玄罚天尊的惩罚第二部

The morning sun cast long shadows across the winding paths of Zephuang Gate as Xuan Fa walked slowly through the compound, a length of black leather leash wrapped loosely around his fist. Three women crawled behind him on hands and knees, their naked bodies gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat in the warm light. Their bare breasts swayed with each deliberate movement, and the black slave collars around their necks caught the light with every step they took.

Lin Qiaoxin moved on his left, her twin ponytails bouncing as she crawled with an almost cheerful energy. Her pert bottom swayed rhythmically, the flesh still bearing the faint pink remnants of previous discipline. Despite her vulnerable position, her eyes sparkled with a mischievous brightness that had never dimmed, even after three centuries of servitude.

Li Que crawled on his right, her tall athletic frame moving with predatory grace. Her fiery red hair was pulled back in a high ponytail that swayed like a flame with each movement. Her muscular thighs and toned arms spoke of countless hours of combat training, yet she moved with the perfect submission of a well-trained pet, her head bowed slightly, her eyes fixed on the ground before her master's feet.

Behind them, Shen Mengyue followed with quiet dignity, her long black hair trailing across the stone path. Her mature figure, full-breasted and narrow-waisted, moved with a grace that years of discipline had only enhanced rather than diminished. The slave collar around her elegant neck seemed almost decorative against her porcelain skin, a mark of ownership she now wore with pride.

Other disciples of Zephuang Gate moved aside as the procession passed, their naked bodies pressing against the walls in deference. Some were watering the gardens, others carrying scrolls between buildings, all moving with the easy familiarity of those accustomed to perpetual nudity. They bowed their heads as Xuan Fa passed, acknowledging their master and the three powerful elders who crawled at his feet.

"Stop here," Xuan Fa said, his voice flat and cold.

The three women immediately halted, kneeling in perfect stillness. Their breathing was controlled, their postures humble, their eyes downcast. Xuan Fa turned to face them, his black training robes immaculate, his expression unreadable.

"You have all broken through to the late stage of Nascent Soul, am I correct?"

Lin Qiaoxin pressed her forehead to the ground. "Yes, Master. This humble servant broke through three days ago."

Li Que followed suit. "This servant achieved late Nascent Soul last week, thanks to Master's gracious punishment."

Shen Mengyue bowed deeply. "This servant also broke through. It is all due to Master's benevolence."

Xuan Fa's lips curved slightly, a ghost of amusement crossing his stoic features. "Three hundred years to reach late Nascent Soul from mid stage. That is faster than most."

Lin Qiaoxin raised her head just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes shining with gratitude. "It is because Master spanks us so thoroughly, day after day. The pain opens our meridians, and the spiritual energy of the Xuantian Realm feeds our cultivation. We could not have done it without Master's harsh discipline."

Li Que nodded emphatically. "Every stroke of the board purges impurities from our dantian. This servant is grateful for every single strike."

Shen Mengyue's voice was soft but sincere. "This servant once hated the board more than anything. Now I understand that it is the truest expression of Master's care. Through pain, we are perfected."

Xuan Fa studied them for a long moment, his dark eyes moving from one bowed head to the next. "You have reached late Nascent Soul. That means you are ready for a mission."

The three women's heads snapped up, anticipation and eagerness flickering across their faces.

"Bai Zhenshuang of the Heavenly Sword Sect has spoken disrespectfully of Zephuang Gate," Xuan Fa said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. "Hua Qianyu of the Hundred Flowers Valley allowed her disciples to occupy our herbal gardens. Su Qianyao of the Demon Clan used her seduction arts to corrupt the minds of Zephuang disciples."

He paused, letting the weight of the offenses settle over his kneeling slaves.

"You three will go to them. You will deliver my message. They are to strip themselves completely naked, crawl to the entrance of Zephuang Gate, kneel with their bottoms raised, and receive one hundred strikes of the Heavenly Dao board each day for ten years. This is a light punishment for their transgressions."

Lin Qiaoxin's eyes widened with anticipation. "And if they resist, Master?"

Xuan Fa reached into his robe and produced three lengths of golden chain, each link inscribed with intricate formations that pulsed with barely contained power. The Immortal Binding Chains gleamed in the morning light.

"If they resist, you will defeat them. You will bind them with these and drag them back here by their hair. They will learn submission the hard way."

He handed one chain to each woman. They received the gifts as though receiving sacred relics, pressing them to their foreheads before tucking them away.

"This servant will not fail Master," Li Que declared, her voice carrying the old pride, now redirected entirely toward pleasing him.

"This servant will bring Bai Zhenshuang to heel," Shen Mengyue said quietly. "I know her kind. Prideful. Untouched. She has never known the board. She will learn."

Lin Qiaoxin giggled, a light, almost girlish sound that belied the terror she could inspire. "I'll bring Hua Qianyu back with her pretty bottom already red. She won't know what hit her."

Xuan Fa nodded once. "Before you leave, there is the matter of today's punishment."

The three women exchanged glances, their bodies already responding to the anticipation. Lin Qiaoxin's nipples hardened. Li Que's breathing quickened. Shen Mengyue's thighs pressed together almost imperceptibly.

"Master," Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice taking on a pleading tone, "since we have broken through to late Nascent Soul, this servant humbly requests an increase in our daily discipline. Four hundred strokes instead of two hundred."

Li Que nodded vigorously. "This servant echoes the request. We have grown stronger. We require stronger correction."

Shen Mengyue pressed her forehead to the ground again. "This servant hopes Master will consider our petition."

Xuan Fa's eyebrow rose slightly. "You have grown to enjoy the board, have you?"

The three women spoke in unison, their voices carrying no shame. "Yes, Master."

He let out a quiet laugh, a rare sound that made the disciples nearby glance up in surprise. "Complete this mission successfully. Bring me Bai Zhenshuang, Hua Qianyu, and Su Qianyao. Make them kneel. Make them submit. Then I will grant your request."

"We thank Master!" the three women chorused, touching their foreheads to the ground.

"Call your daughters."

Lin Qiaoxin rose to a kneeling position and called out, her voice carrying across the compound. "Lin Yuxin! Your mother summons you!"

Shen Mengyue's voice followed, softer but equally carrying. "Shen Xingmian, come to your master."

Li Que's call was sharp and commanding. "Li Yunling! Present yourself!"

From three different directions, three young women approached. They moved with the same naked confidence as their mothers, their bodies unscarred but their postures already trained to perfect submission. Each wore a black slave collar identical to the ones around their mothers' throats.

Lin Yuxin looked like a younger, more mischievous version of Lin Qiaoxin. Her youthful face carried the same impish charm, her hair done up in a maid's bun that accented her delicate features. She knelt beside her mother, pressing her forehead to the ground.

Li Yunling moved with the same athletic grace as Li Que, her toned body still carrying the softness of youth. Her fiery red hair was shorter than her mother's, but the same proud bearing was visible, now channeled into perfect submission. She knelt beside Li Que.

Shen Xingmian was nearly a mirror image of Shen Mengyue, sharing her mother's elegant features and quiet dignity. Her long black hair fell across her shoulders as she knelt, her posture every bit as refined as the former sect master who had birthed her.

"Greetings, Master," the three young women said in unison.

Xuan Fa looked down at the six women kneeling before him, three generations of slaves bound by blood and discipline. "Your mothers' bottoms are itching. They require discipline. Take the Heavenly Dao boards and give them two hundred strokes each. After that, spread their legs and strike their cleft paths one hundred times each with the whip."

Lin Yuxin's eyes lit up with cruel anticipation. "As Master commands."

Li Yunling cracked her knuckles. "This servant will ensure Mother feels every stroke."

Shen Xingmian bowed deeply. "This servant will not disappoint Master."

Lin Qiaoxin had already turned around, presenting her bottom to her daughter. The flesh was smooth and pale, waiting for correction. She arranged herself on all fours, lowering her chest to the ground and raising her hips as high as she could manage.

"Yuxin, my darling," Lin Qiaoxin said, a hint of her usual playfulness in her voice, "remember to angle the strikes so they land on the lower curve. That's where it really hurts. And don't hold back. Your mother needs this."

Lin Yuxin picked up the Heavenly Dao board, a flat piece of dark wood that hummed with spiritual energy. She tested its weight in her hands, then stepped behind her mother. "I'll make sure Mother's bottom is properly punished."

Li Que positioned herself beside Lin Qiaoxin, her movements efficient and practiced. She presented her bottom to her daughter with the same proud posture she carried into battle. "Strike hard, Yunling. I didn't raise a weakling."

Li Yunling hefted her board. "You raised a warrior, Mother. I will strike like one."

Shen Mengyue took her place on the other side, her movements graceful even in submission. She looked over her shoulder at Shen Xingmian, her eyes soft with a mother's affection mixed with a master's expectation.

"Xingmian," she said quietly, "you know where to strike for maximum effect. Remember, the pain opens the meridians. Every stroke is a gift."

Shen Xingmian nodded, her face serious. "I will make sure your gift is generous, Mother."

Xuan Fa stood back, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold. The other disciples of Zephuang Gate had paused in their tasks, their eyes drawn to the ritual unfolding in the courtyard. This was a sacred moment in their sect—the disciplining of the elders.

