Chapter 615- Upcoming Crusade from Nearby Sects
Tianlong stood at the edge of the waterfall garden, his gold-crimson eyes scanning the two women slumped against the stone. Both mothers — Cai Ruolan and Liu Wanying — lay where he had left them, their thick bodies bare and glistening, their cunts and anals gaping and leaking his seed in thick, slow rivulets that pooled on the cold stone beneath their raised asses.
Their sons sat ten feet away, still locked in meditation, their cultivation auras burning bright and steady within the qi dome he had woven around their senses.
He pulled his robe closed. The silk settled over his massive frame, the fabric unable to fully conceal the outline of his cock, still half-hard, resting against his thigh like a sleeping serpent.
He turned from the scene — from the ruined mothers, the meditating sons, the seed-soaked rock — and walked toward the garden entrance.
His divine qi pulsed once. The dome over the boys shimmered and held. Their senses remained sealed. They would continue cultivating for hours, their bodies absorbing the residual divine energy he had flooded into their meridians.
Their mothers’ degradation had served its purpose — the feedback loop of sexual energy and spiritual circulation had accelerated both boys’ breakthroughs by months, perhaps years.
Tianlong stepped through the garden archway and into the outer corridor carved into the mountainside.
The air cooled against his face, carrying the scent of plum blossoms and wet stone. He walked with the unhurried gait of a god among insects.
Footsteps echoed from the corridor ahead. Multiple sets. Light, measured — the footwork of cultivators trained in proper sect etiquette.
Elder Fanxue appeared first around the bend, her silver-trimmed robes pressed and immaculate, her dark hair pinned in the Plum Blossom Sect’s elder style. Behind her walked the Sect Master — Su Ling — a tall, composed woman with sharp cheekbones and narrow amber eyes, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder in a thick braid.
Her violet sect master’s robe dragged on the stone floor behind her. Two junior attendants trailed at a respectful distance, carrying folded garments and a basin of warm water.
Both women’s eyes widened the moment they saw him. Elder Fanxue’s cheeks flushed — a deep, involuntary pink that spread from her collarbones to her ears. Su Ling’s amber eyes flickered downward, catching the silhouette beneath his robe, and her composure cracked for half a heartbeat before she forced it back into place.
"Ancestor," Elder Fanxue said, bowing deeply. Her voice carried a slight tremor. "You are returned."
Su Ling knelt immediately, her braid falling over her shoulder, her forehead nearly touching the stone. "Ancestor. The sect awaits your guidance."
Tianlong extended his arms. The robe hung open at his sides, exposing his chest, the defined muscles carrying a faint, golden sheen of residual divine qi.
Neither woman needed instruction. Elder Fanxue stepped forward first, taking the left side of his robe, her fingers gathering the silk. Su Ling rose and took the right side, her hands lifting the fabric.
Their fingers brushed his body as they drew the robe across his chest. Fanxue’s knuckles grazed his abdomen — her hand stilled, her breath catching.
Su Ling’s fingers slid lower as she adjusted the sash, her palm pressing against his hip, and her wrist came to rest against the base of his cock through the thin silk.
Both women froze.
Su Ling’s amber eyes snapped upward. Her lips parted. No words came.
Her fingers remained where they were, trembling against the warmth radiating through the fabric, the thick root of his cock pulsing once against her wrist.
She could feel the heat — divine, oppressive, irresistible — seeping through the silk and into her skin. Her cultivation base stirred in her dantian, responding to the proximity of his Horny God Physique like iron filings drawn to a magnet.
Elder Fanxue swallowed. Her own hand had drifted inward during the process of tying the sash, her fingers now resting against the upper shaft of his cock, separated only by a single layer of silk. She could feel the vein beneath — thick, ridged, running the length of it. Her thighs pressed together beneath her robes.
Tianlong looked down at both of them. His gold-crimson eyes held no amusement, no teasing. Just the calm, absolute authority of a being who knew what his presence did to women and considered it as natural as rainfall.
"Report," he said.
Elder Fanxue withdrew her hand as though burned.
She stepped back, straightening her robes, her face crimson. "Ancestor — the tournament has concluded. Twenty-five disciples participated in the battle royale. We have selected eight candidates for inner sect advancement.
Their names and cultivation profiles have been recorded in the jade scrolls." She paused, swallowing again. "The two quarantined disciples — the Cai son and the Liu son — their conditions remain stable. The formation you erected around the garden is intact."
Su Ling withdrew more slowly, her fingers dragging across the silk before releasing. She took her position at Fanxue’s side, her composure restored — or rather, forcibly rebuilt. "Ancestor, there are additional matters. But perhaps — they require a more private setting."
Tianlong’s eyes moved past both women. Down the corridor. Toward the main courtyard.
Disciples moved through the sect grounds in clusters — young women in pale pink robes, their hair bound in various sect styles, their voices carrying the bright energy of post-tournament excitement.
Some were heading toward the training halls. Others toward the medicine pavilion. A few stood in groups, whispering, their eyes darting toward the garden corridor.
Among them, standing alone near a stone pillar, was the blind disciple.
Yue.
She was small — barely reaching Tianlong’s chest. Lean and wiry, her body carried the hard, compact muscle of a survivor. Her white, sightless eyes tracked movement through qi rather than light, her head turning slightly whenever a cultivation aura passed near her.
Her face was angular, scarred — three old ritual cuts running from her left temple to her jaw, the marks faded to silver lines against her tanned skin.
She wore a plain grey disciple’s robe, the fabric loose on her small frame, and her dark hair hung loose and uncombed around her narrow shoulders.
Her small, firm tits pressed against the grey fabric — the outline of her stiff nipples visible in the mountain air.
Her hips were narrow, her thighs hard and lean.
She stood with the slightly wider stance of someone who navigated the world without sight, her bare feet planted on the stone, her toes gripping for balance.
Tianlong walked toward her. Elder Fanxue and Su Ling followed, their steps quick and light behind him.
Disciples in the courtyard noticed — the ancestor moving through their midst, his towering frame and golden eyes drawing every gaze like the sun entering a candlelit room. Conversations died.
Footsteps slowed. Young cultivators pressed against walls and pillars, their eyes wide, their heads bowing.
Yue’s head turned. Her white eyes shifted in their sockets, tracking the massive cultivation signature approaching her.
Her body tensed — the lean muscles in her thighs tightening, her scarred jaw clenching. She could feel him before he reached her.
The pressure of his qi pressed against her spiritual sense like a hand against her chest, and the memory of what he had done to her in the medical ward flooded her body with heat.