Lin Fengyang stood in his quarters, his body a mess of sweat, Lian Xue's essence, and his own seed, the musky aftermath of their morning indulgence clinging to his skin.
He grimaced, the sticky residue a stark contrast to his cultivation-driven resolve. A bath was needed now, cutting into time he'd planned for toiling on his mat.
He strode to the bath chamber, cleansed himself, and returned to his quarters, his mind sharp despite the premature detour.
Sitting cross-legged on the mat, he prioritized his advancement to the 5th Stage of Qi Condensation.
Breathing slowly, he sank his mind into the flow of qi, ready to ignite his potential.
The Nine Sparks of Yang Ignition Technique roared to life, a burning current surging through his meridians.
His body tensed as qi blazed like molten fire, scorching every vein and capillary, igniting impurities buried deep within.
The heat was relentless, his muscles twitching, his bones creaking under invisible pressure.
Sweat beaded on his brow, then poured in streams, carrying faint black stains—filth scorched from his flesh and blood.
The room filled with an acrid stench as his skin flushed crimson, bones densifying, blood thickening, marrow purifying.
His dantian churned, flames blazing higher, hotter, forging his foundation anew.
An hour passed in searing focus. A deep rumble echoed within him, his qi shattering the invisible barrier with explosive force.
His body shuddered, then steadied, bathed in newfound strength—5th Stage of Qi Condensation.
Fengyang opened his eyes, a faint golden glint flickering in their depths.
Black sweat clung to his skin, proof of his breakthrough.
He exhaled, satisfaction curling his lips, though the foul residue soured his triumph.
Huo Yan's crimson mist swirled, the ghost awake and grinning.
"Not bad, brat," he praised, voice rough with approval. "You're climbing faster than I expected."
But the impurities coating Fengyang's skin gnawed at him, a reminder of his effort. Another bath felt like reluctant indulgence, his mind sluggish with resistance.
Then, a spark of brilliance hit. Wait… cultivators use the Chrysanthemum Purifying Sutra to cleanse their ass before anal. If it purifies the filthiest place, why not my whole body? I'm a genius!
With a smirk, he circulated the Sutra's technique, focusing its energy across his skin.
Water-element qi surged, washing through his pores like a cleansing tide, purging the black filth.
Huo Yan's eyes popped, his voice sharp. "Brat, you're courting death!" He hovered, disbelief etched on his face seeing the insanity unfolding before him.
A scorching heat followed, flames encircling his body, raising the room's temperature.
The flames intensified, searing every inch of Fengyang's skin.
He winced, teeth gritted, as the heat surged toward his groin, his "little brother" throbbing under the unbearable intensity.
A scream tore from his throat, but the flames didn't burn—merely cooked him like a furnace, sparing him from the fate of becoming the member of Sunflower Sect.
Huo Yan groaned, exasperated. "You idiot…"
He watched, grimacing, as Fengyang shimmered in the fire. "This boy's recklessness will be his end."
The flames faded after agonizing moments, leaving Fengyang panting, red-faced.
The impurities, now foul vapor, swirled and vanished into the Sutra's spatial element, flung to an unknown destination.
His skin gleamed, pristine, the technique a reckless success.
Meanwhile, in a distant bath chamber, Lian Xue was reveling in her own triumph.
The soft scent of rose petals filled the air, and she sank lower into the warm water, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the thought of having distracted Fengyang for so long.
He was a man, after all, and lust would always slow him down.
She had no doubt that her schemes would eventually succeed in keeping him distracted—he'd never be able to fully focus on his cultivation when she was around.
But then… the air around her shifted.
A vile odor suddenly wafted through the room, thick and acrid, clinging to the air.
It was the kind of stench that would make a mortal retch and turn their stomachs.
For a brief moment, she froze, her body going rigid as her nose twitched at the foulness.
Her brow furrowed. She knew this smell. It was the kind that followed the release of impurities after a cultivation breakthrough.
This can't be... Her thoughts stalled, and her heart skipped a beat.
Her mind raced, piecing together the stench with what she knew about cultivators.
No… No, it can't be. The realization sank in slowly, her eyes narrowing. Fengyang… He must've reached the 5th stage of Qi Condensation.
So much for distracting him, she thought bitterly, her earlier confidence fading into a sharp pang of frustration.
But it wasn't just the breakthrough that troubled her—it was the way the stench had reached her.
The odor was no coincidence. The vapor didn't just travel randomly. It felt purposeful, as if it had been sent to her. Was this a warning?
Her mind raced. Fengyang must have mastered some rare spatial technique, she reasoned, her thoughts clouded with unease.
He's mocking me. Sending this stench here, as if to remind me of how futile my efforts are. All the time I spent trying to distract him, it was nothing. He's advancing regardless of my schemes, moving forward with an unstoppable momentum.
Lian Xue's heart pounded in her chest. She had always considered Fengyang a scheming devil ever since she heard he traded his wife, someone whose every move was calculated with precision.
And now, it seemed he had found a way to show her just how far his power reached.
He sees through everything. Every one of my plans. All my manipulations, my temptations, my games… He's mocking them with this.
She clenched her fists, the water in the bath rippling around her as she tried to steady her breath.
The stink was slowly dissipating, but the feeling it left behind lingered like a shadow over her thoughts.
She had underestimated him.
She had thought she could slow him down, hold him back for a little while longer, but Fengyang was already breaking through, and it was clear now that nothing would stop his progress.
Back in his quarters, Huo Yan's voice cut through Fengyang's panting recovery. "You're a madman, brat, using the Sutralike that. Lucky your cock didn't roast off."
