And then the air changed. 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

It started subtle—sweetness creeping through the room like incense smoke that had burned too long. But it built. Thickened. The aphrodisiac he released from his Core Formation dantian saturated every breath, seeping into skin and lungs and blood. Spiritual energy weaponized into arousal.

Meiling’s legs trembled beneath his weight. "What... what’s happening?" She tried to close her thighs but his body prevented it. Heat bloomed between them involuntarily. "Husband!" The cry came strangled, confused.

From the wall, Xiao Hua stirred. Her voice emerged small and wounded: "Why are you touching her first?"

Cang glanced over his shoulder, smile sharp enough to draw spiritual blood. "To show you gentleness exists." His gaze returned to Meiling, hand sliding from breast to hip, fingers sinking into plush curves. "Because with you, little Hua, I won’t be gentle at all."

Xiao Hua’s breath hitched.

Meiling’s eyes went wide. "What are you—"

In one fluid motion, Cang shifted—grabbed both her wrists, pinned them above her head with one hand while the other tore. Fabric shrieked. Her blouse split completely down the middle. Heavy breasts spilled free—swaying with panicked breathing, nipples darker than Xiao Hua’s virgin pink, standing nearly an inch from large areolas.

"No! Please, I beg—"

He groped without mercy. Fingers sinking deep into soft flesh, watching it bulge between his knuckles. Then he repositioned, straddling higher on her chest. His cock—freed now, thick and veined with cultivation-enhanced vascularity—pressed between her breasts. He pushed the heavy mounds together with both hands.

Warmth enveloped him. Soft and slick with her sweat.

He started grinding. Slow thrusts that made her breasts ripple like water, his cockhead appearing and disappearing in the valley of her cleavage. Pre-cum smeared across her sternum, glistening in lamplight.

She sobbed beneath him, eyes squeezed shut, trying to be anywhere else.

His hand found her hair—gripped a fistful of pins and tangles—and pulled. Her head lifted from the pillow, neck straining. He guided his cock to her lips, the swollen head smearing across rouge-stained mouth. "Open."

"Mmph—" She tried to turn her face away.

His other hand plunged downward—past her soft belly, past her skirt’s waistband—and drove two fingers against her pussy through silk undergarments. The fabric was already damp from his aphrodisiac working through her system. He pressed, rubbed through cloth, feeling her slit’s shape and heat.

Then he mounted her face properly—one hand fisted in her hair, the other working between her thighs, hips thrusting to make his cock slide across her lips and chin, smearing pre-cum—and he rode.

"Mmm~! Nn~!" Her sounds came muffled, desperate, vibrating against his shaft.

He pinched her nipple—hard—and she cried out. The motion parted her lips just enough. His cockhead pushed inside. Wet heat closed around the tip, tongue pinned beneath his girth.

Her teeth clamped down.

Not enough to truly injure a Core Formation body, but enough to sting. He inhaled sharply, tasted copper on the back of his tongue where he’d bit his cheek in surprise. Then slowly, deliberately, he pulled free. His cock gleamed with her saliva, a ring of teeth marks darkening the sensitive head.

Cang laughed. Actually laughed—the sound incongruous with violence, echoing off walls.

Then he released her completely. Climbed off the bed, took three measured steps back. His cock stood rigid, glistening and marked.

Meiling lay gasping—blouse destroyed, breasts exposed and heaving, hair a wild tangle, her own undergarments pushed askew where his fingers had worked. She looked like the aftermath of a storm.

"Now you know," Cang said quietly, meeting her eyes, "exactly how it feels when your son forces himself on women."

The shock in her expression was total. Absolute.

### Merchant Blood Runs Thin

Her name was Meiling. Once, that had meant something.

The Qian family had controlled silk routes through three provinces. Her father wore jade bangles thick as her thumb. Her mother owned seventeen hairpins of pure gold and had servants who served only to arrange her hair.

Meiling had married for love. The mistake wealthy daughters made when confusing a handsome smile for a good heart, passion for security.

Li Feng had been charming. A minor merchant’s son with ambition that burned like cultivation base fever. He whispered promises in their marriage bed—how they’d build an empire together, how he’d worship her like the goddess she resembled.

The worship lasted three months. Then came requests to "borrow" against her dowry. Then accusations when profits didn’t materialize. Then the first slap—open-palmed across her cheek while she held their infant son.

When her father questioned the numbers, Li Feng invited him for dinner. The "bandits" who attacked his carriage afterward had been thorough. Robbed everything. Killed everyone. Her mother died of grief and poison six months later—the physician had been bribed to call it illness. Her brother disappeared trying to investigate, his body found in a river three provinces away.

The Qian family wealth flowed into Li Feng’s hands like water through cupped fingers.

And Meiling?

She gave birth to a son she hadn’t consented to conceiving—Li Feng’s hands pinning her down despite her "no," his breath reeking of rice wine, her protests ignored because wasn’t she his wife? His property? She raised that son in a house where violence lived in every room like a fourth family member. Learned to walk quietly. Speak softer. Make herself smaller and smaller and smaller until maybe—

Maybe he’d forget she existed long enough for her to breathe.

### The Choice Between Hells

"You can leave," Cang said. He snapped his fingers.

Spiritual energy rippled. The door swung open.

Meiling’s breath stopped. Because standing there, framed in lamplight from the hallway, was her husband. Li Feng’s eyes moved over her systematically—the torn blouse, the exposed breasts, the disarray of her clothes and hair—and something in his expression made her blood turn to winter river ice.

She moved without thinking—arms crossing to cover herself, one hand dropping to shield between her legs—but there was no covering everything. No taking back what he’d witnessed.

"I—" Her voice cracked like thin porcelain. "I can explain—"

She gathered torn fabric with shaking hands, holding it against her breasts as she stumbled toward the door on wobbling legs. Tears blurred her vision. This was it. This was how she’d die. He’d been looking for an excuse for years, and now—

The door remained open. Waiting.

The hallway beyond was full of servants. They stared—some shocked, some amused with hidden smiles, all bearing witness to her shame. Even her personal maid averted her eyes.

"I’m sorry," Meiling whispered to her husband. The words came automatic, worn smooth as river stones from fifteen years of use. "Husband, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—the Immortal forced—"

His hand moved faster than her apology.

CRACK.

Her head snapped sideways. The world tilted, spun. Pain exploded across her cheek—bright and sharp, then spreading to a dull throb that pulsed with her heartbeat. She touched her face with trembling fingers, felt heat already rising. Tasted blood where her teeth had cut her inner lip.

Her fault. Always her fault. She should have fought harder. Should have screamed louder. Should have—

"You bitch," Li Feng hissed, voice carrying down the hall. "You seduced him."

The words didn’t make sense. "What? No, I—he forced himself—"

"Don’t lie to me!" His hand rose again, fingers curled into a fist this time.

She flinched. Waited for impact.

It didn’t come. He lowered his arm slowly, a smile spreading across his face that made her stomach turn. The smile of a man who’d just won something. "I’ll beat you properly later," he said loud enough for everyone to hear. "After that cultivator is finished with the virgin whore. Can’t have you dying before he’s satisfied, can we?"