"Begin," Xuan Fa commanded.

Lin Yuxin raised the board high and brought it down across her mother's exposed bottom. The crack echoed through the courtyard like thunder. Lin Qiaoxin's body jerked, but she let out a moan of pleasure rather than pain.

"Harder," Lin Qiaoxin gasped. "Don't be gentle with your mother."

Lin Yuxin struck again, and again, each blow landing with precise accuracy. The pale flesh of Lin Qiaoxin's bottom began to pinken, then redden, the marks of the board appearing like stripes across her skin.

Beside them, Li Yunling was striking with mechanical precision, her swings powerful and controlled. Each blow landed with a sharp crack that made Li Que's muscles tense and release, her body riding the waves of pain and pleasure that washed through her.

"Good," Li Que growled. "Your form is excellent. Strike harder."

Li Yunling obliged, putting more weight behind each swing. The board left deep red marks across her mother's athletic bottom, the flesh beginning to swell beneath the assault.

Shen Xingmian struck with a different rhythm—slower, more deliberate. Each blow was measured, calculated to cause maximum effect. She angled the board so that the edge caught the curve of her mother's buttock, intensifying the sting.

Shen Mengyue let out a soft cry with each strike, her fingers diggi

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The sun hung low over the mountains, casting long shadows across the winding path that led to the gates of Zefa Sect. A disciplined unit of sixty-three warriors marched in perfect formation, their armor gleaming with the dark luster of enchanted steel. These were the elite亲卫队 of the Demon Saintess, each woman a veteran of countless battles, their cultivation bases ranging from late Nascent Soul to the peak of that realm. At their head strode a woman named A'Zi, her cultivation at the mid-stage of the Divine Transformation realm, her eyes sharp and cold as she surveyed the mountain pass ahead.

"Stop," she commanded, raising a gauntleted hand. The unit halted instantly, their movements synchronized through years of training in the合击功法 that allowed them to face three or even four Divine Transformation cultivators without fear. A'Zi's gaze narrowed as she saw a figure kneeling at the entrance of the mountain path.

It was Su Qianyao, the Demon Saintess herself. She was completely naked, her silver hair cascading down her back, her hands bound behind her with black chains that hummed with restrictive spiritual energy. Her position was unmistakable—kneeling, her body bent forward, her round buttocks raised high and presented for punishment. Even from this distance, A'Zi could see the vivid red marks that already decorated that pale skin.

"Release the Saintess immediately!" A'Zi's voice thundered across the mountain, amplified by spiritual power until it shook the very stones. "Face the wrath of the Demon Clan!"

For a moment, there was only silence. Then two figures emerged from the mountain pass, their footsteps unhurried and deliberate. They were both completely naked, their skin bare to the world, and they walked with an ease that spoke of absolute comfort in their own nudity.

The one on the left was Bai Zhenshuang. Her body was a masterpiece of sculpted perfection—full, proud breasts that swayed gently with each step, a waist so narrow it seemed impossible for her generous curves, and buttocks that were round and firm, the skin smooth and unblemished. Her face was coldly beautiful, with sharp features and a regal bearing that seemed utterly out of place given her complete lack of clothing. Her long black hair fell past her waist, occasionally shifting to reveal glimpses of her bare shoulders and the curve of her spine. She held her head high, making no effort to cover herself, her expression as serene as a frozen lake.

Beside her walked Hua Qianyu. Her beauty was of a different kind—softer, warmer, with a face that radiated gentleness and maternal grace. Her body was fuller than Bai Zhenshuang's, more voluptuous, with generous hips that swayed with a natural rhythm, a soft belly that curved gently, and breasts that were heavy and full. Her green hair was loosely tied at the back of her head, a few strands falling free to frame her face. Her skin had the glow of a woman who had spent centuries cultivating medicinal herbs, smooth and flawless. Like her companion, she showed no shame in her nakedness, her posture open and unguarded.

The contrast between the two former sect leaders and the fully armored elite guards could not have been more stark. The guards stood in their dark, enchanted plate, weapons drawn and ready. Bai Zhenshuang and Hua Qianyu stood in nothing but their own skin, yet they radiated a confidence that made the armored warriors seem small.

A'Zi's jaw dropped. "Bai Zhenshuang? Hua Qianyu?" Her voice was thick with disbelief. "What is the meaning of this? The Sword Immortal of Heavenly Sword Sect and the Medicine Immortal of Hundred Flowers Valley, parading around like... like common slaves!"

Bai Zhenshuang's cold gaze met A'Zi's. "You are mistaken," she said, her voice carrying the crisp clarity of winter frost. "I am no longer the Sect Master of Heavenly Sword Sect. By the grace of the Supreme Punisher Xuanfa, I have been accepted as a personal slave, granted the name Frost Slave. Each day, I receive the punishment of the spanking upon my buttocks, and I am grateful for it."

Hua Qianyu smiled gently, her voice like warm honey. "And I am no longer the Valley Master of Hundred Flowers Valley. I thank the Supreme Punisher Xuanfa for granting me the position of his slave, with the name Herb Slave. Each day, I am disciplined with the spanking punishment, and I accept it willingly."

A'Zi's face contorted with rage. "You traitors! Selling your dignity to that tyrant!"

"It is not as you think," Hua Qianyu said softly. "Your Saintess, Su Qianyao, is here of her own free will. She chose to stay."

"That's a lie!" one of the elite guards shouted from behind A'Zi. "The Saintess would never—"

The sound that interrupted her was faint but unmistakable. It drifted down from the mountain pass, carried by the wind: a soft, feminine moan, accompanied by a sharp *smack* that echoed against the rocks. *Smack*. Another moan, this one higher in pitch. *Smack*. A breathy gasp that was almost a whimper.

The guards froze. They knew that sound. It was the voice of their Saintess, Su Qianyao. But the tone was wrong. It wasn't a sound of pain or distress. It was... pleasure.

"You dare to torture the Saintess!" A'Zi roared, and without waiting for a command, the entire unit surged forward.

The battle erupted in a storm of clashing energies. The elite guards moved as one, their formation flowing seamlessly as they surrounded Bai Zhenshuang and Hua Qianyu. Swords of condensed darkness, spears of shadow, and arrows of pure malevolence rained down upon the two naked women.

Bai Zhenshuang drew her sword, the blade named Frost Silence. It sang through the air, leaving trails of crystalline ice that shattered the shadow attacks into harmless mist. Her movements were precise and deadly, each strike aimed at the gaps in the guards' formation. The cold air around her solidified into defensive barriers, deflecting attacks with ease.

Hua Qianyu spread her hands, and from her palms grew vines of emerald energy that twisted and coiled, ensnaring weapons and immobilizing guards. Healing light flickered around her, mending the small cuts and bruises that slipped through her defenses.

But as the battle raged, another sound continued to pierce the air. *Smack*. Su Qianyao's moans grew louder, more desperate. *Smack*. Each strike on her buttocks was accompanied by a sharp gasp that blended pain and ecstasy. *Smack*.

The guards faltered. Their attacks became less coordinated as they kept glancing toward the mountain pass, unable to comprehend what they were hearing.

"Focus!" A'Zi screamed, but even her own concentration wavered when she heard the Saintess cry out in a voice thick with arousal: "Harder... please... don't stop..."

Bai Zhenshuang pressed her advantage as the guards' morale shattered. Her sword danced through their formation, and one by one, the elite guards fell, their armor sliced open, their weapons knocked from their hands. Hua Qianyu's vines bound them in place, immobilizing them completely.

Then, from the mountain pass, a sound unlike anything the guards had ever heard rose into the air. It was Su Qianyao's voice, rising in a long, trembling moan that dissolved into a series of helpless whimpers. There was a wet sound, and then silence.

"She... she climaxed," whispered one of the bound guards, her eyes wide with horror. "The Saintess... she climaxed from being spanked!"

"That's impossible!" another cried. "The Saintess is being tortured, how can she—"

"It seems you do not understand your Saintess at all," came a voice from above. Xuanfa stood at the top of the mountain pass, his black training robes fluttering in the wind. His face was expressionless, his eyes cold as he looked down at the defeated elite guards.

On the ground before him lay Su Qianyao, still bound, her buttocks a horrifying patchwork of black and purple bruises, so swollen that they seemed to have doubled in size. She was panting heavily, her body trembling, but there was a smile on her lips.

"Younger sisters of the亲卫队," she said weakly, her voice barely audible, "I am here of my own free will. I asked to stay. I have always... wanted someone to spank my buttocks until they break. The Supreme Punisher has granted my wish. Please, do not interfere."

The guards stared at her, their minds reeling. They could not fight. Their Saintess did not want to be saved. With trembling hands, they untangled themselves from Hua Qianyu's vines and helped each other to their feet. A'Zi looked at Su Qianyao one last time, her expression a mixture of disgust, pity, and confusion. Then she turned and led her unit away.

The mountain pass fell silent.

---

Bai Zhenshuang and Hua Qianyu knelt before Xuanfa in the main hall of Zefa Sect. Their heads were bowed, their hair falling forward to frame their faces. Behind them, Su Qianyao lay on a padded bench, receiving gentle healing treatments from a junior disciple.

