's sword slipped past White Pillow Frost's guard.

The tip of Purple Haze stopped an inch from White Pillow Frost's throat. A thin line of blood appeared on her pale neck.

The disciples gasped.

White Pillow Frost stared at the blade before her, her expression frozen in disbelief. She had lost. She, the unparalleled sword immortal, had lost to another swordswoman. To a *slave*.

"You are surprised," Shen Mengyue observed, lowering her sword. "You should not be. My master has punished me tens of thousands of times, each strike of the Heaven's Plank tempering not only my body but my cultivation. Every blow I endured made me stronger. Every night I spent in submission honed my skills. You see only my nakedness and my collar. You do not see the power that lies beneath."

She withdrew a talisman and spoke briefly into it. A moment later, it glowed, and a voice—cold, male, absolute—echoed in her mind.

*She resisted. Bring her to Zephyr Gate for proper punishment. Her offense has increased.*

Shen Mengyue nodded and turned back to White Pillow Frost.

"My master has been informed. Because you refused to accept your punishment, your crime has increased. You will now be taken to Zephyr Gate, where you will receive far more severe discipline." She paused, her eyes soft but unyielding. "The question is: will you continue to resist and drag your entire sect into conflict, or will you accept your defeat with grace?"

White Pillow Frost's knuckles were white around her sword hilt. Her disciples shouted for her to fight on, to rally the sect, to destroy this insolent slave.

But White Pillow Frost was silent.

She had given her word, years ago, that she would never be beaten by another sword. That she would rather die than submit.

But dying meant leaving her sect leaderless. Fighting meant bringing Xuanfa's wrath upon thousands of innocent cultivators.

She closed her eyes.

When she opened them, they were calm. Resigned.

"I, White Pillow Frost, have lost to Shen Mengyue in honorable combat," she announced, her voice carrying across the entire sect. "I therefore accept any punishment that comes with my defeat."

"Sect Master, no!"

"Please, Sect Master, let us fight!"

White Pillow Frost raised her hand, silencing the protests.

"This is my burden to bear. Do not seek revenge. Do not act against Zephyr Gate. This is between me and the Punishment Sovereign alone."

She sheathed Frost Coagulation.

Then, slowly, deliberately, she began to undress.

Her outer robe fell first, pooling at her feet. Then her inner garments. Piece by piece, she stripped before the eyes of her disciples, her peers, her juniors. Her face was a mask of icy composure, but a keen observer might have noticed the slight tremor in her fingers.

When she stood as naked as Shen Mengyue, the full glory of her body was revealed. She was a woman built for power—broad shoulders, a proud chest with full, rounded breasts that defied gravity, a flat stomach etched with the faint lines of muscle, and hips that flared wide and generous. Her legs were long and strong, the legs of someone who had spent a lifetime standing in sword stances. And her buttocks—firm, round, perfectly proportioned—were exactly the kind that Heaven's Plank was designed to punish.

The disciples stared in stunned silence. Some looked away, unable to bear the sight of their proud sect master brought so low. Others watched with undisguised horror.

White Pillow Frost knelt.

Shen Mengyue approached, holding a coil of spiritual rope. "Immortal Binding Rope," she explained as she looped it around White Pillow Frost's neck. "It will suppress your cultivation. Do not try to resist it."

The rope tightened, and White Pillow Frost felt her spiritual power drain away, sealed deep within her dantian. She was now no stronger than a mortal.

"Follow me," Shen Mengyue said, and began to walk.

White Pillow Frost crawled.

On hands and knees, her bare body scraping against the stone path, she followed Shen Mengyue through the gates of her own sect. Disciples watched in frozen horror as their naked sect master crawled past them, her head held high despite the position of utter submission.

They reached the main hall. Hundreds of disciples had gathered, their faces a mixture of shock, anger, and fear.

Shen Mengyue turned to face the crowd.

"White Pillow Frost, sect master of Tianjian Sect, has been found guilty of speaking disrespectfully toward Zephyr Gate, and of resisting lawful punishment from the Punishment Sovereign. Her sentence is as follows: four hundred strokes of the Heavenly Discipline upon

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The sun hung low over the Hundred Flowers Valley, casting golden light across terraced gardens of spiritual herbs that bloomed in every color imaginable. Fragrant mist drifted between the petals, and the air hummed with the gentle buzz of spirit bees collecting nectar. It was a place of peace, of healing—a sanctuary where disciples moved with quiet purpose, tending to the precious plants that made their sect renowned throughout the cultivation world.

That peace shattered when a figure appeared at the valley's entrance, walking with measured, unhurried steps along the stone path.

She was naked.

Every curve of her body was exposed to the afternoon light—her high, firm breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, the athletic flare of her hips, and the triangle of red hair between her thighs. Her skin had a sun-kissed warmth to it, broken only by the stark black band around her throat: a slave collar, gleaming dully against her pulse. Her fire-red hair was pulled back into a high ponytail that swayed with each stride, and her face held a sharp, predatory beauty—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and golden eyes that burned with barely contained heat.

The first disciple to notice her dropped her watering can. It landed with a hollow thud, and the sound drew the attention of others. Gasps rippled through the gardens. Jaws fell open. Several younger disciples turned away, faces burning crimson, while others stared with mouths agape, unable to look away from the shameless display.

The woman—this naked, collared woman—walked through their sacred valley as if she owned it. Her hips swayed with the confidence of a predator surveying conquered territory. She made no move to cover herself. She did not hurry. She did not even seem to notice the stares, or if she did, she found them as inconsequential as the buzzing of flies.

Why would she care? She had been walked on leashes through crowded markets. She had been bent over and spanked before assemblies of thousands, her bare bottom red and sore under the gaze of strangers. She had crawled on hands and knees through mud while cultivators laughed and pointed. Her master had seen to it that she learned her place, and in learning, she had found a strange, burning pride in it. This body was not hers to hide. It belonged to her master, and he had commanded her to display it. What greater honor could a slave know?

She was Li Que, once the vice-sect leader of the Vermillion Bird Gate, a woman who had burned armies to ash with her flames. Now she was Que Slave, property of the Xuan Punishment Lord, and she walked through the Hundred Flowers Valley as naked as the day she was born, because her master had sent her here, and her master's will was the only law she recognized.

"Stop right there!"

A group of disciples rushed forward, forming a defensive line across the path. They were all women, as were all members of the Hundred Flowers Valley sect. Their leader, a stern-faced woman in her middle years, raised a hand glowing with green spiritual energy.

"Who are you to trespass in our valley so shamelessly? Cover yourself at once, or we will—"

Li Que's lips curled into a cold smile. She raised her voice, and though she did not shout, it carried through the valley like the ring of a bell. "Hua Qianyu. Come out. I know you can hear me."

Her tone brooked no argument. It was the voice of someone accustomed to being obeyed, and despite her nakedness, despite her collared throat, there was nothing submissive about it.

