The wet, rhythmic thud of pierced flesh echoed in the gloom, accompanied by a hissing gasp and the dull sound of a body giving way.
Crack—shhh!
A translucent spike, thick as a tree trunk, burst from the mud and drove through the scaly jaw of a Blizzard Crystal Wyrm from below.
Atop the crushed skull of the Beast King, Xú Lán huffed. She wiped the blood from her chin with the back of her hand and sank her fingers into the gaping wound. The beast's boiling blood tried to stain her, but froze into harmless crystals, repelled by her silver Qi. With a dry yank, she tore out the steaming core.
"Madame Feng this, Madame Feng that…" Xú Lán muttered, rolling her eyes and blowing a silver lock off her face before kicking the carcass. "The fox stays in the pavilion swaying her hips for the old men of the guilds and gets time with the Master, but I have to bite my nails from boredom in this wilderness! Fair. Very fair."
She tossed the core up and caught it in the air, squeezing until the surface cracked. The Master's order during the embargo was clear: retreat to the Forbidden Zones and erase the traces. But imagining the redhead enjoying time alone with him made Xú Lán dig her nails into her own skin.
Xú Lán leapt. Her dress flared as she landed in the mud, ice cleaning the silk before the impact even finished.
She stared at the carcass with disdain. Orthodox cultivators trembled before those forests packed with ordinary magical beasts—piles of mindless meat driven purely by hunger. Pathetic. If magical beasts at their peak could rival Nascent Soul cultivators, this creature had gone beyond.
The serpent was a true Spiritual Beast, equivalent to the early stage of Immortal Establishment, with consciousness awakened alongside its spirituality.
Xú Lán had fallen into its ambush. The monster knew how to plan and, above all, how to fear—the beast tried to flee the instant it realized the difference in power, and only failed to beg because it still could not speak.
She stored the core and brushed her fingers over her own belly. A feverish tremor climbed her spine. Cold used to be her only master. For centuries, the fairy's chastity had been a crown of barbed ice. But now the millennial Yin in her core throbbed heavy and hollow. Just remembering Zhì Yuǎn restructuring her meridians made her breath fail, and her body begged to be swallowed by that man's scorching heat. The image of Mèng Lián bowed before him rose again. Xú Lán clenched her teeth, freezing the dew around her.
She needed to find something invaluable. The woman of ice wanted something that would make him push the seductive fox aside and stroke the hair of his most lethal tool.
Sweeping the destruction of the lair, Xú Lán's eyes stopped at the bottom of the canyon. Her spiritual perception shuddered. Space there was folded.
She flew to the dark, bare stone wall. Mortals would see a dead end, but Xú Lán saw the flaw in the weave of reality. When her fingertips brushed the invisible distortion, an archaic wind leaked out.
The sweet aroma of millennial herbs invaded her nostrils, carried by an absurdly dense energy. She held her breath. It was not the stained flow of the Middle Plane. It was something the ancient scrolls treated as myth. Immortal Qi.
An unregistered pocket world.
Her heart skipped a beat. The ice woman's pupils dilated and her cheeks flushed before the fissure.
"The Master is going to love this," she whispered, voice panting. "That bitch Feng is going to choke on her own coins."
Without thinking, she slammed both hands against the wall. Yin exploded in her dantian. A blinding pillar erupted, and she raised a massive dome of Absolute Ice over the rift. The pulse of the seal swept the canyon. Magical beasts, even those already adapted to extreme cold, shrieked in terror and scattered before the lethality of the aura.
Satisfied, she touched the mark on her own soul and sent a pulse through the shadows to request an audience.
I need to bring the Master here as fast as possible, Xú Lán thought, her heart racing with anxiety.
The fairy smiled, turned her back on the impenetrable dome, and vanished as a silver blur through the snow, flying at a dizzying speed to fetch her god. Blinded by devotion, the woman of ice did not notice the impact her own power had caused in the region.