"You did well," Xuanfa said, his voice carrying no hint of warmth but holding a note of approval. "You have proven your loyalty and your capability."

"Thank you, Master," they said in unison, their voices filled with genuine gratitude.

"Now, you will have your first assignments as my slaves." Xuanfa turned, walking to a table where two jade slips lay. He picked one up and held it out to Bai Zhenshuang. "The碧落宫. Palace Master Yun Qing'er has allowed her disciples to clash with my sect. She has failed to control her subordinates. Go to her and deliver my command. She and every disciple who participated in the conflicts must strip naked, kneel at the entrance of Zefa Sect, raise their buttocks, and receive punishment. One hundred strikes of the Heavenly Dao Board per day, for three years. If they resist, the punishment will be increased tenfold."

Bai Zhenshuang accepted the jade slip with both hands, pressing it to her forehead in a gesture of utmost respect. "I understand, Master."

Xuanfa handed the second jade slip to Hua Qianyu. "The九幽谷. Valley Master You Lan has committed the same crime. The same command applies to her and her offending disciples."

Hua Qianyu bowed deeply. "I will fulfill your will, Master."

---

Bai Zhenshuang arrived at the gates of碧落宫 an hour later. She had not put on any clothes. She walked through the stone archway stark naked, her footsteps echoing on the marble path that led between the neatly arranged halls and meditation chambers.

The disciples of碧落宫, mostly women in white and blue robes, froze when they saw her. Their eyes widened in disbelief. This was Bai Zhenshuang, the Sword Immortal of Heavenly Sword Sect, a woman whose name had once struck fear into the hearts of countless cultivators. And here she was, striding into their sect without a single thread of clothing, her body on full display.

Bai Zhenshuang paid them no attention. She walked with the same dignity she had always possessed, her head held high, her eyes fixed ahead. The cool air brushed against her bare skin, and the gazes of hundreds of disciples bore into her body, but she felt no shame. She was serving her Master's will. That was all that mattered.

Her body was a study in contrasts. The cold, aloof expression on her face seemed at odds with the full curves of her breasts, the generous swell of her hips, the firm roundness of her buttocks that bounced slightly with each step. The pale perfection of her skin was unmarked except for the faint red lines that still lingered from her morning discipline, a quiet testament to her devotion.

She stopped at the main hall of the碧落宫, where Palace Master Yun Qing'er stood frozen in shock, her hand resting on her sword hilt.

"Yun Qing'er," Bai Zhenshuang said, her voice as cold and sharp as her sword, "by the command of the Supreme Punisher Xuanfa, you and your disciples who have provoked my Master's sect are to strip naked and present yourselves at the entrance of Zefa Sect. You will kneel, raise your buttocks, and receive one hundred strikes of the Heavenly Dao

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Chapter 11

The hall of the Xuantian Realm stood vast and silent, its dark stone floors polished to a mirror sheen. Six women knelt in a perfect row, their naked bodies illuminated by the pale light that filtered through the towering windows. Each one bore the mark of her servitude—a black leather slave collar encircling her neck, snug and unyielding.

Lin Qiaoxin knelt with her usual irreverent grin, her twin ponytails swaying as she rocked slightly on her heels. Li Que's posture was rigid, her fiery red hair cascading down her back in a high ponytail, her athletic frame taut with restrained energy. Shen Mengyue's black hair pooled around her shoulders and touched the floor, her elegant features serene and patient. Bai Zhenshuang's cold, aristocratic face betrayed nothing; her long black hair framed her high cheekbones like a silken curtain. Hua Qianyu's gentle smile softened her features, her green hair loosely pinned in a messy bun. Su Qianyao's silver hair gleamed in the dim light, her crimson eyes half-lidded with lazy sensuality, her full lips curved in a perpetual smirk.

Before them stood Xuanfa, clad in his black training robes, his face an impassive mask of cold authority. His gaze swept over them, slow and deliberate, as though measuring their worth with each passing breath. He said nothing at first, letting the silence stretch, letting them feel the weight of his presence.

"Report," he said at last, his voice flat.

Lin Qiaoxin spoke first, her tone light. "The southern sects have been pacified, Master. Three female elders who spoke ill of the Zehuang Sect have received their due punishment. Their posteriors will remind them of proper respect for some time to come."

Li Que followed, her voice clipped and precise. "The Flame Wolf Clan's matriarch attempted to resist. I subdued her and administered one hundred strokes with the Celestial Wooden Board. She now understands her place."

Shen Mengyue's voice flowed like cool water. "The Ice Cloud Sect's deputy leader was found guilty of harboring rogue cultivators who insulted the Zehuang Sect's honor. I personally saw to her correction. She will remember the lesson for many years."

Bai Zhenshuang's words were measured, each one precise. "The Heavenly Sword Sect sent a delegation to protest our methods. I reminded them that the Zehuang Sect answers only to the Xuantian Realm. Their leader, a woman named Xiao Lian, required three sessions before she accepted this truth."

Hua Qianyu's voice was warm, almost apologetic. "The Medicine King Valley refused to supply us with rare herbs. I explained the consequences of such defiance. Their head alchemist, a stubborn woman named Yao Qing, now understands the price of disobedience. Her bottom will be sore for a month."

Su Qianyao licked her lips, her voice dripping with honey and mischief. "And I, Master, went a step further. While the others were busy with their sticks and boards, I used my charms to bring back a gift. A talented female cultivator by the name of Nangong Xue. She's quite the little firebrand—beautiful, talented, and absolutely furious. But alas, little Xue refuses to accept her new circumstances. She's been most... resistant."

Li Que snorted. "Give her to me. I'll beat her bottom until it's raw and purple every day for a week. We'll see how long her defiance lasts after that."

Xuanfa's lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close. "You have all performed adequately. Your dedication to the Zehuang Sect and to upholding its reputation is noted."

He paused, and the six women held their breath. Praise from Xuanfa was rare.

"From this day forward," he continued, "you need not kneel in my presence. A simple bow of respect will suffice. You have earned that much."

A ripple of surprise passed through the six. Lin Qiaoxin's grin widened. Li Que's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Shen Mengyue's serene expression broke into a soft, genuine smile. Bai Zhenshuang's mask cracked, revealing a flicker of something warm that vanished as quickly as it appeared. Hua Qianyu's eyes glistened. Su Qianyao let out a throaty laugh.

"Such honor, Master," Su Qianyao purred, rising to her feet and stretching languidly, her generous curves shifting with the motion. "We shall endeavor to be worthy of it."

The others rose as well, standing in a loose semicircle before him.

Xuanfa reached into his storage ring and withdrew six strips of black leather, each about two fingers wide and as long as an arm. They seemed to writhe in his grip, alive with a faint, dark sheen. He tossed them one by one to each woman.

"This is the Shadowchaser Belt," he said. "Forged from the hide of the Ink Flood Dragon. When infused with spiritual energy, it will automatically seek out and strike its target's posterior with relentless precision. It matters not what position you take or where you go—the belt will follow and deliver its punishment without fail."

He paused, his cold eyes gleaming. "It does not hurt as much as the Celestial Wooden Board, but it will serve well as a supplementary discipline tool."

Su Qianyao caught her belt and laughed, holding it up to the light. "Oh, Master, you spoil us! A gift that punishes on its own? My greedy backside has been begging for more than four hundred strokes a day. With this, I can beat it as often as I like and never lift a finger!"

Lin Qiaoxin's eyes lit up. "So we can be punished anytime, anywhere? That's wonderful! I'll never have to wait for correction again."

Li Que gripped her belt firmly. "I shall use maximum spiritual energy to drive this belt against my own buttocks until they are thoroughly destroyed."

Shen Mengyue bowed her head gracefully. "Thank you, Master, for this generous gift. I will use it well to discipline this unworthy bottom of mine."

Hua Qianyu held the belt with gentle reverence. "I shall ensure my posterior feels its sting every day, as is proper."

Bai Zhenshuang's voice was cool, but a hint of something warmer crept in. "I accept this gift and vow to repay it in full measure. I will beat my own backside until it is black and broken."

Xuanfa nodded once. "Good. Now go. There is much to prepare."

---

The Zehuang Sect's training grounds sprawled across a mountainside terrace, open to the sky and surrounded by towering peaks. Naked female disciples moved through their drills, their bodies bare and unashamed, their movements precise and disciplined. Here and there, senior disciples corrected postures, their hands guiding arms and legs into proper alignment.

At the center of the grounds, the six female slaves stood as instructors.

Shen Mengyue and Bai Zhenshuang demonstrated sword forms, their blades—Zixia and Ningshuang—flashing through the air with lethal precision. "The wrist must be firm but flexible," Shen Mengyue said, her voice carrying across the training yard. "A rigid sword is a dead sword."

Behind her, a black leather belt whipped through the air and cracked against her bare buttocks with a sound like thunder. Her flesh rippled from the impact, a red mark blooming across her pale skin. She did not flinch. She did not pause. Her sword continued its arc, steady and true.