A ripple passed through the gathered disciples. They parted, and from among them stepped a woman whose presence commanded immediate attention. She was tall and full-figured, with a gentle, nurturing beauty that seemed to radiate warmth. Her face was soft, her features refined and kind, and her eyes held a depth of compassion that had comforted countless injured cultivators over the centuries. Her hair was the color of aged jade, a deep, lustrous green, and it was pinned up loosely behind her head, with a few strands falling to frame her face. She wore robes of white and pale green, embroidered with patterns of blooming flowers, and the air around her smelled of fresh herbs and honey.

Hua Qianyu, the Valley Lord of the Hundred Flowers Valley. A peak-stage Nascent Soul cultivator, a master of healing and alchemy whose name was spoken with reverence across the cultivation world. She looked at the naked woman before her, and recognition flickered in her eyes.

"Li Que of the Vermillion Bird Gate," she said, her voice calm but wary. "Or should I say, Que Slave of the Xuan Punishment Lord. What business does Xuan Fa's slave have in my valley?"

"Slave," Li Que repeated, and there was no shame in her voice, only a cold, hard pride. "Yes. I am his slave. I wear his collar. I bear his marks. And I have been sent to deliver his judgment."

Hua Qianyu's expression tightened. "Judgment?"

Li Que's golden eyes swept across the gathered disciples, counting them, marking them. A dozen, two dozen, more. "Your disciples have been stealing from my master," she said. "You, Valley Lord, have allowed your people to encroach upon the herb gardens of the Ze Huang Sect. You have taken what is not yours. You have grown fat on what belongs to Xuan Fa."

"That's absurd!" one of the senior disciples burst out. "Those herb gardens have been disputed territory for centuries! We've always—"

Li Que's gaze snapped to her, and the disciple fell silent as if struck. The air around Li Que shimmered with heat, and the flowers nearest to her began to wilt.

"I was not speaking to you," Li Que said softly. "When I speak, you will listen. When I command, you will obey. That is the way of things now."

She turned back to Hua Qianyu. "This is my master's decree. Every disciple who set foot in the contested gardens will strip naked, crawl to the mouth of the Ze Huang Sect's mountain pass, and present their bare buttocks for punishment. They will receive one hundred strikes of the Heavenly Dao Wood Board per day, for ten years. This is considered a light punishment, in Xuan Fa's mercy."

A wave of horrified whispers swept through the crowd.

"And you, Valley Lord," Li Que continued, "will be punished alongside them for your failure to control your people."

Hua Qianyu's face went pale, then flushed with anger. "This is outrageous! My disciples are not common criminals to be stripped and beaten like animals! And I will not allow you to lay a hand on them!"

"It is not your choice to make," Li Que said. "My master has commanded it. It will be done."

"Your master has no authority here!" Hua Qianyu's voice rose, and green spiritual energy flared around her, causing the ground at her feet to crack with new growth. Vines and flowers burst forth, writhing like living serpents. "I am the Valley Lord of the Hundred Flowers Valley. I answer to no tyrant. If Xuan Fa wants to make demands, let him come here himself and face me!"

"He sent me instead," Li Que said, and the temperature in the valley surged upward. "I am enough."

Hua Qianyu's hand went to her storage ring, and a moment later, a blade of pale green crystal gleamed in her grasp—a sword forged from petrified bamboo that had grown for ten thousand years in a spirit-rich grove. "Leave now, or I will consider this an act of war."

"You will find that I am already at war," Li Que replied, and then she moved.

Flame exploded from her body in a torrent of crimson and gold. The air screamed as it was superheated, and the closest disciples were thrown backward by the blast of force. Hua Qianyu was fast—she raised a barrier of green energy that absorbed the initial impact—but Li Que was already inside her guard, one hand wreathed in fire, the other reaching for the Valley Lord's throat.

Hua Qianyu twisted aside, her sword cutting upward in a graceful arc. Li Que leaned back, the blade whistling past her chin, close enough to shave a few red hairs. She answered with a kick aimed at Hua Qianyu's midsection, and though the Valley Lord blocked it with her forearm, the impact drove her back several steps, her feet leaving furrows in the ground.

"You're strong," Hua Qianyu admitted, shaking out her arm.

"Strong enough to have defeated you once before, in Xuan Fa's arena," Li Que said. "Strong enough to do it again."

"That was thirty years ago. I have grown since then."

"So have I."

Li Que thrust her hands forward, and a pillar of flame erupted from the ground beneath Hua Qianyu's feet. The Valley Lord leaped, her robes singed, and countered with a sweep of her sword that sent a wave of razor-sharp petals screaming through the air. Li Que danced through them, her naked body twisting and spinning in a display of perfect control. A few petals sliced across her skin, drawing thin lines of blood, but she did not slow. She did not even seem to notice.

She had been beaten far worse by her master. She had been broken and remade by his hands. These little cuts were nothing.

Hua Qianyu was backing up now, trying to create distance to use her more powerful techniques, but Li Que would not allow it. She pressed forward relentlessly, her flames forcing the Valley Lord to constantly defend. Every time Hua Qianyu tried to cast a spell, Li Que was there, breaking her concentration with a burst of fire or a kick aimed at her head.

"You are—" Hua Qianyu gasped, blocking another strike. "You are fighting like a madwoman!"

"I am fighting like a slave," Li Que corrected, and she slammed her palm into Hua Qianyu's chest. "My master is watching. I cannot fail him."

The blow sent Hua Qianyu flying. She crashed through a trellis of flowering vines and tumbled across the ground, her robes torn and dirtied. Before she could rise, Li Que was on her, one hand closing around her throat, the other pressing a ball of condensed flame against her solar plexus.

"Yield," Li Que said.

Hua Qianyu's eyes were wild, defiant. Green energy gathered around her, preparing a final, desperate attack.

"You will lose," Li Que said calmly. "And you will be punished regardless. But if you yield now, I will only punish you. If you force me to hurt you more, I will be forced to hurt your disciples as well. My master's orders are clear: those who resist receive additional punishment. Do you want that?"

The green energy flickered, wavered. Hua Qianyu looked past Li Que at her gathered disciples—young women, many of them barely out of the Qi Condensation stage, their faces pale with fear. Some were crying. Some were clutching each other, trembling.

She could not win. She knew it. And if she lost while fighting, her disciples would suffer for it.

"Yield," Li Que said again, softer this time. "It will be easier for all of you."

Hua Qianyu closed her eyes. Her hands fell to her sides. "I yield."

Li Que released her and stepped back. Her flames died down, leaving her skin slick with sweat and smudged with soot, but otherwise unharmed. She reached into her storage ring and pulled out a jade talisman—a communication talisman, carved with the mark of the Ze Huang Sect.

She crushed it.

A moment later, the talisman glowed, and a voice emerged from it. Cold, flat, devoid of emotion. The voice of a man who had never known mercy and never sought it.

"Hua Qianyu resisted."

It was not a question. It was a statement of fact.

Li Que bowed her head, even though he could not see her. "Yes, Master. She resisted. She fought me. She refused to accept your judgment."

