玄罚天尊的惩罚第二部

The morning sun cast long shadows across the neatly manicured grounds of the Guize Sect as Xuanfa walked with measured steps along the stone path that wound through the main compound. In his right hand, he held three leather leashes, each connected to a black collar that encircled the neck of a woman crawling behind him on hands and knees.

Lin Qiaoxin moved on his left, her twin ponytails swaying with each careful movement. Her bare breasts brushed against the grass as she kept her back straight and her eyes fixed on the ground before her. Despite her position, there was a light in her eyes, a playful energy that had never diminished even after decades of discipline.

Li Que followed on his right, her fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders as she moved with athletic grace. Her high ponytail had come loose during their walk, but she made no move to fix it. She understood her place now, understood it better than she had ever understood anything in her former life as the vice-master of the Vermilion Bird Sect.

Between them, Shen Mengyue crawled with a serene dignity that seemed almost out of place given her circumstances. Her long black hair swept the ground behind her, and her movements were fluid, practiced, and perfectly submissive. Of the three, she had been with Xuanfa the longest, and her transformation from proud sect master to devoted slave had been the most complete.

"So," Xuanfa said, his voice flat and cold as he continued walking without looking back, "you have all broken through to the late Nascent Soul stage."

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

"This slave thanks the master for her cultivation," Shen Mengyue said, her voice soft and reverent. "It is only through the master's discipline and the spiritual energy of the Xuantian Realm that this unworthy one was able to break through in three hundred years."

"Xin奴 also thanks the master," Lin Qiaoxin added, her voice carrying a hint of her usual playfulness despite her prostrate position. "The master's spankings and the Xuantian Realm's nourishment have truly been the keys to this slave's advancement."

"Que奴 is grateful," Li Que said simply, her voice controlled and steady.

Xuanfa turned slowly, his black training robes barely rustling as he moved. He looked down at the three women kneeling before him, their bodies completely exposed to the morning light, their collars gleaming black against their pale skin.

"You have broken through to the late Nascent Soul stage," he repeated. "And so I have tasks for the three of you."

He paused, letting the words hang in the air.

"The master of the Heavenly Sword Sect, Bai Zhenshuang, has spoken disrespectfully of my Guize Sect in recent months. She believes herself untouchable in her mountain fortress, but she will learn otherwise."

Shen Mengyue's body tensed slightly, but she did not raise her head.

"The master of the Hundred Flowers Valley, Hua Qianyu, has allowed her disciples to occupy a spiritual herb garden that rightfully belongs to the Guize Sect. Her negligence has cost me resources, and she must be made to understand the consequences."

Lin Qiaoxin's lips curved into a small smile, but she remained still.

"And the Saintess of the Demon Clan, Su Qianyao," Xuanfa continued, his voice growing slightly colder, "has been using her charm techniques on my disciples. She has been meddling with those who belong to me, and that is something I cannot tolerate."

He reached into his sleeve and produced three lengths of golden chain. The chains seemed to glow with an inner light, and the women could feel the spiritual power radiating from them even from a distance.

"These are Kunshen Chains," Xuanfa said, holding them out. "Should the three of them refuse to submit, you will use these to bind them and bring them back here."

Lin Qiaoxin raised her head slightly, her eyes bright with anticipation. "Master, does this mean we are authorized to use force if necessary?"

Xuanfa's lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile he ever showed. "You will go to each of them and deliver my message. They are to strip naked, kneel at the entrance of the Guize Sect with their buttocks raised, and receive one hundred strikes of the Heavenly Dao Board each day for ten years. If they resist, you will demonstrate to them exactly how thoroughly they have fallen behind."

The three women exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them.

"This slave understands," Shen Mengyue said, pressing her forehead to the ground again.

"This slave also understands," Lin Qiaoxin added.

"Que奴 will not disappoint the master," Li Que said.

Xuanfa nodded slowly. "Good. Now, before you leave, there is the matter of your daily punishment."

He lifted his hand and made a gesture. From behind a nearby building, three figures emerged, walking with careful, measured steps.

They were young women, perhaps appearing to be around eighteen years old. The first had twin ponytails that bounced with each step, her face bearing a striking resemblance to Lin Qiaoxin. The second had fiery red hair pulled into a high ponytail, her athletic build and sharp features a mirror of Li Que. The third had long, flowing black hair and serene features that could have been Shen Mengyue's reflection in still water.

Lin Yuxin, Li Yunling, and Shen Xingmian approached their father and knelt in unison, pressing their foreheads to the ground.

"This slave greets the master," they said in perfect harmony.

Xuanfa looked down at his daughters with cold satisfaction. Their bodies were bare like their mothers', identical black slave collars encircling their necks. They had been raised in the Guize Sect from birth, trained in absolute obedience from their first moments of consciousness.

"Your mothers' buttocks are feeling neglected today," Xuanfa said flatly. "You will each take a Heavenly Dao Board and deliver two hundred strikes to your mother's bottom. When you are finished, you will each take a whip and deliver one hundred strikes to their perineums."

"By your command, Master," the three young women said simultaneously.

Shen Mengyue was the first to position herself. She crawled forward until she reached a flat area of stone, then lowered her upper body until her chest touched the ground. She raised her hips high, spreading her knees apart to give her daughter unobstructed access to her target.

"Shen'er," she said, her voice carrying a mother's warmth even in this debased position, "remember to strike at the lowest point first. The Heavenly Dao Board should land squarely on the crease where the buttock meets the thigh. That is where the sting lingers longest."

Shen Xingmian nodded solemnly, taking the wooden board from her father's outstretched hand. The board was not large, perhaps two feet long and four inches wide, but it shimmered with spiritual energy, its surface inscribed with countless tiny runes.

"Yes, Mother," Shen Xingmian said, taking her position behind her mother's raised bottom.

Lin Qiaoxin crawled to a spot beside Shen Mengyue and assumed the same position. Her twin ponytails had fallen forward over her face, and she turned her head to look back at her daughter with a playful grin.

"Yuxin," she said, "don't hold back. The harder you hit, the more the spiritual energy will circulate. And make sure to alternate cheeks. If you hit the same spot twice in a row, the bruise will be deeper but the pleasure won't spread as evenly."

"By your command, Mother," Lin Yuxin said, raising her own board.

Li Que was the last to take position. She moved with mechanical precision, her body settling into the same posture as the other two. She did not turn to look at her daughter, but her voice carried clearly.

"Yunling, your strikes must be precise. Do not break rhythm. A steady, unbroken cadence will drive the pain deeper and make the pleasure more intense. Do not falter."

"I will not, Mother," Li Yunling said, gripping the board tightly.

The three young women raised their boards simultaneously. Then, with perfect synchronization, they brought them down.

The sound that echoed through the compound was sharp and clean, a crisp crack that seemed to hang in the air for a long moment.

Shen Mengyue's buttocks rippled with the impact, her skin turning a bright red where the board had connected. She let out a soft sigh, her body relaxing into the sensation.

"Ohhh, yes," she breathed. "That is good. Continue."

Lin Qiaoxin's response was more vocal. She let out a sharp gasp as the board struck her, her back arching slightly. "Ah! That stings! But in such a wonderful way!"

Li Que made no sound at first, but her fingers curled against the ground, her body trembling almost imperceptibly.

The boards fell again, and again, and again, a steady rhythm filling the compound.

Shen Xingmian found herself falling into the pattern quickly. She struck her mother's right cheek, then her left, then her right again, maintaining a pace of roughly one strike every two seconds. The Heavenly Dao Board was heavier than the Xuan Wood Board she usually trained with, and the spiritual energy it channeled was far more intense.

At the fiftieth strike, Shen Mengyue's buttocks had turned a deep crimson, and the skin was beginning to puff up slightly.

At the one hundredth strike, the crimson had given way to purple, and the swelling was pronounced enough that the shape of her buttocks had changed noticeably.

At the one hundred fiftieth strike, the skin had broken in several places, and a thin sheen of blood glistened in the morning light.

At the two hundredth strike, Shen Mengyue's buttocks were a mass of purple and black, swollen to nearly twice their normal size. The skin was hot to the touch, and every movement sent waves of pain rippling through her body.

And yet, when Shen Xingmian lowered the board, Shen Mengyue's voice was steady and calm.

"Good. Now the perineum. One hundred strikes with the whip."

Lin Yuxin and Li Yunling had finished their tasks as well, and the three daughters exchanged glances before taking up the whips.

These were not large whips, but slender instruments perhaps three feet long, made from some black material that seemed to absorb light. They were designed specifically for the delicate tissue between a woman's thighs.

Shen Mengyue spread her legs wider, pressing her chest even more firmly against the ground. Her pussy and anus were now fully exposed, and she could feel the cool air against her heated, sensitive skin.

"Remember," she said, "you must cover every surface. The whip should land from the clitoris to the perineum, covering the labia and the anus with each stroke."

"I understand, Mother," Shen Xingmian said, raising the whip.

The first stroke landed squarely on Shen Mengyue's pussy, the thin leather biting into her labia. She gasped sharply, her body convulsing.

"Yes," she whispered. "Again."

Shen Xingmian struck again, this time the whip landing on her mother's anus. And again, covering the perineum. And again, back to the pussy.

By the fiftieth stroke, Shen Mengyue's entire vulva was red and swollen. Her pussy lips had puffed up, and her anus was a tight, angry ring.

By the one hundredth stroke, she was dripping with arousal despite the pain, her juices running down her thighs and pooling on the stone beneath her.

When the punishment was finished, Shen Mengyue remained still for a long moment, her body shaking with the aftershocks of pleasure and pain. Then, slowly, she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees.

"Thank you, Master," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Beside her, Lin Qiaoxin and Li Que were in similar states, their buttocks destroyed, their vulvas swollen and wet.

Lin Qiaoxin turned her head to look at her daughter, a leer on her face. "Yuxin, I could feel your technique improving with each swing. You will make a fine disciplinarian one day."

"Thank you, Mother," Lin Yuxin said, bowing her head.

L

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# Chapter 10

The魔族圣女亲卫队 arrived at the mouth of责凰门's mountain path with military precision. Sixty-three women, fully armed in black leather armor, marched in perfect formation. Their leader, a cultivator named阿紫 at the中期 of化神 realm, strode ahead with her hand on her sword hilt. Behind her followed sixty-two cultivators at the late元婴 stage, their auras tightly woven together through years of practice in合击 techniques.