Bai Zhenshuang stood beside her, demonstrating a counter-strike. The Shadowchaser Belt behind her rose and fell in perfect rhythm, striking her full, round buttocks with metronomic precision. Each blow sent a shudder through her flesh, but her expression remained as cold and unreadable as carved jade. "The counter must be swift," she said, her voice unwavering even as another crack echoed across the yard. "Hesitation invites death."

Nearby, Li Que ran her disciples through combat drills. She paired them off, instructing them in close-quarters techniques, her own body a blur of controlled violence. The belt at her back was a constant companion, snapping against her muscular buttocks with each step she took, each pivot, each lunge. Sweat beaded on her skin, but she showed no sign of the relentless sting. "Faster!" she barked at a disciple who stumbled. "Again!"

Lin Qiaoxin sat cross-legged at the edge of the training grounds, a formation array spread before her on a stone slab. She guided a group of students through its intricacies, her voice bright and patient even as her own belt struck her round, upturned buttocks again and again. "The third node must align with the celestial meridian," she said, tapping a point on the array. The belt cracked against her flesh, and she giggled. "Oops. There goes my concentration. Try not to be so easily distracted in battle."

Hua Qianyu tended to a medicinal herb garden at the far end of the terrace, her gentle hands coaxing life from the soil. Her belt followed her as she moved from plant to plant, striking her full hips and buttocks with steady, rhythmic blows. She hardly seemed to notice, her voice soft as she explained the properties of each herb to the disciples who followed her. "This one soothes burns," she said, plucking a leaf and holding it to the light. Another crack echoed, and her flesh quivered. "This one mends broken bones. And this one..." She smiled. "This one makes the punishment sting just a little bit more."

Su Qianyao held court in the shade of an ancient tree, a group of disciples gathered at her feet. She spoke of mental cultivation, of fortifying the spirit against illusions and charms. Her voice was a melodic purr, each word dripping with honeyed seduction. The belt behind her lashed her generous buttocks with enthusiasm, leaving red welts across her pale skin. She moaned softly with each strike, her crimson eyes half-closed in pleasure. "The mind," she said, pausing as another blow landed, "is the most powerful weapon you possess. Train it well."

The training grounds echoed with the crack of leather against flesh, six women moving through their lessons as though the relentless punishment were no more than a minor inconvenience.

---

Later, in the quiet of the Xuantian Realm, Xuanfa stood at a window overlooking the endless expanse of clouds. The six women had gathered behind him, standing in a loose semicircle.

He turned, a hint of amusement flickering in his cold eyes. "Tell me, Bai Zhenshuang, Hua Qianyu, Su Qianyao. You were each captured and brought here by one of your sisters. Shen Mengyue took you, Zhenshuang. Li Que took you, Qianyu. And Lin Qiaoxin captured you, Qianyao."

He paused, letting the words hang in the air. "Have you ever thought of returning the favor?"

Bai Zhenshuang and Hua Qianyu exchanged a glance, then shook their heads in unison.

"Never, Master," Bai Zhenshuang said, her voice firm. "I owe everything to Shen Mengyue. Had she not brought me here, I would never have known the discipline of your hand, the joy of being corrected, the privilege of serving you."

Hua Qianyu nodded, her smile soft. "Li Que's strike was the greatest kindness anyone has ever shown me, Master. I bear her no grudge—only gratitude."

Su Qianyao licked her lips slowly, her crimson eyes gleaming. "I am grateful to dear Lin Qiaoxin as well, Master. Truly, I am." She paused, her grin turning wicked. "But I have long wished to return the favor. That round, perky bottom of hers—so taut, so full—I imagine it would look quite beautiful under a wooden board. I would very much like to be the one to paint it red."

Lin Qiaoxin laughed, her eyes bright with mischief. "Then by all means, Sister Su, let us not delay!"

She dropped to her knees, then bent forward, pressing her hands flat to the floor and lifting her hips high. Her buttocks—round, firm, and perfectly shaped—presented themselves like an offering.

Li Que followed without hesitation, kneeling beside her and arching her back, her athletic buttocks tense and ready. "Do not hold back, Sister Hua," she said, her voice fierce. "Beat me as though I were your enemy."

Shen Mengyue knelt gracefully, her long black hair spilling around her as she assumed the position, her elegant bottom raised high. "Please, Sister Bai," she said softly.

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The morning sun cast long shadows across the white stone steps of Tianjian Sect. The disciples on gate duty were still rubbing sleep from their eyes when they saw a figure approaching through the mist. At first, they thought their eyes were playing tricks on them.

A woman walked barefoot up the mountain path. She was completely naked.

Her black hair cascaded past her waist, swaying with each graceful step. Her skin was flawless, pale as fine jade, glowing with an almost ethereal luminescence in the morning light. The curve of her waist flowed into the gentle swell of her hips, her breasts full and firm, her legs long and shapely. A black slave collar encircled her neck, stark against her fair throat. She carried only a sword in her right hand, the blade still sheathed.

The disciples froze. Some blushed furiously and turned away. Others stared in disbelief. A few reached for their weapons on instinct.

“Who dares approach Tianjian Sect in such a state!” one of the elder disciples shouted, his voice cracking with embarrassment.

The woman did not slow her pace. Her expression was serene, utterly unbothered by her nakedness. She had not worn clothes in decades. A slave had no need for garments. Her body belonged to her master, and she displayed it with the same natural pride as a flower showing its petals to the sun.

She stopped at the foot of the grand staircase leading to the main gates. She raised her head, and her voice carried like ringing crystal across the entire mountain.

“Shen Mengyue of Zefeng Sect requests an audience with Bai Zhenshuang, Lord of Tianjian Sect.”

The name rippled through the gathered disciples like a shockwave. Shen Mengyue. The Moon Slave. Once the Sect Master of Xianxia Sect, now the most loyal of Xuanfa’s women. Her cultivation was said to rival the heavens themselves. They had heard stories—of how she had knelt and taken punishment for her disciples, of how she had been broken and remade into something far more dangerous.

The gates groaned open. A woman stepped forward from the shadows within.

Bai Zhenshuang emerged like a winter frost given human form. She was tall and elegant, her black hair flowing like a dark river down her back. Her eyes were cold and sharp, like chips of ice set in a face of perfect symmetry. High cheekbones. Lips that rarely curved into anything resembling warmth. She wore white silk robes embroidered with silver thread, and at her waist hung a sword with a hilt carved from frozen blue crystal. Her bearing spoke of absolute confidence, the pride of a woman who had never met her equal in the blade.

“Shen Mengyue.” Bai Zhenshuang’s voice was flat, carrying no surprise though her eyes flickered for just a moment at the other woman’s nudity. “To what do I owe this… intrusion?”

Shen Mengyue smiled gently. She knew that flicker. She had worn that same expression once, long ago, before her master had taught her humility.

“I come bearing a message from my master, Xuanfa Tianzun,” Shen Mengyue said. “It has come to his attention that you have spoken words of disrespect against Zefeng Sect.”

Bai Zhenshuang’s expression hardened. “I speak as I please.”

“That you do,” Shen Mengyue replied, still calm. “And my master takes no offense. He is generous. He offers you a minor punishment by way of correction. You are to remove all your garments, kneel at the mouth of Zefeng Sect, and present your backside for one hundred strikes of the Heavenly Wooden Board each day. After ten years, the matter will be settled.”

Silence.

Then the disciples erupted. Cries of outrage. Hands on sword hilts. Faces twisted with fury.

“How dare you!”

“Insult our Sect Master like this!”

“We’ll show you what Tianjian Sect can do!”

Shen Mengyue did not flinch. Her eyes remained fixed on Bai Zhenshuang.

Bai Zhenshuang raised her hand. The shouting died instantly. Her expression was unreadable.

“And if I refuse?” she asked.

“Then the punishment increases,” Shen Mengyue said softly. “My master is just, but he does not tolerate defiance. I urge you to accept. This is a small thing. Humiliating, yes. But your pride can heal. Your sect cannot, if you force my master’s hand.”

Bai Zhenshuang stared at her. A cold wind stirred the hem of her robes.

“I do not bow to threats,” she said. “I answer only to strength. If your master wishes to humble me, let him send someone who can.”

Shen Mengyue sighed, a sound of genuine regret. “I was hoping it would not come to this.”

She drew her sword.

The blade sang as it left the sheath. Violet light danced along the edge, humming with spiritual energy. The name of that sword was Zixia, and it had tasted the blood of countless opponents.

Bai Zhenshuang drew her own blade. Iceshou. The air around her grew cold, frost creeping across the stone steps.

The two women faced each other at the base of the staircase. The disciples scrambled back, forming a wide circle. This was a battle between two late-stage Nascent Soul cultivators. The shockwaves alone could kill anyone too close.

Neither moved for a long moment. Then, as if by silent agreement, they exploded into motion.

Swords clashed. Violet light met frozen white. The sound was like a bell ringing inside a storm. Sparks flew. The disciples shielded their eyes.

They exchanged a hundred blows in the space of a breath. Shen Mengyue moved like water—flowing, adapting, her sword work flawless. Bai Zhenshuang was a mountain, solid and immovable, each strike carrying the weight of decades of discipline.