"How many of her disciples witnessed this?"

"All of them, Master."

Silence. Then: "The punishment increases. Hua Qianyu will be brought to the Ze Huang Sect for severe correction. Her disciples will be bent over and spanked with the full force of the Heavenly Dao Board until their buttocks bleed. This is the penalty for defiance."

Hua Qianyu's face drained of all color. Around her, the disciples broke into sobs of terror.

"Please!" Hua Qianyu threw herself forward, falling to her knees before Li Que. "Please, I beg you! D

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The secret realm shimmered with an ethereal glow, ancient trees draped in luminescent vines casting dancing shadows across the forest floor. Su Qianyao stood amidst a clearing, her silver hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of moonlight, her crimson eyes scanning the surroundings with lazy amusement. Her form-fitting black dress hugged every curve of her voluptuous figure—full breasts straining against the silk, a waist so narrow it seemed impossible, and hips that flared into a rounded, generous backside that she knew drove men to madness. She was a vision of seductive perfection, the legendary enchantress of the demon race who had brought countless cultivators to their knees with naught but a whisper and a smile.

A sound caught her attention, and she turned to see a figure emerging from between two towering jade trees. Su Qianyao's painted lips curved into a smirk.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" she purred, her voice dripping with honeyed amusement. "Such a rare sight. A little sister running about with her bottom bare for all the world to see."

The naked woman approaching her was Lin Qiaoxin, her black twin-tails bouncing with each playful step. Her skin was flawless and fair, her body slender yet perfectly proportioned, with a flat stomach, delicate shoulders, and pert breasts that swayed freely as she moved. Around her neck rested a black slave collar, stark against her pale throat. She wore nothing else, not a scrap of fabric, not a single ornament—only the collar marked her as owned. Her demeanor betrayed no shame, no embarrassment; instead, she walked with the casual confidence of one utterly at ease in her own exposed flesh.

Lin Qiaoxin stopped a few paces away and wiggled her bare backside with an exaggerated sway, grinning wide. "What do you think, Sister Yao? Is Qiaoxin's bottom not lovely? Your servant became her master's slave girl when she was barely twenty summers old—now she's over four hundred. Your servant has spent more time naked than clothed in this life. Clothes are just a bother, really. The master prefers us bare, and your servant prefers to please her master."

She twirled once, showing off her nude form without a hint of reservation, then planted her hands on her hips and tilted her head. "But speaking of business, Sister Yao, your servant heard you've been using your charm arts on the disciples of Zefeng Gate. The master is not pleased. He ordered your servant to bring you back for a spanking—just ten years of it. So be a good sister and come quietly. There's no need for us to fight."

Su Qianyao laughed, a sound like wind chimes in a summer breeze. "How can you call it bullying, dear heart? I was merely playing with the little ones. Harmless fun, nothing more." Her crimson eyes glittered with challenge. "But if the esteemed Xuanfa wants to spank this one's bottom, he'll have to prove he's worthy of the privilege. Come, little Qiaoxin, show me what you can do."

Lin Qiaoxin sighed dramatically, shaking her head. "Sister Yao, Sister Yao, you're resisting punishment. Don't you know the master punishes resistance most severely? He might beat your bottom until it's raw and bloody." She paused, then patted her own bare rump with a wistful smile. "Though your servant thinks that sounds rather wonderful. Your servant would love nothing more than to kneel before the master right now and feel his Heavenly Dao Board against her skin."

Su Qianyao's tongue darted out to wet her lips, a flicker of anticipation crossing her features. Beat her bottom until it was raw? The thought sent a thrill through her core. In the demon realm, she had been untouchable—the supreme enchantress whose very presence made men tremble in fear or lust, never daring to raise a hand against her. But her backside had always ached for something more, a secret hunger that no one had ever been able to satisfy. Perhaps this so-called Xuanfa and his slaves could finally give her what she craved.

"Then let us see if you are worthy of such claims, little sister," Su Qianyao said, raising her hand. A wave of seductive energy pulsed outward, distorting the air with shimmering pink light.

Lin Qiaoxin merely giggled. "Your servant warned you."

She stamped her foot, and the ground blazed with suddenly-activated arrays. Runes spiraled into existence, encircling Su Qianyao in a complex web of light. The enchantress's eyes widened as she found her movements hindered, her charm arts dissipating against the overwhelming power of the formation.

Their battle erupted.

Su Qianyao summoned tendrils of dark energy, lashing out like vipers, each strike aimed to entangle and subdue. Lin Qiaoxin danced between them, her bare feet tracing patterns on the earth, activating one array after another. Light flashed, barriers rose, and the very air grew heavy with spiritual pressure.

Su Qianyao was powerful—a late-stage Nascent Soul cultivator whose charm arts could ensnare even mighty Daoists. But Lin Qiaoxin was a prodigy, a once-in-a-millennium talent in both cultivation and formations. She had been captured by Xuanfa when she was only in the mid-Yuan Ying stage, and after decades of rigorous training and daily discipline, her skills had been honed to a razor's edge.

The battle raged for an hour. Trees shattered, the ground was scarred by energy blasts, and the sky flickered with the clash of opposing forces. Yet slowly, inexorably, Lin Qiaoxin's formations tightened their grip.

With a final gesture, the array flared brilliant white.

Su Qianyao cried out as invisible bonds seized her wrists and ankles, pulling them apart until she hung spread-eagled in the air, her body forming a perfect X. Her dress had been torn to shreds during the battle, leaving her utterly exposed.

Lin Qiaoxin floated up to admire her handiwork, hands on her hips as she surveyed the captured demoness. "There now. Was that so hard?"

Su Qianyao's body was a masterpiece of seductive curves. Her full, heavy breasts swayed with her suspended position, their peaks a dark rose against her creamy skin. Her waist dipped dramatically before flaring into wide, generous hips and a round, plump bottom that seemed designed for punishment—two perfect globes of flesh, pale and smooth, parted by the shadow of her womanhood. Her silver hair fell in a chaotic cascade around her face, and her crimson eyes held not fear but hunger.

With a flick of her fingers, Lin Qiaoxin conjured formation energy into dozens of spectral whips and paddles. They materialized around Su Qianyao's suspended form like an army of punishment, humming with intent.

"Now then," Lin Qiaoxin said cheerfully, "let's begin your correction, Sister Yao."

The first strike fell.

A spectral paddle landed flush against Su Qianyao's right cheek with a sharp crack that echoed through the forest. Su Qianyao gasped, her body jolting, and a sound escaped her lips—not a scream of pain, but a breathy, melodic moan that hung in the air like a promise.

Lin Qiaoxin raised an eyebrow but continued.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Each blow landed with precision, painting Su Qianyao's backside in shades of pink and red. But rather than gritting her teeth or begging for mercy, the enchantress moaned louder, her hips bucking against her bonds, her thighs glistening with unmistakable moisture.