"We have trained to face three or four化神 masters at once,"阿紫 called out, her voice amplified by spiritual energy to echo through the mountain pass. "Release our圣女 immediately, or face annihilation!"

The sound of her voice carried through the mountain, reaching the open plaza where苏千瑶 knelt on the smooth stone ground. Silver chains bound her wrists behind her back, connected to an iron ring embedded in the ground. Her silver hair cascaded over her shoulders as she bent forward, presenting her rounded buttocks to the morning air.

玄罚 stood behind her, one hand resting on her lower back while the other held a black wooden paddle carved with arrays for punishment. His black training robes hung loose on his muscular frame, his face an emotionless mask as he raised the paddle high.

"The亲卫队 has arrived,"苏千瑶 said, her voice carrying a strange note of eagerness. "Master, please continue. Don't let them interrupt your discipline."

"Impertinent,"玄罚 said flatly, and brought the paddle down.

*CRACK*

The sound split the morning air, carrying down the mountain path to the waiting亲卫队.苏千瑶's body jerked forward, her back arching as she let out a breathy moan that somehow sounded pleased rather than pained.

From the shadows of the mountain gate, two figures emerged. They walked slowly, deliberately, their bare feet padding against the stone path. White garments - or rather, the absence of them - caught the early light as白枕霜 and花千语 stepped into full view of the assembled亲卫队.

白枕霜 walked first, her posture straight and dignified, her chin lifted with the same aristocratic pride she had carried as the Tiansword Sect Master. Her black hair fell in a silken curtain to her waist, framing features carved like winter jade - sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, lips that curved in a perpetual expression of cool disdain. Her body was a study in elegant strength: full breasts that rose and fell with each measured breath, a slender waist that flared into rounded hips, and long legs that carried her with the grace of a sword dancer. The slave collar of black iron encircled her throat, a stark contrast against her pale skin, marking what she now was.

Behind her walked花千语, her青 hair loosely gathered at the nape of her neck, strands escaping to brush against her temples. Her face held its usual gentleness, the kind that had comforted countless disciples at Hundred Flowers Valley, but now there was something else beneath it - a serene acceptance, even pride. Her body was softer than白枕霜's, more yielding, with fuller curves and a warmth that seemed to radiate from her skin. Her breasts swayed slightly with each step, her hips rolling in a natural, unhurried rhythm that spoke of complete comfort in her own skin.

The contrast was deliberate. Where the亲卫队 stood armored, bristling with weapons and defensive formations, these two women stood utterly exposed, their bodies on display for anyone to see. And yet they showed no shame, no hesitation. Their calm gazes swept over the armed force before them as if assessing children playing at war.

阿紫's face contorted through several emotions - recognition, shock, then anger. "白枕霜 of Tiansword Sect!花千语 of Hundred Flowers Valley! What... what have they done to you? Why are you naked? Have you lost your minds?"

白枕霜's lips curved into a faint smile that held no warmth. "You mistake the situation,亲卫队 commander. I am no longer the Tiansword Sect Master." She raised her hand to touch the collar at her throat, her fingers tracing the iron band. "By the grace of Lord Xuanfa, I have been accepted as his slave, granted the name霜奴. Each day I receive the blessed discipline of the chastisement board upon my rear. It is a great honor."

花千语 nodded, her voice carrying its usual gentle melody. "Nor am I the Hundred Flowers Valley Master any longer. Lord Xuanfa has seen fit to accept me as his slave as well, naming me语奴. I too receive daily spanking punishment." She smiled warmly at the stunned亲卫队. "And your圣女, Su Qianyao, is here of her own free will."

"You lie!"阿紫's hand shot to her sword, the blade rasping free. "You have been corrupted by his邪术! Break their formation, sisters! We will rescue圣女 and purify these fallen women!"

*CRACK*

The sound of the punishment board striking flesh echoed down the mountain again, followed by苏千瑶's voice - not a cry of pain, but a melodic, almost ecstatic moan that made several亲卫队 members blush.

"Please... harder, Master... punish this unworthy slave..."

The亲卫队 charged.

白枕霜 moved first, her hand extending as凝霜剑 materialized from a flare of blue-white light. She caught the first strike from阿紫's blade with contemptuous ease, her counter-attack forcing the亲卫队 commander to leap backward.

花千语 raised her hands, and green light wreathed her fingers. Vines burst from the earth, not to attack but to form barriers and entangle the charging亲卫队. Her specialty was healing and alchemy, but she had cultivated for centuries - her support abilities could turn the tide of any battle.

"I am sorry,"花千语 said softly, her voice carrying through the chaos. "But you really should not interrupt Master's discipline."

*CRACK*

Another strike landed on苏千瑶's upturned buttocks, and this time her cry was sharper, carrying a note of genuine pain mixed with unmistakable pleasure. "Ah~! Master, your slave's worthless rear has been broken open by your holy discipline~"

阿紫's eyes went wide even as she traded blows with白枕霜. "This is impossible! She is the Demon Saint! She has conquered dozens of factions! She cannot be enjoying this!"

"Your圣女 has found what she was always seeking,"白枕霜 said coldly,凝霜剑 tracing an arc that forced阿紫 back three steps. "And I am finding that fighting while naked has certain... advantages."

*CRACK*

The wooden board connected again, harder this time, and苏千瑶's entire body convulsed. Her fingers, bound behind her back, curled into fists. Her silver hair swung as she threw her head back, a long, shuddering moan escaping her lips. A wet sound accompanied the impact, and liquid splattered on the stone beneath her.

One of the亲卫队, a young woman with short black hair, stopped mid-strike. Her eyes were fixed on苏千瑶's prone form, watching as the Demon Saint's thighs trembled and more liquid dripped from between her legs.

"The圣女..." the woman whispered. "She... she climaxed from being spanked?"

The words cut through the battle like a blade of ice. Several亲卫队 members faltered, their attacks losing their edge.

"If your圣女 wishes to remain here,"白枕霜 said,凝霜剑 pressing against阿紫's throat, "then who are you to deny her? She is your leader, is she not? Or do you think you know better than the Demon Saint herself?"

阿紫's sword clattered to the ground. Around her, the remaining亲卫队 members lowered their weapons, their faces a mixture of confusion, shame, and reluctant acceptance.

"We..."阿紫's voice cracked. "We cannot force her to return. If she truly wishes to stay..."

*CRACK*

苏千瑶 cried out again, a sound that was half pain and half rapture. "Dear sisters of the亲卫队," she panted, her voice strained, "the slave Yao truly is here of her own free will. The slave Yao has always... always wanted someone strong enough to... to beat her rear until it breaks open."

She lifted her head, meeting the eyes of her亲卫队. Her face was flushed, her silver hair plastered to her cheeks, but her red eyes burned with clarity. "The slave Yao has found her Master. Please... return to our territory. Tell our people I am well."

阿紫 stared at her for a long moment, then bowed her head. "We will do as you command,圣女." She turned to her troops. "Retreat! We return to the Demon Realm!"

As the亲卫队 retreated down the mountain path, their formation broken and their spirits shattered,白枕霜 and花千语 lowered their weapons. They turned and walked back through the mountain gate, their naked forms the last thing the retreating亲卫队 saw before the mist swallowed the passage.

---

The two women knelt before玄罚 in the main hall of责凰门. Behind them,苏千瑶 still lay sprawled on the plaza stones, her rear dark purple and swollen, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Master,"白枕霜 said, her voice carrying no trace of her earlier battle pride. "The亲卫队 has been driven off. Your slave霜奴 has completed her task."

花千语 bowed her head. "Your slave语奴 as well, Master. They will not trouble责凰门 again."

玄罚 sat on a raised dais, one leg crossed over the other, his hands resting on his knees. His face betrayed nothing as he regarded his two newest slaves. "Acceptable. You have done well for your first mission."

Both women's faces lit with barely suppressed joy at his praise.

"However,"玄罚 continued, "there is more to be done. The碧落宫's Palace Master, Yun Qing'er, and the Nine Abyss Valley's Valley Master, You Lan, have both allowed their disciples to come into conflict with our sect. Such laxity in leadership cannot go unpunished."

白枕霜 looked up, her eyes sharp and attentive.

"These sects have no化神 masters,"玄罚 said. "Minor punishment is sufficient. The two sect leaders, as well as all disciples who participated in attacks against责凰门, must strip completely naked, kneel at our mountain gate, and present their buttocks for punishment. They will receive one hundred strikes of the heavenly dao punishment board per day for a period of three years."

He paused, his cold eyes sweeping over his two kneeling slaves. "If any resist, they are to be annihilated without mercy."

白枕霜 rose first, her body moving with fluid grace. "Your slave understands, Master. I will proceed to碧落宫 immediately."

---

The碧落宫 wasa modest sect, its buildings nestled in a valley between two peaks. White-walled halls and green-tiled roofs dotted the landscape, and disciples in blue robes hurried between training grounds and meditation chambers.

The peace shattered when白枕霜 appeared.

She walked through the main gate without hesitation, her bare feet leaving damp prints on the stone path. Her black hair streamed behind her, her pale skin luminous in the afternoon light. The slave collar at her throat caught the sun, and her nakedness was total, complete, and utterly unashamed.

Disciples froze mid-step. Training weapons clattered to the ground. Elders stared with mouths hanging open.

白枕霜's face was carved from winter ice as she strode through the compound, her steps measured, her pace unhurried. She passed rows of disciples who scrambled backward, some covering their eyes, others unable to look away. Her full breasts swayed with each step, her waist curved inward before flaring to rounded hips, and her legs ate up the distance with the economy of motion that came from centuries of sword practice.

But beneath that cold exterior, her heart sang with joy. Look at them, she thought. They stare at my naked body, at the marks of my Master's ownership, and they know their place. I am nothing now, and yet I am greater than all of them combined. My Master owns my flesh, my spirit, my very breath. There is no freedom sweeter than this.

She reached the main hall and walked through its doors without announcement. The碧落宫 Palace Master, Yun Qing'er, was seated on her throne, a woman in her late hundreds with refined features and braided hair. Her eyes went wide when she saw the naked sword immortal standing before her.