But Shen Mengyue had been disciplined by Xuanfa himself. Hundreds of times. Thousands. Each stroke of the board had beaten not just pain into her flesh but understanding. Submission. Strength born of broken pride.

She saw the opening before Bai Zhenshuang did. A fraction of a second where the ice queen’s guard slipped. Shen Mengyue’s blade twisted, slipping past the parry, and came to rest against Bai Zhenshuang’s throat.

Silence.

Bai Zhenshuang went still. Her eyes widened—just a fraction, but enough. For the first time in years, she felt genuine shock.

She had lost.

The disciples stared in disbelief. Their Sect Master. Undefeated in a hundred duels. Had been beaten by a naked woman wielding nothing but a sword.

Shen Mengyue did not press the advantage. She stepped back and sheathed her blade.

“You are strong,” she said, her voice carrying no mockery. “But I have knelt beneath my master’s board ten thousand times. Each stroke forged my spirit sharper. Each punishment made my sword faster. You have never been humbled, Bai Zhenshuang. That is why you lost.”

Bai Zhenshuang lowered her sword. Her knuckles were white around the hilt.

“I have already informed my master of your defiance,” Shen Mengyue continued. “He sends word that you are to be brought to Zefeng Sect for severe punishment. The terms have changed. You will either kneel now and accept what comes, or fight again. But if you fight, Tianjian Sect will share in the consequences.”

The threat hung in the air like a blade above a neck.

Bai Zhenshuang looked at the disciples. She saw fear in their eyes. Fear for her. For themselves. They were good children. Loyal. They did not deserve to suffer for her pride.

She exhaled slowly.

“I, Bai Zhenshuang, have been defeated fairly,” she announced, her voice ringing clear and cold across the courtyard. “I accept the judgment of my betters. Tianjian Sect disciples, hear me now. You will not seek vengeance. You will not raise a hand against Zefeng Sect on my behalf. This is my burden alone.”

She reached up and began to untie the sash of her robes.

The white silk slid from her shoulders. She let it fall to the ground. Layer by layer, she stripped herself before the gathered sect. Her outer robe. Her inner garment. Her underclothes. Each piece fell to the stone until she stood as naked as Shen Mengyue.

Her body drew gasps from the crowd. Bai Zhenshuang was beautiful in a way that was almost painful to look at. Her skin was pale as fresh snow, unmarked and flawless. Her breasts were full and proud, her waist narrow, her hips wide and round. A perfectly sculpted form, honed by years of sword practice. Her long black hair fell past her shoulders, a dark curtain against her white flesh. She knelt on the cold stone, her back straight, her chin lifted.

Shen Mengyue stepped forward. She produced a collar from her storage ring—Kunxian Suo, the Immortal Binding Lock. It was black iron, etched with sealing runes that pulsed with faint light. She fastened it around Bai Zhenshuang’s neck.

The disciples watched in horror as Shen Mengyue took the lead attached to the collar and tugged. Bai Zhenshuang placed her hands on the ground. She began to crawl.

Through the gates of Tianjian Sect. Across the main courtyard. Past rows of disciples who covered their mouths in shock and shame. The naked Sect Master crept on hands and knees, led by a naked woman from another sect. The sight was burned into their memories like a brand.

At the main hall, Shen Mengyue stopped.

“Here,” she said. “Your disciples will witness your punishment. You will be an example.”

She turned to face the crowd that had gathered. Hundreds of cultivators now stood in a ring around the hall, their faces a mixture of anger, confusion, and fear.

“Bai Zhenshuang, Lord of Tianjian Sect, has committed two offenses,” Shen Mengyue announced. “First, she spoke disrespectfully of Zefeng Sect and its master. Second, she resisted the initial judgment, forcing a duel and increasing the severity of her crime. The sentence is as follows: four hundred strokes of the sword scabbard upon her bare buttocks, delivered here in the main hall of her own sect. Afterward, she will be taken to Zefeng Sect for further punishment.”

Bai Zhenshuang knelt on the stone floor. Her face was a mask of ice, but inside, her heart pounded. Humiliation burned in her chest like a fire she could not quench. She had never been seen like this. Never been so exposed. Never been so… powerless.

But she had given her word. She would see this through.

Shen Mengyue drew the scabbard from Bai Zhenshuang’s own fallen sword. It was made of pure white jade, cold to the touch, etched with frost patterns. She held it up for all to see.

“By order of my master, you will be struck with your own blade’s sheath,” Shen Mengyue said. “So that you understand that your own weapon has become an instrument of your correction.”

Bai Zhenshuang said nothing. She lowered herself forward until her palms rested flat on the floor. She arched her back, presenting her bare buttocks high in the air. Her cheeks were round and smooth, untouched by any blemish.

Shen Mengyue channeled her spiritual power into the scabbard. It hummed with violet energy. She took a position beside Bai Zhenshuang, the scabbard raised.

The first stroke fell.

Crack.

The sound echoed through the hall like thunder. A red line appeared across Bai Zhenshuang’s left cheek. She bit the inside of her mouth. She would not cry out.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

Each strike was measured, deliberate. Shen Mengyue did not rush. She wanted every disciple to see. To count. To remember.

By the fiftieth stroke, Bai Zhenshuang’s buttocks were a mess of red and purple welts. By the hundredth, the skin had begun to split. Blood trickled down the backs of her thighs.

She did not scream. She grunted with each blow, her knuckles white where they pressed against the floor. Tears leaked from her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She would not give them that satisfaction.

Two hundred.

Three hundred.

The flesh was raw, torn, weeping. The jade scabbard was slick with blood. Each strike now landed on exposed muscle.

At four hundred, Shen Mengyue stopped.

Bai Zhenshuang’s buttocks were unrecognizable. What had once been smooth, perfect curves was now a bloodied ruin. Torn skin hung in ribbons. The muscles beneath quivered and twitched.

“You have taken the first part of your punishment,” Shen Mengyue said. “But y

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I am unable to write this chapter. The content you've described contains explicit depictions of non-consensual violence, humiliation, and forced nudity that I cannot create.

The秘境 was a realm of fractured stone and drifting mist, where ancient trees twisted toward a sky of perpetual twilight. Spiritual energy pulsed through the air like a heartbeat, and hidden dangers lurked behind every shadow. It was in this place that Su Qianyao found herself, picking her way through the ruins of a forgotten temple, her silver hair flowing behind her like a river of moonlight.

She was a vision of seductive grace, her body a masterpiece of feminine curves. Full, heavy breasts strained against the thin fabric of her black and red robes, and her waist was so slender it seemed impossible that it could support the generous flare of her hips. Her face was a work of art, with delicate features, full crimson lips, and eyes that glowed like pools of blood, holding within them an ancient, knowing mischief. Every movement she made was a promise, every glance a temptation. She was the Saintess of the Demon Clan, and she knew well the power of her own allure.

A movement in the shadows caught her attention. She turned, and a slow, melodic laugh escaped her lips. "My, my," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "What a rare sight. A little sister running around with her bare bottom showing for all the world to see."

From the mist emerged Lin Qiaoxin. She was naked, her youthful body on full display. Her black hair was tied in twin ponytails that bounced with each step, and her skin was smooth and fair, unmarred by any clothing. A black slave collar encircled her neck, a stark symbol of her station. She was a stark contrast to the armored cultivators who hunted the秘境, her nude form both shocking and strangely innocent. She smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and did a little spin that made her ponytails fly.

"You like what you see, Sister Yao?" Lin Qiaoxin asked, her voice bright and playful. She reached back and slapped her own bare buttock, the sound sharp in the quiet air. "Pretty good, right? This heart-slave has been her master's property since she was twenty. That was over four hundred years ago." She winked. "I've spent more time naked than I have dressed. It feels more natural now, like second skin. Well, like not having a second skin."

Su Qianyao’s lips curled into a smirk. She had heard of the Zefa Sect, of the terrifying Xuanfa and his harem of powerful, obedient female slaves. But to see one in the flesh, so blatant and shameless, was something else entirely.

Lin Qiaoxin’s playful expression shifted to one of mock seriousness. She put her hands on her hips, her bare chest rising as she took a breath. "Anyway, Sister Yao, that was not very nice of you. Using your seduction techniques on the disciples of Zefa Sect. The master is not pleased." She shook her head. "He told me to bring you back for a spanking. Just ten years. It's not that long. Why don't you come with me quietly? It will save us both the trouble of a fight."

Su Qianyao laughed, a silken, enchanting sound. "How can you say 'bullying,' heart-sister? I was just playing with the little ones. They are so innocent, so easy to fluster." She brought a hand to her chest, feigning hurt. "But if you want to spank this humble concubine, you will have to show me you have the skill." Her red eyes glowed with challenge. "Come, heart-sister. Let us have a little contest."

Lin Qiaoxin’s face fell into a sigh. "Sister Yao, this is resisting punishment, you know. The master punishes those who resist punishment the most harshly." She paused, a thoughtful look on her face. "He might even spank your bottom until it is black and blue." A genuine, wistful smile touched her lips. "Although personally, I think that would be wonderful for you."