"Ohhh~ Yes~ Harder~ Please, little sister, harder~"

Lin Qiaoxin blinked. She had been spanked countless times by her master, and she knew well the pleasure that could come from pain. But this... this was something else.

"Sister Yao," Lin Qiaoxin said, pausing mid-swing, "your servant has been spanked more times than she can count. Your servant thought she was the biggest pervert in all the realms. But you... your servant has barely struck you a dozen times, and you're already sopping wet."

Su Qianyao looked over her shoulder, her crimson eyes half-lidded with ecstasy. "Your servant's bottom has been hungry for so long, little sister. So very, very hungry. Please, don't stop. Feed it."

Shaking her head in amused disbelief, Lin Qiaoxin resumed the punishment. The spectral implements fell in a relentless rhythm—paddles, whips, straps—each strike drawing new sounds of pleasure from the suspended demoness.

Forty strikes. Fifty. One hundred.

By two hundred, Su Qianyao's backside was a deep, angry red, the skin hot to the touch. But her moans had grown louder, more wanton. Clear fluid dripped from between her thighs, running down her legs and falling to the ground below.

"More~ Give your servant more~ Your servant's bottom deserves this~ All those years of nothing~ Punish her~ Punish your servant properly~"

Lin Qiaoxin continued, her array maintaining a perfect cadence. The blows came faster, harder, each one landing with surgical precision. Su Qianyao's cries filled the forest, a symphony of pain and pleasure intertwined.

Three hundred. Three hundred fifty. Four hundred.

At last, the final blow landed. Su Qianyao's body went limp in her bonds, her chest heaving, her entire form trembling with the aftershocks of an experience she had craved for centuries. Her bottom was a swollen, crimson canvas, radiating heat like a furnace.

Lin Qiaoxin floated closer, reaching into a storage pouch at her waist—the only accessory she carried. She withdrew a long, thick strip of peeled ginger, its pungent aroma filling the air.

"Now then, Sister Yao, your servant has something special for you."

Su Qianyao's eyes widened, then narrowed with dark anticipation. "What is that, little sister?"

"Something to punish your other hole." Lin Qiaoxin grinned impishly. "Master's favorite method for thorough discipline."

Without further ceremony, she positioned the ginger strip and pushed it firmly into Su Qianyao's anus.

The effect was immediate.

Su Qianyao's body arched violently, a scream torn from her throat—part agony, part ecstasy. The ginger's burning heat seared into her sensitive flesh, an intense, penetrating fire that spread through her core like molten lava. It was exquisite torture, a pain that awakened every nerve ending and set her soul ablaze.

"AHHHH~! It burns~! It burns so good~!"

Her body convulsed, her backside clenching around the intrusion, trying to expel it even as her mind craved more. The ginger's oils continued their work, a relentless, slow-burning fire that seemed to reach into the depths of her very being.

"Please~! More~! Your servant needs more~!"

Lin Qiaoxin watched with fascination. The enchantress's pussy was absolutely soaked, dripping onto the ground below. Her eyes were unfocused, lost in a haze of pain and pleasure, mouth open in a constant stream of moans and cries.

"Your servant has never seen anyone react quite like this," Lin Qiaoxin admitted, circling her suspended prize. "Most girls beg for mercy when the ginger goes in. You're begging for more."

"Because your servant has waited too long!" Su Qianyao gasped, her voice ragged. "All those years in the demon realm, everyone was too afraid to touch your servant. They bowed and scraped and called your servant 'Excellency,' but no one dared to bend her over their knee and give her what she truly needed!"

Her hips ground against nothing, seeking friction that wasn't there. "This is what your servant has been missing! This glorious, wonderful pain! This beautiful punishment!"

Lin Qiaoxin shook her head, laughing softly. "Sister Yao, your servant thinks you might be the most depraved woman in all the realms."

"I take that as a compliment!" Su Qianyao managed between shuddering breaths.

For an hour, the ginger burned within her, a constant, pulsing torment that drove her to the edge of madness and held her there. Her moans never ceased, her body never stopped trembling, and her arousal never waned. By the time Lin Qiaoxin finally withdrew the ginger strip, Su Qianyao's inner walls were so sensitive that even the brush of air made her gasp.

The strip came out glistening with her juices, and Su Qianyao let out a long,

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The morning sun cast long shadows across the flagstones of the Zehua Gate plaza, where three thick stone pillars stood in a perfect line. Each pillar was carved with countless runes that pulsed with a faint golden light, suppressing any hint of spiritual power that might try to stir within the bodies of the three women kneeling before them.

White Pillow Frost knelt on the leftmost position, her bare knees pressed against the cold stone. Her black hair spilled down her back, partially obscuring the slave collar around her neck, but doing nothing to hide the proud line of her shoulders or the firm curve of her exposed buttocks. Behind her, her own sword—Frost Coagulation—floated in the air, its sheath angled downward like a pointing finger.

The sword twitched. Then it swung.

The flat of the sheath cracked against White Pillow Frost's right cheek with a sound that echoed across the empty plaza. Her body swayed forward, but the golden chains binding her wrists to the pillar held her in place. She bit the inside of her cheek and said nothing.

The sheath swung again. Left cheek. Then right. Then left.

Each strike was precise, measured, and utterly humiliating. White Pillow Frost was a sword cultivator of the highest order, the Sword Sect Master who had never bowed to anyone. Now her own blade was being used to discipline her like a disobedient child.

Forty strikes in, a thin film of sweat broke across her brow. Her teeth were clenched so tight that her jaw ached, but she refused to make a sound. Her eyes stared straight ahead at the empty air, glistening with tears that she refused to let fall.

Eighty strikes. Her breath came in ragged gasps.

One hundred and twenty. The flesh of her buttocks had turned a deep, angry red, and each impact sent a jolt of fire through her entire body.

Two hundred. A single tear escaped, tracing a silver line down her cheek before dripping onto the stone below.

Three hundred. White Pillow Frost's composure cracked. A soft whimper escaped her lips, and she dropped her head forward, letting her hair curtain her face. She had never known such pain. She had never known such shame. Beaten by her own sword—the sword she had wielded for centuries, the sword that had tasted the blood of countless demons and monsters—now it was the instrument of her punishment.

Four hundred.

The sheath stopped. White Pillow Frost hung limply from her chains, her entire lower body a throbbing, burning mass of pain. She took a shuddering breath and forced herself to lift her head.

But there was no respite yet. The sword rotated in the air, and a new implement descended from the sky—a thin leather whip that coiled like a snake. It cracked through the air and struck her directly between the spread cheeks of her buttocks.

White Pillow Frost screamed.

The whip was precise, finding the same tender spot again and again. Ten lashes. Twenty. Her voice gave out, reduced to hoarse cries and desperate sobs. By the fiftieth lash, she was barely conscious, her body trembling uncontrollably.

One hundred.

The whip vanished. White Pillow Frost slumped forward, her tears splashing against the stone.