"白枕霜?! What is the meaning of this? Where are your robes?"

"I no longer wear robes,"白枕霜 said flatly. "I am霜奴, property of Lord Xuanfa. He has sent me to deliver a message."

She paused, letting the silence stretch, watching fear bloom in Yun Qing'er's eyes.

"Your disciples have come into conflict with责凰门. Your leadership has been found lackin

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# Chapter 2

The morning mist clung to the peaks of the Tianjian Sect like a veil of silver gauze, and the disciples stationed at the mountain gate were still shaking off the drowsiness of dawn when they saw her approaching.

At first, they thought their eyes were playing tricks on them. A woman, completely naked, walking with the unhurried grace of someone who had not a care in the world, strode up the winding path toward the grand entrance. Her black hair cascaded down her back, brushing against the curve of her waist, and in her hand she carried a sword—a blade of purple light that hummed with dormant power.

The disciples froze. Jaws dropped. Some averted their eyes in embarrassment, while others stared in disbelief.

"Stop!" one of the outer disciples finally managed to call out, his voice cracking. "Who dares approach the Tianjian Sect in such... such a state?!"

The woman did not stop. Her bare feet continued to carry her forward, each step deliberate and steady. Her skin was pale and flawless, like the finest jade warmed by the sun, and her body was that of a woman in her prime—full breasts that swayed gently with her movements, a waist so narrow it seemed almost impossible, and hips that curved into a shape that was both elegant and provocative. There was not an ounce of shame in her posture. She held her head high, her expression serene, as if she were wearing the finest robes rather than nothing at all.

The disciples drew their swords, forming a line at the gate. "I said stop! Identify yourself!"

The woman finally halted, her eyes sweeping over the gathered disciples with the calm authority of a queen surveying ants. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft and melodic, yet it carried an undeniable weight.

"I am Shen Mengyue," she said. "Once the sect master of the Immortal Cloud Sect. Now I am known as Moon Slave, the inner affairs elder of the Zehuang Sect, and the humble maidservant of the Venerable Xuanfa."

The name struck like thunder. The disciples exchanged horrified glances. Even those who had never ventured beyond the Tianjian Sect's borders had heard of the Zehuang Sect and its terrifying master, Xuanfa. They had heard of the three great female slaves who served him—Heart Slave, Sparrow Slave, and Moon Slave—each a cultivator of the late Nascent Soul stage, each more powerful than most sect masters.

And now Moon Slave stood before them, naked and unarmed except for a single sword, radiating a presence that made the disciples feel like children waving wooden sticks.

"I have come to deliver a message from my master to Bai Zhenshuang, the sect master of Tianjian," Shen Mengyue continued, her voice carrying through the morning air like a bell. "Call her out. I will not repeat myself."

One of the inner disciples quickly retreated, running toward the main hall to deliver the news. The remaining disciples stood tense, their weapons raised, but none dared to attack. They could feel the difference in their cultivation. This woman was a peak Nascent Soul cultivator, and they were little more than insects before her.

The sky began to brighten, the first rays of sunlight cresting over the mountains. Then, from within the sect, a presence stirred—cold, sharp, and immense. The disciples parted like water before a stone as Bai Zhenshuang strode through their ranks.

She was tall, with an bearing that spoke of absolute confidence. Her features were finely crafted, almost cold in their perfection, with a high brow and sharp cheekbones that gave her an air of aristocratic disdain. Her black hair fell straight and unbound, contrasting against the pristine white of her robes. Her eyes were like chips of ice—clear, distant, and utterly unreadable. She carried a sword at her hip, its scabbard carved from frost-white wood, and she moved as if the air itself parted to make way for her.

"Moon Slave," Bai Zhenshuang said, her voice as cold and steady as a frozen lake. "You have come to my sect uninvited, parading yourself like a whore in heat. What message could your master possibly have that requires such a display?"

Shen Mengyue's smile did not waver. She was well accustomed to insults. After decades of being reduced to a slave, of learning humility through the sting of her master's palm against her bare flesh, words had lost their power to wound her.

"I come bearing my master's judgment," Shen Mengyue replied calmly. "You have spoken ill of the Zehuang Sect, Bai Zhenshuang. You have voiced disrespect for the Venerable Xuanfa, and for that, he has decreed a punishment."

She paused, letting the words sink in.

"You are to strip naked, kneel at the entrance of the Zehuang Sect, raise your bottom, and receive one hundred strikes of the Heavenly Dao Board upon your bare flesh each day for ten years. This is considered a light punishment, a mere lesson in humility."

The disciples erupted. How dare she?! The sheer audacity of such a demand! To demand that their sect master, the peerless Sword Immortal Bai Zhenshuang, strip and crawl like an animal to receive punishment?!

"This is an outrage!" one of the elders roared. "How dare you speak to our sect master in such a manner! We will not stand for this humiliation!"

Swords were drawn. Spiritual energy flared. The mountain itself seemed to tremble with the collective fury of the Tianjian Sect.

But Bai Zhenshuang raised a hand, and silence fell.

Her ice-cold eyes met Shen Mengyue's gentle ones. "I recognize no master but myself," she said, her voice carrying the weight of absolute conviction. "If your master wishes to punish me, let him come himself. Let him prove that he has the right to humiliate me. Until then, your words are merely empty threats."

Shen Mengyue sighed softly, a look of genuine concern flickering across her serene features. "Bai Zhenshuang, I speak to you out of courtesy. My master is merciful. This light punishment is meant to correct you, not destroy you. But if you resist, his punishment will be far more severe. Do not make this harder than it needs to be."

"Everything in this world is decided by strength," Bai Zhenshuang replied, drawing her sword. The blade shimmered with frost, and the air around it began to crystallize. "If you want me to submit, then prove that you are strong enough to make me. Draw your sword, Moon Slave."

Shen Mengyue's gaze grew sorrowful, but she did not hesitate. Her hand went to the hilt of the purple sword at her waist, and as she drew it, a beam of amethust light cut through the morning air.

"Then I have no choice," she said. "I will ensure that you come to understand your place."

The battle that followed was a thing of legend.

Bai Zhenshuang struck first, her sword carving arcs of frozen light that sought to encase Shen Mengyue in ice. Her movements were flawless, her swordsmanship refined over centuries of cultivation. She was, without a doubt, one of the greatest sword cultivators of her generation.

But Shen Mengyue was different.

Every time Bai Zhenshuang's blade descended, it was met by a wall of purple light. Every technique she unleashed was countered, parried, or evaded with an ease that seemed almost supernatural. Shen Mengyue moved like water, like wind, like a shadow that could not be caught. Her sword danced in her hand, not as a weapon, but as an extension of her very being.

They exchanged a hundred blows. The disciples watched in stunned silence as their sect master—their invincible, untouchable sect master—was gradually pushed back. For every move Bai Zhenshuang made, Shen Mengyue had an answer. For every attack, a counter. For every defensive stance, a flaw that Shen Mengyue exploited.

And then, finally, the end came.

Shen Mengyue's sword slipped past Bai Zhenshuang's guard, the flat of the blade striking her wrist with enough force to numb her fingers. Bai Zhenshuang's sword clattered to the ground. Before she could recover, Shen Mengyue's hand shot forward, her fingers pressing against the vital points on Bai Zhenshuang's neck, freezing her spiritual energy with a single precise touch.

Bai Zhenshuang fell to her knees, her body unable to move, her eyes wide with shock.

"Impossible," she whispered. "I am the greatest sword cultivator of this age. How... how could you..."

Shen Mengyue sheathed her sword and looked down at the kneeling woman with compassion mixed with pity. "I was like you once," she said softly. "I was proud. I thought my sword was unmatched. But then I met my master, and he taught me humility. He punished me, thousands upon thousands of times, until my flesh learned what my mind refused to accept."

She paused, and a faint blush touched her cheeks. "Every time I was punished, my cultivation grew. The pain, the shame, the submission—they tempered me like fire tempers steel. I am what I am today because I accepted my place."

Bai Zhenshuang's lips pressed into a thin line. She said nothing, but her eyes burned with defiance that had not yet been extinguished.

"I have informed my master of your resistance," Shen Mengyue continued, pulling out a talisman that glowed with a faint light. "He has decreed that your punishment shall be increased. You have two choices, Bai Zhenshuang. You may continue to resist, and bring ruin upon your sect and all who follow you. Or you may submit, accept your punishment, and learn the humility that my master wishes to teach you."

Bai Zhenshuang's voice was cold, but steady. "I have lost. A sword cultivator accepts the consequences of defeat. I will submit. But I do this for myself, and for my sect, not out of any respect for your master."

She rose slowly, her limbs still trembling from the spiritual suppression. Then, with a calm that seemed almost inhuman, she reached up and unfastened the clasp of her robes.

A gasp rippled through the gathered disciples. "Sect Master! No!"

"Don't interfere," Bai Zhenshuang said sharply. "This is my battle. My defeat. My punishment. None of you are to seek revenge for me. Do you understand?"

The robes fell, pooling around her feet, and Bai Zhenshuang stood naked before her sect.

She was beautiful, in a way that transcended mere physical appearance. Her body was lean and athletic, every muscle perfectly sculpted by a lifetime of sword training. Her skin was pale as snow, unblemished except for a few faint scars that spoke of battles long past. Her breasts were full and high, her waist narrow, and her hips curved into a shape that was both elegant and womanly. Her hair cascaded down her back, the only thing covering her now.

She knelt, pressing her forehead to the cold stone, and spoke the words that burned like poison in her mouth. "I accept my punishment. Do with me as you will."

Shen Mengyue approached, a length of spirit-binding chain in her hands. With practiced ease, she fastened it around Bai Zhenshuang's neck, locking it into place.

"Good," she said. "Now follow me. You will crawl to the main hall of your own sect, where your punishment will be carried out before your disciples."

The journey through the Tianjian Sect was a spectacle that none present would ever forget.

Shen Mengyue walked ahead, naked and proud, leading Bai Zhenshuang by the chain like a dog. Bai Zhenshuang crawled behind her, her hands and knees scraping against the stone path, her head bowed, her shame written in the rigid lines of her spine.