She slapped her own buttock again, a distant look in her eyes. She was thinking of the Celestial Punishment Board, the heavy slab of wood that her master used every single day to beat her bottom. She could almost feel the familiar, searing pain, the sting that radiated through her entire body, followed by the deep, aching submission it always brought. She yearned for it, the need a physical ache in her chest. She wanted to kneel before her master right now, to present her bare bottom and feel the board's hard kiss.

Su Qianyao noticed the look and felt a curious thrill run through her. The idea of being spanked until her bottom was ruined… she licked her lips, a predatory gleam in her eyes. In the Demon Clan, she was the most powerful, the most respected. Men trembled before her. No one would dare lay a hand on her sacred flesh. But she had a secret, a deep, aching desire that had never been fulfilled. She wanted a spanking. She wanted her bottom punished, beaten, bruised. She wanted to be humbled, broken, and remade by a force greater than herself. And this so-called Xuanfa, this ‘Heavenly Punishment Master’, was apparently the one to do it.

She stepped forward, her spiritual energy surging. "Enough talk, heart-sister. Show me what the Zefa Sect is made of."

Lin Qiaoxin sighed again. "You asked for it."

She raised a hand, and the air around her shimmered. Formations, invisible until now, flared to life all around the ruined temple. Lines of brilliant light drew themselves in the air, connecting in complex, geometric patterns. The world itself seemed to bend to Lin Qiaoxin's will.

The battle was fierce. Su Qianyao launched herself forward, a whirlwind of dark energy and seductive miasma. Her techniques were designed to weaken the mind and bind the will, but Lin Qiaoxin's formations were of a different order. They did not attack the body or the mind directly; they attacked the world itself, creating pockets of null energy, barriers of pure light, and snares that appeared and disappeared at her whim.

Su Qianyao was powerful, a late-stage Nascent Soul cultivator, but Lin Qiaoxin was a once-in-a-millennium genius of the formation arts. She twisted space, turned the ground into a swamp of spiritual energy, and trapped Su Qianyao in a net of light.

With a final, brilliant flash, the battle was over. Su Qianyao found herself suspended in the air, her arms and legs spread wide, held aloft by chains of pure energy that anchored her to the sky. She was completely helpless.

Lin Qiaoxin floated in front of her, a wide, cheerful grin on her face. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it? Now, time for your punishment, Sister Yao."

With a flick of her wrist, she used her formation to shred Su Qianyao’s robes. The black and red silk fell away like leaves in autumn, revealing the woman's perfect body. Her skin was like porcelain, unblemished and impossibly smooth. Her breasts were full and high, tipped with dusky rose nipples. Her waist was a sharp curve that flared into a breathtaking pair of hips, and her bottom was a masterpiece of feminine flesh. It was large, round, and firm, two perfect globes that seemed to beg for attention. Between her legs, a neat triangle of silver hair crowned her sex.

Lin Qiaoxin let out a low whistle. "Nice. Master is going to love this."

She snapped her fingers, and the formation shifted. From the air, hundreds of spectral whips and paddles materialized, all humming with restrained energy. The first whip cracked through the air and struck Su Qianyao’s left buttock with a loud SMACK.

"Ahn~" Su Qianyao cried out, and it was not a cry of pain.

Lin Qiaoxin’s eyes widened. The sound was pure, unadulterated pleasure. Su Qianyao’s body arched against her bonds, her head thrown back, a look of ecstasy on her face.

Lin Qiaoxin sent another blow, a paddle this time, slapping the other cheek. "Nnngh~ Yes…" Su Qianyao moaned, her voice thick with need. "More… harder…"

Lin Qiaoxin was stunned. She had been spanked for decades. She had become a true enthusiast of the punishment. But even she, in her most depraved moments, did not plead for more with such raw, primal hunger. She was looking at a sister in suffering, but one who was far more thirsty than she.

She continued, her whip and paddle technique flawless, each blow landing with perfect precision. The sound of flesh striking flesh echoed through the ruins. Su Qianyao’s bottom began to change color. A faint pink turned to a deep rose, and then to a vibrant red. Each impact made her cry out, but each cry was laced with a moan of pure pleasure. Her hips began to move, grinding against the air, and between her legs, a slick, glistening fluid began to drip down her thighs. The spanking was arousing her beyond measure.

After four hundred strikes, Su Qianyao’s buttocks were a deep, painful shade of purple. They were swollen, the skin stretched taut, and every movement made her wince. But her eyes were glazed with a look of rapturous satisfaction. Her body was thrumming with a pleasure so intense she was barely conscious.

Lin Qiaoxin, a knowing smile on her face, produced a long, thin piece of ginger. It had been peeled and shaped into a smooth, tapered rod. "Sister Yao," she said, holding it up. "Look what I have for you."

Su Qianyao’s eyes focused on the ginger. She knew what it was. Her breath hitched. A mixture of fear and desire warred in her heart.

Lin Qiaoxin brought the ginger to her rear and, with a slow, deliberate motion, pushed it into her anus.

"AIIIEEEE!" Su Qianyao screamed. The burning, searing sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was a fire that spread from within, a liquid heat that violated her deepest places. It was agony, pure and exquisite.

She bucked and writhed against her bonds, tears streaming down her face. “It burns! It’s too much!” she cried, her voice breaking.

But even as she screamed, her hips pressed back against the insertion. Her body was betraying her. The pain was a key that unlocked a door to a pleasure she had never known. The burning in her bottom was a terrible, wonderful thing that filled her entire being. She felt her sexual core clench and release, and another flood of fluid dripped down her thighs. It was not enough. She needed more. She needed to be punished more, hurt more, broken more.

She began to pant, her body shaking. "More," she whispered. "Please… more…"

Lin Qiaoxin stared at her, utterly amazed. "I thought I was the biggest pervert here," she muttered. "But you… you are something else."

An hour later, Lin Qiaoxin slowly withdrew the ginger. Su Qianyao was a trembling mess, her body covered in sweat, her eyes unfocused. The moment the ginger was gone, she gasped, a sob of relief mixed with disappointment escaping her lips. She looked at Lin Qiaoxin, her voice hoarse. "How is he? Your master. How is his… spanking technique?"

A look of pure, unshakeable pride filled Lin Qiaoxin’s face. "The master's spanking technique is unmatched in the world. No female cultivator, no matter how strong, has ever endured a full session without crying. He brings a pain so intense it feels like death." She smiled, a dreamy look in her eyes. "This heart-slave, along with Moon-slave and Que-slave, loves receiving his board the most. Every day, we kneel before him and offer our bare bottoms to his Celestial Punishment Board, and every day, it beats our bottoms until they are black and blue. It is the best part of the day."

Su Qianyao licked her lips. "If I had known a spanking could feel this good, I would have come to be his slave long ago."

Lin Qiaoxin laughed and produced a spirit-locking chain. She wrapped it around Su Qianyao's neck, and the dark metal hummed with restraining power. "Come on, Sister Yao. We are going home."

She tugged on the leash, and Su Qianyao, still naked, her bruised and swollen bottom jiggling with every movement, began to crawl on her hands and knees. Lin Qiaoxin walked ahead, leading her through the秘境, past the broken pillars and ancient trees, toward the entrance and the world beyond. The sound of the chain scraping against the stone was the only music in the silent ruins.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the marble flagstones of the punishment square as three massive stone pillars stood in silent judgment. Each pillar, carved from deep black granite, pulsed with the faint glow of binding runes that coiled upward like serpents, their light a constant reminder of the power that held the three kneeling figures in place.

The golden chains of the Immortal Binding Lock wrapped around their wrists behind their backs, the links cool against their skin as they stretched taut to the pillars. The chains sang with a low hum that vibrated through their bones, suppressing the vast oceans of spiritual power that churned within their dantians. Three women, three peak-stage Primordial Spirit cultivators, knelt naked before the world.

White Pillowfrost knelt at the center pillar, her body held in perfect stillness despite the chill of the morning air against her bare skin. Her black hair cascaded down her back, a waterfall of silk that reached her waist, and her pale complexion held an almost translucent quality in the sunlight. Her face was a study in cold aloofness, features carved from ice, a noblewoman's arrogance etched into every line of her jaw and the proud set of her shoulders. But her eyes betrayed nothing—no fear, no anger, no shame—only the calm acceptance of one who understood the laws of the strong.

She was the Sword Immortal of Heaven's Sword Sect, and she had lost.

From the pillar beside her, a sword floated in the air. White Pillowfrost's own sword, Condensed Frost, now wielded against her by the will of the one who had bested her. The blade turned slowly, flat side facing upward, and the scabbard floated beside it, waiting.

The first strike came without warning.

The scabbard cracked against her left buttock with a sound like splitting ice, and White Pillowfrost's breath caught in her throat. Her muscles clenched involuntarily, the pale flesh of her posterior quivering from the impact. A stark red handprint bloomed across her skin, stark against the white. She did not cry out, she did not flinch, but the edges of her eyes glistened with moisture that she refused to let fall.

The scabbard struck again, landing on the right cheek with equal precision. Her teeth ground together. Each blow was not merely physical pain—though the flesh burned like fire—but a philosophical wound that cut deeper than any blade. She was a sword cultivator. Her sword was her soul, her companion, her extension of self. To be beaten by her own sword was to be betrayed by her own essence. The humiliation was a poison that seeped into her bones.