In the center position, Flower Thousand Words did not fare better. The Valley Master of Hundred Flowers Valley knelt with her head bowed, her soft curves pressed together as she waited for her punishment. She had not resisted. She had not protested. When the verdict was announced, she had simply knelt and said, "I have offended the master. I will accept my punishment. Please do not let the Valley suffer for my sins."

The heavens had heard her plea. Two wooden boards descended from the sky, each inscribed with the same runes that lined the stone pillars. They hovered behind her, waiting.

Flower Thousand Words knew what was coming. She had endured it yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. First came the Scorpion Grass sap.

A bronze basin floated before her, filled with a viscous green liquid that reeked of venom and earth. A brush emerged, dipped into the basin, and began to paint the sap across her spread buttocks.

Flower Thousand Words's breath hitched. The sap burned on contact, a deep, crawling heat that sank into her pores and settled beneath her skin. Then the itching started.

It was not a normal itch. It was a maddening, all-consuming fire that demanded to be scratched, clawed, scraped, anything to relieve the torment. Flower Thousand Words twisted her wrists against the golden chains, her fingers curling into claws as she fought the urge to reach back and tear at her own flesh.

"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please, let it begin."

The wooden boards answered.

They swung forward in perfect unison, slamming into her upturned buttocks with a force that made her entire body jolt. The impact sent a shockwave through the sap, and the itching intensified a hundredfold. Flower Thousand Words screamed, not from the pain of the boards—though they hurt terribly—but from the maddening itch that the impact only seemed to aggravate.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

The boards continued their relentless rhythm. Flower Thousand Words bucked and twisted against her restraints, tears streaming down her face as she begged the heavens for mercy she knew would not come.

"Please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she sobbed between strikes. "I should have bowed sooner, I should have surrendered before it came to this, please, forgive this worthless slave—"

The boards did not stop.

By the time the count reached four hundred, Flower Thousand Words had collapsed into a heap, her consciousness flickering like a candle in the wind. Her thighs were slick with tears and sweat, and the sap still burned against her ravaged skin.

On the rightmost position, Su Qianyao knelt with a smile on her lips.

The demon saintess was a creature of contradictions. Her silver hair framed a face of ethereal beauty, her crimson eyes glittering with mischief even now. Her ample curves seemed to defy the natural order of things, yet she knelt with perfect posture, her chest thrust forward and her rounded buttocks lifted high.

"Come now, my dear boards," she cooed at the sky. "I've been waiting so patiently. Don't keep me waiting any longer."

The two wooden boards descended and began their work.

Crack.

Su Qianyao let out a breathy moan that was entirely inappropriate for someone being punished. Her body shuddered, but not from pain. Her eyes fluttered half-closed, and a dreamy smile spread across her face.

"Yes, that's it," she purred. "Harder, please. I've been so naughty."

The boards obliged. They struck harder, faster, each impact sending a ripple through her generous flesh. Su Qianyao arched her back, pressing her buttocks higher to meet the blows.

"Ah—yes—more—please—"

The golden chains rattled as she shifted her weight, spreading her knees wider apart. Between her thighs, a telltale glistening betrayed her arousal. She was wet, so wet that the moisture dripped down her inner thighs and pooled on the stone beneath her.

"Harder, harder," she begged, her voice taking on a desperate edge. "I've been such a bad girl, I need to be punished properly, please, master, punish this worthless slave—"

By the two hundredth strike, Su Qianyao was trembling with pleasure, her breath coming in ragged gasps that were more moans than cries. Her entire lower body was flushed pink, and the bruises forming on her buttocks seemed only to heighten her sensitivity.

"More, more, please don't stop—"

Three hundred.

Four hundred.

When the boards finally stopped, Su Qianyao let out a disappointed whimper. She had wanted a thousand. She had wanted ten thousand. She wanted to be beaten until she could no longer think, until there was nothing left in the world but the burning pleasure of the boards against her skin.

A soft hum filled the air as the healing formation beneath the pillars activated. Golden light washed over the three women, mending torn flesh, soothing bruises, and erasing the marks of their punishment. The Scorpion Grass sap dissolved, leaving Flower Thousand Words's skin clean and unblemished. The redness faded from White Pillow Frost's buttocks. Su Qianyao's muscles relaxed as the last traces of pain vanished.

But the memory remained. And they would kneel here tomorrow, and the day after, and every day for the next fifty years.

---

Inside the Celestial Realm, the atmosphere was warm and comfortable. A pavilion stood in the middle of a garden of spirit flowers, their petals glowing with soft light. Inside the pavilion, Xuan Fa sat cross-legged on a cushioned seat, his black training robes immaculate, his expression as unreadable as stone.

Before him knelt three women.

Lin Qiao Xin was the first to speak. "Master," she said, her voice carrying its usual playful edge, "today's punishment went smoothly. White Pillow Frost cried. Flower Thousand Words begged. Su Qianyao enjoyed it far too much, as always."

"Su Qianyao's pleasure was noted," Li Que added, her voice cool and analytical. "She requested harder punishment. I believe she will escalate her provocations until she receives it."

Shen Meng Yue nodded. "The healing formation is functioning optimally. They will be ready for tomorrow's punishment without permanent damage."

Xuan Fa's eyes flickered with something that might have been amusement. "You three have managed well."

Lin Qiao Xin exchanged a glance with Li Que, then with Shen Meng Yue. She cleared her throat. "Master, if I may make a request..."

"You may."

"We have completed the task you set for us. We have supervised the punishment of these three women for... some time now." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "And we have been thinking."

"Thinking," Xuan Fa repeated.

"Yes, master." Lin Qiao Xin's cheeks flushed slightly. "We would like to request an increase in our daily spanking count. From two hundred to four hundred."

Li Que nodded firmly. "Our endurance has increased. Four hundred strikes would be... appropriate."

Shen Meng Yue lowered her head. "Master, this slave... this slave agrees. Please consider our request."

Xuan Fa studied them for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a soft laugh. "So," he said, "you have grown to love the spanking, have you?"

All three women flushed deeply. But none of them denied it.

"Yes, master," Lin Qiao Xin admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "This slave... this slave loves it when master punishes her."

Li Que's face burned, but she nodded. "This slave loves it too."

Shen Meng Yue pressed her forehead to the ground. "This slave lives for master's discipline."

Xuan Fa's smile widened just a fraction. "Very well. I will grant your request." He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

From behind the pavilion, three figures emerged.

Lin Qiao Xin's daughter, Lin Yu Xin, walked forward with a bounce in her step. Her slave collar glinted in the light, and her eyes sparkled with youthful mischief. Behind her came Li Que's daughter, Li Yun Ling, her cool expression a mirror of her mother's, and Shen Meng Yue's daughter, Shen Xing Mian, whose gentle features held a serene calm.

The three girls approached Xuan Fa and knelt before him, pressing their foreheads to the ground in perfect unison. "Greetings, master," they said together.

"Rise," Xuan Fa said. "Your mothers' buttocks are itching again." He gestured to three wooden boards that materialized in the air beside the girls. "Take these. Each of you, give your mother four hundred strikes."