Disciples lined the path, their faces a mixture of horror, disbelief, and suppressed anger. Some wept. Others turned away, unable to bear the sight. A few clenched their fists, and one young man took a step forward, his hand reaching for his sword.

Bai Zhenshuang's voice cut through the air like a whip. "Stand down."

The disciple froze. His master's voice, even in submission, carried the weight of absolute authority.

"I said, stand down," she repeated, not raising her head. "This is my burden. Not yours. Leave."

The disciple fell back, tears streaming down his face.

They reached the main hall. The disciples had already gathered, hu

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The sun hung high over the Hundred Flowers Valley, casting warm light across terraced gardens bursting with every color imaginable. Fragrant breezes carried the sweet perfume of a thousand blooming herbs, and the air hummed with the gentle buzz of spiritual bees going about their work. It was a place of peace, of healing, of life.

The peace shattered the moment Li Que stepped through the valley's outer ward.

She walked naked through the garden paths, her bare feet pressing into the soft earth without hesitation. Her body was a testament to power and discipline—tall and athletic, every muscle defined beneath sun-kissed skin that glowed with an inner heat. Her flame-red hair fell in a high ponytail that swayed with each confident step, catching the light like liquid fire. High cheekbones and sharp, proud features gave her face an almost predatory beauty, and her amber eyes burned with an intensity that made lesser cultivators look away.

Around her neck, a simple black slave collar gleamed dully in the sunlight.

The disciples of Hundred Flowers Valley froze in their tasks. A young woman tending moonlotus dropped her watering can with a clatter. An elder collecting dew from morning glory petals went rigid, his hands trembling. They stared—at her bare breasts, at the curve of her hips, at the triangle between her thighs where no cloth hid anything from view. Their faces flushed crimson. Some turned away in shock. Others whispered behind their hands, scandalized.

Li Que paid them no mind. She had crawled naked through the streets of a dozen cities while her master walked ahead, had been bent over and spanked before crowds of thousands, had learned to feel nothing but pride when eyes fell upon her exposed flesh. A slave's body was not her own. It belonged to her master, to display or punish as he saw fit. And did her master not have the finest taste? Was she not beautiful? Let them look. Let them burn with shame at their own weakness.

Her lips curled into a cold smile.

"Where is your master?" she called out, her voice carrying across the gardens with the authority of one used to command. "I have words from the master of Zefeng Sect. Send out Hua Qianyu."

The disciples scattered, some running, some flying, desperate to fetch their valley lord. Within moments, the air shimmered as a presence of considerable power descended from the main hall.

Hua Qianyu emerged from a pavilion wreathed in climbing roses, her jade-green robes flowing around her like water. Her face was gentle, her features soft and maternal—a woman who had spent centuries nurturing plants and healing bodies, whose very presence seemed to calm the qi around her. Her green hair was loosely pinned up, a few strands falling to frame her cheeks. Her body was full and welcoming beneath her robes, the curves of a woman who had borne children and tended life.

But her eyes sharpened the moment she saw Li Que standing naked in her gardens.

"Li Que," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "You are... unmistakable. The former vice-sect master of Vermillion Bird Gate. Xuan Fa's flame."

"I am Xuan Fa's slave," Li Que corrected, her tone holding no shame. "The slave called Que Nu. And I carry his decree."

Hua Qianyu's jaw tightened. Behind her, a crowd of disciples gathered, their faces a mixture of fear and outrage. Some of the younger ones wept silently, covering their eyes. The elders glared with barely contained fury.

"Speak your master's words," Hua Qianyu said, her voice cooling.

Li Que raised her chin. "This is the decree of Xuan Fa, master of Zefeng Sect, the Punisher of Heaven. Your disciples have trespassed upon the medicinal gardens of my master's sect. They have taken herbs that were not theirs to take, grown crops upon land that was not theirs to claim. For this crime, every disciple who set foot upon those gardens shall strip naked, kneel at the entrance of Zefeng Sect, and present their buttocks for punishment. Each shall receive one hundred strokes of the Heavenwood Board per day, for ten years. This is considered a minor penalty."

The disciples gasped. Some stumbled backward, clutching their robes as if they were already being torn away. A young woman burst into tears.

"As for you, Valley Lord Hua Qianyu," Li Que continued, her voice like iron, "you have failed to discipline your students. You will receive the same punishment. One hundred strokes per day, for ten years. Unless you wish to contest this decree."

Hua Qianyu's face had gone pale, but her eyes burned. "You come into my valley, naked, and demand I let you beat my disciples? That I submit to having my own buttocks bared and struck like a child?"

"I come bearing the word of my master," Li Que said simply. "Whether you submit or resist is your choice. But I warn you—I am Que Nu, and I have never lost a battle since my master's training remade me. I was the strongest among my peers before. Now I am far beyond that."

Hua Qianyu's hand went to her storage ring. "I cannot allow this. I protect my disciples."

"Then fight."

The word hung in the air like a blade descending.

Hua Qianyu's robes billowed as she shot forward, her hands weaving seals. Green energy erupted from the gardens around them—vines, roots, and petals rose in a cyclone, each one sharp as a sword. She was a master of healing and plants, but no healer fought without teeth. Her cultivation was late-stage Nascent Soul, and she had spent centuries refining her control over the life force of the earth.

Li Que simply raised her hand and snapped her fingers.

Flame erupted around her like a phoenix spreading its wings. The vines withered before they could touch her, turning to ash mid-air. The petals burned, the roots cracked. Hua Qianyu's eyes widened as she pushed forward, launching a volley of wooden spears reinforced with spiritual energy.

Li Que danced through them. Her body moved with the fluid grace of fire itself—bending, spinning, burning. Each spear she touched exploded into cinders. Her hands blazed with crimson qi as she closed the distance.

Hua Qianyu summoned a barrier of interwoven branches and petals, glowing with healing energy that could regenerate faster than most attacks could break it.

Li Que punched through it with her bare fist.

The barrier shattered. Hua Qianyu stumbled back, blood trickling from her lip. She was fast, skilled, and her connection to the earth gave her endless stamina—but Li Que was simply stronger. Every strike she blocked sent tremors through her arms. Every dodge cost more energy than she could afford. And Li Que fought without mercy, without hesitation, without any thought but victory.

Within a hundred exchanges, Hua Qianyu was on her knees, her robes torn, her breath ragged. Li Que stood over her, one hand gripping her hair, the other holding a flame that crackled inches from her face.

"You fought well," Li Que said, and meant it. "But my master's decree is absolute."

She released Hua Qianyu and stepped back, producing a jade talisman from her storage ring. The transmission talisman flared to life, and a voice emerged—cold, deep, utterly without emotion.

"Hua Qianyu," the voice of Xuan Fa said. "You have resisted. You have struck my slave. You have defied my decree."

Hua Qianyu's face went white.

"Your crime is compounded. Your punishment is increased. You will be brought to Zefeng Sect for a heavier sentence. And all of your disciples who participated in the occupation of my gardens will receive double the original penalty."

The young disciples behind Hua Qianyu began to sob openly. Some fell to their knees, clutching each other. The elders stood frozen, their faces masks of despair.

"No!" Hua Qianyu cried, scrambling forward, pressing her forehead to the ground before Li Que. "Please! Punish me alone! Double my punishment, triple it, do whatever you wish with me—but spare my disciples! They only followed my orders! They are innocent children who did not understand whose land they walked upon!"

The talisman was silent for a long moment. Then the cold voice spoke again.

"Very well. If you alone will bear the punishment, the penalty must be severe. Do you accept this?"

"Yes!" Hua Qianyu's voice cracked with desperation. "Yes, I accept! Whatever it takes! Just let them go!"

"Strip."

Hua Qianyu's hands trembled as she reached for her robes. The jade-green silk fell away, puddling around her knees. Her bare skin emerged—full breasts, a soft belly, the generous curves of a woman who had lived a life of comfort and nurture. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders. Her face was streaked with tears.

She knelt naked before Li Que, before her own disciples, before the sky that had once seemed so kind.

And she pressed her forehead to the ground. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Please," she whispered. "Only me."

Li Que stepped forward. Cold chains coiled from her hand—the Kunxian Lock, a treasure that bound not just the body but the cultivation itself. She looped it around Hua Qianyu's neck, and the former valley lord flinched as the metal touched her skin.

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

Hua Qianyu obeyed.

The disciples watched in horror as their beloved master—the gentle woman who had healed their wounds, who had taught them to coax life from barren soil, who had sung them lullabies when they were homesick children—crawled on her hands and knees, naked and collared, following a naked slave woman through her own gardens.

They crawled past the Moon Lotus pond where Hua Qianyu had held meditation circles. Past the Spirit Orchid pavilion where she had given lectures on herbal lore. Past the hundred-year-old Wishing Tree where disciples tied their prayers on red ribbons. Every step was a humiliation etched into the earth.

At the entrance to the main hall, Li Que stopped. She turned to face the crowd of disciples who had followed, weeping, wailing, some too shocked even to cry.

"Hear me," she announced, her voice carrying across the valley. "This is Hua Qianyu, once the Valley Lord of Hundred Flowers Valley. She has been found guilty of failing to discipline her disciples, allowing them to trespass upon the lands of Zefeng Sect and steal from its gardens. She is also guilty of violent resistance against lawful punishment. Her sentence is four hundred strokes of the Heavenwood Board, administered here and now, in full view of all her disciples. Afterward, she will be brought to Zefeng Sect for further punishment."

Hua Qianyu knelt on the stone steps, her bare knees pressing into the cold granite. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered her upper body until her forehead touched the ground. And then she raised her hips, pushing her buttocks high into the air.

Her round, pale buttocks—soft from a lifetime of comfort, untouched by hardship—were bared to the entire valley. She could feel the wind on her most private places. She could hear the sobs of her disciples. She could smell her own shame in the air.

But she did not move.

Li Que gazed at her for a long moment. Then she turned, raising a hand, and reaching out with her spiritual sense toward the gardens. Her power stretched across the valley, seeking, selecting, gathering.

A cluster of plants flew from a distant patch of earth, carried by her qi. They were broad-leaved, deep green, covered in fine, almost invisible hairs. Each hair was a needle that carried a compound that, upon contact with skin, induced an itch so intense it bordered on madness.

