Extra 4 (Part 3): The Experiments of Sun and Moon

It had taken decades for Xie Yingying to regain control.

Their first attempt at intimate dual cultivation, had been anything but proper. What was supposed to be a sacred fusion of Taiyin and Taiyang, guided by ancient scripture and spiritual resonance, had dissolved into something more desperate, more human. The moment Su Min's Solar Sovereign Body awakened, it was as if a floodgate broke open inside Xie Yingying. Her Lunar Sovereign' had been overwhelmed, drowned in radiance, trembling at the contact of Solar Sovereign'. And she... she lost herself.

Not just once. Not just for a moment.

For years, Xie Yingying's desire consumed her. Each time Su Min's white light returned, she chased it. Words and rituals abandoned, she reached only for skin, for warmth, for that fire that scorched yet never burned. It was not the proper way—there was no alignment of meridians, no chanting of ancient verses, no symbolic breathing. Just their bodies, colliding and falling, over and over again.

Su Min let it happen. Perhaps she even welcomed it. She never said.

It took decades for Xie Yingying to temper that craving into something sacred.

Only then did they return to the path outlined in their scriptures, beginning once more with the foundation: the ancient methods of Lunar Sovereign and Solar Sovereign inheritance. When they finally enacted the correct rituals, their resonance shifted. The effects were immediate, overwhelming in their clarity. The moment their breaths aligned, the Taiyin and Taiyang energies flowed into one another like ink and flame, forming a ring of balance that neither scorched nor froze.

In that instant, they glimpsed the Great Dao of Ten Thousand Laws.

It was unlike anything Su Min had ever sensed, even at the height of her Heavenly Dao Insight. The scriptures had not exaggerated. The purest, most profound truths emerged in that moment—brief, transcendent, elusive. But that enlightenment did not come without cost.

The Solar Sovereign Body was still bound by time. Su Min's transformation faded before they could fully enter the deeper stages of comprehension. They tried again. And again. But the third time, Su Min halted them.

"If we force it, we risk Dao injuries," she had said quietly, wiping the sweat from her collarbone.

So they fell back on more accessible methods—intimate dual cultivation without their scripture, guided only by instinct and breath, like countless cultivators before them. Occasionally, they used casual methods—merely sitting back to back, or hands intertwined, allowing their spiritual currents to mingle. These methods offered some boost for their cultivation, and helped maintain their bond, but none ever matched that transcendent glimpse.

And Su Min could not forget it.

Which led her to the experiment.

~

"I want to try exchanging essence blood."

Xie Yingying paused, her pale fingers hovering above the brazier as she stirred an alchemical solution. The soft violet fumes cast gentle ripples across her cheeks.

"That's forbidden in most sects," she said without looking up. "It can create... dangerous dependencies."

Su Min poured a basin of clean water into the cauldron beside her. Her voice remained calm.

"And yet, the scriptures never forbade it."

A long silence.

Then, finally, Xie Yingying spoke again, her tone soft, almost resigned. "One drop only. From each of us."

They didn't make it a ritual. No chants. No offerings. Just a needle, and the unmistakable tang of blood on their tongues.

When Su Min swallowed the single drop of Xie Yingying's essence blood, something ancient and violent stirred within her. Her meridians screamed, then bloomed. Taiyang flared from her right hand. Taiyin from her left. And for the first time, they did not conflict.

Her body pulsed with impossible energy. Not a true Chaos Body, but something near it. Her attacks shimmered with opposing force, balancing at the edge of detonation. Her combat aura shot past what even the perfected Five Elements Holy Body could reach.

But the cost...

Xie Yingying slumped that night, her breath shallow, her face ghostly pale. The fourth-tier pills dulled the pain, but could not fully hide the drain. Su Min never asked for another drop. Not for decades.

Now, with only three left, they agreed to limit its use. Each activation would burn through Su Min's meridians and leave her unable to re-enter that state for three months. This incomplete Chaos Body was not a gift—it was a weapon to be used sparingly.

But Su Min did not let the years slip by idly.

~

Within the quiet chambers of their cave dwelling, scrolls littered the floor. The two scriptures—Solar Sovereign and Lunar Sovereign—had once seemed distant, even alien. But Su Min discovered something startling as she studied them together.

Where the Solar technique expanded, the Lunar technique refined.

Where the Solar script taught to burn away impurities, the Lunar script taught to isolate them.

And where the Solar Sovereign Body struck outward with light, the Lunar Sovereign Body pulled inward like gravity.

"It's not that they're opposites," Su Min murmured, tracing the twin scrolls side by side. "It's that they complete each other."

From this realization came new techniques—shared abilities neither scripture had described explicitly, but which emerged through practice.

One was the Twin Polar Karma Seal.

Together, they could seal away not only an opponent's cultivation level, but the Laws and Daos they wielded. It didn't just suppress power—it removed context. A sword technique without Dao became just a swing. A lightning spell without Law was little more than heat.

Even more remarkably, Su Min could use it alone in her incomplete Chaos Body state.

All this was the result of research, not passion. Connection, not lust.

And in the end, that was what made it sacred.

~

Over the decades, they developed a rhythm.

In the depths of the Golden Core Avenue, they meditated with fingers linked, breathing in each other's qi.

They tested seals against puppet enemies, timed how long it took to destabilize Laws, then timed how long it took to restore them.

They measured how Yin and Yang could be fused simply, without complexity, just a blend of two halves hurled outward.

"The finest ingredients require the simplest methods," Su Min said once, quoting an old mortal chef she had met long ago. She pressed her palm to Xie Yingying's. "And we are nothing if not finely made."

Xie Yingying laughed at that, not mockingly, but softly.

She did not say that Su Min was right.

She just said, "Again."

And they began to fuse.