"Yes, master," the three girls replied without hesitation. Not a flicker of doubt crossed their faces. They picked up the boards and turned to face their mothers.

Lin Qiao Xin was already kneeling, her back arched, her buttocks lifted high. She glanced over her shoulder at her daughter and grinned. "Come now, little Xin, don't be shy. Hit me where it hurts the most."

Lin Yu Xin stepped forward, hefting the wooden board. "Mother, should I aim for the center?"

"Center, side

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# Chapter 6

The sky above Xuantian Realm was clear and cloudless, but the sounds that echoed across the training grounds were anything but serene. The rhythmic crack of wooden boards striking flesh filled the air, punctuated by soft gasps and occasional whimpers. Row upon row of women knelt in perfect alignment, their bodies bent forward with their buttocks raised high and exposed to the unrelenting punishment.

Behind each kneeling figure, two floating planks of heavenly punishment wood hovered with an almost sentient patience. They were not ordinary wood—these planks had been refined by Xuanfa himself, imbued with the power of heavenly judgment. Each strike carried not just physical force but a spiritual weight that penetrated deep into the soul.

The eighty women who knelt there represented the elite of the cultivation world. Sect leaders, renowned elders, prodigious talents from prestigious families, and those who had voluntarily submitted to join the Zephon Sect's inner circle. Every single one of them had once walked with head held high, commanding respect and fear from countless lesser cultivators. Now they knelt with their most private areas laid bare, receiving punishment that would have broken ordinary cultivators a hundred times over.

Among the newer slaves, tears streamed freely down faces contorted in pain. Their bodies jerked and twisted, instinct screaming at them to escape, to fight back, to do anything but remain still. But discipline had been beaten into them—literally—and they knew that any attempt to avoid punishment would only result in more strikes, more pain, more humiliation. So they stayed, trembling and sobbing, while the boards continued their merciless work.

The more seasoned slaves, however, showed a different response entirely. Their bodies still reacted to the pain—goosebumps rose on pale skin, muscles tensed and relaxed in rhythmic waves, and tears still leaked from their eyes—but there was no resistance. No flinching. They held their positions with the same dignity they might have once shown during meditation, accepting each blow as a devoted servant accepts the will of their master. Every single one of them had been trained through countless sessions, their stubbornness and pride beaten away board by board until only submission remained.

At the very front of this assembly knelt three women whose status was evident even in their position of supplication. Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue—the three most powerful female slaves in Xuanfa's possession, each at the late-stage Nascent Soul realm. They knelt side by side, their postures perfect despite the intensity of the punishment they endured.

Behind each of them floated not two, but four heavenly punishment boards. Two focused on each buttock, alternating strikes with mechanical precision. The number of strikes they received was fixed at four hundred per day—the heaviest punishment in the entire sect. No other slave endured such intensity, for no other slave had the cultivation to survive it.

Lin Qiaoxin's twin ponytails bounced with each impact. Her youthful face, usually bright with mischief, was flushed red from exertion and pain. Her bare body glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, and each strike made her pert buttocks jiggle and ripple. Yet despite the obvious agony, a playful smile tugged at her lips.

"Ahhh~" she moaned, her voice carrying a hint of pleasure mixed with pain. "Still, the heavenly boards controlled by Master hit the best. Xin Nu's buttocks are about to be beaten to pieces!"

Another strike landed, and her body arched forward. The twin boards on her left cheek struck simultaneously, followed immediately by the ones on her right. The rhythm was relentless—slap-slap, slap-slap, with barely a heartbeat between sets.

To her left, Li Que's fiery red hair swayed with each impact. Her athletic body was taut, muscles standing out as she braced herself against the onslaught. Unlike Lin Qiaoxin, her expression remained stoic, almost contemplative. She had been the proudest among them once, believing herself unmatched in combat. That pride had been systematically dismantled, and in its place had grown something far more profound.

"Master's punishment is a slave's honor," Li Que declared, her voice steady despite the tears that had begun to track down her cheeks. "Que Nu begs Master to strike her buttocks harder. Let this lowly one feel the full weight of her Master's discipline."

As if responding to her words, the boards struck with increased force. A loud crack echoed across the training ground, and Li Que's body shuddered. Still, she did not cry out. Her nails dug into her palms, and her breathing became ragged, but she held her position with honor.

On the other side of Lin Qiaoxin knelt Shen Mengyue. Her long black hair was tied back, revealing a face that combined youthful freshness with mature allure. Of all the slaves, she was perhaps the most elegant, the most refined. Once the respected leader of the Immortal Xia Sect, she now knelt bare and collared, her buttocks turning a deep crimson under the relentless assault.

"Yue Nu's buttocks owe Master a debt of punishment," she said, her voice soft and melodic even in submission. "Please do not hold back, Master. This body belongs to You. Every strike is a gift."

The boards obeyed. Slam-slam, slam-slam. Her pale cheeks rippled with each impact, the skin darkening from pink to red to a deep, angry crimson. She accepted it all with the grace of a willow bending in a storm, her posture never wavering.

The punishment continued without pause. Fifty strikes. One hundred. Two hundred. The sun began its slow crawl across the sky as the boards maintained their merciless rhythm. The newer slaves began to collapse one by one, only to be forced back into position by the spiritual restraints of the heavenly boards. But at the front, the three senior slaves endured without breaking formation.

By the time three hundred strikes had landed, Lin Qiaoxin's playful demeanor had faded. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and her body trembled visibly with each impact. The skin of her buttocks had taken on a mottled appearance, dark bruises forming beneath the surface.

"Haaah... haaah..." she panted, sweat dripping from her chin. "Xin Nu... Xin Nu thanks Master..."

Li Que had begun to shake as well. Her stoic mask had cracked, revealing raw emotion beneath. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, but her voice, when it came, was still strong. "Que Nu... accepts this punishment with gratitude..."

Shen Mengyue remained silent, her eyes closed in what appeared to be meditation. But her fingers had dug deep furrows into the ground, and her body was slick with perspiration. Each strike made her gasp, yet she held her focus, channeling the pain into devotion.

Three hundred and fifty.

Four hundred boards landed with a final, thunderous crack that seemed to shake the very foundations of the training ground. The heavenly boards faded into motes of golden light, their duty complete. For a long moment, silence reigned.

Then, one by one, the three senior slaves collapsed.

Lin Qiaoxin fell forward first, her arms giving out as she sprawled face-down on the ground. Her buttocks, a battlefield of red and purple, twitched with residual spasms. She whimpered softly, her body completely spent.

Li Que followed a moment later, pitching sideways to land on her shoulder. Her fiery hair spread around her like a halo, and her eyes stared at nothing as she tried to catch her breath. The proud warrior who had once believed herself invincible now lay broken and gasping, a testament to her Master's absolute dominance.

Shen Mengyue was the last to fall. She maintained her composure even as she toppled forward, landing with a grace that seemed almost intentional. Her back rose and fell in deep, shuddering breaths, and tears soaked into the ground beneath her face.