Hua Qianyu's eyes widened. "Scorpion Grass," she breathed.

"You know it well," Li Que said. "You grow it for your salves."

She crushed the plants with her qi, squeezing every drop of juice from the leaves. The liquid pooled in the air, green and viscous, shimmering with malice. And then, with a thought, she spread it evenly across Hua Qianyu's raised buttocks.

The effect was immediate.

Hua Qianyu gasped. Her entire body stiffened. The itch began as a prickle, a tickle, a warmth that spread across her skin like fire.

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The mist-shrouded ruins of an ancient cultivation palace lay half-sunken in the marshlands of the Forgotten Expanse. Broken pillars of white jade jutted from the murky water like the bones of some long-dead giant, and the air hummed with the residual energy of formations that had stood for ten thousand years.

It was here that Su Qianyao found herself drawn by rumors of a lost treasure.

She stood atop a collapsed archway, her silver hair cascading down her back like moonlight made silk, the strands catching the dim light and shimmering with an ethereal glow. Her crimson eyes swept across the ruins with lazy amusement, her full lips curved in a perpetual half-smile that promised danger and delight in equal measure. Her body was a masterpiece of seduction—generous curves at breast and hip, a waist so narrow it seemed impossible to support such bounty, skin like cream touched with the faintest blush of pink. She wore a gown of deepest purple that clung to every contour, split high on one thigh to reveal the smooth expanse of her leg.

She was about to descend from her perch when movement caught her eye.

Below, picking her way through the reeds with the casual grace of someone utterly unconcerned with her surroundings, walked a young woman. No—not walked. Bounded. Hopped from stone to stone, her bare feet splashing in the shallow water, her twin tails of black hair bouncing with each step.

The young woman was completely naked.

Su Qianyao's eyebrow rose. "Well now," she purred, her voice like honey laced with silk. "What a curious sight. A bare-bottomed little sister, all alone in this dangerous place."

The naked woman looked up, and her face split into a grin that was equal parts mischievous and delighted. Her features were youthful and fresh, with large bright eyes that sparkled with intelligence and mischief. Her body was slender and athletic, all smooth curves and firm muscle, her skin pale and flawless. The black slave collar around her throat gleamed in the dim light, a stark reminder of her station.

"Aiyah, Sister Su," Lin Qiaoxin said, planting her hands on her hips and wiggling her bare bottom. "You caught me. How embarrassing. I was hoping to have a little fun before you noticed me."

Su Qianyao's smile widened. "And what kind of fun would that be, little one?"

"First, let me answer your question." Qiaoxin turned in a slow circle, proudly displaying her nude form. "Is my bottom pretty, Sister? I've been told it's quite lovely, especially when it's red from my master's discipline." She laughed, the sound bright and unashamed. "I was twenty years old when my master took me as his slave. Do you know how long ago that was? Four hundred years. Four hundred years, and I've spent more of them naked than clothed. At first it was mortifying. Then it became… liberating."

She patted her own backside with a cheerful smack.

"But that's not why I'm here." Her tone sharpened, though the grin remained. "Sister Su, you've been using your charm techniques on disciples of Zehuamen. That's not very nice. My master has commanded me to bring you back for a spanking. Ten years of it. So why don't you be a good girl and come with me? Save us both the trouble of a fight."

Su Qianyao's crimson eyes glittered. Slowly, gracefully, she descended from the arch, her feet touching the marshy ground without disturbing a single blade of grass. "How can you call it bullying, dear sister? I was merely playing with the children. They were so delightfully easy to fluster." Her smile turned predatory. "But a spanking? From the legendary Xuanfa? That sounds… interesting." She tilted her head. "However, I'm not the sort to submit without a demonstration of power. If you want this backside of mine red, little sister, you'll have to earn it."

Qiaoxin's grin faltered slightly. "Sister, you know that resisting punishment only makes it worse, right? My master is very strict with those who resist. He might spank you until your bottom is completely mangled." She paused, then giggled. "Though honestly, I think that would be a good thing. A really thorough punishment would do you good."

She slapped her own buttocks again, a dreamy look crossing her face.

"Every day, my master makes me kneel before him. Every day, he beats my bottom with his divine punishment plank. It hurts so much, but it feels so right. I want to be kneeling before him right now, presenting myself, waiting for that first blow..."

Su Qianyao's tongue darted out to wet her lips. "Mangled, you say? How intriguing."

In the abyssal realm of the demons, Su Qianyao had been unmatched. Men lowered their eyes when she passed, trembling at her power, terrified of her charms. None had dared to lay a hand on her in anger or in discipline. But Su Qianyao had a secret, one she guarded with fierce pride: her round, full bottom ached for punishment. It craved the sting of a hard hand, the bite of a sharp paddle, the burn that made her breath catch and her thighs clench.

She had dreamed of it for centuries.

Now, this girl spoke of a master who could reduce a woman to tears with his discipline. The legends of Xuanfa's punishments were whispered across the cultivation world, tales of powerful women broken over his knee, their pride shattered, their bottoms bruised and beautiful.

If this goddess of pleasure and pain could truly deliver what she desired...

"Very well, little sister." Su Qianyao drew a slender blade from her spatial ring, its edge gleaming with dark energy. "Show me what you've learned in four hundred years."

Qiaoxin's grin widened. "As you wish."

The air rippled.

Su Qianyao lunged forward, her blade singing through the mist, but she found herself suddenly entangled in threads of light that materialized from nowhere. Qiaoxin had already retreated, her fingers dancing through complex gestures, and the world around Su Qianyao transformed. The ruins shifted, the pillars rearranged themselves, and she found herself standing in the center of a vast formation that pulsed with blinding radiance.

"Impressive," Su Qianyao admitted, breaking free with a surge of demonic energy. "But is this all?"

She launched herself at Qiaoxin, her blade leaving trails of shadow in the air. Qiaoxin laughed, dodging and weaving, her hands never stopping their work. Formations bloomed around her like flowers, shields and snares and attacks that struck from impossible angles.

The battle raged across the ruins. Su Qianyao's demonic power clashed against Qiaoxin's formations, the air crackling with released energy. They fought through collapsing halls and across flooded courtyards, each exchange more intense than the last.

But Su Qianyao had underestimated her opponent.

Qiaoxin had been a genius of formations and cultivation for a millennium. She had spent four hundred years at the feet of the most powerful being in the world, honing her skills under the harshest of teachers. Her formations were flawless, her timing impeccable, her creativity boundless.

In the end, Su Qianyao found herself suspended in mid-air, her limbs spread wide by bands of light that held her in place like a butterfly pinned to a board. Her gown had been torn away by the energy of the battle, leaving her completely exposed.

"Got you," Qiaoxin said cheerfully, walking a circle around her prize. She studied Su Qianyao's naked form with open appreciation. "You really are beautiful, Sister. What a body."

Su Qianyao's silver hair hung around her like a curtain, her crimson eyes still defiant despite her predicament. Her breasts were full and proud, tipped with dark nipples that had tightened from the cool air. Her waist was impossibly slender, flaring into hips that were wide and womanly. And her bottom—it was a masterpiece of curves, plump and round, two perfect globes that seemed to beg for attention.

"Not bad," Su Qianyao said, her voice husky. "But what now, little sister?"

Qiaoxin's smile turned wicked. "Now? Now I deliver the punishment my master ordered."

She raised her hand, and the formation responded. Threads of light solidified into steel whips, birch paddles, and leather straps, all hovering in the air around Su Qianyao's suspended form.

"For resisting and prolonging your punishment," Qiaoxin announced, "the sentence is increased to eight hundred strikes."

The first blow landed.

The whip cracked across Su Qianyao's bare buttocks with a sound like thunder. A bright red line appeared across the pale flesh, and Su Qianyao gasped—not in pain, but in shock. The sensation that bloomed across her bottom was… magnificent. It burned and stung and throbbed, and deep in her core, something awakened that she had never fully felt before.

"Aaahhh…" The sound that escaped her lips was pure pleasure.

Qiaoxin's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

She struck again. And again. Each blow landed with precision, layering new stripes of red over the old. Su Qianyao's bottom began to glow like a sunset, the heat radiating from it in waves. But instead of crying out in pain, she moaned, her body arching against her bonds, her hips pushing back to meet the blows.

"Yes… yes, more… harder!"

Qiaoxin paused, genuinely surprised. "Sister, are you… enjoying this?"

"Of course I am!" Su Qianyao's voice was thick with desire. "Do you have any idea how long I've waited for someone to treat my bottom properly? In the demon realm, men tremble before me. They fear me. They would never dare to raise a hand against me." She laughed, a sound tinged with desperation. "But I've dreamed of this. I've ached for it. Every night, I would lie in my bed and imagine what it would feel like to be bent over and properly disciplined."

Qiaoxin stared at her for a long moment, then burst out laughing. "I thought I was the most perverted woman in the world! I love being spanked so much that I beg my master every day to beat me harder. But you…" She shook her head in admiration. "You've only had a few dozen strikes, and you're already dripping."

She pointed, and indeed, clear fluid was running down the inside of Su Qianyao's thighs, her womanhood glistening with unmistakable arousal.

"Your body loves punishment even more than mine does," Qiaoxin said. "Let's see how it likes this."

The whips descended again, faster now. They landed in rapid succession, painting Su Qianyao's bottom in shades of crimson and violet. Qiaoxin varied her attacks—strokes of the whip, smacks of the paddle, stinging lashes from leather straps. She struck the tops of the cheeks, the sensitive undersides, the tender spot where buttock met thigh.

And through it all, Su Qianyao moaned and cried and begged for more.

"Please… please hit harder… I can take it… I can take so much more…"

Her body was on fire. Each blow sent shockwaves of pleasure through her, waves that built and crested and refused to break. Her breasts heaved with her ragged breathing, her nipples pebbled and aching. Between her legs, she was soaked, her womanhood clenching around nothing, desperate for fulfillment.

Qiaoxin paused at three hundred strikes. Su Qianyao's bottom was a masterpiece of damage—swollen, purple in places, crisscrossed with welts and bruises. But still her hips pushed back, still her voice called for more.

"You really are something," Qiaoxin said, genuine respect in her tone. "Four hundred more. Let's see if you can handle it."