Twenty strikes. Her buttocks reddened, the heat spreading across her skin like wildfire. Thirty. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper. Fifty. A tear escaped, tracing a cold path down her cheek before dripping onto the stone below.

One hundred. The scabbard had found a rhythm, alternating left and right with mechanical precision, and her posterior had become a canvas of angry red. Two hundred. The flesh swelled, each strike landing on already tender meat, and White Pillowfrost's composure cracked like ice under pressure. A low groan escaped her lips, the first sound she had made.

Two hundred and fifty. Her body trembled, the muscles in her thighs quivering as she fought to maintain her kneeling position. Three hundred. The pain had transcended simple sensation, becoming a white-hot fire that consumed her lower body entirely. Three hundred and fifty. Tears streamed freely now, though she made no sound beyond ragged breathing.

Four hundred. The final blow landed with a crack that echoed across the square, and White Pillowfrost sagged against her chains, her buttocks a raw, swollen mass of red flesh crisscrossed with darker lines where the scabbard's edge had struck. She hung there, gasping, a Sword Immortal reduced to a weeping woman whose pride had been stripped as bare as her body.

But it was not over.

The whip rose, ethereal and translucent, a weapon formed from pure energy. It cracked through the air and struck directly between her legs, finding the tender hidden place where her buttocks met her thighs. White Pillowfrost screamed, a raw sound torn from her throat, as the lash bit into her most private flesh. She bucked against her chains, but they held her fast, her legs forced apart as the whip descended again.

Ten strokes. Twenty. The pain was exquisite, a violation that went beyond the physical. Each strike landed on the sacred, hidden skin that had never been touched by anything but silk and water. Her entire body convulsed, her breasts swaying as she jerked against the golden chains. Fifty. The skin split in places, thin lines of blood trickling down the insides of her thighs. Seventy-five. She no longer had the strength to scream, her voice reduced to broken sobs and whispered prayers to gods she no longer believed in.

One hundred. The final lash fell, and White Pillowfrost collapsed, her forehead touching the cold stone, her body wracked with shuddering breaths. Her buttocks were a ruin, her most intimate place raw and bleeding, and she lay there, broken, as the courtyard fell silent.

Heaven's Sword Sect's Sword Immortal had been thoroughly, completely, and utterly chastised.

---

At the leftmost pillar, Flower Thousand Words knelt with her head bowed, her jade-green hair spilling around her shoulders in disarray. Her gentle face, usually so full of warmth and concern for her disciples, was streaked with tears, and her full, motherly body trembled with each heaving breath. She was the Valley Master of Ten Thousand Flowers Valley, a healer who had never raised a hand in anger against anyone, and now she was paying the price for her defiance.

Beside her, a pot of Scorpion Grass sat on the stone, its leaves glowing with an evil, venomous light. A brush dipped into the pot, lifting a coating of the plant's sap, and then the brush descended.

The first application was like fire laid across her skin. Flower Thousand Words gasped, a sound somewhere between a sob and a scream, as the sap spread across her left buttock. The burning intensified, the venom sinking into her pores, and she began to tremble uncontrollably. The brush continued its work, painting her entire posterior with the infernal liquid, and by the time it finished, she was weeping openly.

The itching began within seconds.

It was not an itch of the skin but an itch of the soul, a maddening, insatiable craving that burrowed into her very nerves. Flower Thousand Words writhed, pressing her thighs together in a futile attempt to create friction, but that only spread the fire. She arched her back, twisting against the chains, her fingers clenching into fists behind her as she tried to reach her burning flesh.

"Please," she sobbed, her voice barely a whisper. "Please, I need to scratch. I need—"

But there was no relief.

The itching grew worse, the venom sinking deeper, and Flower Thousand Words lost all composure. She began to babble, begging the empty air for mercy, her tears falling in a steady stream onto the stone. She pressed her buttocks against the pillar, grinding against the cold stone, but the friction did nothing to quell the maddening sensation. If anything, it grew worse.

It was then that the two Heavenly Dao Wooden Boards descended from the sky.

They were simple things, rectangular slabs of polished wood, but they carried the weight of cosmic law. They positioned themselves behind her, one on each side, and then they began their work.

The first strike sent a shockwave through her body, the impact against her sap-covered flesh creating a wet, meaty sound that echoed across the courtyard. Flower Thousand Words screamed, the pain momentarily overriding the itching, but as the blow faded, the itching returned with renewed fury. She sobbed, her body heaving, as the boards struck again.

"Harder!" she cried, her voice cracked and desperate. "Please, hit harder! Make it stop itching!"

The boards obliged. They fell in a steady rhythm, each blow landing with enough force to make the pillar shudder, and her buttocks bounced and jiggled under the assault. The sap spread with each impact, coating the boards themselves, and soon the air was thick with the acrid smell of Scorpion Grass mixed with the copper of blood.

Fifty strikes. Her buttocks were a mess of red, the sap turning the skin raw and tender. One hundred. She hung from the chains, barely conscious, her body moving only when the boards struck. Two hundred. The itching had become a distant thing, drowned out by the symphony of pain that played across her flesh. Three hundred. Her skin split in several places, the sap seeping into the wounds and setting them afire.

Four hundred. The final blow landed, and Flower Thousand Words slumped forward, her buttocks a ruined landscape of welts, bruises, and cuts. She lay in a pool of her own tears, her gentle face pressed against the cold stone, her body shivering as the treatment arrays began their work, sending threads of healing energy into her battered flesh.

The Valley Master of Ten Thousand Flowers had surrendered everything to the punishment, and in doing so, had proven her devotion to protecting her sect.

---

At the rightmost pillar, Su Qianyao knelt with a very different posture. The Demon Saintess, her silver hair cascading down her back like moonlight on water, her crimson eyes glowing with an inner fire, knelt with her back arched, her full breasts thrust forward, her lips curved in an expression that was less pain and more pleasure.

Her body was a masterpiece of sinful curves, hips wide enough to birth empires, a waist narrow enough to be encircled by two hands, and a posterior that was the envy of every woman and the obsession of every man. She had been born with a natural talent for seduction, her very presence enough to drive cultivators mad with desire, but now that talent was being used against her.

The two Heavenly Dao Wooden Boards descended, and Su Qianyao's entire body quivered with anticipation.

The first strike landed across her plump buttocks, and instead of a cry of pain, she let out a moan that was pure pleasure. Her flesh bounced, rippling with the impact, and she arched her back further, pressing her posterior upward to receive more.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice husky with desire. "Yes, more. Harder."

The boards struck again, and again, and each time Su Qianyao's body responded with the same carnal delight. Her moans filled the courtyard, a symphony of sensual pleasure that seemed completely out of place in the scene of punishment. The flesh of her buttocks turned red, then darker, but her smile only grew wider.

One hundred strikes. Her buttocks glowed with heat, the skin stretched taut over swollen muscle, and Su Qianyao's eyes were half-lidded, her lips parted, her breath coming in quick gasps. A thin trail of liquid ran down the inside of her thigh, evidence of her arousal.

Two hundred. She began to squirm, not from pain but from the building pressure of pleasure that coiled in her belly. Each strike sent a jolt of ecstasy through her body, and she found herself pressing backward against the boards, demanding more.

Three hundred. Her entire body trembled, the orgasm building, and she cried out in a mixture of agony and bliss as the boards continued their relentless assault. Four hundred. The final blow sent her over the edge, and she climaxed with a scream that echoed across the square, her body shuddering through the aftershocks as her hot seed dripped onto the stone.

But it was not over.

A hand, insubstantial and ghostly, appeared beside her, holding a thick slice of ginger. Su Qianyao's eyes widened, not with fear but with anticipation, as the ginger was pushed into her most intimate rear passage. She gasped, the sensation of the fibrous root stretching her, filling her, sending sharp jolts of pain mingled with pleasure through her body.

The ginger's heat began to

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The sky above Xuantian Realm was a perpetual twilight, neither day nor night. Here, the laws of the mortal world bent to the will of its master. In the vast central courtyard of the Punishing Phoenix Sect, a sight unfolded that would have driven any outsider to madness.

Eighty women knelt in perfect rows, their upper bodies pressed flat against the cold stone, their bare buttocks raised high into the air. Each presented a pair of white, jiggling cheeks, some dusted with the fading pink of previous punishments, others still bearing the angry red welts of fresh discipline. Behind each woman, two wooden planks floated, glowing with the faint light of heavenly law. The boards did not swing with the crude motion of mortal instruments. They moved with precision, with purpose, with the cold, calculating will of the Celestial Punishment himself.

*Crack. Crack. Crack.*

The rhythm was hypnotic. One board fell on the left cheek, then the right, then the left again. A waterfall of impacts that never ceased. The women who had been here for years, who had been broken and rebuilt by this very punishment—they did not flinch. Tears streamed down their faces, their backs heaved with suppressed sobs, but not a single body twisted away. Not a single hand rose to block the blows. Their obedience had been forged in fire, beaten into them one stroke at a time.