But on each of their faces, through the exhaustion and pain and tears, there was a smile. A genuine, peaceful smile. The smile of a woman who had fulfilled her duty and pleased her Master.

The healing formation beneath them began to activate, soft green light seeping up from the ground to envelope their ravaged bodies. The pain would fade, the bruises would heal, and by tomorrow they would be ready to serve again. But the memory of the punishment—the surrender, the submission, the absolute devotion—would remain forever.

Footsteps approached. Slow, measured, deliberate. The three women stirred, recognizing that sound immediately. With visible effort, they pushed themselves up from the ground, ignoring the screaming protests of their punished flesh, and arranged themselves into kneeling positions.

Xuanfa stood before them, his black training clothes immaculate, his handsome face as expressionless as carved jade. His eyes swept over them, taking in their trembling forms, their tear-streaked faces, their bruised buttocks.

"Thank you, Master, for punishing our buttocks," they spoke in unison, their voices hoarse but sincere. "Your control of the heavenly boards causes the most exquisite pain."

Lin Qiaoxin managed a weak grin. "Xin Nu swears, no one can make a butt burn quite like Master."

Li Que bowed her head. "Que Nu is honored to receive Master's discipline."

Shen Mengyue pressed her forehead to the ground. "Yue Nu lives to serve. Every strike reminds this lowly one of her place."

Xuanfa's gaze remained impassive. "Proper. You may rest."

But before they could rise, three more figures approached. Lin Yuxin, Li Yunling, and Shen Xingmian—the daughters of the three senior slaves, their forms so similar to their mothers that they could have been younger sisters. They knelt beside their mothers, their youthful faces earnest.

"Master," Lin Yuxin spoke first, her voice carrying the same playful energy as her mother's but tempered with respect. "Little Xin begs Master to allow Mother to punish her. Please, let Xin feel Mother's hand."

Li Yunling nodded, her posture rigid like her mother's. "Yunling also requests this honor. Que Nu has learned much from Mother's discipline. We wish to continue this tradition."

Shen Xingmian was more reserved, her voice soft like her mother's. "Xingmian asks Master to let Mother apply the punishment. And please, tell Mother not to hold back. Our buttocks have become much more resilient."

Xuanfa's eyebrow raised slightly—the only sign of amusement he ever showed. "Approved."

The three younger slaves scrambled to position themselves, bending forward with their buttocks raised in the same posture their mothers had just occupied. The heavenly boards did not appear this time. Instead, servants brought forth Xuan boards—simpler versions, but still imbued with spiritual energy.

Lin Qiaoxin took the board offered to her, testing its weight in her hand. Her body still ached from her own punishment, but her eyes had taken on a focused gleam. She positioned herself behind Lin Yuxin, raising the board high.

"Little Xin," she said, her voice carrying a maternal sternness, "as a slave, you must accept Master's punishment without reservation. Every blow you receive is a blessing. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mother," Lin Yuxin replied, her voice steady.

The board came down with a sharp crack. Lin Yuxin's body jerked, but she held her position. A red mark bloomed on her pale skin.

"Count," Lin Qiaoxin commanded.

"One." Lin Yuxin's voice wavered slightly.

Another strike. "Two."

Relentlessly, Lin Qiaoxin continued. Each blow was precise, deliberate, carrying not just pain but lesson. "A slave does not question. A slave does not resist. A slave exists only to serve Master's will."

"Crack!" "Three!"

"Your body belongs to Master. Your pleasure belongs to Master. Your pain belongs to Master."

"Crack!" "Four!"

Beside them, Li Que had begun her own punishment of Li Yunling. Her strikes were harder, faster, reflecting her more aggressive nature. "The proudest warriors become t

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The morning sun cast long shadows across the marble floor of the Grand Hall of the Zefeng Sect as Shen Mengyue walked slowly through the main entrance, holding a gleaming chain of immortal-binding force. At the other end of that chain, crawling on her hands and knees, was Bai Zhenshuang, the once-proud Sword Immortal of the Heavenly Sword Sect.

Bai Zhenshuang's bare body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, her black hair disheveled and trailing behind her as she crawled across the cold stone. The black slave collar that had been placed around her neck earlier that morning was still absent, a small mercy that would not last long. Her hands and knees scraped against the polished floor with each crawl forward, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Shen Mengyue's naked body moved with a grace born of years of submission, her black hair flowing down her back as she led the bound woman toward the raised dais where Zexuan sat. The morning light caught the gleam of her own black slave collar, a constant reminder of her place.

They reached the center of the hall, and Shen Mengyue gently tugged the chain, causing Bai Zhenshuang to stop. Without hesitation, Shen Mengyue lowered herself to her knees, her back straight, her hands placed palms-down on her thighs, her head bowed in perfect submission. She had performed this ritual countless times over the decades.

"Master," Shen Mengyue said, her voice calm and steady. "Moon Slave has brought the prisoner as commanded."

Bai Zhenshuang remained on her hands and knees, her eyes fixed on the floor before her. She did not dare look up at the man who sat on the throne above her. The man who had shattered her pride, her dignity, and her very sense of self over the past weeks.

Zexuan rose from his throne with a fluid motion, his black training robes flowing around his tall frame. His face was an expressionless mask of cold authority as he descended the steps and approached the two women. He stopped directly in front of Bai Zhenshuang, looking down at her bowed form.

"Bai Zhenshuang," he said, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. "I gave you a chance. Do you remember what I said?"

Bai Zhenshuang's throat tightened. She remembered every word of that message, delivered by Shen Mengyue herself after she had been captured. She remembered the shame of being stripped and bound, of being led through the streets of the city to the Zefeng Sect's compound. She remembered the first time she had felt the slap of a wooden board against her bare bottom, wielded by none other than her own sacred scabbard.

"Yes," Bai Zhenshuang whispered.

"Speak clearly," Zexuan said, his voice sharp.

Bai Zhenshuang took a shaky breath. "Master said that I was to come to the Zefeng Sect willingly and accept punishment for my offenses. I... I refused. I thought I could resist. I thought my cultivation was strong enough to withstand any punishment you could deliver."

"And what happened?"

"I was defeated by Moon Slave in three exchanges," Bai Zhenshuang said, her voice flat with defeat. "I realized that I had been living in a world of self-deception. I thought myself peerless, but I was merely a frog at the bottom of a well."

Zexuan nodded slowly. "And now you are here, crawling on the floor, about to receive the punishment you should have accepted days ago. Do you understand that this is your own doing?"

"Yes, Master," Bai Zhenshuang said, her voice barely audible. "This is entirely my own fault. My arrogance, my pride, my refusal to submit when given the chance. I deserve every punishment that comes."

Zexuan walked around her slowly, his eyes moving over her exposed body. "You are a sword cultivator. Tell me, Bai Zhenshuang, what is the most important thing for a sword cultivator?"