She resumed the punishment, and this time Su Qianyao met it with abandon. She no longer tried to hold back her responses. She screamed and moaned and wept, her body bucking against the light-bands, and each time she thought she might climax, Qiaoxin shifted the pattern, denying her release.

By the time the eight hundredth strike landed, Su Qianyao hung limp in her bonds, her entire body trembling with unfulfilled desire. Her bottom was a ruin of beautiful damage, dark and swollen, radiating heat like a furnace. Tears streaked her face, but she was smiling.

"Not… not bad, little sister…" she panted. "But I think… I could still take more…"

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The morning sun cast long shadows across the marble expanse of the Punishment Square, its light glinting off the three massive stone pillars that dominated the center of the plaza. Each pillar stood three times the height of a man, their surfaces covered in intricate符文 that pulsed with a faint golden light, suppressing the spiritual energy of anyone bound to them. Before these pillars, three women knelt on the cold stone, their bodies completely bare under the open sky, their hands bound behind their backs by golden chains that wrapped around the pillars, holding them in place with their buttocks raised and exposed.

On the raised platform at the edge of the square, three figures sat in cushioned chairs, watching the scene unfold with keen interest. Lin Qiaoxin leaned forward, her twin ponytails bouncing slightly as she rested her chin on her hands. Li Que crossed her arms, her fiery red hair catching the light, while Shen Mengyue sat with perfect posture, her long black hair cascading down her back, her expression serene but her eyes sharp.

The three bound women were among the most powerful cultivators in the cultivation world, all at the late Nascent Soul stage, yet here they knelt, stripped of dignity and power, awaiting their daily punishment.

Bai Zhenshuang, the Sword Master of Heavenly Sword Sect, knelt on the leftmost pillar. Her body was a study in contrasts—flawless white skin that seemed to glow, a face of cold, aristocratic beauty, with sharp brows and proud eyes. But those eyes were now fixed on the ground before her, her lips pressed into a thin line. Before her, floating in the air, was her own sword sheath.

The sheath was made of refined jade, carved with cloud patterns, and it hummed with a faint vibration. Without any hand guiding it, the sheath rose, then descended with precision, striking her bare buttocks with a sharp crack.

*Smack!*

Bai Zhenshuang's body jolted. Her teeth clenched, and a soft grunt escaped her throat. The sheath continued its relentless rhythm, landing blow after blow across her pale cheeks, each impact leaving a red mark that gradually deepened into a dark red. After twenty strokes, her entire backside had turned a uniform shade of crimson, the skin hot and tender.

For a sword cultivator, this was the deepest humiliation imaginable. To be punished by one's own sword sheath—the very vessel of one's cultivation partner's spirit—was a degradation that cut to the very core of her identity as a Sword Master. She had trained for centuries, had forged her sword into an extension of her soul, and now that same sword humiliated her daily.

*Smack! Smack! Smack!*

The blows continued, rhythmic and relentless. Bai Zhenshuang's eyes, usually cold and unreadable, began to glisten. The sting was profound, radiating through her entire body, and the shame burned hotter than any physical pain. After two hundred strokes, her buttocks were a deep, angry red, the skin swollen and tender. She bit her lower lip until she tasted blood, refusing to cry out, but tears began to roll silently down her cheeks, tracing paths through the dust on her face.

When the sheath finally completed its four hundred strokes, Bai Zhenshuang's breath came in ragged gasps. Her buttocks were dark red, almost purple in places, and throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. But the punishment was not over. The sheath retreated, and a thin, braided leather whip rose into the air, its tip glowing with a faint golden light.

Without warning, the whip cracked through the air, striking directly into the delicate crevice between her legs.

"Aah!" Bai Zhenshuang cried out, her composure finally breaking. The pain was exquisite, sharp, and intimate. She had never been touched there by anyone, and now a magical whip targeted that most private place with unerring accuracy. The whip rose and fell a hundred times, each stroke landing exactly between her spread thighs, until that most sensitive skin was red and raw, and her body trembled uncontrollably.

When the punishment ended, Bai Zhenshuang slumped forward, her forehead touching the cool stone, her body shaking with silent sobs. But her voice, when it came, was steady. "I have lost. The victor is king, the loser is a bandit. I accept my fate."

In the center, Hua Qianyu knelt with her face pressed to the ground. Her green hair was loose, falling over her shoulders, and her body, usually so gentle and nurturing, was tense with anticipation. Before her knelt a small pot of pale green liquid—scorpion grass extract, one of the most potent itching agents in the cultivation world.

Two invisible hands emerged from the pot, dipping into the viscous liquid and then spreading it across her raised buttocks. The moment the liquid touched her skin, Hua Qianyu gasped. The sensation was immediate and overwhelming. An itch so intense it bordered on agony erupted across her entire backside, spreading from her cheeks to the cleft between them, to the very entrance of her most private place.

"Ah! Ahhh!" Hua Qianyu cried out, her body writhing against the chains that held her. The urge to scratch was unbearable, but her hands were bound behind her back, and there was nothing she could do. The itch grew and grew, becoming a maddening fire that consumed her thoughts, her will, her very soul.

Tears streamed down her face as she bucked and twisted, trying to rub her buttocks against the stone pillar, but the chains held her in place. "Please! Please, I can't bear it!" she begged, her voice cracking. "Please let me be punished! Let the boards come!"

As if in answer, two slabs of pale wood materialized from the air, each the size of a paddle, inscribed with golden runes. They positioned themselves on either side of her raised buttocks and began their work.

*Whack! Whack! Whack!*

Each blow was precise and powerful, landing alternately on her left and right cheeks. The pain cut through the itching like a blade through silk, and Hua Qianyu sobbed with relief even as the pain intensified. The boards did not stop, landing four hundred times in total, each stroke harder than the last, until her buttocks were a mess of red and purple, the skin split in places, blood trickling down her thighs.

When the boards finally retreated, Hua Qianyu collapsed, her body limp, her face streaked with tears and snot. "It is all my fault for offending Xuanfa," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I accept everything. Just do not bring disaster upon Myriad Flowers Valley."

On the rightmost pillar, Su Qianyao knelt with a completely different demeanor. The Silver-haired beauty with crimson eyes, the Demon Saintess known for her seductive arts, knelt with her back arched, her full breasts pressing against the stone, her buttocks raised high and proud. Even bound and naked, she exuded an air of sensual confidence that bordered on insolence.

The two heavenly boards appeared before her as well, their surfaces gleaming. They did not hesitate but descended with a resounding crack.

*Whack!*

"Ah~!" Su Qianyao cried out, and the sound was not one of pain but of pleasure. Her voice was a throaty moan, her body arching into the blow. "Yes! More! Harder!"

The boards complied, raining down blow after blow on her generous backside. Her buttocks were full and round, and each impact sent ripples through her flesh. The skin quickly reddened, then darkened, but Su Qianyao's cries grew more and more ecstatic. Between her legs, a slick moisture began to flow, her arousal evident in the glistening liquid that ran down her inner thighs.

"Harder! Please, hit harder!" she begged, her voice breathy and wanton. "I have been a bad girl! I deserve to have my bottom beaten black and blue!"

The boards continued their relentless assault, each stroke landing with perfect precision. Su Qianyao's body shook with each impact, her moans growing louder, more desperate. By the time the four hundred strokes were complete, her entire lower body was slick with sweat and arousal, her buttocks a deep, dark purple, swollen and hot to the touch.

But she was not finished. A servant approached, holding a long, peeled ginger root, tapered at one end. Su Qianyao's crimson eyes lit up with a mixture of anticipation and pleasure. "Ah, the ginger! Please, do not be gentle!"

The servant knelt behind her and, with practiced ease, inserted the ginger root into her most private entrance. Su Qianyao gasped, her body tensing, then relaxing as the root settled into place. The burning sensation of the ginger combined with the throbbing pain of her punished buttocks, creating a symphony of sensation that made her groan with satisfaction.

"Wonderful," she breathed, her voice thick with pleasure. "This is perfect."

The three women remained in their positions as a golden formation lit up beneath them, the healing array of the Xuantian Realm beginning its work. Gentle energy flowed into their bodies, soothing their injuries, repairing torn skin, and easing inflammation. Within minutes, their buttocks would be restored to their natural smoothness, ready for the next day's punishment.

Lin Qiaoxin watched the healing process with a satisfied smile. "They are learning," she said, her voice light and playful.

Li Que nodded, her expression cold but approving. "Bai Zhenshuang is stubborn, but she submits. Hua Qianyu accepts her fate. Su Qianyao... enjoys hers."

Shen Mengyue rose gracefully from her seat. "Let us report to the Master. He will want to know of today's events."

The three women left the square, passing through a shimmering golden portal that led to the Xuantian Realm.

Inside the Xuantian Realm, the scenery was a stark contrast to the harsh punishment square. Rolling hills of spiritual energy, majestic pavilions floating in the air, and a serene lake that reflected the colors of the setting sun. In the main hall, Xuanfa sat on a throne of black jade, his dark training clothes immaculate, his expression unreadable. His cold, handsome face showed no emotion as the three women entered and knelt before him.

"Master," Shen Mengyue began, her voice respectful, "today's punishments have been completed. Bai Zhenshuang endured her shame, Hua Qianyu begged for pain, and Su Qianyao... enjoyed herself as always."

"We report that the three have completed their daily sentence," Lin Qiaoxin added, her voice cheerful. "And we have a request."

Xuanfa raised an eyebrow, the first flicker of interest crossing his face. "Speak."

The three women exchanged glances. Shen Mengyue stepped forward. "Master, we have completed all the tasks you set for us. We have trained our daughters, we have managed the sect's affairs, we have served you faithfully. And now... we request that you increase our daily punishment."

"We want four hundred strokes each day," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice losing its playfulness and becoming earnest. "We beg you, Master, allow us to experience your punishment."

Li Que knelt, her fiery hair brushing the ground. "Master, we have come to love the feeling of your discipline. The pain reminds us of our place, the pleasure of submission fills our hearts. Please, allow us this."

Xuanfa's lips curled into a faint smile, the first expression he had shown. "So," he said, his voice low and smooth, "you have come to love spanking, have you?"

The three women blushed, looking at the ground. "Yes, Master," they said together, their voices filled with shame and desire.