Fengyang smirked, heart still pounding from the heat. "Risks make legends, old ghost. I feel cleaner than ever."
He settled back on the mat, mind clear, and pulled out the Yin-Draining Codex.
For hours, he pored over a single page, tracing its demonic script—Wei Long's art of siphoning yin qi through sex.
Each word deepened his understanding, but full comprehension remained days away, the codex's secrets elusive until fused with his Nine Sparks of Yang Ignition into the Ninefold Yang-Yin Convergence Art.
Rising, Lin Fengyang strode to Su Meiyin's personal training hall, the afternoon sun casting faint shadows across the stone floor.
He flowed through the stances learned last night—horse stance grounding his qi, front stance sharpening his balance, fighting stance coiling his body for combat.
The austere hall, its walls bare save for weapon racks, echoed with his steady breaths, each movement infused with his 5th Stage Qi Condensation strength.
As twilight deepened, his muscles ached from the arduous revision, but his focus remained unbroken.
He returned to his chambers, sweat clinging to his robes, mind still tracing the stances' rhythms.
In a shadowed corridor, Lian Xue met Qin Yueqi, a petite servant with a delicate frame, her dark eyes sharp in a soft, oval face.
Yueqi's short, ebony hair framed her slender shoulders, her plain silk robes hugging her figure.
"He didn't bathe at his usual time," she whispered, voice tinged with unease.
Lian Xue's heart sank, worry gnawing. This madman skipped carnal bliss last night, and now even his hygiene? What's he plotting?
An hour later, Meiyin arrived, her crimson robes swaying, her expression soft yet poised, a slave awaiting his command.
Huo Yan's crimson mist swirled, his grumble sharp. "No show tonight, brat? You're killing me."
Fengyang ignored the ghost, bowing to Meiyin. "Teach me again, Meiyin. Let's go to the courtyard."
In the courtyard, Meiyin's gentle Orthodox master tone emerged as she stepped into her teaching role. "Show me the stances from last night, Fengyang."
Her eyes, calm but keen, tracked his every move.
Fengyang sank into the horse stance, legs wide, rooting himself like an ancient tree.
He shifted to the front stance, one foot forward, body angled for stability, then coiled into the fighting stance, fists raised, ready to strike.
Meiyin's voice came, patient and firm. "Good. Your balance has improved since yesterday. But tonight, you won't rely on the body alone—you will root your stances with qi."
Yesterday had been physical memory. Tonight, it was time to infuse cultivation energy into every breath, every inch of his frame.
Under her watchful gaze, Fengyang cycled through the stances again. This time, he consciously channeled his 5th-stage qi, letting it flood his legs and waist.
His horse stance felt heavier, like stone locking into earth. In the front stance, his forward drive pulsed with latent force.
The fighting stance crackled subtly, his fists charged, poised to explode.
Meiyin stepped closer, correcting him with a light touch—a subtle shift of the hips, a smoothing of a clenched shoulder.
"Feel the qi anchoring you," she instructed. "Let it saturate your bones, not just your skin. Breathe into your dantian, and let that strength seep outward."
Fengyang gritted his teeth and pushed deeper. His qi, ignited by the Nine Sparks of Yang, blazed through his meridians, strengthening sinew, bone, and flesh.
Satisfied with his foundation, Meiyin let a rare smile tug at her lips.
She took a graceful step forward, her crimson sleeves brushing the air.
"Now we begin strikes—jabs, cross punches, front snap kicks, and roundhouse kicks."
She moved, a blur of lethal grace. Her jab cracked forward like a whip.
The cross punch twisted her torso with coiled power.
Her front kick snapped out, precise as a sword slash.
The round kick swept in a perfect arc, robes flaring like crimson petals.
Fengyang mirrored her, though rougher, his jab stiff. He thrust from the shoulder, but it lacked the fluid snap.
Meiyin corrected him, fingers guiding his wrist. "Keep it loose. Let the qi surge through your knuckles like a river."
He jabbed again—the strike sharper, faster, the air hissing with the force.
The cross punch came next. Fengyang rotated his torso, his rear fist lancing forward, qi flaring brightly along his forearm.
Meiyin nodded approvingly but tapped his stance with her toe. "Shift your weight to your lead foot. Feel the power start from your waist, not your arm."
He adjusted, threw the punch again—this time, the ground beneath him seemed to rumble with the stability of his strike.
They moved to kicks. Meiyin's front snap kick was like a coiled whip, her standing leg rooted as her other leg lashed out.
Fengyang mimicked her, but his standing leg wavered, balance unstable.
"Root yourself," Meiyin instructed, her tone even. "A tree cannot strike if its roots are shallow."
Fengyang corrected, rooted qi into his base, and the next kick snapped cleanly through the air.
Last was the roundhouse kick. Meiyin's form blurred in a beautiful, lethal crescent.
Fengyang swung his leg after her example, but overextended and stumbled.
Meiyin chuckled softly. "Power isn't speed, Fengyang. It's control. Slow it down, master the form."
He took a breath, steadied his core, and tried again—hips twisting, leg arcing with heavy grace.
The strike landed cleanly this time, a satisfying thud against the empty air.
Hour after hour slipped by under the stars. Sweat drenched Fengyang's robes, his muscles burned, but his strikes sharpened with every cycle.
His qi blazed brighter, more focused, weaving strength into every movement.
When finally Meiyin called an end to the session, Fengyang was near collapse, his body trembling with exhaustion—but his mind was alight, alive with strikes, stances, and qi flow.
They returned quietly to his chambers.
He collapsed onto the bed, Meiyin beside him, her presence warm and steady as the two sank into a well-earned rest, the night wrapping around them like a silken cocoon.