Bai Zhenshuang did not hesitate. "The sword, Master. The sword is the extension of the cultivator's will, the embodiment of their spirit. Without the sword, a sword cultivator is nothing."

Zexuan let out a soft laugh, a sound that carried no warmth. "The sword. And yet, for the past two weeks, you have been spanked with your own scabbard every single day. How does that feel? Being beaten by the very object that should protect your sword? The very object that should be an extension of your cultivation?"

Bai Zhenshuang's face flushed crimson. The humiliation was unbearable. Every time that wooden scabbard had slapped against her bare bottom, it felt like a double insult. Not only was she being punished, but she was being punished by her own sacred instrument, her own symbol of cultivation. It was as if her sword itself was rejecting her, punishing her for her failures.

"Answer me," Zexuan said, his voice cold.

"It is... humiliating," Bai Zhenshuang said through gritted teeth. "It is the greatest shame I have ever experienced. Being struck by my own sword's scabbard is like... like my sword is slapping my face."

"Good," Zexuan said. "Now you understand. Today, I have brought you here to experience my personal punishment. You will see what Moon Slave endures every single day. You will learn the difference between being punished by your own scabbard and being punished by my Heavenly Dao Board."

He raised his hand, and the air above Bai Zhenshuang shimmered. Two rectangular boards materialized out of thin air, each one made of a strange, translucent material that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. The boards were about two feet long and four inches wide, with a slight curve that seemed designed for maximum impact.

Zexuan gestured, and Bai Zhenshuang felt an invisible force pull her up, forcing her to kneel with her back straight and her bottom raised. She was positioned so that her rear was presented directly to the two floating boards, her cheeks spread slightly by the angle of her kneeling position.

"These are Heavenly Dao Boards," Zexuan said, his voice flat. "I forged them from the very laws of heaven itself. They carry the weight of celestial justice in every strike. Moon Slave receives four hundred strikes from these every day. Today, you will experience the same."

Bai Zhenshuang's eyes widened. She had already experienced two weeks of punishment from her scabbard, and even that had been painful beyond anything she had imagined. But this... this was something else entirely.

"Two hundred strikes per board. Four hundred total," Zexuan said. "Let us begin."

The first board swung forward with a speed that seemed impossible. It connected with Bai Zhenshuang's right buttock with a sound like a thunderclap, and the pain that exploded through her body was unlike anything she had ever felt. It was not just physical pain—it was a spiritual assault, a violation of her very soul. Her mind went blank, white static filling her consciousness as the agony overwhelmed her.

Before she could recover, the second board struck her left cheek, and the pain redoubled. A scream tore from her throat, raw and primal. Tears sprang to her eyes unbidden, streaming down her face as she tried to process the overwhelming sensation.

The boards did not pause. They fell in perfect alternation, left and right, left and right, each strike landing with surgical precision. The sound of wood against flesh echoed through the hall, punctuated by Bai Zhenshuang's sobs and screams.

Through the haze of pain, Bai Zhenshuang's eyes found Shen Mengyue, who was kneeling beside her with a completely calm expression on her face. Shen Mengyue's eyes were fixed forward, her posture perfect, showing no sign of distress or concern. She had seen this before. She had endured this before.

Every single day.

The realization struck Bai Zhenshuang harder than any board. This woman, this former Sect Master of the Immortal Cloud Sect, endured four hundred of these strikes every single day of her life. And she did so with a serene acceptance that spoke of complete submission, complete surrender of self.

Bai Zhenshuang could not understand how anyone could endure such pain. The boards continued to fall, each strike landing harder than the last, and she screamed until her throat was raw. Her bottom was being reduced to pulp, the flesh swelling and bruising with every impact.

"Fifty," Zexuan counted.

Still three hundred and fifty to go.

The pain built in layers. Each strike sent waves of agony through her body, radiating up her spine and down her legs. Her hands clenched into fists on the floor, her nails digging into her palms. She tried to maintain some semblance of composure, some fragment of her sword cultivator's discipline, but the pain shattered her control again and again.

"One hundred," Zexuan said.

Bai Zhenshuang was sobbing openly now, her body shaking with each impact. Her bottom felt like it was on fire, the skin stretched tight and hot, the underlying muscle screaming in protest.

"One hundred and fifty."

She was losing consciousness. The pain was too much, too sustained. Her vision was blurring at the edges, dark spots dancing in her vision.

"Two hundred," Zexuan said, and the boards paused for a moment.

Bai Zhenshuang took a shuddering breath, thinking that perhaps it was over. But then the boards began again, this time faster, harder. She had been wrong. The first two hundred had been just the warm-up.

The second half of the punishment was a blur of pain and tears. Bai Zhenshuang lost count of the strikes. She lost track of time. All that existed was the rhythm of the boards and the overwhelming agony that consumed her.

"Three hundred," Zexuan said.

Bai Zhenshuang was barely conscious, her body limp, held up only by the invisible force that kept her in position. Her bottom was a mass of swollen, discolored flesh, the skin stretched so tight that it looked ready to split.

"Three hundred and fifty."

The boards continued their merciless assault. Bai Zhenshuang's screams had reduced to weak whimpers, her voice gone. Tears and saliva mixed on her chin as she hung in the air, her body twitching with each impact.

"Four hundred," Zexuan said.

The boards vanished, and the invisible force released Bai Zhenshuang. She collapsed to the floor in a heap, her body shuddering, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She could not move. She could not think. All she could do was lie there and try to process the fact that this was now her daily existence.

Zexuan walked around her prone form and stood beside Shen Mengyue. "Moon Slave," he said, his voice calm. "Do you remember the first time I punished you?"

Shen Mengyue's voice was steady, without a trace of shame or resentment. "Yes, Master. Moon Slave remembers clearly."

"Tell me."

"The disciples of the Immortal Cloud Sect," Shen Mengyue began, "had offended Master. Moon Slave, as their Sect Master, accepted responsibility for their actions and offered to bear all punishment in their place. But the disciples, in their misguided loyalty, attempted to attack Master to save me. In response..."

She paused, drawing a breath. "Master punished Moon Slave by spreading Moon Slave's legs and striking Moon Slave's crevice fifty times with a whip. Then Master used an anal hook to lift Moon Slave and hang me from the entrance of the Immortal Cloud Sect for an entire night."

Zexuan nodded. "Yes. That was the punishment that broke your pride, was it not? That was the punishment that made you understand your place."

"Yes, Master," Shen Mengyue said. "That was the punishment that showed Moon Slave the depth of Master's mercy and the weight of Moon Slave's transgressions."

"Good," Zexuan said. "Then we will repeat that punishment with Bai Zhenshuang."

Bai Zhenshuang's eyes widened in terror. She had heard about what had happened to Shen Mengyue. Every cultivator in the realm knew the story of how the proud Sect Master of the Immortal Cloud Sect had been hung naked from her own sect's entrance, an anal hook in her rear displayed for all to see.

"No," she whispered. "Please, not that."

But Zexuan ignored her plea. He knelt beside her and produced a small vial fr

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