Xuanfa laughed softly, a sound that sent shivers down their spines. "Then let me give you what you desire." He raised his hand and clapped twice.

From behind the throne, four figures emerged. Lin Yuxin, Li Yunling, Shen Xingmian—the three daughters of the kneeling women—and one more, Lin Qiaoxin's younger sister. The three young women walked with perfect posture, their naked bodies adorned only with black slave collars, their movements graceful and obedient.

They approached Xuanfa and knelt before him, their heads bowed. "We greet the Master," they said in unison, t

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The vast training ground of Zitian Realm stretched out beneath an endless gray sky, where row upon row of bare buttocks jutted upward in perfect alignment. Eighty female cultivators knelt with their upper bodies pressed flat against the cool stone, their heads bowed low, presenting their posteriors to the heavens. Behind each woman, two wooden boards of celestial origin floated silently, waiting with ominous patience.

The first crack split the air like thunder.

Eighty pairs of boards descended simultaneously, striking eighty waiting bottoms with ruthless precision. The sound was deafening, a chorus of sharp slaps that echoed across the training ground and rolled through the mountain peaks beyond. White flesh rippled under the impact, waves of jiggling that spread across each punished cheek before the boards lifted and fell again.

These women had once stood at the pinnacle of the cultivation world. Sect leaders who commanded thousands of disciples. Matriarchs whose words shaped the political landscape of entire regions. Prodigies whose talents had drawn the attention of ancient powers. Elders who had lived for centuries, accumulating wisdom and authority. Now they knelt in naked submission, their necks adorned with plain black slave collars, their dignity stripped away one board strike at a time.

The boards did not simply spank. They delivered agony that bypassed all defensive qi, striking directly at the soul. Each impact sent jolts of searing pain through the body, leaving the skin burning, the flesh tender, the very bones aching with deep, resonant hurt. Some of the newer additions to the collection whimpered and squirmed, their bodies twisting away from the relentless assault only to be corrected by invisible forces that held them in place. But the older slaves—those who had been disciplined for months or years—remained still. Tears streamed down their cheeks. Their bottoms bounced and reddened with each blow. Yet they did not struggle. They did not resist. They had learned, through countless sessions of punishment, that submission brought its own kind of peace.

At the very front of the formation, separated from the others by a respectful distance, three women knelt in a perfect row. Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue. The three most powerful female cultivators in Xuan Fa's collection, each at the late-stage Nascent Soul realm. Their bodies were works of art—toned and curved, smooth and supple, every line speaking to years of rigorous cultivation and physical training. And their bottoms, presented so obediently to the boards that hovered behind them, were about to receive a punishment befitting their station.

Four hundred strikes. Doubled on both cheeks. The heaviest penalty in the daily discipline regimen.

The boards behind them were larger than those assigned to the other slaves, thicker and darker, carved from the wood of an ancient celestial tree that had weathered ten thousand lightning tribulations. They hummed with contained power, eager to deliver their message.

The first strike fell.

Lin Qiaoxin's compact rear end absorbed the blow with a sharp bounce, her flesh compressing under the impact before springing back. She drew a quick breath through her teeth, her twin ponytails swaying as she adjusted to the familiar pain. The second board struck immediately after, catching her other cheek in a perfect rhythm that left no time for recovery.

Li Que's athletic bottom was next, round and firm from years of combat training. The boards found their target with unerring accuracy, painting red stripes across her pale skin. Her high ponytail of fiery red hair swayed with each impact, a flame dancing in the wind of punishment.

Shen Mengyue knelt between them, her elegant frame accepting the blows with the grace of a dancer. Her waist-length black hair cascaded down her back, parting to reveal the curve of her spine and the generous swell of her buttocks. The boards struck her with particular force, as if Xuan Fa's attention lingered on her longer than the others. Her flesh, softer and fuller than her companions', quivered spectacularly with each hit.

The rhythm continued. The boards rose. The boards fell. The sound of punishment filled the training ground.

After the fiftieth strike, Lin Qiaoxin's composure cracked. Her body began to sway, her thighs trembling as she struggled to maintain her position. Tears dripped from her chin onto the stone below. But when she spoke, her voice carried a note of something unexpected—contentment.

"Ahh... still, it's much better when Master controls the celestial boards himself," she said, her words punctuated by gasps. "Xin Nu's bottom is going to be completely ruined at this rate. Split open like a ripe peach. Bruised like purple clouds at sunset."

The boards continued their work, each strike landing with precision.

Li Que's voice came next, strained but proud. "Master's punishment is a slave's honor." She forced the words out between blows, her body jerking with each impact. "Please, Master, strike Que Nu's bottom as hard as you wish. Bruise it. Break it. Que Nu exists to receive your discipline."

A particularly hard strike caught her left cheek, and she cried out, a sharp sound that dissolved into a moan. Her fingers curled against the stone, nails scraping the surface, but she did not move from her position.

Shen Mengyue spoke last, her tone carrying the measured calm of one who had long ago made peace with her place in the world. "Yue Nu's bottom is overdue for her Master's punishment. Please, do not hold back. Spare the rod and spoil the slave, as they say."

Her words were barely finished before the boards accelerated, falling faster and harder. The three women endured in silence after that, their voices reduced to gasps and cries as the count climbed. One hundred. One hundred fifty. Two hundred. Their bottoms transformed from pale to pink to red to a deep, angry crimson. The skin grew hot to the touch, radiating heat that could be felt from several feet away.

At two hundred fifty strikes, Lin Qiaoxin's body gave out. She collapsed forward, her upper body pressing flat against the stone, her punished rear end still raised as if by instinct. Li Que followed at three hundred, her proud frame folding as the pain overwhelmed her ability to kneel. Shen Mengyue held out until three hundred fifty, her endurance a testament to years of rigorous training and conditioning.

But they all completed their four hundred.

The boards delivered the final strike simultaneously, a triple crack that echoed across the training ground and silenced every other sound. Then they lifted, hovered for a moment, and floated away to their storage positions.

The three women lay sprawled on the stone floor, their bodies heaving, their faces pressed against the cool surface. Tears stained their cheeks. Their bottoms were a mess of red and purple, the flesh swollen and tender. But on each face, mixed with the lingering pain and the drying tears, was a smile. A small, satisfied, utterly submissive smile.

The formation beneath the training ground activated, sending streams of golden spiritual energy flowing upward. The healing array began its work, seeping into bruised flesh, soothing damaged tissue, accelerating the natural recovery of the body. The three women sighed in unison as the pain began to recede, replaced by a pleasant warmth.

Footsteps approached.

Xuan Fa walked through the rows of kneeling slaves, his black training clothes stark against the gray landscape. His face betrayed no emotion, his cold eyes sweeping over the women who had once been the most powerful females in the cultivation world. He stopped before the three prone forms at the front.

They sensed his presence immediately. With obvious effort, they pushed themselves upright, wincing as their punished bottoms made contact with their heels. They knelt before him, heads bowed, hands resting on their thighs.

"Thank you, Master, for the punishment," they said in unison, their voices carrying different shades of exhaustion and gratitude. "The celestial boards strike far more painfully under your control. Xin Nu's bottom feels truly chastised."

Xuan Fa's gaze moved across them, assessing. He gave a single, small nod.

A rustle of movement drew his attention. Three younger women approached, their bodies similarly bare, their necks adorned with the same black slave collars. Lin Yuxin, Li Yunling, and Shen Xingmian. The daughters of the three kneeling women, each bearing an eight-out-of-ten resemblance to her mother. They knelt beside their mothers, pressing their foreheads to the stone.

"Master," Lin Yuxin said, her voice carrying her mother's playful energy, "Xin Nu requests that her mother be allowed to personally discipline her bottom. Please, Master, allow mother to use the wooden board on Xin Nu's disobedient backside."

Li Yunling spoke next, her tone cool and measured like Li Que's. "Yunling also requests this honor. Mother's hand knows best how to correct a daughter's flaws."

Shen Xingmian completed the request, her voice soft and earnest. "Xingmian begs Master to let mother punish her. And please, mother, do not hold back. Your daughter's bottom has grown quite resilient."

Xuan Fa's expression did not change, but he gave another small nod.

Three celestial wooden boards appeared, floating before the mothers. Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue each grasped their board with steady hands, their punished bottoms still tender from their own four hundred strikes. They rose and positioned themselves behind their daughters, who had already bent forward, presenting their youthful buttocks with eager submission.

Lin Qiaoxin took her position behind Lin Yuxin, whose compact rear end so resembled her own. She raised the board high, then brought it down with a satisfying crack.

"Remember, Yuxin," she said, her voice carrying an edge of maternal authority, "a slave exists to receive her Master's will. Every punishment is a gift. Every strike is a lesson."

Another crack. Lin Yuxin's bottom bounced, a red mark blooming on her pale skin. She gasped but held her position.

"If you receive punishment with gratitude," Lin Qiaoxin continued, striking again, "then the pain becomes a teacher. If you resist, if you resent, then the pain becomes an enemy."

"You must love your punishment," Li Que said, her board descending on her daughter's athletic rear with practiced precision. "You must crave it. The day you learn to welcome the discipline is the day you truly become a useful slave."

Li Yunling's body jerked with each blow, but her voice remained steady. "Yes, mother. Yunling understands."

Shen Mengyue was the most deliberate of the three, her strikes measured and precise. She alternated cheeks with mechanical accuracy, ensuring each side received equal attention.

"You carry your Master's mark on your neck," she said, her voice carrying the weight of her own long submission. "But the mark on your bottom is the one that truly matters. It shows that you have been claimed. That you have been corrected. That you have been shaped into what your Master requires."

Shen Xingmian's eyes were bright with unshed tears, but her smile was genuine. "Yes, mother. Xingmian will remember."

The strikes continued, a rhythm of discipline passed from mother to daughter. The other slaves in the training ground watched and listened, their own punishments having concluded. Each board strike reminded them of their place. Each cry from the younger women reinforced the system of submission that governed this realm.

Two hundred strikes. The daughters' bottoms were thoroughly reddened, their flesh warmed and tender. Their mothers had not held back, delivering each blow with the same force they would have applied to any other slave.