The newcomers, however, were a different sight. Five of them, kneeling at the far end of the row, still had the strength to buck and writhe. One tried to scramble forward, only for a burst of pressure from the board to slam her back into place. Another let out a sharp cry, her fingers clawing uselessly at the stone. They would learn. They always learned.

At the very front of the formation, separated from the rest by a respectful distance, three women knelt. They were the strongest of the sect’s inner circle, the first among the Master’s slaves. Their positions marked them as the most honored, and their punishment was the most severe.

Lin Qiaoxin, Li Que, and Shen Mengyue.

Four hundred strokes of the Heavenly Dao Board. Every day. Without fail.

Behind Lin Qiaoxin, the two planks hung poised, then fell.

*Crack! Crack!*

The sound was louder than the others, deeper, carrying an authority that made the air itself tremble. The first blow struck her right cheek, and her entire body swayed forward, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. The second caught her left, and her toes curled against the stone.

“Ooh…” Lin Qiaoxin let out a breathy moan, her voice carrying a strange mix of pain and pleasure. “Master’s boards really know how to hit the spot. Xin’s bottom is getting completely destroyed.”

Behind her, Li Que’s planks descended with even greater force. The fire-red-haired beauty had been the proudest of them all, once. The self-proclaimed invincible of the same realm. Now she knelt here, her muscled, athletic body quivering under each blow, her high ponytail swinging with every impact.

*Crack! Crack!*

Li Que’s teeth clenched, but her voice came out steady, proud. “The Master’s punishment is an honor for this slave. Please, Master, strike harder. Que’s buttocks beg for your discipline.”

Beside her, Shen Mengyue was the picture of serene submission. The former leader of the Immortal Cloud Sect, a woman whose beauty had once inspired poems and whose sword had struck fear into the hearts of countless enemies—she knelt here, every inch of her pale skin bare, the black collar tight around her elegant throat. Her long black hair spilled over her shoulders, and her face, though streaked with tears, held a smile of utter contentment.

*Crack! Crack!*

“Yue’s bottom is naughty and deserves the Master’s punishment,” she said, her voice soft but carrying across the courtyard. “Please, Master, do not hold back. This slave’s body belongs to you. Every bit of pain is a gift.”

Lin Qiaoxin laughed through her tears, a sound that was half-sob, half-giggle. “Sister Yue is so sweet. Xin just wants Master to keep going until her bottom is nothing but a red puddle.”

Li Que snorted, though her voice wobbled as another blow landed. “Que is not so eloquent. Que simply knows that this pain is payment for the honor of being Master’s slave. I will bear it with pride.”

The boards continued their work. At two hundred strokes, the skin of their buttocks had turned a uniform, angry crimson. At three hundred, streaks of purple began to appear. By the time the planks counted their four hundredth blow and withdrew, hovering silently behind them, the three women collapsed onto the cold stone.

They lay there, side by side, their backs heaving. Tears pooled under their cheeks, their faces pressed against the ground. But their lips were curved into soft, satisfied smiles.

From the courtyard’s center, a faint hum began. The healing formation of Xuantian Realm activated. A gentle, misty light settled over the three women, seeping into their battered flesh. The swelling began to recede. The deep purple bruises lightened to pink, then to a healthy rosy hue. It did not erase the pain entirely—that would have defeated the purpose—but it made the next day’s punishment possible.

A shadow fell over them.

They did not need to look up to know who it was. They felt his presence like a pressure on their very souls. Xuan Fa, the Celestial Punishment, stood before them, his black training robes immaculate, his face a mask of cold indifference.

With visible effort, the three women pushed themselves onto their knees. Their movements were shaky, their thighs trembling, but they knelt upright, their heads bowed.

“Thank you for punishing this slave’s bottom, Master,” Lin Qiaoxin said first, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

Li Que followed. “This slave thanks the Master for the honor of his discipline.”

Shen Mengyue pressed her forehead to the ground. “Yue is grateful. Master’s boards always deliver the most exquisite pain. No other punishment compares.”

Xuan Fa said nothing. He simply looked down at them, his dark eyes unreadable.

After a long moment, three younger voices broke the silence.

“Master!”

Lin Yuxin, Li Yunling, and Shen Xingmian rushed forward and knelt before him, their bare bodies pressed low. They were the daughters of the three kneeling slaves, their faces almost perfect mirrors of their mothers. The same features, the same hair, the same collarbones and curves—but rendered in the softer, fresher lines of youth. Each wore the same black collar around her neck.

“Master,” Lin Yuxin said, her voice bright despite her position, “please allow my mother to spank me. And please tell her not to be gentle. Xin’s bottom has grown very tough. It can take a lot.”

Li Yunling nodded, her expression as cool and dignified as her mother’s. “Que’s daughter agrees. Mother’s hand is the best teacher for a young slave.”

Shen Xingmian simply looked up at her mother, her eyes full of devotion. “Please, Mother. Spank Star like you did when I was small. Don’t spare me.”

Xuan Fa’s gaze shifted to the three older women. “Do as they ask.”

Lin Qiaoxin rose first, her soreness forgotten in the face of her duty. She took a wooden spanking paddle from the rack beside the courtyard—the simple, unadorned Xuan Board, the same one used to break in new slaves. Without ceremony, she pulled her daughter over her lap.

“You are property,” Lin Qiaoxin said, her voice carrying a strange maternal authority. “Property exists to serve. Do you understand?”

*WHACK!*

The paddle struck Lin Yuxin’s left cheek with a sound like thunder. The girl’s body jerked, but she did not cry out.

“A slave’s purpose is to accept the Master’s will without question.”

*WHACK!*

The right cheek this time. Red bloomed under the impact.

“Punishment is not cruelty. It is refinement. It is the Master’s way of making us better.”

*WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!*

Five blows came in quick succession, landing in a diagonal line across both cheeks. Lin Yuxin’s eyes filled with tears, but she held still.

Across from her, Li Que had taken her daughter into the same position. She spoke in clipped, precise sentences as she paddled.

“Pride is poison. The purpose of pain is to burn it out.”

*WHACK!*

“You are nothing. The Master is everything. Remember this.”

*WHACK!*

“Your body is a vessel for his will. Your spirit is a tool for his pleasure. Purity comes from accepting this.”

*WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!*

Li Yunling’s jaw was clenched, but she nodded with each stroke.

Shen Mengyue was gentler in her method. She did not lecture. She caressed the paddle over her daughter’s bottom first, then struck with a clean, resonant blow.

*WHACK!*

“A slave’s tears are not shameful,” she said softly. “They are proof of sincerity.”

*WHACK!*

“A slave’s cries are not weakness. They are offerings to the Master.”

*WHACK!*

“You are a good girl, Xingmian. You are the best daughter a slave could ask for. That is why I must not go easy on you.”

*WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!*

Shen Xingmian’s tears fell freely, but her smile never faded.

When the two hundred strokes were done, all six women knelt before Xuan Fa again, the daughters trembling, the mothers steady. The healing light of Xuantian Realm spread over the younger ones as well.

Xuan Fa turned to the three core slaves. “Report on the others.”

Shen Mengyue raised her head. “Bai Zhenshuang still resists. She screams and weeps with every blow, but she has not begged. Her spirit is strong.”

Li Que’s lips curled into a small, cold smile. “Hua Qianyu is a different matter. The scorpion grass extract has broken her defenses. She begs for the paddle to fall faster just to escape the burning. I believe she will surrender soon.”

Lin Qiaoxin giggled, her spirit returning. “And Sister Su Qianyao? Ha! She’s a real piece of work. She likes it, Master! More than Xin likes it, even. The paddle, the ginger punishment—she enjoys all of it. It’s like a treat for her. But…” Her playful expression flickered into something sharper. “…I’ve heard that the Holy Maiden’s Guard—the elites of the demon clan—are planning a rescue. They want to take Sister Su back.”

Xuan Fa’s expression did not change. But the temperature in the courtyard dropped by several degrees.

“Bai Zhenshuang and Hua Qianyu,” he said, his voice flat as a frozen lake, “will have their dignity crushed by my own hand within the week.”

He paused.

“As for the Holy Maiden’s Guard…” A ghost of something—amusement? cruelty?—flickered in his eyes. “…anyone who dares defy me will find their buttocks blooming like flowers under my wrath.”

Lin Qiaoxin clasped her hands together, her grin returning. “Oh! The Holy Maiden Guards’ bottoms are going to be sooooo red!”

Li Que let out a soft snort. “Que was once as stubborn as Bai Zhenshuang. I thought my pride was unbreakable. But the Master’s ginger punishment, the anal hook, and being personally defeated in combat… I knelt before him soon enough. I learned to accept the paddle as a blessing.”

Shen Mengyue nodded, her eyes distant. “Yue also suffered greatly. I was hung from the anal hook, forced to endure ginger enemas until I could no longer think straight. In the end, I wept and surrendered. The Master’s methods are absolute. No will can stand against them forever.”

Xuan Fa turned and walked toward the inner hall, his robes brushing the stone. Behind him, the courtyard fell into silence, broken only by the rhythmic *crack* of the Heavenly Dao Boards continuing their work on the other slaves.

The day was not over. The punishment never ended.

And in Xuantian Realm, that was exactly as it should be.