Hundreds of miles away, where the gorges gave way to cliffs swept by cutting winds, the air trembled. A young cultivator stopped walking abruptly, his hand flying to the sword on his back.
"Senior Sister, did you feel that?" he asked, panting.
Beside him, a woman in immaculate white robes narrowed her eyes toward the distant canyon. Her soft voice cut the howling wind.
"Yes. Those are Elder-level ripples. It must be the emergence of an Immortal Establishment–grade treasure. Inform the sect."
------
The golden light of morning already bathed the upper terrace of the Autumn Wind Pavilion, but the usual peace of breakfast was interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing up the stairways.
Conversation around the white stone table ceased. The wives lifted their eyes from their teacups almost in unison.
Zhì Yuǎn appeared at the top of the steps with the relaxed, lethal posture of a lion that had just finished a feast. Right behind him, almost hiding in his shadow, came Lín Jié. The image of the Shadow Administrator was unrecognizable. Instead of the unshakable woman who dictated the fate of guilds with a straight back, Lín Jié walked with her head bowed and flushed a deep crimson. Her hands were folded meekly in front of her body. The Qi around her was chaotic, exhaling her husband's unmistakable dense Yang.
The wives exchanged quick looks. The silence lasted only an instant before Yù Méi slammed her cup on the table with a sharp crack. The youngest crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.
"So that's how it is?" Yù Méi accused, her voice dripping indignation. "Our husband doesn't come back to our room all night, leaves our bed cold, and shows up in the morning parading another woman?"
Mò Yán covered her lips with her silk sleeve, eyes dancing with malice as she joined her sister's theater.
"What a terrible scandal for this family," the diplomat sighed, shaking her head. "Betrayed under our own roof. I knew that story about 'I need to review the embargo with Jié in the study' was just an excuse for illicit meetings."
"Shameless betrayal," Huáng Bìyù agreed, huffing and trying to hold back a smile that insisted on tugging at the corners of her lips.
Lín Jié felt her own face burn so hot she feared her newly formed Dantian would ignite. The administrator's brilliant mind was in absolute chaos. The memory of destroying her own writing desk, of screaming his name until she fainted, and now the merciless judgment of the other wives made her want the floor to open and swallow her. She opened her mouth to try to form an excuse, anything, but the words simply would not come.
Zhì Yuǎn released a deep, hoarse laugh that reverberated across the terrace.
Far from feeling cornered by the false accusations, he took a step back, positioning himself exactly behind Lín Jié. His two large, implacable hands grabbed the woman's slim waist and yanked her back with a possessive jerk.
Lín Jié gasped softly when her full, soft ass collided perfectly against the man's rigid front. He kept her pressed there, crushing her body against his in a scandalous way in front of everyone.
"That's enough teasing. Give her a break," Zhì Yuǎn ordered with a smile, resting his chin briefly on top of the woman's head, who now trembled with pure shame. "I present to you your new sister. Officially."
The wives' indignation melted in the same instant, giving way to genuine, warm smiles.
Qīng Yǔ gave a soft giggle, covering her cheeks. Beside her, Bái Wǎn smiled with gentle complicity, rising slightly to slide an extra silk cushion onto the empty wooden chair beside her.
Meanwhile Yù Qíng, seated at the head of the table, lifted the porcelain teapot and poured an extra cup with maternal grace.
"It was about time," the First Wife declared, her wise, gentle eyes fixed on the new sister, confirming her approval and finally dissipating the terror in Lín Jié's mind. "Come sit, Sister Jié. You must be exhausted. A mortal body takes time to get used to our husband's 'report reviews.'"
A feeling of belonging began to fill Lín Jié's heart, even if her cheeks remained on fire from the others' giggles.
Zhì Yuǎn kissed the top of his new wife's head and released her waist so she could join the table. He was about to pull his own chair when his smile faltered.
Zhì Yuǎn froze.
In the depths of his own soul, the slavery mark that bound him to Xú Lán had just pulsed—violently and… excitedly.