When the final strike fell, the three young women collapsed forward, their bodies trembling, their faces wet with tears. But like their mothers before them, they smiled.

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The morning light filtered through the high windows of the Zefa Gate's main hall, casting long golden rectangles across the polished stone floor. Xuanfa sat upon his elevated seat at the far end of the hall, his black training robes immaculate, his expression as cold and unreadable as carved jade. His fingers rested lightly on the armrests, tapping once, twice, in a slow rhythm that echoed through the vast space.

The heavy doors groaned open.

Shen Mengyue entered first, her naked body moving with fluid grace despite the weight of her task. In her hand she held the end of a glittering restraint chain—the Immortal Binding Rope, forged from starlight and reinforced by Xuanfa's own power. The rope stretched behind her, wrapped around the neck of Bai Zhenshuang, who crawled on all fours across the threshold.

Bai Zhenshuang's pale skin was flushed with humiliation. Her black hair, usually so perfectly arranged, now hung tangled around her shoulders, obscuring her face. But even in this position, even stripped of her dignity and her robes, there was a remnant of something proud in the set of her shoulders, the angle of her jaw. She had been the Sword Empress of the Heavenly Sword Sect, untouchable, unchallenged. Now she crawled like an animal toward the man who had broken her.

Shen Mengyue reached the center of the hall and stopped. She turned, her movements unhurried, and knelt with perfect posture. The chain went slack in her hands as she placed it on the floor before her. "Master," she said, her voice soft and reverent, "Sword Sovereign Bai Zhenshuang has been brought as you commanded."

Bai Zhenshuang remained on her hands and knees, her head bowed, her breath shallow. The Immortal Binding Rope had been removed from her neck, but she did not rise. She could not. The command embedded in the rope's magic still thrummed through her, insisting on submission.

Xuanfa observed her in silence for a long moment. Then he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. "Bai Zhenshuang. I told you to come to Zefa Gate willingly to receive your punishment. You chose to resist. You chose to flee. And now you crawl before me in chains. Explain your folly."

Bai Zhenshuang's hands trembled against the stone floor. She lifted her head, meeting his gaze for the first time. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry. "I was arrogant," she said, her voice hoarse but steady. "I believed my cultivation was supreme. I believed no one in this realm could match my sword. When I was defeated by your Moon Slave, I finally understood how shallow my vision was. I was a frog at the bottom of a well, staring up at a sliver of sky and calling it the heavens." She paused, her jaw tightening. "My current suffering... I deserve every bit of it. It is my own doing."

Xuanfa's expression did not change. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "What is the most important thing to a sword cultivator?"

"Her sword," Bai Zhenshuang answered without hesitation.

A sound escaped Xuanfa's lips. Not quite a laugh, but close enough to make Bai Zhenshuang's skin crawl. "Then tell me, Sword Empress. What does it feel like to be beaten every single day by the very sheath that houses your own blade?"

Bai Zhenshuang's face went crimson. The words struck her like a physical blow, worse than any lash. Her sword sheath—the vessel that carried her soul-bound weapon, the instrument that had accompanied her through every battle, every triumph, every moment of her cultivation journey—had been turned into an instrument of her humiliation. Every evening, without fail, the sheath was animated by Xuanfa's power and brought down across her bare buttocks, again and again, until she lost count. Until she lost her voice from screaming. Until she forgot, for a moment, that she had ever been a Sword Empress at all.

And Xuanfa knew. Of course he knew. The look in his eyes said he knew exactly how much that particular punishment galled her.

She could not answer him. Her throat closed around the words.

Xuanfa rose from his seat. The motion was fluid, economical, the movement of a man who had never wasted an action in his life. He descended the few steps from his dais and walked toward the two kneeling women. "Today, I will punish you personally. I will show you the true pain of the Celestial Punishment Boards, charged with my own spiritual power. And you will understand what Moon Slave endures every single day in my service."

He raised his hand. The air above Bai Zhenshuang shimmered, and two wooden boards materialized from nothing. They were not ordinary wood—they seemed to glow from within, etched with runes that pulsed with malevolent light. The Celestial Punishment Boards hummed with power, vibrating in anticipation.

Bai Zhenshuang's breath caught. She had heard of these boards. Every slave in Zefa Gate whispered about them. But hearing and seeing were two different things.

"Raise your hips," Xuanfa commanded.

For a moment, Bai Zhenshuang hesitated. Pride warred with survival. But survival won. She lowered her upper body to the floor, pressing her chest against the stone, and pushed her hips upward, presenting her bare buttocks to the master of the house. Her entire body trembled.

Xuanfa stepped behind her. The boards hovered in the air at his side, waiting. "I will give you four hundred strikes," he said, his voice utterly devoid of emotion. "You will count each one. And you will thank me for every single one."

Before Bai Zhenshuang could process the absurdity of that command, the first board struck.

There was no warning, no wind-up, no sound before impact. One moment she was breathing; the next, the world dissolved into white-hot agony. The board connected with the fullest part of her right buttock, and the pain was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was not the sharp sting of a normal spanking, nor the deep ache of a beating. It was as if lightning had been compressed into a solid object and driven into her flesh. The impact radiated through her pelvis, up her spine, into her skull. Her vision went blank. Her ears rang.

She came back to herself lying flat on the floor, her cheek pressed against the cold stone. She did not remember falling.

"Count," Xuanfa said.

"O-one," she gasped. "Thank you, Master."

The second board struck the other cheek, and this time she felt the full force of it. The runes on the board flared as they made contact, leaving lines of fire across her skin. A scream tore from her throat, raw and involuntary.

"Two," she sobbed. "Thank you, Master."

The boards did not pause. They fell in a relentless rhythm, alternating sides, sometimes striking the same spot twice in succession. Bai Zhenshuang lost track of the count somewhere around forty. The numbers became meaningless sounds that she forced out between broken breaths. Each impact drove a fresh wave of agony through her body, building on the last, layering pain upon pain until she could not remember what it felt like to exist without suffering.

By the hundredth strike, her buttocks were a ruin. The skin had split in several places, and she could feel wetness trickling down her thighs—blood, mixed with sweat and tears. By the two hundredth, she could no longer support herself on her elbows. Her upper body lay flat, her face pressed to the stone, her hips still raised because the boards would not stop until they were done.

She looked to the side, through eyes blurred with tears, and saw Shen Mengyue kneeling nearby. The Moon Slave's face was serene, her posture perfect, her gaze fixed on some point in the middle distance. She showed no shock, no horror, no pity. She had seen this before. She had felt this before. Every single day.

How? Bai Zhenshuang's mind screamed between impacts. How does she endure this every day?

Three hundred.

Three hundred and fifty.

At three hundred and eighty-three, Bai Zhenshuang's voice gave out. She opened her mouth to scream, and nothing came out but a rattling exhale. The board fell anyway. Her body shuddered with the impact, and she felt something inside her crack—not bone, but will. The last fragment of resistance that had kept her proud even as she crawled, even as she bled.

"Three hundred and eighty-three," she whispered, barely audible. "Thank... thank you, Master."

Xuanfa made a gesture, and the boards stopped. They hovered, waiting, as if eager to continue. "Finish the count," he said.

"Three hundred and eighty-four." Her voice was a thread. "Thank you, Master. Three hundred and eighty-five. Thank you, Master. Three hundred and eighty-six—"

She counted them all. Every single one. By the time she reached four hundred, she could not move. She lay on the floor like a discarded doll, her hips still raised, her buttocks a mass of torn skin and swelling bruises. Blood pooled beneath her. Tears and mucus covered her face. She had never been so humiliated, so broken, so utterly destroyed.

Xuanfa dismissed the boards with a wave. They faded into the air like morning mist. He walked around Bai Zhenshuang's prone form and returned to his seat. "Moon Slave," he said, "do you remember how I punished you the first time?"

Shen Mengyue's voice was calm, almost peaceful. "Yes, Master. One of my disciples from the Immortal Cloud Sect offended you. I accepted the punishment on her behalf to save her. But my disciple, in her misguided loyalty, tried to attack you to rescue me. You then punished me by spreading my legs and striking my forbidden groove fifty times with a whip. Afterward, you inserted an anal hook into my anus and hung me from the rafters of the Immortal Cloud Sect's main hall for an entire night."

Her recitation was matter-of-fact, devoid of shame or anger. It was simply a memory, filed away in the archive of her submission.

Xuanfa nodded slowly. "Good. Then we will do the same for Bai Zhenshuang."

Bai Zhenshuang's blood ran cold.

Xuanfa descended from his seat again, but this time he carried a small vial filled with a viscous green liquid. He knelt beside Bai Zhenshuang's raised hips and uncorked the vial. The smell that rose from it was sharp, herbal, and faintly acrid.

"Nettle of the Scorpion Grass," he said, almost conversationally. "Its juice, when applied to sensitive skin, creates an itching sensation that is beyond anything you have ever felt. The only relief is found in the lash."

He spread the liquid along the delicate skin of Bai Zhenshuang's anal groove, the narrow strip of flesh between her buttocks that had, miraculously, remained untouched by the boards. The moment the liquid touched her skin, Bai Zhenshuang gasped. It started as a warmth, then a tingle, then a maddening, crawling itch that seemed to burrow into her very nerves.

She writhed. Her hips twisted. She tried to rub her legs together, to create enough friction to ease the sensation, but Xuanfa's hand on her lower back held her still.

"Please," she begged, her voice cracking. "Please, Master. Whip me. Whip it. Anything—I need—"

Xuanfa watched her squirm for a long, agonizing moment. The itch was driving her mad. She could feel it spreading, deepening, settling into her bones. She would have done anything, anything at all, to make it stop.

"Very well," Xuanfa said. He raised his hand, and a leather whip materialized from thin air. Its thongs were black, braided, tipped with small metal beads. The whip floated in the air beside him, waiting for his command.

"Fifty strokes to the anal groove," Xuanfa said. "You will count them. You will thank me. And when you are finished, you will receive the hook."

The whip lashed out before she could respond. The first stroke caught her exactly where the scorpion grass had been applied, and the relief was so intense that Bai Zhenshuang moaned. For a split second, the itch faded, replaced by the clean, sharp pain of the leather. But the relief did not last. The itch returned immediately, fiercer than before, demanding more punishment.

"One," she gaspe

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