Chapter 13:

Seeds of Dominion

Cold Ember Pavilion wasn't the kind of place that made waves.

A minor sect under the Verdant Flame umbrella, it specialized in spiritual herb cultivation, support techniques, and low-impact combat formations. Quiet. Obedient. Conservative.

Until now.

Until he arrived.

Yue Shilan stood at the highest balcony of the sect's Snow Petal Hall, arms folded, eyes trained on the horizon. Down below, Haaron's silhouette was visible—standing bare-chested in the courtyard, guiding a circle of curious disciples through a breathing formation none of them had ever seen before.

His movements were slow. Smooth. Seductive in their rhythm. Every gesture leaked confidence. Control.

Dominance.

The disciples followed his lead like moths drawn to flame. And she—Yue Shilan, their Saintess, their ice-crowned ideal—could do nothing but watch.

Why does he affect them like this… like he's rewriting the air they breathe?

Earlier That Morning

"Saintess, he's begun teaching in the outer courtyard," said Elder Fen, her tone tight. "No authorization. And the girls—"

"What about them?"

"They're not acting like disciples anymore. They're… distracted. His presence disturbs our qi. Our girls meditate less. Their eyes follow him too often. Their auras—shift when he speaks."

Yue Shilan didn't look up. "Has he harmed anyone?"

"No. But—"

"Then let him be."

Elder Fen blinked. "You want him to spread that influence?"

Yue's fingers tightened around her jade fan.

"I want to see who breaks first. Them… or me."

[Courtyard – Haaron's Influence Grows]

The moment Haaron stepped into Cold Ember, its qi responded. Slowly. Subtly. Not like a storm—but like a slow flood, seeping into cracks and softening stone.

He didn't seduce.

He invited.

When a disciple failed her posture in frost sword form, he didn't scold—he guided her wrist gently, his voice low, breath warm against her ear. She shivered.

When another stumbled during herbal qi infusions, he pressed his hand to her lower back, whispered a correction, and left her blushing for an hour.

He didn't need to take them to his bed.

The Sutra pulsed with resonance.

It remembered his harem—Lian Rou, ever playful, her illusionary charm humming at the edges. Mei Lin, volatile and addictive, her venom spirit curling around his qi like smoke.

And even Yue Shilan—distant, cold, yet connected. Her suppression spirit a part of him now, even if she still pretended she could sever it.

Every interaction added to the net. Every blush was a thread. Every desire unspoken, a hook.

He wasn't spreading lust.

He was planting loyalty.

[Yue Shilan – Emotional Storm]

By the third night, Yue couldn't sleep.

Not because of noise. Not from sect affairs.

Because her spirit ached.

Every time a girl near Haaron released her qi in meditation, Yue felt the Sutra tug. Felt the way their essence brushed his. The way his qi wrapped around theirs—protective, warm, seductive.

She pressed her palm against her heart.

It was no longer cold.

That terrified her.

She still hadn't returned to him.

She couldn't.

If I go back… I won't be able to stop.

Her thighs pressed together at the thought, and shame coiled in her stomach.

But beneath the shame… was longing.

[Midnight – Spiritual Pressure Training Grounds]

Cold Ember's secluded moonlight training field shimmered faintly with frost. Haaron stood alone in the center, shirtless, spiritual energy circling him like silver fog. The Sutra marks on his back pulsed as he inhaled deeply.

Then—he exhaled.

A ripple of energy spread across the ground, brushing through the grass and stone like a lover's hand.

He wasn't cultivating for power.

He was synchronizing.

Dozens of female disciples in nearby halls shivered in unison as the Sutra pulled subtly against their qi—testing compatibility, planting ideas.

A few dared to meditate again.

And one girl dreamed of him—his hand against her throat, his lips against her thigh, his voice telling her she belonged to him.

She woke up moaning his name.